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[Siobhan]

81st Fall 514 AV
Near the 3rd Bell

Leaving work after a long night always felt like returning to a warm bed after a stint in the wild. Cotton and wool swathed her body, covering skin that had been exposed to the cold air so long that Siobhan was beginning to think the goosebumps were permanent. Neither the hearth nor the bodies of strangers had been enough to temper the chill. Still, even now, coat, scarf, and all, it found a way to seep into her skin.

The fact that she was wearing a skirt certainly didn't help, allowing the crisp breeze to poke and prod and tease her ankles. But Ravokians and their fashion... Siobahn cared little for it, but it was always best to look one's best. There's never any telling who could be watching, and in a city like this, impressions mattered greatly.

She was used to putting on a show for her customers, but these days she was beginning to wonder where the show ended and life began. At work, it was all about making the customers happy. She to pretend she was not a mother or, really, even a person. She was Sin. In town, it was about pleasing the public. She pretended to be a loyal citizen -- "Praise Rhysol" and whatnot. At home, she had to keep Leonel taken care of. He shined with a light that she could not bear to see wane. Any slights or cruelties she suffered at the hands of the world, she could not let faze her.

There were simply too many faces she had to present at any given time, and she was not nearly a good enough actress to keep up.

Now, it was the bell where the difference between night and day became indistinct, when one had to consider whether or was extremely late or extremely early. Darkness and silence had fallen on the city. It was the bell of prowlers, whores, and general ne'er-do-wells. One would have expected the city to be wholly silent, as if holding its breath, yet that was not the case at all. Activity was certainly diminished, but people still milled about the city, for the most part minding their own business. Siobhan was one of them, moving with the kind of rapid pace that denotes purpose.

A simple backpack was slung over her shoulder, swaying in time with her stride. Anyone who witnessed the quiet confidence and ease with which she navigated the narrow streets would recognize her as a citizen, and this fact alone made her less appealing to the shadier individuals that typically stalked the darkness.

Still, Siobhan was about halfway home before she realized she was being followed.

[Siobhan]

She had been distracted by the solace of the moment. Opportunities to be herself were few and far between, and usually only achievable when she was alone. Like in these moments -- or so she had thought.It had taken her some amount of chimes for her to realize that those parts of her commute which were normally marked by a distinct lack of company had never come. The constant, soft tapping of careful boots from some indistinct distance behind her was not the echo of Siobhan's own steps.

A sigh escaped her lips, her brow furrowing, though the expression was less of worry and more of agitation. Of course, it was only logical to expect a thing like this to happen to a woman walking alone at night in this part of the city, and it would have been a lie to say she'd not dealt with this kind of thing before.

She quickened her pace slightly, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder. Every so often, someone would pass by in the opposite direction and offer either a drunk or sleepy greeting (or both). Then she would hear their muffled repeat of the gesture, at a distance that she estimated to be about thirty or forty paces behind her. That's how far away her tag-along was, then.

Her law tensed in stress. She would never have admitted it, not even to herself, but a small part of her was scared, anxious that she would not be able to work her way out of whatever kind of situation this was. She would have liked to believe that this person wasn't actually following her, that it was only a coincidence that they were both taking the same route. But the sensation of having his eyes boring into the back of her skull sent an unpleasant twinge down her spine and into her gut. Even if she did believe in coincidences at all, she could not believe that this was one.

Tap tap tap.

Tag-along's pace had quickened to match hers.

By now Siobhan was almost home; she needed to find a way to lose the freak if she didn't want to lead him straight there. Her stony expression did not betray it, but she had to expend some effort to keep her heart from racing. Stay calm, she reminded herself. Panicking won't help you. After all, fright was simply an unwanted emotion. And she had spent the better part of the past decade keeping a tight rein on unwanted emotions. She would not let them get the better of her in a silly little situation like this.

Without missing a beat, Siobhan looped both of her arms through the backpack, leaving her hands free. She was on the path to her house -- if she kept going straight, she would be there in a matter of minutes. So she took the next turn she saw, combating the natural inclination to hesitate. If she paused here, Tag-along would figure out that she was on to him.

[Siobhan]

All Siobhan needed to do was throw this guy off her trail. And yet, as she wound through seemingly endless walkways, it occurred to her that she was getting herself lost as well. Despite her years spent in this city, a large portion of it was still foreign to her, at least in the darkness. Yet she would probably be grateful for the darkness soon enough.

Even if the actions were aimless, she wove through alleys, halls, and narrow bridges with the kind of confidence that made it seem as if she actually had any clue where she was going. By now, Tag-along had to know that she knew. Either that, or he was an idiot. Or he took her for an idiot. Either way, she felt that the gig would be up soon. She did wonder why exactly he was following her. Any run-of-the-mill thief would have given up the chase after so long. Of course, she supposed it didn't really matter. And, if it didn't really matter, she supposed she didn't really care.

The next corner she rounded led her into a small oblong plaza that she was sure she had never been to before. It seemed like a residential area of some sort, though she hardly had time to dwell on it. Almost immediately her gaze locked with those of a small group of young women across the way. They were laughing about something in the way that local girls did when they had no responsibilities, though they fell silent in surprise as Siobhan came into view. The older woman paused for a moment, whatever expression she had donned apparently causing the girls some kind of alarm as a few shuffled backwards.

However, in Siobhan, they had stirred some sense of relief. At least now she was with a group. She could tuck into a shadow somewhere, and they would help mask her presence from her pursuer. Or, at the very least, they wouldn't try to give her away. The footsteps of Tag-along grew closer in the ticks she had paused, forcing her back into movement. A few alleys darted off from the plaza, and her eyes immediately fell upon the nearest.

She spared another moment to try to communicate her needs to the girls: a silent motion over her shoulder to indicate that there was someone behind her, then bringing a finger to her lips to tell them not to say anything. She could only hope the importance of their compliance was clear enough through her urgency. Without further delay, she ducked into the alley and was immediately cast into shadow and greeted by the smell of... something obscure but undeniably foul. Her boots echoed gently off the walls, and she took a few paces into the tight corridor before she had to stop for fear of the noise giving her away.

Tag-along came into sight after only a handful of ticks. He was not so nearly as intimidating as Siobhan would have imagined him to be. Everything about him -- from his unkempt hair to his drab clothes to the way his nose drooped slightly at the tip -- exuded a kind of tired air, as if he'd followed her here from the far end of Mizahar. He carried a square of parchment in his hand.

The group of girls, for one reason or another, were appraently less wary of this individual than they had been of Siobhan, and they didn't shy away as he approached them. Perhaps they found his pathetic demeanor endearing. A deep frown etched its way across the older woman's face. She could see where this was going. Watching from the shadows, she saw the man hold out the parchment for the girls, allowing them to see whatever was written on it.

Now people could say what they would about Sunberthians -- at least they knew how to keep their mouths shut.

Ravokians were apparently blessed with no such talent.

[Siobhan]

The man had barely spoken to the girls for more than ten ticks before the lot of them started gesturing over to the very alley where she was hiding. "Petch," she spat under her breath. "Just petch it all."

She didn't know what she had been expecting, really. People were idiots. It was a fact of life -- you simply could not rely on them. You'd only end up disappointed. Though, at this moment, Siobhan could easily say she was a cut above disappointment. Clearly this man was no thief, no common thug, not if he was targeting her specifically. Not if he was going around showing pieces of parchment to people and asking where she was.

Siobhan hadn't met very many assassins in her lifetime, but she believed she was about to have a very personal encounter with one. But why? She had been careful to make sure no one here hated her enough to want her to die. She was genial. She did what people asked. If they said to dance, she danced. If they said to pray, she prayed. She had lived the past decade by their rules. Sure, she resented every tick of it, but she'd done it. Why would anyone want her dead?

Unless... Mr. Fancy Pants? No, certainly not. She had killed him, of course, but there was no way anyone important enough to hire an assassin would have found out. And if they had, they would have just alerted the Stryfe, and that would be a whole other problem in itself.

The man turned to look where he was being directed, seeming to peer directly at her. He offered the girls a strangely friendly wave in appreciation as he started in Siobhan's direction. Siobhan had pressed herself up against the stone wall, fingers anxiously gripping at the hard surface. She should have just kept walking, she realized, rather than waiting and watching. She should have kept going. She might have lost him by now if she had.

Time seemed to slow with every step the man took, and the energy seemed to fade from Siobhan's body. Killing had made her feel invincible. Now, at the idea of her own impending demise, she felt weaker than she ever had before. Some part of her welcomed it, the notion of being free from this existence where freedom was but an illusion. But every other part of her railed against it, rejected the very possibility of it. She was not done with this life, not so long as her son needed her.

Leonel. Siobhan could see his face in her mind as clearly as if he were standing in front of her right now. And it kindled a quiet rage. No, no pathetic assassin who had to rely on little girls to do his job was going to rip her away from him. She would not allow it.

She had sunken into a squatting position in her moment of weakness, and now turned to lean her back against the cold wall. This took her eyes off of the approaching man, but it also obscured her from him . He would be approaching from the right, now behind, and wouldn't be able to see her until he was at the entrance of the alley.

The contents of her pack dug into her back uncomfortably as she leaned her weight onto it, but she ignored it, hands instead flying to where her scarf lay wound about her neck. Deft fingers (they were well-practiced in removing clothing) hastily pried and tugged at the fabric until it yielded, falling free. It was woven from fine wool, and she almost regretted what she was about to put it through.

Almost.

Siobhan wound one end of it around each end, leaving about two feet of fabric between them. And waited. Her ankles and knees protested at the abuse they were suffering in this position -- she was starting to show the signs of aging, and her body, though slender, was not exactly in peak physical condition. Nevertheless, she did not move. She barely even dared to breathe, so great was her concentration in this moment. The tapping of his boots drew closer.

And closer.

And closer, until the tension had risen so high that Siobhan felt as if she might burst forth at any moment, a geyser of icy fury. But the man paused just around the corner, no less then four feet away from where Siobhan crouched. If he took one more step, she would have been able to get at him.

Instead, he sniffed the air in a disturbingly audible manner, as if he were an animal: twice, in quick succession. Siobhan could almost envision the way his nose would twitch. And yet his voice was not at all how she would have imagined it.

"Oi, I can smell you, y'know."