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Post by Verdana on Nov 23, 2010 10:24:02 GMT -5
It's early evening, but it looks far darker because of the rain. It's been bucketing down all day, but now it's tapered off to a miserable, gloomy drizzle. Unusually for this time of day, the streets are empty. The only motion is the pattering of sad droplets on the cobblestones. Except for one black-clothed shape, one that could be a shadow or some other sort of miasma, and is enough to give pause for thought. After all, no one in their right minds would be at the bar on an evening like this.
Of course, Bree's sanity has always been a little questionable.
She passes under the sad slab of roof in front of the bar, heavy droplets splashing against her hooded head. She passes through the doorway, from the darkness and silence to the light, noise and fug of the Tankards. Voices stop as they observe the intruder. At this time, and in this weather, the only clients that would stop here are the shadier ones. They observe Bree in silence, their faces veiled. She throws back her hood, her own face a mask. Slowly, one conversation resumes, then another. Soon, it's as if she'd never been there.
Bree heads to an empty table. Her eyes never stop scanning the room. She's on a job. These days, she's always on a job. Work never ceases for her. She's got more successful kills on her record than any other assassin her age. Bree is ambitious. She wants to be the best. Anything less isn't worth mention. And she will be the best. She's got the skill to go with her ambition. She hasn't had an injury on the job. Except... Except... Her eyes glaze briefly as she stands by her chair, her mouth pursing in a sour memory. In an instant, it's gone, and she takes a seat.
Her head traces the motions of the patron, backwards and forwards in seemingly random pattern. It's not as random as it seems, however. She's found her target, a large, portly man who had recently made some powerful people very angry. Bree feels only scorn for him. She knows as well as anyone how unwise it is to get involved in underworld politics.
Her clothes steaming, she's content to watch alone, ordering a pint of ale as she sits. This is going to be a long haul. She might as well get comfortable.
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Post by Channeh on Nov 23, 2010 11:07:31 GMT -5
What a horrid evening. Blowing rain off the tip of my nose, I sit miserably in the corner of a shaded alleyway. The caravan was still in town, why I had no idea, there was no one to scam out of cash or valuables. All the intelligent ones were barred up in the houses and taverns. Hmm, taverns, a drink sounded good right now, maybe something nice and warm. Scrounging in my pockets, I find enough to pay for my future drink and walk towards the nearest bar. It wasn't that crowded, good, didn't feel like dealing with too much humanity right now in the first place. Shirt is plastered to my torso as I open the doors and walk in. Shaking my head slightly like a dog, the bartender is found and I order myself a tankard of spiced mead before sitting at a nearby empty table. Soon, my drink is brought to me and I sip it contentedly before noticing the figure at the adjoining table. Hmm, pretty little thing she was. Now what was she doing out in the cold night like this all by herself? Judging by the look on her face, I kinda didn't want to know...
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Post by Verdana on Nov 23, 2010 11:28:24 GMT -5
The door blows open when Bree's halfway through her first pint of many. She's built up a phenomenal tolerance to alcohol. She can down five pints in a night without breaking a sweat. Sure, she opens up a little, gets a little chatty, but she doesn't get drunk. No, not at all. Hangovers, now those are a problem. If she could just get rid of those, then she'd be scot free. Nonetheless, she's good with ale. It's not as if she can abstain. That would make it too obvious. As it is, she can see her target getting a little twitchy. She needs to be careful, make it less obvious. A young man sits down at an adjoining table. Bree glances at him through a sheet of hair, the look surreptitious and barely noticeable. He's an attractive chap. Good hair, if a little wet. And that's all that she decides to thinks about him, except to notice that he has a faintly doggy smell about him. She keeps an eye on her target. He's getting confused, glancing around. Does he know? That would completely blow it. He doesn't seem to be looking at her exactly. Just around. She'd better do something.
Then he moves. The bastard up and moves. Bree curses in her head. Now he's across the room from her, which would be fine except that her view is blocked. By blondie. Bree's lips purse. If she were just in a slightly different position, this wouldn't be a problem. But she's blocked. He could do anything while she's sitting here helplessly! In an instant, she knows what she has to do. For the sake of the job. For the sake of her reputation.
Bree looks up, around, then her eyes alight on blondie. Her face lights up, her eyes glow. Forsaking her now-empty tankard of the bar's best, she hurries over to the adjoining table. Hey there! she says brightly, as if seeing an old friend. I've been waiting forever! How's this weather, huh? She walks over to kiss him on the cheek. As her lips press against his face, she whispers, barely a breath, Play along, or I swear this knife is slipping between your ribs. Still smiling, she draws away, placing her knife back in her waistband in a smooth and subtle movement.
She sits down opposite from him, where the view of her target is unblocked. She doesn't look at him though, instead focusing on blondie. If he starts to panic, she makes good of her threat and finishes her job. Of course, if he complies, she can have some nice conversation before doing the exact same thing.
Either way suits her just fine.
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Post by Channeh on Nov 23, 2010 11:40:08 GMT -5
Well well well, my luck was changing. A grin was given as I lean in as if to kiss her cheek, the same she did with me, Don't worry sweetheart, if it's tubby you're after you could've just told me instead of threatening to slip yon blade between my ribs. I keep secrets quite well... It was said rather fast as to not look odd that I was holding my lips to her cheek for so long. I pull back nonchalantly and tip back in my chair to sip the drink before replying conversely to her, Sorry to have kept you waiting, blasted rain... I drain the rest of my tankard and order another. Waiting for the new drink to show up, I lean back down onto the table which inadvertently gave her an unobvious perfect shot at her assumed target. So how have you been m'dear? T'is been awhile since I saw you last... I was playing a dangerous game by letting her know I knew what she was up to but hey, life wasn't any fun without some kind of risk now was it?
OOC- no stabbing XD
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Post by Verdana on Nov 23, 2010 11:59:06 GMT -5
Of all the... The slimy little... Urgh! Jerk thinks he's so smart, dropping obvious hints about her job. Thinks he's so cool because he's intruded in her private world. Why, if she wasn't working, she'd take him outside and gut him like the greasy eel he is. Luckily for him, though, she is a professional. Her face doesn't even flicker. She does, however, give him a coy smile that means that he should watch his step or she'd make good of her threat more quickly. Sweetheart? Huh! How dare he? It's not as if he even has any street cred to his name! Who does he think he is?
Nameless Blonde plays the game well. He's obviously a Nimble, but not from these parts. Bree doesn't recognise him, and she prides herself on knowing every face of every possible ally, threat or competition, and putting a name to those sleazy faces. She's certain that he isn't one of them. She'd know. She leans back a little to scrutinise him, lowering her lids to give herself a slightly tipsy, sultry look. Oh I know, she agrees, hailing a waitress while sneaking another glance at 'tubby'. I didn't think you were going to turn up, it's pouring so bad! She giggles to herself, a cooing noise. Her ale arrives, and she takes a swig disproportionately large for her delicate features and build.
He leans forward, and she does too, taking his hands. Secret lovers, caught up in the excitement of their own duplicity. That's what she's going for. They'll look distracted, and then when Tubby makes his move, she'll make hers. It's ideal. She needs to give him a name, because she can't just keep skirting around it. It doesn't have to be his real name. it just has to be something to work with. I've missed you, Pedro, she whispers, batting her eyelashes. It's so dreadfully lonely, and Daddy just won't relent. I'm working on him, Peds. Don't you worry. She gives him a slightly drunken wink while copping a glance at her plump victim. He's still a little antsy, but he's settled down. Five more minutes, she tells herself. Five more minutes of this inane chatter, then she'll go over and have done with it. She just needs to be patient.
Unfortunately, patience isn't one of her strong points.
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Post by Channeh on Nov 23, 2010 12:19:44 GMT -5
I almost give into the urge to start laughing at the name she's given me but I don't and instead, play along with her lovers masquerade. I just wish he would accept that we're together and be done with it, I don't think I could ever live without you for too much longer... A sad look is dragged into my eyes as if I really was despairing for my love while inside I was bursting at the seams from laughter. My refill gets there and I take my hands away from hers for only a moment to swig down the larger part of it before grasping them gently once more. I then decide to get revenge of my own with the whole name thing, Oh Kitty, why can't your father accept our love? I mean, it's not like I haven't been my polietest around him. Oh the stubborn old goat! I give an exasperated sigh as if i was fed up with her "father" and this whole situation. Thumbs unconciously run over her fingers, wow her hands were soft. Biting my tounge from saying anything stupid, emeralds flick around the room casually before landing back on her mask of a face.
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Post by Verdana on Nov 24, 2010 8:47:29 GMT -5
I lost my post. Urgh. Will try to get it done again now.
The boy thinks this is all great fun. Thinks it is a joke. Thinks this is all just a way to keep him entertained. Huh. She bets he's never had to work for his life before. Foolish boy. But she won't hold it against him this time. He's been behaving well, all things considered, and besides, she can't afford to blow her cover by dishing out a little discipline. She can take his jokes. Up until a point. She does not appreciate the name he's found for her. Not one bit. Kitty? Really? Her eyes flash in displeasure, but otherwise she shows no sign of her contempt. The sharp kick she administers under the table is a complete accident.
She looks, apparently mournfully into the distance, but really at her mark. Yes, yes, yes... He's perfect, his position is perfect, his attitude... In just a second, she'll be able to get him. She starts to sway a little, playing up her drunkenness for a quick escape. She pulls to shift her position, only to find herself caught. 'Pedro' is holding her hands. Now, even though this is a serious breach of Bree's personal space rules, she doesn't let it get to her. Much. Urgh, imagine all the nasty things crawling on his hands... She withdraws one of her appendages as a hint for him to let go. Her expression soft, she touches his face. But when she looks back at Tubby, he's found a friend.
She nearly groans in dismay. Missed it! And it's all 'Pedro's' fault. She continues to watch. Something's not quite right here. The fat one's having a very animated conversation. He's getting scared. That's not good. Then, abruptly, her target stands up, and heads for the door. Bree knows she'll miss her chance if she lingers. She lets her facial expression chance. She's always very pale, and a slight downturn of her lips alone makes her look ghastly. She hiccups once, then stands up, swaying. 'Scuse me, she mutters, staggering towards the door in an apparent desire to get some 'fresh air'.
Or not. Fat one slips out of the door, but this doesn't worry Bree unduly. She'll catch him up. Her path is clear. It's all going well. And then a burly man stands up, and blocks the door with his considerable girth. Bree skitters to a halt, apparent nausea gone. One glance around the bar confirms her suspicions. Fat Guy was warned. And he brought friends. She backs up steadily towards 'Pedro'. He's all but lost her use to her. The least he can do is to share some of the attention. She whispers almost silently in the almost silent bar: Follow me only if you can keep up.
Then, in a blur of motion, she leaps, a spray of armed limbs that smack, slash and dismember, and she's off, black streak, in pursuit of her mark.
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Post by Channeh on Nov 29, 2010 11:44:15 GMT -5
I let her hands go as she pulls back and once she stands seemingly drunk, I knew something was up. Standing as if I was concerned, I watch her as she rushes the door and then I catch her whisper before she bolts off. Doing the same thing myself, I dash off after her and catch up with the fleeting little figure pretty quickly. I pull off a slight wink at her as we run after her target, I can keep up just fine lassie... Pursing my lips and blowing a slight kiss at her, I overtake her pace by a good two feet before slowing down and letting her catch up with me once more. Now I know you have quite the reputation and have that "I must be the best" thing going for you but would you like some help seeing as your plan was compromised by yours truly? I wasn't bragging about it, merely trying to help fix what I had messed up. Hopefully she saw that else I was one dead puppy. Speaking of puppy, once we get into a mass of trees away from the crowds, I rapidly shift into my alternate form at a run, a good trait I learned ages back. Kicking up dirt and debris with my now padded feet, I leave the clothes I was wearing in shreds behind us as deadly talons dig into the ground we ran on. I could do more damage in this form, unless I had a weapon in my possession which, at the moment, I didn't, hence why I shifted. Throwing a wolfy grin at the girl next to me, I continue running on next to her not one pant coming from my closed and determined mouth.
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Post by Verdana on Nov 30, 2010 5:05:00 GMT -5
A good runner knows that running is not simply the act of putting one foot in front of the other very fast to get where you need to go. Running is an art. To run well, you need to calculate every possible variable, from terrain to distance to possible obstacles. Then you must suit yourself accordingly. It's not something that can be taught. You're either born with it, and thrive, or you're not, and you don't. Bree is one of the people who was born to run. As she dashes through the maze of pathways, eyes keen, her body takes care of all the necessaary adjustments. When Bree runs, she's hard to catch. Which isn't to say that it's impossible, as Pedro proves by running up beside her.
Bree can't quite decide if she's disappointed or pleased that he caught up. She pushes any emotions to the side, however. She's on a job. She is strictly professional. Her goal is to get her man as soon as possible, and then get out of this dampness before it kills her. As she thinks this, the rain begins in earnest, pattering hard on her exposed head. She curses, and pulls her hood up, but it keeps getting dislodged by her furious pace. Great, she thinks gloomily. Just great. She glares at the male as he blows a kiss, but saves her breath for running. However, her look makes it quite clear that he either keeps quiet or she stabs him in the throat. She also restrains herself from rising to his bait and running after her. She's on a job. She can't afford to make mistakes.
Then, of course, he goes too far. Bree's pace doesn't falter, but a lesser person's would. Her cheeks redden with fury at his suggestion, and her eyes practically fizzle. You... I... Yah... Gah! she sputters indignantly. This wouldn't be such a problem if she didn't want his help. Fatso had something up his sleeve. Who knows what else he had planned? Pedro had recognised his fault, and he wasn't ideal, but... Bree tells herself that she doesn't need him. It gets a little harder once he shifts. Werewolves have phenomenal senses of smell. He could track the fat guy down a lot faster than Bree could on her own. Sure, she'd find him eventually. But...
Curling her lip as if she'd tasted something bitter (and indeed, the words she was about to speak tasted worse than the nastiest concoction) she says, as if allowing a great gift, Track him down. But don't touch him. Not at all. He's my mark. I have to do the job. The cold rain runs down the back of her neck, making the hairs there stand up, which makes her tense. The sooner she can get this ill-fated job done, the better.
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Post by Channeh on Nov 30, 2010 9:17:35 GMT -5
OOC- "blasted bloody, werewolf, go fetch!" XD also Bree's expression, is epic at the moment I do believe...{what's playing in my mind}
I have my orders and I'm off like a flash. Tearing at the rain sodden ground, I let my nose guide me to find the big boy. Pretty soon, we end up not in the forest, but in an alley of some sorts and finally a building. It was dark, rundown and stank of mold and mildew but that didn't stop me from finding that one particular scent I was after. No noise is pulled from me as I walk slowly in the darkness finding my...errr...her, quarry. As my eyes flick around, I see everything, another gift of being one of my species. The only way out was the door we had come through, good. He's rustling around, something's up, but he doesn't sense me, even better. Then wait, there's more? Yea, something wasn't right here, at all. Padding silently out of the structure. I sit at the door to wait for the assassin like a good little muttboy. Now, where was she was the question? The movement inside the building gets closer as if he was going to walk out the door but then, thankfully, it goes away. No windows were seen on the building so he couldn't just peer out and see me which was another bonus. My inner nature screamed at me to take him out but my brain told my bloodthirsty self to be patient and that this wasn't technically my hunt and the fact that since tubby was technically her only target, I could get a shot at the others inside. My inner self prowling, I wait for her to show up before picking up a paw to halt her. Once she stopped, eyes blazing, I scratched the mud to say four more inside. with tubby, five. No sounds are detected from inside and a feeling of almost anticipation mixed with dread fills me. Something was really wrong here...
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Post by Verdana on Nov 30, 2010 10:02:57 GMT -5
[Ooc: It is indeed. If I could draw it for you, I would.]
One of the advantages of werewolves: They are really just dogs that understand speech. Bree wouldn't say 'smart' dogs, because they can be phenomenally dim when, for example, they see a squirrel. Or another dog. So, just dogs. That means that they're loyal, determined, willing to please (these are, of course, all generalisations except for the next one) and have that sense of smell that is so prized amongst the criminal community. With a werewolf on your side, you can track anything. They're useful, but they do have their downfalls. Like their lack of control, or their instinct-governed natures. It's hard to know whether they're detrimental or useful to a job.
This particular golden werewolf is off like a shot once he's gotten his command. Bree stays in hearing distance of him, losing sight of him occasionally but always knowing where he is. He's got the scent. She knows it as well as she knows anything. He's got the scent, and soon she'll have her mark and will be able to get into the warmth of her small home, run herself a bath and purge the shivers from her body. They race through streets, alleys, over a cart at one point, and Bree's pace never changes. She never misses a stride, never gets out of breath. She is Bree, and Bree is powerful.
Their tracking ends at an apparently-abandoned building. Of course it does. It always is. Bree's some way behind her tracker dog, but her breathing is easy and she is quite ready to make the kill whenever she needs to. She pushes the wet hair back from her face, a neutral expression recaptured after the rain had successfully dampened some of the fire in her. She hangs back even without the wolf telling her to. It's not a nice situation. If she could avoid it, she would. Only one entrance. So easy to corner someone. And it's not just her quarry. They have company. The wolf confirms that there are four of them besides the fat one. Bree nods to herself. Of course. Something leaked. He's waiting.
She pauses, letting the rain smother the noise of their approach. Letting the creatures inside lose their perception. Then her shoulders set, and she utters in a hushed monotone, Guard the doors. With that, blades spring into her hands, and in she goes, her eyes set on the route to her pay check and reputation, her body ready to take out anyone that stands in her way. Her pace is quick but level, prepared, sly, darting, attacking rather than defensive.
Only... Only no one meets her attack. The room is silent, motionless. Bree straightens a little, looking around for any trace of her opponents. And then the first one strikes.
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Post by Channeh on Dec 1, 2010 12:01:06 GMT -5
She comes up weapons blazing and nods at my assessment. Tiptoeing through the door she gives me another order which I follow to the tee. Standing in defense mode at the only entrance and exit, hackles bristle as the sound of combat reaches my sensitive ears. Then one rushes me and I quickly dispatch him with a swift rake of the paw to the knees. He goes down and I quickly leap on his chest and start clawing and biting any flesh that was presented to me. I was not without injury though. He punches me a few times in the ribs and in the face, particularly concentrating on my muzzle. It hurt but I didn't show it, merely gouging all I could until there was nothing but a bloody heap left. Wanting to go and help the girl find her target, I whine and pace frantically by the door. I was fighting with myself, go help her and risk them escaping or stay put like I was told and be held back from the action? Resolving myself, I put the mission first and stay where I am, it isn't long before another person tries to run out the door and sees me blocking their way. Fear shines in his eyes as he backs up slowly. As he backs up, I advance and a scary sight I was. Golden fur matted with blood, eyes flashing, my larynx growling and hackles raised, it wasn't a wonder that he backed up. He finally gets smart and pulls a gun at which point I leap at him just as it goes off. It misses my head by inches and instead of falling on him dead, I fall on him and start to tear him apart...
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Post by Verdana on Dec 1, 2010 12:20:09 GMT -5
This is what I live for. This is what I was born to do. I discovered my talent for fighting in the schoolyard. I never wanted to go to school, but my father forced me. He wanted me to achieve more than he had. I was far more interested in helping get a meal on the table, but he insisted. So for seven hours a day, I'd turn up to the Knights' School with the other local riffraff and learn to read. Huh. I was reading before I was four. All that school achieved was to make me bored and give me an inbred hatred for the Knights.
And, as I was saying, it taught me to fight. I was that pale, small, weak little girl. You know the one. It's either a boy or a girl, but they're the weakest and scrawniest of the lot and so become easy picking for every other kid. At the local school, it didn't matter if I was a girl or not. They beat me without fear of punishment whenever the Knights couldn't see, because I was sniffling and quiet and didn't fight back. I was easy pickings. Lowest of the low. And it would have remained that way if I hadn't defied common sense one day. I committed the ultimate bully-bait faux pas. I let my temper get the better of me. For other children, this made for even more vicious mockery. For me, it ended in the bully sprawled on the ground with a bleeding nose and a concussion. The break detention I got from the Knights was worth it. I'd figured out I was fast, strong and unrelenting. It only grew from there.
And now I'm here, in the company of several nasty characters with those new things, those horrible gun things. I can't stand them. They stink and make a tremendous noise. Not subtle at all. I take out the first man as he comes at me, using his own momentum to toss him over my shoulders. I kick his throat sharply as he struggles up, breaking his neck. One's run. Two more to go. I look around and the other one comes at me from my left, gun raised. I growl, and lash out, grabbing his wrist and twisting viciously. He yells, but his grip on the gun doesn't falter. He shoots, I dive to the side still holding tight. I see the damage done to the wall, and my eyes widen. Maybe I should invest in one of these things after all. With my free hand, I punch swiftly and powerfully, catching him in the ribs. I hear a snap, and throw him to the ground with precise calculation. The snapped rib drives into his lung. He gurgles, and blood froths out of his mouth. He'll be dead in a couple minutes. No concern to me.
I look around for the last one, but he made a run for the door. Pedro's busy snacking on him. Good. That's that done. Now, I say out loud, rolling my neck. Come on out, Mavori. I'm sure we can work something out.
Yeah. And I'm a ballerina in my spare time, too.
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Post by Channeh on Dec 15, 2010 8:53:04 GMT -5
As the gun goes off, I wince as the sound hits my sensitive ears and wrinkle my nose at the smell it gave off. Nasty. Sneezing unbefitting for the situation, I shake my head once and focus, no more came my way, there was only tubby, AKA- Mavori as I was soon let on, left and Bree was going after him already. Staying out of it like I promised, I remember what she said I could do, track his scent but not touch him. Keeping a constant eye on the door and not moving far from it, I tilt my nose in the air and the molecules come together to give me his stench. It was coming from behind a fixture in the floor and coming up to her so she could see me, I swing my head to the direction of the mark and back up slightly just in case he made a run for the door. I was only forty paces from it but that could be covered at a flat out sprint in three. Needless to say, I would get there before he did, if Bree didn't kill him first.
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Post by Verdana on Dec 16, 2010 9:43:55 GMT -5
The werewolf wisely stays behind. This is good. Bree likes to finish her jobs on her own. If he had gotten in the way, she'd have cause to get annoyed. No one wants that. And in a moment, the job will be done. If she can find Mavori. Pedro sniffs behind her. She turns to him. She doesn't ask anything with her body or face. That would be like admitting defeat, and she's nowhere near defeated. But he's not stupid. He points to something big and bulky. It's dark, so she doesn't know what it is. Some fixture in the floor, she guesses. So Mr. Mavori's smarter than he looks. Good hiding place. Inobvious. She gives a quick nod to Pedro, and makes her way soundlessly to her target, her hand on her knife.
She begins to trot, to run, and by the time she's near the fixture she's nearly sprinting. However, she's made an assumption, and that's stupid. She's assumed that the man would have complete faith in his protectors. She'd assumed wrong. He's waiting for her, and he's leaning a little to the side, so as she turns the corner he gets into her blind spot and slices up with the knife.
She's lucky. She's very lucky. He's had a crash course in fistfights, but knows very little. If he'd known more, she'd have that pretty knife in her throat. As it is, the slice goes wide, the tip catching the bridge of her nose in a diagonal line. She hisses in surprise and fury, instantly alert. He's angry too. She darts away, keeping him in her sights. It's dark, but her night vision's better than his. He's a shadow on the backdrop of shadows, but she can find him if he moves. And he's a fool. He moves almost constantly. She's got him now, and she'll make sure he'll pay.
The last attack is ridiculously quick and easy. She waits for him to present himself nicely, and she dives, knife in hand. She pins him with a grunt, her own blood dripping into her mouth, and begins to add her signature to her soon-to-be kill. First she hamstrings him, then she cuts the side of his mouth open to the jaw, giving him a half-grimace that would make a gargoyle proud. Then she adds some marks that will only mean something to those who are looking for them. This is all done to a background of shrieks and pleas. Then, to finish him off, she cuts out his vocal chords and stabs his left temple. There. A work of art. Unmistakable.
She stands again, wiping off her knife and then she swears. She looks around for Pedro. He's witnessed. He's seen. Now how does she deal with him?
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