Boots echoed through the alleyways. A small group made their way with importance. Cloaks hid the faces of most of them, making features gained hard to discern. The only thing that was certain was that they huddled around one in their midst and they were afraid of that person. Wisps of white hair flickered under the leader's hood before they came to a halt in the dark alleyways. The leader pointed to the ends of the back alleys and spoke, her tone harsh, “No one in or out. I shouldn’t be terribly long, but I do not want interruptions.”

The men muttered assent before they took up lazy positions at the end of the alleyways. With the route to the apothecary firmly in control, the figure slowly lowered the hood of her cloak and looked wistfully up at the night sky. White hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, though faint wisps outlined her face. A scar slashed across her face just below her left eye speaking of some altercation in her past. Chainmail shined briefly under the cloak leading down to leather pants and boots, a pair of daggers on her hips showing she was in fact armed. A sword was on her back worn over the cloak, though her eyes darted about obsessively looking for any signs of treachery or ambush.

She hated the city, the congealed mass of corruption that served its own ends. People dealing, selling, and whoring to create an existence rather than use their strength for more fruitful endeavours. The Social Contract stagnated and there was no more evidence than to step into a city and see everyone play along by the rules. Rules that saw only those with the money or connections accomplish anything of note. How she longed to unleash pure anarchy on Radasanth and cleanse the filth from it. Destroying the usual order of things was about the only way to truly cleanse Corone of its corruption.

Still, today was not a day for cleansing. Instead, she was here on business.

Her hand gently twisted the knob, and she entered the shop. The chime of the entry bell pierced the silence she found herself in. Her eyes drank in the details, the low light, the countertops kept clean. She was mildly impressed, seeing that the reputation this little shop had gotten was more than some hot air. From what she had already seen, she could see this was the place to accomplish her goals. Grey eyes drank in details effortlessly, and she finally turned to the form of a man at the counter.

Her eyes studied the sole occupant of the shop, and she drank in the red hair, the dark eyes. Her look spoke volumes, not immediately impressed, but not disappointed. She figured there would be a weapon behind the counter where she couldn’t see it. He took immediate notice of her, gently tucking his pen into his book and closing it. The vest and gloved hands were in keeping with her expectations. Spills happened, better he avoided death to such inevitabilities. She idly tugged at the gloves on her own hands, pulling them deeper into the leather fabric.

Samantha Ambria moved down the counter, a hand whimsically trailing along the wood, stopping when she reached the proprietor. She gave him a courteous smile, one that Aerith had been working on, telling the warden her usual scowl was hardly a good conversation starter, ”Would you be the proprietor? I have business I wish to speak of with him. My name is Samantha, and I represent a group of people that could benefit from his...wares.”

Niceties, such things were frustrating to the woman who would prefer to speak plainly. However, she would need to play along if she wished to surprise Aerith with her initiative.