Bloody Jobs

[Ibakha]

The sun was withering. Not unusual, it was that time of year, but when you were trussed up tight in leathers with your weapons strapped on and a leather band wrapped tight 'round your forehead, it was bound to bring a sense of disgruntlement. And Ibakha, formerly of the mostly scattered Dayir Clan, wasn't happy. True, she had wealth and she wore it in her elaborate Clan tattoos and carefully embroidered leathers, in the quality of her weapons worn in the way the Dayir and other People had taught her. Discomfort was expected. Didn't mean she had to like it.

Her employer was a man skinny in the way obsessed men often are, too caught up in their own world to worry overmuch about eating. He was an overly wealthy man, as most of her clients were, though given the way he dressed and groomed himself he might as well belong to a poorhouse. She was wasted on him, she thought, he was such a yahoo. He wore silk hanfu, colorfully embroidered and carelessly stained with ink. The cap he wore declared him a scholar, and she had been told he was even an important one. She didn't believe it.

Some of that had to do with the town they currently had stopped within. It was a dirty place, twin muddy ruts defiling the single road. The buildings were little more than huts, made up of clay or plaster and some kind of straw. Truthfully, even these disgusted Ibakha, to whom a proper home consisted only of wooden frame and felt covering. She wasn't paid for her opinion, and so she kept her mouth shut on that idea. She was paid for her weapons, and of those she had many. A long and short composite bow, with its standard complement of sixty arrows -- handmade, all of that -- a short sword, and several knives. Two daggers, both tucked in her sash that kept her silk deel shut. She wore it over her leathers. That was the primary reason she was presently sweating like a pig.

Her current master had wandered into the building that served as a swillhole on some pretense of business, and Ibakha had been bid wait outside like some common dog. There was no awning, nothing to block the full force of the sun. She couldn't help but wonder if it had been some form of punishment for her oppressive silences often built up out of disapproval, but she held her tongue and her expression. She watched the single road and its pathetic inhabitants, the squalid buildings, the brats whose sole chance at life had been squandered in a backwater that would lead them to early death. If they were lucky, they wouldn't get sold into some form of servitude by their parents. If they were lucky, they wouldn't have been born at all.

No, Ibakha was certainly not in a good mood.

She had no one to blame but herself.

[Fayane]

Another target... she watched him slide through the doors, her veins like ice. Saruna had said this man would carry weight against their cause. Fay had taken it as a sign that he should die. Silently she slid from the shadows, automatically sizing up the woman who stood by the door. Trained, armed... she had followed the man and so was likely his protector. Likely a paid mercenary, Fay judged from the attitude and general look. He hadn't been kind and she looked aggravated. Not lover-spat aggravated, she knew that look well enough now to know that this wasn't the case... no, more like underpaid grunt aggravated.

Sadly, Fay didn't have the bishani to simply bribe the woman to look away... so chances were... chances were she'd have to die as well. That made her pause, her eyes sad. She didn't want to kill this woman as well, she didn't mean a thing to Saruna, she was just a hired grunt to protect the man who threatened her master's power. She could have a family- a mate! The word chilled her blood and she clicked into her assassin's mind instinctively. Thoughts of him would only serve to have her killed. The woman was in the way, she would have to die... but first, she would have the option of life.

She moved to the door the man had slid through and made to enter it, ignoring the woman, though there was a hand on her blade just in case...

[Ibakha]

"You," said Ibakha, "aren't from around here." The tone was casual, her hands left idle at her sides. She was watching Fayane, had watched her in the walking up to the place, what items and clothing were visible on her person. A lot could be gleaned from a person's gait and dress.

Ibakha was casual, almost flippant. There was nothing in her posture to suggest violence or even that she had a capability to fight at all. Nothing but the weapons she wore like baggage, and the peek of her leather pants beneath her calf-length deel.

She smiled at Fayane.

[Fayane]

She was stalling Fay from her mission, but she'd play nice, perhaps the lost tourist? She turned to smile back wearily at the woman. "Is it that obvious? I apologize... am I going somewhere I am not supposed to? My mate always did say I was helpless with directions!" Lies, all lies, usually she'd get them un-lost, but such conversations had taken place regularly in Marn and so she was comfortable in mimicing them.

The woman seemed harmless, friendly even. Fay didn't trust her. Hell she barely trusted Jerial and Saruna, but that was beside the point. Fay didn't trust anyone. Still, she kept smiling sheepishly.

[Ibakha]

Obvious, indeed. "Oh, I'm not to say where someone should or shouldn't be going. I'm not around here, myself. Would you like an escort? I'd planned on waiting outside, but the heat of the sun. . ." Ibakha started fanning herself. It helped that there was sweat on her face: the heat really was unbearable for her. "Travel for lone women can be so dangerous, don't you think?"

[Fayane]

Fay didn't like the thought of the other woman following her, she didn't like this at all. But with no viable excuse, Fay simply laughed and agreed, sliding inside, ignoring the paranoia that screamed she was about to be stabbed in the back. Blue eyes scanned the room quickly. There. She found him easily enough... now how to be rid of the woman?

"Would you like a drink? It's on me." The offer dropped from her smiling lips without a thought. She had some poison on her, it wouldn't take much to knock the woman out. On the other hand, a thrown knife would solve the issue entirely and she could just walk out... but then again, Fay never had the best aim with projectiles...

[Ibakha]

The woman had given in easily enough, true, but Ibakha didn't like the idea of a person so strange in appearance just happening to come into the bar so shortly after her current squeeze had. But despite the irritation and the wariness she kept her face pleasant, neutral. She was good at that, at the least. Here, then, the weight of her weapons was a reassurance and not a burden. What was that feeling? Ah, yes. Alive.

"I find the raw alcohols here hurt my stomach. Aie, they do not serve the true drink of my homeland, kumis. Otherwise I might take you up on that offer." Drink on the job? Never.

Ibakha too spotted her target, though in her mind he was a target only in the defense of. Otherwise she might have robbed him blind out of spite. Some things die hard, and some days she missed the rogue's life. Most days, however, she enjoyed having a full belly and a dry head. She moved casually to the side of Fayane nearest to her employer, so that the other woman wouldn't have a clear view without straining.

She smiled blithely, "Come, then, tell me of your travels. I haven't seen one with your coloring before."

Truth.

[Fayane]

Oh she was good... Fay couldn't help but to admire the woman's tact... so she played along. She shifted her weight so her target was in a more clear line of sight, her stance an attempt at casual. "People of my colouring aren't common in my area either." She joked before gesturing to a seat. If the woman sat, Fay'd have just enough time to dodge around her and possibly get a luck throw in. If not, well... she needed to brush up on her blade skills anyways.

"My tale's a long one, perhaps you would like to sit?" Besides, if she sat, then Fay could easily slam her face into the table - it'd alert her prey but it'd save her killing an innocent.

[Ibakha]

Fayane hadn't sat. Ibakha was not the sort to blithely do others' bidding, not even if the order came from her present purse. "A moment if you will; if you are to be my guest I will ensure adequate service." Ibakha moved towards the bar, loosening her sash as she did so and the knife in easiest reach there. Bows would be, of course, nearly useless inside; the short sword would be the best for its slightly longer reach. Assuming the woman was really a danger and not just some hapless traveller as she said she was. Ibakha wasn't entirely sure either way, but she was a cautious woman and had found that sort of wariness (paranoia, it'd been called) often paid off better than a lax glibness about the intentions of others.

She walked slowly, the area around the body she was hired to protect clearly visible in her peripheral. Movement then would be obvious.

"Excuse me," she called, though one of the wenches was near enough, "I have need of service."

She had the attention of the body she was guarding then, and she could see him frowning in some gawping expression of both exasperation and confusion.

Oh, how she wished for once, just once, she had a boss who wasn't also flat out stupid.

[Fayane]

She moved. It wasn't far, it wasn't out of the way, but it was just enough. She moved fast, muscles pushing her fast. She flashed forward to her target, eyes now like ice, her blades drawn since the her first step. As always when she moved in for a kill, time slowed down. She moved through water, the man's eyes widening. She slid, avoiding a wench, that cost her a second, but not a whit more for as she stopped, a single movement had her blades in his chest. Steel sank into organs and bone, slicing. Blood came up, glorious crimson- a sharp pain in her back. Fay blinked as time regained its usual speed from the sound of a blade hitting the ground.

Out came the blades, ready to defend as she watched her 'friend' come at her. It was time to dance...

[Ibakha]

Reaction was a tricky thing. Ibakha had been cocky, had been mellow in the way she usually was on a slow job that stank of desperation and poor planning and too little in the way of excitement. She'd pegged Fayane as a possible danger. It was all shit.

The movement was fast, too fast to register and respond in the same half heartbeat. By the time Ibakha was reacting, she knew, could already tell she wasn't going to be fast enough. Those few seconds were a garbled mess of knowing and cursing in her head before the cool assessment started to take over. In that soup of worthless thoughts her body was reacting as it was trained: the knife was plucked free of its scabbard and sash with a quick snap of her wrist that extended into a throw. It was the wrong knife for throwing. That thought was an angry thought, as she watched it flash out in front of her.

It was the knife she used for eating. Her expression didn't change as it thumped sideways into Fayane's back. Useless.

Mistakes meant blood, and Ibakha was already lunging after Fayane, pulling sword righthanded and thumbing the quick release on the strap that kept bow, bow scabbard and quiver attached on her back. It hit the ground as she lead under the half-formed guard Fayane offered her, crossing one foot in front of the other to step into Fayane's space and give her the side of her body -- smallest target. The blade itself was two feet in length, an additional foot being taken in the guard. It was a simple, straight length of steel. No flourishes, no fancy design. It was a tool for killing.

Ibakha intended to kill.

She opened with an upward sweep aimed for opening Fayane's inner thigh, inimical to the upwards draw necessary for Fayane; it would require speed and accuracy to deflect.

Ibakha didn't have a shield, wasn't trained to wield a dagger in secondary defense as she'd seen others do. As Fayane's style might allow for.

Well, shit.

[Fayane]

She saw the blade come up - she'd be able to block it... barely. She managed it, but it cost her, the impact sending tremors up her wrist, causing it to wail in protest, but she could keep her leg. She used that ability now, skipping back to give herself some space, her blades up in a full guard now. The woman was trained, highly so, but her style was different to her own... Fay almost thought to call her even, especially with the idiot throw.

"Your throw missed." Fay called easily, her eyes watching. "Your blow was exceptional, however. Perhaps you'd like to try hitting me this time?" Taunts were not her usual style... but after everything that had happened in the woods - Jerial, the pixie children, Saruna's idiotic innocence... Fay craved a fight badly. She wanted blood, more than just a pathetic assassination. She wanted a fight.

[Ibakha]

Silence was the reward for Fayane's words. Ibakha had taken advantage of that momentary weakness gained by the default of her sole job -- protection -- and now they engaged as equals. Even footing, at the least.

Tables and chairs were noted, as she slid after Fay, as were people moving either to clear room or to leave entirely. Far enough out of their space that they went back into the dulled part of her head, the back end of it left to process outside influences away from the concentration required to handle an opponent. Because once engaged, Ibakha took every fight seriously. Even a raw idiot could get in a lucky strike, if you weren't careful. Ibakha liked living.

She crowded in, her blade held at hip height, blade tilted towards Fayane. True, she didn't have a blade in her other hand, but she knew how to deflect with the empty hand -- though it was always a matter of reflex facing two blades -- and that she held close to her chest, inside of her wrist inward.

Inwards she stepped, right foot forward, and brought up her sword in a quick slashing motion up the middle of Fayane's body: searching for the dominant, the preferred side. It was a probe, a test, and as quickly she pushed back, pivoting off her left foot.

[Fayane]

Fay deflected the blow easily, frowning. A test? Changers... perhaps Fay was wrong. Time to see if the woman could kick it up a notch. She followed the woman, flipping her blades so their flats rested against her fore-arms, and moved to slam her stomach with the pommel. Right foot in her space, a twist of her torso, left arm up and ready to block even as her right sailed to the other's midriff.

A knock to the diaphragm was her goal - out winded the woman wouldn't be able to chase her and Fay could escape... or kill her. Another potential was bruising or breaking ribs, a soreness that would hamper movements and lessen any blows that would have been enhanced by the movement of her upper body.

It's all about slowing them, Fayane, if you are in a fight. Slow them, hurt them, make them wish they'd never met you. Then if they're too stupid to yield, slaughter the pigs.

[Ibakha]

Ibakha's left hand had been waiting at chest level for such a strike, and she slapped the pommel away, the twist of her body -- left side forward -- allowing the deflection without too much strength necessitated. Down she pushed, aiming for the hand and its weapon to go wide as she stayed close, stabbing up with her right, under the arm, pushing to stab into Fayane's body. She yanked back, intending to slash the arm on the withdraw. So long as her blade was not trapped, she'd stab forward again, low, right side forward. Left hand ready for deflection.