Past Erased IV - Safe House Slaugher [Fallon]

[Zandelia]

“Only when I smile?” she shook her head theatrically, “it works for me. But is you’re not sure then I’m sure you can test out many more” she smiled briefly before rolling her shoulders with a small groan.

Fallon was shifting now, face growing firmer and the mask of the mercenary slipping into place in favour of the relaxed and enjoyable. It wasn’t an act though now, she was beginning to understand. It was merely another facet, a part of the woman that existed somewhere within – the veneer to that deeper and more feral part perhaps. She watched her, coming up to one knee with just as much complaining of the boy as she herself felt, they would need rest after this night. They were both hardened by life’s rigours but far from invincible after all. She simply nodded at the promise of knowledge, she liked all things in the world of information but she had never truly considered the gods – her life had been too filled with other distractions.

Perhaps it is time to consider, as you grow older you seem to gain much more interest in the spiritual so they say she considered idly as that gaze flickered upwards and the words came out.

They were strange, a repetition of what they had already promised to each other previously but seemed to carry far more weight and substance than before. There were no imagined crossroads this time though, she had already chosen her path. This was more like a gate, a resting point for affirmation before the journey continued to wherever its destination might inevitably be found. They were spoken softly but with strength, she tried to see the thoughts flickering within but as always she could never see them fully, only the hinting suggestions at the edges of complete forms.

“Always Fallon, I couldn’t stop you even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. And I severely doubt I would ever become sickened with you” the lips curled at that last portion of speech, it was foolish. If she were capable of running away and losing interest she would have done it by now – there was little danger of that happening.

She sighed at the words, she needed to finish this part of her life – slam into the ground under as much damp earth as she could muster. Fallon had been right of course, she was now seeing that in order to progress she would need to bury and burn what was left of her past after the encounter. That didn’t mean that she had to enjoy it. She was still filled with the rippling fires of vengeance but they were now more tempered, this was becoming more of a task now than an enjoyable notion. She nodded at the binding and brought her left forearm up to flick out the spring blade and considered removing it, hesitating at whether it should remain upon her person. She let it flick back into place – she would keep it. Their plan required surprise and what could be more so than a blade slipping out where least expected?

“If I didn’t know better I’d think you were looking forwards to this part,” she accepted the brush of the lips and leant in to gain one more look at those eyes from pressed foreheads before she closed her eye and a deep breath was inhaled, exhaled and her face calmed, “alright captor” she pushed her way through the tent flaps and into the cold night air.

She shivered from the exposure, she was hardly well protected from the elements with her disguise and the chill immediately began to assault her with its needles. She waited for Fallon to exit and then gestured with her head as she led them out of the tent city and towards the slums – the distance was not overly far but by the end, as they approached the final corner, her limbs were most definitely shaking. Not too much but enough for it to be noticeable and for her skin to become dotted with the customary pimples. She had always wondered why they called them goose pimples, something to do with the plucking she reasoned. She rather wished she were a goose then, at least she would have feathers for insulation.

“Next time,” her teeth chattered, “you can be the prisoner. This is the street, fifth building down and painted red. Small alleys either side as it’s detached. Now, one more thing,” she turned and looked into the orbs seriously, “if you need to wreck the place for us to win then do it. I thought I wanted him dead and…I still do…but now it’s not as important as other things. So, whatever it takes to stay alive. I don’t care if the entire damned building burns down. Understand?” she took another deep breath, enjoyed the scents upon the wind and the feel of the breeze upon her flesh.

She rounded the corner and shoved her back into the other woman a bit, it wouldn’t do for her not to be seen manhandling her as they approached after all. She affected a limp, her pace slowing as one leg merely rolled as the other seemingly sought to keep her upright – which was difficult considering she leant to the other side as if her ribs had been shattered – which they had, a little. Or bruised and battered at least. She began to hyperventilate slightly so as to bring out the ragged nature of breathing someone whom had been injured had, that hissing intake with every other step as she jerked her way down the street, Fallon behind her. They made it to the guards, their gaze watching them carefully upon approach.

“What we ‘ave here den?” the nearest one pulled his sword half-out and pulled up her hair roughly and she couldn’t help but hiss and flinch as her scalp pulsed with pain.

She said nothing, the guard looked to Fallon for answers. She didn’t listen so much as watched, head still aflame and numbing as she was sure the man was pulling her hair out root by root. Two guards, leather armour only half covering their forms. Legs exposed along with shoulders. One had a helmet and two swords, the other had daggers. Both appeared to be wiry but she had no true gauge upon their strength or speed from their still forms.

“Oi! That’s her! Da one we was warn’t bout. Whatser name? Look!” the other guard chimed in and the one holding her leered in. She spat into his face to keep up the charade of hateful prisoner and received a resounding knee to the gut that put her torso into a spasm of a fit of pain once more and fell to her knees, hands behind her and breathing deeply as her gaze widened.

Hope Fallon is good at being a mercenary retriever she thought as she tried to get her body to stop complaining at her.

[Fallon]

"I understand. I will still try not to be too much of a bull in a pottery though" she exhaled. Whilst Zandelia lead, Fallon walked her form shrugging as the cloak masked what weapons were beneath. There was a click of steel within its scabbards, the constant rhythm that matched with her steps. A firm stride, a walk of a warrior and one of determination in its firmest form. They would end this, one way or another this night. At one point her hand reached round and rested lightly on the shoulder, her eyes looking ahead if not for the occasional flicker around. The slums, the level of filth that rested within Sunberth - what a fitting scene. "You just want me to be the prisoner so you can tie me up," she sniffed, "Kinky bitch. I'll think about it."

Her grip tightened on the shoulder, the other hand reaching round to grasp tightly onto her wrist. It was with a heavy hand that she gave a firm shove, her fingers occasionally reaching up to knot into the woman's hair and pull. Rough and heavy handed, it took a lot of willpower to allow herself to act so - more when she was still aware of the rumbling beast within her core. She needed to keep it in control, for just this once it needed to remain under wraps. Her heart quickened, a definite lump forming in her throat as she looked ahead. There was a count, her eyes flickering to the houses in the dying light and taking on the ochre glows. There was a final shove on the back, one designed to force Zandelia into clear presentation.

Fallon wore a scowl, angry, fuming, a grin of teeth behind her lips. She did feel those emotions bubbling within, more so when she met the judging stare from the guard. Throat cleared, and the rough twang of vocal cords escaped, "Gentlemen, I bring to your contractor an offering. Behold!" Her hand at that point grasped the collar of the shirt roughly, her head coming down to glare angrily at Zandelia - if not with only a brief flash of teeth. Her hand thrust forward at that point, pushing the woman to the ground, "I present to you, my offering of a one Miss Sansom!"

"How'd yeh get her?" One of the two asked. Fallon brushed her hands together, a loud clap as the eyes focused upon the speaker as the knee met the gut. Her lips produced a wolfish grin, the fiery look crackling behind her eyes.
"This little, traitorous vagik?" Fallon gave a pulled clip around the ear, her lip twitching with annoyance, "Long story gentleman. Short one... well, she kept betraying our trust. Caught her trying to sell off information to the other gangs. Thought she could skip out on us and make a hefty profit. Now I'm gonna make a profit out of her."

She gave a snort, a look of disgust to the scene before her. No doubt the men thought it was directed more to the 'traitor' before them. The men looked to each other only quickly, obviously thinking about what to exactly do - taken back almost that such a figure had appeared. Before they had any time to truly react however, Fallon once more spoke up, "How'd I forget manners? I am Bitzer, mercenary, contractor and dealer of information. And it is with your coin holder that I would like to speak. Surely you both understand business? I bring him something he wants, and I am supplied in return. Perhaps we will be working together in the future, yes?" Her eyes snapped down to Zandelia, "Get up. Piece of shyke."

Somewhere within her heart gave a strain, writhing with guilt at what she was doing. Her fist gave a clench beneath the cloak, her eyes staring ahead towards the door. Once inside she could begin the charade of business and subtly begin the undoing of the ties that bound her in place. It was hard, more so as the men roughly handled the woman, to halt the internal struggle to serve as a shield. Fingers clicked, her chin lifting as she squared herself up, "Shall we, gentlemen? Or are you gonna keep playing with this scrap?"

[Zandelia]

Oh, I see how it is Fallon. Come out with the new quips when I can’t talk back. I’ll bloody well retort when we’re out of this though you can count upon it…inventively. Just you see if you don’t you sneaky little vixen the thought flashed within her mind as the charade continued, her face a snarling rictus thrown at the unusual position she occupied.

She wasn’t used to being entrapped, more often than not she was the one committing the entrapment – it was one skill of hers and she rather enjoyed the game. To watch the targets try to wriggle out of the net, to find an avenue of carefully crafted escape and run down it into an even tighter design of entrapment. It was always amusing to see if she could find a mind amongst the simple whom could match hers and she had found it in the blunt and seemingly unflappable avatar of the ‘mercenary’. She was interested to know whether Fallon was enjoying this charade or not, in some deep recessed part of her. She would have to question it the following day when she could tease it out of her.

The knee, however, had put paid to any further thoughts of complexity and had instead compounded the damage done earlier by those fists and she no longer needed to act in order for her breathing to be laboured and wheezing, rattling from her throat almost as she tried to suck in as much air as possible through the mists of pain that enveloped her. Her eye watered and she pushed herself to one knee, breathing as deeply as she dared and wincing every so often. She grunted and managed to punch herself to her feet at Fallon’s command.

“Scrap? Take of the bindings and we’ll see if you like another scrap with this scrap” she hissed through clenched teeth. She stepped forwards but the man who had driven her to the floor so enjoyably blocked her path and leered in at her.

“Oh yeah? Heard stories ‘bout you yer know. Don’t seem so tuff now though eh? You wanna scrap well then we might just be able ter help yer”

“We?” the other guard asked, the one with the helmet. She looked at him past the idiocy and bravado of the man who could ruin everything for them by trying to kill her then and there in the street.

“Friend of yours?”she asked the helmet.

“Just a guard, same as me” he shrugged, a smirk upon his lips told her he knew what she had in mind – he was obviously seasoned.

“Oh good…” she trailed off and the ridge of her brow snapped into the foolish one’s nose as her right foot lashed out between his legs, “try to scrap now you bastard” she mumbled as the other guard began to laugh and she was shoved through the door.

Her vision was blurred and she was sure would be for a few moments, she didn’t see where she was putting her feet as the stars blinked before her singular orb and she tripped, sprawling to the floor with a pained yelp. She rolled a little, arms tugging painfully at their bonds and pulling her shoulders a little too far for her liking. As her vision began to clear the ones in the room couldn’t help but take a few pot shots at her, harmless little jabs with the tips of their boots like a pack of wild dogs teasing a trapped cat. There was a menace behind it though, they enjoyed the position of power they possessed over a bound and helpless woman. She rolled onto her front and used her head to push herself back up – once more the arduous journey to her feet began and she stood after a while, facing the door.

“What is all of this?! Enough! I pay you to guard not play!” a voice snapped from behind her, the deep but papery tones snapping out through the men and commanded their silence as a door slammed open in accompaniment.

Her eye widened and a murderous frown crossed her face as her gaze came up to shakily meet the eyes of Fallon, stepping through the door neatly and without any semblance of fear. They locked briefly, a passing thing that no doubt was interpreted as a snarl at her captor. She breathed shakily and shuffled around slowly. For the first time in decades she beheld her father – it was assuredly him. The green eyes the same hue, the beard though greying still closely cropped and covering the lower half of his face. The body of an old fighter, muscles turning the sinew beneath the clothing but still strong despite his age. Black hair, she had inherited her blonde from her mother. The features might have been considered noble if he weren’t such a vagik. He wore a long leather coat and faded rich clothing beneath.

“Hello…father,” she spat the title at him, wishing oh too much that her hands were not bound and that she could wrap them around his throat and choke the life away, “long time? Twenty…miserable…years” she growled, stepping forwards as the wrath bubbled within, attempting to take control.

She fought it back and into submission with difficulty, helped by restraining hands upon her shoulders – she knew not whose. She didn’t care, she thanked them all the same because if they had not the charade would have been ruined. She breathed, fighting for control but finding little with which to reason it a good decision. Fallon…she was doing this for Fallon. His death would come but hers…hers she couldn’t forgive herself for. Despite the reservoirs of hate seething within she swallowed, breathed and stepped back until she was released. She wanted and answer, any answer, but Murkus Sansom was silent – shocked it seemed.

You don’t even have words! Nothing! You can’t even care when you see me beaten and bloodied! I’ll bleed you dry you son of a whore she screamed at herself, soothing her emotions with the promise of the near future.

[Fallon]

So it was becoming an interesting task - if not a soul straining one. Her eyes forever stared ahead, all consuming in her gaze. For a moment there was only a slow blink, the eyes taking in the scene before her. A net, a sinking in of security. It was not a traditional trap - it was one of clever wits and sophistication, a lure and offering in such a form. It was why Fallon had chosen her words carefully. And it was perhaps somewhere deep inside that Fallon secretly revelled in - and probably would more so if it was not such a risky situation. Little did the men know of course the true nature of what was going on and left them unknowing of the wolf among the sheep.

When Zandelia kicked off again with her hissing and spitting tongue, the mercenary simply let her eyes slide about. There was nothing to say, only the twitching of annoyance to the one in the helmet. Too much risk, too much chance - it was her fingers that subtly wrapped around the hilt in response. She did not want to have to draw blades this early on, it was one way of destroying this carefully thought out plan. Her weight shifted, her feet moving so they were solid on the floor. Ready almost for a scuffle. It did not come however and it was soon that the pair were lead in; with the captor being given some obvious leeway.

If there was anything Fallon did manage to do it was the firm walk of presence. Her eyes focused ahead, taking the sounds and sights. They were little more than bullies, tormentors with no back bone. And Fallon was certain the moment she started to fight they would scatter like dogs. Even then, she was still aware of their bite. Shoulders rolled, the muscles of her left hand pinching as it fell limp. Her gaze met Zandelia's; cool, calm and collected she was in her element.

The memorised map gave a turn in her mind, crackling into life as things were placed about. The hearth was opposite the door, glowing with the flames within its mouth. She barely dipped her form as she entered, her thoughts taking in the objects than the actual features. Two tables, a selection of stools and chairs - light looking and possible to be swung if need be -, half rotten shutters on the windows, the distinct rough stone floor beneath her feet. There was a slide of eyes, and the narrow of lids as it took in the people in. There was the guards of course, the ones who stayed inside and then those who returned outside with laughter.

A single step. firm and definite as she dipped into the darker colours of the room, the cloak caught up around her form. Her chin rose up in acknowledgement to the father, unwavering in its gaze. Behind the subtitles of a beast begun to writhe behind itching almost to rise up and out. She was a predator, then again by the looks of him so was he. There was a step behind Zandelia, a slow pace as she mentally weighed him up and how he would operate. Strands of grey peaked out here and there, the rich ebony black still consuming his hair for the most part. Muscle, strength, a symbol of an old and unwavering power. It reminded her of an old bear, clever, smart, full of scars but still very capable of ripping a man's arm off.

Of course, then there was herself upon the other end, younger, faster - hopefully - lithe of build and working slowly upon strength. A creature of speed, survival, cunning and the hunt. A wolf.

There was an incline of the head, a silent greeting and level of respect to him despite the true intention of the situation. Nothing needed to be said, not at least until the hissed greeting was spat from his daughter. She plucked upon her djed at that point, the rumblings of power creeping up from her stomach and out into her left arm. Racing down her nerves, it gathered in her wrist and begun the work of weaving itself free from its flesh bonds.

"Well... isn't this a delightful family reunion," Fallon purred, her lip curling round. She took a step forward and to Zandelia's right, but her eyes were fixed solely upon the man. The cloak was still around her shoulders, sitting snug and smothering of any definite shapes. The strings fell away in her left hand, the ethereal slipping loose and free into the air. Her right at that point gave a peak out from beneath the cloak, a gesture down to Zandelia, "I believe I found something of yours that was causing all sorts of upset. Such a cunning little thing, no? She manage to hide herself quite well among my people, at least until she... took a tumble." With a wolfish grin she withdrew the hand and once more returned it beneath the cloak.

Sliding through the air, the ethereal gently padded its way round. Firstly it brushed upon the cheek of the woman, a light touch of invisible fingers upon lips, before it slid round and down to the bound wrists. Gently and subtly, Fallon begun to wriggle the projected fingers into the gaps and work on a subtle unbinding. There was an inhale as she focused, pulling her attention between the two of them and only occasionally flickered around the room - keeping the others in good sight, "Let's talk business shall we? You seem like a very reasonable man, and no doubt have dealt in such things before. If I have heard correctly that is."

The ethereal hand split in half, tendril like and wrapping around the fabric as she pulled and forced it to give. It was with focus that she pressed the two ends into the palms of the woman, and then encouraged the fingers to curl around them - maintaining the illusion that she was indeed bound, "I, Bitzer, bring to you, an offering. A single Miss Sansom, and I also bring forth a potential for... other contracts shall we say? Do I have your interest?" Ethereal fingers gently pressed into the woman's forearm, a gentle tap of digits to grab the attention and focus. Her right hand at that point rose up to scratch at her neck and get within close range of the cloak cords.

Four fingers and a thumb pressed against bare flesh, holding and waiting for the correct moment. An invisible countdown that could only be known between the two of them. Ready almost to be activated. There was a final check of the room, a quick count of numbers in her head before they snapped onto the father. The show, would soon go on.

[Zandelia]

Emotion attempted the broil up from within once more as her gaze took in the man that she had once called her father, so long ago and before his greatest of betrayals. It was a glare that she directed at him, meeting his eyes constantly but finding little more than the occasional glance back that showed her nothing – it was almost dead and definitely unreadable, his gaze. Anger enflamed and she mentally battled to wrestle everything back underneath the surface, shoving it down and seeking the lucid pools of detachment. She hadn’t expected it to be so difficult, the presence of her icon of vengeance being so close wrapped her skin in a crawling sensation. It was a losing battle and she itched for the charade to be done with, to crush the building to dust and every enemy within along the way.

Focus. Calm. Watch. Assess. Seek she tried to soothe herself as she closed her eye and breathed deeply, a shuddering as the internal fracturing slowed and she tried to still her mind with the counting of breaths. She managed to get to five as the conversation began, words creeping into her mind and Fallon’s presence a beacon of tuition in placid nature – outwardly at least, she knew what lurked within.

She opened her eye and made herself useful for the first time since the gambit they had chosen had commenced, she performed her job amidst the tableaux and sought out the possibilities. The room was just as she had seen, had noted down and explained. That was definitely to their advantage and meant that they at least could count on a portion of their plan – there were only five within the room, not including her father. She turned her head and noted that two had now retreated to the seating and were watching silently as they poured drinks from a clay pitcher. Shared smirks were enough to tell her that they thought they were not required now, they were relaxed and that was good. Surprise was their only advantage and anything to compound it, increase it, was accepted gladly.

“A tumble? I hope that all of that blood isn’t hers Bitzer,” her father spoke, words calm and even as his shock faded, “there’s no use paying for my daughter if she will die soon after. She doesn’t look too damaged though, you have my thanks. You seek business? What could you possibly offer me beyond that which you have in your possession already? Tell me of these…contracts you seek” the tone was laced with curiosity, though whether it was feigned as a draw she couldn’t tell as his gaze pinned Fallon darkly.

Her head swivelled back and she swallowed, mouth drying as the inevitable closed in step by step, and she found some comfort that the guards had returned to the exterior to make their survival that much more likely. She reasons that they could kill two of them without them drawing blades, perhaps three if they were lucky. That would mean that of the guards the chaos would be individual to individual until the doors were opened. They needed them closed, or blocked as best they could. The back at least so that the hounds couldn’t be set upon the Scars – an irony perhaps. The chairs would serve well enough if the two occupying them could be a dealt with smoothly. It all required far too much luck than she liked, but they were into their necks now and would have to make the best of it.

“How much do you want Bitzer? What do you want? Gold? Services? Assistance? Speak your terms and we can do business properly. Then I can deal with my daughter as I see fit” those last words were stressed and she found them puzzling – it was if he were arguing an old quarrel with those within the room. The shuffling and muttering of the five men surrounding them told her enough to know her suspicions were correct – they disagreed upon something regarding her.

She was about to retort as a distractive tactic until she felt the ripple upon her cheek, there werefingers upon her lips. Something solid and she blinked, stuffing her surprise behind a brooding pout as best as she could. There had been nothing before her, nothing that had touched and yet it had been gentle, reassuring almost. Fallon was before her and out of her reach and as such that eliminated her. Her gaze darted about a little and say nothing…nothing. She calmed and then felt the tugging at her bonds, muscles straining painfully as she paused her body and did not move it, breathing becoming shallower as she tried to puzzle out the strange occurrence. This was something she had never experienced before and meeting it under such a scenario did little to stifle the nerves flickering within.

Fallon? Is that you? That was definitely your touch to the lips, my memory isn’t that faulty. But…how? Wait, what was it Gad had done? Moved the die with an invisible arm, is this what you are doing? Magic? You have magic! And you didn’t tell me!the internal monologue flowed within, distractive and allowing her to forget herself for a few moments.

The ends of the makeshift binding were pressed into the palms of her hands and invisible fingers pushed upon hers. It was difficult not to resist what seemed so unnatural but she let them curl – the moment of revelation was approaching and she used one of the last few moments to try and brush the dis-embodied gently but knew not if she succeeded. The trick was done, she was free to unleash herself at the opportune moment. Her gaze flicked to the men either side of the pair of them and she heard the shuffle of feet behind them of the guard placed square in middle of the room. She tilted her head to the left and then back – she had picked her targets and hoped Fallon would understand.

She was facing two others and Zandelia would share the burden with her own pair. Quick, clean and decisive. Their opening would have to be all of those things if they had a chance for survival. She noted the pulling at Fallon’s cloak as the prod at her forearm was followed by the firm grip. She didn’t nod but she understood – she thought. It was time and she glanced once more at the admirable warrior that had chosen to stand beside her against the storm. Possibly the last glance and she fixed it firmly within her memory - the confident stance, the energy that she saw rippling out from her and the feeling of the lips earlier that night. An excellent last memory.

“Two hundred, I will give you two hundred and not a miza more. Fair price, fair trade. You have my interest Bitzer. To have brought her to heel is no mean feat. Other considerations and future payments can be negotiated as and when they arise. What say you?” her father announced, finally beginning the negotiations.

[Fallon]

"Oh no, some of that is my comrades," Fallon looked back to the woman, her gaze cool and unmoving. For a moment she held it, the lids narrowing down onto her. There was a flicker in the sharpness, a faint blink of understanding to which guards the woman had picked out, "Murderous little bitch. Lost some good arms to her in her struggling." Her gaze snapped back to the father, her lip twitching with a bitter annoyance. Her mind flickered between words, a gentle adding up on the spot as to what she could offer in terms of business.

"My people, we look for contracts. And possible use of services. Think of us as... hit takers. So, say you require something," her head nodded to Zandelia at that point, "We will be able to find, locate, obtain and deal with as you see fit. It will save the unnecessary nature of dirtying your hands and it would only work as and when the contract has been completed. Thus, eliminating the need for contracts that extend over periods of days - no doubt like the ones you already have with your guards." There was a nod of the head, "As for what I want in payment, well, I am like any other human. Food, money, a roof over my head, men, women and wine."

Shrugging she let the fingers rest upon her throat, her eyes meeting his with an unwavering force. It was a battle of dominance and business, a silent war without blades or words. The first ethereal finger gave a tap upon the woman' arm and lifted. Gently pacing round so she stood in front of the woman, blocking the view from her and the father. Toes gave a wiggle, her feet finding level ground on the floor and the second finger lifted. For a moment she was weighing the offer up, her eyes narrowing as she focused. There was a glance to the guards in the room, her eyes reading the men. They were thinking about something, the scowls on their face as they contemplated reacting to the scene - itching for a fight, to cause pain despite the firm words of their contractor.

The third finger lifted. Letting her hand slide down to the cord of her cloak she paused, her brow creasing as if thinking deeply, "Two hundred what? Coppers? Silvers? Gold? Nuts?" She shook her head and waved the thought away, "Sounds like a good price. Very good. But... I must wonder on something." Fallon could almost see his brow creasing as she paused. The forth finger gave a lift, the thumb gently running a circle upon the woman's arm. There was a long sigh, her head shaking in disappointment, "Are you familiar with the term, blood price?"

Her voice dropped into a purr, "A price for the blood spilt, for the death of men who would be better off alive. Do you know how expensive a good sword arm can be to train? And the loss it can be to an organisation." The thumb stopped its swirling, "Let's call it... compensation for all the difficulties received from delivering such a specimen." Fallon gave a rock on her toes, her fingers lacing into the cloak cords, "So what will it be? More gold and silver? A solid confirmation or a debt?" Her gaze turned cold, her voice dropping into a husky tone, "For I can assure you, my... family will not simply accept a pat on the head for what has been spilt in this delivery."

She held the look, the thumb beginning its lift from the arm, "So, what will it be? What will be the price? Money, stock, articles or-" The thumb pulled away from the flesh. The fingers gripped onto the cord of the cloak, the trembling tones of the feral vibrating within her throat. The cloak gave a whipping crack as it was pulled off, the black sheering through the air barely clumping it up in her hand before she threw it towards the father, "-Blood?"

Her other hand pulled the tonfa free, a quick pivot round as she tossed them across the small gap between them to Zandelia, "Catch Sunshine!"

One of the guards became animated, surprised by the sudden movement and exchange of weapons. Her hand grasped around the kukri hilt, instinct claiming that one as the projected hand snapped back to her. Drawing the cold iron blade she felt the weight within her hand, her mind calculating the distance before her right arm simply arched back to throw it across the small space. In honesty she did not know if it would work or not - let alone if it would fly well - but with a stationary target and the opportunity upon her she chose not to waist it. The heavy blade was released, a low swooping sound escaping as it spun towards the guard on the right. There was a yelp, but Fallon did not turn to look before her hand was upon one of the tulwar hilts. The projected hand fell onto the other.

A grind of steel, a song of blades as they escaped. Preferably Fallon would have rather have not used magic in such an ordeal, but this was the case where such things could be put aside. Teeth gritted and turned into a grin, one blade firmly within her right, the other hovering within the air by some invisible force. She felt the weight of the steel in her grasp, the last limited movement of her left arm being put into play to tuck it behind the square of her back. And with that, the mercenary gave a wink, "Sorry old man, but I forgot to mention my other contract. So, shall we m'dear?"

[Zandelia]

The invisible countdown commenced, the digits tapping and then releasing slowly and her pulse quickened at the impending risk. It was not quite time but the end had begun and her fingers relaxed a little with effort so as to make it easier to flow from the bonds at the right time. Fallon was in control, the feeling was both reassuring and worrisome but her trust was being rewarded with every passing moment that the scheme unfolded without incident. She kept her attention upon the words as best she could but truthfully she was more focused upon the positioning of the guards. At this stage if they changed their positions then it could cause already planned out movements to be pointless and with four digits left there would be scarce time to reassess. They had not moved yet though and that was comforting.

Three digits now. Gods this is actually going to happen, we’ll get away with it. This bit at least. Don’t you even think about dying on me now Skylar she told herself as the conversation continued.

Fallon was good and clearly possessed the experience that she claimed – she had expected nothing less but she knew now. Knowing was better than expecting in her world and the facts were obvious. She had been in this kind of situation before. She was not sure the other woman would deal in slaves but in bounties certainly. How often had she walked into a den with nothing but her wits and abilities to shield her? It was a distasteful realism but this time, at least, she would not be alone. She tensed her muscles slightly at the releasing of the penultimate digit – it was not a bad way to go, she reasoned, fighting one’s hunters. Life was far more preferable however and she meant to win. Needed to win. Things were muddied now, confusing at best within, but outwardly she was calm and she latched upon the singular purpose – death to the guards.

The last digit released and slowed away, the world pausing as she turned her head to the left. One breath, one blink, one goal.

“Blood” she snarled in response to Fallon’s unfinished question, it had always been the answer to the stall for time.

The bonds released and fluttered to the floor but she paid them no heed upon their journey as her left arm snapped upwards, outwards as her body pivoted and the spring blade slipped out to slice through the throat of her unsuspecting victim. There was a commotion she heard but didn’t notice, the sound of rippling fabric and she guessed that the cloak had come free, her focus upon the red arterial spray as she ripped the blade out and it slipped back when it had come. In the stilled parts of her mind she saw she had sliced Fallon’s shirt too, a new one would be required it seemed. She needed her weapons, this was the most crucial part of the gambit. Killing one guard brought them closer to success but weapon-less she was less useful.

“Catch Sunshine!" and she grinned mirthlessly at the use of the name that had been chosen, turning to catch the thrown weapons.

Her right hand reached out, fingers grasping around old friends easily, blunt weapons side by side and easily snatched from the air. She shifted hands together, fingers rolling around the handles as they were positioned at her left hip in readiness. She span to where she remembered the other guard to be and as she locked her hips the momentum continued and was transferred into the torso until that too locked and her arms flashed out with vicious intent. The wrists flicked, the last turning up of speed and power before both tonfa lashed out and slammed into the man’s ribcage. She felt bone crunch as she pulled back her righto her waist, left snapping weapon to a defensive line across her forearm. Right arm snapped out, the protruding butt of the tonfa slamming into solar plexus to cause a stagger back – it blocked the two at the table from interfering.

Stepping forwards her left foot finished the task, thigh coming up parallel to the rough stone flooring on knee straightening as a frontwards kick snapped out to send the body flailing, backwards and into the table which skidded backwards until it broke underneath the impact, legs catching upon unruly paving and snapping harshly.

All was still, a few moments only had passed and she stepped back, weapons across forearms and breathing heavily at the exertion as air sought to be replaced. Two were left for definite now within, she didn’t know whether Fallon had dealt with the third but she had heard the thud, the scream of pain and assumed it was done. Grinding of steel as it was unleashed called to her, rising the mists of combat to a fever pitch. She was ready to snap the chains and take a leaf out of the other woman’s book.

“Kill them, all of them but him. Time for it to come out and play m’dear. Front or back?” she growled back, there was no need to say which it was meant.

[Fallon]

Zandelia responded as planned, if not in a slightly bloody fashion. There was a gurgle in the background, her mind rapidly turning over as she spurred the mind of combat. The air was alive with death, the hungry eyes staring intently at the guards. It gave a rumble, the pulse and adrenal rising up within as a mighty roar. Rising up onto her toes she made the advance, the off astral hand striking out against the guard with a rattle of steel. The fingers flexed, her form standing side on as she threw herself at him.

It came as a dance, a collection of rehearsed steps playing out. The tulwar came round hilt rising up to the jaw, the inner curve pressing against her left shoulder as she barged properly into him. There was a wrestle of steel, feet digging in as pushed the blade in. A struggle, a grunting shout as he pushed back and forced the backing off. The astral held tulwar came racing round at that point, a firm thrust of the tip into the opening received from deflecting. A gurgle, a cringe of the face as the tip became locked and stuck within the flesh. Her eyes turned the right hand whipping round as the second begun to close in. Speed was of the essence, the right arm swinging round as she was cracked back by whatever he had grabbed hold of. She could hear the orders of Zandelia in the background, the snarling snap of a twisted anger and rage rushing to the surface. A wild fire that had hot oil thrown upon it, consuming and destroying it, "Whatever floats your boat."

There was a crunch as she brought the round pommel of the tulwar forward and met the gut, her leg rising up to push him back and away. Not that it did her much good - his own sword screeched across the leather armour and the mercenary was forced into backing off. Adrenal pulsed, the mind turning into that of tactics and ideas twisting within. Feet snapped back and together, a pivot round so she stood side on.

It was perhaps only now that the seasons of training as a squire blared in her mind. Swifter, faster, stronger and better. To strain oneself and reach what was necessary to do. She arched back, tulwar tip wavering as she took him in, the ethereal hand wavering about. The father needed to be alive, which lead to the question of where exactly he was in regards to things.

With the left foot backing away, the tips grinding at each other as she pivoted. The astral hand fumbled, releasing the tulwar that was refusing to budge. It gave a flex, shooting out to something, somewhere, anyone to snag within her grasp. Her form gave a duck as the blade sliced over head, her teeth gritting as the hot breath whistled out. Fire burned, the chains of restraint beginning to snap. A diagonal slash leading upwards, a firm carve through the torso. Blood gave a spray, thick and heavy as she threw herself once more into it.

Fingers slicked, the red haze marring her vision as she blinked. She needed to be faster, cunning and full of force. And whatever Zandelia was doing needed to be taken into consideration. Her head turned, eyes blinking away the red that stuck the shifting shadows and shapes dancing before her. The father was still about somewhere, moving stepping, a bear among the animals. She felt the astral strain in response, the weight of it beginning to niggle at her mind. The black hair blurred somewhere in the room, the red sheen blinking away. The astral shot forward towards him, fingers snagging and snaring at the flesh. Grab, hold and fix into place - prevent escape no matter what.

Raising her arm to rub at her eyes she smeared the blood away and hissed, "Petching blood."

[Zandelia]

Chaos bubbled around the lone duo of would-be attackers, reflecting their inner moods she was sure though she could only speak for herself as the wrath burned within, small sparks catching at kindling which had been drying for nigh on a decade now and setting it aflame all too easily. Surprise was seeping away now, the first few moments of combat giving them the advantage required now beginning to reach its apex and begin the slow journey back towards normality. Three were down she thought, leaving three within and three without. A third of the task completed but gruellingly far from being finished. The clash of battle from behind her reached through the haze, breaking impasse of thought and unshackling her completely – Fallon was in danger!

Two threats, behind and in front. Priority? Distract others, get partner out of danger. Fight together the thoughts flashed through her mind like lightning, sparking and then dying away to leave the sear of a plan, or as much of a plan as she could cobble together between the adrenaline and fear.

She stepped forwards quickly, feet flowing smoothly and muscles bunching as she put into action the first part of what was required. She needed to buy some time and that meant incapacitating or otherwise crippling the two who were only just registering what had happened and were still sitting, for a short while at least. She found herself glad for her actions outside now, foolish as they had been at least one exterior guard would be limping and juddering from the waist down. She picked the one on the left first, running forwards to plant a quick kick to send him backwards as he was drawing his weapon and send him sprawling but still capable of fighting back once recovered – time was too short for anything more. The one on the right pulled their daggers and rose up to their feet, she was quick and roared at her as she drove both blades towards her in an attempt at a quick kill.

Too quick she had had reacted and Zandelia pivoted her body as she brought her right arm down tonfa first to push the forearms to the side. A searing pain cut across her ribs as flesh was sliced but how deep she didn’t know. She only felt the warm blossoming of blood wetting the already ravage shirt as she brought her left arm around to slam its own weapon into the forearms along with her right – she pushed using the momentum to spin the girl sideways enough to expose her hip. She shoved her away and her right boot followed, pushing the small of the other’s back as hard as she could as she sent her opponent stumbling and rolling towards the back door with a snarl.

Done. Time bought. Fallon. Where is Fallon? My father! she turned her head, gaze searching to see that Fallon had dealt with her own guard but had lost a weapon in the process. She was stumbling and her father was stepping around her, sword pulled and blade rising in the air.

“Noooo!” she screamed as feet shuffled, legs rearranged and time slowed.

The blade was reaching its apex, her breathing laboured already now being pushed towards true difficulty as footfalls became faint and everything dulled at the prospect of the other woman’s death. There was no time left for fanciful weaponry, nothing more than sheer brutality coursed through her as the blood pumped through her ears and her pulse – quick and strong – became the only music she could hear. As the blade became to still, just before the final fall he paused and was shaken – as if something had gripped him. A frown plastered his face as he tried to shake his leg free and with a shout the blade plunged downwards. It didn’t meet its intended target as Zandelia’s shoulder smashed into him and upon one leg he had no chance. She flew backwards and even as his blade sliced through her left shoulder as he turned to lash out rotting wood greeted him as he smashed through the already weak walls of his ‘office’ and debris flew through the air.

“Get up Fallon, get the petch up. You aren’t dying today. Not before me” she growled as she turned to face the rest of the room.

The front door burst open hard enough to rattle loose the hinges and she flicked her tonfa outwards so that they extended a good foot away from her hands as she pointed the diagonally towards the floor either side of her. Blood seeped from both wounds and pattered to the floor. She doubted that she would bleed out but every passing second would weakened her and pain blossomed every time she moved. Her only saving grace was that she still had Fallon and her abilities.

At least the one she had kicked over towards the back door didn’t seem to be getting up yet, though the one pushed into the fractured wood of the table and his companion guard seemed to be recovering and trying to scramble out to join the two whom had entered the room now – new combatants. Her gaze took them all in, refusing the break and look at how badly Fallon might be injured. If she did she knew they were both dead as she would be blindsided.

“What in the Hai….you! Put your weapons down bitch! Your friend can’t help you now. Look at her”

“Come and get them” she hissed.

[Fallon]

She heard the scream, the voice of Zandelia upon the air and the crunch of bodies upon surfaces. Her grip around the tulwar hilt hardened, her form spinning around as she blinked the colour away. Steel glinted in the light, her eyes widening as she realised how close the gap had been closed so quickly. The tulwar arched back, and then came skittering round as the sword of the father reached its peak. Too slow, too held up in the moment as the bellowing shout caught her face. The astral snagged up, teeth clenching as the discomfort. It slipped, weakening as he continued to press forth and quickly it continued.

The ethereal broke away, the forcing of a body between her and him sending her tumbling backwards. There was a crunch upon the floor, knuckles striking the ground as the ghostly hand trembled back into her skin. Her djed trembled, hungry and craving as the limb forced its reattachment. Eyes looked up to see the other woman stepped in to be a shield. The numb hand twitched, her mouth opening with laboured breaths as she stared. Shaking, the hand pressed against the floor, teeth snapping shut into a grimace and her brow meeting into a frown.

Rage. That was what grew within. A single drop caused the blooming of something within. Her astral trembled and ached - a cry as it pinched and tensed within the air. The hand clenched down around the tulwar, the low husky growl reaching up from within. She needed her other tulwar, to draw upon the steel blade and slice down whatever had come between her and the woman. And more importantly, to destroy whoever had hurt her. She felt the chain tremble, the inner beast clawing its way up. But something else rested alongside it, stronger and definite in its wake.

Toes came up beneath her, eyes flickering down onto the blooded hand. It called, it cried, it consumed. The finger tips brushed down from her lips, two streaks being left upon the pale skin. A gasp, a snap into a snarl as she came up onto her feet. A fire, a heat, a burning within her gaze. A blinding passion consuming. Eyes stared at the guards that stood their ground. A rumble, the vibrating sound within the back of her throat. There was a step forward, the wolfish look of a wilding smothering into her face.

Fingers flexed around the tulwar, the standoff between Zandelia and the others. Words were exchanged, a hissing snap as the pair stood their ground. Soon. Soon. Eyes flickered to the other tulwar, the fingers of her recovering hand slowly flexing. She prowled, her eyes shifting to the father. Those eyes weighed him up once more, differently this time. A warrior to a warrior, a fighter to a fighter. It was far from the look of a mercenary, and far from any other sword sellers. It was strong, firm, as if the whole world was laid out before her. And whilst the element of wildness still existed there, no longer was it marred behind those walls.

Enough, was enough. Like this they were weak. Zandelia was hurt, the blood that fell made it all the more apparent. And so, it was such that her heart forced her to act in such a fashion - with a distinct bitterness that she could possibly not keep to the promises she once made.

"Bear," she spoke in a husky growl, "This wolf will make a deal with you." Her right hand extended out, the tip of the tulwar raising to point to him. There was movement as one of the guards shifted, an angry change as he fell for Zandelia's taunt. A quick step, tulwar whipping round and poised to strike as he approached. Although having one had ethereal had its advantages - so did having two hands in the flesh. Weak as it was, the left hand came up behind the disk pommel, force travelling through the arms into a direct thrust. She continued to press, a levering as she closed the gap between her and the attacker.

"There can be no more of this," she spoke without hesitation, her shoulder pressing against the guard as she gripped and slid the blade free. Her gaze only looked to Zandelia for a moment, and then firmly stepped away, "It can just be you and me Bear. No one else," the eyes turned to take the guards into her gaze. There was a step round to the other tulwar, quick and light as she hovered over the body it protruded from. With a grasp of the other hand, she forced the fingers to curl around it and tighten. Slow, sluggish, but worth it. She poured in her focus, gripping it with a foot upon the chest. A crunch followed by a gurgle, as it was slid free. It was hard work for a hand that barely had feeling in it. Eyes shot up to the father, the wolfish grin sprouting upon her face, "No one else at all. Just you and me. A final blaze of glory."

It would protect Zandelia, was her logic. It would keep her out of harm's way and further damage. Her heart gave a twist, straining as she focused. This was for her, to give her opportunity and allow her to fight another day - and it was a price Fallon was willing to pay.

"What say you, Bear?"