By Chance

[Anonymous]

So, time for plan B.

Blaise had been hired, by a source that did not wish to disclose any information about itself, to weasel a tidbit of information from the Lady Enchanteé, some distant cousin to the royal family.  Conning his way into a ball and charming his way under her skirts that night hadn’t worked; endearing himself to her further had failed as well.  She was pretty enough, so it wasn’t unpleasant work.  But the woman was either empty-headed or the most fantastic actor he’d ever met, and he had a deadline to meet.

Blaise did not like plan B.  He was avoiding plan B at all costs.  Plan B was dangerous and could get him killed, or worse.

So Blaise wasn’t sure just what he was doing.  Wandering the streets of Ketra, dressed as he was, seemed stupid; an invitation to stay with Lady Enchanteé indefinitely tucked away in a pocket of his long coat, which was draped over one arm, formal white shirt and dark slacks modest but flattering.  They were cheap things, but Blaise made them <I>look</I> rich with his poise, the way his unnaturally red hair was perfectly done.  For all intents and purposes he looked like a young noble, slumming, and doing a poor job of it.

So in his aimless wanderings Blaise teetered between abandoning the job and going straight to the next plan and throwing all caution to the wind.  As a professional, he should have known better and paid better attention to his surroundings, but preoccupation drove all thoughts of professionalism from his head.

[Anonymous]

Some place this was. The whole big-city thing had never quite appealed to Kioca, despite the trappings and wonder that seemed to accompany such places. There were merchants, and there were inns. There was also thieves, rapists, and murderers. What a wretched hovel. The scorned lover treaded the streets, which did seem to put Kioku Village's to shame by comparison, but she did so warily.

Warily, as she carried so many weapons as to shape fear and loathing from the locals. It wasn't really that she cared, but this was certainly awkward; she didn't like awkward. Her hands burned to draw out the Raider blade, etched with her family's now-defunct crest, and cut open these fools who would despise her for such, but restraint was the better option. That urge... It felt so strong as to burst a dam.

Kioca stopped, mid-step, as she saw a noble-looking man of flaming red hair walking down the streets of this town, seemingly on his way to the richer districts. Stealing a glance behind her to said areas, Kioca huffed, and continued walking... Unfortunately, she would be straight in the nobleman's path, which would land them both on the ground. That wouldn't be good 'tall. No. Not at all.

(( I didn't want to seem presumptuous and call a hit here, but... Kioca is straight in your path, and she would probably hit you while you were busy thinking about Plan B. Or something like that. So, I guess it's your move. ))

[Anonymous]

Blaise had almost convinced himself, certainly there was another way, he merely needed more time, he would send a message to his employers--that thought stopped.

When you body-check someone, it's usually intentional.  Needless to say, Blaise had not expected to run into the woman, or she into him, he wasn't entirely certain what had happened, and certainly not so hard.  In the end it didn't matter much; they ended up on the ground in a sort of heap, but Blaise had the presence of mind to try and break her fall if he couldn't stop himself from falling, at least.  He failed to notice that the coat had left his arms and fallen somewhere nearby, and the letter had fallen from the pocket.

This was the last thing he needed.  Blaise sighed and intended to suppress his agitation in some manner, but again all thoughts stopped cold when he felt sheathed weapons pressed against him at the end of the fall, numerous and easily concealed; he could not see them at the moment, so he could only assume.

<I>Mercenary.  Assassin.  Blaise paid no mind to the fact he'd played both parts himself many times, simply believed this could be no coincidence.  Someone must have found him out and decided to put a swift end to his unsavory career.

Play stupid.  "I'm terribly sorry, miss.  My fault entirely.â€?  He extricated himself from the awkward tangle with as much grace as he could muster, stood.  Smiled cheerily, made it seem a smile of ignorance, as if he had failed to notice anything even slightly unusual about her.  Blaise offered a hand to help her up, made sure his words seemed a little florid.  â€œPlease, accept my earnest apology and allow me to redress this trespass.â€?

[Anonymous]

Ow. Landing squarely on her rear, Kioca fell back, stunned by the experience. Surprise showed on her face, but as she recognized it, she cast it away like a battered doll -- useless, pointless, undesirable to anyone. In place of shock came a scowl, and in place of a yelp was a low, deep snarl. This wasn't helping her attitude any.

The nobleman, in typical nobleman fashion, attempted to brush the whole ordeal out of his way; even if he said he was sorry and that it was his fault, Kioca knew far better. He couldn't be trusted, from the locks of red hair he wore on his top to the fingertips extended to help the mercenary up. Scornfully, Kioca slapped away the man's hand, rising by her own strength, and through her own muscle. She hadn't come all the way here in search of that wretch to accept help from some no-talent nothing like this fucker.

"So, you think because I'm a woman, I can't handle myself," Kioca asked softly, fingers trembling. "You men are all so goddamn alike: Petty, sexist pigs. The hell with you!" In a huff, Kioca turned away, though her hand floated to her dagger's side for relief. He didn't seem dangerous, but it would be best not to...

... Wait. Red hair, smarmy... Couldn't be. Kioca returned, eyeing the man from head to toe. He seemed the right build, and that hair could scarcely be mistaken. This guy had to be the reason she was here: The one who her employer wanted 'out of the way.' She hadn't asked at the time, save a rough sketch of the man's appearance, but there was something odd about that fellow... Didn't seem like he was dangerous, especially considering that the one she'd been hired by looked more intimidating than him. But, business was business.

Kioca's lithe digits drew out Uitenpen, gripping it back and holding it around the area of the stranger's throat, edge curved back towards herself. "I forgot," she cooed, "that I was here on a mission..." Though she gripped her weapon to meet the man's neck, Kioca would make no move should he try to escape. Her argument wasn't with him, and all that was required was to incapacitate him, not kill him.

Slicing every vein in his legs would be a nice start.

[Anonymous]

Oh.  This wasn't good at all.

Blaise did not try to hide any surprise, tried to emphasize it, keep playing up the innocence.  He backed up, presented both hands, palms forward, at shoulder level, in a sort of placating gesture.  "Miss, you must mistake me for someone else."

She didn't, and he knew it.  Blaise knew he looked soft and unintimidating, tried to play it up, but knew that if she landed a good blow he'd go down.  They weren't far from the better portions of the city, someone might recognize him as the Lady's new beau, and being seen in a street brawl with a mercenary would most certainly look suspicious.

This can't end well.  He took a few steps backward, slowly, to a more open portion of the road where he would be less likely to hit bystanders should he have to defend himself.  When she swung, he wasn't quite fast enough, she scored a glancing blow, not serious, but enough to rip cloth and draw blood.

Something no one would notice...with a thought the ground became a little rougher, a little less stable between them, suddenly, and he hoped it would help.  "Surely we can talk this through."

[Anonymous]

Halting in her step, ignoring the gasps and murmurs from the onlookers, Kioca snorted at the suggestion that this guy wasn't who she was looking for. "You must be joking," she exclaimed, holding Uitenpen out to the side in an unusual form. "I can't be wrong when I've heard of that hair of yours... Don't try and deny it. You're the one I'm looking for...!"

"However..." Kioca's grasp tightened around her dagger, as she drew out a second, Dosojin, the protective dagger. "I can't very well let you escape without maiming you, can I? Business is as it is." Now, the young mercenary shot forward, springing into a full leap, with both daggers held firmly. With Uitenpen she would make a lunging strike, aimed at the red-haired man's gut. With Dosojin, she would parry any attack she could, meeting flesh and bone with iron. The plan was entirely favorable given the circumstances.

(( Considering the whole bloodlust/estrogenOMG thing has started, I think that's all I have to say. Your move. ))

[Anonymous]

She was fast.  Too fast, Blaise decided, for comfort; if the fight went on too long she'd kill him.  And that would be a horrible end to a bad day.  He had to find a way out, and quickly.

Willing the stone and gravel to rise between them in a sort of wall, not much greater than his own dimensions, seemed logical, and he could always pass it off as friendly intervention.  "We can't fight here," he said, almost to himself, but loud enough for her to hear.

The hesitation might cost him, but Blaise ran, knowing that if he reached the crowd or a building he was free for a time, could think things through and figure out how to deal with this development.

((If you'd like to go ahead and take this, I'll concede the next blow.  However, if you've something else in mind or would like a chase or a fight, pursue and I'll provide.))

[Anonymous]

A petty parlor trick. Feh. The earthen barrier halted Kioca's advance, if only for a moment, as she stopped to gather herself. An earth mage? Nothing she couldn't handle, at least with her daggers. With a spinning motion of the fingers, Kioca strapped Dosojin back into its scabbard and, reaching up to grab the top of the wall, vaulted over it with a little added boost from Uitenpen. She was on the hunt.

This fellow was quick, for a 'nobleman.' At her usual speed, Kioca could just barely reach him given time, and assuming that using Nenriki to blast a hole through him was a bit unsound (assuming), that really only left one option: Throwing Uitenpen at the man. Kioca's hand threw her weapon to the air, grabbed the blade between two fingers (she cut herself slightly), and with a circular spin, threw it straight at the man's behind. Yeah, it wasn't her target, but it would be easier to catch his legs as such. In preparation for the next blow, she then readied Nenriki, gripping it in the conventional way.

Even if she couldn't blast with it, she could still cut him up.

(( I'm loathe to connect a hit, most of the time; this is most of the time. So, it's up to you to decide if the dagger hits, and just how far away Kioca is from you -- she paused for a few seconds to gather herself before leaping over the wall. I have no idea what I'm doing, though. >.> ))

[Anonymous]

If he'd known, it would've been easy to deflect the throw, a subtle current of air, another trick with the ground--but Blaise, mind wholly on turning the situation somehow to his advantage and facing the opposite direction, could not've known the dagger was coming, had no special senses or preternatural inclinations save his magic, which he was loathe to use here.  The dagger caught him low in the thigh, thankfully missed that important tendon, and he didn't notice until with the next step the leg would not support his weight and he collapsed forward.

Before the pain hit, it occurred to Blaise how strange this whole scene must look to the common folk, and why no one had summoned any guards.  Did they enjoy such a spectacle?  Fear retribution?

Blaise managed a glimpse of Kioca, knew he had mere seconds, and adrenaline fueled action, pushed the pain aside.  He ripped out the dagger before it could do any further damage, but kept it in his off hand.  She had him, whatever she intended to do, kill him or deliver him to some worse end; the way the wound bled, he wouldn't be aware for much longer.

Now that it no longer mattered who saw him, he wouldn't surrender without a fight.

Blaise pulled himself into an awkward position, neither standing nor aggrivating the wound, but facing Kioca.  He couldn't look intimidating to save his life, but something about his bearing changed, a little more serious.  A gesture; a great gust of wind blew forth, strong enough, he hoped, to knock her down.  Another; the ground around her erupted in fire.

He smiled, some part of him thought it might be the blood loss effecting him so soon, but he called in a rather sarcastic voice, "Is it still too late to talk this over?"  Not meant by way of threat, but Blaise saw irony in the situation, even if it meant his death.

((...Me... either.  -_-;  And this post is sub-par.  I suppose, if I finish my 300+ pages of reading, I'll fix it))

[Anonymous]

Kioca, fully engaged in "gottakillgottakillgottakill" mode, had no conscious thought as the stroke blew her, literally, off her feet. "Uh..." She fell back, unawares of her surroundings, except that she was falling.

...

Shit.

Heel catching the ground and skidding across it, Kioca fell into a somewhat awkward position, where she found one leg sweeping into a pillar of flame and the other falling out from behind her; ow. She fell with a thump, landing roughly on her taut behind, now fully aware and fully enraged.

"Is it still too late to talk this over?"

Um... Well, she was going to be nice, but given that her leg had great burns on it now, she didn't really feel like holding back. Drawing out Dosojin with one hand and, with the other (which held Nenriki) pushing against the ground, Kioca rose with only the strength of one leg, in much the same position as this fellow was. Being forced to field her two favorite daggers at once within the first few seconds of a battle was disheartening, but...

Dosojin came out to the front, held in an arced form, elbow bent, and blade extended flatly across the length of the air; Nenriki returned to the front, this time in a straight position.

"You've got some nerve, bumping into a poor, defenseless lady and then attacking her," exclaimed Kioca scoldingly, activating the shield of Dosojin; "Guess now's not the time to hold back... Buh-bye."

Boom.

The Mighty dagger, Nenriki, spurt back as if it were a fired pistol, and indeed, the air had broken from some invisible force as it had moved. This air-bullet was fast, and could probably hit an unlucky bystander in the back if straight in trajectory; not that it mattered. Two more shots, this time wider strokes, rippled through the air, as the Dosojin's shield remained erect, perfectly rounded and ready to disable another attack, should it come. If this guy could block the air bullets, then there might be a problem with having to bring out the big guns... Again, didn't matter; she wasn't letting him off these streets safely.

(( The air-bullets I described are about the strength and speed of a normal bullet fired from a pistol, while the shield is able to withstand, say, one-and-a-half times Kioca's body weight in cumulative damage; nothing fancy to start with. If it's too powerful, I can tone it down. ... I still don't know what I'm doing. >.> ))

[Anonymous]

((A little lame, but trying to bring the fight toward some sort of end.  And it's cool; as long as we're in agreement that our characters have the potential to keep pace with each other, there's nothing wrong.))

Blaise laughed at the statement, knew he sounded a little crazed, at this point didn't care.  Adrenaline only carried a person so far, and Blaise was not the sort accustomed to inability; he could've done far more with freedom of movement.  Pain and a sudden weariness disheartened him; he had landed good blows, praised himself quietly, and found himself distracted by regret.

<I>I should've run.  Eras always said pride would be the death of me.

With another soft gesture a small whirlwind stirred up the dirt and caught the bullets, sending them off course and up, unlikely to hit anything but buildings.  Blaise called over the noise, "I still think we have some sort of misunderstanding here; perhaps not about my identity."

He said nothing else, and failed to retaliate this time, letting the whirlwind die, seeming intent on some place in the air between himself and Kioca.

[Anonymous]

"Aww... c'mon now. This was getting exciting." A feminine voice came from the rooftop nearby. Upon investigation, one would notice a woman in violet attire, standing on the very edge of the roof. With arms down to her sides, she gazed down at the two with yellow eyes. Over the violet tunic, the woman wears a distinctive black breastplate. She has matching plates as shoulder pad and bracers for her ankles and wrists. Aside from the black tights and wild black hair, she wears a matching purple scarf which covers much of her face. The rest of the scarf hangs dorment behind her.
"It's always fun to watch two assassins spar with each other. Just don't mind me and continue your dispute in the open where everyone can see you." The woman adds a bit more with a smile hidden behind the scarf. If she wasn't obvious enough, than she's not trying hard enough.

[Anonymous]

Smile... He smiled. What had happened to make him humored couldn't be seen outwardly, but faintly, just faintly, Nenriki fell a few inches down in curiosity. The air blades hurtled forward yet, with a motion, they spun out upwards, harmless and neutered. As the man spoke, his voice soft, Kioca grimaced. Not just because of the awkwardness of having chased down a man in broad daylight, but because he was such a piteous figure. With the wound she'd inflicted using Uitenpen, he wouldn't be active much longer; he'd eventually bleed to death. That would fulfill her mission requirement, certainly...

... "What do you want?" Kioca asked sharply, referring to the ninja-like figure on the rooftop near the battle site. When the woman made her words out, Kioca's tone came stronger: "... This doesn't concern you. Leave."

Lithe digits flipped Nenriki to an off position, and sheathed it, as Kioca walked forward, drawing yet another dagger from her scabbard -- Oshirii. This was a fine dagger, marked with white and silver flecks on a back of black, much like the starry heavens. It was meant not to harm. Bending down, she struck her wounded leg with a scraping slice of the weapon, muttering a hex as she did so; the burns prickled, sizzling in steam, and lessened in intensity, enough to walk fairly comfortably.

"Maybe I've got it all wrong," Kioca said, throwing up her hands in disbelief. "Maybe you're not the red-haired one I was looking for. Maybe you are... Maybe I never saw you. And if I never saw you, I can't finish the job, right? ... That's a nasty wound you've got. I can take you to a doctor, or perhaps, my restorative dagger could be of service. Not that I see you at all, mind...!"

This wasn't usual business. 'Kioca the Killer,' she liked to call herself. What a joke; she hadn't sullied her blade yet with the dead blood of man nor woman. All she'd done was to take LIFE blood. And if she could keep that record until she saw Ash next, then... There wouldn't be a death today; only life, and perhaps an arrest of herself for disturbing the peace. Something told her this wasn't wise, but that, too, could bite her.

(( Eee. Crappy post time. o.o ))

[Anonymous]

When he realized she was close, the smile returned.  Blaise paid little heed to the interruption save an angry glance; he would prefer to die without being mocked.  â€˜Getting interesting,’ indeed: he was not operating up to speed, not living up to his reputation today, and anyone who called him ‘assassin’ would surely recognize that.  And was sorely mistaken, he assured himself.  He was no assassinâ€"not today, at least.

But Kioca still approached.  Spoke to him; he caught the important parts.  It broadened the smile until he eventually laughed again.  â€œNow the name of the game is mercy, eh?  My enemies have either chosen the cruelest or most squeamish assassin available.â€?  When he felt she came too close, he raised the hand still holding one of her daggers, flipped it around deftly, appeared to know how to handle a short blade.  Blaise did, of course, know how to hold a knife: that was the easy part.  Beyond that he would be lost, but he hoped all he needed to do was look threatening to keep her a few steps at bay.  And hoped he didn’t look laughable instead.

He knew that look.

“<I>Don’t pity me.</I>  If you’re a sell-sword, you’ll understand, if not today then eventually: you’ve beaten me down in broad daylight, disabled me, proven my own skill is less than yours in such a state and my magic all but useless against whatever power it is you have.  Surely your employer will be pleased with my humiliation.  Let me die with what little dignity remains to me after such a thorough trouncing.â€?

Blaise gathered himself as if he finally meant to stand, got to his feet, but weakness defeated him, and he only succeeded in aggravating the wound slightly before dropping the dagger and collapsing.  By all appearances the action had thoroughly drained him, or made him aware of his current state.  Blaise closed his eyes, but smiled, and in the middle of a soft, broken laugh, muttered, “Die on your feet and all that.â€?

((Not nearly as bad as the poo I've been churning out.  This thread is  testing just how far my PBP skills have degraded.))

[Anonymous]

(If your posts are any indication, you're at least twice as good as I am on a good day, when you're on a bad day. No need to doubt yourself. Me, on the other hand... get ready for a short and crappy post. ))

This man seemed to go out with a whimper, not a bang, as his wound had apparently aggrivated, and dropped him pathetically to the ground. He was pitiful. He spoke of not taking pity, and of the hazards and duties of being a sword-for-hire, but that didn't matter.

Sheathing Oshirii, as well as Dosojin, Kioca crouched down to meet the man at face-height, or as close as she could come.

"You idiot. If you call yourself a sell-sword, too, then remember: Just because we get paid to do one thing doesn't mean we have to do another. Hang on while you lay there, and just shut up."

First drawing back Uitenpen to its scabbard, the mercenary drew up her opponent, hoisting the incapacitated man over her shoulder and, in the middle of the crowded street, walking off with him on her back. She'd take him to the local clinic, wherever the hell that was, and then she'd get herself out of town before her employer asked too many questions. This guy... this idiot, he didn't need to die yet.

(( Feel free to control Kioca if you like; we need to get the story moving. And, sorry for the shitty post. Now you have something to compare yours to, yeah? ))

[Anonymous]

(Sorry for the delay, forgot I'm putting Karen in motion. :P)

"Waaaaiiit a minute!" The voice of the female ninja could suddenly be heard directly behind Kioca. Funny she wasn't there a second ago.
"Such horrible assassins. I've never heard of a killer helping their prey. What's wrong with you people?" She states quite playfully.
"I've completely lost my intrest in the two of you. No fun at all. In fact, where's your employer? I may have to take the job myself and run both of you through." The ninja girl continues as she skips around the injured two with a smile hidden behind her scarf. Certainly, she was just kidding about the last part, but do they know that? Whoever heard of a playful assassin?

(On a side note, I doubt anyone can top my craptastic posts. :D)

[Anonymous]

If Blaise were still fully aware of his surroundings, being familiar enough with behavior (the arts of the confidence man beings his primary profession), he might've noticed Karen's manner and picked up on some subtle clue that she was joking.  As it was he only heard her voice, gave some resistance against Kioca, but utterly failed; he likely would not've been able to escape her hale and hearty.  In his mind an elaborate production all centering around his personal humiliation, public ruin, and ultimate cruel death unfolded; these two were in partnership, this was a grand scheme concocted by their employer, or someone wanted him quite dead and had sent a backup assassin after him, knowing his great skill at talking his way out of (or into) things.

Blaise opened his eyes, looked at Karen as she moved in an almost merry fashion, and laughed, chastised himself for not thinking of it sooner: if she dared anything he'd just set her on fire.  Encase some part of her in stone.  Something.  It was raw, lacked art, subtlety, he reasoned, that was why he hadn't done it to Kioca.  But while the first girl had caught him unguarded, unawares, this one might not be so fortunate, so long as he could stay conscious.  So Blaise made an effort, and focused his eyes as sharply as he could manage on Karen.

He would wait for her to make the first move, but concentrated both on her and on the correct spell such that a moment's notice would see it cast.

[Anonymous]

(( Oogh... It's been a rough few weeks. o.o If you're willing to forgive me, here following is my shitty post. ))

Kioca craned her head back, and said to Karen, "You can do as you like. But for now, kindly fuck off." She made no qualms of continuing, wholly ignoring Karen on the way, in search of a doctor. Paying wouldn't be a problem, likely -- she'd got a down-payment from her employer -- but FINDING the doctor would be the difficult part. Where was a doctor to be? Probably not in the slums... at least not one that would be trustworthy enough. Probably not in the richer districts... they'd be ludicrously expensive.

"Don't struggle," Kioca said, giving a slight shake to Blaise as she did so. "You'll open your wounds more, dumbass." So, assuming that the rich and poor districts were out-of-the-question... The middle districts? ... She'd just attacked someone in broad daylight there, so that may not be the wisest choice. What did that leave? In the end, pickiness wasn't allowed; she would have to take him to the nearest mid-class doctor she could find.

(( Yeah, uh... I need to get to school now. I'll edit when I get on lunch, if I somehow manage to circumvent my awful memory. I'm sorry, again, for not replying sooner; I don't have any worthwhile excuse -- SEPPUKU. ))

[Anonymous]

“That’s so sweet.”  A voice says coming form a dark ally way.  “To think if two assassins could become friends then there I hope for everyone.”  A yellow humanoid dragon walks out of the ally.  With a Katana and a metal staff in plain view.  “And you”, looking at the female form the roof, “you joke a little to much for a ninja, but I agree with what you said it is cool to see two assassins go at it.”  Electron turns to walk away, but realizes these people might be able to help him find his brothers.  “I passed a doctor on my way here if you are interested.”

[Anonymous]

"Such crude people. Certainly the two of you can't take a joke. See what happens when I try to lighten the mood?" The ninja girl notes as she skips up in front of the injured two.
"The bleeding one struggles with spells in the mind. And don't deny it, because I know. Why the other snaps at me." When she stops, the voice of another could be heard and she directly turns her attention to him. While the two poor assassins may have their attention drawn away from the girl and towards the dragonoid, she wastes no time to bring the bleeding man's free arm over her shoulder to support the opposing side at which the other femme is supporting.
"Well, let's not waste any time. He needs help and fast. Lead the way, Dragonboy!" The ninja girl finishes, proceeding to follow the yellow dragonoid with one of the gimpy assassin's arms under her shoulders.