Past Erased IV - Safe House Slaugher [Fallon]

[Zandelia]

44th Spring, 514 AV - The Tent City


The options were over, there lay only one path before her now no matter what she tried to do to convince herself it was a foolish one to walk down. She didn’t enjoy killing like some, she did it for her own reasons of course but she had never through that is was murder. She had never killed for her own pleasure before this season, before the Spring winds had brought her into the harbour of Sunberth with Fallon and the promise of change…transformation. The other woman had certainly fulfilled her promise but perhaps not in the way originally envisioned. She had taken a battered spy and given her a purpose and she loved her for that. The issue was that she couldn’t focus on that purpose until her own were resolved.

One way or another…it ends tonight. If I live I get Fallon, if not then I die. She dies possibly. I cannot allow that to happen. I have involved her already but this…this is deadly. I’m not even sure I should ask her she thought to herself as she sat in her tent in silence.

For all the turmoil that she had suffered over the past score of days she was now serene, calm and collected. She had sold her body for this moment, had bloodied her hands, traded in every favour and allowed herself to stoop to anything. In a handful of days she had learnt more about the darkness of her world than she had liked to know. When she had had the Edge to do other jobs for her she had relied upon only being a spy but now…alone…she was trying to be everything. And nothing. She was erasing her past for all time, the majority of it would only be left within her own skull and the whispers of rumour.

“Is this how Robern did it? Did he sit down one day and coldly calculate the elimination of his weaknesses? Of his enemies?” she asked the silence quietly, it was a foolish question – of course hi did. He climbed to the top of this rubble on the backs of the dead.

Her own ambitions were not so iconic o=for now, she just wanted revenge – purest of all motivations it had been said by some. She sifted through the diagrams before her, roughly sketched by her own hand by her own observations – with the help of a few key others of course whom would never know truly why she had asked them to do what they did. One was a rough floor plan that she had managed to cobble together and another was a replica but with notations of guards that were left and their numbers and possible positions. She had also noted down key ‘choke points’ that would be useful in a stand up assault for both attackers and defenders. She gathered them in her hands and considered her position carefully.

I need help but I don’t want to lose something important along the way. Unless you count my heart but I can live with that. Should I ask her? She would help me I think, she understands. But dare I involve her? She’ll learn more than she may want to know about me. She’ll be inside with no way of getting her out, even if I wanted to? And her own cost…what could she lose? she sighed, turning it into a growl at the end.

There was no room for sentiment, only for a dagger to Markus Sansom’s face. She couldn’t have doubts, she would not be allowed to be anything other than ruthless. Otherwise she was dead before she began. The consequences could be dealt with alter if she survived and so with that resolution and the hardening of her interior as far as she could harden it she made her may between the flaps of her tent and approached the flaps of Fallon’s – even them she licked her lips in apprehension before she slapped the canvas thrice.

“F-…Bitzer,” she called gently, almost hoping there would be no answer and her decision would be made for her, “are you there? I think…I think I need your help one more time. It’s the end” she spoke softly, quietly.

Please don’t be there. Please. I’d rather do it alone than get you killed she told herself, struggling with herself to try and force a cold composure within.

[Fallon]

It was with a deep inhale that Fallon begun her focusing. She had barely gotten back from a job – a blooded one at that – and had simply taken to settling herself reach those lower layers of control. Her hand was still shaking, the rough edges of adrenal still caressing her form. There was a clatter, the placing of stained blades upon the tent floor as she carefully stepped round. The lantern was set a glow, the odd shapes stretched out and across. But that was not the concern right now.

Gingerly she sat herself down, her legs crossed as she sucked in the air. The stench of death surrounded her, the blood smear having streaked itself across her face and the husky growl trembling at the back of her throat. She needed to find a state of control. To keep the intensity under wraps. Discipline, understanding, to chain up the monster that trembled beneath her very skin. Her legs crossed, her blades slowly being pulled and placed before her. The offhand tulwar was the one furthest away, followed by the main tulwar and finally the kukri. A gloved finger traced along the edges of them, the congealed smear dragging itself across the sheen.

So much. Too much. But that was the nature of Sunberth now. How many had reached their end upon her blade? How many more would come by her hand. If not only as a mercenary then as the leading head of the Scars? Her brow creased into a line, the stained gloves falling upon her knees. Air was sucked in, slow and steady. The chest rose and sunk, the cool air rolling down into her lungs and calming that inner tremble. For a moment she held it, letting her mind ebb and flow with every breath.

Eyes closed, sending her vision into darkness. Thoughts trembled, that state of clarity seeping in and brushing away that blood hunger. Calm it, suppress it, keep it locked away – it was little more than a wild monster that was better off simply being locked away. Air hissed out from between her teeth, the world tuning out into muted tones. In and out, the sinking went deeper, dipping beneath the waves of nothingness. Hands lifted from her knees and came together to simply rest upon her lap. Back straightening her airway cleared, her chin rising slightly as the last of the sounds muted themselves out.

Then the voice spoke.

Eyes flared open, a momentary pause as her attention snapped back to reality. She was still covered in blood, still clad within her armour. The lantern gave a flicker, her eyes turning to the entrance and pinching with thought. No, she was not about to get up just yet – not whilst her mind was caught within this state of calm. It was Zandelia’s voice, and judging by the use of the alias it was probably related to something important.

”Zandelia. I am here,” she answered calmly, ”Come in. I… do not panic when you do. It is not mine.” There was a low exhale, the leather tips of her fingers rubbing at her forehead. It was time. She knew what that meant, and begrudgingly it meant she would once more have to brave the world outside. Pulling off her gloves she flexed the bare fingers and shook out the mane of hair. For a moment she fumbled for the leather cord, her fingers twisting and pulling it apart whilst the other started to brush the strands back.

”So, it is time,” she breathed as she continued to pull the hair back. Taking to one knee she finally managed to pull it all back completely and proceeded to tie it in place. There was a nod, her eyes looking down to the weaponry whilst her lips falling into some strange state of mumblings, ”Time is running out, the sands of time falling short,” eyes blinked then flickered, her hands gently reaching out towards the weapons. There was no immediate rush in her movements, everything needed to be put carefully into place – almost in a ritualistic and respectful manner, ”The game is stopped and reset, as the final card is drawn.”

Lids pinched slightly, the hands slowly returning the blades into their sheaths, ”What help do you need of me… Web?”

[Zandelia]

Oh…petch. She’s there. Well…no turning back now she sighed to herself internally, taking a deep breath and closing her eye sadly with head bent forwards and chin to her sternum as she pulled the flaps open and slipped into the tent.

As the tent flap flickered over her shoulder and slapped at her back before settling into stillness she opened her eye and what met her gaze drove the breath from her chest with a deep hiss and gritted teeth. It rattled through the tent in the silence before spoken words. Blood covered her form almost entirely, a rough patina that was even smeared across her face in a grim mask that was all too fearful. She stopped dead, noting the distinct placing of her weapons upon the floor and the way she knelt and tied her hair back smoothly despite the tanged stench of death surrounding her. Her eye widened and her mouth was open freely and without restraint.

“By the gods! What happened? Are you okay?” she asked, the parchments slipping from her grip to float to the floor as she stepped forwards a little before stopping and her hand swung limp to her waist.

She squatted down, balancing upon the balls of her feet and resting her forearms upon the tops of her thighs. She finally managed to breathe in once more, her eye touching to Fallon’s briefly to gain the reassurance that she needed. Her chest had lurched upon seeing her in such a state, sipping several beats painfully she was sure and she would remember that moment. She had thought the woman was dying and she had only thought of how she could save her. Things were becoming far too complicated. She looked at the weapons as they were sheathed and looked back at the woman, so calm in her speaking.

I have married a killer with my abilities and vowed to teach her what I know. How much more powerful if she knew what I daren’t speak of even to myself… she thought as she sighed at the cryptic words.

“I am sorry…I…you’re already tired and in need of a bath I see. I didn’t know but if I don’t do this tonight it will never get done. My father is weakened but he already seeks out new guards to watch over him. Before long our work will have been undone and then we have to start afresh,” she spoke quietly, “I must ask you to kill with me again it seems. Perhaps one day I will have something nice to ask of you…” her voice trailed off and she looked aside.

She felt supremely guilty over the fact that all she ever seemed to do was ask Fallon to risk herself for no conceivable gain. It was a dark part of herself that she didn’t like to examine too deeply the fact that she would actually put people through suffering for her own ends. She was not quite the slaver but at times she thought she was worse. She didn’t ask people to give their bodies, she asked for their very lives. She had flinched visibly at the use of her alias – one of her alias’ at least. She didn’t want this to be something done for a figment of her own imagination.

“Don’t call me that! Not now,” she paused and snorted at her own foolishness, “well…whatever. I just, I wanted someone I could trust to watch over me. To make sure it gets done. I need you to help me kill my father”

She looked back then after a few moments of wrestling with herself. She was in this far already so what was the point in holding back? She should just release herself, break the chains that held her and see just how far she could go without dampening herself one iota. Her gaze was cold steel, reflecting the lamp light intermittently. She wanted murder and she was going to get it without Fallon’s help or not. Already several times this spring she had felt the dam she had thrown up within herself for self-preservation weakening…cracking. Now, however, she could feel it collapsing as the Bells passed and there was not much time before she would be smothered under the seething pools of her nightmares.

“If you do not want to help me Fallon, if you are already injured or too tired then I understand. I will do it alone instead. But if you wanted to know where I came from and why well…now is your chance. Come with me?” she asked, her hand outstretched and ready to pull the warrior to her feet if she assented.

[Fallon]

There was the flurry of questions despite her forewarnings. Eyes looked up from beneath her brow, the fingers flexing as she lowered them down from the tying. She brushed the flecks from her face, the nail picking at the dried edges as she gave only a calm expression back. There was a state of calm, the lids pinching as she met the eye of Zandelia and then lowered down once more to the floor. Of course it was a frightening visage, unnerving and set to instil fear into whoever watched.

”I am fine,” She brought her other foot up beneath her. Pulling the gloves back on she sucked in the air once more, ”Just a mercenary job. Nothing you need to concern yourself about.” Which was true, for it was her job. When work called she had little option but to answer it; coin was necessary in the world - more so when she needed it to initiate her other plans. Of course, she doubted Zandelia would simply give up such concern and thus awaited a lecture in that department.

Still, the look of surprise was something to behold. The way she paused, the catching of breath and the subtle rock induced by fear. A blink, the squatting down to her level as she searched for the true answer behind it all. Or more over, searching for an excuse behind what was needed of her. Those eyes continued to stare though, focused intently upon the stumbling woman. Nothing was said, she knew already the prices in her mind slowly calculating through. Kill or be killed, defend and fight to the end. More blood, more pain and more suffering.

There was reluctance, the blink of nerves as she spoke her quiet admittance. Fallon was far from delusional; she knew that Sunberth had its prices which would remain as long as she stayed here. But she was not about to throw that aside just yet – not when the challenge had only just begun. Inhaling she sucked in the air, a slow nod in understanding.

”What would you have me call you then?” she spoke in a crisp tone, unwavering as she took the world in. In the meanwhile, Zandelia was squirming or was until she forced her gaze to shift once more. Both hands shifted to rest upon her knees, the chin lifting in response to the cold eyes. Lips curled and broke, twisting and changing into a wolfish grin. Eyes grew sharp, the knocking of an animal upon her mind itching almost to be released.

”I asked you once, and now I will ask again. One last time,” The gaze darkened, refusing to budge. Intense with her locking she held the look, her voice dripping down into darker and serious tones, ”Once you start, there is no going back. Are you sure you want to do this?” Her hand reached up, the blooded leather glove grasping and squeezing tightly. The damp blood brushed against skin, the eyes serious, ”Killing is not an easier task. The more you know a person, even if you despise them to your core… the harder it is. Knowing is your worst enemy here, do you think you are capable of unknowing?”

There was no going back now, even as the fingers curled tightly round and pulled her up. Even as the weight of the words finally settled, Fallon held her gaze. The predatorial mindset that she tried to push down moments ago was already beginning to twist and turn within. There was a squeeze, and the hand was finally released. Fingers tapped the buckles of the armour, the checking pull as it was moved into place. There was a tap of the bracers, the pulling of straps as she met her gaze, ”We know how I work. I will not say no, and it is your wishes I will stand by. Just as before, I will once more be your weapon.”

Her finger gave a point, followed by a firm tap on the woman’s chest, ”Do not think, that because I am covered in blood I am too weak and tired. I can assure you, I am far from it.” There was no warmth in her movements, only the cold steeling of the mind and heart. The face of business, of doing what was necessary and needed to be done. Blunt, hard efficiency in its finest, ”Explain the plan then. Do not leave me in the dark.”

[Zandelia]

The words pried into her and her resolve weakened for a short space of time, her mind considering letting it all flow from her fingers and drift away upon the winds of time like so much smoke form her wooden pipe. It would curl about her for a while perhaps, even the rest of her life. Yet Fallon’s speech made sense in a strange way. Would she be able to move on even afterwards? If her father lay dead, the last of the pair whom had made her life miserable, would it erase the past? Probably not yet she held no other options – she couldn’t walk away. It would all live on within her and she had even considered that fulfilling the act would only serve to destroy her further. Patricide was a hated crime even in Sunberth at times. Her resolve wavered, her mouth opened and then with the gradual shifting as of a glacier the opposite side of her moved and gained momentum until it crushed the weakness of emotion. It was replaced with ruthlessness laced with bitter expectation of vengeance.

“Very well, you are your own woman and I can’t tell you what to do. I’m not sure I like the idea that you are in such predicaments given your status but…it is necessary. I trust you enough to know you wouldn’t risk needlessly. Still…a bit of warning next time so we can get the water and salt going might be useful in case you do get injured. At least you’re doing something productive rather than getting angry at me” she responded dryly, she didn’t have much of a taste for humour at that moment that was damned sure.

She is her own woman yet…I’d rather go along and make sure she survives. Not that I doubt her skill but…I don’t know. Just want to make sure she noted without examining it, her mind was preoccupied.

“You think I don’t know that? I know it well enough that I almost considered going alone and facing it myself. I don’t like what I am Fallon, but I have little choice. It isn’t something I have had much of in my pitiful life but this choice is mine. I will kill my father for what he did. Even if I end up hating myself for it I will do it because the gods gave me nothing but misery and everything I have has been taken by time itself. If I am to die then it will be at my own choosing and in my own way. I have something worth dying for and I’m going” she spoke sifly but there was no mistaking the steeled resolve at the core of her words.

They were not quite true though she realized then, Fallon’s quick response of acceptance and the way in which she showed a care for her despite everything she had done to her sealed one truth within her mind at least – she had more than one thing worth risking herself over. No one in her entire life had offered more of themselves for Zandelia’s wants, without asking for anything in return, than the woman sat before her. There had been other close bonds but this one was different she felt, it was based upon silent, simple acceptance of the way they both were. In some ways it was stronger than ties that would classically seem stronger in people’s minds but then they didn’t know the two women as individuals. What they were was who they were and that meant they accepted both what and who – something many perhaps found difficult to do.

“I am not capable of forgetting anything, that is my curse I think. The skills that I have built mean that I can’t…not really. Things are buried of course as with anyone but no, I don’t forget. I can tell you the way the tea smelt in our first meeting and recall exactly the way your tired eyes were used to suck me into a debate I could never have won. Thank you…for being my weapon. I give you my word,” she squeezed the hand in response and locked gazes for a little longer, “the next thing I ask you to do will be for you and not for me. I have been selfish and that will be rectified” she let the hand slip from her grasp and stood to retrieve the parchments and rolled them out on the floor between them, lantern light casting ominous shadows upon the surface.

“Now, as you can see it is a one storey building made of wood and rotting wood at that. Not very stable and we can use that to our advantage. If you need to take someone out of the fight don’t be afraid to smash their arse through a wall. Chairs and tables are within the main room and they will restrict the fighting, which is for the best as it means they can’t surround us easily – plus in true Sunberthian fashion it gives us impromptu weaponry if needed. Though I plan to take over the building for us after I don’t care about it more than your life so if you need to rip it to pieces to survive then so be it” she began as she pulled a dagger from her right boot – her father’s dagger – and began to point to places upon the crumpled parchment.

“Two doors and two windows, an entrance on three sides of the main room and one into my father’s bedroom at the rear right corner. This gives us multiple options but as always the doors would be best as it means we can trap them one by one in their frames if we need to do so,” she continued as she indicated the four options with the tip if the dagger.

“Seven guards, and some dogs. Now I know what you’re thinking but it’s not so bad as we can kill at least two of them and the dogs before getting in and there are only two runt mongrels not worth mentioning. The front entrance opens onto the street and the rear faces the river. The rear has a low wall that can be used for cover and that’s where the mutts roam with their guard at the back door. Always one on the front but usually two so that makes things easier if we kill them all quickly” she paused and considered.

“Now here is where I have two plans really, one for silence and the other for mayhem. Or rather I don’t have concrete plans but many possible options. We can do it silently but then are forced to go through doors that are closed. Not impossible but it makes us easy targets. I would prefer that the conflict at the rear is silent whilst the front is loud as that way they rush towards the front and get trapped by the door…funnelled. At that point, as surprise reigns the back door becomes more open and can be used to get in and attack their backs, maybe take a couple down before they know what’s happening”

“Four are in the main room which makes for hard fighting but I trust in our abilities. My father is in his bedroom most times but if he isn’t and is fighting then kill him. I don’t have to be the one to do it but…well…you know”

“Another option is that we lever the window on the main room open quietly and throw lantern oil flasks at the hearth opposite. It will not cause major fire damage and will preoccupy them in putting it out whilst drawing some of them out into the street for use to fight more openly. Unfortunately that means my father could flee but I can chase him down well enough I’m sure”

“Other option is bows. Kill those outside and then kick the doors in before firing into the room to try and weaken them. If I am honest Fallon I’ve never planned a mass assassination so this is new territory for me. I’ve done my best to learn as much as possible but…once the fighting starts anything can happen”

“But…” and here she breathed in deeply and looked at the woman dead on, “if I die or it looks like I am about to then you run. No, no arguments. You run and hide and forget you ever saw me. I would use you Fallon, gods help me I would, but you won’t die for my desires and that’s that” she wouldn’t budge on that score, never.

“As for what to call me,” she recalled the unanswered question and sensed an ability to lighten the mood a little, for herself at least, “call me Za” she stated simply. It was an old name, almost forgotten but precious to her and she smiled at it. It might be nice to hear that one last time before the end.

“But, please, thoughts. I may have missed something, or you might have better ideas. You’re probably more strategically sound than I am considering your past and I have no shame admitting it” she finished simply, gripping the hilt of the dagger tightly.

[Fallon]

There was only the respectful nod to the subject of Fallon's work - no point in dealing with something presently unrelated to the task at hand. Confusion and other emotions would raise its ugly head, and it was a personal preference to avoid such discussions. Much like the bubbling urge to hold a debate of what was pitiful.

From the perspective of Fallon, Zandelia had lead quite the opposite. She had clawed her way up, she had fed the fires withing and burned through the situations presented before her. Her mind had become honed, and whilst - from what Fallon understood - her friends may have been few, they were good ones. And now the segment of this tale begun to reach the climax, Fallon could not help but wonder what the next adventure could possibly be. If they survived of course - that was always a risk. Fallon also would have called bull shyke on what the Gods gave - they were not handymen after all. But, that was onlny on her base understanding of the Divine. No, it was up to the individual to make the best they could of the hand they were dealt. Eyes gave a blink, and a nod of acceptance once more consumed her frame. Still, she would not argue with the woman - maybe another time over different occurances.

"As am I incapable of forgetting that look of surprise when I spoke your true name," both hands presented themselves as a set of scales, "But... with bad memories, after a while you learn the art of burying them in deep holes, smothering them in other things until it feels you have forgotten. I... recommmend you have a good shovel for such an endeavor." No more needed to be said after that, so she simply bowed her head to listen.

Eyes flickered to and fro, the map forming and solidifying in her mind. It rose up, forming into a shape and turning in the three dimensions. Although the insides were hazy at best - appart from a smattering of tables within - she did manage to gather a rather clear cut image in her mind. Weak walls of rotting wood, a possible matching state throughout. The steel of the dagger glinted in the light, the deadly edge glowing warmly.

Her finger gave a tap after a point, her mind gradually ticking over the options that could be put into play. And whilst Zandelia continue to speak thoughts flickered too and fro. Words were formed, scenarios acted out with an imagined cast and the set stage giving a spin and a turn on several occasions. And they continued to twist and formulate, if not for a few questions first, "How close is the rear to the river? Give me a distance, a number. Not an approximation. And do you mind getting your feet wet?"

Her brow met only briefly into a line, her eyes lifting to look upon the focused face of Zandelia and then back down to the map. A stolen glance that looked for an idea of the woman's mental state. Eyes looked to the multiple entrances, the different snag points to grab people from and pen in. But whilst it was clear the woman opposite her was thinking on a ground level, Fallon was thinking outside of the box the best she could. The map gave a turn in her mind once again, "I can deal with the conflict silently if you wish me to. I have my ways after all."

She let the imagination do the rest of the work on that factor, "Or I can create a large enough distraction out front to draw them there. Thus, giving you an opening in the reat. Of course, that carries its own set of risks." That was one offering she could give should it be of use - though, she doubted the woman would take it. Too much blood, and the price would go against what she had previously requested. Not that Fallon would agree to it anyway - she was far too loyal to forget and run away.

Besides, she had enough of being a coward.

For a moment she fell once more into silence. Another idea, another possible task with a different set of outcomes. Fire and oil - she remembered how well that worked out last time she used such a tool. And it left her as a skeptic to whether or not it would be suitable on this occasion. The other option was that of bows, something that left an uncertain feeling within; she did not trust either of their abilities with such a weapon, which in turn gave only the distinct mistrust towards it. It was too much of a risk for a novice to take out such enemies. With that in mind, she began to take the totals into consideration.

"What condition is the roof in?" was the next question, her eyes serious in their gazing, "And the hearth has a chimney I presume?" Fingers drummed a steady beat, the head tilting to one side with thought, "If the roof is in any thing like the walls... well. We could go in from above. Of course, that means we would have to trust our jumping and balancing skills. Is there any neighbouring buildings?" Her eyes narrowed down to a point, and in an instant the drumming stopped. Lips flickered into a curl, an idea dancing in her mind, a scene unravelling itself before the unwitting. As it continued to formulate, grow and bloom into something much more solid and it was only then that she finally spoke, "Zandelia, how would you like to be my prisoner?"

With the expression turning to one of cold calculation, the mercenary held the look. Seriousness swept over her, the throat dipping down into a husky purr, "I'm certain your father would relish in the opportunity to see the woman, his very daughter, who eliminated several of his guards and looked to murder him, writhing before his very eyes after being outed by the very leader you so well trust, no?"

"Take it from this point of view," Fallon gave a tap on the page, "We bypass the security with business. I return to him something of value and because of this the guard is immediately lowered due to the presentation of a gift. It allows one to look into the room without chaos. To know where all the pieces are in relativity to ourselves. Then, using our ways wer can deal with the smaller numbers - hopefully without causing too much alarm," she shrugged, "Then, it is simply working from the inside out. And as the surrounding guard is focused with stopping things from getting in... Well. I'm sure you can work out the rest."

"My advice however, is think not just as a plan, but beyond it," Her hand withdrew, and once more both hands returned to her knees. Those were her pieces of input, and those bits of advice she could offer. Whether or not it helped was another set of conditions all together.

[Zandelia]

She nodded along with the words, Fallon was wise beyond her years and her perspectives were different to her own and thus useful beyond measure. The fact that she was about to join her in the cold dance of murder was unsettling but there was little that could be done now and instead she took the visage of calculated business at face value. It made things far easier than trying to think things through with proper consideration of how exactly they worked together – cold logic was far more preferable. Still, the first verbal response was cutting enough to prompt a more personal response. A flicker of reality rising up before being buried beneath the steel once more.

“You rate seeing my shocked features as a bad memory? Well I had hoped to be at least seen as average. Alas…” she returned smoothly, continuing on without truly thinking, “I don’t much care for burying things Fallon. I do not need a shovel. If this escapade harries me then…so be it. I face my enemies whatever they are” she growled then, bass and almost feral.

Trust her to tell me to bury, she has her own past and that is very much hidden. Perhaps she is right but I can’t do it. I do things differently she told herself as she pushed the considerations aside and focused instead upon the alternative plans she had been presented by the other woman.

“The river is twenty feet out, or thereabouts. I didn’t have the opportunity to properly measure so please forgive me. At any rate it’s too far away to use as anything but a dumping ground for bodies if we were so inclined,” she stated simply, “as to your talents I would very much like to learn of them one day. Always looking for ways to improve”

“The chimney is there though it appears too narrow to be used…unless we dropped something into it to create smoke and thus a barrier to sight enough to use that. Or drive them outwards perhaps. You have a devious mind my dear, truly devious. The roof is weak enough that we could punch through but I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that. I mean, how would we know we weren’t about to land on someone who just decided to start honing their blade and get inured before we even start?” she mused aloud, the words were making her think differently though and that was magical.

The last idea though, that was what gripped her attention and held it in thrall as she turned it over within her mind and considered the possibilities. It was a daring plan, bold even and required little finesse outside of the property. There would need to be contingencies of course but to be able to get inside and eviscerate two, or even three perhaps, in a suddenly swift strike? It was as compelling as it was dangerous. They would be trapped within from that point on as Fallon pointed out and would need to be quick, lethal and cunning to win the battle. However they had little options beyond and out and out assault – which seemed harder to her. Her father might even gloat and make killing him all the easier.

“Prisoner? I think you already have made me that but for him…it could work,” she pondered as the dagger traced loosely over the parchment in small circles, “I would have to go unarmed of course and thus the weight of carrying my own tools of death would fall to you. Perhaps explain it away as a trophy to be kept?”

“Yes, I like the idea. Get in and take out a couple of the maximum five inside. We could use the furniture to block the doors a little if we timed it right and smashed them upon impact enough. At the very least we could kill the paymaster and fight outwards. Not everyone needs to be killed after all. Perhaps use the river as an escape, it flows quick enough. You do realize what this means though?” she asked softly as she looked at Fallon intently.

“I will be placing everything that I am in your hands. It’s not that I don’t trust you, I do. I would willingly do so if you allowed me to. But the onus would be upon you to make sure the beginning is flawless. One wrong move and I can’t help defend you. They will likely check me, bind my wrists if they aren’t already. Hit me a few times for good measure perhaps. I don’t know, mercenaries who have lost their comrades can be vile”

“But…if you think that you can pull it off then…take me” she smiled then, a cold and grim smile as she slipped the dagger back into her boot.

“Would you like me bound now, or later? Oh, and to make it convincing we’ll need to smear some dirt over me. Cut me a bit or at least punch me in the face a couple of times. If I show up looking perfect and pristine – minus my eye – then they will probably know you didn’t catch me all too easily and become suspicious”

“So, do you have what it takes to lay me out Fallon?”

[Fallon]

"One day, maybe, you will know of them. Until then, please understand that I cannot share my trade secrets with my clients," there was only the subtle purr and curl of the lips before her attention turned once more. It was almost as if she could see that inner animal pressing against the human walls of the woman, that primal instinct rattling in anticipation. The orbs focused upon her, meeting as she broke a wolfish grin followed by a low, rumbling growl. And whilst she held the look, did she listen to the dissection of her ideas.

"What happens when you collapse a chimney?" Fallon left the question there for her to think over, her head inclining to one side, "Think about the material." Fingers gave a tap, and a circle of the building, "If it is already rotting all the way through then surely it would ignite just as quick, no? As for the river... can you swim? Or will I need to drag you out?" She gave a blink, her expression serious for a moment, and then broke away into a neutral gaze, "Take the current, who knows. Just thoughts." She let herself fall into silence, her mind ticking over with thoughts, "I don't take prisoners. Not intentionally at least."

There was the raise of the head when the approval came. Her head tilting to one side she reached a hand out and placed it over the one holding the dagger. Firmly she gave it only a gentle squeeze, a moment of softening in her form. Worry flickered behind the stern gaze, that swirl of concern and a near absolute trust being placed upon her shoulders. That weight to perfectly execute the plan placed before. A single misstep, a single pull in the wrong direction could send it toppling down - leaving it for exposure for what it really was. Withdrawing she kept her hands to herself for that little while longer.

"Of course, he has to know that such weapons are yours," Fallon exhaled, "So unless you screamed out that you used a... stick... tonfa, right? Then surely he would not know... unless you are to tell me otherwise? Never the less, I could simply lighten my own weapons to carry yours instead," Pausing she gathered her blades, the fingers quietly tapping the pommels as she thought. It was at times like this that she needed to suppress the emotions for efficiency and realism, "Yes... I know how vicious one can be when they lose their allies." The bandits of the bronze woods flickered in her mind, the crackling flames and roaring smoke smothering the front of her thoughts before she brushed it away.

"I understand," Fallon began, "I also know what must be done." Taking off the belt with the weapons attached she gave only a nod to Zandelia, "We're swapping clothes. And other things. Even this... laying out. Come on, you can have the shirt... it's warm?" it was a bad offering but it was one that made sense, "Put it this way... I'd rather not do too much damage. This serves as a mask. I, well-" she shook away the thought and began to pull at the buckles of her armour, "Never mind. Just get ready to swap, okay?" Whether or not Zandelia protested was not picked up, she was trying to desperately bury her head in other thoughts and the job at hand. Peeling off the blooded shirt so she was perched there in her vest she threw it to the woman, "Hurry up. We've got a show to start. And you better fight back."

There was not a moment pause, before she launched herself across at the woman. It took a lot of resolve to pull the clenched fist back and have the second to grab her firmly by the scruff. She knew she was not a fist fighter by nature, barely a brawler and user of the unarmed. No doubt that was apparent by the way she flailed the fist at her, and instead simply writhed with her limbs. What the mercenary really wanted was some recoil, some pushing back of a fight in response. To punch, to struggle, to retaliate and dish back. Teeth clenched as she push her weight against the woman, the on comings of further struggling within her tensed form and the faint hissed mumbling under her breath, "Sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry."

[Zandelia]

“I suppose that you are right. No…you are. Always it seems. That’d be annoying if I didn’t enjoy that smile of yours,” she snorted as she frowned down at the paper and tried to make the whole thing link up within her mind and make sense, a linear line of progression for the scheme, “and I’m just a client? So sad. Very well, we go in with me as a prisoner then. My father knows some things but it has been difficult to ascertain what exactly” she growled.

“He never leaves the place, not whilst I have been having it watched at least. Doesn’t even seem to talk to those he hires either. Silence is golden as they say but I wish he’d have broken it. He didn’t though and we are now out of time so such pretty fancies must be dismissed. Expect anything, and I do mean anything” she sighed.

She felt the hand touch the back of her own, the firm but gentle squeeze that seemed to bud her to return to normality, the promise that the world would be alright and make sense if she could just let everything go – she could not. Reassurance was within it also, perhaps a form of caring. She knew the woman cared for her but reading her was difficult and her mask of mercenary professionalism was smothering her face for the majority of the time. She accepted it for what it was, the simple act of comfort, as she felt the animal within snarl at the intrusion into its landscape of wrath and bitterness. Her face became slightly twisted once more until its murderous mentality was disrupted once more

“Switch clothes?” she asked with incredulity, “well I don’t mind wearing your things, nice scent but…oh…ooooh, I see. Clever, very clever. Fine, just let me get my own stuff off” she returned as she pulled at the buckles of her gauntlets and the armour that protected her torso.

It came off eventually, with enough cajoling and conniving of fumbling fingers. It slapped at the floor and she pulled off the blouse, throwing it at Fallon and taking the bloody one in her hands. She didn’t allow the distaste at the idea of another’s blood being upon her knowingly. She buried it beneath the thought of vengeance and the fact that such duplicity was required, for this evening at least. She pulled the damp garment over her head and considered lacing it on the neck but realised it would be defeatist to the illusion of having been scrapped to pieces. She did, however, pull the sleeves so that they were tight around her forearms and wouldn’t snag when she used her weapons.

“My blouse suits you Fallon, shame yours does no-“ she began to say until Fallon slammed into her bodily, driving the breath from her chest as she fell backwards and hit the floor hard.

She didn’t want to fight, not really, but her blood was already warm to the point of simmering and as the blows rained down upon her and smacked into her face and upper body she couldn’t help that side of her which was the fist-fighter from rising to the surface. She brought her legs up so that they wrapped around the woman and blocked a feral left with her right forearm and slammed the heel of her palm into Fallon’s short ribs – a move which knocked the woman’s other incoming assault to the side. Her right elbow came around to smack into the side of Fallon’s face and she couldn’t help but wince at the sickening thud and the pained injury she must have just caused. The revelation that she was better at unarmed fighting was surprising enough that she stalled her attack momentarily – long enough to get another inexperienced punch to her right cheek that she was sure had split the skin. Rage returned and she rolled sideways, taking Fallon with her so that she was now straddling her form. She blocked a left and a right again with simple triangle movements – novices always seemed to repeat their mistakes on both sides.

And I have the ultimate defence technique – thank you Ximal the thought flashed through as she continued to block the attacks.

“Not as good with your fists as your tongue Fallon dear, my my. I will have to teach you. Now…stop trying to hit me and petching hit me! Like this” she brought her arms forwards and swept them wide to separate the incoming arms and push them away.

She turned her fist so that the knuckles faced down and lashed out at the woman’s left shoulder, whipping her hand around knuckle-up at the last moment to twist the extra force into it. She still pulled the punch but it would be enough to leave a bruise.

“Come on! I need to look like your prisoner, not your petching strumpet! Go…for…the…face,” she leant in a little and exposed herself – intentionally so and arms wide to provide no defence whatsoever, “here is some incentive. If I don’t…then I die” she whispered venomously.

Hit me for Dira’s sake! she screamed internally as she glowered down in pain and anger.

[Fallon]

Fallon struggled of course, fists turning into claws as tried to strike. Zandelia was fast, the first few blows being easily knocked aside by the obviously better fighter. With a rattling dirge in her chest however, the mercenary continued to press her attack. The fist made connection with her jaw, the black stars filling her vision as she blinked. The state of calm snapped, the strings holding back the mind tearing. It came as a growing rumble from her very pit. Pain throbbed in her temple, piercing and awakening in the mind. Colours blinked, a recoiling back hand before she was upon her back and the woman was on top.

She could taste copper in her mouth, or was it iron? Either way it was distinctly metallic. Rich and fluid, a liquid. Blood? Something snapped in her mind, and begun to chase through her ego to the surface.

The hand swiped upwards, the pumping adrenal filling her veins of some roaring beast. Her back arched, the right fist clenching as it swung towards her. She was in a losing fight, out matched and out classed by someone much more superior. Teeth snapped, her head giving a lunge forwards as the hand struck the shoulder. All the while however, control was slipping. The ties begun to fall loose, the placed stops tearing as she pushed back. Everything existed on emotions, rage, anger, lust and desire. A pain filled state of torment that rose onto the flesh and existed within the physical.

It was the final incentive that pushed her off the edge and tumbling down. Brute force, feral and unthinking, based only on hitting the woman - no, the prey - before her. Fangs flashed, the eyes wide with an animalistic look. Tendons strained her entire force swinging upwards once more. The fist connected with the face, her teeth snapped onto her forearm - biting and sinking in. She continued to push, her entire form swinging up and over to push back. Wrestling for control, to maim and to injure. Lips drew back, an angered snarl escaping as she once more threw her weight into it.

A foot gave a kick, the heel pressing into the gut as she scrabbled and fought. With the taunting open arms, it was hard not to resist for this beast driven mind. The vibration of noise, the barely audible barking of words commanding her mind. Destroy, kill, devour. Eyes were wide, the vicious scowl upon her face. Both hands shot round, a broad and unbalanced arc as she went for anywhere - a life depended on it after all. With a cracking hiss she gave a lean back, the left fist following suit whilst the right grabbed the shirt tightly, "Die."