Assassination Mismatch

[Good for Nothing Captain]

OOC: All bunnying approved by both parties, not sure how to write this, but it's just gonna be me and Susan Diamond

In the warm light of a small bar, the red-eyed man finished a stale piece of bread. He cringed as he finished the rest of his mead.

Even the booze here is stale. . . he thought, scowling at the plate before him.

Meat was burnt to a crisp, potatoes covered in a strange paste, likely to hide the mold. The only comfort in the entire rickety dump was the small fireplace, which sent warm orange light through the establishment. The red-eyed man positioned himself strategically between the hearth and bar. The crackle of flames created the only noise in the place.

A person filled every seat, but sitting in silence was their only activity. Through waves of jet black hair that barely fell over red-eyes the man could feel it. A hundred different eyes staring daggers into the back of his blackened brown coat. He sighed before pushing the plate away.

"No way I'm paying for that," the stranger began.

"Can't blame ya," replied a stout bartender with a thick mustache. "I can't blame ya, but I don't want no trouble, and the boys'll make it for any who won't pay their due. . ."

Two heavy set men stood on cue, their faces obscured by layers of ash and dirt.

Miners, most likely, the red-eyed man thought, dirty and worn down like the rest of this shitty town.

"Look," he scratched his head, "I get that you don't like drifters, but I am just passing through. I don't wanna die of food poisoning, or beaten to death in an ally. . . So, can we come to some kind of agreement?"

"It's okay boys," a gentle, sensual voice graced undeserving ears, "I can cover the tab."

[Susan Diamond]

A name. that was all she needed. Scarlet Fields twirled the scrap of paper between her thumb and forefinger. At this point she handled it so much the threads of the script were barely strung together and it was wore down to a thin barely visible sheet. She glanced up at the village still playing with the shreds. The village wasn't anything to look at. Tiny shacks that dotted the outlines of the fields with thin trails of smoke that crawled into the sky. Men and Women hunched over hurrying about their lives, not bothering to stop and stare at the new stranger.

Now very aware of the sun beating down on her bare skin, Scarlet silently cursed to herself wishing for once she chose to wear something that left something to the imagination's eye. She reached up, gently touching the black velvet pouch that was interwoven into the braid of her hair. Comfort and peace washed over her like a giant tide. Scarlet move foreword, eyes scanning the village, stalking for her pray. Gently she lowered her hand, letting slip what was left of the paper drift to the ground. Delicately scrawled on the note was the name Victor Valentine.

As she approached the village, Scarlet scanned for the inn. Looking for the dismal little shack that reeked of hopelessness and despair. And sure enough she found the building where a drunk laid covered in his own piss, vomit and tears ignored by the passing pedestrians. Scarlet curled her lip. The sooner she left this shit hole the better and made a quick mental note to go submerge herself in a bath at the quickest possible moment.

Scarlet cracked opened the inn door, glancing around at depressing souls simmering over their ale. There even appeared to be a man sitting in the corner that looked dead. She eyed them up and down. Scarlet was able to find out a little about her target. A man with black hair and red eyes. That was it. The only information she was able to find out about him. That and he was slinking around in this miserable town.

Nobody seemed to be him. Scarlet was about to turn to go till she saw the man hunched over his food. Rejecting and causing some sort of mischief. Scarlet watched him thoughtfully. Till she saw the glint of red in his eyes in-between the sleek black hair and started with a jolt.

Victor Valentine.

Scarlet turned, pushing her chest up, reveling her cleavage more. If that was possible. One of the men reached out to pat her on the ass but the look she threw down at him left him quivering in fear. She noticed that Victor wasn't paying for his meal. Looking at the rotten potatoes she could understand why.

"Its ok Boys. I can cover the tab." Scarlet purred.

The bartender glanced up, raking his eyes over Scarlet's body before reaching out to accept the coin she held in her hand. Then he sneaked off, staring at her with ravenous eyes. Scarlet turned her attention to the man glancing over her with those beady red eyes.

She had to admit to herself that he was good looking. It would be such a pity to have this one to die.

Scarlet slipped into the seat next to him, winking as she did so.

"So, you're not from around here?" Scarlet giggled, the same childish and innocent laugh that seemed to draw in most men. Tossing her braid to the side, a movement most would read as a sign of flirting. But she was simply hiding her black velvet pouch from view.

"Uh, no." He said shaking his head and returning back to poking at the potatoes on his plate.

Scarlet paused. Rocking back in her chair. She assumed this would be an easy Hunt. Seduce. Kill. She changed her tactic, coming at him with a different approach.

When the bartender drifted back, Scarlet waved him down ordering two mugs of ale.

"Cheers." Scarlet smiled lifting her mug as Victor did the same. The two swallowed the drink with a few sips. Once finished they slammed their mugs down with enough force that woke up the man who appeared dead.

"Impressive." Victor laughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Scarlet sat up beckoning the bartender over. She noticed out of the corner of her eye, Victor's eyes traveling from her hair down to her ass.

"Two more." Scarlet chimed.

"Make that four more. Let's bring some life to this depressing shit hole shall we?" Victor laughed.

Once again the drinks came back and the golden liquid flowed. Soon, the bar top around the two was littered with empty dirty glasses. Scarlet had a buzz in her ear. She didn't expect that this man could actually hold his liquor, but he still stood strong. Even asking for one more. Scarlet stood up, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and leaned into whisper.

"You know... you owe me a debt, and I think you should settle it."

[Good for Nothing Captain]

No. Way. Victor laughed to himself, the only kind of luck I have is bad, no way I'm this lucky.

The ex-soldier drank with the beautiful woman, absorbing every bit of her elegance. He could not help but notice a grace to her words, a melody to her movements. Hard as he might try and fight it, he was entranced. Saying no to her was like refusing to breath. You could hold out for a while, but at some point there was no denying it; nor her.

"I s'pose I do," Victor answered, taking a new drink. "You've been kind enough to endorse my alcoholism, I suppose I am in your debt."

"And aim to collect," her voice sailed once more, like music to his ears. Soft, sultry and elegant; the marks of a trained seducer.

"I can't think of anything I would rather do," Victor smiled, "then be indebted to you. I'm Victor, can I at least get the name of my loan-shark?"

"Scarlet," the sexy brunette answered, unsure why she should give her real name. Not like it mattered, she assured herself, he'll be dead soon anyway.

"The pleasure is without doubt," Victor looked around the depressing bar, taking in the last people left, "all mine," returning to her enticing blue eyes. Like the color of the sea before a storm, her eyes pierced to the center of him; he wondered what she saw.

"I suppose it is," she whispered into his ear, "take me from here."

"It would be my honor," Victor whispered back, standing and offering an open hand for her to take.

The two strangers left together, arm in arm, in total ambivalence of the prying eyes. The sun had set, and a large blue moon hung over their drunken heads. Like two jesters, the man and woman made their wobbly hobble to a large wooden building. Rickety wooden doors and shutters slammed with the night wind. A hallowed melody of loneliness that many a wanderer had heard.

"No," she pulled, taking the man into the darkness of an alley. "I can't wait," she whispered, "I want it now, here, come on."

Her hand moved gingerly, messaging the man in exactly the right place. Her voice was enticing, irresistible, and not a single bone or cell in Victor's body could do a thing against it. He let himself be led, unwilling to fight the strong pull of her honeyed words.

"Where ever your heart desires," Victor nodded, "I aim to please."

The two danced into the shadows, like young lovers, looking for any place away from prying eyes.

Several foul smelling bags cluttered the mouth of the alley. With the moon briefly falling out of sight behind clouds, the pair danced their way around, over and in one instance through the bags of trash. Their lips worked feverishly, unwilling to stay apart for even a moment. 'The Bastard,' Victor's blade from when he was in Salvar's civil war, hooked several bags and clattered against the wooden building.

The ex-soldier's hands moved passionately, taking this chance to enjoy the kind stranger's body. He enjoyed every curve and soft wave that her form had to offer. Victor moved his hand down her arm, up the side of her waist and down her back.

Before he could make another go, a firm hand grasped his wrist. In moments the beautiful vixen held him pinned against the wall of a wood building. Her soft lips worked over the red-eyed man's neck and chest. One supple hand held both of Victor's and another worked deftly unbuttoning his shirt.

She dropped to her knees, removing the belt holding up his pants, while the Bastard clattered noisily against the floor. Red eyes darted left and right, praying no one would interfere with his run-in with serendipity, as his pants hit the ground. Never looking at the woman, he missed her slipping a dagger from between her voluptuous breasts.

Her breath was measured, calm and controlled. The blade twinkled with reflected moonlight and she prepared to pounce. Like a tigress, claws gleaming in the moonlight, readying to strike.

A shifting form from main road sent Victor flinching. He fell, tripping over his pants as the woman cut the side of the building. The dagger got caught on the splintered wood, as Victor struggled to move trash off himself. The woman cursed under her breath, damning his luck. She corrected her posture and feigned losing balance.

The red-eyed man received a head butt as he tried to stand. "What the f-" he began, holding his nose with one palm before a blade pierced a bag of trash beside his head. A long thick blade, at the end of a wooden pole stuck out next to him. A hooded man stood above the man and his would-be-killer like a grim reaper, their souls ripe for the pickings.

Trash covered Victor's chest and face, but his indifferent red stare took notice of the stunning woman's form as she delivered a soul crushing kick to the groin of their assailant. The crunching noise was soft, but the hooded man's cries and tears more than made up for it. He doubled over on the ground, writhing in pain as the prostitute-like woman stood over his mass.

Her eyes were sharp, viciously reflecting moonlight as she slit the would-be-assassin's throat. Victor lifted himself by the dead man's spear, setting into action, putting his pants back on.

"Just what kind of whore are you?!" Victor spat.