Spirits of the Earth

The cold air that swept across his sweating brow could provide little relief for him.  Storm clouds brewed overhead, rolling in as flashes of lightning licked the sky and thunder crashed shortly after.  The setting was too perfect and if Bishop didn’t know any better he would have thought he would have thought he would have read this scene somewhere in a children’s tale of jokers and thieves.  But he knew better than to believe this tale could end with the innocent justified and the heroes in victory.  He knew better, all too well.

He shook, his heart rattling against the confines of his ribcage as the thunder rolled over again.  If he was going to move, he had to move quickly and now was the time to do it.  Every second squandered was a second the noose was knotted tighter around his neck.  The bounty hunters were close, their hooves pounded down the road behind him.  Bishop had half a mind to run into the woods, but even he knew that they were scouting that area doubly so.  They were trying to close in on him, bottle him up and fall prey to his nerves.  And damn them if it wasn’t working!

Bishop took a deep breath had to remain calm lest he let them get the better of him.  He’d remembered this road, as he clung to the side of it, he knew it well enough as it lead down to a small village just up ahead.  It was a squat little hamlet, where he might find a place to lay low for a bit until the hunters passed.  He could only hope and cling to a will and a prayer, even if such a wish was as intangible as the wind.

As the rain beat down on him, Bishop took the chance at hand, beating down the road, seeing it was empty.  Still the pounding hooves behind him kicked up dirt and mud as they were coming around the bend, around just behind him.  Bishop ran faster, seeing the town just ahead.  He ducked low and leapt for the nearest bush.  The bounty hunters were cresting the hill and burrowing down on him now.

“I think I see him!” one of them called.  “Quickly!  Don’t let him out of your sight!” 

Bishop made a small gasp as he moved from his hiding spot and dashed as fast as his legs could take him.  He was thankful for the rain, though it chilled him to the bone, thankful for the howling winds and darkest of evenings to hide him from the hunters.  He bounded around a small shack, zigzagging between huts as the riders began to close in on him.  But he knew he could master in the enclosed spaces than they could on their large steeds, even in the rain.

He knew they lost sight of him for a few seconds and a few seconds was all he needed to spot a nearby pigpen and immediately vaulted over the enclosure wall.  He landed ankle-deep in mud and the hogs there just looked at him funny but didn’t make a noise.  He put a finger in front of his lips.  “Shh,” he whispered, eyes wild and desperate.  He waded through the mud and found a nearby haypile that two of the pigs were slumbering.  They oinked a little but just moved over to make room for their new bed room as Bishop threw the hay over himself, thankful for the lean-to that covered the pen and curled up in a corner, sinking partly into the mud and covering himself in as much hay as possible.

Thunder rolled again, and Bishop held his breath as he heard hooves clopping nearer, voices talking amongst themselves at his direction.  He kept quiet, even amongst the smell of pigs and slop.  The other two pigs just glanced at him before going back to sleep.

Gods, please Bishop begged.

It all happened so fast, the images of her past life, her second chance, was slipping away from her with each chime of the box.  The mallet hit to metal, clanging, chiming, signing, ringing as the images of his face played through smiles and tears and laughter and pain. He was so handsome. So smart, so sweet. It was evident in his eyes he was destined for her, as his smile had captured her soul, her heart. And as the images were pulled, the colors turned to grey, faces, expressions, memories fluttering like pages of a book. They had a child. They had a ring. One beautiful daughter who's laughter echoed around them like a phantom, until the images of her started to bleed and they faded away into nothing, disappearing with a scream. Then it stopped.  There was one last image of him, his smile, his face so sweet, those eyes so warm and inviting, then it was pulled away at the last clang of the chimes, the image ripped from her mind. And she would no longer remember she had become Helena Rhyas again.

Like a pendulum swing, he moved past her. She could hear his foot steps moving across the wood floor.  Another swing had her pulling her eyes up from the weight that held her. Her mouth was dry, the air was cold, and the room was dark.  She found herself trembling, and when she moved, she felt her wrists restrained. Gasping, her breath cut across the dry air as she sought to move, pulling against the rope until it dug and burned into her flesh, panic pushed her from the heavy spell that fogged her mind and into this reality. But with another swing of the pendulum of the clock, the ticking of the hand, the pace of his steps, he was across the room again, this man who was so tall, so queer. She couldn't even see his face, he kept it masked in the side of the room that was draped in triangular cut of shadow.

"P-please," her words finally found her tongue as she moved again, bare feet scraping against the floor. "L-let go of me. I shouldn't be here."

It was those words that made the man turn, his face familiar, his blue eyes blazing from the shadows. Even his voice was familiar as he told her in a curdling tone, "Yes, you should. You belong here."

Her mouth dropped open, her eyes widening as she realized where she was. There was a familiar cage in the corner, a faint glowing light in it's center. She blinked. Tears cut at her eyes. The cage.... She remembered the cage. It contained her soul.  And the man... He was the puppeteer, her master, the one who controlled her, had taken her in and claimed her as his own. And as he approached, she didn't flinch, but bared her teeth at him, spitting at him angrily for all she was worth.

"You!" her voice echoed, cutting like a thousand knives across the room. In a single motion, he moved upon her, the noise echoing in a thousand rushing beats. A hand was to her throat, choking her, and she gasped, unable to speak as he held her. But then his grip lightened, his hands smoothed down her neck, tracing over the golden heart necklace which glowed faintly, like the beating of a heart. She could even feel it, and as her chest heaved she looked down, following his hands to where the heart charm lay off a leather cuff bound around her neck. Her face contorted, twisting in confusion before she lifted her head up to him, her heart beating, nearly racing out of her chest.

"Yes, it is I, and I have waited too many years to find you," his voice was strangely soft, although raspy, as if he spoke any louder, his voice might crumble away like dust. He traced his curled fingers delicately down the side of her face, examining her and her beauty. "You took on another name."

She heard his tongue ticking, but after a time, he had grown silent and the only ticking was from that of the wooden clock. Her eyes moved around the room, noticing, just barely, the glint of light from beneath the door catching on string bound around the room. It was like a spiders web, though more chaotic and lacking any of the beauty a lady spider might weave. And as she looked down, the ropes on her wrist were gone, and only indents were visible from where the thin string was bound around her body, pressing into her skin. Her eyes traced across it, and she soon realized the string was all around her, all around the room, catching and lacing and binding off the walls, her arms, her wrists, her ankles, even her neck.. pretty much all over her body was looped in the invisible strings. Then into the darkness the ends stretched, and although the room was small, the shadows made it appear as if it stretched on into infinity.

It was then the strange man stepped forward, fingers lacing into a single string that lay before him. She raised her head, vision still heavy,  as she was still awakening from her dream. It seemed he was caressing it delicately before his fist snatched around it and pulled hard. She let out a cry, the entire right side of her body snapping in that direction. Then he jerked it upwards, and her hand went with it, raising up into the air. His fingers moved, gently, guiding it and although she fought it, she felt her fingers uncurl and open, and slowly the man stepped forward, slipping his fingers into hers and holding her hand firm. His skin was cold against the warmth of her own skin, even clammy. Then he stepped back, drawing back the string from another hand. Her left side jolted forward, being pulled, commanded as she fell into his arms and he moved to embrace her, his lips crushing over hers until the air had been taken and she fell back into the dark.

The last thing she had heard was, "Welcome back, my little Scarlet Bird." Before her world melted away into hot darkness once again.


Several months later....
She was already back into her old habits. Though blood hadn't stained her clothing or weapons yet that day, there was still the memory of it as her weapons craved for more.  She had been on the chase of a man her master implored her was wicked. He was a man sent to throw her off the trail, would get in her way of a higher purpose.  This man was Maddox Rhyas. And despite having once been her husband, he meant nothing to her now, the memories taken from her as she tried and tried again to hunt him down.  It was thought he was dead, but when his trail came up warm, and the proof was there that he was most certainly not, her master sent her out to find him.

"Bring him back or kill him. Which ever you'd like."
She smiled and leaned her cheek into his hand.
"But I do so love to kill," she purred, her eyes dancing in the dark.

But now it was raining, the water coming in sheets throughout the town. It wouldn't be hard to find him. The other damn assassins out to kill him were making about as much ruckus as a pack of hounds. But this was her kill. And she would not let those dogs get to him first. After all, she was mildly curious of this man, and catching fleeting glimpse of him as his figure would stumble through the moon light, she found herself intrigued. Even from a distance he was handsome. It would be fun to cut up his pretty face. But the 'hounds' had her annoyed, so she set up her metal string, and as the night went on, the chase progressing, slowly, one by one they fell, leaving behind a puddle of blood. Her fingers moved to clean off the sharp string. Because it was so thin, a simple clothe would do. Then she dropped the blood soaked clothe onto the severed body and moved onward. After all, it wasn't the first time she left a trail of men in pieces.

So as the men fell, the night grew more quiet, so that the only thing seeming to chase Bishop was the wild call of the wind, and the rain bleating against the side of the lean to. But then there it was. Her red leather boots crunching against the slick cobble stone as she walked past him. They were barely a breath away. Her eyes were tracing around, searching for him in silence. He might even have been able to spot her silhouette in the darkness, her cool eyes searching, looking, wanting....

She knew he was close by- the only thing to know was- just how close was he? She kept a firm hold upon her string, contemplating setting up a trap, and as she moved she stepped away from the pig's home and into the open moonlight, exposing herself for what she was, a woman decked out in red leather and feathers, a bustle trailing behind her, having been soaked in blood and smearing a trail of red in her wake.

[Awesome post, by the way]

Bishop huddled in the dirty pig pen, underneath the hay, staving off the cold as best he could.  He held his breath, the air coming quietly out of his mouth.  Rain pattered on the lean-to roof, dripping down into the muddy mess.  He listened intently, suddenly noticing the voices of the men were vanishing one by one.  There was no scream, but even after all these years, Bishop could still recognize the sound of blood spilling on the floor.  It was disguised only faintly by the storming rain and the howling wind seemed to scream even louder because of it.

Bishop stilled his breath, listening between the wind, rain, and the grunts and oinks of the pigs that did little else but mind their own business.  They did not seem particularly startled by anything and only sheltered themselves in the lean-to from the rain.  He was laying on his back in the hay and slowly turned his head to view between the slits of the pen gate.

In the moonlight, he saw a familiar shape, silhouetted and glimmering in a mystifying manner.  His breath hitched audibly despite the wind and he gave a small gasp when he recognized her eyes, their shape, as far away as she was.  "Helena," he found himself whispering, but immediately moved a hand to cup his mouth for fear that she might hear him.  He kept quiet then, as still as possible, hiding his face back underneath the hay, the hogs oinking nonchalantly.

OOC: Thanks~ sorry that post had been kind of long D:

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She turned on her heel, thinking she heard something, but as she turned, the winds picked up. She furrowed her brow in irritation. Had she lost him?
She frowned, swearing beneath her breath as her eyes cleaved through the night. That's when she heard the oinking of pigs. Slowly, she turned around, and found herself staring back at a pair of eyes that looked at her through slits in the wooden slats. And even at that distance, she felt herself knowing those pair of eye in that moment. She would have shivered, but then something returned to her- something she knew.

The eyes..
She knew whose eyes those were. And she didn't waste another second before tightening her grip upon her metal strings and throwing one at the side of the building , cutting into the wooden slat and giving it a hard jerk. The wood came lose, cutting into a few clean, small pieces before clattering loudly to the rain soaked cobblestone .
And there he was. She could see more of his face as the moonlit bled upon him.
ANd she laughed through closed lips, a soft sound that carried out against the rain.

Bishop discreetly shifted his leg up, knee to chest as his hand slid down into his boot, pulling out a small blade and pressing it against his palm, expecting her figure to come rushing toward him at any moment.  He must have lost her in the dark and he closed his eyes when there was a sudden crashing and squealing of wood splintering as the slats were suddenly ripped apart from the pen, the lean-to was shattered and rain came smashing down on him.  He gasped and rolled out from the hay, a wet, soaked, muddy mess.

As he rolled he grabbed a handful of mud and gripped it tightly in his free hand before flinging it at her face in hopes of blinding her for the briefest of seconds as he rolled onto his knees and ran through the mud and easily bounded over fence of the pen.  He slipped as he fell to the stones, scuffing his knee and he limped, trying to run around to the next building.  He ducked into shadows easily, trying to find another place to hide.

Eventually he found a series of barrels lined against an alley wall.  He pulled the lid off of one of them and slipped inside, pulling the lid down on his head as best he could, holding his breath, remaining silent.

The mud was unexpected, forcing her to flinch away. Shaking and wiping off the mud, she hissed a hot growl through her teeth and looked around. Seeing how he had evaded her, she listened to her surroundings, eyes scanning the area, everything slick with rain, shadows and light muddled by the waters. It would have easily covered his tracks, but one such place a boot print was still left pressed into the cobblestone, one illuminated by the faint glow of a nearby lantern. Smirking, her eyes followed it to an alley way, spotting yet another boot print that disappeared down the way.

As she stepped inside the narrow path, her heels clicked against the ground, echoing as she went. There were several easy places to hide around here. A line of barrels, a row of crates, even an old sack, though it was deflated. She still kicked it with her boot, only to find herself startled and drawing out a thin blade when an old alley cat came out, soggy and wet and ratty, fleas leaping across it's back as it snuggled against her leg. Her eyes narrowed as she looked down at it, but then the cat moved away, snuggling one of the barrels.

The barrels...
She slowly approached, her heels causing echoes down the alley as her eyes swept over and around them. He wasn't behind them- so she found out, after she leaned  behind, a blade at the ready. But once she didn't find him, she tapped the cold blade to her chin, then glanced down to where the cat now stood ontop of a barrel, pawing at one with it's lid slightly off set compared to the others. While the other four had rain slicking down the tops, this one appeared relatively dry, as if the waters had recently been spilled.
Smirking, she stepped around to the other side of the barrel, examining it and listening sharply for  voice or breath.

It was hard to tell. The rain was at a constant now, no longer a drizzle as it coated her entire body, making skin and red leather slick. The cat continued to purr, mrowling here or there as Scarlet Bird walked away, the clicking sound of her heels echoing until she had all but disappeared. But she was no fool. In fact, she had trained well to be a spider, and spun a few thin metal strings in her wake, hoping to catch the fly.

Bishop held his breath, trying to still his rapidly beating heart that was knocking against the cage of his ribs.  He didn't make a noise and the months of practice allowed him to handle his nerves and be quiet and listen to the rain.  He jumped a little at the sound of heels clicking against the stone.  But he kept himself still, waiting, listening.  Something brushed against the barrel and purred and meowed and Bishop wished he could just stab that damn cat through the slats of the barrel to get that damn beast to shut up!

He held his breath, feeling light headed as a result of it.  Heels clicked away, walking slowly, tauntingly he knew and he waited an extra five minutes just to be sure she was gone before he slowly lifted the lid of the barrel from his head, looking around for her.  Finding nobody, he threw the lid off and carefully climbed out from the barrel.  He moved carefully going out the way he came when something suddenly caught around his legs and dropped him down to the ground. 

He found several other wires there tangling around his arms when he suddenly tried to move.  They dug deeply into his skin  and seared into his shirt.  He cried out, grunting as he struggled but realized it was all for naught.  Yet he couldn't stop the panic in his heart when he saw her shape at the opposite end of the alleyway again.  And beside him he saw the cat delicately leap up and land on his belly and bound gracefully to the otherside, running down the street and out of sight.

Damn, if only he had been that graceful.

This was far too easy. Her heels clicked against the wet streets as she approached, her smile evident on her lips and eyes. Though it was a cruel sort of look, it still made her all the more pretty in her little red leather dress. She studied him over carefully, approaching, but not touching him as her eyes slid along the strings that bound him before she turned around to let her eyes meet to his.

"You're making my job too easy," she purred, moving forward to place a gloved finger under his chin. She held onto his cheek, examining his face before letting it go and rising, her body towering over his and blocking some of the rain.  "I suppose all that's left is to figure out what to do with you." Her lips twitched into a smirk. He was a rather handsome man, the way his hair curled all wet with rain. A pity he was her enemy. She could see herself enjoying the company of such a man, but did not know why she thought it. Perhaps it was because he was so good looking. Good looking men were a rare commodity in themselves. Or perhaps she was just being picky. After all, she's had so many men throughout her life- why care for one sniveling now upon the wet cobblestone?

But she couldn't help but look at him. He seemed so familiar. Why couldn't she remember? Perhaps her master had been right.
He was always right.

Wondering just how pretty she was, really was the last thing on his mind.  Bishop was afraid to move lest the wire dig through his flesh and into his bones.  His heart beat faster, straining, groaning with grit teeth as he felt the wire shred into his flesh even more.  He looked at the strangely clad woman with wild, hunted eyes and he wished his arm was free that he might slash his blade at her.  He just clutched it tightly in hand, the blade digging against his palm.

He locked eyes with her as she caressed his face but for some reason that only made his skin crawl and itch to be free from her presence.  Her eyes...why did she have Helena's eyes, but he knew in his heart it wasn't her.  Something was different, something changed her.  And here she was again, caught him at last and would kill him.  Bishop stilled in the wire and just stared at her imploringly.  "Why are you doing this?  What do you want with me?  You can take nothing more from me that I haven't already lost.  Let me go!  Helena....please."

She was smiling, quite content with her victory, that was, until he called her that name. She frowned. She had another alias she had gone by, but Helena was not it. And it irritated her that this man kept calling her by some foreign name each time they met. It irritated her, grated on her nerves and sent a sickening feeling to the pit of her belly. It was a feeling she could not shake. It made her feel as if she was... missing something. But what? She did not like this feeling... So, she took a hold of her strings and pulled them taunt, forcing them to press a bit deeper into his skin.

"Do not call me by that name as if you know me," she threatened, her eyes dark from behind her mask, breath hot and moving in cold, white clouds between them. "My reasons do not need to be revealed to you. Just know you are now my prisoner, and I will do with you as I want."
And she took him by the face, his handsome, pretty face, moving forward as if to kiss him, but instead, she smashed her head into his, aiming to knock him out.

Working quickly, she bound him up tight and threw his body over her shoulder, then disappeared into the night.


Upside down Bishop would be bound, legs held tightly by the same strings as they were latched onto the ceiling. His entire body was covered in her thin, metal ropes, just enough to keep him in place, lest the fool dare to move. And he was left in a room that was silent and dark.
But she was still there, studying him in silence off in a dark corner, only her green eyes piercing through it.

He hoped, against all hope that she would remember, that something would come back and explain why she was acting so strangely.  His heart ached all the more to watch the woman he once loved...loved still act as if they'd never met, and for all that time in that briefest moment he truly believed that she would cut into him and this would be the end of it all.  Of everything he'd run all those many months for.  He was completely at her mercy, or so she would believe, when she neared him.  He grit his teeth, ready to bite her or spit at her when her face suddenly came smashing into his.

His head throbbed for a good long minute before everything went black suddenly and he was still in the wire.  He sensed little outside the darkness and when his eyes at last opened, he thought he was still unconscious.  He was suspended by his legs, and the wire creaked here and there as it had been wrapped around them, his arms hanging below by his head.  Bishop realized then that he'd lost the blade he'd had in his hand, the one he'd slipped from his boot.  It was a shame he didn't get to use it.

He saw those green eyes in the darkness and furrowed his brows.  He swallowed hard on a dry throat and stared at her though he could feel blood steadily rush to his brain.  "Helena," he breathed, hoping he might still reason with her.  "What has happened to you?  What have you become?"

She flinched at the name, but remained unmoving, silently watching him from the shadows.  She was still studying him, but part of her held back from approaching him, from making her move. She had been ordered to kill him. And here he was, caught within her trap.
Yet something held her back, a curiosity unquestioned as she kept her green eyes upon him, but remained in silence, as if waiting, ears straining, curious as to what else he might have to say.
Perhaps it was just some sort of tactic, but something felt different in the way he responded to her. His fear was real, but something else was captured within his eyes. A longing, a pain...
She could not tell, but it had her curious.
And perhaps this man held a secret. A secret she wanted to find.

Bishop's words fell on deaf ears and his heart sank even more.  She just stared at him!  What for!?  If she was going to kill him, he preferred she would just get it over with, but he could tell within her eyes that if that was the case, he would have already been dead, not hanging upside down feeling more and more heavy-headed.  If he was to die, the only way would be through torture.  And with these wires, Bishop could tell it she would just slowly tear him apart.

"Helena," he breathed again, looking at her imploringly.  But he actually grinned at her, and laughed a little.  "You always were a quiet one, even when we first met.  You could say so much with just a look...  I think that's what I liked most about you.  I only wish I knew where that woman was somewhere underneath that beautiful face.  I see she is gone now...  And whoever you are...can I at least ask what you plan on doing to me?  Is it torture or death?  Or both?"

"Oh, death most certainly," Scarlet bird told him with a smirk. "But you have me curious." And even with her memories buried, her curious nature was not something her master could deter. "My master tells me you are such a dangerous man," she began, sauntering his way as her form slipped out from the shadows, the dim light casting a faint glow, a shine that seemed to burn across her red leather and flesh. She had a string held firm and taunt between both hands, heels clicking against the hard wooden floor and paused just a few feet before him before bending over and studying his face.
"But it's interesting. You hardly seem a fighter, nor a mage, nor any one of dangerous power at all. Yet he fears you worst of all, like a pesk, a flea he just can't reach to scratch." She gave a single laugh through a smirk as her fingers began to tip toe about on the strings that were bound to him, tapping them lightly, but just enough to remind him what they could do. "Yet here you are, so easily to capture and sniveling like a worm. Tch." She tilted he rhead to one side, eyes sliding down his body.  "If it weren't for the apparent good looks, I'd hardly call you a man at all."

Bishop visibly stiffened as she came nearer to him.  When he touched the string, he could feel the wire dig deeper into his flesh and he gave a grun as the wire near his neck began to draw a thin, but visible line of blood.  He wanted to spit in her face, to head but her but knew any such sudden movement could have him in pieces before the night was over. 

She was curious about him no doubt...and perhaps that might be able to work to his advantage.  He held his breath and looked at her with narrowed eyes.  "I am a man," he said bravely, though he didn't feel so in any way.  "If you weren't convinced, then why bother keep me alive?  You're master seems have trained you well in the arts of stealth and deception, but hardly in the art of dealing with prisoners it seems.  You know nothing about me...you're not the woman I once knew, and I see you'd sooner sink a blade into my heart than realize what life we shared...  But who am I kidding?"  Bishop actually laughed at her.  "You only kill because your master says so...you can't even make a decision for yourself."

Scarlet bird plucked another string, grinning deviously as her gaze held onto his eyes. The sight of blood on him heated her cheeks, exciting her in a curious way.  The idea of death on most men rarely sparked this sort of feeling. It was raw and exciting, intoxicating almost as something so delicate hung in the balance, and she need only give one strong tug to her strings and he'd fall into nothing but a pile of cut blood and meat.  But in the same breath, she felt hesitant, as if this moment might be lost, as if something might be lost. Her finger touched the string again, but more delicately as she turned away.

"Oh? What else do you think?" she asked, feigning only mild curiosity as she walked away a few steps, pausing as she stared over at the door.

"I'd say," Bishop began, testing the waters.  He was starting to get dizzy and his legs were getting numb, hanging the way he was.  "I'd say that if you really wanted to kill me, you would have done it by now.  But despite your master's orders, something is staying your hand.  Something stirring inside of you.  Or maybe you think I'd just foolishly anything to save my hide.  And maybe you'd be right.  Any man hanging upside down at the complete mercy of someone like you would be more the fool not too.  Even if such pleas fell on deaf ears."

Bishop had to think and think fast lest he fall unconscious, lest he be left here to die.  He was not a man of unscrupulous morals, but when you literally had nothing left to lose, he had to use every avenue available or this would be the end.  And that was one route he was not yet willing to take.

"Before you leave, would it be too much to ask if I could make a last request?  A kiss before I die.  For old times sake at least," Bishop propositioned.  He looked her down and up (as he could from that angle) and eyed her outfit as best he could in the darkness, watching the folds, her belt, her hands, where it all was placed.

A clever fool was still clever. She took in his words, baited by them and curious by what he meant. But it amused her to think he wanted something simple as a kiss. Though, a lot of her clients might request the same if they were in his boat. After all, she could put many men at her mercy at the bed side, and win many smiles and confidence for them during a night on the town. She was amicable and sexy, and lovely to behold; but here at night..
at her master's words, she was a lethal beauty, and belonged soley but to him. So, intrigued by his words, she spun around, staring at him across the darkness before a soft chuckle escaped her lips. And surprising even herself, she stepped forward, heels clicking across the wood before she paused just before him, keeping in a breath and staring at him with pressed lips.

"You act as if you've already tasted my lips,"s he told him, fingers delicately moving across his lips as she studied his face. The flesh just around it contained a heavy shadow of a beard, one that needed shaved, or perhaps had even been shaved but a few days ago. Her thumb stroked over it, his scent meeting to her nose as she felt herself drawn forward.
"A silly request before you die." She told him, then sealed her lips to his.

Though the kiss had become anything but, as the heart shaped orb around her throat suddenly began to glow, a heat emanating from it, pulsating to the fluttering beat of her heart. Her lips moaned and twisted against him as a light inside her mind cut through the fog. There were remnants, a kiss, a smell, the feel of his stubble scratching against her lips that jolted through her in awkward, welcoming recognition- even the words, the name rang through her....

"Helena..."

Startled, she pulled away, eyes wide as she stumbled into the wall, bracing herself as tears wet her eyes, appearing glossy and cut as she looked at him in fear and confusion in the dark.
"What is this witch craft- why did I-!?" She looked away, unable to finish her thought as she smoothed a gloved hand down her face, trembling then as she held onto herself, feeling so vulnerable as she tried to fight back her tears.

Bishop tilted his head as best he could when she met her lips against his, hotly and with striking emotion that even he couldn't escape as his eyes opened and searched over her side as best they could in the dim lighting.  His hands moved silently as her tongue wrestled with his, slipping down her side where her belt was and find a thin, throwing knife from a small slit and sliding it carefully from its sheath.  He hid it within his palm when at last she pulled away, leaving him breathless and leaving her reeling.

"I-I'm sorry?" he said, confused at what happened.  "What are you talking about?  It was just a kiss."

Quickly growing angry, she glared back at Bishop before storming away, slamming the door shut behind her. She needed to think. She felt over whelmed, and dropped onto the floor as she held onto her head. Her body trembled, shaking with tears that felt foreign, but also felt right. And it aggreviated her that this was happening. What was going on to her? Why now? And what was so special about the man in the other room? He hardly seemed a threat, yet a single kiss sparked something,- something she almost felt was missing.  She always knew her master had.. ulterior motives at times. Perhaps there was some deeper secret entangled with this man. She didn't know. But she had to stop him and kill him soon, lest she find herself in one of those moments again.
And she could't show weakness.
Weakness meant death.
She was good at wearing a face. Wearing a mask.
She moved a hand up, wiping the tears away from behind the mask before moving towards the door.

It was time to kill.

It was strange indeed but he wouldn't let himself become distracted for long when at last she left.  Bishop quickly took those precious seconds to study the intricate display of the wires that wrapped around him.  He slipped the blade carefully from his palm and snipped the first wrapping around his arms and with a twang! they were suddenly free and he carefully moved them up to cut the wire around his body, feeling immediately reliefe where the wire was no long pressing furiously against his flesh.  At last he cut his feet and felt the blood rushing back into them when he dropped to the ground.  It took him precious seconds to come to his feet, feeling them numb and like lead blocks underneath him.

And it was within that time that he could hear the very springs of the doorknob moving and Bishop immediately shuffled into the shadows of the wall, pressing against it to hide behind the door when it suddenly burst open. But he had the blade in his palm at the ready as soon as his eyes caught hold of her.

The door swung open and Scarlet bird stepped inside, but only made it a few feet before she paused and tensed at the realization that Bishop had gotten free. The white of her teeth glinted as she bared them in the darkness, eyes cleaving through the area as she sought him out. Where could he have gotten to? And as she spun on her heel, she spotted something just out of the corner of her eye int he shadow, but perhaps her reaction might have been too late. She hadn't her weapons in hand and the only thing that could be done was a swift grab for her metal wire, which seemed too far out of reach as she was tripping over her high heels upon the wood floor.
Shit.

Bishop rushed at her, knowing the vital points of a human body all too well, sickeningly so, but sunk the blade hard into her shoulder and raised it again to bury it in the same wound before rolling off of her and bolting out the door, bloody blade still in hand as he went.  He wasn't going to let the weapon go though he still felt his own knives still hidden on his person.  She couldn't see his face, the tears that streamed down them from having to attack her.  But he couldn't let that hold him back.  He rushed up the stairs from the room, and saw all was dark all around.  A door!  A DOOR!

Goddammit, why did it have to be so damn dark up here!?  Bishop dashed for the first door he saw and rammed against it, feeling the locks protest against him.  He bashed it harder, using his boot until at last the wood gave way.

Scarlet bird felt the cold bite of the steel blade and dropped to her knees in shock. The second stab only caused her to burn in anguish  as she remained there a moment, stunned. But seeing his form blurring past her and towards the door, her heart hardened, even as she had been crying from the unknown shock. It angered her , especially as she didn't understand what was going on as she yanked out the steel threads within the room and stalked after him, heels biting angrily into the wood as she pursued him through the dark.

Seeing him at the door way, she threw her steel strings at him in an angered thrust, but failed and only caught it against the wood. Pissed, she gave a pull, and the pieces of string that caught against the wood sliced through it, and sent the remnants clattering into a pile upon the floor.

He didn't have time to think about it all when at last he broke the door free.  Only desperation burned in his heart then and there.  He heard the wood splinter when the metal wire snapped at it and he yelped audibly in fear of it.  But he fell to the ground in a roll and onto his feet, running through the woods, seeing the ground was still moist from the rain, though most of it had stopped by then.  The moon was full this night and clearly lighted the spaces between the canopy and every step was like the hammer of an anvil.

The rain might have stopped for the moment, but Scarlet Bird did not. Anger, humiliation and pride swelled through her. She was on the hunt, and she gave a sharp, taunt pull to her threads as she stalked off into the night.  A storm was brewing over head. The winds picking up and rocking the tree limbs, clattering them together while low howls swept across the grounds, kicking up wet leaves and debris.  A flash of lightning lit up the woods momentarily, ad it was just enough light for Scarlet Bird to find her prey. Bishop was scrambling onward, and so she moved, deftly through the woods with a purpose, high heeled boots sinking in and causing hard, stabbing tracks in her wake.

She was going to catch this man. And he was going to pay.
Play time was over. At the next flicker of lighting, she drew out her strings, eyed up Bishop's figure, then cast out the line, the steel weapon cutting easily through the woods-
But did she hit her mark?

Blood seeped into Bishop's legs with even more vigor than before and he no longer limbed as if he were running on stilts.  He had to get as far away from her as possible and the cold wind and rain that pelted down, not to mention the rolling thunder, had to be the furthest thing from his mind.  But it was all culminating in one tense ball that felt as if it were about to snap.  Bishop ran desperately, holding the bloodied throwing knife in his hands.  It was still warm in his palm and the thought of having to take the blade to his wife only horrified him all the more.

He felt sick to his stomach and if he weren't running for his life he would have thrown up then and there without a second thought.  Instead he kept on running, knowing she wasn't far behind him.  She was fast and even faster with the use of her metal wire that she no doubt would use to drag him back to the cabin again. 

Bishop's eyes were suddenly full moons when they at last heard the whipping sting of metal string singing on the air and it seemed as if they were wading through time as if it were little more than water.  He paused for only a moment, turning his head to watch the steel string coming toward him as if it were nothing more than fishing line.  It was coiling at him when suddenly it became alit like a lightning rod.

It all happened so fast.  At first there was a flash in the sky, lightning whipped across the sky from the storm clouds above and then all of a sudden it flashed down to the ground, finding itself connecting to Scarlet Bird's metal string.  It zapped through the line faster than Bishop could blink and struck into her, flashing and sparking through her to send her reeling to the ground.

They say it's rare when lightning strikes.  Tonight was no different, but the storm was rolling in fast. Had she known her weapons were an easy attracter of lighting, she might have went for a different weapon, but as it were- fate did as it wanted. So when the lightning struck, it surged across the wires, hissing down it in the blink of an eye-
and all she felt was a blast of heat crawlign through her, all of her hair standing on end, and her nose distinctively smelling of metal, before she was blasted into the air.
Not even a moment later, she was laying on the ground, another bolt of lightning show casing her still body, smoking lightly from the strike almost like an eerie mist. Hr hands were scarred with dark, black burns that welded into her skin even through her red leather gloves, and her hands, forcefula nd tense, continued to grip the metal string as smoke curled out and faded through her finger tips.
But other than the smoke, she lay still, and nothing more, as rain waters pelted down upon her skin, and the wild winds tossed lightly the loose strands of her hair.

Bishop watched in horror at the display and stood back as he watched her flying through the air and landing in a still heap on the ground, still grasping her steel wire.  He hesitated for a moment, standing there like a deer in headlights, not sure what to do.  He couldn't leave here there.  That was his wife...but he knew if he helped her she'd only try to kill him.

He stood there for a second longer before he bolted forward and dropped to his knees by her side.  "Helena," he muttered, though knew she wouldn't be able to hear him.  "Oh, Helena say something!"  He touched her then flinched, unsure if he would get shocked himself, but eventually found courage to turn her over gently.  He pulled the wire from her hands and coiled it carefully in hand, placing it in his pocket and searcing the rest of her body for her weapons and more wire before coming to the conclusion that she must be bound carrying her from that spot.

She was tired with her wrists behind her back with her own metal wire and more wire around her boots, expert knotting that would be difficult to break without her own weapon cutting into her and pulled her up and over his shoulder, taking her into the night.

OOC: I like how she's supposed to be kidnapping him. SO MUCH FAIL

------------------

Scarlet Bird hardly stirred as her own husband bound her up, using her own strings. As she was tossed over his shoulder, his scent alone kept her sated, lulled even between a time of memories and a time she had forgot. She could barely make him out in the meadows, the warm, golden air feeling too perfect when they'd met in the market...
a simple kiss there, a stolen one here, making love and making memories and the pain of child birth came back to her, along wtih the echoing laughter of her child.

Child!?
She had... yes.. she had a daughter- a child, a..
she began to struggle, lightly at first and didn't understand why metal was suddenly cutting into her skin as she gasped out through tears.
"Let me go! My child! I must get to my child! She needs me!" She was in hysterics, sound desperate and obviously did not remember that their child was already dead. "Please!" the woman was begging, hot tears rolling down her face as she continued to move, continued to cut herself and growing frustrated for it but still continued to try.

Bishop kept walking despite her struggles when the woman he knew as his wife suddenly startled awake and began to flail on his shoulder as best she could.  He saw the metal wire was starting to cut into her wrists through her leather and there was nothing more he could do to still her.  All he wanted to do was keep moving, to get as far away from this place as possible.  He didn't know where he was going, but any place was better than here.  Perhaps the only place was to go back to the beginning.  And he figured there was no better place to head as he pressed on.

But he paused suddenly at the mention of a child.  He looked down at her for a moment as she struggled.  "She's dead," Bishop said simply, feeling his own tears threaten to roll down his face, but he said nothing more and kept walking.  He moved his arm above her wrists to still her if he could, but perhaps she might think that he might have been responsible for her death.

The idea struck her far harsher than the lightning bolt, and in that moment, she let out a sharp cry, bucked within his arms and found herself wrestling out of his grasp. Down to the pavement she went, falling hard as she let out another cry, then lay still, her reddish brown hair, once bound within a long, thick braid, was beginning to come undone as frayed hair pieces were hanging about her head and some lay in streams in the wet cobblestone. Her eyes were hot, tears glistening as she began to shake. She couldn't stop the tears, it was too over whelming.

Her daughter was dead.

Bishop finally stopped amidst the storm and rested beside a tree as he took the struggling assassin in his arms and held her by her shoulders.  "Stop it!  Stop!  It's not your fault," he said, holding her face against his.  "It's not mine either.  She's gone...there's nothing we can do to bring her back.  You were a good mother.  She loved you and she wouldn't want you to be sad.  Please, stop crying.  Please."  He begged with her, pleaded with her, hoping that her own anguish wouldn't offset his own as even he felt the pain twist in his heart at the knowledge they would never see their daughter again.  He just held her and brushed her hair from her face, holding her hard against his chest.

At his words, she wept. At the idea, she wept, and at the vacant loss of her child, she cried. WHen he looked at her, told her there was nothing to be done- she had been a good mother- but what good mother would let a child die? A child who's name she didn't even know. The very idea set her back into a choking fit of sobs. She jerked her head away and shook it, hair spilling across her face.
"N-no! No! What kind of mother would let their child die!" she cried, and sobs soon became her, her entire body rocked with them. She lowered her face, burying it against him, her hands still restrained, still bleeding, her blood coating well down her arms and mixing with the rain puddles beneath them.
"Gods.. my child, my child.."
and her voice cracked as she raised her head, red eyes still spilling hot tears down her cheeks. And it was then she realized, with a loss..
"My child... my daughter..a nd I can't even remember her name."

Bishop held her tighter to him until his very muscles strained to contain her sorrow.  He didn't understand what she was going on about - how she couldn't even know her own daughter's name - or what had happened to her.  Hadn't she seen her when those men came that day?  Bishop blinked away hot tears of his own, reining himself in lest he fall prey to his own emotions.  "Helena," he said again, holding tightly to her bound arms and legs with all of his limbs, "It wasn't your fault...  There wasn't anything anybody could do.  Stop crying now.  Stop, please.  If I tell you her name will you stop?"

Bishop let her go and took both of his hands to her face and forced her to look at him.  "Her name was Lora.  Lora Rhyas.  And she was our daughter.  She was pretty and smart and looked like you.  She played in the garden and had a little doll that I made her she called Sassy, and she loved you more than me but had the decency not to show it and you taught her how to read and write and draw and be the best little girl we both knew she could be.  Her name was Lora."

Lora...
The name echoed into her mind, the very memory of it, breaking through and pulling out faint memories through the cracks. She had a daughter. She had a daughter that loved her. And her daughter was named Lora Rhyas. As Bishop held her face, her green eyes stared back at him wildly, still seeming clouded, but enough of her was there that she began to see. And it hurt. So much of it hurt, but she still didn't understand.

She never had the true time to mourn, the true time to realize what had happened-
That everything had been taken from her, even her husband, who should have been dead. She should have been dead, yet somehow.....
here they were...
They had survived.

Lora...
The word echoed inside her mind, memories flooding back along the echoes of Lora's fading laugh. She caught a glimpse of a smile here, the rush of her playing, the long hair, the skirts...
They were holding hands, running across a field, calling back to someone...
someone...
but who?

Furrowing her brows, she recalled the name, but not the face...
a peculiar circumstance considering the name was the same as the man who held her now, the man who told her it was their daughter. The same man she was sent to kill.
Taking in Bishop, she shook her head, tears still streaming down her face, her nose running, lips shaking.
"N-no..." she whimpered through tears. But she was a terrible mess. Her mind disoriented, and the heart necklace bound to her throat began to glow warmly yet again.

She grimaced. Like the swing of a pendulum memories struck through her- barely able to see it, but they were there, strong in the shadows of her mind. A man standing there- they were running to him...
the field, her child, the name...

"Bishop..." she whispered. "But how... why?" SHe trembled, her body shaking in spasms from her tears. "It doesn't make sense. I recall her now, just fragments. Why can't I remember?" She winced, hot tears streaming down her face, but the winds whipped by furiously, seeming to whisk those tears away and feeling good against the heat of her face. Her eyes searched his frantically for answers, answers that were not there. But then her eyes went distant, she tried to see the face, tried to make the connections, but only growle dout in frustration, fighting against her bindings yet again, string tearing into leather and at times, cutting back into her flesh.

Bishop squinted his brows, taken back.  He didn't understand as he watched her struggle against her bindings again, the metal wire ripping through leather and tearing into felsh.  Except this time, he did nothing to stop her.  Nothing was making sense and even as he tried to reason with her it seemed nothing was making any sense to her either.  Bishop let her face go and moved away from her, almost insulted at her lack of memory, but here was more concern in his voice than anything else.

"What do you mean you can't remember?  You can't recall your own husband.  Your own daughter...  This isn't like you...  But I see now there is much I didn't know that perhaps I should have.  I am Bishop.  That is me.  I wish I could say something that would help you but -"

He was starting to get frustrated with her struggles and grabbed her shoulders roughly and shook her.  "Would you stop that!?  Are you trying to cut your hands off?  Stop!  STOP!  I'm doing this because I love you!"  Bishop then struck her hard across the face, in the hopes of disorienting her, or at least knock her out to keep her from cutting herself further.

The blow struck, shooting white hot spangles into her vision, numbing her mind and causing her to wilt over. Her eye lids hung low, her body settled, but she moved no more. No longer struggling like a fool. But she was hardly unconscious, though she was wavering between that and being awake. So even as the rains poured down upon her, she simply lay there. Simply laid there as a few final tears rolled down her cheek, but were easily carried away by the constant rain.

Bishop wasn't a fighter, this he knew she was aware of so his strike could have very well not have knocked her out.  But it was a relief to find that she was no longer struggling and it was enough to know that she would no longer fight against her bindings.  He used the same throwing knife to cut them again with some difficult and inspected her wrists as he turned her over again.  He turned them over with care and no small degree of affection.

"Look what you've done," he murmured, carefully prying off her gloves.  "You're lucky you didn't sever any arteries.  Oh, Helena, I've got to take care of these right away or you're going to bleed out."

Scarlet Bird lay there. Wasn't she a pathetic sight to see? She didn't even fight or move or struggle. Only lay there, staring off, tears finally leaving her eyes, but making them red, and her face still hot. So even when she was 'free', she didn't move. And at his mention of being 'lucky', she didn't feel lucky, only confused, as she shivered against the chill of the rain.
She wasn't wearing much, and one thing that was good about her polished red leather clothing was that it kept the rain off,a nd did not soak through. However, the leather didn't cover much, and her clothing was absolutely ridiculous in it's own right, topped off by the leather mask she wore.

Bishop inspected her disheveled clothing and only took pity on her.  As much of a danger as she was to him, he couldn't find it in his heart to leave her there.  He unbound her feet as well, the wounds raw and riled up and he sucked in air through his teeth as he took her then into his arms.  He cradled her as he would have Lora if she'd fallen asleep somewhere in the parlor shortly before he'd put her to bed, resting Scarlet Bird's head against his shoulder.  "Let's find some place warm and dry and get out of this rain," he murmured, walking along.  "I think I know this place.  There's a small cave inlet not far up the path.  It'll at least be dry."

The feeling was strange and alien, but comforting all the same. She felt so pathetic, but didn't care. She was too hollow to care, so she didn't bother to reply to him when he made his suggestion. She just lay there against him, breathing in the soft, comforting smells from his skin, and from the rain.

Her wrists were raw and bleeding and Bishop said nothing more as he continued on their path.  He didn't have to speak and preferred to just listen to the sound of the rain, the clash of thunder, the sting of lightning in the sky.  He too was shivering and his muscles tightened with the cold that was seeping into his very bones.  When at last they'd made it to the inlet, Bishop set her down gently to the side.  They were sheltered from the rain as a large stone jutted out over them and gave plenty of shelter from the wind as well as it howled against the rock.

He busied himself with cutting pieces of cloth from his shirt, taking even his collar until he felt they were long enough and thick enough to help stop the bleeding.  He didn't ask as he took her wrists and began to bound them and soon her boots were gone too with some difficulty, and eventually bound them with care as if she were made of delicate crystal.

"There we go, that's better isn't it?" he said, trying to smile.  He lifted a hand to her cheek, caressing it softly.  "Everything will be all right."

She wasn't sure what to make of any of this. She had been sent to kill this man, and now she found herself stagnent, deaf to her cause and numbed by her confusion. Did she really have a daughter? Yes, she knew in her heart she had. But why could she not remember? It all came in pieces, like a  puzzle, and glimpses of a dream. Was this why her master mentioned to kill this man? Was this Bishop's power? Is this why he was so dangerous?
But if it were so, why was he treating her so tenderly? He claimed they had a child-
had the two been married? Or lovers?

Lora...

She closed her eyes, trying to think back, but only frowned.

"You shouldn't be helping me."s he stated before opening her eyes. "You know I was sent here to kill you. Would it not be wise to just let me bleed?"

Bishop paused and gave it consideration.  His soft expression did not change and nor did he retreat his hand from her face.  Despite all they'd been through and despite what she was intent on doing sometime in the future - possibly much sooner - he knew he couldn't leave her.  She was still his wife, still his love.  And if he could help her, he would...that was until she gave chase once more.

"That might be your mission," he answered at last.  "But that's not mine.  I could very well let you die, but...I wouldn't have the strength to go on knowing I left you like that.  Helpless.  Like a bird with broken wings.  I'll care for you like I promised I would."

She raised her brows at him, confused, but also curious.
"Promised?" she asked.

A vow. The heart against her throat glowed again, more gently this time, faint.
A promise. A vow. Wedding bells. A church. A white dress. Flowers, the smell of flowers so freshly cut and littering throughout her hair and dress...
She remembered running, not able to contain herself, wanting to keep it a secret.

Was the promise a secret? Or was it all a lie?

She was smiling, she could feel that smile within her heart. Her dress was white. Pure white. Ironic for a whore, a courtesan. And There was a man on the other side of hte door. He as the reason she was smiling. And that man, she knew, was Bishop.

He smiled when she posed the question, and it was almost saddened at the prospect she couldn't even remember the vows they'd made to each other, the promise to love and care for the other despite whatever might come their way.  He knew then that something happened to her, made her different, but what it was...he had a feeling knowing might only hurt more than it would help.

"Yes," Bishop said.  He took his hand down to hers and carefully turned it over so that he could inspect her palm and lightly traced his index finger along the lines therein.  He smiled as he did so, his fingers rough and callused from having worked with wood most of his entire life.  "When we first started courting, we were quite young and foolish as most are and when we realized we loved each other we promised to always be there when the other was in distress.  This was before we married, just a few months.  Those vows stand too, but I remember that one in particular.  You wore a beautiful gossamer nightgown and I stole you away from your friend's apartment, or at least that's what you told me I think.  And we ran into the woods, a little patch nearby out to watch the moon reflect against the pond there.  We kissed for the first time then, it seemed right.  And it was the first time I felt my whole body light up with electricity and I knew then that I loved you.  You didn't come back until the early morning gloom rose and your hair was all mussed and disheveled, and grass clung to your legs."

Bishop laughed and smiled at her at the memory, hoping his words might spark more.

Something stirred, as if she wanted to see those memories, but as she tried to stretch out, to reach for them in the deeper recesses of her mind, she found nothing. Just grey. White and grey and un-focusable images. It made her angered, which gave her enough strength to sit up and rear back from him, eyes hot and wild.

"This is why my master said you are dangerous," Scarlet bird growled. "You are toying with me. These images.. those memories you try to play..." but she had no real strength in the moment to lash back, or if she did, she kept herself poised and held it in reserve, baring her teeth at him like some wild animal.
"It's not fair!" she barked after a moment, her lips trembling as she recalled her child, it's death, and the phantom of the man she had once loved. Was it him? Had he betrayed her? Was it his fault? Why could't she remember?

"Just stay away from me!" she growled again, rising to her feet and backing away, but she only made it too steps as she stared at him, eyes still wild when a faint flash of lighting capped their bodies in just a single moment. Then she turned away, breaking out into a fierce run.

He reeled back toward the cave wall, back scrunched toward the inlet when she abruptly climbed to her feet.  Bishop clutched the throwing knife in hand, holding the bloody weapon tightly lest she jump on him, in case she came to finish what she so intently set out to do.  She stared at him like a wild, cornered animal and his eyes only returned the gaze.  Desperate people did dangerous things and he was proof enough of that.

But before he could say anything to her, she bolted off into the woods, leaving him stunned if only for a moment.  Yet it was a moment long enough to unleash a howling cry, filled with anguish and sorrow as he stumbled to his feet.  He was cold and filthy and shivering and the rain pelted down harder then ever as he ran after her.  He tucked the throwing knife into his belt, the blood staining his hand still.

"Helena!  No!  Stop!  Wait!" he bellowed as he gave chase.

In her condition, adrenaline could only take her so far before the pain from her limbs caught up to her. Crying out, she fell into a heap, scraping her knees and hands. The sting hurt, but so did everything else as she found herself in miserable tears. What had happened to her that she had become this way? Was this man really that dangerous? And what about her child. Their child, or so he said. And here she couldn't remember a thing. She knew the man would be behind her and she bristled, turned away from him, shame faced and pained.

"No, please leave me alone." she said, curling up against a tree, laying within it's gnarled roots and muddy grass. She didn't want anymore of this confusion. She needed to go home. Or, anywhere but here. SHe had a client to entertain in the morning, and now look at her. SHe was a mess. How was she to entertain that lord in her current state?  Without clients she would have no income, and word would get around. So she tried to wipe her tears away, tried to stand but realized the wounds in her wrists, then ankle and simply stared at them, feeling too defeated for tears.

She hadn't gone very far in her condition and when she crumpled to a heap Bishop was just about on her.  He paused before her shaking form.  Her ankles were gruesome and the strips of cloths he'd used to help cover here wounds were soaked through.  He slumped to his knees before her and grabbed her by the shoulders even as she pleaded for him to go away.  Instead he held her against him, one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders.

"Helena," he pleaded.  "Please, let me help you.  Don't run from me.  I've lost everything already.  I don't want to lose you too.  Please, believe me.  I'd never hurt you.  I'd never trick you or use you or lie to you.  You've got to trust me..."  He didn't hesitate then as he pulled her tighter to him and scratched his stubble to her face as he kissed her rather hard, arms holding her possessively.

Helena...
The words breathed around her, washing over her like a powerful, engulfing wave of the ocean..
Helena...
Like a breath, a scent, his smell, the feel of his skin, his stubble...
Helena...
Just a name, one that sounded natural, as it stung, faint memories ribboning through the wave in fragmented shards
Helena...

Instincts had her knowing he was right, but it also tore at her sense of honor, sense of duty. Grabbing on the blade, she held it out between them, her eyes still wet, shining brightly in the moon light as her arm shook as she held it fiercely, defensively and took a few crawled steps back and away.
"N-no.." she said, slowly shaking her head, keeping the blade pointed at him. "You don't understand. You shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here." A tear slid down her cheek. "This isn't right. I have to go. I have to leave."

Before this makes sense.
Before I know you.
Before you get hurt.
Before I hurt you.

His eyes gleamed at the blade that was suddenly between them and he then exchanged glances with her all the while his heart raced from both the kiss and the sudden danger it put him in.  He backed away just as she did, as she warned him to go away and that desperate look in her eyes, he knew then that he had no choice, that or face her wrath.  As much as he wanted to hold her then, to steal her away, the evening would not give them the chance to reconcile.

If there was any reconciliation to be had.  He only hardened his jaw and nodded to her.  And without another word he ran off toward the north, vanishing in the night and leaving no more than muddy tracks in his wake.  Enough time had been wasted there and he needed to go back to the beginning, find where to go next.  There must have been something he missed.

And whatever it was, he would find it.

She clutched onto the knife until Bishop was well out of sight, only dropping it nearly twenty minutes after he had gone. The sound echoed within the darkness as she found herself crying again. But she had to recollect herself. She had to figure this out. but where could she go? She was injured. The lord she was to meet with early in the morning wouldn't be able to be seen with her like this. What was she to do? She'd have to just get over it, get through it, or disappear.....

But where would she run to? Her master...
perhaps he had answers but..
she hesitated, finding her gloves and boots and clutched them to herself.
Could he really help?

Perhaps if she just went away a while, let her head clear her thoughts become recollected...
Bishop....
What was to be done about him?
And what of this woman named Helena?
Was she really her? And what about her?
She kept thinking it over until her head hurt, and found her own self moving off in the opposing direction of Bishop as she pressed through the woods, limping and wincing, but swallowing down her pained whimpers every step of the way.

When he was far enough away, Bishop hid as he was wont to do, too tired to move on, too tired to sleep even.  His mind was reeling as this was the longest encounter he'd had with the woman he'd once known as his wife, the one who now hunted him and sought to take him to her master, possibly in pieces if he hadn't made his escape.

But he waited quite a while where he was, lost in contemplation, until he knew that he couldn't continue on his path, having been there before.  He wanted answeres - no needed them.  And he knew one of the only ways to do it, would be to follow her, to see where she would lead him.  So he went back to where he'd last seen her and followed the footprints in the mud until he at last saw her in the distance.  He stayed back however, his entire body covered in mud, blending in with the background as he watched her from afar. Waiting to see where she would run next.

She would be late. She would have to settle for being late. She needed help, she looked a mess, and she only knew one person that might have answers. Her master. She tried to be discrete, but after a time, pain and exhaustion got the better of her, and her trail became more and more obvious. She had made it to the other side of town, the slums, pausing infront of an old, run down manor. From the outside, it looked haunted, vacant, but on the inside... as Scarlet Bird pushed open the front door...
soft music came from within, and light flooded the street until the door 'clicked' close, leaving the streets quiet once more.

OOC: Omg... I can not remember if we discussed a name for her master ;_;

[He had no name.]

Bishop had a harder time trying to track and hunt a deer than he did trying to track his wife.  She was clumsy in her exhaustion, that he could plainly see and his life on the run had given him useful training in running and hiding.  He was quiet and little more than a shadow.  When they came to the town however, he hesitated for a moment, knowing towns were filled with people.  People who'd seen his wanted posters, people who might try to identify him.

But it was a risk he had to take.  What was more, he couldn't afford to risk losing Helena's trail again.  For when the moment was right, she was even better at vanishing with the wind.

So Bishop clung to the alleyways, remaining calm and indistinctive, looking like nothing more than a dirty vagrant to anyone still awake this time of night as he followed Scarlet Bird to the run down manor.  What was this?  And more importantly who would she know who lived there?  He did not follow her through the door and observed the rafters on the side of the building, broken shingles, and dirty windows.  One entry point looked promising up high.  He moved over to a turnstile window on the second floor, slightly opened and led to a darkened room with the curtains gently fluttering in the breeze.  The rain got into it just a little but the fact that it was open was enough for him.

Bishop climbed from the alley side and up the boxes and crates that lingered nearby until he reached the second floor window, but just barely.  He clung to the edge before slipping inside, leaving the window slightly more ajar than it was before.  He held his breath in the room, but it seemed it was nothing more than an empty office with parchments and charcoal and scrolls lying about.  He moved to the open door, seeing light bleed through, dim and flickering.  He waited behind the door and listened for anything.

Soft voices floated up from the first floor. The softer voice, obviously Helena's, the deeper one, obviously a males. The conversation was picking up, louder even, but still, the words not entirely distinguishable from where Bishop was perched, but at the end, it was evident the man was angry.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN A DAUGHTER!?" came the voice, roaring with enough force to shake the walls, then came the sounds of a woman, a faint gasp of pain before something hit the wall, and dropped heavily to the floor. And the voices grew still, though the creaking of foot steps followed the quiet and soon Helena's trembling carried up the steps, and then, as the foot steps paused, a moment later, Helena was gasping again, whimpering out in pain.

A hand quickly shot over Bishop's mouth to conceal his gasp of breath at hearing Helena suddenly slammed against the wall.  He was afraid to move, afraid to look out from the door, afraid at what he might see.  Bishop just listened, strained his ears as he moved his eye to look at the crack between the door and the frame, unable to see much more than light coming up from below the stairs.  He kept his mouth covered still.

When the steps began to come up the stairs, he immediately ducked against the wall, holding his breath as it paused by the door.  He hear her whimpering yet he fought the urge to burst through the door and lunge at whatever man was holding her.  He had to wait, to bide his time if he was going to find out anything more.

Even if his heart wanted to beat clear out of his chest.

"But it's true!" Came her voice, shrill and hysterical. "That man you sent me to kill. He said she was dead- he said!"

Whack!
A hard hand came striking across her face again, Helena making only one noise at the suddenly impact, then grew silent. She was trembling, silent tears streaming down her face as blood seeped from her nose, where it came over her lips and traveled to her chin, collecting there with some of the warmed tears.

"You are a fool to believe him, my Scarlet Bird," the man growled. The sound of flesh and leather scraping against wood were evident as he dragged her across the floor, a hand held to her hair, made like a rope from her braid. Her hands shot up, gripping onto it, gasping out at the pain as some of it was torn as she was dragged along. "I told you he was dangerous." He flung a door open, in the room at the end of the hall, a few doors down from where Bishop remained hidden. And the rest of what he spoke was muffled, displaced as he continued to drag her away, slamming the door behind him.

With every sentence and word that called for retaliation on the man's part made Bishop's stomach twist into itself until he felt like the only thing he could do was wretch where he was.  He was so angry, he was shaking and he couldn't even contain himself as he bit into his lip so hard he drew blood.  But despite everything he was feeling, he knew he couldn't risk bringing attention to himself, he couldn't for his own sake, and for all the worry he felt for Helena.

Even after all she did to him, the blood she'd drawn, the hunting, everything, she was still his wife.  And it twisted his heart in immeasurable pain to hear her in such distress and be able to do nothing to help her.

He jumped when he heard the door slam and after a few breaths of hearing nothing else, Bishop peeked out from behind the door and carefully moved from his spot.  He couldn't hear from there, he had to get a better look, to see what he could find, if anything at all.  Bishop found a letter opener, sharpened to a point on the desk and tucked it into his sleeve.  He then crawled to the door that he was sure he heard slam and could hear some struggling inside.  But it wasn't enough.  He checked the room beside it and quietly stepped inside, carefully that all the mud he'd been tracking had been left in the office.  He stepped into the empty bedroom beside the one Helena had been dragged into and found a corner with a small grate that bled sound easily into the next room.

Bishop lowered himself down into the corner, listening, vaguely seeing a man's feet through the grate, and saw what he was sure was Helena's hand slumped on the ground.

Bishop would be able to hear the sounds of chains clinging through metal loops hung against the wall connecting to his room. And as the chains were pulled, his wife was slowly lifted off the ground, until her feet were barely touching the floor. But as she began to rise, the man paused to look at something upon her and nearly dropped the chains. When he did so, Helena let out a gasp, but her master snatched onto the chains before she hit the ground, her shadow fluttering over and snuffing out the light falling in through the grate joining to the side room he had made for his temporary perch...  a room he might come to realize, if he looked around, looked distinctively feminine.. a room that was distinctly hers.

The air smelled of her, the sheets were pressed and folded just the way she liked it, even the styles of dresses hanging across the changing screen were hers.

Even scream coming from the other side was hers as the man grabbed her by the gold heart choker she wore. She was gasping for air.
"The magic seal.. it came loose.." he growled, then released the chains, letting his Scarlet Bird drop tot he ground. On her knees, Helena bowed forward, weeping and choking, catching her breath as the man stalked away. His foot steps went acrosst he room, he rustled through something- a bag, some papers, glasses clanging, then he moved back her way. As he drew near, her master's shadow slipped over her and through hte cracks in the grate slats.

Helena glanced up, then cowered back, shaking her head.
"N-no!" she stammered, backing away, pressing up against the wall, when a sudden bolt of electricity shot forward, striking through the chains and jolting through her body. She gav ea cry, then fell limp and sizzling onto the ground. Then the man walked over her, uncorking a bottle, the cork tumbling towards the grate before the man knelt on the ground, lifting Helena's face up and tilting her head back, and pressed the bottle against her lips.

"Sleep, my little Scarlet Bird. Sleep. You'll need the rest of hte night to heal your wounds, to heal your mind... sleep.." he hushed..
She was lulled by his words, her lips open, as she breathed. And her breath became steady, then slower and slower, until slowly, she closed her eyes and fell back into a world of sleep.
"Yes.. sleep. Tonight there is much work I need to do on your mind, little one." he said, drawing her into his arms for a moment before pressing his lips to her temple. "Your will is strong, it's why I like you. But we'll make you forget. We'll make you forget it all. Your dead child, that wretched husband.. that wretched good for nothing scum."

Then he lowered his face down, took in her lips, and drank more of her soul. A bird cage flickered about within her room, and then grew silent, almost fading out, but the light remained clear and sparkling in the corner. Then he lifted the chained woman into his arms and move dout of this room.. and in the other.. heading straight for the room Bishop had been hiding within.

[Is he taking her out of the room?  How is he moving her if she's still chained? ]

Bishop tried to watch from the vent as best he could but the angle was trying and he could only see faint things through the dimness and the grate.  It was a fanned iron design, ornate and much like the decorations of the room it was clear that the owner of this house was definitely a man of means and with the way the man moved around so easily around the establishment, Bishop could only assume that this rundown manor was his.  He even had a room made solely for Helena.

But Bishop couldn't think of that.  He couldn't focus on the room he was in and steeled his concentration on the room she was in.  He winced at what was happening to her, the chains, the bottle, the cries, and though it was difficult, even as his heart reeled and wrenched so much that the only way to stop the pain would have been to stab himself in the chest - but he still didn't utter a sound.

He didn't know how this man was, for there was not even a name given, but it was clear that he was the cause of Helena's sudden amnesia, that he was why she was trying to kill him, to keep him from 'meddling' as he'd heard her once say.  But why he wanted him dead, he wished he would speak more of that.  He wished the man was as loose with his tongue as he seemed to be with his attentions on his wife. 

"Scarlet Bird," Bishop mouthed, speaking not even in a whisper.  And when he saw the man had left the room, he could hear the footsteps coming down the hall.  And he looked around for anything he might call a hiding spot.  Thankfully he'd cleaned off his boots from the mud and rain and he looked out to the window out to the side of the room.  There was an idea.  He bolted for the window and opened it, making it seem as if someone had entered the manor via that entrance and moved for the wardrobe in the corner.  Inside?  Beside it?  No...

Bishop climbed above it and was thankfull he was small enough to be concealed on top, caught in the shadow of the ceiling and the top.  And he held his breath when he heard the door finally open.

OOC: lol oooops
Forgot to type him unhooking her. :T my bad
But you DO enjoy my typos so.. so there! :<

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As he brought her into the room, he took her over to the bed, laying her down as she sleep.
"Yes.. sleep.." he cooed, sitting beside her as his hands caressed her cheek. His eyes took her in, the color glowing a moment as he studied her. "Once the potion takes effect, we'll try it again. We'll make it go away." he told her, his large hand stroking through her hair. "All of it. It will all go away. Then you will be all mine again. But for now.." he leaned down and kissed her lips. "Just sleep."
Then he stood up, and departed from the room, only to pause at the door way a moment, glancing back over his shoulder, then he left and shut the door.

[I don't think that counts as a typo.  Just a misjudgment on your part.  But it's not that big of a deal]

Bishop remained there for the longest time, he knew better than to jump even at the sound of opening and closing doors.  Just because he closed it didn't mean he wasn't coming back.  The man was doing an awful lot of pausing and he couldn't help but believe that he was aware that there was someone in the manor that wasn't supposed to be and just happened to be an expert in remaining calm.  So after waiting fifteen minutes or so and the man still hadn't returned, Bishop slipped from the top of the wardrobe and moved over to Helena as she was laying in the bed.  He knew that what she'd been forced to swallow must have been the very thing that swiped her momory and his heart clenched at the thought.  "Gods, what has he done to you?  Why?" Bishop whispered to her.  He sighed, biting back tears.  He couldn't help himself as he knelt by her side and moved his lips gently over hers, kissing her softly, a few tears slipping down his lips.

OOC: Phsh!

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The tears and kiss meeting to her lips sent a thrill through her, exciting her, electrocuting her, even in the darkness of her mind. The gilded cage off to the corner flickered a moment, the light within glowing, then fading a little just before Scarlet Bird whispered, "I love you."
And then she said no more.

Bishop froze when he felt consciousness slip out of her and he pulled his lips away, just listening for her breath.  It was there, but faint.  Still it gave him hope and he smiled despite himself.  Eventually he looked to the door, feeling it moving and suddenly fear bolted through him.  There was nothing mroe he could do as he knew he couldn't very well bolt for the window.  Instead he ducked underneath the bed and was glad he was slim enough to fit underneath and slid in as far as he could go, watching as a man's feet walked through the room once more.  Was it the same man?

As the boots walked across the floor, a gentle rumble of thunder could be heard from outside. It seemed the storms were returning, and as a flash of lighting lit up the room, in that faint flicker, it was almost as if the lightning itself illuminated through the man's leg and clothing, and exposed his bones. But as quickly as the lightning had come, the image faded, and now he leaned over the bed.

The room was silent, almost too silent, before the hissing scrape of a chant could be heard. Helena's body stiffened, a noise croaking from her throat as she began to move violently, once, twice, then a third time upon the bed before she settled into silence upon a long released breath. The man did the same, breathing just after her, and he shivered, a hand holding her as he had taken in more of her soul.

Another flash of lighting exposed more bone beneath him, and also, now, an eerie glow curdling like a mist against his skin. And as it was before, the peculiar imagery faded when the lightning vanished and thunder rumbled and shook the walls.  Then moving towards the far wall, he approached the cage. The door opened with a squeak as he leaned his face forward, and expelled most of her soul inside it before clicking it shut.

His boots them moved across the floor boards, a few boards squeaking under his weight hwen he paused beside the end of the bed, his eyes tracing over Scarlet Bird, then traveling across the room in the dark. Another burst of lightning showed his peculiar glow and bones again, this time, the glow seeming almost to have faces, and one of them, screaming- moaning... could have been Helena's, before the lightning faded again and the man began his slow trek back towards the door, though paused with his hand upon the brass handle, his ears picking up to something before he whirled around, threw himself over the bed just as the window broke open, a bolt of lighting striking through and smashing into his body.

The entire place lit up, the blankets catching on fire, as did his clothing, sizzling him to the skin. He swore, went silent, before lifting himself up as his hair was torn about in chaotic fashion as she stared down at the sleeping and safe form of Scarlet Bird upon the bed.

"Damn lightning," he hissed, just as remnants of it sparked from his teeth and tickled in a colorful snaking of light against his cheek. He shrugged it away, sighed,a nd then stroked a hand through her hair.
The wind was coming in, rain pouring in through the window.
"Looks like you'll have to sleep with me this night, my little Scarlet bird." and he moved down to scoop her up int his arms, and carried Helena out of the room.


OOC: I hope this post makes sense XD I had a random idea and decided to go with it!

Bishop made no more noise than a shadow as he watched the strange way the lightning played over the man's skin.  It struck through his very clothes and through the thickness of flesh, muscle and blood and illuminated only his skeletal frame.  What the -?  But he could not afford to make anymore noise, and fear coursed through him as he could see his feet moving back and forth between the bed and the man.  As lightning flashed, he finally caught sight of a mirror in the corner of the room.  And it was through that mirror that he saw the man pour a strange glow from his mouth out into the cage in the corner.

He only furrowed brows in confusion, unable to do much more than that.  He jumped at the final strike of lightning when at last the lightning illuminated the man as if there nothing more to him.  The lightning itself seemed attracted to him like a lodestone, striking him once more and even setting the room ablaze with an otherworldly glow.  He didn't know what to make of this demonic man, his form disturbing and disruptive all at the same time.

When at last he left, Bishop crawled out from underneath the bed and saw where the lightning had struck the bed.  What was this place?  It seemed there would be only more questions rather than answers and perhaps he'd spent enough time in this place.  Bishop moved over to the cage in the corner and took it from the hook.

He approached the window and clutched the cage to his chest, his heart beating frantically.  The lightning flashed and thunder kept clashing when the storm struck again into the room, this time at the cage when Bishop was inspecting it.  Electricity sparked through the bars until it left.  He'd fallen back on his haunches, watching as the lightning had broken open the door, bent the bars, distorted it and gnarled it when at last it touched the ground.  And though he could not see them, he swore he could hear a thousand ruffling wings taking through the open window out into the night.

Bishop stood and looked out the window, eyes searching but finding nothing when at last he climbed out and left the manor himself.

Not even a moment later, Helena screamed. It pierced through the night, cutting through the manor house and carrying outwards into the street. Even against the storm it carried. But it only came once, and her screams were heard no more. And the storm was nearing it's end, rumbling and curdling as the last rustling winds swept through the town, then darkness fell, and the rains came no more.

Bishop huddled in that alleyway, finding sleep difficult as he hid behind a series of crates and held a lid over his head to shield him from the rains.  His thoughts were troubled and he stared out into the darkness that slowly faded away.  When it did so, he had fallen asleep, his mind troubled with the screams of the woman  he'd called his wife, who was now a stranger to him, under the lull of a man that was stealing her life away, her memories, all the things that made her herself.

But what if he didn't really know her as he thought he did.  Well, of course.  That point had proven itself time and again...but what if she didn't know herself as she thought she did.  And perhaps it was that that hurt his heart the most.  But whatever the truth was, it was no doubt that the stranger was the source of it.

When he awoke to the sound of a cat running through the alleyway, with dawn's light piercing over the tops of the buildings beside the manor.  He immediately got to his feet, and watched the manor for any sign of activity, anything that might tell him if someone had gone, or if they were just leaving.

The next morning, Wylestia Founcatorence stepped out of the house, her white-heeled boots clinking on the cobblestone as she opened her white-lace parasol and began making her way towards the carriage that had been parked just outside the rotting manor doors. She was no longer wearing hte peculiar spectacle of clothing; the red-leather having been abandoned for a more spritely, off-white and pink dress, one that was bound so tight her bosoms were nearly spilling out, and make up so 'well-to-do', her face nearly looked like another persons.

But she was still the same Helena, stll the same 'Scarlet Bird', but this time dawning another name. She had her client to entertain. Some sort of early morning banquet and then, no doubt, an afternoon romp in his gardens. So when she disappeared into the carriage, the valet was making haste down the road. She would be late other wise.

And Wylestia Founcatorence was never late.

When he saw the carriage rushing down the street, Bishop knew he had to be quick about it.  This town was still quite large - almost city-like and there were manor houses much like this run down one a few street blocks from here.  The streets were not overly populated this early in the morning and Bishop could take a breath of relief that his poster wasn't completely plastered on every wall from here to Ravensway.  But it could just as easily be a stroke of desperate luck.

Bishop's eyes were sharp as he eyed where the carriage went, following it quickly and as inconspicuously as possible.

The carriage rolled on to the North, going through the throngs of the spiderwebbed layout of streets. Eventually it parked in front of a tall, steeply manor with dark stone and high turrets that pierced upwards towards the sky.  The bell out front was rung, and a man wearing a powdered wig came down to greet Helena at her carriage as he opened the door.

"Ah, Miss Founcatorence, Master Westerson has been waiting. He was excited to see you when you pulled up, and knows you are normally never late"

Wylestia let the man take her hand as he kissed it. She simply bowed to him and responded simply, "Yes, last night it was hard to sleep because of the storm. But I am right as rain now. PLease, let us not keep him waiting any longer. He spoke of wanting to do much for the day."

"Yes, yes he has." And with hooked arms, the servant guided Miss Founcatorence up towards the house, the iron gate closing behind them as Helena's carriage began to pull away.

Bishop tailed them for as long as it took, ducking into alleyways here and there, taking the right shortcuts and ended up exhausted just to keep up.  But he was dogged and would be damned if he was going to let her go just then.  At last, the carriage stopped and he watched it pull up to an unfamiliar manor.  It was considerably smaller than the other one, taking up just the whole block and filled with fabulous bushes and brambles all around it.

It was a brightly painted, a soft sky blue to offset the dark-green shingles of the roof.  It was well decorated and it was obvious a great deal of money was spent just for it's upkeep alone.  Bishop could only imagine just what kind of business the man who lived here conducted.  Maybe he didn't want to know.

Then again, maybe he did.

The front door opened and out flooded a warm, yellow light from the chandeliers. Mr. Westerson was a portly fellow, very large and tall, with a ripe, round belly and extremely broad shoulders and thick arms and legs.  And he was decked out in soft, wine-red robes, and a pipe jutting out from his lips. He was once a burnette, but his hair was since greying, his chin, hosting a scruffy, but tamed beard and mustache, and he had a shaggy pair of eyebrows resting heavily over warm brown eyes. The two exchanged warm introductions as they kissed one another's cheeks.
A few words carried, most easily from the larger, Mr. Westerson as he'd laugh, his laughter carrying across the way, and informed the lady that his brother would be there. Wylstia giggled, batting her long lashes and reminded Mr. Westerson, "Oh, but I always do have so much fun when you're brother is around." And cordially, Mr. Westernson replied, "Oh, but don't we all?" Then she was invited inside an the door clicked close, and their silouhettes moved passed the windows, soft laughter could be heard from inside. Another kissing exchange could be seen with a more lithe fellow and Helena, before they all moved away from the front windows to disappear within.

Bishop watched from afar as a rather disgustingly port man greeted her at the door.  Bishop felt his stomach turn over on itself at the thought of what the hell he was meeting her for, but he wasn't stupid.  He couldn't hear what they were saying, but once inside, his eyes widened when he saw that there was another shape she greeted in the window.  This one was much leaner, even a little more regal than the other one and they disappeared inside the house.

He had to get in there.  He had to think of something.  Bishop crossed the street and hopped the spiked fence at the top, careful of cutting himself before rolling down and into the bushes.  He had to think fast.  A garden-worker?  A servant?  Would they recognize him?  No doubt.  He had to get in and without anyone seeing him.  As he looked around him, making sure prying eyes were paying no particular attention to him, he found his way into the guard barracks in the back of the manor.  He'd gotten so good at avoiding eyes that when he found the pauldrons and armor he slipped into it with ease and found the longsword at his side rather uneasy.  But at least he had a helmet to disguise his face and moved into the house from the back entrance.

Piano music carried lightly through the open windows up upon the balcony that over looked the manor gardens. Helena's voice carried easily across the air, smooth and soft and delicate. Soon the other men's voices were joining in, and fingers crammed into the keys as she laughed and continued playing.

"Oh, Mr. Westeron, you and your brother are far too charming and clever for me!" she spoke above the music, fingers still bouncing upon the keys as the burly man moved in to join her on the bench, glass full of his second round of wine as he scooched her onto his lap and began to work at her neck in a series of tantalizing kisses.

"Just keep playing, my doll. We've got all afternoon to discuss these things. But for now, we have other matters to .. attend to," he spoke in a deep baritone against her neck, fingers working at pullign the loose laces of her clothing.

Wylestia laughed. "So I can tell!" and both she and the man were laughing.

"Keep playing that song with the nice bounce to it!" he said, and she only nodded, tucking in a smile and letting her fingers move across the keys lightly, although soon she was laughing when the man began to bounce her crudely upon his lap. She was fumbling over the notes before turning to him, "Oh! Such a naughty man!"

"Naughty men!" his brother remidned as he joined the pair and Wylestia took note the slimmer brother had the same problem as the fatter one as she shook her head.

"At least I know i've got my work cut out for me. The two of you will have me worn out before supper!" she exclaimed.

And they all laughed, her laughter being cut off abruptly as Mr. Westerson picked Wylstestia up. The piano made many soured notes as she was now sitting upon the key board, her legs spread open and wrapped around Mr. Westerson's as their lips met hotly in a series of moan inducing kisses, allt he while the slimmer man nearby was pouring himself another tall glass of wine.

As Bishop stalked through the kitchens he did his best to remain calm, to walk casually.  As much as he knew he had to keep an eye on this Scarlet Bird, the woman he knew as his wife wasn't at all who he thought she was, there was more than truly met his eye, and now he was deep in the heart of one of her connections.  He couldn't afford to let his nerves get the better of him because if he needed to get as much information as he could from who these men were, how did they know her, and what else did they want for her.

Inside, deep down, he already knew what they were doing, and as much as it sickened him at the thought of it, there was nothing he could do.  It was apart of her...job so to speak, this much was easy to figure.  She was here to entertain these men.  What more?  That was what he was here to find out. 

Bishop made his way through the house, nodding to various men here and there.  He didn't know here to start, but he had a good bet the offices of these men would be as good a place as any.  Most of them kept important papers no doubt, diaries, journals, letters, anything that might give him some sort of clue.  But as he was climbing the stairs to the rooms above, one of the guards motioned for him to come closer.  "Hey, you, bout time you got here, Dom," he said with a frustrated sigh.

"What?" Bishop said, freezing.

"You gotta relieve my station, I'm sick of standing here and listening to the goings on in that room behind me.  Look, I'm going down to get something to eat, and take a piss."  The guard scoffed and left Bishop to stand in his spot.  He was nervous, holding his breath, watching the other guard disappear down the stairs to the kitchens.  All the while, Bishop could hear the sounds from inside the room.  Apart of him wanted to burst through the room and throttle both of the men, tear through them and beat sense into her, knock her memories back into her head.

But he stayed himself and when he felt the guard was long gone he moved down the hall quietly, stepping over to another door, a few doors down and opening it softly.  Just as he suspected it was an office with a heavy oaken desk in the corner of it with a thick leather chair behind it.  Papers were neatly stacked here and there with quills and ink in their holders, parchment rolls on a shelf beside it.  A bookshelf was across the room with a small table at the center with cigars in it, the ashes of which rose up from having been recently smoked.

Bishop moved quickly and over to the desk, carefully opening drawers and neatly pushing through papers and rummaging through drawers.  As careful as he could until he came upon a strange switch on the bottom drawer...that looked as if it opened a false bottom.  He hit it and found a leather bound ledger underneath.  Interesting...  He reached down and opened it, scanning each entry as thoroughly as possible.

Laughter poured into the hall way as the door opened.

"Really, Mr. Westerson! We shall be late for the card party at the Remances if you do not calm down!" thought despite her chastizing tone, it was evident Helena was laughing- and so were the men.

"Oh, but Wylestia, what ever is the rush? We hardly got to finish what we started.." Mr. Westerson pressed. It was evident he was kissing her as they both made noises from the hall.

"Really now, Mr. Westerson. I will be all yours in the carriage."s he said with a giggle, and both of the Westerson men had to laugh at that as 'Wylestia' began to usher them down the hall.

"I do hope Mrs. Remance bakes her famous lemon cake," the younger Westerson said.

"As so I.." his brother replied,a nd their laughter echoed and faded as the trio made their way down the hall and down the stairs.

Bishop held his breath when he heard the voices emerge from the hallway and quickly began to look through the ledger much more quickly than before.  He didn't know where they were going, but at least it didn't sound like they were going toward the office.  In that case, he read a little slower and saw miscellaneous dates of meetings and banking notes and sale shipments, nothing that Bishop felt was particularly significant.

He pulled the face guard up, breathing a little easier from the confines of the helmet and leaned down beside the desk to better hide himself.  "What's this?  'Thirty-thousand gold...periodically to a Mr.  M. C. Madison for collateral'.  What kind of collateral?  And no doubt this ledger is something these Westersons are trying to keep hidden.  Why else would it be beneath a false bottom?  This doesn't make much sense.  But perhaps I can find out who this M.C. Madison is," Bishop mused.  But already he could hear the voice of the guard from before calling him.

"Dom!  Oi!  Where'd ya go!?"

Immediately, he dropped the mask and moved toward the door, coming out of the office with the ledger tucked into the crotch of his pants, hidden well.  "Sorry, had sump'm in my boot.  Needed a seat to take it out," Bishop said, clearing his throat roughly.  "I'm back."

The other guard had taken his helmet off and made a face at him.  "You sick or something?  Your voice sounds weird."

"Just a cold."  Bishop forced a cough and waved it off.  "What'd ya want?"

"Mr. Westerson needs a guard off for the carriage.  I don't need to be hearing all the rompin' and rollin' so get your ass down stairs immediately."

"Right."  Bishop gave a sigh when he was passed the guard and coughed again before he disappeared down stairs.

It had taken much longer than she'd like, but 'Wylestia' had finally gotten the two Westerson brothers into the carriage with some effort. Their faces were still rosy from drink, though her cheeks were rosy from something else. Though as the group of them was heading into the carriage, she caught sight of one of the guards that approached and smiled at him. After all, sometime she even had fun with one of the guards. The one, Dom she believed was his name, was sweet on her, and she had been on him and judging by his stature, she assumed it was Dom that had been assigned to the carriage. Though she said nothing as she slipped into the carriage, the laughing Westerson brothers joining her promptly after the fact as Wylestia let out a gasp as the larger brother was already upon her, nursing at her neck as he began his administrations from earlier (from where he had last left off) as he hefted up her skirts.

"Do carry us along, Cedric!" Mr. Westerson called out, and with a crack of the whip, the two white horses took off, carrying the carriage down the way, giggles and little cooes coming out every now and against from behind the carriage, and at one point, even Helena's foot was sticking out the window, implying only God knows what she and the Westerson pair were doing inside.

Bishop couldn't afford to lose Helena now as he leapt up onto the back of the carriage, knowing that if he was coming along he wasn't going to waste anytime.  Another guard followed on the opposite end of the carriage, sitting beside the carriage driver.  He held the ledger tightly, able to do so from the back of the carriage and readjusted it to wrap around his leg instead of his crotch.  His heart was beating ten thousand miles a minute and he couldn't wait to get to where they were going.

"Gods, just get me there safely," he prayed all the while he could hear what was going on inside and resisted the urge to pull out the blade tucked at his side.

It didn't take them long to approach a white stone building, that glistened against the sun and it's side held many thick vines crawling along it. It was beautiful, as was the old woman who stepped out from the front door with her arms wide open as she waved.

"Why, Mr. Westerson, it's so good to see you!" she called.

Mr. Westerson popped his head out of hte carriage. "And you too, Mrs. Remance! Why, you are as beautiful as ever!" He stepped out of the carriage and took her hand, kissing the top of it lightly while he gestured to Miss Founcatorence and his brother.

"Oh, and hello to you too, Mr. Westerson," she giggled to the younger brother. "Come along inside. I've got some lemon drink and pie prepared for us. It is proving ot be a lovely day for a stroll. Perhaps we can take our tea and lemon drink into the gardens?"

"Ah, yes, a lovely idea!" Mr Westerson agreed as the trio vanished inside the manor.

Bishop bashed his helmet just a little to have the inside echo with the sound of steel in his ears in order to block out the sounds of all the moaning inside of the carriage and was thankful at last when they reached the new white-washed manor just across the block.  Really? he thought.  They had to take a carriage just to go down the block?  The rich were getting lazier and lazier by the day.

When they stopped, he stepped off the back of the carriage alongside the other guard.  And just when he was going to follow them, the other guard put a hand across his chest.  "They got to get on first, Dom," Thom said.  "I know how ye've been staring at that Ms. Founcatorence, but you gotta wait your turn."  He lifted his helm and winked at Bishop before walking up the steps after them, Bishop following after him.  "I heard she wanted to meet with you in the back of Ms. Remance's library in an hour or two, or so she told me.  You dog."

"Don't talk about her like that," Bishop growled.

"Lighten up, Dom," Thom said with another laugh.  "All we gotta do is stand by the gardens and let them mingle.  I'll keep the Westersons busy."

It was a lovely day for tarts and tea. And pie, of course! Mrs. Remance was a delightful host, going over a slew of things she wished and desired of the world.

"Then let it be proposed right here and now, that we all make a trip down to Essyrn! I heard the land down there is quite exquisite, as is the trade." Mr. Westernson said. Mrs. Remance's eyes flashed excitedly at the idea, her and the older, wider of the two brothers seemed to be charmed by one another, while the youngest just stayed in tow. Naturally, Wylestia would make her small chat here and there, and knew better than to dive in on such plans. Though it seemed Mr. Westerson wanted to include her. She only smiled and said simply, "We'll see."

And then excused herself to go powder her nose. With parasol in tow, she took her sweet time meandering through the gardens. The Westerson's could wait. Her job, for now, had been done and Mr. Westerson would probably call upon her when they would take up games and singing in by the piano, anyhow. He had Mrs. Remance to entertain, after all.

Bishop just watched them idly, standing on the opposite end of the porch that Thom was.  The other guard had taken to lazing about against the wall, feeling hot and uncomfortable underneath his armor, and even went to sitting down on one of the chairs that led out to the gardens.  Bishop remained there, dutiful in a convoluted way and when Wylestia excused herself, he perked up and watched the Westersons entertain the old crone that owned his house.

He moved out toward her, when she was close enough and walked beside her.  "I need to talk to you," he said, making sure to cough knowing that his voice sounded strange to others, different than the Dom most of the knew.  "Is there some place we can be alone?"

"Well, aren't you being direct," she said with a smile. She gestured towards the house. "I'm sure we could talk inside, in one of the private studies." She gestured again, smirking and lead the way. "Do you have a cold? You sound awfully strange today. Perhaps too much pollen in the air?" she teased.

"I have been feeling a little ill lately," Bishop confessed in a double-sided truth.  "I haven't been to Mrs. Remance's place in a while.  Please show me the private rooms.  I'm getting a little hot in this armor too if I can be candid."  He itched at his neck just a little with his gloved hand and was sweating quite heavily underneath his helmet.

Wylestia rolled her eyes but nodded as she chuckled and took him by the arm.
"Then come along then. You don't need to spill out what you need, Dom." And her eyes sparkled at the idea, cheeks flushing as she lead him into the house and into the private room, where there she closed the door lightly behind them before turning around.
"Well, what is it you wanted to say?"
Though she had an idea of what it was, she waited with raised brows, feigning that she did not.

Bishop was nervous, unsure how to pose the question without seeming out of place, but he supposed there was no real way of avoiding that.  He breathed a little easier once they were alone and kept his helmet on though he was baking in it and moved to lean against one of the book shelves. 

"I was...I was just wondering how long you've known the Westerson brothers?  How did you come to be introduced to them?"  Well, that was a start and depending on how she answered, maybe he might be able to find out more on just who they were and what they did beyond mere trade and investments.

Wylestia laughed softly at the question.
"Do forgive me, it's just.. not many people care how I've come to acquire any of my clients." She smiled though, wondering how long he might have been 'jealous', or perhaps, he might have been worried for her. She knew Mr. Westerson had.. unique tastes, and she certainly wasn't the first courtesan to be under his employment. But he paid exceptionally well, and the money helped fund a lot of her master's plans. So, she did as she was told, and just became the delicate, manipulated flower she was meant to be.

"At Mr. Darrington's ball," Wylestia began while smoothing down her skirts. "He had met me while I was escorting Mr. Darrington's son. Though the poor young man has been suffering a grave illness ever since, Mr. Westerson realized I had more open time to entertain and took me on as his own. As you know, I spend a great deal of time here and he has become one of my primary men to entertain."

At the revelation, Bishop simply couldn't help himself.  He tried to ignore it, tried to brush it away, at the painful reality of his wife's true identity.  But he just couldn't help himself when she spoke of the other men she had to 'entertain'.  He almost lost his balance, had to take a step back and leaned against a book shelf to stabilize himself.  "Gods," he breathed.  "How many other men?"

Wylestia tilted her head to one side with a frown.
"You act surprised," she batted her lashes, trying to save face when she was beginning to feel accused of something, that of which made her feel immensely guilty. "What do you think a courtesan is? We are bought out to entertain the wealthy men who can afford us, and we are at their disposal. Why,..  I'm not even sure how many men I could count on whom I have entertained during my profession. There have been many." And she laughed, inspite of herself. "You should take it easy, Dom. I know you've gone soft on me," she began, placing a hand upon his shoulder."But you must realize what I am. This is my life and whether you want to believe it or not, it is a chosen profession, and one that pays well. The number of my clients is really up to me."
Though when she tried to smile to reassure him, it was a sad smile, one that never reached her eyes. She never had anyone worry over her, people either scorned the courtesans, or wanted to buy them.

Bishop physically tensed at her touch, fearing he might be discovered, fearing she would freak out if she knew it was truly him.  He remembered he was no longer her husband, he was a guard named Dom who couldn't let her go.  And he gave a relaxing sigh with a nod.  "I-I understand...I just...never grasped the reality of it," Bishop said.

He reached up and caressed her face with his gloved hand and lowered his gaze.  It was unbearably hot in his helmet and he was sweating even through the slats but he didn't dare take it off.  "I guess that's how things should be," he muttered.  "I..I was only asking because I was wondering about transferring service and I was wondering if there was anyone you would recommend.  Work for...the Westersons is average, but I don't feel it's enough.  I've heard them talk about someone named Mr. Madison, do you know of that name?  Is that familiar in anyway?"

[M. C. Madison is the alias of Chagall, I think.  We can still work on that.]

Wylestia frowned at the mention of that name.
"You could always see if Mrs. Remance is hiring,"s he said with a soft chuckle, then stared at him, as if trying to see his eyes through his helmet. "Aren't you sweating in that thing?" she inquired with a curious tilt of her head. "It must be sweltering in there. Here, since you're not on duty, let me help you get that off."

Mrs. Remance?  Oh right, the old woman being entertained by the Westersons outside.  They'd only been away for a while, but every second was precious to a man in his position.  He almost felt literally caught between a rock and a hard place.  Bishop wondered what more there was to ask of her, if there was anything she really knew but before he knew it he could see hands reaching for his helmet to pluck it off.  "No, no, wait!" he had to think fast and when it came off, he rushed his face at her and smashed his mouth to hers, kissing her hard and rough and twisting his head to not let her see his face.

The moment the helmet came off she was caught off guard. With her breath caught in her throat, she felt his lips smash against hers as the entire world melted away. And something felt different with this kiss, where at first it seemed rushed and incomprehensible, after a time, she naturally leaned into it, feeling herself become over whelmed by his scent, by the salty sweat on his face as her hands smoothed it away from his forehead as hands entangled into his hair and held onto him fierce. Though even a kiss could not hide his identity, for she moaned through the kiss and opened her eyes, spotting Bishop before her as she gasped.

"YOU!"

"Yes, me," Bishop said with a hardened jaw, his eyes wild, desperate, angry, and impassioned all at the same time.  "And if you think I'm letting you get away this time, you've got another thing coming."  He said nothing more when he smashed his face into hers once more and ensnared his arms around hers.  He deepened the kiss possessively, angrily, enraged at the very thought of having to share his wife with any other man.  With the thought of all the lost memories, all the lies that separated and his arms refused to let her go lest she submit to him then and there.

Wylestia was taken back by his expression, and confused even more when he was upon her again with a kiss. She eventually tore herself away, hands planting to his chest. She looked around them, afraid they migh tbe caught before looking at him again, fear evident in her eyes.
"You need to get out of here. You shouldn't be here."Then her brow furrowed, thinkign to what he said. What did he mean get away? She was barely recalling the night before, but her master's effects had hardly erased all fragments of Bishop, no matter how he tried, and it had her head spinning in loops.  "Please.. Dom.." though at the word, she frowned, realizing she had no idea what his name was- and the fact was painfully evident. He was not Dom. "Or whoever you are.." she then lowered her voice to a hiss. "I Need to ask you to leave." and she lifted he rhead up, proudly. "Don't make me scream." There were men everywhere, after all, evident by the squeaky floor board and the approach of a maid. She paused down the hall way. "Miss Founcatorence?"
Wylestia looked at him, challengingly. He had a choice, and he had better make it now.

Bishop looked at her intensely, eyes burning with the pain and fear and despite her claims he didn't move a muscle.  He froze at her name being called but chewed on his lip in thought for a moment when there was a distinct pause between breaths.  "I need your help.  I can't do this without you.  Helena...Scarlet...whoever you really are.  Please.  You're the only chance I have," Bishop pleaded with her watching as the door was knocked upon. 

Wylestia's face twisted as he begged her for help. She felt pity for him, and perhaps something unrealized bubbling from within, but she really had little choice in the matter. She had been warned about this one.

"I can't,"s he whispered, the words barely out of her lips as she lifted up her head and called out, "I'm in here!" Though was startled when the maid suddenly opened the door, catching the pair so intimately close before she closed it and turned away.

"I'm so sorry, Miss. But Mr. Westerson was looking for ya."

Wylestia's eyes searched his as she mouthed the words, 'I have to go.'

Gods be damned!  Bishop contained himself reluctantly when the maid burst into the room and Helena had to turn away from him.  He let her go softly and reached for his helmet, not before brushing his face off with a cloth nearby and dressing the helmet back onto his head.  But he paused just before doing so, watching Helena leave the room.

To see Bishop again had her all riled up. Her master had left his image in her mind in hopes she'd avoid him. But seeing as that little moment could not be helped, she tried to steel herself as she smoothed down her dress and met with the Westerson's out in the garden. It seemed the older brother was detained with Mrs. Ramence, so she had to find herself entertaining the younger brother in the lawn, all the while keeping her eyes peeled in case Bishop were to try anything stupid- such as walk in on them while she was sating the younger man in the gardens. Thankfully the man was too immersed in their activities to realize Wylestia's attention was on anything but him.

"You ought to hurry up,"s he panted from where they were hidden within the bushes. "Your brother might be back soon."

But her lips curled at his retort.
"Oh, I highly doubt he will be back for a while."

Shit.. she had to get him to hurry up, because a part of her didn't want Bishop to see her this way- and seh had no clue as to why.

Bishop gave a solemn breath and bit his lip after moments when Scarlet Bird left his presence.  He cleaned his face from the sweat and salt that dribbled over his brow and the inside of the helmet too before putting it on once more.  He was hesitant to leave the room but did so knowing he'd be missed and knowing Thom had seen Helena walk out and was back into the gardens, or somewhere else no doubt.

He didn't know if he could trust her...he couldn't even trust himself at times, and in that moment of passion, he'd revealed himself in a way that he'd not intended.  And he didn't know if he could keep his nerves down this time as he moved over to the door and donned his helmet, coming out to his post at the gardens, but pausing just by the door.

The giggles and grunts from Helena's exploits with the younger Westerson could clearly be heard. Though neither were naked, they didn't need to be as the Westerson brother kept at it, moaning louder and louder, despite Helena desperately wanting him to stop.

"P-please.. what if your brother hears? Or Mrs. Remance? We should be more careful," she cautioned, but the other man simply laughed, a sharp, barkish noise that cut clearly through the air. He simply rolled over her, the pair spilling out from their hiding place as he continued to mate with her.

"Why so nervous, my little doll?" he asked, lips creeping up her neck. "Its not like we both haven't had you before.."

He heard the noises out in the garden and he paled inside of his scorching helmet.  He was trmebling just a little, realizing she'd gone back to her normal affairs with the Westersons and at that he didn't know if he could go through another bout of that.  Thom couldn't be bothered to care as he was busy relaxing and enjoying the company of a serving girl  who'd taken to sitting with him on the lounge chair.  And from that momemt it seemed like time slowed down and little did he realize what was happening inside of him.  He felt like a chain reactor was going off in his head and all he could think about was his wife and the man who rolled on top of her from out of the brush.

He found himself moving as if through water as he strode across the lawn, between bushes and he could faintly hear Thom calling out to him when he did so, but nothing registered.  He moved over to Westerson that was on top of her.  He leaned down and plucked him from the ground, his sex exposed and there was a moment of him about to cry out but Bishop shoved his boot into his mouth, muffling him and he took out the sword from his side and slashed off the vulnerable appendage...well half of it at least.  He was absolutely livid as he peered over to Wylestia and reached down to her, plucking her by the arm and dragging her back to the manor.

It happened fast, but it also happened slow. She hadn't seen Bishop coming, too focused on trying to get Mr. Westerson to hurry up. As much as it was obvious what a courtesan was, it was still a deal of secrecy, and one not to blatantly displayed. That was left for the whores in the whore houses. So when the man was suddenly tore off of her, she watched in horror as Bishop practically castrated the man, leaving her stunned. Nothing really hit her until she was in the manor, her skin as pale as a ghost as she turned to him, finding her body shaking, despite her trying to keep that repressed.

"What.. what do you think you're doing!?" she finally asked once they were inside. "Gods.. they'll have us hung!" and if she was exposed... she wasn't supposed to get caught, and could NOT expose herself as Scarlet Bird, no matter what, and found herself frustrated over her own impotence. She couldn't even defend herself against this man as her eyes raged with hot, uncontrollable tears. "You might have killed him!"

"Didn't think you would have even noticed!  You were a little too busy for that.  And you're crazy to think I'm going to let another man fuck my wife.  There's only so much I can take; It was inevitable," Bishop breathed, his breath hot like dragon's fire.  "You're coming with me!  Today is done with.  There's no time to say Goodbye to your Johns.  Scream and I'll jam that sword inside of you very much like Westerson younger did."

She was taken back by his threats. It was funny, she had been chasing him, out to kill him before, but never once had she felt as frightened as she did now. Perhaps it was because they were playing a game of cat and mouse, but now.. now what of it? And why did he care who she fucked? And what was he talking about when he called her his wife? She furrowed her brows and looked at him as if he was crazy.

"You're crazy." She looked him over, spitting at his face. "As if I'd be married to you. Go ahead and kill me. See what good it'll do you." She kept her face steeled, her chin up high, her eyes daring him. He had no idea who he was messing with, and if she had to, she'd go Scarlet Bird on his ass. "As if a courtesan would ever marry." She narrowed her eyes at him in disgust, but kept all of the pride within her, keeping her head held high. "Where do you plan to take me anyways?" Perhaps the man would squeak. But she had to think quick, least this crazy man actually make good on his words.

"No I'm not going to kill you.  You'd be useless to me and anyone else dead.  But mostly to me.  Now I can't speak for the poor decisions I've made concerning you all those years ago, a choice I can quickly rectify if you wish when all this is over if you want.  I see there was still much we needed to learn about each other.  Just come along." He resheathed the sword and pushed her along as they went out the doors.

Helena narrowed her eyes. She still had no idea what he was going on about, but perhaps it was all apart of his game. Either way, it was his turn, but she never let her guard up as she obliged him as he lead the way.
"Did you ever think you have the wrong person?" she asked in a hiss as they walked on ward. "Because, I can assure you, I've never been married before." Well, at least from what she could remember. "Maybe I have some distant cousin that looks like me." Hopefully he'd buy that. This man was crazy, though.. why did her master warn her about him? HAd they been married? It still seemed inconceivable, though then again, when they kissed..
she felt something burning deep within. Though she internally waved off the idea. He was just handsome, and it was probably just natural attraction. After all, not all of her clients could look so dashing.

No not all of them could be so dashing but neither could they dash away like Bishop did as he pulled Wylestia along with him out into the street and down an alley he found along the side.  The city was large and much more lively and thankfully he still had his helmet on.  He pinned her angrily against a brick wall and shoved a hand into his trousers to pulled out the leatherbound ledger and showed it to her.  "This page there's a name in there with a description beside it that doesn't belong like all the rest.  You must have fucked half the nobility in Serendipity no doubt and no doubt you're good with names.  Now tell me who M. C. Madison is!"

Scarlet bird made a face at him. He didn't have to be so rough! Then again, maybe he did. Glaring daggers at him, she gave a hot sigh and looked away.
"An alias of a former colleague of mine, but that's all I really know." Not that she'd tell him more than that. Besides, what did she care about his affairs anyways?
"I think you're just scrambling at anything you can reach for. What are you trying to prove here anyways? I don't even know you, I've never been married, then you go in there attacking Mr. Westerson.. and I have to say, I'd be surprised if you live through the night after that sort of attack." Or Mr. Westerson, for that matter. The man was a nit-wit, and might have deserved it, but at least he had the money to pay (even if it was his brother's coin).

"Suddenly nothing matters anymore, not even my life and I'll do what I have to in order to get what I need," Bishop said.  He lifted the face mask and bored his eyes into hers.  "What colleague?  I know you know more.  Tell me."

Scarlet Bird set her jaw.
"What does it matter? It was years ago and I haven't ever heard from him since. Any information I know on him would be worthless to you now. Do you even have any idea what you're dealing with? Stop being so reckless. I'm sure you've got better things to do with your time than chase after him."

"You really don't know anything do you?" Bishop said and frowned at her, glowering with a pained look and gave a sigh.  "Reckless?  Gods, what has that man done to you...  You don't remember me being anything more than your enemy, you hunt me and for what?  I don't have anything," he said.  "Not even you, anymore.  But this is all I can do.  I just need a name.  You must remember something more tangible.  You're my only hope."

Scarlet Bird furrowed her brow.  She felt pity for the man, but had no idea why he'd reference to having her when they had no history before these crazy events. He was just a mark for her to be wary of. Maybe he was just that good of a manipulator. Who was she to say? But he was a damn good kisser. Shaking her head, she wasn't sure what else she could say.
"If I were to even divulge any more information, I'd probably have to kill you myself," and her lips twitched into a small smile, though it didn't remain. "Though in all honesty, the most I know about that man is his other alias is Chagall. Although," and here, she reached a hand out, placing it on his shoulder. "I wouldn't go after him if I were you. He and I.... we... well, if you can't tell, I kill people and he.. well.." she laughed dryly. "Let's just say he's graduated into a deeper realm of killing than before." She shook her head. "But that's all I know. We both work as assassins, but never really on the same target." It was only then her eyes widened. Wait, could Bishop be BOTH of their targets? And here he was, just inches away from her... and from the Westerson estate... it wasn't like anyone would know if she were to suddenly attack him..
It could be.. in self defense...
She felt at the side of her dress. Ah, the knife was still there.

OOC: I hope this post makes sense. I coudl NOT sleep last night so eating something, posting and going back to bed ;_;

Bishop listened to her description and like pieces of a puzzle, they slowly clicked into place.  He saw the moves like a strategic placement of game pieces over a board and his eyes widened in contemplation.  That name...he'd heard it before.  Chagall.  It was him that came that day, when...

"That's all I needed," Bishop said simply.  "More likely than not, your master will find you again and erase any recollection of our meeting this time.  And of the truth.  Thank you."  He nodded to her and dropped the facemask of his helmet and ran toward the opposite end of the alley.

Scarlet Bird stood there, staring off in a daze. Chagall? What was so great about finding out his name? She furrowed her brow long after he had left, staring off into the direction he had vanished. She contemplated going after him, her hand on her blade. She couldn't go back to the Westerson's now. Not now. Not ever. Shit. he had ruined her alias, had ruined her ulterior motive, but when the guards suddenly rounded the bend, she knew she was caught. So she did the first thing she could think of and exclaimed, with a hand tossed to her forehead dramatically, "Oh! The scoundrel went that away!" and she fainted away onto the ground.

If he thought he could make a clean getaway, out of town, out into the safety of the woods, he was wrong.  But Bishop quickly learned never to take anything for granted and when he heard the rushing of guards, looking for someone of his description, he immediately abandoned the armor he'd stolen.  He didn't need it anymore anyway.  All he needed was the ledger and kept that shoved back into the thigh of his pants as he left the armor in an alleyway.

But the time it took for him to discard it, were precious seconds he lost toward escape, and soon he saw a pair of guards had seen him near the armor, and gave chase as he moved toward the exit points on the street.  He had to get out of here alive.  He had to find Chagall.  And deep in his heart, he knew Helena had betrayed him yet again.

Unfortunately, many intricacies were laced into the younger Westerson's death. Not only was the elder upset, but his infatuation with Wylestia was even in question as he ordered her cuffed to be questioned. Despite her attempt to remain a frail, delicate woman, Mr. Westeron was no fool, and he knew some courtesans lead duel lives.

"Don't worry, if you're innocent, it will all be over quickly, my dear," he said, but his smile hardly eased her nerves as she was lead inside a barred carriage, the door closed in her face, as she peered out at him, hands gripping the bar as the carriage rolled down the street.
Shit. This was definitely not working out the way she planned, even as the other order of guards were quickly making their way after Bishop.

[He died of castration xD]

Bishop's experience at evading and hiding, were only slightly less in comparison than his ability to run and run he did.  His body was long and lean for a man of his height and he ran with such deftness and agility that rounding between buildings and over crates and other junk left the guards reeling in his wake.  Soon, he found the edge of town and disappeared into the trees, with only a few guards knowing which way he'd gone.  But before they caught up to him, he was already long gone.

OOC: The younger brother did but the elder is still alive XD

----------------

When Wylestia was brought to the jail house, she paced around the place until she became tired. Eventually, she was released, no charges pressed, as she was merely a witness to the dastardly deed that had been done. Mr. Westerson (the elder) was even there to apologize, but what surprised her hte most who showed up was her master. Rarely did he come in person to such things, but once the pair were in the carriage, she turned to him and looked up into his eyes.

"Why did you come?"

He didn't speak for a time, slipping off his white gloves and folded them neatly within his lap. He removed the monacle from his face and only thend di he look up at her.

"Because, my little bird, you are still delicate without your cage." and he lifted up a hand, gently stroking her cheek before gesturing for the carriage to carry on.

Scarlet Bird kept her eyes uneasily upon him, studyig him well after the carriage lurched into motion.

"You came by because you know this was all laced together and somehow tied into that strange man you told me to kill."

Her master stared at her, before laughing softly as he tucked back some of her hair that had come undone.

"Shh.. no questions now. We are in public. We can discuss those details at night."
And the smile upon her master's face made her become uneasy as she looked at him, and eventually tore her eyes away, glancing out to the houses as they moved past.

Bishop was long gone from the town and he'd made it back to the cabin where Wylestia had once captured him, where she intended to kill him then and there.  It was not an idell place to return to but the cabin was abandoned and it was the only place he could think to hide that wasn't one hundred miles away.  He cried then, unsure as to why.  The weight of it all finally taking it's toll and he wiped away the tears with a rough solemn hand.  At least he'd gotten one good lead out of it all.  Chagall no doubt went by many names.  But more importantly that's one he seemed to always go back to.  He'd only seen the man twice in his whole life but it was enough to memorize who he was.  Chagall was a tall man, leanly built, almost refined in his stature with blonde hair swept out of his face and those gloves he always slipped over his hands right before he got down to work.  Red gloves of roughened leather.  And his eyes...they had a hunger to them.  A tired hunger that showed he didn't alway like what he had to do but got it done because no one else would do it right.  He'd rather be sitting in a chair somewhere paying cronies of his own do the dirty work, but there were certain obstacles in is way that prevented him from doing so.

Naturally, no good deed would go unpunished. Scarlet Bird's master was fuming mad. So when night began to fall, her job was simple.
"Kill that man, or be killed yourself." He had coddled his little bird for too long, and she, being frightened more than determined, simply obeyed and slid back into her red leather attire for the long haul. She had no idea where to look for him, but something had her drawn back towards the cabin where she had first captured him, to ensure it was ready if she got him again, but she paused just outside it to consider -..
Perhaps it wasn't worth the effort and she ought to just find him, kill him and be done with it. It was either him or her this time, and it certainly would NOT be her.

Bishop was sleeping, if you could call it that.  It was evident from the bags underneath his eyes that the only sleep he'd ever gotten, as brief as it was, was relished but too few and far between.  He'd grown jumpy and awoke every few hours on instinct, but just when he thought he might stay asleep for good, his eyes burst open as he heard the crunching of leaves outside.  The feet, no matter how delicate, always made some sound of their passing.  Fear clutched his heart and his first instinct was to run.  But where!?

Bishop didn't moved from his place underneath an abandoned bed, littered with dust and spiders.  There was no where he to run as he heard the feet moving more quickly towards the door, or thought they were at least.  He remembered the knife he'd found in the basement, hiding in his boot and carefully pulled it out.  He clutched it in a ready hand, pushing himself further up on the floor underneath the bed, waiting.

She hadn't been looking for his tracks on the way to the cabin, or she would have seen the tell tale signs that someone was lurking within. It wasn't until she grabbed a hold of the door handle that she noticed something was amiss and paused. She furrowed her brow, narrowing her gaze upon some fresh foot prints on the door way. They couldn't have been from the night prior..
it had rained.
Staring up at the cabin, she glared daggers at it, wondering if whomever made it was still inside. she wasn't about to risk it. She slipped out some of her metal wire and clenched her fists around it, keeping it taunt, before pushing the door open with a slow and steady creak.

As the door open, the moonlight flooded into the room,but for the moment, she saw no one there. That didn't mean they weren't lurking int he shadows. So slowly, ever so slowly, she stepped inside the cabin, the floor boards creaking under her weight. And she moved to push the door close, it clicking behind her before she stepped forward, eyes cleaving through the dark.  It was then something stirred, and she gasped, but then was shaking her head at herself when it was only a mouse scurrying past. She stepped towards it, picking up a broom and tried to sweep the damn thign away.

"God damn mouse," she sneered.

Bishop could wait, he could wait as long as he needed to before jumping out.  But even that idea didn't seem all that appealing because he froze, a solid block of ice when he heard  her voice, carrying as it did all the way upstairs.  The house might have been well built ages ago but that was a long time coming.  The wood had since rotted, leaving everything creaky to the slightest but of weight, no matter how well-trained. 

He didn't move a muscle, waiting for any further sign of movement.  If he could avoid a possible clash with her, he would.  If he could avoid her altogether, even better.  But something was telling him she wasn't here to pay him a friendly visit.

OOC: I WONDER WHAT GAVE HIM THAT IDEA
8D

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Scarlet Bird didn't like feeling this jumpy. A little mouse.. geeze, was that all it took. She took a moment to draw in a deep breath before exhaling slowly, recomposing herself before she continued inside. Her eyes continued to trace around the room, scouring the shadows, but after a time,s he found nothing there. Sighing, she moved to light a lamp, and went about the walls lighting the scones so that the entire first floor was now in light. Frowning, she recalled the boot print on the front stoop and slowly lifted her gaze towards the ceiling above her.

There was still another floor to explore. Heading towards the stair case, she made her way slowly upstairs. Thankfully, there was only one room to look through, but as she was coming up the winding stair case she paused, staring down through the bottom of the door, where it hung just an inch over the floor while she was in the middle of the stair case, and happened to look in, spotting something moving beneath the bed.

Was it another rat... or something more? She lifted the lantern she had been holding up, letting the light spill beneath the crack so that it shown through. though momentarily it actually blinded her, since she needed to hold it so close to her face. But it was then she was finally able to see- and she saw him all too clearly.

That man from early was under her bed.

Bishop's heart had been pounding away into his ears and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't deaf because of it.  Boy this woman knew how to take her time.  Either she was wary of the cabin, or she knew he was there and just likes to make him squirm.  He gathered it was a little of both, If he knew her like he thought he did.  But when did any of that do him any good.  The moment at the Westersons when he kissed her...for a moment he thought she remembered him, thought maybe -

But it really was too good to be true.  And Bishop knew he could rely only on himself if he wanted to get the information that he needed.  He could only count on himself to survive. 

He held his breath when he heard her coming up the stairs.  Waited.  There was a lantern light.  He watched the glow spill out onto the floor, darkness receding like washed ink.   She paused, spotting something underneath the bed, seemed fixated and in that moment, he moved fast.  He came out from where he'd pressed himself up against the corridor wall and shot at her from the side all the while she remained fixated on the object that appeared to be him underneath the bed but was little more than a pillow and a blanket rolled up.  He threw his body on hers and pressed the edge of his knife against her throat.  "You're not going to stop me, Helena.  I won't let you.  Please...don't make me do it."

Scarlet Bird gasped, feeling the rush of a man upon her and she was soon pinned against the wall, knife to her throat. Her heart was beating a mile a minute, with enough force she swore it was about to beat clean out of her chest. Then she bared her teeth at him, eyes wild, and looked down at the knife.
"You're clever, but you'd better use that knife now. That's the only thing stopping me from gutting you. Because if you don't kill me now, I will kill you." And her eyes narrowed. "And stop calling me Helena. During the night, they call me the Scarlet Bird. And during the day.. well.." she laughed dryly. "You know very well my profession."

"That's what I was afraid of," Bishop admitted, swallowing hard on a dry throat.  He hadn't realized it, but his face was flushed, brow dotted with perspiration.  HIs eyes too were reddened and tired from lack of sleep and the stress of it all finally getting to him.  He looked at her eyes, and knew she'd kill him if he gave her half the chance. But he couldn't stop his hand from trembling, the very thought of running it across her throat, making him sick to his stomach.

"I know what they call you," Bishop murmured, trying to reaffirm his grip on the knife.  "Helena was what I used to call you...  Now I don't know what to call you anymore.  You're not my Scarlet Bird.  You're someone else in her skin."  But he felt his grip slipping and didn't know if he had the determination to carry it out.  He let go of her and stepped away, slumping back against the opposite wall and sliding down.  He sat down and let the tears flow, quietly.

Despite knowing the consquences to leave the man alive, Scarlet Bird remained against the wall, staring over at the man as he cried. This was not the way a man acted when he was a cold hard killer. SHe knew that, because at times, that's what she had to become. She had to adapt to this life and wear many masks, but even so, the masks could not hide what she truly wanted, nor could the spell of her master keep her dreams at bay. She had always wanted to actually love a man, to live a normal, peaceful life- to have children, to laugh and smile and burn dinner because she had stepped out for too long in the sun to have fun and play with her family. Now there was a man before her, sobbing uncontrollably. A man that had claimed she was his wife.

Was it at all possible it could be true? That this man and she.. they had been wed? Her mind wondered back towards the kiss. She tucked in her lower lip, feeling a shiver run through her at the memory before she glanced over at Bishop.

"If we had been married, what church did we get married at?" she asked, testing the waters to see how far this game could be played.

It was he was capable of doing in this moment.  There was no reasoning, no logic to think this through - that'd he'd made himself vulnerable to the very person who was hunting him so doggedly.  Maybe this was it!  Maybe this was the end.  If she wanted to kill him now, he wouldn't have the strength to stop her.  And he was sure any second now she would come rushing at him, tear open his throat or whatever her trademark was.

But when she spoke he jumped from the unexpected interruption.  He looked up at her bleary-eyed and wiped his eyes, swollen as they were.  "Huh?" he asked..  He swallowed hard and kept his eyes down, thinking.  "W-we were wed in a small church to Kia in Ravensway.  It was called Bromstone Abbey.  It was a nice little chapel, not much bigger than maybe a hundred square feet.  You wore flowers in your hair...A soft silken gown than hung from your shoulders.  Your elegant, divine..."  He smiled at the recollection but didn't face her.  "Why?"

Well, if he was crazy, he obviously had a very intricate story. Furrowing her brow, she tapped a finger to her chin in thought as she observed him.
"And guests.. were there any guests?" she asked, turning away from him as she fiddled over her metal wire weapons. She didn't bother to answer his question. "What about your family? And mine- who was all there?"

Bishop looked up at her and frowned.  Why now?  Was she remembering?  He knew she deliberately avoided his question and at that he didn't know if he wanted to answer, but what else was there to do.  "Not too many.  A few friends from my side.  Yours was fairly empty.  No family, fewer acquaintances.  I don't remember meeting your family.  I think you said they all passed on and you were an only child..."

A faint smile tugged at her lips. The stories were starting to add up. It was funny. When she was younger, before a lot of this craziness had happened (or rather, when it was just beginning) she was already feeling over whelmed and repressed. She had a clear cut idea on how to make up a story for herself in just about every scenario...
and this one was starting to fit the bill for when she hoped to run away and start a real life...
Yes.. of course if she found a suitable husband, he would not know her parents..

Swallow down the knot in her throat, she continued, staring at the wall.
"And the ring? WHat sort of ring was it?" she hoped when she spoke, the quiver in her voice wasn't detectable, but she was finding it increasingly more difficult to keep it at bay and to sound as strong and fearless as her current identity as the nightly assassin..the Scarlet Bird.

Bishop shook his head trying to remember, brushing his disheveled hair back.  "The ring...?  A um...a gold band, simple as it was, with three small stones placed side-by-side on it. Two small sapphires with a garnet in the center.  It was a difficult ring to acquire.  I must have made three-dozen vanity desks just to pay for the stonework alone."  He laughed at the memory.  "What does all this matter now though?  You don't remember.  It's a time long past."

Blue was her favorite color, so sapphires on a wedding ring was all apart o fher dream. Though she didn't understand the red. She hated red. It reminded her of blood.. and the red leather that she now wore. She tucked in her lower lip and simply asked, "What do you mean vanity desks? What sort of craft are you into?" Then she paused, blinking back some threatening tears before pressing her last question, "Why garnet?" She couldn't see herself ever allowing red on the ring. And again, she ignored his questions.

Bishop licked his lip for a time, looking over to her and seeing her face for the first time, watching her chew on her lip and just stared at her.  "I like red.  I always have.  It is such a poignant and beautiful color.  The color of passion, love, life.  I chose the garnet because I thought it best represented myself.  And you would always be at my side.  I guess maybe I should have chose a different stone," Bishop said with a shrug.  "I'm a carpenter...well, I was.  That's why my hands are so rough.  I worked in a small shop and made all sorts of things.  I could make anything I set my mind too.  But I can't fix this."  Bishop stood then, his face still tired.  He scratched at his beard and looked over to her, stepping slowly nearer and reaching for her hand.

Helena flinched away, exposing the side of her face so he could see the delicate string of tears that threatened to fall.
"Please don't touch me," she said under her breath, knowing then how frail her words sounded.

Red. He liked the color red. She could only see herself ever wearing such a color either against her will, or in order to prove it meant something more than her past. She glanced down at her hand, to where the ring ought to be, rolling her thumb to where it ought to rest,a nd feeling peculiar that no metal came back at the touch. But it was as she could see it. No ring was there.

Carefully she lifted her face up to look at him, hen she glanced down, staring down at his hands. He was just a carpenter.. a simple carpenter. And as she reached for his hands, taking one within her own, she studied the callouses upon his fingers, the obvious years of his trade wearing his hands down so they were no longer soft, as tears began to fall.

"And how did you say we met?" she asked, drawing in a breath and trying to sound strong again, even despite her tears and the redness that had come to her nose and cheeks. It was only then she looked into his eyes, her tears on pause, glistening against the green of her eyes.

He smiled at the memory.  "We met in town.  I'm not sure what you wanted with me at the time.  I saw you looking through the shop window one morning.  It was pouring rain outside, but you just stood there.  Not sure if you were looking at me or the woodcrafts inside.  I opened the door and welcomed you in but you just walked away, gave a sheepish smile and disappeared.  The next day you did the same thing.  But I didn't see you again for a week.  Then you were there.  It rained the next month and you were there again, standing in the rain.  I opened the door and...that was when you came in.  I don't think you ever wanted to buy anything."  He laughed.

His breath hitched at her contact, after she'd blatantly told him not to touch her.  His hands were roughened, from a lifetime of hard work, not soft from a life of comfort, like a banker or nobleman.  He reached his other hand up to gently grace her cheek, but he stopped just moments before touching her, noticing the trail of tears there.  He let his thumb plant itself on her cheekbone, the crest of it and gently wiped away the moisture there.  He chewed his bottom lip and stared at her mouth.

"I was probably window shopping," she said, sniffling back her tears that were now falling endlessly down her face. And in spite of herself, she was smiling. She found herself labored in breath, trying to fight back the sobs but it was to no avail. "I used to do that a lot when I was younger. When I had silly dreams about a life outside my own." And she was smiling again, wiping back the hot tears. 

And then she turned to him, and looked him square in the eyes.
"And if that is how we met.." she started her question upon a cautious breath. "Than how come I have no recollection of you?" And the gold locket around her neck caught just the faintest amount of light that it seemed to glow, as if some remnants of a fire fly might be held within. "How does one simply forget the love of their life?" And even now, the unspoken thought of their child. After a moment, she pressed her quivering lips together as more tears threatened to fall.

"And if we were married... how many years?" she asked, trying to strengthen herself as she blinked back her tears and kept her chin up, strong.

Bishop hardened his jaw as he pressed his thumb closer against her face, pressed his hand into the familiar feel of her skin, feeling his heart swell and his stomach swirl with the very thought of her.  He didn't know how to answer her question, but there was nothing he could say to make it better, nothing he could to provide the answers they both desperately deserved. 

"It would be seven years this autumn," Bishop murmured.  He leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead and let his face slide down her cheek, letting the stubble of his beard grate softly against her skin, kissing her cheek.  His hand threaded into her fingers and pulled her closer.

"Seven years?" How could someone simply erase seven years? Or make it up? Her eyes blurred with hot tears. She wasn't sure how much more she could take. "How could it be seven years if I can't even remember you?" But when she peered up to look into his eyes, something flashed, a fragment of a memory that couldn't be erased, something on his lips telling her it would be ok- a flash of thunder, the soft scent of his musk, and a kiss- one like the one she was doing now, just to recall the memory of the harsh feeling of his stubble against her chin.

Then she gasped, realizing she had been kissing him as she whimpered and pulled away. She needed a moment. Gods. What was wrong with her!? This man she was supposed to avoid- and here she was, playing his game.. was he toying with her memories?

"Why do you do this to me?" she asked carefully, her words quivering as she looked away, shamefully at the ground. "If we had seven years.. why is it all gone?" and her teary eyes rose to meet his, trying to challenge him all the while her own bravery was fading, and glimpses of the past were coming out-
and suddenly she was struck, a sharp pain jolting through her mind the second she recalled his last name- HER name, their name together, the wedding and..
She let out a gasp of pain, dropping to her knees as she clutched her head, just as a small bolt of electricity hissed out from the necklace and jolted straight into the side of her head.

"Helena!" Bishop remarked as he saw her suddenly dropped to the ground.  He crouched beside her and pulled her up into his arms.  He brushed a hand across her face, washing her tears away and feeling some pour down his own cheeks.  "Why would I take it from you?  Why would I want to hurt you?  I didn't want this to happen.  But things happened beyond our control.  I want you, Helena.  I only want you."  He muttered against her as he hugged her close.  He kissed her again, deepening it, hoping she'd remember the sensation of such close-distance.

The kiss, the moment, the feel- all of it was needed. She found herself becoming lost, melting into his kiss, her mind whirling, reaching out from the sensations into the unknown, areas inside her mind that had been locked away, other parts seemingly snuffed out- when suddenly the sound of bells rang out within her mind, bells from their wedding day and a bolt of electricity flashed from the heart locket, reaching out and tearing between them, shooting inside her head and causing her to scream out in pain. Then the gold locket snapped, bursting into a thousand pieces that pierced into her flesh, causing her to bleed  as she screamed out.

Then a moment later, she still sat on the floor on her knees, breathing heavy, eyes wide, while tears slowly rolled down her cheek.  For a long while, she simply stared at him, before the words formed out of her lips.

"B.. Bishop?" and the words were spoken, as if she had just woken from a dream.

Bishop was shot back and wrapped his arms around his eyes to shield himself from the blinding light and shards of the locket that burst out between them.  He stayed crouched across from her and slowly turned his arm down as he looked over to her as she breathed his name.  She said his name, said it as if she recognized it and a chill passed through him.  His eyes poured forth the tears he'd been holding back for the longest time.

"Helena?  Helena...you...you said my name!  Say it again!" Bishop murmured, crawling toward her.  "You remember?"

Helena's eyes wavered as she looked back at him, slowly shaking her head.

"Of course I remember," she said, making a face as if she didn't understand. "And which name, the name you've coined yourself after from a chess piece, or the real name of the man I married,"s he said, affectionately reaching forward and pinching the skin of his cheek, but when she caught his tears there, her smile faded, and soon a head ache washed over her as she grit her teeth and winced.
"Ugh, my head, I.." and then blinking, she gasped, staring down in horror at the outfit she now wore. She was in red. She was in leather..
"Oh my god.." then she looked back up at him, backing away fearfully until she pressed against the wall, her eyes wide in fear as she cupped a hand over her mouth, tears spilling frm her eyes. She looked as if she had seen a ghost. ANd the more she looked at him, the more her eyes burned with fuel as hot tears continued to flow down her face.

"Oh Gods.. Bishop!" her voice came out in a croak. "How the hell.. what happened... how long have I.... did you... Gods.." she continued to keep her hand over her lips as they trembled, tears continuing to fall.

Bishop's lip quivered in disbelief, watching her remember him and suddenly pull away, unknowing what happened.  He wished he could give her all the answers she asked for, but he himself was at a complete loss for understanding, unable to help her beyond moving closer to her side, kneeling beside her and taking her into his arms.

"No, no, no, no," he whispered.  "Don't pull away from me now, Helena!  Oh, gods, Helena!  I don't know what's going on...but it's too much to bear.  Helena just calm down, calm....let me hold you, let me kiss you.  Just kiss me please."

"But Bishop!"s he cried, her voice strained as she flinched away. "How much do you know? You've seen me like this.. I.. I.." and her eyes welled up with tears. "You were never supposed to know." she finally choked, looking into his eyes, the same eyes that were pleading with her, asking for a kiss. She shook her head. "How could I? If you've seen me like this..t han you know I've lied to you... of what I truly am and I.." her lips trembled, more tears spilling down her cheek. "Bishop... Bishop I'm so sorry." she uttered the words, barely coming out in a whisper.

"I know....I know.  Gods, how I know!"  Bishop was in tears, trying to wipe hers away, trying to keep her close, trying to keep her calm, but he himself didn't know if he could contain himself.  "Helena...It all happened so fast...  I thought you died.  I saw them drag you away.  They locked you in that room to burn alive...  But then you came back and tried to kill me.  Tried to end me.  But I don't know why...  Why is he keeping you from me?  What am I learning that I shouldn't know?"

He thought she died?! She perked up, her face twisting in confusion.
"Die?" then it all began to come back to her- she had somehow managed to live. She recalled waking up, feeling sore all over, and her master leaning over her, chuckling and spitefully thanking Chagall that he had her again. She grimaced, her own tears still prickling at her eyes as she digested the rest.

"I... I tried to kill you?" Then she recalled her attire and paled. "It... this all happened.. because of me." And she hung her head in shame. It was only then she noticed the glass shards jutting out of her skin, and the blood there and winced. But it was there she noticed the missing heart piece and flits of memories came back to her. "Damien.." she whispered, with a frown, the peered up at Bishop with tears still in her eyes.
"Gods, I'm so sorry, Bishop," and she reached out as if to touch him, feeling so ashamed to see his tears, but withdrew her fingers, too afraid to touch him, too ashamed to allow herself as she frowned. "I should have told you what I was. I should have told you the risks. But I .. I wanted to forget it all, to run away. I was sick of this life but now look at me."

And it was only then she began to realized, "Gods.." she grimaced, fearing the worst as she asked in barely a whisper, "What about Lora?" but in her heart.. she knew the answer, even as the ghosted memories of her last realization came bubbling to the surface likea horrifying dream.
"Gods.. is she really..?" and she couldn't even speak it, her eyes blinding her with tears.

"Damien?"  It was all he could say but in his heart he knew the answer well enough.  It was the name of her master, the name of the man he watched torture and strike the woman he called his wife, the name of the man that had a hold on her stronger than a vice grip.  So strong, he was capable of sapping her memory and apparently he had hidden it inside the glass charm on her neck.  He saw her pluck the shards from her skin, the blood trickling down like beautiful red wine.

He looked at the ground, unsure what to make of all this, unsure what more there was to say.  "I have to go," he finally said at last, his eyes wavering, looking around.  "I've lingered here too long.  They'll find me."

Helena looked up at her husband. "Go?" Then her brows furrowed as she slowly shook her head, asking, "Who?"

Bishop looked at her with hard eyes, wondering how she could forget that there was more than just her hunting him.  "The bounty hunters.  They saw me in the town when you were entertaining the Westersons.  They're very quick on finding those they want.  I've got to leave."

Everything was a mess, and Helena was having trouble picking up all of the pieces. But it made sense, so she pressed her lips together and nodded, staring him right in the eyes.
"Shall I go distract them for you?" she asked, smiling only slightly at the idea. "I might make for a more interesting target. If not, I could always give those bounty hunters a run for their money. A chance for you to get..." and her the last words faded from her lips, "...home."

Bishop felt disconnected from her, broken, one of the pieces she was trying to collect.  But he didn't know if he wanted to go back into place.  So he moved away from her, shaking his head and grabbing the knife that he'd dropped.  He couldn't say anything more, couldn't pick up where they'd left off and simply disappeared down the stairs and the sound of running through the forest was only momentarily disrupted by the door of the cabin that slammed behind him.

Helena sat there for a good long while, not entirely sure just what happened. But little by little, piece by piece, it started to come back, and all she could do was sit there and cry.

Bishop had to go back, to the last place he'd remembered Chagall, as far and as fast as he could.  Already he could hear the neighing of horses behind him, the sound of men yelling, trying to track where he'd gone.  Gods, he begged.  Don't let them find Helena.

It wasn't bounty hunters who had come to call- but Damien's goons. Scarlet's Bird spell had been broken, and it was hardly as silent as a single locket breaking. He had seen it, a bright flash of purple light tearing into the air, tearing into his own heart and ripping open the metal cage as her memories fluttered out, flapping free.

"N-No.." he reached towards it, his eyes going wide, before he screamed out in rage. Now the men were in hot pursuit. They had to find her and bring her back, no matter the costs.  So while she was taking the time to go through and sort the broken pieces, the men on horse back were gaining on her where abouts. They didn't know exactly where she'd be, but they had a hunch it was somewhere in the forests, and that cabin was the first place they figured to look.
She heard them approaching and lifted her head, realizing, as her blood frozen within her veins, that her master was coming.

"Shit."

Wiping away her tears, she tried to recompose herself as she snatched up her weapons and took a look around the room. The damn mask was in the way, and in a fit of angered arrogance, she tore it off, throwing it to the ground and glaring daggers at it before slipping away, hiding withint he shadows of the cabin.
Let the men come.
They would not come out alive...

It was too late, Bishop knew, to turn back for her.  But everything in his gut told him to leave her behind, she would only slow him down, she'd impeded his search for answers.  Her memories coming back was not a blessing, but a curse and that despite everything she would not be able to help him.  Bishop ran toward the only place he could think to do so.  Home, back to the home that was destroyed and burned along with the rest of his past.

[Time skip or moving on is in order]

The cuts came quickly in the dark, her movements smooth as silk as the razor sharp wires tore into the men, collapsing them into bloodied pieces upon the floor. And as she stood over their bodies, hot tears ran down her face as she picked up her discarded mask and toss it on top of them. It was time to kiss Scarlet Bird goodbye.

Undressing one of the dead men, she quickly disposed of her leather attire and slipped into the man's, and as she slipped off intot he woods, she lit the place on fire, watching it burn, but not for too long. She knew her master would be coming, and it was only a time before he'd hunt her down.



Several weeks later, in many cities away, the questionably quiet dish boy was making his rounds, collecting dishes as he wiped at the sweat on his brow. He had a sweet youthful face, and most felt sorry for the lad since he couldn't talk, and she liked to keep it that way. No one would suspect it was her.

WIth her hair cut short, just inches long in a ratty length, and no make up to doll up her face, she passed well enough as a young lad, and worked hard to remain unseen. The cuts and bruises from her former job helped her blend in with her character, a boy beaten, so they said, and the town had already come up with a story for Audry Brown. A simple boy who lived simply in the loft above the stables at the edge of town.

No trace could be lead to him from her former association as Scarlet Bird. And although it was a difficult life, one where she needed to bind herself well to keep the proportions of a man (which was painful enough, but only added tot he charm of the story surrounding her playing Audry Brown) that she just went with it, and dealt. Though it was difficult to hide the times of her being on the rag, she was doing ok for herself and blending in. The money was ok, and she was fed... safe. But still.. a part of her was always looking over her back, and at night, she found herself often crying for the loss of her husband, and the memories that had come back to her.

Was he ok? Was he safe? She didn't know, but she couldn't look back, couldn't hunt him down, even if she wanted to. For now she had to lay low, pretend to be someone else...
to wear another face.


OOC: Hope this works, the idea randomly came to me >.>

"Well, you know what they say, when the cat is away, the mice will play," the older man said with a nervous grin, sweat beading down his brow.

The other man grinned and stalked around him.  He was lithe and tall, lean like a cat but with the piercing gaze of a reptile, watching and waiting quietly.  he couldn't help but agree with the older man, the old saying ringing true on a number of levels.  Yet he couldn't stave off that mild irritation how people loved to get out of hand when he wasn't around to keep them in line.  They couldn't help it, he supposed.  The sweeter the berry, the more pies they wanted to stick their fingers in.  But this - well, the joke stopped being funny when he had to pay them a visit.

"If-if, I'd known you were coming, I woulda kept Ivey in for the night.  Make us a pot of tea," Westerson said.

"I prefer brandy myself."

"Oh, oh, I have that too!"

"By all means, do that Mr. Westerson, serve us a couple of drinks, would you."  but there was something in Chagall's tone that said he wasn't interested in having a drink.  "And while you're doing that, why don't you tell me about more about this ledger you say that abruptly disappeared."

Westerson had since moved to the liquor cabinet and his hands were trembling, as he tried to open up the decanter.  He had to take a breath when he finally managed to pour the brandy into two stout glasses.  "Oh, that, I guess, I was a bit flustered after that incident with my brother."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"It was bound to happen, I guess.  But I think I must have just misplaced it somewhere.  I'm sure it'll come up some day; I'll keep looking.  But...I know you think somebody took it...don't you?" he asked as he turned to face Chagall.  He handed the  younger man the drink, one that his guest merely sniffed and gestured for him to sit once more.  Chagall just stood and set the brandy on the table beside the chair Westerson had fallen in.  He continued to pace behind him, until he paused to observe the knick-knacks on his bookcase.

"What exactly were the contents of that ledger?"

Westerson took a drink, his eyes fluttering left and right until at last they were fixed on his drink.  "Accounts, transactions, miscellaneous and otherwise.  Mr. Chagall, I – I didn't mean to.  It wasn't even my idea to keep track of everything.  They were just notes –"

"Shush, now.  That doesn't matter anymore.  It's just a matter of protocol.  But now that's over, you do understand what must be done at this point, don't you?  You took the risk because of the chance for profit but – well, we all make mistakes.  I'm sure you understand.  You're a very bright man after all.  It wasn't your fault.  You were just having a little fun," Chagall said, finally moving to the mantle.  "But it's most unfortunate that your fun only slightly overlooked our agreement.  And now look at all the trouble it's cost me.  I've worked very hard to get to where I am, Mr. Westerson.  You don't know how hard, but suffice to say it wasn't pretty.  It never is."

Chagall laughed and played with a small festive globe he held in his red-gloved hand, spinning the snow around before setting it gently on the mantle again.  "Burned down stock house, a tax official dead in his home, and a missing ledger.  It wasn't hard to follow the dots....  All in three months," he laughed.  "There's only one thing you could give me that would rectify this situation.  A name."

Westerson stared at Chagall for a long time, blinking at him stupidly before taking in another breath and a drink.  "Founcatorence," he whispered, but Chagall could hear him just fine.

"The little bird," he smiled.  He turned back to Westerson and placed both hands on either side of his chair, leaning in close and making the man shrink back.  He just stared at him before reaching into his belt and producing a small pouch.  "You know what to do," he whispered, placing the pouch in his hand.  He straightened and fixed the gloves on his hands before patting Westerson on the shoulder as if to say worse things could have happened.  That this way was much better than if someone else got their hands on him. And with that, the slender man left the room with the echo of sobbing in his wake.

–
This was a good bar and tavern, nice and quiet, away from the seedy rabble he was used to.  Despite common associate, he was more inclined to the finer quality inns, what might be considered respectable establishments, if you would have it.  And it was in such a place that he found himself in today.

The day was done and afternoon barely leaned overhead when the entry bell rang and the lithe figure found it's way into the tavern, taking a seat at an empty table in the back.  There were a few patrons talking quietly, a romantic couple on the side, three men with mud from local mines on their boots having a mid-day pint, a few others at the bar brooding over their drinks.  All Chagall needed was a fresh cup of water to cool him from the day, and little else could sway him from that.

He poured himself a free cup from the pitcher on the table, and put his boots up on a chair as his eyes surveyed the tavern, looking at the barmaids, the bartender, and a strange looking boy in the corner trying to clean up a table.  Chagall furrowed his brow and scrutinized them all, but the boy in particular, eying his gait.

The Little Bird, he thought, and grinned.  He'd know that ass anywhere.

There were many dishes to clean up, as 'Audrey' worked at cleaning the table nearby, not realizing the familiar face had eyes upon her, or even realizing there was a familiar face at all. Once the bin was filled, she gathered it up and disappeared into the back, placing all the dirty dishes into the waiting waters and began the endless process to clean.

His cold eyes watched the boy disappear into the backroom to take care of the dirty dishes in the bin on 'his' front.  Well, this is where the little bird had been hiding all this time.  He would have assumed it was something more - fancy.  That was what Damien had bred Wylestia Founcatorence for, as far as he could remember.  So when a barmaid went passed him, he reached out and grabbed her wrist.  "Say, you wouldn't happen to know that boy would you?  I think I remember him.  Was the son of a friend of mine," Chagall mused cooly.

"Oh, Audry?" she asked with a blush.  Chagall smirked at her.  "Would you like me to tell him you're here?  I wouldn't mind."

"Oh, would you be a dear?  Thank you."

WHen the barmaid came back to tell the boy an old friend was there to see her, she knew something was up.
"Thank you, Henra," she said, keeping her voice low, and once she was alone, she slipped a sharp knife up her sleeve before peering out the door was it was swinging closed the second the barmaid had left. She hadn't caught sight of Chagall, not until she was on her way over to him, and felt her stomach tighten into a cold knot. SHe stood there, eyeing him for the longest moment before moving with swiftness, aiming to cut the blade clean across his face. She knew what Chagall was here for, perhaps not all of the details, but it could never be good. ANd the fact he recognized her put all of her game pieces in a row; and she was not about to lose this match; yet.
If anything, she'd cut his damn eyes out if she could- and so that's how she went about it.. the least she could do was try.

Chagall took another sip of his water before holding the cup against his chest.  She drew closer to him, his eyes surveyed her in that cold calculating way they usually did.  And when the glint of the blade came flashing out, his other hand came up just in time to hold it before it struck his face.  He frowned at her.  "Is that anyway to treat an old colleague?" he said lowly to her, unamused and unthreatened.

"I just want to talk."  He pushed a chair out with his foot.  "Have a seat, please."

Scarlet Bird's eyes wavered, before she drew the knife back, yanking her hand free and took a seat. SHe glanced around, no body noticed. Turning her green eyes back to him, she narrowed her gaze.
"You'd better keep your eyes on me, Chagall, for one look away and I'll bury this knife into your balls."

"You tried that once, remember?" Chagall said as he looked her over once more.  "We ended up in sheets and an empty bottle of whiskey.  But I'm not here to talk about the past.  In fact...I didn't expect to find you here.  I see you're making plenty of friends.  That barmaid is awfully sweet on you.  Doesn't know you haven't got the whole package.  It's good to see you again.  I'm just wondering.  How are things for you?  Nice and quiet?"

Scarlet Bird's eyes narrowed upon him.
"That was well over a decade ago," her voice reminded him, dangerously. "Even then, we were no longer on the same side. Now cut the small talk, you want something, so spit it out before I decide I want to cut out your tongue." And impatiently, she slammed the knife onto the table, reminding him t was still there, and oh yes, it was sharp.

When the bar maid came by, gasping at the sight, she inquired, "Oh, Audrey, you have a knife?"

But Scarlet Bird cooly replied, without so much as even lifting her green eyes to the woman, "Yes, I wanted to cut up an apple as we chatted, but it seems I've forgotten the apple."

THe barmaid went quiet, nodded, and disappeared.

"THe clock is ticking, Chagall. Speak, you're trying my patience here."

"I'm not here to  prick at old wounds," Chagall said calmly.  "I'm also not here as you're enemy.  I was just wondering how you've been.  I do remember killing you, but you're miraculously still alive.  Damien must be very proud of you.  In any case, I was wondering if you've made any particular friends lately.  Friends interested in causing trouble for me."

Scarlet Bird narrowed her gaze upon him.
"I've given up that other life, so any connections are dead to me," she told him coldly. "Besides, what would I care of your fate?" Her eyes narrowed even more. "For what it's worth, you're lucky you're still alive right now, Chagall. This is my life right now, does it seem so harmful to you? Perhaps the barmaid is your secret nemesis." Scarlet Bird informed him as a bitter joke. "You're wasting your time, and next time you seek me out, you'll be as good as dead. I don't want you or your kind around here."

"I told you I wasn't looking for you, but since you're here, allow me to clarify.  You were supposed to be dead, am I right?  But since you're obviously not, I want to know one thing: who else is still alive?  We both know I have many enemies, but the problem with them is they are far too predictable,  I know where they all are every second of every day, and even when they think they have the upper hand, I know just what buttons to press to have them gone.  But this is diferent.  A mouse is playing with the cat's tail and I don't like it.  Now think.  Who do we both know that's still alive that shouldn't be?  Besides ourselves to catch your sarcastic remark before you say it.  A name."

Scarlet Bird felt her blood boil.
"You aimed to kill me, why on earth would I help you?" ANd she rose from the table. "You can figure that one out for yourself. If you'll excuse me, I have to disappear again, like a good little ghost. And I've also got some work to do, like a good little boy." And she forced a sweet smile as she talked through her teeth and turned to walk away.

As she turned to walk away, Chagall stood like lightning and reached for he wrist, holding it like a steel vice as he stood before her, leaning in close.  A hand came up to pinch her chin gently.  "Hmm," he purred.  "Defensively.  Someone close to you.  But you don't let anyone get close to you...  So who could it be?"  Then he grinned his catlike grin and pinched her chin adoringly.  "Ahhh, husband.  He is still alive isn't he?  So he's the little flea.  Thank you."  He let her go abruptly and moved quickly for the door.

She didn't have to say anything, the look in her eyes spoke volumes. And as he moved to leave, it was her turn to grab his wrist in a steel vice as she chewed on the inside of her mouth.
"Let's go to the barn.. to talk,"s he spoke through her teeth, hoping they hadn't aroused suspicions.. yet.

Chagall fought the urge to grin when she insisted they move out to the barn in the back of the tavern.  He won.  "Certainly," he whispered back.  "But understand that if you try anything besides talking, these precious little lambs will all die because of you.  Oh, I know you pretend you don't care.  I can see in your eyes thet've made an impression on you.  I may be wrong of course.   If you don't, then just consider them how you did in the old days: collateral damage.  Now let's talk."

 Scarlett bird glared. She didn't want to play his games. But it seems she had little choice. If she wanted to protect her husband, she would have to entertain Chagall. So they went  to the barn, and she waited for him to speak first.

As they stepped into the wide barn, Chagal held his hands befind his back, stepping delicately, ever obseving his surroundings and eying the placement of every rope, rack, scythe and farm tool.  He turned to her at last and kept his distance.  "When did you see him last?" he remarked with no sliver of amusement present in his reptillian eyes.

OOC: Yeah.. as I stated in PM, my last post was done using the voice command feature on my phone.
I'LL NEVER DO IT AGAIN ;_;
also I wish I had a strawberry smoothie.
LIKE YOU WOULDN"T BELIEVE HRNNNGH
;_;

-------------

At his question, Scarlet Bird's eyes turned cold.
"It is of little consequence to you. If he were still alive, would I not be with him now, instead of hiding away at some piss poor bar?" She had seen him eye up the area, she was no fool. Thankfully she had plenty of weapons hidden away to the untrained eye, and hopefully Chagall hadn't noticed them.
"Now, if you've got nothing more to say, I'd like to ask you to leave, other wise I will find five different ways to cut your head clean off. NOw..."s he gestured to the door. "This is all I have to say to you.. little more. I moved here to get away from that life and you have found me. Don't expect to be able to find me again the next time you search..."

"You seem to be under the impression that I believe you," he chuckled.  "But I'm not here for that.  I justs topped by your friend Westerson just a few weeks ago.  He'd lost something of import - a ledger to be exact and that led me to you."  Chagall did move toward the barn door.  "And to answer your question, no I do not believe that you would be with him if he were alive.  In fact sometimes I wonder if you really know yourself the way I do.  I believe you cry  yourself to sleep most nights, from the bags underneath your eyes, filled with worry.  Because he is away and you don't know if he is alive or dead.  Sentiment...a defect found only in the weak and easily amused.  I thought you better than that, Little Bird.  I guess I was wrong."  He bowed to her genteely and exited the barn.

"I am no longer the little bird," she scowled, long after he left. She wanted so much to throw a knife at the back of his head, but knew better. He could easily deflect it. So she did all she could, and began to pack up her things. SHe'd have to leave this place that night and move on..
and a part of her wanted to search for and warn Bishop..
that Chagall was on the hunt..
and on the hunt for him.

Bishopnew life as it were taught him how to hide and hide well.  Heavoided the obvious places, and decided the best place to keep out of sight was in plain sight, in the bell tower of an abandoned church in the small town of Darbur Fall.  He was a nobody, shaved his beard as best he could, even let his hair grow out into longer tight curls that drooped over his brow.  He forced himself to walk differently, talk differently, as if little more than a cripple when forced to go outside in search of food.  He was just another invalid, a bum that most people avoided.

But inside he was already calculating his next move, figuring which target to follow up next.  The leger had been an invaluable source of information to him that led him to the tax officer that 'overlooked' the smugglers that passed through the Riverlands and who used the shipping connections from the Westersons to distribute their production.  Bishop knew it looked bad, the man had died in self defense as he'd come looking for more clues in his home.  Bishop knew he had to keep his head down though.  For as long as he could until he could decipher the smuggler's map he'd found at the officer's house.

The young man she had tried to pretend to be had been sniffed out, and suddenly 'took on an illness'. Three days later, all that was left was a note of apology and Scarlet Bird was gone. She had taken what she could to find new supplies, a new outfit, and disappeared into the slums for a while, taking coin at night, doing something she didn't think she'd ever resort to (for sleeping with men as a courtesan was a lot less 'filthy' than banging the men on the streets). But she had little choice, and soon found herself with a simple red dress, low cut and provocative, and enough coin to purchase a cloak over top. Men didn't seem to care about the short hair, but she did, and she needed to keep her disguise as it were, so she had procured more coin from a nightly rendez-vous of the bloody variety, and took the money and purchased a blonde wig. When she was satisfied enough with her next costume, Scarlet Bird took back off ontot he road, finding herself in Darbur Fall and roaming the streets alone. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, or that the thing she dind't know she was looking for was here, but she had to keep moving, keeping pretending and find another place to hide...

All the while fearing over what Chagall had in store for her husband she abandoned some time ago. How long had it been? She couldn't recall, but she had been praying silently for some sort of answers, and was still trying to collect the pieces of her forgotten memories that were only slowly beginnign to return to her like a bad dream.

Chagall had tried to kill them- and he was obviously going to try to fix his mistake. THrowing up her hood, she kept her green eyes flashing about, looking to the shadows, looking over her shoulders, and not sure what road to take on up ahead.

Bishop knew it was a risk to leave his bell tower even at night.  It wasn't necessary of course.  But even one such as he needed some fresh air from the dust and cobwebs of the old church.  He was careful, awaiting until it was later and there was no one in sight to watch him slip out from the basement boards that concealed his entrance from the alley.  He threw of his leather tarp and hood, covering his face from the night heat as he moved from the alley and slipped out into  the street.

To the untrained eye, he walked like any man with a limp, but to those that knew better, they might see it was a forced limp as he stagered through the streets and out to the seedier part of town.

Scarlet bird noticed the false limp right away, for it had been her job before to sniff such false leads right away. Though she could not have known the other cloaked figure was her husband (she, for starters, believe it was Chagall) took to the shadows and slipped into them unseen, and silently began to approach him from behind. But she said nothing. It could be any other man, but part of her believed it was Chagall, and she had a blade up her sleeve in waiting for him.

Bishop heard a step behind him and internally froze.  He kept himself moving and limped along through the shadows as he made his way through the town.  He hadn't seen who it was, but he wasn't about to wait to find out when he suddenly broke out into a run and ran for a nearby alleyway, vaulting up on a series of crates and launched himself up on the scaffolding that was erected on an unfinished building, and vanishing through tarps.

Scarlet Bird internally swore as she rounded the bend, hearing the other man vaulting against the building and disappeared long before she had gotten there. SHe tucked the blade back, but still kept it in hand, eyes scanning the dark shadows of the building. Chagall might have thought he had gotten away this time, but there were other ways for her to make chase. And seeing the unnatural shadow fade away from the scaffolding gave her the lead she needed to know precisely which building the rat had climbed. So she took off, scaling the building beside it, eyes scanning the world around her like a hawk as she perched upon the very edge of it's shingled roof.

It didn't take long for the rat to emerge fromm it's hideyhole when at last Bishop thought it  was safe enough to escape into the darkness.  The figure failed to pursue him into the constructed building even as he watched and waited.  He climbed the structure until he was on the bottom and emerged from the debris on the otherside, eyes darting everywhere he could think of to see if he was still being followed.

Seeing nothing emerge from the building, Scarlet Bird cursed herself for letting Chagall get away. Better luck next time...
and that time, she would have his head. Climbing down from the building, she continued outside of the alley and back down the main street, trying to remain discrete, but at a time like this, anyone out by themselves were begging for trouble. So when she rounded the bend and ran into a group of sinister looking men having a bit of drink, they took one look to see the bottoms of a red dress beneath Scarlet Bird's cloak and all of them were staring back at the woman like she were a piece of meat.

"Well, well, well, what have we got here?"

Scarlet Bird's eyes narrowed.

"A woman who doesn't have time to deal with the likes of you," Scarlet Bird shot back. The leader of this 'pack' simply grinned, but when they attempted to surround her, she never lost her cool, but this was grating on her nerves that they were not letting her pass. "Let me through."s he demanded, and the man with a thousand scars on his face, their 'so called' leader, wtiht he wild hair and eyes simply laughed at her, exposing his teeth, where a few were missing, charmingly int he front.

"What? You'd think we'd let a pretty woman liek yourself just.. go with a spot of fun?"

But hten he felt a blade pierce into his belly and his brows raised up at the sensation,t hen looked down, blood dripping out from the wound.

"I told you I don't have time for this.." she hissed, then drew her blade away and went to slice at the man's face, to be surprised when the man still hand enough strength in him as he slammed a fist hard into her face, bashing the woman into a group of crates nearby and sending htem flying to the ground in a mess.

"Scrape her off the floor and kill her, men," the man growled, and soon Scarlet Bird found herself surrounded, all the while she was alone..a nd with onyl a pair of daggers to defend herself. So it didn't take long for them ot press her up agains the wall, throw her skirts up abd begin to have their way with her. She let out a cry, but wouldn't let them have the satisfacton to hear her scream. And as tehy were at it, her wig fell off, which made them laugh as htey passed the blonde wig around.

'You'd best let her go," a voice echoed behind them.  The men paused to turn and see the cloaked figure standing as nothing more than.a silhouette.  He was close enough for them to make out a mouth and chin underneath the hood, but the rest concealed his eyes and nose.  "I'm not going to warn you again."

The second, as Bishop assumed from the way he walked with the way their leader was nursing his wounds in the corner.  "Piss off, asshole.  This her's our catch," he spat at his feet.

"Wrong answer," Bishop muttered before throing the small dirk her had concealed against his wrist right into his heart and proceeded to dispatch the rest of the brutes.  The men scrambled  in rage, the one holding Scarlet Bird against the wall and smashing her face against bricks before, before moving toward the cloaked man as he threw blades hidden in his boot and shirt, disabling them and slicing their throats quietly until the last of them either lay silent on the ground or were running in fear through the alley.  Bishop rose from the bodies and stared at the short-haired woman quietly.

Dazed, Scarlet Bird remained on the ground, the bricks her head had slammed off of still ringing in her ears. She slowly lifted her head, the cloak having since been discarded as she looked up at the man, but couldn't see his face. She bared her teeth, wild anger flaring inside her eyes.
"You!" She recognized the cloak, assuming this man was Chagall as she drew out her knife and aimed for his face.

His breath hitched when she turned her face to him and he could see part of it in the shadow and the lamp light.  Admittedly the hair threw him off and he stepped back just as she struck out at him.  He turned slightly to the side and shoved her knife hand away.  The motion knocked the hood from his head and he stared at her with wide eyes.  "No..." was all he said before he turned to run away, as fast and as far as he could.

Scarlet Bird stared in wide eyed shock.
Bishop?
But the words never came to her lips, not until he was already half way down the alleyway. She nearly collapsed to her knees, watching painfully as her husband was running away, and just before he was about to disappear in the shadows she called out to him, "B-Bishop!"a nd her voice echoed desperately into the night.

No, no!  It couldn't be true.  If she aanaged to find him, Bishop could only fear just who else managed to find him as well.  He ran down the street and headed back to the church fully with the intention of packing his things.  The map!  Gods the map! 

Bishop slipped back into the basement of the church where he'd always gone and raced up the stairs back to the bell tower.

And the shadow that had been watching him, smirked in the darkness as he slipped back from the roof's ledge.  "Thank you, Little Bird," Chagall muttered to himself just as he headed for the church.

She watched his body vanish into the darkness, frustrated tears clinging to her eyes. Not only had her husband just saved her, but he was down right afraid of her. Gods...
Trembling, she pushed forward, slowly making her way around the alleyway, eyes moving cautiously in the dark. Where had he gone? And if she met up with him, what could she even say to get him to trust her? Gods... if only she could remember everything...

but then she DID remember something..
Chagall..
Chagall was after her husband, and desperately, her eyes sought back over her shoulder.
She just prayed to the GOds he wasn't following her now.. lest she had given away her husband's location before she had a chance to warn him.

Bishop had learned to never get too comfortable and already had the majority of his gear packed and ready to go.  He rolled up the map he had placed on the table and took even the precious candle he'd found in the church.  He'd never lit more than one candle at a time as he looked over the smugler's map and tried to decipher it's strange symbols under such meager light.  He rolled the map into a canister and threw the strap over his shoulder.  But before he had a chance to head back down the stairs, he paused at the door, holding his breathe and listening.  Someone had found him.  He just hoped it wasn't too late.

Bishop carefully moved through the doorway and down the spiral staircase.  He was surprised to the sound was nothing more than a rat scurrying across the dust and trash between pews.  He breathed a sigh of relief.  But it would only last so long.

From within the church he might be able to see her silhouette moving outside, within the streets. She hadn't found him, or seen which way he had gone, but it was here she found herself walking beside the stone church, as her green eyes traced around the outside of hte building, it's walls, the roof tops nearby and every crevice of shadows in the streets. She leaned against the wall just beside the stairwell that lead into it's basement, and fretted over how close she had been and not realizing how close she actually was to finding him again.

Bishop was heading back to the wooden slats that blocked the basement window from the alleyway and just as he reached for it he heard the creak from the wall, scrapes,and froze in that moment before instinctively slipping into the shadows.  He'd come to collect quite an assortment of knives since their last meeting.  Most of the self-made or pickpocketed from those that couldn't handle their liquor.

Bishop slipped out a new one from his belt and hed it against his sweaty palm, watching the figure at the window. But he couldn't wait for long.  He held his breath or tried to as his heart was racing a mile a minute.

Sighing, she found herself leaning against hte basement door of the church, staring up at it's tall sides towards the ceiling and wondering what had become of her life. She was shaking now, feeling as if she were walking on egg shells. She couldn't take this anymore, she felt as if she needed to scream out, wanted answers and a church was as good a place as any. And without a second though, she turned around, and threw the doors open, disappearing into the shadowed world within.

Bishop visibly jumped when the doors burst open and fear told him to run for all he was worth.  He darted for the wooden slats, realizing only too late he still had to slide the wooden panel out of the way before he could crawl out.  So he did, desperately, hands fumbling as he dropped his knife.  He couldn't be bothered to pick it up as he jumped up the few feet it took to pull himmself up over the ledge.

Hearing the knife fall int he dark, she was quick to draw her own blade and pointed it towards the direction of the noise.
"Who's there?" she asked, voice echoing around her before she drew in her breath, ears straining for the reply, allt he while her own heart beat was drumming inside her ears.

"Go away!" Bishop hissed back as he made a climb for the window again.  He froze when he heard the familiar sound of metal to a sheath and then dove for his knife once more.  He clutched it desperately before training his eyes on her in the darkness.  "Get out of here!  I mean it." he warned.  But he made no further warnings to her when he darted for her, trying to tackle her to the ground.

Scarlet Bird's breath caught within her throat.


That was Bishop's voice.
Her eyes tried to read into the darkness, but she couldn't see.
"Bishop?" she asked timidly, her eyes imploring, worried as she tried to seek him out, but again, her eyes were groping at nothing but black.
"I came here to warn you." And her voice went softer as she whispered. "A man is after you. He wants to try to kill you." And he paused, eyes still trying to reach him. "Again."

His body flew at her in the darkness and pinned her to the ground as best he could.  "Why can't you leave me alone?!" he growled.  "Didn't hurt me enough those many months ago?"  His fist came colliding with her face as he took the knife and pressed the blade against her throat.

Helena was shocked more than anything. But what was she to expect? Had she too, not just tried to kill her husband not but a few months ago? Even still, she felt herself tearing up, not just due t the sock to the face, but because her husband now had a blade to her throat, and by the look in his eyes, he meant to use it.

"Ch-Chagall. His name is Chagall. He ran into me a few towns over and was looking for information. Please.. listen to me. He..  I think he wants to kill you. He believes you have something of his and he wants it back. Some.. some sort of ledger.."

He grit his teeth and scowled at her.  "I know who he is.  And if you've found me it's only a matter of time before he does too.  But it's not the ledger he wants.  That I know on my own," he growled at her.  "Why should I believe you?  Trust you?  You're probbably in league with him.  You've done nothing but lie to me our entire life together.  You don't care about anyone but yourself.  Just stay away from me."  He got up off of her and headed for the now open slat and crawled through the hole and into the alleyway.

And just like that, he was gone. He hadn't even left her chance to explain, but he was right. ANd hse found herself remaining there in the quiet darkness of the church for a time, tears prickling inside her eyes as she attempted to swallow the knot away inside her throat. Why should he believe her? He was right. She had been a terrible wife, though perhaps now was not the time to be grieving over herself. She hadn't even been in her right mind for the longest of times, but to think she had married a man who knew nothing about her past...
but he wouldn't have married her had he known..
and now she was feeling the tremendous weight of guilt for it. Yes..
she had to let him go.. to let him disappear on his own. But he was right... who's to say if she found him.. Chagall might not do the same?
But at least she warned him...
even if he didn't believe her...

So what more was there that she could possibly do? The only other person that might have the answers was her master, and even she wasn't sure if she was ready enough to sneak back there. Who's to say if she did, that she wouldn't end up as Bishop pointed out? In cahoots with Chagall?

It didn't take much for the mouse to be drawn out as Chagall had expected and when Bishop made it to the edge of the surrounding forest Chagall was there waiting for him.  The slender man relaxed against a tree carving an apple with a delicate folding knife, red gloves present on his hands.  He looked up at Chagall's form and paused when the older man looked at him with a kind smile.  "You must be Mr. Little Bird.  It's awfully late for traveling don't you think?  Where are going this time of night?" he said, eating the apple slice with a smile.

Bishop froze and grit his teeth.  The words completely taken from his mouth.

"What's the matter?  Cat got your tongue?  Well, he laughed. "Not yet anyway."

She knew it was a bad idea, but she still worried over him, and eventually, Helena slipped outside of the church and attempted to follow after Bishop again. Maybe if she could explain...
the least she wanted to do was apologize to him before she completely vanished from his life.It wasn't fair to him after all. She had tricked him and now his entire life was a mess. And if anything, her eyes also cleaved into the darkness, seeking out Chagall's form, hoping.. praying he hadn't come this far.

"Get away!  I'm warning you!" Bishop stammered as he held the knife in his shaking hand.  But Chagall just laughed just finished eating his apple until he was done, tossing the core on the floor.

"You've been quite the troublesome mouse, Mr. Little Bird," Chagall murmured before he pushed himself up from the tree and stalked closer to Bishop.  The younger man backed away as he continued to do so and tried to lunge out at him.  Chagal deflected the meager blow before reaching out and grabbing Bishop by the collar and lifting him clear off the ground.  How such a thin man managed such strength astounded him.

"You've been a very naughty mouse.  And you foolish woman just led you into my clutches," he growled and wrapped his other hand around Bishop's throat, slowly squeezing the life out of him.

It was in a stroke of luck she had spotted them when she did. She felt her entire body freeze up in the moment before she screamed out, "NO!" and rushed their way, not wasting a second to throw herself at Chagall, tearing him off of her husband with the fury of an animal, drawing a dagger out in the mix as she tackled him clean to the ground and placed a blade at his throat.
"You will not harm him! I'll see your own throat slit before you try to kill him again!" and she didn't waste another second in attempts to cut her blade swiftly against the man's throat.

Everything happened so damned fast when Scarlet Bird came rushing at them, and knocked him to the ground.  Bishop rolled onto his hands and knees, coughing where Chagall just about crushed his throat and with Scarlet over him.

Chagall grit his teeth at her.  At the blade against his throat, the slender man grabbed her wrist and tried to wrench it away until he felt it slice against his throat.  He coughed as blood splurted out and his hand became slippery with blood.  But his legs were much less occupied as they swung upward and wrapped around Scarlet Bird's neck and swung her off of him.  Chagall rolled to his feet and clutched his neck with one hand before dashing off into the forest with what life he had left.

Bishop was still trying to do the same, scrambling to his feet.

Scarlet Bird remained on the ground, stunned. Her hands were coated in blood, and she found herself shaking over the ordeal. It wasn't as if she had't killed before, but there were more important things than Chagall's life at stake. Such as her  husband's.
She turned to him, eyes frantic as she called out, "Bishop?" but she wasn't sure if he would answer, but at least she had been able to stop Chagall from killing him..
For now. SHe didn't know how deep that wound had gone. Hopefully, he would bleed out and they'd never hear from that snake again.

Bishop's hands quivered at all that had just happened and looked at her with wide eyes.  Until she spoke to him.  He looked at the trail of blood that lingered on her hands that sprayed out when the knife dug into Chagall's throat, no doubt what made him run off in the first place.  He slowly moved from the tree and just looked at her.

"I'm all right," he said simply.  "Are...are you okay?"

She had never felt so weak and pathetic as she did in that moment. Or so wretched. She felt hollow, and about a vile as how others viewed the whores on the streets. She wanted so much to talk to him, to confess so much but...
She felt unworthy,a nd was just relieved he was still alive.
So with a hesitant voice, she replied, "Yes," before asking, "And you? Are.. are you ok?" She stared at his throat. It looked really sore. It would probably bruise. But at least he was alive.

He pushed off from the tree and staggered towards her, reaching out a hand for her to take.  He reached up to rub at his sore throat but nodded to her nonetheless.  "Yes, I'm okay...thanks to you.  I'm-I'm sorry, I should have believed you," he croaked.  "I'm sorry I hit you...  I shouldn't have."

He looked away, feeling low and dropped his hand.  "I shouldn't be staying here.  He already knows where I am.  He'll find me again. He'll get the map.  I've got to get out of here."

Scarlet Bird flinched back from his hand, hesitating before taking it and rising off her feet. SHe stared at him, frowning over what he said, but not because of what he had done, but because she knew she deserved it.
"No.. I deserve worse than that. Bishop, I lied to you, hid so much away, and now your life is ruined because of me." And she hesitated again, before gently placing a hand upon his arm.
"I don't deserve the life you had given me, the life that had been taken away from you I.." her voice wavered. "Had I told you everything about me, this might all have been avoided.. you could have been spared. But now it's too late." she drew in a careful breath. "If you want, I can help you away from here and tell you what I know. It might help save your life, to save you from whatever Chagall might have up his sleeve if he survives." She gently squeezed his arm. "It's the least I can do."

He couldn't deny the truth in her words and when she placed a hand on his arm, his chin wavered, tears wanting to pour forth.  But he knew he just couldn't forgive her that easily, just look past it all and his free hand carefully brushed her hand off of him.  He turned his eyes back to her, knowing it'd be foolish too do the same to her offered help.  "Can you help me decipher this map?  But not here, we have to get some place safe before I can look at it.  I know Chagall wouldn't die so easily, just a gut feeling.  This isn't a fairy tale.  This is real life."

He walked passed her, feeling cold and empty inside as he turned over his shoulder and looked at her.  "Are you coming?"

It was strange to have her husband treat her so, but then again, their entire world had been destroyed. If only she hadn't wanted a dream.. to be free of her former life, to live normally,... peacefully...
Yet these were the consequences of her attempt; and for keeping all of those secrets locked away. So when he peered back at her, she had been lamenting, and slowly raised her eyes to look at him before nodding and following after him in silence.

"When we find some place secret... quiet, from prying eyes, I'll see what I can do to help."

If only Bishop felt equally confident that he would not come to regret this decision later.  He knew he was taking a risk by even associating with her.  In all that time since the incident at the cabin, he'd been angry with her, and angry at himself for having been so foolish.  But old feelings died hard.  And if it weren't for all that occured between them thus far, he might have accepted her with open arms.  Now he could only look at her with vague disgust, and maybe even the smallest ounce of pity.

He ran through the woods, not willing to squander the night.  He carried only the barest necessities with him, the map and what gear he could store in the pockets and sides of his belt.  It wasn't much not even a little, but it was all he had until he could find some sanctuary.

The pair continued through the night to the next city a few many miles over, Daerun, and stepped into an inn that had all been but abandoned, even at this hour. It was a small place, so when Scarlet Bird inquired about a room, there were no vacancies. Frowning, the lady saw the pair were weary and offered the attic loft, but they'd have to share a blanket, for they only had one left, and nothing much else to use or offer, besides a meager copper bowl to wash.

"That will do." And Scarlet Bird slipped a coin tot he man, and the two were escorted up three flights of steps, to an attic that was ripe with dust and quite chilly. Hopefully the pair would not be here long, but even she felt weary from the day.
"Thank you," she spoke, bowing to the man as he left, and she drew in a careful breath, studying the cold attic as she held onto the wax candle they had for meager light before turning to him.

"Where do you want me to start? I can explain everything to you if you're willing to listen. At least.." and as she spoke, a small wind carried through the attic, flickering the candle flame. "What I can still remember."

Bishop observed their surroundings carefully before allowing himself to be seated on a pillow on the floor, swiping his long hair back and out of his face when he did so and peered at her with tired reddened eyes.  He looked at her if she were some kind of stranger that knew him but he didn't know her.  Not like he used to and when she spoke, he just nodded to her.

Before he removed the tube from his back he immediately crawled for the window and peeked out of the small pane that peeked out to the darkness of the night outside.  He checked here and there before making sure the curtains covered the pane completely and shifted back toward Scarlet Bird.  He sat back on the pillow and took the map from the tube casing, stretching it out before him.  It was a small thing on easily disposable paper, made to be immediately destroyed after observation, so he was careful to unfurl its corners and hold them out to her.

"I don't understand what these symbols mean, a skull and crossbones, here at the bend in the Riverlands, a walking cane, or what looks like it least.  There aren't many details that explain the exact geography of the map, but I found it in a tax officer's house, who oversaw the shipping from the Westersons and the smugglers that used their boats, so my best guess it's of the Riverlands, but I could be wrong.  And I'm quite certain I am."

Scarlet Bird sighed, taking in the map and it's symbols with a shadow of familiarity. The images swam, like ink splattering into the ocean, as she tried to recall what they meant. She knew they attached to Chagall... and to his private hide away somewhere. Shaking her head, she pointed, "The crossbones are the graves,"s he said, a finger hoovering over that drawing to the next. "And the bird is a haven, a nest for those who work for him in kind. A place I haven't been to in quite some time. The image is after it's name sake, 'The Lovely Crane', a place established with the front of a whore house." And she raised her green eyes to his, but then looked away, feeling she didn't deserve to look upon his face, nor finding the strength to keep his gaze.

It hurt. Everything hurt. A life all but turning into dust.

"I can only recall snippets of my past. My memories are still foggy. They've.. been returning to me in cruel nightmares since I last met you." she sighed and looked towards the window. "I think there was something important in the grave yard that linked these two places together. But... those memories elude me. I'm sorry." And she turned her green eyes to the floor.

It was her gaze that made him frown, made him look away too.  Bishop had never been a hard man.  He was never one to raise his voice or his hand to his wife or chicld, never one to turn away from someone in need.  But this...this was just about too much to be borne.  He didn't know if he could ever trust her again, ever, after what she'd done.  It wasn't all her fault.  He couldn't pretend that it was either, but the burden of all he'd lost seemed to weigh him down.  And some nights were lost in the weight of tears..

"The graveyard is a good enough start," Bishop said with a nod.  His features softened and he scratched at the growing beard on his face.  He'd have to shave again soon.  And find a way to keep his hair out of his face,  But otherwise fewer people were recognizing him as the man that killed the son of Siiegfried Kross.

Scarlet Bird nodded when she looked up at him.
"Very well, it would also work as a place they'd least likely find us." Or so she hoped. Unless Chagall was smart enough to realized they might work together to figure this out.
"Come on, I know the way." and she rose off the ground. "We can't linger here, and the faster we get a move on, the faster we can be done with this and be closer to figuring out what you need." But then she paused, realizing.. "Why are they after you?" she asked, her eyes staring back at him with concern. "What did you do?" because that part of her memory hadn't quite returned.

Bishop looked at her, stunned at the question he clearly did not expect.  He exhaled a shaking breath that make him stare down at the map, unable to meet her eyes.  "Because I trusted someone I thought was my friend.  Because he came to me for help and said that if he didn't do it, they'd kill him."  His eyes were distant and he chewed on his lip.  "He couldn't dpp it alone.  He was a boy I grew up with.  How could I say no?  But I should have.  It was supposed to be easy, just like he said.  He wasn't supposed to die.  Nobody was supposed to die.  But the son of a nobleman, Sigfreid Kross, became a casualty...Then everything turned sour from there..."  He paused, unsure he could continue.  "Somehow, some way, his death was pinned in me.  Chagall and his men, they took Isak, my friend, and skinned him....like an animal.  Then I was next...then they came after you and Lara.  But it doesn't make any sense.  That's what I'm trying to figure out. "

"Lara?" Her mind swam through the memories that had already been painfully seeping back into her mind. Once the connection was made, she gasped and placed a hand over her lips, turning away and blinking back tears that began to sparkle hotly across her eyes. Yes Lara... how could she ever forget her child? The way she laughed and clung to her sides, the way she loved pulling on Bishop's hair. She wiped at the snot and tears now running down her face, not knowing how to control he sudden over whelming emotions that returned to her as she blinked back a few more forming tears.

"Yes.. Lara... Gods.." But then she nodded at his words, sympathizing with him before she looked into his face and forced a smile.

"You're too noble. Too nice and caring," and she wanted to touch him, do anything to comfort him, but she felt unworthy of his affections, so withheld herself, steeling it within. "I'm sorry." And her smile slowly trembled away as more tears bubbled forth and she had to look away again, brushing at them with her hand.

"Don't be," he replied softly.  "Gods know I've spent enough time feeling sorry for myself in the past.  Tears don't help anybody.  Not even the dead  And they certainly can't help the living."  He pursed his lips and nodded, his eyes looking everywhere excppt at her and he began to put the map away, rolling it up and slipping it back into it's tube and securing it beside him before laying down beside the candle and blowing it out with a soft breath.

She was thankful for the cover of darkness. It could hide her face well so she could compose herself against her tears. Her mind was still a mess, in a whirl of confusion mixed with missing pieces of her memories. But some seemed to be coming back in full force the more she was around him, and it had her nerves at end.

As they left their safe hold and stepped out into the moonlight, Scarlet Bird's eyes scanned the area for a land mark. She noticed a tower off int he distance.
"That way. The graveyard resides due west of that town. I would know that mark from anywhere."

[I could have sworn he was laying down getting ready to sleep.]

Bishop nodded to her and breathed in the cold crisp midnight air.  It smelled so much better than the musty old church he'd taken as his refuge for the last few weeks.  She was right though.  They'd spent enough time here already and it was time to move on.  The more ground they covered, the better off they were.

He nodded to her again and began to start off toward the town in a steady jog.

OOC: You were probably right, but but but..
I forgot and after I posted I was like 'wait... were they going to try to rest?'

BUT NO REST FOR THEM HRNNGH

--------------

The night was clear, and soon the woods opened up to a dirt path, which they followed for a time, before even her legs felt too weary to continue. THey had some time before they'd approached the outter walls of Trezzick, so she slowed down her pace and let her eyes scan the night shadows. So far, so good. No one was tailing them. She glanced over at Bishop, but hesitated before she spoke.

"Our daughter... where is she buried?" she asked before growing quiet. "I'd like to visit her grave sometime."

Bishop looked at her solemnly and then down to the path they walked.  "I wouldn't know, scattered to the forewinds, I imagine.  They burned her alive, remember?  Oh wair, never mind."  He pursed hss lips again and stalked off a little ways ahead.

Scarlet Bird stumbled to a halt. Burned alive?
Her lips fell open, trembling at the idea, the memories..

She could smell the acidic sting of smoke in her nostrils, the heat blazing all around them, her voice crying out coarsely for them to leave her alone. Not to touch her..
but gods..
there had been so much blood... so much...

Her legs grew weak, her entire body trembling before she caught herself against a low growing tree. She found herself choking on a sob, but lowered her gaze so Bishop wouldn't see it.
Gods..
this was all her fault. Her child.. their child..
Their life, their memories...

All of it was for nothing and she couldn't help it. IN that moment the tears began to come out, and he'd probably hear her sobbing, despite one hand cupping over her eyes to hide the tears.

Gods...
She was burned alive. Her child had been burned alive.

Bishop did hear the sobs and turned around.  He wanted to scold her, to yell at her to stop crying because tears could help neither the living nor the dead.  Naything to stave off his own tears that threatened to fall from his lips.  He just watched her for the longest time as she tried pathetically to hide her eyes away before stepping closer too her.  He awkwardlysset a hand on her shoulder.  And that was all that was needed before he took her entire body and pulled it against his, burying her face against his chest.

As Bishop touched her, she visibly flinched, and the sobbing only went more rampant, her entire body shaking from it. But when his entire arms engulfed her, she had lost it all. She couldn't stop herself for the world, and just buried her face into his chest and let all of the tears fall.

And his smell, the warmth of his body, the feeling of his scruff beard against her..
Gods, it felt so much like home.
A home she would never have ever again.

"I'm sorry," she spoke, finally lifting her eyes. "I.. I know you've told me this once before but it.. it.." she choked on her breath and turned away, eyes down cast as she shook her head. "Gods.." she cupped a hand over her lips, more tears spilling down her cheeks. "Gods, what I wouldn't give for being so stupid. It's all my fault." She trembled. "Our child.. Gods.. Lara might not ever have died if you would have known what you had married." And to tears she went again, cupping a hand over her eyes as she began to choke out more sobs again.

He forced his tears back into his eyes and just held her tightly, so tightly it was almost as if she would melt into his body and he just brushed her hair against his chest.  "Sshhhush now," he said quietly.  "It'll be all right."  He just continued to sooth her as best he could all the while her sobs nearly quaked through him.

"But it won't," she sobbed, looking up into his eyes, even through her bleary vision, she needed to see his face. "Gods.. Bishop, don't you understand? The man that set this up to destroy us, to destroy you, he... he and I had.. we had a history together. Something I'm not proud of, and I wouldn't put it past him to do something petty towards you if he found out the truth of who I was and where I had hidden away all those years when I was with you.. Gods, I was so foolish. I wanted to give up that life, I dreamed of what other people had.. but it felt so far away. That was.. until I met you."
And she smiled, but looked away, her lips trembling as more hot tears trailed down her face.
"But here I go.. sobbing over a story I can't even remember all of the details for. Gods..." she cupped a hand over her lips again as fresh tears streamed down her face.
Then she drew in a breath, smoothed her hand away from her lips and gave a shake of her head.

"No... no, we have to press on. We'll have plenty of time for this I'm sure." she said, drawing in a breath to try to steel herself, before raising her eyes tentatively to finally meet to his, eyes that were, at least somewhat, unclouded by tears.

"But I do understand.  I think if you knew that from the beginning, none of this would have happened in the first place," he  breathed, looking at her discerningly as id he wished he could read what was going on in her head when she'd lied to him.  When she'd made him fall in love with her.

"You didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth.  Tomorrow is too late," he said, brushing the remains of her tears away.  "If any of that love between us was real...we get through this here and now.  There won't be another time for this.  I had to learn that the hard way."

"But that's the thing, Bishop," she said, more tears welling up within her eyes. "I did trust you. It's why I let myself fall for you, to break away from my other life. But even still.."s he shook her head. "I thought never telling you would protect you." ANds he smiled sadly. "And would you really marry a courtesan?" she said, brushing away her own tears. "A high class whore?" ANd she looked away, her lips trembling. "A whore who killed people in the night.." and she found more hot tears slipping down her cheeks.

"It didn't matter what you were," he whispered.  "You didn't trust me enough to make that judgment on my own.  You never even gave me the option.  And that's what hurts the most.  It was as if you couldn't bear to tell me all the truth.  As if our vows meant nothing...  I guess it didn't."

"To be honest, I don't trust anybody," she admitted with a slow shake of her head. "I was born into a life never knowing my father, playing the part of some well crafted, pretty decoration whose only chore in life was to see that men liked me as their decoration, and were sated well enough in bed." She forced a smile, the looked down into her lap.
"I suppose I could have told you, but I was afraid. Gods.. I was so afraid. You were so good to me, and I wanted to believe that if I ignored my past, pretended it never existed, then it would just vanish, and would never have existed at all."
She laughed flatly at herself, through a soft breath before blinkign back tears and looking up into his eyes.

"But our vows meant the world to me. It's why I lied. I wanted our lives to be perfect. And I wasn't perfect. I wanted to be something else. I wanted to believe I was something else, and I wanted to be that woman you fell in love with, the sweet woman you saw in the streets. Gods.. you were too nice to me. Too good to me. I.. I had tried to tell you, Gods, so long ago, before we had even kissed." NAd here she laughed at herself, shaking her head and looking away.
"But somehow I with held my tongue. You were so innocent. And I.... Gods, I feel like such a wretch and fool for lying to you." And she shook her head.

"I was never good at love. Never good at trusting, even to the one man who I wanted to give myself to completely.... the man who I gave a child to." and she felt the hot tears return as they dripped upon her lap.

"Gods, you don't ever have to forgive me for what I have done, Bishop. And I fear the worse, I fear forgetting all of this. So once I help you, we should part ways and pretend we had never met."
Becuase she couldn't bear to hurt him any longer.

"But you were the woman I fell in love with," Bishop expressed witha frown, letting her go at last. The painwas like a dagger ripping through his heart and he smiled sadly at her and gave a nod.  "But perhaps you're right.  Maybe it's for the best."  It was all he had the strength to say to her before turning his back to her and heading back down their headed path.

And the path continued onward, and it was the darkest hours of the night. ANd she was too exhausted to keep looking to those shadows, to shadows that always seemed to dance dangerously beneath the moonlight. But she couldn't have known the sudden turn on the path was littered with bandits until it was too late..
and as the pair stepped out into the moonlight, she found herself gasping and drawing back, placing a hand protectively before Bishop (for at this hour, she had somewhat taken the lead in their walk).

The men all turned to them, a few of their faces grinning off the fire light in the center of their camp.

"Shit.."s he said, taking another step forward. "How much strength you got left, cause I suggest we turn tail and run."

Bishop saw how she tried to stand protectively in front of him and discreetly pulled daggers he had stashed inside his wrists and eyed the bandits as they stood up from their camp.  They looked at Scarlet Bird as if she were little more than a piece of meat.  One of them even licked his lips and laughed as the others began to brandish weapons, hoping to scare them or make them drop their valuables.

Bishop didn't waste time throwing out the dagger and sinking it into the chest of one nearest him.  The others rushed into action, slashing a sword out to Scarlet Bird first.  Bishop ducked and rolled, his heart beating frantically before long, narrowly dodging a stab to his gut and sinking his other dagger into his assailant's neck, pushing him back.

Scarlet Bird gasped, turning in shock at her husband's lethal skill, and nearly lost her head over it, barely dodging the swinging sword in time. Had she still had her long hair, it would have cleaved some of her pony tail clean off. Ducking low now, she moved forward, tackling the man to the ground and quickly disarming him. She wasted no time herself, praying silently for forgiveness as she slit a blade across the man's throat, then was quick to her feet, brandishing the man's sword and using it to slice at the men who were hoping to gain an upper hand upon Bishop.

Three men surrounded him, and Bishop hunched low in the old hunting instincts of his youth.  "The wary hunter that must survive by his blade and by his hand, must be patient," his grandmother had told him.  "Be steadfast, alert, but do not rush.  Your prey will come to you.  You will know the moment to strike."  The blade sunk fast into the cut of the first man that rushed him, slicing across his belly and with one strike to the left and then across the side of his neck as Bishop sidestepped him with an opposing cut to the right, downing him in less than a second.

The other two rushed him again and he ducked and rolled back awaiting their advance.  They fought him savagely and Bishop could rely only on his footing, wearing no armor and having no larger blade for defense.

It was a dozen to one to start out with, but through the chaos there might as well have been a million men. Scarlet Bird used the sword as best she could, and when two of the men turned to take Bishop at once, she gasped, yanking her own sword from her book and threw it at the back of one of their heads, though missed terribly and got his calf. Even still, it made the man scream out in pain as he toppled over as Scarlet Bird let out a partial sigh of relief. THough their victory was still so far away, as she threw up her sword, blocking a cut that was aimed at her face.

When he fell and howled up in agony, Bishop darted forth and slashed his knife across his throat, cutting his cries short.  The last bandits stepped back long enough to assess what happened to their companions.  The looked at each other and turned their tails to run for the trees.

Scarlet Bird stood there, panting heavily as she watched the men retreat. As soon as they were far enough away, she wiped at the sweat on her brow and turned towards Bishop.
"Are you alright?" she asked, hesitantly, genuine concern written upon her face. She had never seen her husband before be... so ferocious. Let alone kill.

Bishop's eyes wavered as if he'd only just then recognized she was there.  He took a deep breathe and staggered onto his behind, sitting down and staring at his knife that was dripping red.  "I don't know," he muttered. He didn't like the fact that though he felt sick, he didn't feel the need to puke as he'd done so many times before.  This was not something he wanted to get used to, but it seemed he had no choice.  "We should continue."  He tried to stand only to fall back down on his ass again.

Scarlet Bird's frown deepened.
"You do not appear in any condition to move on," she said, moving to crouch beside him as she tried to look into his eyes. "We can rest here for a bit until you find your legs."A nd her eyes went to the bloodied dagger, then away, tucking in her lower lip before glancing over her shoulder, and around to the abandoned camp site.
"If you want," she began, now looking back to him. "I can take a look around to ensure there's no more trouble."

Bishop nodded slowly to her, staring at his hands for the longest time.  "Y-yeah, coould you?  I need something to clean my hands with," he muttered.  He avoided wiping his hands on his shirt and instead carwled over to a dead body, gtabbing at the fabric of their shirt and cleaning his hands on it.  They were shaking once he'd pulled back, and he closed his eyes, burying his face in his palms.

Scarlet Bird did her rounds, carefully surveying the camp site, which was quiet now except for the low crackling of the dying flames from the fire. So far, nothing, but she did manage to find a few supplies, and tucked away a few knives to keep on herself.  It never hurt to have extra weapons.
But.. it seemed there was more to it, as her eyes took note of something half hidden beneath a pile of blankets. Her boots tapped into something, and she bent over, and went wide eyed as she opened a box full of money.

"Bishop..." she said, a hand clutching to her chest.
"You'd better come over here." And as she lifted up more blankets, more bags of money and stolen goods could be seen.

Bishop barely had enough sense to realize when he'd just done and now that Scarlet Bird was calling him again, he just looked over.  "Huh?"  He crawled over, kneeling beside their sudden find and staring at it with wide eyes.

"Gods be damned," he muttered.  "Do you think these bandits are connected to the map?  They're probably just random.  But you never know."

Scarlet Bird shook her head, finding herself unable to get rid of the smile on her lips.
"I'm not sure but there's enough money here to start a whole other life..."
but at the words, she found her smile fading. No, she had tried that too many times before. What difference would this money bring if she were to start all over yet again?

"Perhaps if we search it, it might offer clues?" Yes... if it was connected to the map, maybe they could find more answers towards this mystery...
the mystery of both of their 'deaths'; and that of the death of their daughter. She felt her blood heat at that memory..
Yes, for their daughter, she would help Bishop however she could.

At that suggestion, Bishop turned to her and frowned.  "No, I wouldn't touch their ill-gotten gains.  For all I know that's blood money.  People like Chagall kill for that money.  People died defending it.  What you suggest may be just fine for the likes of you, but I could never do such a thing.  I don't even know how I live with myself now..."

At his cutting remark, she grew quiet, her stomach turning cold. He was right, but it was like a slap to the face. And she knew she deserved it. But then at his last statement, she placed a comforting hand upon his shoulder.
"Sometimes we have no choice but to survive." It was something she had told herself so long ago, it was one of the few ways to get the nightmares to calm down at night..
Though in all honesty, it rarely ever worked; for one could never truly lie to oneself.

Peering over at the money, she figured her own 'dirty' hands would work well to search, so she began to open each bag, one at a time,a nd dumped the remains into the grass, letting it spill into the fire side glow. Hopefully he'd be able to find something he was looking for. Either way, she supposed they'd have to leave this blood money behind and move on.

"There's nothing more to be gained here," Bishop said with no small degree of malice and looked sad at her.  Terars filled his eyes but he quickly wiped them away.  "Gods..." he said in a creaking voice and buried his face in his hands again, sobbing.

For a time, she simply stared at Bishop as the tears began to escape from his eyes. She felt awkward, but it would be cruel to ignore her instincts to console him, even if she did not feel she deserved it, and stepped forward in that moment and wrapped her arms around him and held him tight.

He'd never felt so pathetic and weak in all his life.  Bishop tried desperately to control his sobs, to keep himself from crumbling as soon as those arms came around him.  Bishop buried his head into her neck and clutched her strongly to him as powerfully as he could muster.

"Gods," he shuddered.  "How I've missed you....  How I wished we could just forget."

It was Helena's turn to cry as a few soft sobs escaped her lips as she held him fast. She didn't mean to cry, she never meant to hurt him; but here she was, doing all of that.
"Gods, Bishop. I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant for any of this to happen. I was so foolish when I wanted to run away, when I fell in love with you, when I never told you all of my secrets.." she shook her head shamefully. "I'm sorry." and she found his hand, squeezing it lightly. "I truly am." and she lifted her gaze, teary eyes seeking his. "I know I won't ever deserve your forgiveness,a nd I will forever apologize to you for ruining your life. But I..." her voice wavered. "I've missed you too. I missed the life we once had, the one we shared so long ago."

Bishop shook his head, pressing it further into her shoulder, squeezing her tighter.  "No, gods no.  You didn't ruin my life," he pleaded.  "I ruined my life.  I shouldn't have gone.  I shouldn't have done that stupid job.  Gods!  I put everything we had in danger...  I never wanted to lose you..."

OOC: aww, they both think it's one another's fault. So saaaaad
---------

Helena just held onto him tightly, sobbing into his shoulder as he did the same.
"No..."s he breathed after a time. "No, you were always too nice, Bishop. It's not your fault. Your friend needed help. I wouldn't expect you to do anything less... This was never your fault. Gods.."s he held him tighter.

"And I never wanted to lose you,"s he spoke, hot tears bubbling out from her eyes.  "But all we can do now is move on, Bishop. Move on and try to figure this all out." And she took his hands, squeezing them lightly. "Together. Because I'll stay by your side if you need me, if you want me, and we'll weather this... we will."

Bishop shook his head, shuddering and spilling over.  He clenched his own hands together as she held them and wanted to howl so loudly, it shook the heavens.  "You don't know what it's like.  I don't think I can weather it...  I can't sleep most nights.  I'm a nervous wreck...  I-I have nightmares about that night and every night since.  The men I've killed...the blood spilled.  I'm not a man, I'm a monster.  I'm broken."

"No...." Her perfect husband, her perfect love. She clung to him, a her hands now goin gto his cheek as she felt hot tears bubble within her eyes. "Gods no, Bishop no." and before she knew any better, she kissed him, long and deep, before pulling away while hot tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked into his eyes. She shook her head. "To me you were always perfect. You will never appear broken to me. I will help you. Gods give me the strength, I will. Because if you're a monster, than so am I, and I will never believe a man with such a good heart as you could be anything less than gold."


OOC: yeah.. going t bed now.
This post just UGH
you should have SEEN the typos ;_;
it STILL has them and yeah..
I'm going to bed >>

He maoned through the kiss, shameful of his vulnerability, that he could fall so easily to the flame that once burned for the woman in front of him.  He couldn't fight her then or her words and sobbed and choked on breaths as she spoke.  But he continued to shake his head.  "I can't do this anymore...  I know I've gotten this far but there's still so much left to do...  I'll never get through.  Chagall will kill me before it's all over...  He'll kill you too.  Gods...I'm disgusted with myself...  I don't deserve to live.  I don't deserve anything anymore."

His words of disgust for himself, of that hate, hurt her far more than when he had been cold to her.
"Gods, No, Bishop, No!" and she found her tears still streaming down her face as she held onto his cheeks, tried looking into his eyes. "We'll figure this out together. You're stronger than this. You are. THrough you I saw hope, when I was worthless, and you gave me value. But this? Life is tossing us just a horrible roll of the dice. All we can do is weather it and not let it get to us, Bishop... Gods, please... find strength. We can conquer this. We can. Let me help you. I want to help you. Because the Gods know you deserve a second chance if anyone does. You've been too good to me. Maybe we can start over. Maybe we can just run away..." And then she paused to consider.. "Or maybe we can pay Chagall back for what he's done. Men like him are rats, and I bet he thought to use you long before things went bad. If it wasn't your bad luck, it would have been mine. Bishop... Gods.. please.. please find that love, that faith again that I loved you for. Please find the strength to move on, to do anything but lament over what we can no longer fix. It's all in the past, and we need to look forward, straight down the path before us, because Gods.. Bishop, you do not deserve to die over this until your heart is renewed. Please..' and hse lifted a hand, gently brushing a thumb against his cheek to brush away his tears.  "Please let me help you fight this, to get over this."And her other hand found his and squeezed it light. "Because I love you. I still do, even if you can never feel the same again for me."

He was trembling all over as if dumped into a river colder than death.  His hands felt like ice and his face helt like fire as his eyes poured over in a river of tears.  Her words sank into him, melted with a warm familiarity that made him sniffle lightly.  He wanted to just disappear from the world, end it all.  But it was her touch that kept him grounded, remembered her and he wrapped his arms around her and sanke his head into her breast, hugging her fiercely.  She loved him, she said.  She loved him and his stomach turned into a sickening knot that reminded him that he still loved her.  He never stopped.

At his silence, at his tears, at his embrace, she simply held him, saying not a word as her hands smoothed against his back. She knew what sort of man he was, and to be thrown into the sort of world she had come from....
It was a terrible fate to be had. If there was a way to rid him of this 'illness', this 'disease' on his life she vowed silently in that moment to find a cure, a solution.

"We'll find Chagall, we'll make this right. We'll figure it out..."
Even if she had to kill him.
"I'll be here for you if you need me. But cry now if you must, but soon, we should move on. We are too near to a city. We should not linger near this sin."

Bishop nodded to her and let her go at long last.  He stood up after some trembling had gone away in his legs and he pulled Scarlet Bird up with him.  "We need to find a safe place to rest for the night," he breathed.  "I'm exhausted.  I can't travel much farther without getting some sleep."

Scarlet Bird nodded. She flattened her lips, pressing them together as she peered over at the town nearby them.
"We could see if there's a vacancy in an inn..." and then her eyes looked towards him. "Though I must apologize, I barely have the coin for that. Perhaps we should head back towards the woods to make camp?" It was a shame though.. there was so much money on the ground now... and if they wouldn't tkae this blood money, someone else would. But she knew Bishop was a good man, so she didn't press it. She had to forget her old ways for him. He was too innocent for this.. Gods...
Was there anyway for them to fix this mess?

Bishop wiped his eyes, now sore from the tears and he collected himself as best he could, dusting himself off and putting away what knives he'd thrown from his person, cleaning them as well.   He turned back to her and then down to the gold he suspected they ought to take for common sense's sake, but he shook his head.

"A camp will do," he said, looking down cast and then gestured toward the bedrolls and blankets left by the bandits.  He reached down and rolled one up, one that appeared among the cleanest bundled it on a piece of twice he found before slipping it underneath his arm.  "We can use these blankets.  We were headed this way."  He began to walk in the direction they were headed in in the first place before the interruption with the bandits.

Scarlet Bird nodded, smiling towards him as she looked around for a bed roll for herself. Camping out would work well, and she knew it would ease his mind to know he was still doing the right thing, despite the temptations before them. but that didn't stop Scarlet Bird from tossing some dirt and blanket over the gold left behind, and using some slight of hand tactics to pocket a few gold..
just in case. Where her 'husband' was innocent, she was pretty sure she had too much sin on her hands for it to be erased. And right now, she wanted to take care of her husband, and this was the only way she knew how. It was better safe then sorry.

Following silently at his side, and when she felt they were far enough into the woods, she gestured toward a clearing, and a cozy bed of grass beneath a trio of trees.

"Here, let us make camp here." Ands he laid her bedroll down and peered over towards Bishop as she sat upon her makeshift bed.
"Bishop...." she began to say, drawing in a careful breath. "Come the morning... where would you like to go? I was being truthful when I said I wantd to help you. I want to right the wrongs I've done unto you. I want to see you get back to being the same, loving and devoted man I had fallen in love with, a man who's unconditional with his willa nd heart. So please, just let me know how I can help in anyway."
And then she smiled after being so serious. "And if you'd like, I can build us a fire while you get nice and cozy and try to sleep. You look so weary, and twice your age because of it. Perhaps I ought to take watch,.." and her eyes went out into the forests. "Just in case..."

Bishop felt cold and empty after all the tears had seeped out of him and he was quiet the entire walk toward the clearing that Scarlet Bird had picked out.  He didn't say anything, didn't even give any indication that he was listening as she spoke.  For her words were too much too soon and he could feel what stone began to form, could shatter just as quickly and easily as he did before.

He unrolled the blanket and set it across the from her, listening to the soft sound of wind whispering through the branches as she spoke.  He barely listened to her, sore burning eyes tired and heavy.  He laid down and curled up in it's thin wrapping.  "A fire would only attract attention," he murmured softly, staring out in the dark.

She remained quiet after he spoke, listening to the same winds he did. SHe said nothing, merely sat , perched upon her bedding and looked out into the woods. Though exhausted, too much was on her mind and too much was at stake. So she stayed up and took watch, all night long.

He wondered if she'd really understand.  She must have, but perhaps in her own way.  He wondered if it was even possible for him to return to the man he used to be.  But he knew, somewhere deep inside of him, that that would never happen.  He'd gone through so much, seen so much for a lifetime and then some.  Though he was tired, he was almost positive this night would be just like so many others: Sleep would not come.

So he just stared out in the darkness.

"I never stopped," he found himself saying.  "Loving you, I mean."

His words cut across the quiet of the night. Where the sounds had only been the chirping of crickets and the hooting of a few night owls, now she felt the blood rush to her face, and a light drumming of her heart inside her ears. She wasn't sure what to say to that. When they were apart, he thought she had been killed.. and she? She was found by her master,a nd taken back tot he world she had fled from. But what was to become of her now? Now that her memories were crawling back to her? Now that she was free of those chains again?

So she was drawn back, thinking to his words before carefully adding, "And I never stopped loving you." She commented quietly, her voice a bit coarse as she kept her eyes upon the moon.

"Though I probably should explain myself... for you know.."s he smiled at him from over her shoulder. "I did try to kill you." Though not all of it could she remember. It was all just a terribly, foggy dream. A nightmare she wished had never come.

"You don't have to," he replied, burying his face in his blanket.  "I'd rather not think about it.  I could have killed you as well.  Not as easily, but could have."  He rolled over onto his back and looked over at her at last, a smile touching his eyes but not his mouth.

"The only thing I really wonder is: Why me?  Of all the people you could have married, why me?"

She was actually surprised at his question,a n smiled, turning away so she could hide it from him and lightly played with the sides of her hair nearest her ears.
"Isn't it obvious?" she stated, tuckingback her smile and peering over at him. "You were everything I had ever dreamed about in a husband. I.... well, suffice to say, I've met a lot of men in my lifetime. But that sort of life.... just because I was born into it, didn't mean I wanted to stay there forever. And you... well.." her eyes danced like the stars. "You were so... perfect. Everytime I saw you, you made my heart melt." She pressed her lips together. "I never felt that way before towards any other man in all of my life. And it was then I knew, if anything, perhaps through you, I could start a real life... become the person I always wished I could be." And she smiled, looking at him, light tears within her eyes.
"And well.. through you, I did. I became everything I ever wanted to be, had a family, had real love, real purpose... I... I never had to be the trained killer or lover anymore. Just to be me." And she shamefully looked away, smiling, in spite of herself as she glanced down at her worn boots, casually brushing off some dust that had collected at the ends.

"Then I guess we live in a world of opposites.  I was ordinary and boring and you had all the thrills and supense and look at us now.  I've killed men...I neverthought that day would come.  Ever.  And you just want that boring life over again.  We won't be the same after this...I know I won't be," he whispered. 

"But thank you for telling me.  At least I know now."

Helena grew quiet in that moment.

"I know I keep saying this, but I truly am sorry." And she turned to him, green eyes sparkling. "But there's... still more to me that you do not know."

Bishop turned to her completely now and moved from his blanket to sit beside her.  He looked her over for a long time before laying down.  "It would have happened one way or another.  It wasn't your fault" he said, looking at her with glittering eyes.  "But just in case, what more should I know?"

OOC: I Hope this post makes sense >_> trying to cook and post at the same time is haaaaaaaaaard

----------------

Scarlet Bird tried to smile. She knew it would be hard to explain, but if anyone ought to know her secret now, it was him.

"I.... I'm not... I... I don't belong to myself, Bishop." she began, hesitant over her words. She drew in a careful breath. "The thing is, the reason I tried to kill you after my supposed death was because I belonged to someone else. He owned my soul, thus owned my memories. He locked them away, in a cage inside his home and well... the rest I suppose speaks for itself." She cast a shameful look at the ground, but then pressed her lips together, keeping them flat before raising her eyes to look at him.
"And I can not promise that master who kept me won't also be after us now. I... managed to escape, somehow, some sort of a fluke and I... I'm afraid this could only add to our already dangerous road ahead of us." She paused, still looking into his eyes. "I'm sorry I never told you before. That... and well, I suppose you already can get the gist of all the rest. I was born into the life of a courtesan, so my job, before we met, was to seduce men and in doing so, get coin for myself. Over the years, my luck was pressed, and a man took interest in me. I eventually learned to kill under his orders, under the mask of 'The Scarlet Bird'; my identity as his personal assassin. I had... escaped from my master once before. That was when I first met you. ANd I truly believed I had been free of him before./.." she looked down cast again. "Before all of this."

She bit her teeth into her lower lip.
"It's another reason I fear getting near to you again. I do not want my past to harm you again. And the man who is after you, Chagall.. he was apart of it all, too."

Bishop listened in silence and was connecting all the various dots now.  It was too difficult as he recalled watching the mysterious man  pull the soul out of her, something he felt more disturbed by than anything he'd seen in all his life.  "In any other time, I wouldn't even have believed that it was possible," He commented quietly.

"But I saw him...when you ran back to his manor.  I followed you.  And when I left I opened the cage that contained your soul, I guess it was and saw it all flutter out into the night.  I guess that's why he has such a hard time finding you now...  I don't know how long it will be before he finds you again.  Apparently Chagall did, your master wo't be too far behind."

Bishop turned on his side to face her and reached out a roughened hand to her cheek.  Hands that for years had been covered sawdust, now saw dried bloode in various cracks and crevices.  He pursed his lips.  "Don't think I'm going to shame you for your past.  And please don't shame yourself," he whispered.  "I guess underneath it all, I still hope the woman I called Helena is still under there somewhere."

She smiled through growing tears, leaning into his calloused touch.
"My real name is Winifred Brooks. But that name has all been but forgotten now." She reached a hand up and gently stroked his cheek. "But for you, I'll always be Helena Rhyas. ANd if you'll ever have me again, I'd be honored to remain as your wife." She took his hand up and lead it to her lips, where she kissed it softly. Her own lips were chapped, but would still be soft against his hand.

"So is it true then?" she asked, her eyes raising to his. "Did you really see it? My soul?" her eyes wavered at the idea, a hand going to her chest. It was... strange thing to see, she bet, but in a sense, she felt relieved. No one in the world would have believed her, and here, her husband had witnessed the affair.
"I... I guess I should thank you then... for, for following me. Even if it was foolish."S he squeezed a hand around his. "Because I don't think anyone would ever believe me, not even you." And her eyes held still tears. It seemed the pair of them had gone through a lot, and she felt the world through him, through the simple bond of them holding hands. "I feel better knowing you finally know some of my secret." and she squeezed his hand again. "And truly believe me, despite it all"

"Sometimes seeing really is believing," Bishop replied, watching the tears form in her eyes.  His own face was expressionless, eyes just searching her face, wavering and reddened.  "It didn't have any clear shape or form...it was just sounds.  When the cage broke open I could hear wings fluttering as if a hundred caged birds were freed all at once."

Bishop let go of her hands, feeling strange and awkward to hold onto them and instead turned his touch to her eyes where tears lingered.  "I also heard you and saw you while you were 'working'.  That wasn't very pleasant."

Scarlet bird cast her eyes down shamefully.
"Yes... I would not think it would be" And she raised her head back up, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. "I'm sorry Bishop for not being the girl you thought I was. But if it's any consolation, I never would have done any of those things had I not been under my master's influence."
And she tried to read his eyes, read his face, but it was hard. There were so many tears her vision got blurred.
"And I wish I had never done any of those things in my former life."

Bishop didn't know what to say himself and he felt his own lips wavering with the need to expel tears.  He just rubbed his thumb across her cheek and leaned forward to kiss her lips softly.  He couldn't very well, just forgive her so easily, to accept her back where he so desperately wanted her.

Scarlet Bird whimpered at his kiss, finding herself momentarily breathless. Then a few more hot tears ran down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight.

Bishop buried his face against her neck and breathed in her scent.  He wrapped an arm around her side, feeling her tears along her cheek hit his neck.  "Please, don't cry," he said.  He kissed her cheek and  wiped at her tears.  "Please."

"But you're too good to me," she whispered, her eyes seeking his. "And you always were. I never deserved you. You're such a good man. You were such a good father..." And she tried to wipe her tears away that kept falling, to at least be strong..
For him.
She blinked more back, stared at him int he face before she laughed, finding herself unable to stop crying.
"I'm s-sorry, I just... I can't believe you'd still love me after all of this."

"Don't be absurd.  I could never stop loving you," Bishop murmured to her and kissed at her tears.  "Please.  I was never perfect...  I just wanted to take care of you.  I just wanted to make you happy.  I still love you, and I still want you."

To hear such words from such a man, made everything in the world worth fighting for. She'd help him find a way to feel for himself again, and inspite of their shared misery, she leaned up and kissed him soft, kissed him long, then kissed him hard. "Gods, I've missed you so much," she breathed through tears.

Bishop moaned softly despite himself and he could help but fall victim to the power of her kiss.  He returned it and whimpered, trembling from a bundle of a hundred different emotions that had long been bottled up.  "Gods, I missed you more than you could know...."  He felt more tears well up in his eyes as he pulled away long enough to breathe.

Lifting a finger, she pressed it against his lips, looked into his eyes then kissed him softly again.
"Come, lay with me." she said, offering him a smile as she took his hands and moved to kneel down in the bed that now lay beneath a sea of stars. "We should try to get some rest. There is not much hours left in the night."

Bishop looked at her with half-lidded eyes and nodded to her, licking his lips.  He pulled his blanket over them, laying beside her bedroll.  He'd forgotten what it was like to  lay beside a woman.  And moreso have that woman be the wife he thought had been dead.  His smile faded and his hand smoothed down her side.  He leaned into her neck and kissed her softly, remembering now what it like to be so close to his wife once again.

It had been too long since she'd had a night like this. All other kisses had been shallow, or only of a lust brought on by her job. This, this tender moment with her husband, her love, beneath the stars, was heaven. She let out small gasps of breaths from between her lips as his kisses traipsed up her neck and she craned her neck, to let him have a better taste of her flesh. She felt herself growing hot, but would dare not ask for her husband to sin; for she still felt dirty, soiled nad worthless for all that she had done, and was left to merely breathing out soft, sweet gasps of delight, all the while her body was begging to actually be made sated by her one true love.

Bishop smoothed his hands over her and let his lips taste her neck all the more.  He leaned in and moaned a little into the kiss.  "I love you," he groaned, drunk on her scent.  He wanted to take her then, to roam in the familiar and to show her that he loved her rather than just tell her in empty words that everyone probably whsipered in her ear.

His words acted like a ghost, sending cold and warm shivers throughout her body. She tensed, but moaned again as his lips continued to nurse at her flesh, and found herself unable to take much more of it before she begged, "Please, Bishop, make love to me like you used to." And she hesitated, feeling horrible to ask it, but hte flame was hard to resist, especially for him. "Please.." she asked more gently, in the softest of whimpers.

"I want to," he murmured, feeling himself overcome with emotions.  "Gods how I want you, but..."  He turned his head to her, the longer waves of his hair falling over his eyes as he lingered over her face to face.  "But...I-I haven't been with a woman since that night.  I-I don't know if I can."  He just kissed her then, hard on the lips, a tear falling as he wrapped his arms around her. 

Helena smiled and held on tight ot her husband, kissing him back as she raked a hand through his hair.
"Then just love on me, kiss me, hold me, just stay close," she whispered. "That's all I want from you. Gods.. just to feel you so near feels like heaven."

Bishop laughed just a little and rubbed her back.  "You smell like the forest and of home..." he said.  "But I don't believe in heaven anymore...  Not like I used to.  Life is full of pain and misery and suffering.  There are only moments of bliss.  Seconds of heaven before pain comes again..."

Her eyes opened as she looked into his. There was a swell of sadness there, seen in her eyes and felt within her breast. She lifted a hand up, entwining her fingers into his, her eyes never leaving his for a second as she studied him.
"Kiss me... kiss me so that I know, for that brief moment in your life, I know you won't be suffering, and there won't be misery."

Bishop bit his lips and leaned into her face, kissing her softly at first beofre devouring her mouth powerfully.  His beard would scratch against her cheeks as he turned his head to and fro.

"Is that heaven enough?" he whispered between kisses.

Helena moaned softly at his words. She opened her eyes, her dark green ones sparkling like the night.
"Yes,"s he breathed, and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight as she kissed him back. "Every kiss from you tastes like heaven, and warms me to my soul. Gods.." and she broke away from her kisses to hold him tight, pressing her forehead against his cheek. "I hope we're never parted again."

Bishop moaned against her lips and gave a sudden pause over her.  He gave a soft chuckle and leaned his head back against hers.  "I guess I wasn't as unready as I thought," he murmured, feeling himself rise against her.  But he still did not act upon it and just held her to him.  "I won't part from you, not if I can help it."

Helena smiled and found herself blushing. She felt what he was talking about and only shook her head, not feeling ashamed, but also being surprised his body would still want her in that way. She nuzzled against him then when he spoke, keeping her eyes closed as she breathed softly.

"Gods.. Bishop.." and her hand found his, fingers entwining. "I'm so glad I married you.I knew you were the one for me even before I met. It was in your eyes." She smiled, looking up at him. "There was such warmth there, such character... such heart." And her hands cupped his face, admiring him so. "And it didn't hurt that you were so handsome, too."

It was his turn to blush.  Bishop smiled at her praise and warmed to her touch.  "You didn't think I was too...ordinary?  I wondered sometimes why I never did anything other than carpentry," he murmured.  "I sometimes wanted to know what it was like to be an adventurer.  I guess now I know..."  He kissed the base of her throat and grinned down at her.  "Sometimes it hard to believe I was really what you wanted.   I'm not the best looking man in the world."

Scarlet Bird cupped his cheeks, her eyes shining with love.
"Of course you are what I wanted. You are everything I ever wanted, and to me, you're the best looking thing in all the world." She leaned forward, kissing him softly. "I could never ask for something better. You have a heart about you, you wear it on your sleeve, and I'm just surprised you were not married before I met you." She blushed and tucked back a smile. "But it seems fate might want us together... a second chance, a second try."

His expression softened, smile fading just a little.  If fate would have them together again, it was to finish them off for good.  And that only made fear creep into his heart all the more that staying together would only bring danger to one another.

But Bishop made no mention of his worry and just smile back at her before reaching up to her hair, brushing it back.  "You cut it.  Why?"

Scarlet Bird lifted up a hand to her head, laughing softly before sheepishly looking back to him.
"I tried to pretend to be someone else.." and this time her eyes shined a bit more. "And could you believe I actually pulled off appearing as a young boy working in an inn? I think the one inn owner's daughter was even sweet on me." She shook her head at that, tucking back a smile.

"But yes... I cut it off. I wanted to run away, to forget, to be as far away from you, from everything as possible. But then.. Chagall, he found me. And I was afraid for you, so I had to find you before he did. I didn't want to be the one that  fed you to the wolves."

Bishop gave a chuckle.  "But you did whether you knew it or not," he said, still feeling through her hair. "You cut your hair, and I let mine grow out.  I like it.  It looks good on you.  But I think it was a stretch for even you to try and pretend to be a young boy.  You're a thirty year old woman for gods' sake."

Scarlet Bird laughed.
"I didn't mean that young of a boy." And she smiled up at him. "I don't know.. I liked it long. It felt nice to have your draw your fingers through it. But now.."s he sighed. "It feels nice and cool... and is much easier to maintain." She added, her eyes shining as she smiled warmly up at him.

"It suits you," Bishop replied with a smile.  "But if you want it long, don't worry.  It will grow back again."  He smiled and kissed her temple, nuzzling against her once more.  His body felt at peace them.  A small peace that felt enough to make his eye lids drift closed once more.

Helena smiled and just held onto him, feeling as content and as at peace as he.
He smelled so wonderful, a mixture of his own musk and pine, a familiarity that she had recalled awakened her memories deep inside her, when she had been underneath her master's power. And the feeling of the stubble on his face, albeit it that turned her skin ripe and red, it was something she always recalled fondly, that hwen they kissed, her chin was always red from being brushed over by it.
And the taste of him, the sound of his breath..
It was enough to lull her as well. But she still slept with one eye open; for even a woman like the Scarlet Bird was not foolish enough to let herself fall prey to a moment of peace. For it was in those moment they were both so vulnerable, even as her body criedout for her to simply sleep.

He  at last felt comforted enough to rest beside her and fall fully asleep, even if it was on the cold hard ground.  The blanket provided sufficient warmth.  And it didn't hurt to know that the woman beside him would watch over them like a hawk.

Just as morning's light began to finger it's way over the horizon, she stirred. She hadn't slept a wink, and slowly rose beside her husband, studying him a moment in silence before raking a hand through his hair.
"Wake up.." she whispered. "We need to move on."

Bishop groaned and blinked his eyes open.  Surprise washed over him that he actually had slept all through the nigh, without a sweat, a breath out of place.  The only complaint he had was taat his back locked up and he winced as he sat up.  "Gods, next time, I get a bedroll too," he muttered.  He took some time to stretch and finally sat up, holding out his hand to help her up.

She took his hand and rose to her feet. Stretching her own sore back out, she glanced around to the world around them. So far, not a soul in sight. SHe turned back to Bishop.
"We ought to skip this town and head to the next. As much as it would be nice to stop inside a city, it would not be wise, considering what loot was found outside the town's walls. They'll likely be less questions and disturbances in another town."

Bishop nodded at her assessment and he looked across the clearing through the trees for any signs of movement.  Spotting nothing, but knowing that even his senses could betray him, he pursed his lips and began to roll up the blanket and stash it away into the bushes.  "That would be the best course of action, and I don't think we'll be needing those any longer than necessary," he said with a nod and began to move quietly from the clearing.

They walked quietly for a good long while. They walked on no path yet tamed, weaving through the forests as the mists from the morning drifted off in white wisps of breath from the land. Scarlet Bird was ever alert, even as her face told the tell tale signs of her sleepless night. But she was ever vigilant, knowing any missed shadow could mean their life. Even still, she was exhausted, and would have missed the first sign of danger as they neared the denser wood, that was, until she noticed the second moving shadow and threw out her arm, halting Bishop from moving.

"Don't... move.." and her green eyes cleaved through the forest, and there, barely 30 feet away, stood a dire, white wolf looming in the shadows. His red eyes glowed softly as he watched them and Scarlet Bird felt herself tense as she stepped infront of Bishop.
"A dire wolf."An dthen she paused, noting the first missed shadow.
No, not a wolf. Wolves.

[Really?  This is NOT The Hobbit! xD]

Bishop did in fact freeze at the sight of the sudden wolves around them.  Scarlet Bird wasn't the only one that had trained her vision to spot suspicious movement.  Everyday on the run had been a day he might never see the light of day again, so Bishop had learned to take nothing for granted, not even a few precious hours of daylight, not even the darkness of the night.  His hands itched for the blade on his side, so much so that it was twitching and Bishop's eyes wavered as they peered down at it.  His hand instantly moved to still it.

And all it took was that motion for the white wolf to growl at them, turning his lips upward into what Bishop could only conceive of as a grin.  Bishop shivered in fear, and didn't waste anytime as the white wolf abruptly leapt from it's spot, lunging forth.  He dashed right, running into the thickest portion of the trees, his blade in hand.

[Bishop is an idiot.]

"Bishop! No!" She shouted.. his actions caused the wolves to howl and rush forth in an attack. Luckily, Scarlet Bird has her razor string whip on hand and tore it out from where it lay hidden and snapped it around the wolf making chased after her husband. Once it latched tightly around its body, she gave a tug and the beast was torn open in a hot spray of .blood.

Bishopwwas too busy running to give the action much notice.  And just as soon as she took care of the first wolf, the others took off after him, bursting through the brush like wildfire.

If Bishop could outrun the, it wouldn't be for long.

One wolf down, but how many more to go? They couldn't keep this up; it was obvious they were out numbered. Approaching the downed wolf, she gave her metal whip a yank to free it, her heart pumping heavily inside her chest. She glanced over at Bishop.
Shit.
The wolves were almost upon him. Thinking quick, she drug out the knife she had tucked away and made chase. Gods... things were looking bleak.

Many things flashed themselves across Bishop's mind.  The knife in his hand, seeming more precious now than ever before, gleamed with eagerness, but Bishop feared throwing it behind them.  He knew that even if he downed one of them, there were many more to follow, and in throwing it, he'd lose one of his few weapons upon his person.  So he just ran, and ran as fast and as hard as he could.  He ran between two trees and the wolves, six in total divided themselves up into three pairs of two, hoping to surround him.

One cut him off at the pass, throwing its body at him and knocking him off to the side.  Bishop cried out when two more were upon him, biting, trying to get at his neck.  Bishop cut where he could and defended his neck with his arms.

It seemed the wolves were more focused on Bishop than her, so it allowed her free range to throw her knife- and it sunk right into the skull of the wolf attempting to bite off the head of her husband.
"BISHOP LOOK OUT!"

and the second one was upon him,a nd Scarlet bird did the only thing she knew to do- and once hse was there, she kicked the wolf in the head, and drew it's attention her way. It snarled back at her, snapping at her foot, buying Scarlet enough time to ready her metal whip and in one fluid motion, snapped it over the beast's maw and pulled tight, the whip cutting into it's flesh as it let out a closed mouth whimper as she yanked the massive wolf down into the dirt, face first.

Bishop's arms were just about ripped to shreds and until the wolf was distracted and drew it's attention to Helena.  While she made short work of it, he rolled over and got to his feet.  He paused as the remaining four wolves surrounded them on all sides, growling and encircling them tighter and tighter like a noose.

Bishop held is bleeding right arm and clutched the blade nervously in his left.  He kept his back toward Scarlet Bird's and stared out at the wolves.  "What do we do?" he whispered.  What could they do!?

"If only one of us were a fire mage I'd suggest drawing out a flame, but as it stands, I don't know what to do," she spoke softly, the wolves still encircling them as she kept her back pressed to his. "Animals tend to fear fire, and there is no way we can fight all of them at once..."

Bishop felt his heart beating in his chest like the chattering of teeth on a cold winter's night.  He clutched the dagger in hand and saw the wolve's closing in.  But there was nothing more they could do...not right, and fighting was a suicide dance.  But what choice did they have.  Bishop was tired of being afraid, tired of being chased and hounded like a wounded dog.  He grit his teeth and stared down the wolf closest to him.  And before he knew it, he lunged forward, exposing the blade and burying it deep into the wolf's throat.

The wolf let out howl of a yelp, it's voice curdled with blood, as it tried to fight against Bishop's attack, but it was too late. The attack surprised the other two wolves nearest by, who jumped back at the sound of their fellow wolf in pain, and Scarlet Bird didn't waste another moment to respond, drawing out her whip and then cracking it at the air, the sound scaring off the remaining wolves, and a second whip ensured that.

Bishop dropped to the ground over the wolf's dead body and pulled out the blade.  He gave a savage howl and wrenched it free.  at last they were alone and the pack was gone.  Bishop stared at his bloody hand and desperately cleaned them on the fur as best he could until his movements seemed almost manic.

"They won't get clean," he grumbled until he'd and enough and smashed his fist into the wolf's ribs, crunching bone and trying to get ahold of himself.  He breathed heavily and at last turned to look at Scarlet Bird.  "Let's...let's go."

Without a word, Scarlet Bird slipped her whip back into place at her waist and moved in closer to her husband. She saw the frantic look in his eyes and knew he was close to losing it. Bloodied hands be damned. SHe wasted no time closing the distance between them as she wrapped her arms around him suddenly, holding him close so that she could rest her fore head against his temple as she closed her eyes.

He was thankful for the contact and felt himself trembling all over.  He leaned in to kiss her temple, thankful taat if anyone was there with him it was her at least.  "We gotta go," he said, forcing a brave voice for her at least.

Scarlet Bird nodded, keeping quiet before taking his hand gently into hers and squeezing it.
"We best be careful. Who knows what other dangers lay in these woods."

Bishop had to do his best to hold hinself together and gave a shakey nod, just for her.  Taking in a deep breath, he found the strength to stand and began to walk back through the forest, still holding onto her hand.

They were lucky their walk in the woods remained uneventful, and by the time they neared another road, the sound of a cart could be heard being pulled by a pair of horses. Scarlet Bird raised a hand up, listening carefully as her eyes studied the path before them.
"Get down," she told him quietly, while she snuck forward to investigate.
"It's a carriage," she confirmed. "Looks like it's heading into the next town." She turned back to Bishop from where she was hidden in thick foilage. "Shall we see if they would offer us a ride to the next town? Your wounds are pretty bad. Perhaps they might be able to tell us of a place where we can buy supplies to patch you up? Or at least get us out of this damp grass for a while."

Bishop hadn't noticed the hot, wet blood that was seeping from his wounds.  They were fresh and would need cleaning and mending, but the coolness left of his anger his mind in a stupor.  He felt lost and wandering, even with the guidance of Scarlet Bird beside  him.  When she told him to get down, he stumbled off to the side, falling against the enlarged, moss-covered roots of a tree.  He watched her inspect the road then return to him.

He could only nod and gestured to the road, finding blood seeping all along his arms and onto his hands, trying and crusting in the creases along his palms.  "I don't feel so good, Helena," he murmured.  His head was light indeed and he could barely muster the strength to push himself up to stand.

Helena frowned, crouching beside him and reaching a hand out to feel his forehead, but then quickly drew her hand away with a gasp.
"You've got a fever."
Shit. If the wolves had infected him with something, he might suffer and die from an illness he couldn't shake, and fear began to pound away at her hearts so heavily, she heard it in her ears.

Bishop sighed and felt his head grow lighter and his vision spun in and out of focus.  He stumbled forward and grabbed onto her shoulders and nudged her toward the road.  "Let's get to town please."

Scarlet Bird nodded. Leaving her husband to lay against the tree, she rushed off to stop the cart. Moments later, she returned to Bishop's side, hooking his arm around her neck and guiding him towards the cart. An old man and his wife and old dog waited for them, and the old woman gasped at the sight of Bishop.

"Landsakes's!" she exclaimed, a hand to her bosom. "Those wolves did quite a number on ya."

The old man gestured with a nod, for he was missing one arm, evidence that he could sympathize with those that survived a dire wolf attack.

"The wolves are quite vicious here. I lost two children to them."

"Yes, our two youngest," the old woman lamented, as if it were yesterday, but in truth, they had lost their children when they were young.

"Here, let me help you get him into the cart," and together, Scarlet Bird, and the old gentleman, who goes by Les, helped guided the wounded and fevered Bishop into the back. Turning to the pair, Scarlet Bird bowed before them graciously. "Thankyou."

And the old couple simply nodded back.
"It's the least we can do, honey. We were heading back to Lasterdam anyways. There's a good medicine man there. He's got a few herbs and remedies on him. Perhaps a potion or two that might help and his pay is fair. He also does some smithing and shoe mending as well. He's quite versatile, he is."

Scarlet Bird nodded and climbed int he back, keeping one arm cradled around Bishop as the cart rolled on into town. It was a quaint village, nestled against a large riverside that got enough traffic to make trade profitable. But the town had a humbled appearance about it, and all buildings were made of thatch, or simple weavings or hide. The medicine man lay on the eastern side of town, and while he lit a few incense to help with Bishop's fever, cold clothes seemed to be his best bet, and a small bottle of his own elixir he claimed would help heal Bishop quicker than if he were to let nature take it's course.

Once he was tended to, Scarlet Bird remained at her husband's side in silence as he lay upon a simple clothe cot. The room was small, but open, and left them with no real personal space but the few feet around them as the medicine man, named Wita, moved over to boil some beet soup for the pair to eat. He looked about twice as old as Les, and was slightly hard of hearing, but it seemed he knew his stuff, especially when dealing with dire wolf wounds.

He used a clotting, white ointment against the wounds to help with the bleeding, then wrapped the wound tightly with fresh clothe. For now, Scarlet Bird helped hold a cold, water soaked clothe to Bishop's sweating forehead  while the gentle sounds of the fire's crackle and scents of the soup began to fill the air. The entire time, she held onto Bishop's hand, and kept her green eyes trained upon his face, hoping for him to rest, hoping for him to feel better after the medicine would be taken down.

Bishop was exhausted and slipping in and out of consciousness when at last they found help.  Moving was painful and his arms felt numb and his fingers tingled as if a thousand pins were sticking them.  He moved them with frustration and started to grow sweaty along his head until at last he opened his eyes to see Scarlet Bird sitting beside him.  The smell of the soup awakened his senses and he took a shaky breath as he turned toward his estranged wife.

"Where are we?" he coughed and looked around to see Wita pouring bowls of soup and setting them on a tray.  "Who is that?"

"We're in Lasterdam, a river side city a few miles from where we were attacked."

She grew quiet a moment, the crackle of fire the only thing being heard before she raised her eyes to look at him.
"The man is here to help us. He's the only help this town has. The man and woman who helped us get here had been treated by him for a similar attack. So I trust his judgement."
Then she pulled out a small vial.
"Here.. you should drink this. It will help rid you of the rest of your fever." Then she added, "And i already tried it, so I know it's not poisoned. Though it tastes like rat shit."
She gave him a half smile about that.
"How are you feeling?"

Bishop's consciousness opened further and he saw the small vial that she presented before him.  He tried to sit up, and every movement hurt as he reached for the vial.  He popped the stopper and sniffed at the serum.  It was pungent and not at all pleasant but he would suffer the concoction if for her sake alone.  He downed it in one gulp and coughed until he as red faced.

He dry-heaved on the cot beside him, laying on his bandaged arms and finally turned over to face her.  "I think he's trying to kill me," he grunted with a small moan.  "But other than that, I think I'll get through."

Scarlet Bird smiled with relief, but remained at his side, a hand lightly resting on his shoulder.
"You should rest. The potion will make you drowsy. I can stay by and watch." Then she turned to look over towards the healer, who remained quiet and to himself on the other side of the room before she turned back to Bishop, a smile upon her lips.

"I'm just glad you're ok," she said, threading her fingers into his and giving them a light squeeze. And she leaned forward, her face barely a breath from his. "I'd be lost without you in this world, Bishop." ANd she spoke so only he might hear her words of sincerity.

While the vial given to him indeed gave him enough rejuvenation to feel well after his fever, but at the same time, there must have been and added relaxer that completely soothed him against the cot.  It wasn't the most comfortable bed in the world, but for Bishop it may as well have been a suite at a ritzy hotel for all the wonders it did for his body.  It was so nice to actually sleep on a real bed than the cold hard ground and he shifted his back into it as his head turned gently to face Scarlett Bird.

A smile touched his half-lidded eyes.  He could find no words to come to him in that moment, but the water that built up in the ducts of his eyes formed in response to her words and a small tear fell from his right eye.  He gave a weak smile and squeezed her hand back.  "Thank you," he whispered before closing his eyes and letting his body fall completely limp in a soothing slumber.

When Bishop would awake, they'd be in another place, perhaps another town. It was hard to say, but the air was quiet, though it was morning, and there was a bustling noise from a town. When she saw him stir, she raised a finger to her lips to signal him to be quiet.

A shadow moved over head. They were at the top of a mill, and it's great wheels were turning and casting them in and out of the morning sunlight.
"You've been asleep for over a day. Your body ought to be healed more thoroughly, though you'll be groggy for at least another day or so."
She paused, observing him. "How do you feel now?"

Bishop didn't quite like the feeling of waking up blank.  But at least his mind was at peace and his body felt as it was more rested than it had been in a long time.  He looked up, opening his eyes to passing shadows and glaring sunlight.  "Ugh," he mumbled.

When Scralet Bird's face came further into view, he smiled and sat up a little.  "Alive and well.  I wish I didn't wake up," he said.  "Are we on top of a windmill?"

At his response, her face softened as she smiled. Then, at his question, she nodded.
"Yes." Her eyes turned from his to observe the slow passing of each blade in silence before she spoke again. "This place seemed safer than any other." And she paused, noting another passing shadow before she sighed. "I'm afraid to go near any town..." There were too many connections she knew that resided in these towns, and she shifted uncomfortably before her green eyes returned to him. "I figure if we stick to the out skirts of towns, to simple farm lands and unmarked roads, we'll be safer." Though even she knew it was a matter of time before someone, either looking for her, or.. for him, might sniff them out.

Bishop blinked at her for a time before his eyes moved to watch the spinning blades of the windmill. The cool morning air chilled him and made him shiver.  He sat up, getting a feel for his limbs and turned to face her.  He just stared at her a moment before reaching forward and cupping her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin.  He smiled a little, the stubble of his beard having grown thicker from lack of a shave and his face was wiped clean here and there with a wet rag at some point.

"We can stay here for the time being," he reasoned a little.  "Another day couldn't hurt."

Scarlet Bird nodded.

"Yes, we can rest up here, then perhaps move come night fall, though I fear we're still in monster territory, and they say these hills have more than dire wolves roaming them." Though she smiled still and placed a hand upon his and brushed her thumbs over his fingers. "Are you hungry? I've got a loaf of bread we can eat and I collected some water from a nearby stream. I bet your completely famished after all that's happened."

At the growling of his stomach, Bishop blushed only feeling now that he really was hungry, nearly starved at the thought.  "Please," he said, gesturing to food she mentioned.  As they sat down to eat, Bishop moved slowly in his grungy clothes and rubbed at his empty stomach.

She pulled out the bread from where it was resting aside in a piece of clothe. Unwrapping it, she set it in his hands and moved to get her husband water, and offered that over to him as well.
"Eat and drink as mcuh as you'd like. You'll need your strength."

Bishop never thought he'd be so thankful for such a plain meal in his life, but there it was and he devoured it slowly and with care, savoring every bite as if he didn't know when he would next have another meal, even as simple as this.  He looked over at the woman he once called his wife and was quiet as he ate and drank.  He looked over with a quiet familiarity, studying the curves of her body, though he was tired and ragged, he loved her more then than he last remembered and a tear escaped is eye at the thought.  He wiped it away with a sleeve and frowned a little.

"I don't even remember the last time we had dinner together," he said with a croaked voice and a sad half-smile.

Smiling sadly in reply, she turned away to stare at the floor.
"I do," she whispered softly. "Lora and I had made a basted chicken. She was so proud, she had made the herb rub herself." And it was Scarlet's turn to cry, finding tears bubbling up inside her eyes. "It was the night we had been killed..."s he spoke, as the tears began to roll down her cheek.

Bishop had had soft tears brewing when she started to speak, but they stilled as he watched her.  When tears slid down her cheeks, he felt all the more awkward and selfish for his own, but a ball developed in his throat and he couldn't help himself as he scooted closer to her.  He hadn't held her, truly held her in so long that it felt foreign to him when at last his arms came around her.  They took her against his chest and just held her.  He'd forgotten...how could he have forgotten that moment.

And all he could do was just hold her tighter.

As he held her,s he choked on a sob and nestled into him, gripping onto him tightly. It felt peculiar at first; to think, there was a time when this man had held her close and there was blind love all around them. Their world had been perfect...
But not without consequences....

for any dog who was willing enough to look could smell the trail of bread crumbs she left behind from her former life... and it sealed their fate. Now, humbled by his embrace, she lost herself to the emotions welling up inside her and couldn't stop her tears. So instead, she buried her face into his chest and clung onto him, tight.

"Don't cry," Bishop whispered, burying his face in her hair and rubbing a hand along her back.  "Shush now.  It's not use to cry.  No now anyway.  It's all passed now.  Don't cry, darling."

She couldn't respond as she pressed her face against him, trying to keep it back, which only made it hurt more as she sobbed.
"Gods... I can remember it all now, all of it so clearly.." she began to say, blinking back her tears, even as more fell. "That night.... I thought something seemed unusual, but Gods... I felt too content to move from our bed. We had laid together so beautifully, I didn't want that moment to end..."
And the rest was chaos.. and she was lucky to be alive. They both were..
but the fact their child had suffered, had been taken from them during that event- and not only that, Helena's memories as well...

It was still too much to bare as she grew silent and blinded by her own hot tears.
"Gods, Bishop..." and seh clung onto him, burying her face into his shoulder. "Gods, how I miss her."

Bishop could feel the emotion broiling up inside of him in that moment as she spoke.  And the ball in his throat grew tighter and he choked back a few tears, trying to keep them from flowing, even as he couldn't even breathe.  "I miss her too, Helena," he whispered.  "I miss her too...  But we can't bring her back.  Even if we want to.  We can't."

Bishop couldn't believe the very words he was saying, but all he could do was hold her and hold her he did, burying his face in to her shoulder.  "Don't cry, please," begged, knowing it would only fuel his own tears.

"Oh, Bishop, I'm so sorry.. I just can't... The memories that were taken to me..w hen they return, it's as if I'm recalling them for the first time, almost reliving them and.."
she cupped a hand over her trembling lips, more salty tears trailing down her face.
"Gods..." and she went silent as she cried again.

His tears came pouring forth of their own volition and he lowered himself to her level and looked at her.  All the while his hands were wiping at her eyes.  "No, no," Bishop murmured.  "I'm wrong.  Don't fight it...  I-I just...just...don't want to remember....  But I don't want to forget either.  I'm sorry, Helena...  I just....  I love you so much...  Yet all we have is unhappiness!"

"Gods.. Bishop..." and she looked up into his eyes, a hand cupping his face as a thumb brushed away a few trailing tears. "I'm so sorry. If it weren't for me, you could have had a perfect life."

He could have married another...
had a daughter to someone else....

and the very idea made more tears well up within her eyes.

"Gods, I'll never forgive myself for what I've done to you.."s he whispered, her voice no louder than the wind.

"Now that's enough of that!" he grumbled, his hands holding her face, the callused parts of his palms and fingertips ever present.  "Don't speak like that!  I probably wouldn't have been any happier with someone else...  At least with you, you were someone I could really love.  And I still do.  Maybe all we have is sorrow....but it's better than nothing at all."

It was Helena's turn to hold him as she took him into her arms and held him close.
"Gods.. Bishop." and she buried her face against his shoulder, before raising her chin to rest there as she whispered.
"Maybe we can start over." And she hesitated, before whispering, "Maybe this is a sign we get a second chance?"

The weight that had been hanging over the both of them was now in the open and he felt it as she held him.  He turned to look at her and couldn't bring himself to answer her just yet.  He wanted to, gods, how he wanted to.  Could they really?  Get a second chance?  Maybe if they tried again, they could make it...  He didn't know what to say, didn't know what words to choose and so he just leaned forward, hesitantly kissing her, softly as if it were the first time he'd done it.

The kiss was everything she needed- Comfort, warmth, and a seed; a seed planted for the hope ever growing within her heart as she held onto him tightly, kissing him back through tears, kissing him back with need.

Bishop was ashamed that he grew nervous when she kissed him back with need.  And he whimpered a little, even more hesitant.  But it slowly faded as he reminded himself that this the woman that bore his child, his wife...had tried to kill him, skin him!

But not by her own volition... 

Bishop felt tears form in his own eyes and kissed her back.  It was one of anger of all the pent up emotion he'd let build inside of him and he kissed all the forefully because of it.

The kiss, quickly becoming different, sent a chill through Scarlet Bird as she opened her eyes to look questionably at her husband, saying nothing, but the tears lingering in her eyes only helped to coax out the question she could not speak.

Bishop looked at her with some surprise when she pulled away from him.  But one look into her eyes told him that what he'd been doing was wrong.  He frowned and whispered apologies to her as his hands reached up to wipe her tears.

Scarlet Bird shook her head, closing her eyes as she leaned into his hand.
"I know you still can't trust me," she whispered, tears falling down her cheeks. "And I understand that. I'll make it up to you some day..some how.." she told him, squeezing his hand and drawing it to her lips where she kissed it softly, but once, tasting her tears.
"For you.. I'll find a way to kill Scarlet Bird."

"I-I know why you had to keep it from me," Bishop replied to her.  "I'm...I'm sorry.  I'm just scared.  And I'm just getting used to the idea that I don't have to be...around you anymore.  I-I....I love you.  Helena, Scarlet Bird, no matter who you are or what you call yourself."

Bishop felt a tear come down his cheek and he leaned in to kiss her softly, kiss her rightly the way he meant to.

Helena felt herself melt beneath his kiss, and also, to cry, as more hot tears streamed down her cheeks.
"And I love you." she told him, opening her eyes to peer up into his face, studying it curiously as she cupped his cheek in her hand and used her thumb to brush away any tears threatening to fall.
"Gods, how I love you.."

At that Bishop felt his lower lip begin to waver.  He needed to hear those words, and said in the tone of which came from her mouth.  He smiled and leaned in again, kissing her softly and cupping her face.

She continued to hold his cheek, drinking of his love as her other hand moved to wrap around him holding him tight. And she kissed him, again and again as tears continued to stream down her face, and her entire body ached. But Gods.... she gripped onto his clothes, pressed her lips harder and harder against him. Gods, how she loved this man...

He could taste their combined tears each kiss she planted on his lips.  It was a strange combination of salt and the sweetness of her tongue that ran along his own.  But he relished it all the same.  He whimpered again as he held her face toward his, only then to have his hands release her and slide down toward her body, that familiar feel of her form, that softness where it was needed and hardness where it counted.  He turned his head to deepen the kiss, lost in her embrace.

After a few long moments, they finally parted lips as Helena stared back at her husband.
"So.... How are you feeling now?" She inquired, glancing down towards his wounds before letting her green eyes meet to his.  "Do you think you're healing up alright?"

He was a little breathless at the loss of her lips and he blinked at her a few times before the question registered in his mind.  "I think I'm all right," he said with a small smile.  His eyelids fell as he looked at the ground for a moment.  "You know, I always imagined I'd die from some accident at work.  Not being chased by hoodlums...or being eaten by wolves.  Or maybe from old age.  But I don't think that's possible now.  I'd be surprised if we made it through the night."

Helena afforded him a smile as she leaned forward to.cup his.cheek.
"I always dreamed of dying of old.age with you... Both of.us going to.bed.together after a.final night of.sweet kisses and.talks, and then we just never wake up in the morning, death taking us both in the night."

Bishop stared at her for a long time, stirred by the notion.  He didn't know she thought of such things, that growing old would have even been a possibility, but in that moment any doubt of her love was momentarily erased and he brushed his fingertips across her cheek and held her face.  His lips closed in, kissing her fully on the mouth.  "Gods how I love you," Bishop murmured.  "Let's kiss and speak such things to each other again, like we did on the night I made you mine at last."

Tears streamed down her face at his confession. No sweeter words could be spoken as she whimpered beneath his kiss and leaned her entire heart fiercely into her own reply. Their hands, now threaded, were squeezed as she pulled away to rest her forehead against his after such a kiss had stolen her.very breath away.
"I could talk to you for all eternity, Bishop. And if there was a way for me to be able to make myself perfect for you, I would, but all I can do is be at your disposal, to love you as I unconditionally promised, and to try and try again over my faults." And here, she took his hand and drew it.to her lips. "Gods how I love you." And as she confessed, more hot tears spilled down her cheeks.


And Gods... Am I undeserving of it.

"Enough of that," Bishop pressed as he clenched her hand tightly into his.  "Enough sorrow, enough pity.  For one day, what's left of it, let's just forget everything.  Let's just be...us.  There is nothing more than that.  Just us."

Helena looked up into her husband's eyes as they wavered with tears. And at his statement, she could merely oblige as she wrapped her arms around him in a fierce embrace.

He took her against him and held her possessively as if she might fly away like the creature of her namesake.  "Let's make love," he whispered into her ear.  "I've wanted you.  Wanted you for so long."  He bit his lip as he turned face toward her and smothered her with his lips.

It wasn't expected, and she felt so undeserving of the notion, but in the same breath she had.craved him for so long, not even she could deny him his wish. Unable to speak, she simply nodded and kissed him back, a gesture that spoke volumes of her needs. And where as the courtesan portion of her knew how to pleased she left herself vulnerable for him, and went to her more based instincts as simple, intimate gestures had her smoothing her hands down his back side, while her lips became more palpable as she slipped in some tongue and clung to him as she kissed him with need.

It felt like it had been years since Bishop last remembered the touch of a woman and he was both hesitant and tantalized by her touch.  He trembled beneath her hands, even as they simply ghosted down his back, and whimpered against her lips.  Still he kissed her with need and reached down, releasing her for but a moment to unbutton the confines of his shirt, pulling it over his head before meeting her lips again.

Smiling through a kiss, she fumbled over her own attire, but it seemed her belt and buttons were proving difficult as she grunted in frustration beneath their heated kisses.

"Don't worry," Bishop murmured against her, feeling her fumbling hands.  "Just feel me...touch me.  I've missed you beyond what words could express."  He was breathless and crawled over her, his hands pushing the collar of her shirt off her shoulder, kissing her flesh fervently.

At his words and at his touch, she melted through a sigh. How long had it been since they had shared a bed and made love? Excitement coursed through her like heated bolts of lightning as she craned her neck to give him better access all the while her hands explored and smoothed down his back.

Bishop's hand move with an unknown expertise.  He felt along her, knowing her body better than any man had any right to.  But he was the only man that had the right, though he knew she'd had others.  Many others even as he felt along her hips.

Still she tasted just as sweet, felt just as wonderful against him that he didn't care about her past lovers.  He found the buttons and easily removed them, glad only to have this woman back where she belonged.  With him. 

He kissed her with increasing excitement and zeal and let his rough hands ghost up along her sides beneath the cloth he'd undone.

So long had it been and so long it had taken for Helena Rhys and her husband to become naked again. Though they had not connected, drawing out the sensual moments of.touching skin here, tasting flesh there, it lit her body on fire. The fore play was ecstasy enough, and his rough hands and beard scraping her flesh felt like heaven. And as her own soft hands explored him, her eyes eventually sought to his as she wrapped arms and legs around him and kissed him fierce.

"By the Gods Bishop, how I love you," she moaned as her hands smoothed.up his back.

Her touch lip his flesh in a blaze.  Bishop had only one thought on his mind and that was to make love to the woman he'd once called his wife, who'd hunted him, protected him and loved him still despite it all.  Her touch drove him insane and her words made him kiss her with a possessive hunger, moaning softly when she wrapped her legs about his hips.

Bishop pressed his body down to hers and gripped at her sides, the palm of his hand sliding down her legs when at last he joined with her.  There was no hesitation, no reservation and that made the moment all the sweeter.

When the moment came at long last, Helena arched her back while throwing back her head and closing her eyes tightly. The muscle of her sex clamped shut, too, making his entry felt by all as his entire length slipped within her. Inside, she'd feel like hot velvet, and her sex nursed on the feeling of having his own sex within her as she moaned.
"Gods.. Bishop.." her voice barely croaked out as her fingers move to tangle into his hair. "Gods, this feels like heaven."

It was a bliss he never thought he'd feel again when he slipped inside of her.  She felt so soft around him and her muscles only made him quiver in ecstasy.  "Helena," he breathed against her, moving in and out, kissing her hungrily.  "Call....me...Maddox.  That's my name.  What you used to call me when we first met.  Gods...I've missed you so."

At his claims, she writhed beneath him, a breath hitching in her throat as she arched leftward, to right.
"Maddox.." came her voice, barely a breath as her finger nails dug lightly down his back as she dragged them across his skin. "Gods... that felt like ages ago. Like a land of make believe," she moaned, not daring to move her body, lest the perfect angle of their sex be lost as she felt her husband move gently within her.
And she was soaking wet, nothing would hold him back, except when she'd occasionally tense up her sex to let him feel a closer proximity of her walls.

"It has been ages," Bishop grunted and captured her lips within his own.  He kissed her hard, feeling the walls of her sex enveloping him softly, gently.  The sensation was overwhelming and he felt his breast swell with love for the woman beneath him. 

Her eyes closed more tightly beneath his ministrations.
"Gods, Maddox.." she said, tightening her grip into his hair. "Gods, every inch of you feels wonderful." And like a match, with each stroke inside her, she felt herself become hotter and hotter, her body at the mercy to each motion, each sensual stroke as they continued to join, they continued to love, they continued to breed.

He was writhing beneath her touch and he kissed her neck fervently as they continued to make love.  It felt raw and beautiful, the unbridled want for her. Her breath and every sound she made drove him onward, feeling the muscles of her sex nurse on him.  Bishop leaned over her, meeting her forehead with his, he breathed hard, lost in momentary bliss.  But he began to move faster, more intently, loving every moment he was wrapped within her embrace.

As the moment grew more.intense, their forms melted.together beneath the fire's of passion. No longer were they a man and woman, but a.force united in mind and body through the raw power of love. And when it was all she could stand, she soon found herself screaming his name in sweet ectasy as her body lit up and her back arched as her finger's gripped onto his muscles before dragging down harshly across his skin.

"By the God's Maddox, Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Her very muscles wrapping around his member made him tremble and writhe in ecstasy.  He came as she did, unable to contain himself any longer when the sensations became increasingly too much to bear.  "Helena!" he cried out, completely at ease with being vulnerable to her.  "Gods..."

She felt him in their moment of bliss and.clung to him more intensely. And then, just like that she was laying beside him in a pile of sweat and haggered breaths.
"Gods, Maddox.." she whispered, twisting her fingers into his hair as she.muzzled against his.throat. "That was perfect."

His beard scratched her face as he turned his head to face hers.  His breath splayed across her skin and he softly kissed her neck.  Bishop's eyes glowed and he smiled out at her.  "I love you...  We'll start anew, fresh.  We'll get through this.  And start again."

"Well, if we.keep having moments like this it.ought to be easy," she said through a breathy laugh as.she kissed his cheek.

Bishop fell in beside her and gave her a satisfied smile.  His roughened hand stroked her cheek, following the design of her jawline and he couldn't help but chuckle.  "We both know we'd be hard-pressed for that to happen.  Try as we might to control our fate, all we can do is survive together to keep the walls from closing in on the both of us.  I'm sorry I didn't trust you before."

Her expression still soft became more serious as she turned towards him and cupped his face.
"No, do not.apologize for that. I would not have trusted me either," And as she looked into his eyes, she found herself drawing in a careful breath, "I was not myself before... I became another person, though it was against my will and I was not in my right mind... Bishop, I would have killed you."
Traces of tears glowed across her eyes as her hands found his and she gave them a squeeze.
"But I need you to promise me something, Bishop," she asked, her eyes reaching deep into his. "If it happens again.... Please do not hesitate to kill me..."

Bishop's lip quivered at her words, but he couldn't bring himself to answer.  All he could do was hold her hand to his face and he nodded, trembling until he could collect himself once again.  True, she was not in the right state of mind.  She was under the control of her master, until that night she'd run away, that night it all came back to her.  But then he remembered something else.

"The birdcage," he found himself murmuring.  "I remember the birdcage...  It broke...and all these little birds flew out... It sounded like birds, a fluttering of feathers.  Only I saw nothing.  Just a lone feather falling to the ground."

"Come on, we best get out of here..." Helena said, affording him a soft smile and look with her eyes, finally dried of tears as she rose to her feet and turned to leave-
but that's when he spoke and brought up the bird cage and she froze. Turning to him, she furrowed her brow.
"What did you say?"

Bishop blinked at her and sat up.  "The-the bird cage," he whispered to her before standing up and gathering his clothes, putting them on haphazardly.  "The one I found in your master's manor."

Her eyes met to Bishop's as she thought over what he said, before her lips fell open.
"And the feather.. what of the dropped feather?" she asked, her voice barely over a whisper.

"It faded and disappeared as soon as it touched the ground," Bishop's voice wavered.  "I-I think.  I can't really remember, it was so long ago.  What was in that cage?  Why did it seem so important to your master?"

Helena remained silent for a time as tears welled up within her eyes.
"Damien, my master, he.." she said, her throat going tight as she blinked back tears. "He used cages to trap souls. Like one cages a bird, he used that as his symbol." And she turned to look at him, her eyes wavering. "The feather... and the sounds that you heard.. that was the sounds of my soul..."
And if it were gone, she had both hopes and fears for what that meant.
For if it was gone, it could mean she had been freed.
Or, if it was gone, it had simply gone back to him- and he needed it's body to join with it so he could cage her once again.

And she found herself trembling and her visions going bleary as hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Your soul?" Bishop asked quietly.  He moved toward her, watching her expression.  He touched her shoulder softly before the realization came.  "You mean your memories?  Is that why everything we did vanished?  I set them free.  But...but what if he's captured them again?"

Helena nodded at his words.
"Yes." And at his last questions, she slowly shook her head.
"It's happened before.." she said, tears spilling down her face as her lips trembled as she sadly smiled. "He can do it again."

The idea seemed a bit beyond Bishop's understanding, but he knew better than to think little of it.  For it explained so much, how she'd tried to kill him, how she was so easily manipulated, how they found her again.  Bishop bit his lip and brushed away her tears.  "Then what other choice do we have than to keep moving," he replied in a low voice.

But he suddenly froze when soft noises occurred beneath the windmill, resounding up through the acoustic pillar and he put a hand over his mouth, a panic threatening to set it.

Helena looked up into her husband's face, then moved towards the edge. Peering outside, she caught the shape of a man, but not who it was before he disappeared beneath them. Holding her breath,s he tried to think who could have found them in such a place-but perhaps they wree not the only ones who used this abandon mill as homage?

Turning to Bishop, she motioned fo rhim to remain quiet as she tried to listen to see where the man had gone.

But she wouldn't get that chance when Bishop moved from his spot, listening on his own accord to the sound of the wind sweeping outside.  But it was little more than rustle and Bishop wouldn't waste anymore time as he gathered his things and packed them up, not about to let what valuable items he had go to waste.  "Let's get out of here," he mouthed to Scarlet Bird.  "While we still have the chance and made for the ladder heading down to the ground floor.

Before he could descend, she grabbed him by the shoulders. "Maddox!" she hissed. "But I saw someone down there!"

Bishop paused at her warning and he stopped at the ladder, peering down it and seeing no one within that vicinity.  He stared for a long time, eyes trained to the dark and still saw nothing.  "But the coast is clear," he whispered back to her, gesturing her to look as well.  "We can't stay here.  How else can we get down?"

Placing a hand upon Bishop's shoulder she looked into his eyes.
"I know how to fight, how to kill, Maddox. If someone is down there... at least let me go down first to see."

Bishop could feel his jaw clenching a little, that familiar desperation, so used to having survived on his own, he didn't know if he could adapt to relying on another to protect him.  But soon he resigned and nodded to her to go down first.  "Be careful please."  He gripped her arm.  "I don't want to lose you again."

Helena looked up at him as she smiled warmly and cupped his cheek.
"DO not worry about me. If I survived this far, I can survive a bit longer."And she leaned forward to kiss him before pulling away. "I love you." And she squeezed his hand before releasing it and moving to the ladder. She took a moment to survey the scene before she made her way to the bottom seeming with no problem at all. But down there, things were covered in shadows, and she gestured for Bishop to wait while she inspected the lower level of the mill.

But even as she waited the shadows did not move and Bishop waited in the wings.  Yet when he felt he could wait no longer, he moved quietly toward the twirling arms of the windmill that slowly creaked as they turned again and again.  The noise was perfect cover for now and Bishop - now alive and well - could use that to shimmy down toward the ground, at least without the risk of alerting whoever was following them.  It was worth a shot, so when the arm came around, he latched onto it, capable of holding weight long enough until the  arm came down toward the ground.

It was then that he let himself drop and was amazed he did not sprain his ankle.  But he was covered in the comfort of long grass only for a moment before he felt someone come from behind him and try to grab him.  A cloth muffled his cries, and a sack was pulled over his head  And all he saw before that was the soft light of a match igniting the darkness, and the end of a cigar before everything went black.

And in that moment, Chagall had a smug grin on his face.  Come out, come out, little bird.

Not realizing anything had become of her husband, Helena made her way back towards the ladder and peered up. She gestured for Bishop to come down- but when there was no answer, she frowned.
"Bishop," she hissed. "The coast is clear. We must hurry."
Though at the silence, she felt the chill of something more. A hand went to her side, a subtle knife slipped out from beneath her skirts as her green eyes regarded the darkness. But she saw nothing.

"Bishop?" she whispered. But it was clear by the feeling within her that something was really very, very wrong.

Chagall slowly stepped forth, the end of his smoke lighting as he did so.  "Little Bird," he said softly.  "Did you really think you could get away?  Easy now.  No quick moves.  Wouldn't want to lose your precious lover now would you?"

Helena tensed and her eyes widened in recognition of the cigarette's light- and to whom it was possessed. The narrowing her eyes, she lifted her chin.
"What do you want, Chagall."
Might as well get to the point. If he had her husband, the ball was in his court.

"Come out, and come quietly," he said calmly, having no real reason to fear.  "Try anything and I'll turn him into soup."  He flashed a grin at her.  "So be a smart little Bird and drop that shining blade in your hand."

There was no reason to deny Chagall's request, and without hesitation, she let her knife drop onto the floor with a clatter before stepping out into the light.
"Do with me as you will, Chagall, but leave my husband out of it. You've got what you want now let him go."

"Of course I have what I want.  And you know nothing about that, Little Bird.  I always get what I want.  Take them both away.  Time to clear up this unfinished business," Chagall ordered andssmoked calmly as his men moved forth to overpower Scarlet Bird and drag her away with Bishop toward the wagon.

Scarlet Bird had little choice as she was taken into custody by his 'ghouls'. But she wasn't without spunk in her, casting a fiery, venomous look his way before turning to witness her husband being carried off to the same wagon. She cast him a look, curious as to how this happened, and also if he was alright, but it was difficult to tell, the poor dear had a bag over his head! And soon enough- she did too.

With his quarry restrained and being carted off in the wagon, Chagall soon followed.  He rode on the back with the prisoners as was his wont.  They always tried something fishy, even when they were bound, trying to hatch plans of escape, of defiance.  And sometimes his men weren't always reliable in keeping them properly restrained.  So it was always good to make sure they were himself.  That he needed time to muse by himself, with the others in the front or riding behind them on quiet steeds.

Bishop's breathing was quiet as if he were sleeping peacefully, and Chagall gave a twisted grin at the small, lithe man.  What did someone like the Little Bird see in a man like that?  He didn't know, but he supposed he was going to find out soon enough.  He would start with him.

Chagall had every right to worry about his captives escaping, for Scarlet Bird wasn't without her tricks, though even she was having trouble against the bindings that held her was she tried to wrestle discretely with a way out. But this sort of rope cut into her wrists and hurt like hell, and her body, held in such a position that she was feeling her toes tingling and going numb. Had she not endured such pains before, she'd be in a state of panic, but for now her heart was racing as she wriggled lightly, trying to the best of her ability to find some semblence of freedom- but it was to no avail, and she realized she was at the mercy of Chagall and what he planned to do to them scared her to the bone. Frustrated and defeated, she let out an angered sigh as she wilted against the steed she was restrained to- and that's when she realized escaping might be something as simple as scaring a horse-
the only problem was- could it work? And could she do it without bringing harm upon herself- and her husband.

[They're not on horses.  They're in the back of a wagon.]

And so Chagall watched her struggle against her restraints and gave a smirk.  She was desperate as ever, refusing to give up without a fight.  He said nothing and did not tell them his presence was not just another grunt. But his eyes surveyed her.  The Little Bird...HIS Little Bird. Her master, his pride and joy.  He would want her back...and in one piece and Chagall wondered just if he was so inclined to give her back to him...  He didn't work for him after all, just that one time those many years ago...  That was the time when he and The Little Bird had shared some warm furs before a steaming fireplace...  He wondered if she would ever consider doing so again.

Ooc: well pffffffffft!

------

His presence was something she didn't have to.hear to realize was there, for it was like the chill of autumn, assumed and felt, and not always seen, but crisp and.biting all.the same, and the moment she realized he was watching her, she felt uneasy as she resettled back into her place of.prison in the back of the wagon that jostled and rattled as it moved along the trail. Though she said nothing, her sudden change in.posture warranted enough words unspoken.to share exactly how she felt towards her captive, and displeasure and distaste were definitely among such words to.discribe her prickled dispostion as her frown and haughty breath was evident even through the bag that was nearly suffocating her with heat.

The bag was thin enough that suffocation really wasn't really an option bur knowing she was was breathing hard made Chagall smile a grim grin of safiscation.  He said nothing when at last the carriage gave pause in it's path and he jumped from the back of the carriage to the front, discussing something with his men.

In the back Bishop gave a sudden cough that jerked his whole body and he struck Helena with his bound legs.  He was breathing hard, hypervenitilating, and unable to keep himself calm.

Scarlet had heard Chagall exit the carriage and has been straining her ears to hear what he.might be saying when she felt herhusband strike her legs as she gasped. It wasn't until she realized he was panicking did her own mind whirl back to their predicament and she inched her body closer to his.
"Maddox," she whispered desperately. "Please calm your breathing lest you harm yourself . Please!" She just hoped her soothing tone and the urgency in her voice could reason with him, lest he work himself up into a true panic, that of which she knew Chagall would love to see him suffer.

Bishop, once he heard her voice, visibly calmed down and his breathing was quick and short as he leaned forward, trying to see her through the darkness of the bag on his head, but he couldn't and grunted in frustration.  "Helena," he whimpered pathetically, "I can't see anything... I can't breathe...  I can't...  I"

"Take long deep breaths!" her voice commanded as it cut in. "Nice and slow. And close your eyes, pretend we are somewhere else. Imagine us back at home, near the hearth making stew. You did always love our.chive and homemade chicken stew..."

"I can't!  I can't," he breathed pathetically, sobbing even.  He tried but he couldn't for the life of him allow his mind to drift away from their current predicament.  He tried to steele himself, tried to make himself prepare for what was to come.  It had happened all before, but it didn't make him any less afraid.  "Helena...if this is the last time I can speak to you...I just want you to know -"

"Shut up, you two," Chagall's voice growled at both of them.  "Don't get all sentimental on me now."

Scarlet felt her own tears come out, though from.frustration as she felt so helpless now to help her husband.  If only she could have been more prepared to avoid this, but they were already knee deep. Struggling, she ignored Chagall's biting words and curled up closer to her husband, finding only soft words in hopes to sooth him.
"Please, just try, Maddox," she pleaded, her voice soft and lightly cracking. "Just close your eyes. Focus on breathing, in and out..."

But Bishop did not respond to her and instead kept breathing heavily and Chagall grew frustrated and stepped back into the carriage as it got moving again.  All that could be heard was a loud thud and a grunting sound on Bishop's behalf and he wouldn't be able to answer for quite a while.

Helena's heart fell like a cold rock into her belly, and while she was gaping beneath the bag, her blood was also boiling towards Chagall. She could only hope that she'd be able to come up with some sort of plan to get at least her husband out of this mess; but if she knew Chagall well, which she did, that sort of plan might be high near impossible. Men like Chagall wanted only a few small things from life, and Helena was pretty sure she'd like none of what he'd command.

Still silence bleed into the night as the wagon continued on its path.  Chagall said nothing and that made Bishop all the more afraid.  He learned to still his breath by force and simply laid beside Helena, nursing his ribs where Chagall had kicked him, and kicked him hard.  It was a long ride still to go, and he didn't wish to die so soon.

Once she noted her husband had calmed, she eventually made her way nearer towards him, though she was cautious at first. She didn't want to startle him, but the moment her body touched his, she felt her own tears form in her eyes, for she knew if it weren't for her duel life as a killer, they would not be in this mess.

Crying would do either of them no good.  And pretty soon the carriage stopped and Bishop was hoisted up and out from the back by one of the grunts.  Another came for Scarlet Bird and threw her over his shoulder.  There was no verbal communication between the Chagall and his men.  There never had to be lest the two over hear something they would regret.

There was a noise of metal moving, something that might have sounded like an iron gate and a horrid smell came into Bishop's nose, stinging his senses and he coughed harshly.  Chagall came in behind them and quietly closed the gate as they entered the cavern tunnels.  They were close to what seemed to be a sewer and the smells leaked in through the stone and mortar.

And into the darkness they vanished, walking on.

It was the unknown aspect of.their fate that ate away at her, and she tensed when a man began to carry her like a sack of potatoes. She could have tried something, the smell giving away.their location, for she only knew of one such place where the sewers would open and invite trouble, for this was not the first time she had been here before... And it took every ounce of her being to fight off her instincts to try to attack now. After all, even she knew how hopeless itmight be,aand she was forced to bide her time and wait...

Unlike Scarlet Bird, Bishop was not so eager to fight and instead he made no movement as he held his breath when they took them both into the tunnels.  His heart was beating into his ears and if he wasn't careful he was going to pass out.  He took small sips of air, for it was putrid and suddenly he felt himself being dropped hard on the ground.

There was no sound or squeal of iron gates moving, but Bishop could feel the rush of air and the click of a latch and lock.  He hadn't known it, but his bindings on his wrists had been removed and he carefully reached up toward the rag on his head, and he pulled it off.  The room was lit by a series of candles surrounding the cage.  Scarlet Bird was thrown into a similar cage beside his and Bishop flew to the bars.

But as he did so, he immediately retreated, screaming in agony as he peered at his hands, burning at the blades that had been placed on the bars, cutting into his palms.

The moment she was thrown into a cage, she grabbed onto the parchment over her head and yanked the bag clean off. The remaining bits of her hair fell in a mess about a her face, and at ther husband's screams, she turned towards him with a flinch from where she remained on her knees. Noting that they were in opposing cages, and neither very friendly looking, she shot her eyes out angrily towards Chagall before she kicked the lower edge of her cage.

"Let us out of here!" she demanded, with as much power as she could muster inside her voice. "You know if you had not deceived us, you yourself might have been dead by now." For it had almost been proven before that Scarlet Bird could probably kill Chagall, but in truth- they were at about the same level, and when they were pit together after the same target, Chagall was lucky she had let him live- even if the consequences and reasons were interesting at best. But then again, she had become the Scarlet Bird, and Helena never associated herself with that ego as the same person, for becoming a puppet and doing things against her own will surely did not warrant that she could be to blame. It was just unfortunate that if now, if she were to fight him, she mght not be able to use such skills her master had her 'mastering' all those years ago when he had found her and made her his own.

Chagall stared at Scarlet Bird with hard eyes and his expression was nothing more than cool nonchalance, as was wont of him.  He did not smile and instead the iron of his eyes turned only to what seemed to be pity as he peered at her.  She kicked the cage and made her demands, but he just stood there as if he were little more than a statue and took a deep, exhausted breath.

"Yes, well.  We all make mistakes," he replied in a soft voice, quite unbecoming of him.  "And I fully intend to rectify those inequities."  He tilted his head as he exchanged glances with Bishop and then quietly departed the room.  The chamber seemed all the more dim with his passing and Bishop felt himself begin to tremble as he slid down toward the floor, knowing what their fate was.

He couldn't bear to even look at Helena in the cage across from him.  Instead, his eyes followed the design of the cage, for he hadn't noticed it before but the bars were lined with razored edges, blades that had cut into his palm.  Even so much as bumping into the bars would place miniscule cuts into your flesh.  It seemed easy to avoid touching them, until his eyes honed in on the many holes lining the walls, each perfectly fitted to slip inbetween the bars and either gore them or drive them back against the bars.  A few cuts perhaps, wouldn't hurt, but many cuts over time and again, would make one bleed profusely.

Bishop could hear the sound of gears moving and his eyes turned toward the spikes as he saw three of them plunge for him.  He instinctively leapt backwards and felt his back run along the bars near the door of the cage and he cried out when the small edges pierced through his clothing and into his back.

Helena's eyes were equally harsh as they glared back towards Chagall, even long after his form had disappeared. She knew what he was after- to finish the job. And like all good, trained assassin, he would see it done. Letting out a scream after he left, Helena rattled about within her cage, keeping ever cautious of the blades, but once she heard the gears, her body stiffened as she realized how they were to go.

And when spikes thrust out from the walls in attempts to gore her husband, she had almost not dodged a pair of her one as one cut harshly into her arm and sent Scarlet Bird reeling into the sides of her cage, which only served to cut her along the front as she cried out in pain.

Bishop was bleeding and trying to nurse his wounds as he managed to step around more spikes that threatened to shove him into the razor edged wall.  "Helena!" he bellowed.  "Helena...  Help me...please..."  But he knew the futility of his cries, that there was no way she could help him.  The palms of his hands were sliced across and his fingers were etched open here and there and he laid across the ground, trying to keep his hands from bleeding too much.

Helena... Helena... Oh how he begged for Helena when what he really needed was the dangerous, cunning thinking of Scarlet Bird. And upon realizing this, she grit her teeth and down cast her gaze, trying to focus, trying to block out his cries for help and think back to the resourcefulness of her alter ego.

Scarlet Bird was not a woman to go anywhere without a plan, and once she recalled the thin, needle like blade in her boot, she thrust her hand into the sole and slipped the delicate blade out. Not wasting any time, she worked desperately at picking the lock, when the next series of spikes from the wall began to come for them and she cried out, "Maddox! Look out!" She could only pray that he'd dodge in time.

The call came too late and Maddox felt the tip of the spears gouging deep into his side.  He was stunned for the longest moment until his front hit the bars and he stared at the Scarlet Bird for the longest time before collapsing to the bottom of the cage.

Panicked, Scarlet Bird dropped the needle and it nearly rolled clean out of the cage. Swearing,s he was on her knees and scrambling, avoiding the spikes trying to gorge her while uncaring that her hands were becoming scraped by the blades on the cage bars. She found the lock again quick and worked at it, and after a series of sweats and swears, the lock gave and fell tt he ground. Kicking the door open, she leaped out and was over by Maddox's cage as quick as she could, but the wound her husband suffered had her gaping.

Hot, salted tears welled up within her eyes. She knew she had to act fast, and she could only hope she wasn't too late as she took up the needled blade and dug it into his lock. Much more swiftly this one came undone, and soon the door swung open as she crawled inside to wrap her arms around her husband.
"Oh, Maddox, I'm so sorry,"s he sobbed, and with paying careful attentions to his wounds, she looked into his eyes.
"Can you walk?" And her eyes flcikered around the room for some means to escape. "We've got to find a way out of here.."
BUt how?

The wound on his side was gaping and bleeding profusely and Bishop trembled from the shock and pain of such a wound.  The spear had gouged him just underneath the ribs and had gone in deep.  When Scarlet Bird rushed to him, he mumbled in pain, spit pouring from the side of his mouth.  "I...I can try," he coughed and reached up to hold his side, putting as much pressure on it as he could.

She grimaced to see such a wound. There was so much blood and it was evident the wound was deep.
"Hold still.." and she moved back to rip a portion of her own dress, the rip was aggressive and quick as she jerked her arm until she felt a good amount of it tear off.
"Here.." Moving beside him, she placed the clothe over the wound. "On three, we'll get you off of this. Ok?" And her green eyes sought to his, her other hand threading with his other free one before she began the count down.
"One.... two..... three."

There was a sickening noise as her husband was slipped off the spike, but she was quick to press the clothe over the wound and hold onto him.
"Just lean into me. Use me as your support. Now we have to step down. Are you ready?" And knowing he might not ever be, she took this moment to guide him onto the floor.

She knew he was in pain. And that this was only one step towards their freedom. Now that they were out of their cages, how would they get out of hte room? There was not a window and the dangers were moving fast. There was only one door. Might as well try that. Guiding Bishop along with her, her eyes took in the iron frame work with a frown.

"Shit."
It didn't appear as if there was any sort of lock to pick.

Bishop held the ripped cloth of her dress on his side as securely as he could and panted, feelin exhausted even by slow movements such as walking.  Stepping from the platform of the cage was a taxing endeavor that left him breathless and cling to her as if she were his legs and he had none for himself.

The door proved an interesting obstacle, with no lock, no knob, and not even a slit to see who was on the other side.  Bishop peered at the iron piece with glazed eyes.  "Under...the floor boards.  Maybe we can dig through the dirt underneath," he suggested, but was half delirious as he did so.

Scarlet Bird sunk her teeth into her lips. Shit. This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all. Adjusting the weight and hold she had on Bishop, she removed his arm from over her shoulder as she guided him to his knees with her.
"Here, sit while I see what can be done."
And her finger nails scratched frantically at the boards, trying to dig in around the edges to find a weak spot while her heart was drumming and hammering within her chest. The first board proved fruitless, as did the second, and the third, was almost worthless to try as finger nails dug into the dirt lacquering it's contours before she paused, frustratedly and raked a hand through her hair.
"Gods, none of these care coming loose!"

Bishop was at a loss and at his wife's exclamation, he grew pale and hopeless.  He slumped against the wall of the tunnel, blood seeping from his wounds and painted the wall red as he slid down against the floorboards in an increasing lack of strength.  "Then all is lost," he breathed.

Seeing her husband's weakened state, she picked herself off the floor and wrapped an arm around him to keep him steady, then pulled him forward in an attempt to offer him comfort where she could.
"Maddox, please,"s he implored, eyes seeking his as she held him in a light embrace. "There is always hope,"s he assured him, taking his hand and lightly squeezing it, though she was careful of the cuts, but even still, she noted the blood from his hand catching onto hers as she looked down.
"Here, sit here, against the floor. I'll keep looking and searching until I find a way to get us out." And that, her tone promised.

Bishop nodded vigorously to her and grunted with extreme effort to lean down against the wall.  He began to tremble, convulsing even as he focused on his breathing and trying not to bleed out.

Once he was seated, Scarlet Bird tucked back some of her hair. Though she had cut it short, it was already beginning to grow out. Her hair did have a knack for growing exceedingly fast.
"Focus on your breathing," she told him, placing a gentle hand to his cheek. "We'll get out of this." And she smiled, just for him and kissed his lips ever so softly.
"Just breath."

Though Bishop had never laid a hand on Scarlet Bird in retaliation, only then did his hand come up and shove her away in frustration and irritation.  "Find...find a way out!" he begged her, feeling himself bleeding out.  "I don't want to die in here!"

Scarlet Bird's attempt to sooth wasn't just for him, but herself as well. Though at his reminder, she only set her jaw and nodded.
"Calm down. We'll find a way out. The more you panic, the faster you'll lose blood."
Then turning from him, she wen tback to searching the floor boards, but as it was before, there didn't see to be any loose- that was until she swore as a chipped floor board gave her a splinter. But as she moved to pluck it out, she realized.. if there was a crack in the wood- there was a way out.

Smoothing her hand along the surface, she applied pressure to the middle. The wood was rotted. And as she guided her hands along the sides- she noted- one end was loose. Digging her fingers into the sides, she pried the wood up, grunting as she did so and Bishop would have been able to hear the floor board buckle- but after a time, it finally gve, the middle snapping and soon, seh was throwing aside the other half.

"I found something. Let me remove the boards around it and find out if we've got our escape route or not."
And digging her hands beneath the floor boards all around it, she made quick work to producing an opening, and - feelin ga breeze coming from beneath, she almost laughed.

"There's jus ta few feet of air and dirt beneath us. We should be able to crawl." Turning to Bishop though, her smile turned into a frown.
"Do you think you've got the strength for it?"

Bishop had not been panicking.  He had been focusing on remaining calm, or trying to, putting pressure on his side where the spear had struck deep.  His hands were covered in blood from the small cuts that dotted his palms and fingers and along his front as well, where the bars had cut through the cloth of his shirt front, his vest, his flesh.  Tears of pain and frustration painted his face and he sobbed softly in the time it took her to find the source of a draft.

He had not been upset with her for trying to comfort him.  Only that she was wasting precious seconds in trying to console a dying man.  They didn't have time to conversation, to cuddle, or kiss or embrace in bliss.  Bishop nodded fervently to her when she found a hole and he struggled to move, wincing and choking out a cry when he shifted from his seated position.

He dropped to the ground, trying to use one arm to pull him through the hole, but the effort was too much.

Moving underneath the floor boards, she grunted and shifted, scraping knees against the hard dirt before she finally made her way to his side.
"Here, let me help you," and she took the lead, groping their way trough the dark- she eventually say a faint light at the end of the way, and by the time the pair painfully crawled their way towards it, she realized what it was.

"It's a grate. Here.." Removing her arms from her husband, she let her hands traced against the sides of it-a nd to her surprise, the grate was so well rusted, it popped out of the wall with ease.

Daylight broke through and washed across the pair of them- nearly blinding her as she laughed.
"Oh, Gods. It seems we've made it." And turning to Bishop, she placed a hand over his.
"It looks like we'll be ok. Now here, take your time, and I'll help you get out of here."

Bishop was trembling by the time he managed to crawl out the grate, he was cold and clammy and the sunlight felt like acid on his skin.  He fell down in a mud heap and moaned, trying to keep his side clean, but to no avail.   "No...no we're not safe.  Not yet!" he managed to croak.  "We stikk have many times to go."

Scarlet Bird kept her arm thrown around his shoulders as she had him lean into her for support.
"Shh, do not speak that way. But I know what you mean." she pressed her lips together as she frowned. "But we will be. Trust me. We will find a way."
There was always a way.

Her eyes sought desperately to the wilderness around them, and keeping him supported as best she could, she began to walk out into the unknown.

Bishop leaned heavily against her and each step had him dragging his feet. "Scarlet Bird..." he whispered harshly.  "I..I can't go on much longer.  I'm slowing you down.  I-I'm dying Helena."  Bishop felt his legs grow limp and he dropped to his knees.  "I'm not gonna make it."

She tensed when he called her by her alter ego.
"Please.. to you, I'm Helena," she whispered. But at his last words, her eyes lifted to his as she held him tighter. "DO NOT say that!" she cried. "Nothing is lost. We just have to get through this. We'll find a way." There always had to be a way. And as they were pushing through the forests, she saw a lot at the end of the way. "Look... Bishop.. " she nudged him softly nad gestured with her head. "Down the way. There's a light. There must be a road! I see a carriage approaching. Oh, they might be able to help!"

And hugging her husband more tightly against her, she tried to call out, arms waving, "Over here! HERE! Please!" and the light was suddenly shown their way as the carriage came to a halt. "Please! Over here! We need help!"

Bishop was fading fast and he felt his body grow number by the second.  His hands had grown cold, at least to his own touch and the pain was becoming too intense.  It was said if the shock didn't kill you, the pain was surely to finish the job.  It was too much for him to bear.  He closed his eyes and suddenly passed out against his will.  He was breathing still, but it was fast and light and he didn't know if he could hold onto the last threads of life much longer.

He didn't feel himself being moved onto the carriage, but vaguely opened his eyes and registered the sky passing over him.  He blinked again and saw a man and a woman's face that weren't his and Helena's.  Strangers?  The owners of the carriage.  He closed his eyes once last time and passed out once more.

In the corner she practiced, twirling around, stretching out her leg higher, higher, then higher still as she held it. Light cast in through the window where she danced,a nd again she turned, twirled and skirts followed around her legs before they swept around and carried her to the edge of the bed where she paused, her hands, once poised over her head, slowly lowering as she peered down at the unconscious form of her husband- Maddox Rhys.

How long had they been here? Cooped up in some unknown town? And she- having stayed at his side, on the bed, holdig his hands as stars and moons and suns passed over heads.

Time had no effect, she did not car-e she only wished to see him better. Healers upon healers had come to see him-

"Just rest now" they said. "And prayers."

That morning,s he had risen to the golden glow of the sun- her mind on the daughter they losta nd the pain she could not bear if she were to lose him too. Squeezing his hand, she kissed his cheeks.
"For you, I'll dance for you," she told him, wiping back her tears and rising off the bed. She knew, even if he were to die, he would not want her to waste away. She hadn't eaten anything, but remained there, her hand rarely leaving his and her head, never leaving hte pillow they shared.

So now, with the light coming into the room, and she, poised at the end of her dance, she turned t him and trembled through a smile.
"That dance was something I taught Lora,"s he told him, eyes shining wtih tears. "It was something she and I used to do tgether. Remember- remember when we broke the vase and then the clock from the wall. Our kicks were too high." nad she laughed and turned away from him, but tears consumed her as she fell into silence, her back to him.

Why wouldn't he come back to her? Why would he not wake up? She feared the worst- he had lost too much blood-

But gods be damned if she would not fight nad remain at his side until the end.
Gods be damned if he'd die because of her.

His hands were roughened from years of work.  The smell of freshly cut cedar filled his workshop.  His palms were covered in saw dust and sunlight played upon them as they danced, they fell to the ground.  Fresh wood chips fell to the floor as well and crunched underneath the weight of his boots.  The hammer was held in one hand and rang out as it hit the head of the chisel.  He always liked this kind of work.  It was calming, a solace away from all the troubles of the world.

Bishop made a comfortable living from his carpentry.  He was patient and had an attention to detail most did not.  A lot of his work came from nobles requesting new furniture for their studies, dining rooms, libraries, common rooms, etc.  He always included that personal touch, that little something extra that kept them coming back.  With that, he was able to support his wife and daughter, the only lights of his life.

When the time for supper came around, he came into the house from his workshop, dusting his hands off on his pants and watched as they danced in the midday light.  Lora was always so graceful and his wife, always so beautiful.  They moved in unison with one another and Bishop watched as he grabbed his bowl of stew that had been boiling over the hearth.

"It took me a week to fix that clock..." he felt himself suddenly say.

Bishop blinked and suddenly the room became dark.  The visions of Helena and Lora dissipated and he gave an audible yelp.  His face winced and he reached down, feeling for a prick along his side.  He pulled his hand up to his face and saw it covered in the sticky substance of blood.  He grunted, groaned and suddenly felt ill.

"You...always liked to make me fix things for you...  It made you smile," his lips mumbled, but he stirred little more than that.

When Bishop spoke, Helena turned her head his way with a jerk, and at the second mumbling of words, tears filled her eyes.
"Bishop?" her words came out breathlessly as she clutched a hand to her chest. "Bishop, are you awake?"
And she moved nearer to him on the bed side, smoothing back his hair as her green eyes sought desperately to his.

Bishop only breathed harshly, his chest rising and falling rapidly.  "You forgot to wake me up again," he heard his mouth saying.  "I was supposed to deliver the carved chest early in the morning.  But you told me to sleep in and we rolled in the bed."  A smile faintly touched his lips.  "Don't you remember?"

Helena's breath caught in her throat as fear iced her skin. But at his words, his ramblings, she couldn't help but flush as she cupped a hand over her lips and began to cry.
If he was rambling, even in his feverish state- by the Gods, it meant he was at least still alive!

Moving away, she frantically brushed her tears and moved the pitcher of water and clay mugs nearer to the bed, then moved over to dip some cloth in a bucket of water as she placed a fresh, cool wet cloth over his forehead.

"Just rest now.." she whispered, but who knew if he could even hear her.

"No, no time.  I've got to go," he whispered.  "I've got things to do during the day.  While it's still day isn't it?  Time sure does fly...  It feels like day.  I think I'm going now, Helena.  It was nice speaking to you again."

"Go?" Her heart clenched with fear, but then she realized- was he only having a dream? Leaning in, she nestled in beside him on the bed.
"Go where you must..." she whispered, raking a hand through his wavy hair.

The delirium came and went over the next few days, as Bishop wavered in and out of consciousness.  He was pale, but he was not as cold as he once was and he gave a soft moan one morning as his eyes opened and he gently moved his fingers.  "Helena?" he whispered.  His vision was blurred and he couldn't make out anyone in great detail, but he could sense someone was close by.

At first, Helena did not stir- for she remained exhausted and nestled in at his side. But after a time, she felt his body move and slowly, she turned towards him as she breathed out a soft moan through closed lips.

"Bishop?" she spoke his name groggily, stretching in beneath the covers at his side. But then realizing, he was awake, she opened her eyes wider as she peered up at him.

"Bishop!" she sat up suddenly, a delicate hand cupping his cheek. "Praise the gods you are awake!"

Bishop physically winced at her touch though it was only on his face.  He gasped and opened his eyes further, seeing her more clearly than before.  "I...I am...  I guess.  What-what happened?  I can barely remember a thing," he murmured.

"Don't worry about it,"she told him, half smiling as she blinked back a few tears.
"Just know it was a nightmare best forgotten. I'll tell you when you're more healed and awake."

Bishop's lips were touched by a weakened smile as she spouted out tears.  "Why are you crying, my beautiful Helena?" he asked softly, weakly reaching a hand up to graze her cheek.

"Because I'm happy," she told him in but a whisper, words trembling as her hand cupped his face.
"How do you feel, my love?"

"Like I got trampled by horses," he said in a creaky voice.  "Did I?  Why does my side hurt so bad?"

"It was... something like that," she told him, biting into her lower lip as she watched him. He looked to be in so much pain.

Bishop grunted with some effort and every small movement hurt, at least a little.  It was really just a small throbbing pain that radiated out from his right side.  It made him shake a little, but he otherwise was awake and no longer bleeding as profusely as before.  "Well, I'm glad to see you again," he murmured, smiling a little.

"You have no idea how good it is that I can," she told him, her eyes sparkling with tears. "Do you think you could eat something? I could fetch you something."

"Food?  Um...I'm not really hungry," Bishop breathed.  "But I could use some water.  I'm parched.  I feel like I've been lying here for days."

"That's because you have," she told him, and moved to pour water from a nearby pitcher into a cup. "Here... just drink this. Once you are more rested, I can tell you everything that's happened."

He drank just small sips.  And was partly sated before laying his head back down again.  He peered off to the side of the room, taking it in in small details.  "Where are we?"

"Just a small village. I don't think we've ever been before. It's called Vasriss. It's a quaint little town- a small mill near the river,  a few small shops and farms... you'd like it."

"Vasriss..."  The name was unfamiliar too him and Bishop shook his head.  "But..we can't go outside, can we...  What..what country is this?  I don't recall the name."

Helena pressed her lips together as she frowned.
"Serendipity." And then more softly, she added, "We had never left."

Bishop laughed. "Maybe we should!" He gave her a pained smile.  "You saved me yet again..."

Helena gave him a warm smile in return at such a remark and brushed back a few new tears that formed.
"Maybe we should.." she told him, nestling in beside him. "Then we can start over.. really start over."

Bishop made a face at a sudden pang in his side and he looked down, pulling down the covers trying to see what it was that had wounded him.  "Gods...what happened?"

Helena flattened her lips as she thought over carefully how to explain everything. She didn't want to upset him.
"We... we had been attacked, Maddox," she told him, resting a hand gently on his arm. "We were lucky to have survived it and you passed out sometime well before we had gotten here."

Bishop was silent at her explanation and he observed his side.  His hand ran along his side before he hit the wound.  Giving her a nod, he turned his lips into a smile and he reached for hand.  "Thank Kia for you," he said and kissed her hand.

"I don't know if I'd be thanking me," she told him with a frown and brushed his hair away from his face. "I can't help but feel as if I'm only bad luck for you. Oh,  Maddox.." she cupped his face, looking into his eyes. "If only someone else had fallen in love with you." Maybe he woudl have been safer- lived a better life...

"Why would I want anyone else to fall in love with me?" he gave her a weak smile.  "I come to think only you could have loved me, Helena.  There is only one other person in the whole world for someone, someone you were specifically designed for.  Don't you believe that?"

Helena smiled at him as her eyes blurred with tears.
"Yes,"s he whispered. "And I believe you were made for me."
For in her eyes, Bishop Rhyas was perfect.

"And you for me," Bishop smiled softly.  He reached for her hand and squeezed it.  "Help me up,  I feel like I've bee laying down to years.  My back is stiff as a board."

Obliging, she helped Bishop to his feet, but remained close incase he got dizzy.
"Don't over do it now," she whispered to him. She squeezed his hand. "I've only just got you back. I'd hate to lose you again."

"You and me both," he gave a soft chuckle as he carefully climbed to his feet.  He stayed leaning against her, using her to support his weight.  Thankfully he was never a very large man, or he'd crush her, but now he just staggered to his feet and clung to the headboard of the bed with his other hand.  "My...my back.  Could you...crack it or something?"

Helena placed a hand to her lips, her cheeks turning pink as she gave him a doe-like smile.
"Bishop," she whispered. "I'd be afraid to hurt you." She then gestured to his body. "You've sustained a lot of injuries," she told him softly. "You've still got a ways to heal."

"Nonsense.  I'm as fit as a thoroughbred," he smiled, but gave a weakened laugh just as he fell back on the bed once more, groaning in mild pain.

She cast her green eyes down to him.
"Would you like a massage? I could be.. gentle,"s he offered.

Bishop looked at her with tired eyes.  "I would love a massage," he muttered with a crooked smile.  "Though, you'll have to turn me over."

Helena laughed and moved, gently turning him.
"Here.." she said, and did it nice and slow to ensure being on his belly did not hurt him.
"There.. now how are you feeling?" And lightly, she began to rub at his stiff shoulders.

Bishop eased down on his belly and smiled at Helena as she gently pressed her hands into his shoulders.  "A little stiff.  But I think you can take care of that.  How long was I lying in bed?"

She continued to massage her fingers into his shoulders as she whispered, hair tickling his shoulder and cheek, "Do you really want to know?"

"I asked didn't I?" Bishoped murmured, closing his eyes and trying to relax despite his stiff back.  Laying in bed left him much like the headboard and he didn't like it one bit.  He wanted to carve wood, not turn into a piece of one.

As a courtesan, her skills were more than refined in her fingers- and she worked at his back like a piece of clay. She felt all of the knots, all of the tension, and focused the harder, more potent rubs and massages there.
"It's been several days."

Bishop's eyes blinked tiredly out to the blank empty walls.  "It feels like it's been weeks."  At her ministrations, his back was already starting to feel better until her hand struck his side by accident and he winced from the tension here.

"Sorry," she whispered, and continued to work gently into his back.

"You're all right," Bishop murmured but relaxed into the bed, feeling the tension melt away.

As her husband began to relax, she continued to work at his muscles until she could have sworn he was about ready to drift off into slumber. Upon realizing this, she moved to lay beside him, her hair- now cropped short, began to fall over her eyes as she smiled and observed her husband.
"Do you really want to know what happened?" she whispered, eyes seeking his.

"I think enough secrets have been kept from me, so yeah I think I'd like to know," Bishop replied, and looked at her from the corner of his eye.

Helena kept her green gaze upon him and went quiet a moment before brushing a stray hair from his face.
"Chagall tried to kill us- and he would have succeeded. I'm not even sure how we really escaped. It all seemed like some terrible dream. But here we are. We are alive- and hopefully, he will stop hunting us."

Though she had a sinking sensation, he would not.
"Bishop I... I'm sorry. I know I'm not the wife you wanted me to be, I'm not even the same person you thought you married. I just hope I can make it up to you somehow- someday.."
She didn't know how. Who knew. Perhaps she could in another life?

"You saved my life," he murmured groggily, lamely reaching for her hand.  "What more could a man want from a woman than to know she would risk life and limb for him...?  I know Chagall will never leave us be.  Which is why I wanted to dismantle his entire network...his contacts, his friends, his enemies...to find out why I really was framed for all of this..."

"Oh Bishop.." A hand moved to brush his hair from his face.
"As much as I'd love those answers, to exact revenge- we... We just can't."

Bishop's eyes grew wide.  "Revenge?  I said nothing about revenge...  I-I just want answers, Helena...I want to know why me? Why us!"

Helena's face fell.
"Sometimes it's just a cruel act of fate, Bishop,"s he told him softly as she placed a comforting hand on his arm.

"I used to think that," he said with a soft, sad expression.  "But if that's the case.  Then why does fate seem to be hell bent on destroying us?  We have to control our own lives.  If we can't even do that...then what choices do we have?"

Helena's lips trembled as she tried to wear a smile for him- but she knew he was right. She gently cupped his cheek, a thumb brushing lightly across it.

"Then let us take control of the moment, Bishop. Let's find a place, a new place to call ours. And let's forget this part of our path and start a new in an old love that will keep us together, forever."

Bishop's face was expressionless of the thoughts that truly boiled underneath in his mind.  Perhaps she didn't realize what she was asking him, but it was much more than he was certain he could give.  He couldn't give up, not when he'd come this far in trying to find out just what happened to him.   Why all this happened.  And if they ran away, what guarantee did they have that it wouldn't happen again.

"I can't lose you twice, Helena...  I know what I'm doing is dangerous.  But it would be even more if we tried to move away and forget about all this.  I just want a life of peace...but as long as Chagall and his men are still out there, as long as the reason this happened isn't uncovered, we're still in danger.  I want you to help me...I want us to be in this together.  Please...I need your help."

Helena dropped her gaze, her eyes now hidden behind the shadow of her hair. After a long moment, she drew in a careful breath and looked back up at him, tears wavering across her eyes.
"Then let's kill Chagall together."

Bishop did not have the confidence she had in her expression and he did not answer.  He only reached for her hand and brought the palm of it up to his lips.  "Not right now," he said.  "Right now, let's just enjoy what we have together." And then his face lit up with a small smile.

Helena brushed back a tear and gave her husband a nod.
"Very well. That suggestion is much more preferred anyways." And she leaned in to kiss him soft, to kiss him sweet.

Her kiss warmed him, welcomed him and he breathed softly against her lips.  For a time, they stayed this way until suddenly he tasted salt on his tongue, thinking she had been crying.  Bishop pulled away, staring at her for a moment before a draft made his cheeks feel wet.  He touched his cheek and he gave a breathy laugh.  "Sorry..."  And he smiled before leaning in to kiss her once more.

"Don't worry about it, Bishop," she told him as she leaned forward and kissed away his tears. "I'm crying too." And she squeezed his hand tenderly before leaning in forward and sealing her lips again unto his.

Bishop didn't want to think back at all that had happened, for he was satisfied enough with the moment to let things be as they were.  For the moment she was still the woman he had married, she was still the mothe of his daughter, and his partner in life.  He kissed her as if it were the first of many times they would kiss, be like this, hold each other in years to come.

"I love you." She told him, honestly, truthfully as their lips met. "And I will love you forever. Even death will not stop how I feel for you."

"Let's not entertain the thought of your death for now," Bishop whispered thoughtfully.  "It was bad enough when I thought you were dead all that time...I missed you so."

'Okay," she whispered, finding his hand and squeezing it. She gaze back into his eyes adoringly, a hand cupping his cheek before the same hand moved to brush his brown hair from his face.
"Once you are well, we'll be away from this place. But for now, rest. You'll need it."A nd she leaned forward and kissed him softly, kissed him sweet.

Maddox closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against hers.  He was silent, contemplating all the events that had culminated up until this point.  It had to end, somewhere somehow, but he could scarcely know where to begin, where he was to even go.  He still had the map, he knew, but it was all but useless now.  Chagall knew of his plans, his operations to disrupt his dealings.  And that had only made him a red target in the criminal's eyes.

They were safe for now, but Bishop had a feeling such a thing was fleeting.  Who would know better than he?  Who could vouch for the futility of complacency, that all good things indeed came to an end?  Momentarily the face of his daughter flashed before his eyes.  Bishop felt tears well up again and he sniffed loudly to brush them back.  He realized then that he never really had time to mourn her loss.

Always he had to run, there was no rest.  He was lost with no safe harbor, a wanted man, hounded on all sides.  Only now did he feel the weight of it all coming back onto him and he slumped against Helena and tightened his arms around her, his shoulders racking.  And cried.

In her arms she felt him shaking with sobs. She held him tighter, burying her face against him. She couldn't be near enough to him, as if melting their skin together couldn't even give her the completeness she so desired. And soon enough, she was crying too.
"I'm so sorry, Maddox," she sobbed. "I love you. Gods, how I love you so."

"Was it enough?" he found himself asking.  His eyes burned with the salt of tears, but he made no effort to brush them away.  "Then.  Didn't you miss the excitement of your former life?"

Helena laughed, a short, breathy sound as she shook her head.
"No, of course I don't miss it." She told him as she cupped his cheek. "It was a life I never wanted. It was chosen for me. But this?" And here she smiled ay him, tears sparkling in her eyes. "This is my dream. You are all I ever wanted out of life. To be loving. To be free."

If her goal was to convince him to stop crying, she failed.  The tears came stronger now than ever before and he sobbed against her.  "Why do you say things like that?" he snorted, eventually cleaning his eyes on his shirt and his snot on hers.  "You know, I never wanted anything more.  Just you."

"I know," she whispered, still cupping his face."It's why I wanted to live with no regrets. To forget the past. To forget the sort of life I lived before and to think of only the bliss we had," and as she studied his face, she added, "The bliss we still have."

"I don't know if I could forget," Bishop said.  "I think it's just all finally getting to me.  All this running.  The killing...  I don't know how much more I can take...  I miss Lora so much.  I miss it all.  But I think even now after all I've done, they won't let it go unpunished.  That's why I know I can't stop, I can't run away and hide like I want to, to forget it all.  I have to see this through to the end.  I just don't know how much more it will cost."

Helena's frown deepened, but she understood his claims more than he could know.
"Then let us end this," she told him softly, delicately. "Let me stand by your side and let's stand against those who wish to rid the world of all that we dream. Let's put their story to an end, so that our new one can begin."

"But how?" he replied in a voice just as soft.  "How?  I wouldn't even know where to start again.  They took everything I had.  Even the knife in my boot.  The map, the notes I stole.  Chagall took it all."

Placing a finger to his lips, her eyes implored him.
"Do not forget, I was as deceitful and dark as Chagall ever was. I killed for money. I killed for pleasure, and I still know where the good contacts are and how to think like a killer. I was sought after, even worked with Chagall at one time..."
Dare she admit there was even more?
"I think I could hunt him."
It was definitely a move he wouldn't see coming.

Bishop stared at her with wide eyes.  "H-hunt him?  He...he doesn't seem like the kind of guy that doesn't cover his tracks three times over.  How could you find him?"

"Love," she told him softly, a hand now cupping his cheek. "All beasts leave behind a trail. It's just how you go about reading it that differs. For one that tries to cover his tracks, there's still a way. And..." She paused, hesitating before adding, "I've got connections. Besides, if I can claim anything, it's resourcefulness-" And here she paused before adding sheepishly, "And perhaps a bit of stubborn pride. You know the saying of when there's a will there's a way."
And so far in her life, she had managed to achieve all of that. And she was sure as the Sun Chagall would not steal from her the very life she sought to carry out. Because her daughter, who lay rotting in an unmarked grave, she had to.
And for this loving, sweet man before her.

Chagall's story had to come to an end. And anyone associated with him.
The entire mountain would fall.

Bishop gave a soft sigh and nodded.  He knew they'd come a long way from the rain soaked moment she had first captured him and he felt that resurgence of trust slowly seeping back into him.  "Okay.  Okay.  We'll do it your way then," he said with another nod. 

Her eyes searched his for a long while.
"I'll only do this if you want to," she said, her hand tenderly still cupping his face. "I can't stand seeing you suffer so.."
And it seemed they had little choice but to confront this.

"I want to.  I will see it through to the end," he said with a nod and pressed his face into her hand.  He was comforted by her support and his arms tightened around her.  "Thank you," he whispered in a soft breath.  "For everything."

Leaning forward, she kissed him soft.
"You don't ever have to thank me," she whispered, keeping her body close, and her face, even closer so that their foreheads nearly touched. Her hands found his and they twined together.
"I am your wife. I will always be at your side." And she squeezed his hand and looked deep within his eyes.
"Always."

Bishop gave a laugh.  "Yes.  I think under the law however, I'm technically widowed, considering I thought you were dead this whole time.  I'm also a wanted man, dangerous to the public at large, wanted for murder and conspiracy.  Under the law that is.  Goes to show how reliable that is."

"And to the law, not only am I dead, but also a murderer." And she smiled at him in spite all of this.
"We're not going about the law here, Bishop. It might be best you forget everything you were ever taught of it. Or at least cared to follow. We have to break rules, and many. And our road may be long. But this nightmare, I promise you, will end."

"I guess I know that.  What I've done already, I already do.  I...  Just forget it," he said, trying to smile and relaxing still.  He pulled his shirt up from his belly and looked at the bandages wrapped all around him, from where he'd been  struck and nearly died.  "But I will always thank you, Helena.  Maybe you didn't know it then.  But you saved me."

Her eyes sparkled as her fingers traced over his, and the wound.
"And you saved me."
And she guided his hands to her lips and kissed it.

Bishop watched her carefully, as if this were all a dream.  His breath hitched at the contact of her kiss and he trembled in silence for the briefest moment before cupping her cheek, brushing his fingers against it.  "I love you."

Her eyes glittered.
But instead of replying, she simply leaned forward and kissed him, and kissed him with need.

His breath was taken away and he shuddered once more.  He kissed her back, weakly as he only could in his current state, but a kiss all the same. 

His wife moaned softly, almost whimpering when he returned her kiss.
"You should rest."
She kissed him soft.
"We should rest."
She kissed him again.
"Because we're going to have a very long journey ahead of us."

"I agree," he replied, kissing her back.

Her proximity was tempting.  Why shouldn't it be after having not made love in so long?  But she spoke logically and there was much to be done.  He pulled away.  "Yes, we should rest," he murmured.

The barn's loft offered a sweet breeze, and by now, the air had significantly cooled from the day. But the sun was beginning to rise. Either way, the pair had a long night and with Bishop injured, she knew they needed to rest. She pulled reluctantly away from him for but a moment before scouting the area and fixing a make shift pile of hay into a better bed. Gesturing for her husband to join her, she nestled into the scratchy straw, but took comfort in her husband's heat so near to her, and pressing in close,s he sighed when she could hear his heart, too.

"One day we'll begin again, and the nightmares will carry away like rain. We'll make a family again, start over, and life will be perfect. Wonderful. Complete."

A soft wind carried in with the morning, and with it- the gentle sounds of the on coming rain. And it smelled wonderful, as she closed her eyes and sighed.

"Perhaps," he said, eyes looking out through the slits in the barn paneling, watching as the clouds began to gray over.

The morning sun came in waves of pink and hued the world in orange. It was a content and relaxing  color, causing her to sigh against him. But at the sound of rain,s he lay still for a time before asking,
"Can we make love?"

Bishop turned to her, a little surprised and he blinked at her in thoughtful silence.  "I don't know," he replied. "I don't know if I'm fit enough to do so.  My side still hurts."

She breathed a disappointed sigh, but kissed his lips tenderly none the less.
"I'm sorry for asking. I... I'm just so tense and it's been so long..."
And her voice faded as she added, a hand lightly tracing his side, "I don't want to hurt you."
She supposed she could be comforted in his heart beat, and simply listening to the rain as, elsehwere in the barn, there was a soft, constant, dripping, and soon, a small puddle collecting somewhere on the floor.

His lips still tingled with the remnants of her lips and he turned to her, careful not to uspet his wound.  He leaned in toward her, kissing her softly and exploratively for a moment, testing the waters.  "Thank you," he murmured again.  "You're more than I could ever deserve..."

She gave a dry laugh and peered more deeply into his eyes.
"Funny. I could say the same for you."

"If you could pick anyone else in the world to be with, besides me, who would it be?" he found himself asking, kissing her again.  "I'm curious is all."

"Anyone else?" she pulled away from the warmth of his body to look more clearly into his face.
"Why would I even have an answer to that? I don't think I even could."

"I mean your fantasy.  Your ideal man.  I'm just curious is all.  But you don't have to answer if you don't want to," he added.

"My ideal man?" she laughed and kissed him suddenly. "I thought that was obvious."
She blushed.
"It's you."

"Me?  I was sure you'd say someone else," he said with a small laugh.  "I'm not much to look at.  I didn't have much money when we met either.  What was the catch?"

"Oh, I wasn't interested in money." She gave him a coy look. "But I wanted what was in here."
And she rested a hand over his heart.
"I was looking for love, true love. And I found it in you."

Bishop smiled warmly, chuckling.  And he leaned in to kiss her, longer now.  More intensely and eagerly before pulling away.  "You're just trying to make me cry."

She gave a soft laugh in return.
"Now why would I want to do that?"

He laughed.  "Because you tug at my heart strings," he laughed again, leaning in to kiss her with hunger.  "You always knew what to say."

 She blushed and smiled at.him affectionately.
"That's a relief. To at least know I could do something right for you," she told him, swiping his hair from his face.
"I love you."

"You were always right for me," he murmured.  "Well, except the part of not telling me your past, but in the scheme of not knowing it, you were always right."  He laughed and kissed her back with increasing pressure.

She moaned softly through his kiss. Taking his hands, she squeezed them and peered up into his eyes.
"I love you."

Bishop shivered underneath the softness of her kiss, melting against them.  A moan left him as he leaned in and kissed her deeply, tongue seeking hers, running along it's edge as he leaned into her.  "I love you," he murmured, breaking away only to breathe.

It seemed the only time their lips separated were when they had to breath. It was an intense moment, one they had not shared for a.while, and one she feared they might not ever again.
And it was full of such warmth and need, and tears that still threatened to fall.

Bishop turned his head, leaning in against her head and cupping her cheek as he deepened the kiss.  "I want you," he breathed.  "I need you, Helena. " 

Helena whimpered through a kiss.
"And I need you."
And her eyes barely opened to regard him.
"But will anything but this hurt you, my love?"
And softly, her hands traced down his form.

"Possibly.  But if it means a moment with you, I'm willing to risk it," he murmured in reply.

"But I don't want to hurt you," she whispered,a nd whimpered through another kiss. But oh how she needed him, to feel him, to become one with him, to make love.

His body ached for her, trembling for want of her and he turned on his good side, holding himself long enough to press a kiss down against her with eager force, slowly laying down on her.

She felt herself grow hot, and moans came out naturally through her kisses as they grew more intense to match her need. As he moved, she was careful to let him position his own self, letting her husband dictate where this went as delicate hands smoothed across his body, and her tongue pressed against his lips when she kissed him again, parting it open and seeking his.

As their kisses grew more and more fervent, a fire began to burn in his belly, hungry for her body and he pushed his hands underneath her clothing, trying to find the clasps to undo it.

Feeling where his hands were moving, her own did the same, moving to pull at the ties of his shirt, and pushing it off and away from his neck, where she kissed his exposed skin while still trying to pull the sleeves from his arms.

He moaned against her attention, pushing the shirt from his shoulders and gently shrugging out of them. His side tensed and tightened, but he didn't let it stop him as he let his shirt fall to the ground.

With his shirt removed, her hands caressed over the exposed flesh, and at such a sensation, she whimpered and wrapped her arms around him tightly, kissing him more intensely before working at wriggling out from her own dress.

Maddox Rhyas was never an overtly built or toned man.  He was not a warrior or a fighter or a soldier or a knight.  He used his hands to make his living, to turn wood into works of art, practical or otherwise.  Even so, the work was taxing physically and he was strong for the work he made for his own livelihood.

Her touch brought his body to life, awakening his senses in a way he had forgotten.  The months of hiding, of running, of sleeplessness all faded away with one touch and he remembered her love, and the love he had for her.  Bishop reached for her hands, urging her to explore him further, kissing her hotly, hungry for more.

He barely had to coax her. Her hands were hungry and moved about his flesh, feeling the warmth and strength there and she was soon dragging her lips from his and kissing down his throat, then all over, kissing through hot breaths and subtle moans.

Maddox groaned softly, groggily, feeling his member pressing against the clasp of his trousers.  His hands sought to free it, sitting on his knees, while the other pulled and pried the layers of her skirts from her hips and thighs, pushing it up and over her head.

She helped him remove her dress and tossed it aside and reveled in the sensation of being nude. Her hand also helped him with his trousers, and once his member was free, she released a small noise as her hand reached around it and held it tight, feeling its strength and hunger.

Cool air caressed his backside as he kicked off his trousers and positioned himself over her once more.  Her grip around his member made him shudder and he pressed his mouth hotly against her neck, kissing and lapping at her skin.

She moaned at his minstrations, and leaned her neck to give him better access as her hand worked to gently massage at his sex.

Bishop moaned softly against her, feeling himself hardened in her grasp.  His member prodded at her sex, eager and ready as his arms felt down her thighs, parting her legs and pulling them up beside his hips.

Her hand fell away as she felt his hips close in, and soon their sexes were touching, grinding together before their bodies fully connected and the moment they did, Helena began to sing.

Her voice was music to his ears as Bishop ground his hips into hers.  His body was on fire and on together they were an inferno.  His body melted into her, cutting through her in the most intimate fashion.  He panted heavily, feeling along her walls and pushing toward the back as far as he could.

Feeling the length of her husband push into her, taking her made her swell and moan. The walls of her sex, already hot and wet, clung to his moving member tightly, and each inch of him sent electric shocks of pleasure within her. And though she writhed beneath him, hips meeting to his with the rise of need, she was still careful of his wound as their bodies met, again and again.

His cock fit inside her snugly, like a second skin as he clung to her, grinding his hips into hers.  He was less mindful of his old wounds than she was and put more force into every stroke.  He moaned against her lips before kissing between pants.  Bishop pulled her hips higher up, seeking a better angle of access.

"Gods, Maddox..." she moaned, closing her eyes tightly as she threaded her fingers through his hair and clung to him tightly, kissing him hot and full of need as her sex gripped his cock tighter, and she, growing more intense with heat.

There was no denying the intensity of the moment as they made love.  Every stroke had her boiling over in heat, Bishop could feel it and nearly came too early.  He was close, that much was obvious, but he restrained himself just long enough to want to feel her body quake in ecstasy first.

She moaned with need, writhing beneath him and feeling herself grow close to ecstasy, but she was not quite there. And as the sensation pulled and grew more intense between her legs, she moaned louder and louder, practically begging for release as finger nails lightly marked his skin.

Maddox pushed into her with fervor and fever, both hungry and hot to hear her cries.  He reached down, pulling her legs up higher around him.  But suddenly he paused when he thought he heard a noise and froze over her, bristling suddenly and listening intently.

If Helena sensed any danger, she did not show it, for as he hoisted her hips up higher, she clenched her legs around him tight and her moans began to grow louder and louder as she neared her peak. Her face was reddening and it was evident she was about to explode, lips parting- ready to scream.

Bishop's hand immediately clamped down on her mouth to keep her quiet.  "We're not alone," he whispered to her and dismounted as footsteps walked though the barn below.

Breathing hotly against his hand, itmuffled her cries of pleasure as her sex spasmed while she came. But she whimpered as he withdrew, just as she was finishing, and she lay there, finally sated, and attempted to control her ragged breathing as she too, heard the noise down below. She gave Bishop a look and tried to keep as quiet as possible and hopefully the two lovers wouldn't be found out.

There was a thrill in panic, but on that Bishop had suppressed as the footsteps drew closer to the barn loft and the lighting of a lamp igniting the bottom of the barn and Bishop could see through the splits in the slats an old farmer digging through some hay and unearthing a trap door.  He looked up and around to see if anyone was looking before opening it and pulling out a small rack of bottles, one which he promptly uncorked and downed heartily.

Bishop's hand suddenly went to his mouth to keep himself from laughing, as he watched the old man go straight for another bottle.

His wife was smiling as well, the mirth evident in the way her eyes shined. But she did not laugh, for she was trained very well in what she did, but instead, stole a quick kiss to her husband's ear and whispered, "So a drunk farmer has come between us and our love making?" she quipped, teeth lighting dragging across the lobe of his ear.

Bishop giggled and tucked his face into his should, laughing a little.  "Well you never know," he whispered back.  "All this time on the run, my nerves got the better of me."  He cupped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing more.

Helena's smile broadened.
"You'd best keep those smiles in check," she whispered, kissing his cheek. "The farmer might hear you."

Bishop snickered and snorted a little and froze when he saw the farmer peer up and all around him to find the source of the odd noise.  Bishop kept his mouth shut and nudged Helena with his shoulder.

Helena nudged him back. What did he expect? He was making a ton of noise, and she gave him a coy look that told him, 'if he spots us, I'm throwing you to the wolves.'

"Yeah well you're not helping," Bishop whispered back and watched as the farmer resumed his drinking.  "Boy I sure coulde use a good swig of liquor myself.  Maybe wine.  Maybe a stiff whiskey."

"Well now that we know there's a stash here, we could steal some," she whispered playfully.

"Good idea," he said and observed the farmer as he began to stumble.  "But do you think he'll slow down and stop before he drinks it all?"

Smirking, she gave a shrug.
"I dunno, but we could find a ... peaceful way to halt his inebriation prematurely and get some for ourselves. Though watching him drink... is rather amusing."

Bishop turned to his estranged wife and smirked at her.  "That sounds like a good idea.  And speak of demons..."

"ARTHUR!  YE OUT THERE DRINKIN' AND I KNOW IT!  GIT YER ROTUND BEHIND BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!" a woman's voice howled and the old farmer jerked his head up and immediately corked the bottle he was downing.  He panicked to try and put away the case as quickly as he could, throwing straw on it before he staggered out of the barn.

Bishop held his snort and finally snickered when the drunk farmer was gone.  "Looks like the coast is clear," he said with a smile and looked down below through the crack in the loft.

"Yes... clear enough for us to steal his moon shine," she said, and smiled over at Bishop. "Shall I do the honors?"

"Oh could you? That is so thoughtful of you," Bishop said, laughing.

Her smile broadened as she replied playfully, "But of course," and she gave him the most elegant bow before she moved down into the barn and rustled through the hay until she found the drink and climbed her way back up the ladder.

When she opened it, she made a face.
"God, this stuff smells horrible. Why don't you try it first?"

"It can't be that bad.  My da used to drink some pretty nasty swill," Bishop said with a smile before he took a long drink.  He coughed immediately after that and laughed.  "Oh," he wheezed.  "But not like that.  It's an acquired taste that's for sure.  But not bad."

"I think Id have to drink the entire bottle of I want to acquire anything... And then I'd promptly lose it when Is lose my lunch." She smirked and hesitated before taking another drink and her entire face wrinkled. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure this drink is not for me." And she wiped her lips on the back of her hand and handed him the bottle. "Here, its all yours."

He coughed and hacked a little at the sensation of liquid fire seeping down his throat.  Bishop laughed a little, feeling drunk and a little dizzy.  "Maybe it's not the best drink in the world, but it sure melts the aches away."

"Good." She smiled with relief. "I hated to see.you in so much pain.... How are your wounds?"

"Better.  I feel better.  Thanks to you," he said and reached up to caress her cheek.  "Here!  I shouldn't be the only one getting hammered."

She smiled before shaking.her head.
"I don't know if I could drink anymore of that poison."

He laughed and shrugged.  "All right then.  More for me."  He downed another sip and laid on his good side.  "Sorry about stopping...when I head the farmer come in."

She snorted.
"I suppose you hadn't a choice."

"Old nerves getting the better of me," Bishop shrugged.  He leaned in and kissed her gently.  "I wouldn't want either of us to be hurt.   But it was pretty funny if you think about it.  I remember we used to make love until dawn."

She felt herself warm at the idea.
"And we'll be able to do it again," she said, her hand taking his and entwining their fingers as she lead it to her lips and kissed the top of it. "I promise. This time, I won't go away. I'm yours, as I stated in my vows- forever."

He felt his chin waver and a loose tear dribbled down his cheek.  But he leaned in and kissed her abruptly, pulling her in close and kissing her with fire.

She made a noise and breathed through another kiss, kissing him back several times before finally breaking away to look at him.
"I don't know if I can ever make it up to you... for all of the lies... for what you've gone through. For everything."

"The only years that matter are the ones that come after all this is over.  Everything before..."  He shook his head.

It was then a painful look became her.

"But Lora..."

"Even her," Bishop muttered, eyes darkened with sorrow.  "We can treasure her memory.  But...what good has living in the past done either of us?"

Her eyes teared up at the very mention to try to forget her, and she turned from him, lips trembling as she tried to fight back tears.

Bishop frowned when she turned from him.  "No, no, Helena.  I-I didn't mean it like that.  I meant only that she would want us to live.  To live on.  For her."  He moved over her, putting a hand on her shoulder in a measure of comfort.

But at that simple gesture, she began to sob.

He didn't hesitate, taking her into his arms then as he'd done when they were married. 

"Gods, I miss her. I miss her so much that it hurts," she sobbed against him, holding him tight. "Why couldnt it have been me? Why her? I was the one who lied... Who sinned.... Gods... My daughter-" And her sentence ended in a fit of tears.

She needed this, he knew.  She'd never had a chance to mourn.  And although he still had sorrow, this was her time to cry.  Bishop just held her against him, stroking her hair as he felt her tears against his skin.  He couldn't find words to speak, but maybe he didn't have to.

After the tears stopped flowing, she grew silent in his arms. She felt so numb, so cold-
and just let her mind drift off to nothing- nothing at all.

Where there was nothing on her mind, his mind was roaming with all sorts of rampant thoughts.  He feared voicing them lest they prove true, all his fears, his hopes, his pain.  And he realized then how much of it he shared with Helena.  And he knew then that he loved her still.  She was his lover, his partner, his enemy, his confidant, his companion. 

Bishop kissed her brow, hugging her close to him when the words spilled out.  "I never stopped loving you," he whispered.

Looking up at him, she remained quiet for just a breath before giving him a small smile.

"And I of you... though I can't promise where my mind was during my possession," she told him sheepishly.

"I know," Bishop promised and kissed her cheek.  "I know you weren't of your own mind...  Your master took you away from me...  He wanted to use you, destroy you...  I won't let him."

She smiled and leaned into him.
"Then we'd have to kill him," she whispered.

"Kill him?" he asked, surprised at the word.  And at her smile because of it.

She turned to him, her expression most grave.
"There is no other choice," she went on, voice barely above a whisper. "To stop this, to end this cycle, to be free..." she went on, voice raising and hands shaking, but then she stopped, took in a breath and released it before looking up at him.
"It won't be easy... if we choose that route. But.. I suppose nothing has."

It was a lot to take in, but reality had not been the same since the fire.  And Bishop had done awful things in order to remain uncaptured.  He knew the risks involved, and wondered if in the end it would be worth it.  He knew he couldn't escape the consequences of his actions for long.  What if in the end, he was captured and hanged?  And then it would've all been for nothing.

At her husband's quiet response, her arms moved around him, holding him close as she buried her face into his shoulder. She too, said nothing, and just held him and listened to his heart beat, and to him breath.

"Maybe we didn't have a choice in how this all came about," Bishop found himself saying.  "Maybe fate has a funny way of playing tricks on us, throwing blinders over our eyes, and making us see things that never happened at all...  It's an odd thing to wonder, at a time like this.  But it's hard to believe that all of this happened for a reason, that it is apart of some grander design that we cannot begin to fathom.  It's even harder to believe in more than what is unseen."

"I am tired,"s he commented after a time. "Perhaps we should rest and tomorrow... Tomorrow we can figure this all out with clear heads."

Bishop nodded to his wife, his friend, his lover.  This woman that had somehow managed to maintain some semblance of sanity despite all she'd been through.  He was still stuck in that black unknown pit that festered in the big of his stomach.  He leaned in and kissed her cheek.  "Let's go to sleep," he nodded to her.  Tomorrow would be another day.

The morning was lit orange, as if the sky were on fire, and the torches were its clouds. Even their bodies lay doused in its sweet colored rays, and upon opening her eyes to such a vision, she turned slowly to observe her still sleeping husband and recalled all that had came to be.

So much had happened... the worst being the loss of their daughter. The sensation that she was to blame clutched at her belly as she stared miserably at the blank wall while her eyes grew distant, her mind far away.

Summer days, she recalled, had been the best. Bare foot and running in the shadowy hills just outside the forests seemed like a dream so long ago, she had almost forgotten what her daughter looked like, until her eyes returned to Bishop.

She had had his nose, and the shape of his eyes, but the rest seemed more like herself, which was always strange but nice. She had never thought she could have become a mother. But now...?
Now she was lucky she even still had her husband.

Was it even possible to start over? To make a life elsewhere and hope the past forgot them as they aimed to turn their back on it? Or would they really have to confront the demon that plagued them, and stop this life long game of chase once and for all.

Leaving Bishop to continue his rest, Helena stepped outside and studied the skies, her thoughts crowing at her in a never ending circle of unrest, anxiety, and fear.

Bishop awoke with a stir and groan.  He sat up, seeing Helena was gone.  With some effort he crawled toward the window, spying her below, and was content for the moment to merely watch her.

In the calm of the morning, she stepped out into the tall grass, remaining in the shadows just before the sunlight. And it was there she got on her knees, and silently prayed.

With great effort he managed to crawl out of where they laid and be walked out toward  Helena.  And he watched her in silence.

When she turned and saw him there, she placed a hand to her chest.
"Were you watching me for long?"

"Just a moment," Bishop said softly.  "I believe... that's the first time I've ever seen you pray."

Helena released a sigh through smiling, closed lips as she looked at him.
"I've taken up a lot of other practices I'm less proud of since we've been apart," she admitted with an apologetic look.

Bishop carefully sat down in the grass beside her.  "I know.  So have I," he said.  He bowed his head and signed across his chest.  "I have hurt people.  Since I thought you were gone, I've...even killed people.  I'm not proud of it.  Sometimes I think I've become a monster since all this has happened....  All I know is that I'm different.  I'm not the same man I used to be.  ...And it scares me."

She laughed sadly in reply.
"I have the opposite dilemma. I have killed, and killed even more.... I fear I'm becoming the woman I had used to be. The one I wanted to run from, to forget."

"I know we can't forget who we were.  But we also can't help who we've become," Bishop said.  He held out his hands to her, palms up.  "We become who we choose to be.  You're still the woman I love.  And I hope I still am the man you did as well."

At that, she smiled and moved to lean against him, kissing his cheek.
"Of course you are." She took his hand and squeezed it. "I will always love you, Maddox."

"I know I told you to call me Maddox before," Bishop said, blushing at his own inconsistency.  "But...I really just want you to call me the name you want.  Whichever you desire. I don't mind either one.  I guess I've just been used to Bishop most of the years of my life."

She smiled and kissed him softly.
"You know I'll always call you what I wish." And her eyes sparkled, as well as her heart, tingling.
And a moment later, she turned away, blushing as she began to speak.
"Do you... think, you know.... that the life we had... could ever come back? Like we could try again? I mean really start over. Create a family.... live a normal life? What we had... it's all I ever wished for. And to think I was ever able to obtain it.."
She felt a pain within her heart.

"To think I could live the dream and in a blink- it's gone."
She dropped her gaze.
"Though I'm not sure about more children..." She paused, fidgeting. "I miss our daughter."
But could she really ask or even consider another?

Bishop settled in beside her.  "I miss Lara too," he said, leaning in to kiss her brow.  "I hope some day we can.  Live a normal life.  I care for you deeply...you're still that woman I fell in love with in that shop."  He sighed against her, kissing her cheek.  "I would start over if you wanted to."

Emotions clutched her heart, and briefly, it was hard to breath.
"Where would we go? Could we go?" she asked, fingers brushing through his hair. "I heard Hyoite is a popular place for refugees," she said in gentle jest. Her hand smoothed down his arm before eyes returned to his. "I think I'd want a boy..." she blushed, smiling. "If we were to try again."

"Maybe Adela? Maybe the desert.  The world is in the palm of our hands, it will be soon enough," Bishop murmured quietly.

Sighing, she simply leaned into her husband.
"Those places are a warmer alternative,"s he told him, kissing him through a small smile.

He leaned in and lightly kissed her back.  "Thank you.  For saving my life," he said, smiling as he hugged her tight.

She smiled and clung back to him, kissing his lips again.
"And thank you for saving mine."

"How did I save yours?" he asked, putting an arm around her shoulders.

Her cheeks warmed, as did her eyes.
"Because you loved me.. wanted to call me yours."

"You are mine," he said.  And his arms wrapped tightly around her form.

She released a long sigh, holding and hugging him back while burying her face into his shoulders. Not only did his embrace make her feel more at ease, but so did his warmth and his familiar smell.

Bishop let his hands dig into her flesh, feeling her cool supple body.  His breath hitched as he started to kiss at her flesh, turn his head against her neck.

After a time in reveling in the moment, she squeeze her eyes tightly and whispered, "Then let's go to Adela. Start over again. Make a life.. a real life. A normal life."

Despite his desire to start anew, fear gripped Bishop.  "What about Chagall?  He would find us... track us down! What about your former master?"

At such fear, his wife merely smiled. She cupped his cheek and kissed his lips softly.

"Fear will only kill us. If we're found, then we keep moving, south and south still. What purpose and good would it do for them to make chase? What can they gain except a couple of dead bodies? Maybe we should go to the plains, live outside of the Adelan government, or even in the steppe. Or the jungle? It is warm there two. Or even an island, far away from this place and protected by the sea? Anywhere.." she went on, eyes warmly seeking his. "Will be home with you."

He smiled at that thought.  He wanted to believe they could really do it, escape and finally live in peace.  Could it be possible, even with the threat of death ever behind them?  He wanted to hold on to that glimmer of hope, and he leaned his head in against hers.  "Okay," he said.  "I trust you."

She smirked and stole a kiss to his nose.
"Good. You should always trust your wife," she teased, and this time, stole a long, deeper kiss upon his lips.

Bishop gave a muffled moan beneath kiss and pulled away long enough to breathe.  He smirked.  "Whatever you say," he breathed.