Spirits of the Earth

OOC: Tags to @visualspice for now! Might open it up to Soot Wolves or others later on. :D

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Spot stared at herself in the cracked, dingy mirror. Carefully, she touched the scabbing cut that split through the skin across her throat. A memory of the creature that worked Jack, the Beta of the Soot Wolves, trying to slice open her throat flashed suddenly and violently through Spot's mind. Despite having worked personally for the Red Jackal, the head of the violent branch of the Soot Wolves, the Bloods, Spot had never been personally involved in violence. She was a spy, a thief, a sneak. Her weapons had always been her charm, her pretty face, her easygoing manner. Those wouldn't be enough anymore.

Spot moved her fingers away from her neck. Her hands trembling, she carefully tied and knotted the fine red silk scarf she'd stolen around her neck, covering the injury. Everything she now wore was stolen. She'd replaced the nondescript thieve's rags she normally donned with the neatly pressed dress of a well-to-do young woman. Her long black hair was tied back in a neat, braided bun. She could be a merchant's daughter, maybe a university student. It didn't matter. It looked different. She looked different. Enough to fool someone looking earnestly for her? Spot knew it wasn't, but it should avoid any casual recognition of her.

At least for now. At least until she could get out of Arca...

Spot blanched at the idea. An urchin child of poor, drunken parents before joining the Soot Wolves, she had never been outside of the city. But now it seemed impossible to stay. Zahi was dead. Jack was still alive. His associate had made it very clear that it was time for Spot to be dead. Now she was a liability. She knew too much. Too many things no one was supposed to know. And if she tried to seek out help from someone else, Spot didn't even know who she could trust. Zeina? Maybe. But if Spot turned to anyone in the Soot Wolves now, she'd have to admit to her own treachery.

Spot felt sick. She hated herself thinking of everything she'd done. But now she had to leave her dingy hideaway. She couldn't stay anywhere long. And it was time to leave the slums. She wouldn't leave Arca just yet. She had no idea where to go, and alone on the roads leaving the city, she'd be easily found. But until she could leave Arca, she'd have to hide somewhere else. And preferably somewhere where she wouldn't be found vulnerable and alone...

Spot took a deep breath, then left the hovel. Time to move on.

...

"And your name, miss?"

"Madeline Clemens," Spot lied. She liked the name, though. Her drunk parents had so many children that, once she got the nickname 'Spot,' they'd forgotten what they'd named their daughter at birth. Maybe, Spot thought, she'd stick with Madeline.

"Very good, Miss Clemens," the hostess at the upscale guest house told her. "And how long will you be staying with us?"

"Just a few nights," Spot answered, smiling prettily. That, anyway, was something she was good at. "But I'm not sure exactly. I'm waiting for word from my uncle. Is that alright?"

"Of course it is, dear," the hostess responded warmly. Spot could always get people to like her, and this woman was no exception. She handed a key over to Spot. "Here's the key to your room, Miss Clemens. You can get refreshments and meals in the dining room."

"Thank you so much," Spot replied, beaming warmly back at the woman. Then she followed directions to the little room she'd paid for with stolen money. It was small, with a single bed, but it was the cleanest, neatest, nicest room Spot had ever stayed in. She dropped the stolen luggage on the floor - filled with stolen clothing - took a moment to collect herself, then went down to the dining room.

Spot needed a drink.

Spot wasn't the only one making good use of the dingy mirror in his room. In fact, the dingy room wasn't even his, but it worked for the added convenience of what he wished to do- So the mirror sufficed when he cracked the man's face off of it, and the furniture beneath it as well where the man's face met with it at full force. Even the lamp was worked in there some how, the bed sheets and even the rug, and once the struggle had finally come to an end, Jarrett's red suit (his only red suit,t he one he still ironically wore from his false engagement), was now ruffled and crumble and set askew. He paused a moment to observe the mess, but only briefly before producing a bag large enough to stuff the lifeless man into it before cinching it closed and dropping down onto the edge of the bed to light up a cigar.

The sweat from the fight had his clothing clinging to him and made him itchy. He loosened the black cravat and began to flick open the buttons of his red jacket, one at a time. Once the stifling jacket was opened, he loosened his cravat the rest of the way, it becoming undone and hanging loose from his neck as he went to work at unbuttoning the white shirt and vest beneath and just sat there now, looking down at the body shaped bag before wiping off the blood trickling down from his nose. The blood had tickled him and now realizing what was on his hand, he could actually use it, his own blood, to conjure up his blood magic- and in a muttering of words,  a flame puffed to life from his own blood at the end of his finger and he leaned forward, and puckered his lips and lit up his smoke.

Blowing out the flame, he wipe the blood aside on his pant leg (it was red clothe anyway..) Then he paused a moment to take in a long drag before exhaling. Well, time to get this corpse and get the hell out of here. Peering over at the window, he contemplate escaping that way, but upon seeing a guard moving towards the back of the alleyway, he decided to try his luck leaving out the front door. After all, no one would question you for carrying a bag with boot shape protruding out of it in broad daylight when they were all down stairs for a drink and smoke. No one could be bothered ina  place like this to worry about a simple assassins such as he. It's not like he was out to murder them all anyway. So as he pushed his way outside the door, he threw the bag over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and down the steps he went.

He moved in nonchalance, his face placid and devoid of any emotion, and his hair, still neatly groomed with a piece of it falling and covering one of his green eyes. Though the rest o fhis face glistened with the subtle glow of sweat from the battle he had just one- or rather, the corpse he had just procured. It was messy work, but he had gotten out of it with just a bang to the nose, and the blood produced was already gone- and again, it was put to good use in conjuring up fire from his blood magics as he enjoyed another puff to his cigar.

He was making his way down to the landing where the steps curled and faced the other side of the building and there he was met with a woman's form in his way. She was nearly off the steps anyways, so it was of no consequence when he brushed past her, though it was a tight fit for the taller Jarrett to squeeze by, and as broad shoulder made way to the freedom of the final landing below, he paused in mid-stride when another figure appeared before him.

He wouldn't have known the dingy, soot-smudged face had this man not been there before- and been there several times before. He was grungy, he was hasty- and he was most definitely a Soot Wolf. He was there that time in the sewer, he was there that time in the alleyway- and none of those times he had asked for the favor, but the Soot Wolf silently helped like the shadow he was.

This time when the man came out, hastily reaching for the corpse in the bag, Jarrett's grip tightened, knuckles turning white- and as the lad tried to explain that the city guard was coming around inspecting the area for suspicious activity and he reached for the bag again. It was then Jarrett's fist met to his cheek. The Soot Wolf spilled onto the landing, which held only one final step before spilling out into the main hall,a nd then to the dining area, which smelled heavily of the sweet, dark stained wood of the floor and walls. It also now smelled of Jarrett's cigar, which he gave two irritable puffs upon while glaring down menacingly at the Soot Wolf who gaped up at him from where he lay just beside Jarrett's boots, completely in shock the man had even struck him- considering it seemed before he was at an understanding of all of the help received before. But Jarrett didn't even have to exchange words, for a few seconds later, the Soot Wolf scrambled to his feet and scampered off. He'd have to let the other wolves know about this and get new orders on how to proceed. He had always been cautious of Jarrett- he was an assassin, and a well known one, and he was always curious as to why he and some of the other wolves had to more or less 'baby sit' a very capable killer. But time and time again it seemed they had to rush in like the shadows to save his sorry ass-

But this time, well...

The 'Lone Wolf' bit back, and the other pack animal was not about to forfeit himself to another's 'wolf's' fury. With the Soot Wolf now gone, Jarrett removed his cigar to tap the ash aside, eyes peering off towards where the wolf had been. Then, readjusting the sack upon his shoulder, he felt something give as he took a step downwards off the landing, and the bag came open. Somehow the bag had become askew, and now Jarrett turned to witness, in a flash, the corpse, who had once been 'peacefully' inside the bag, now dangled precariously outside of it, it's neck twisted in a broken and curious manner,a nd glazed eyes now peering back towards the girl who, with a flash of his own, wild green eyes, he turned to observe... was still there at the scene.

And slowly, ever so slowly, he moved to re-position the bag over his shoulders, the cigar in his mouth, then placed a hand over the corpse's head and stuffed Mr. Allendale back inside the bag. He did this all while never once letting his gaze drop from the dark haired woman before him.
THen, just as nonchalantly he reached inside his jacket and pulled something out and offered it to her.

"Smoke?"
It looked as if she needed one.

Spot had nearly jumped out of her skin - and out of her newly adopted persona of Nice Upperclass Young Lady - when she saw the Blood Wolf materialize in the corridor. She recognized him immediately: Toad, they called him; he was a younger Blood Wolf and most definitely knew Spot. But he liked her, and Spot was wondering if she could use that to her advantage, if she could actually hurt one of her former compatriots, when -

The second man appeared around the stairwell, and it became quickly obvious that he was the target of the Blood Wolf's attention, not Spot. Spot took a step to the side of the landing, making herself slightly less obvious, but watched the scene unfold transfixed. Because she knew who that man was, too. The assassin that the Wolves had, for reasons unknown to them, been tasked with keeping track of. Then - BAM! - the assassin's fist pummeled into Toad's face, sending the young Blood spinning and Spot had to stifle a gasp. She took a step further back when Toad staggered forward, then scampered away. But it seemed that he'd been too preoccupied with the assassin, and then with the assassin's fist, to notice her. Or at least, she thought so.

But Spot wasn't so lucky with Jarrett, and her dark violet eyes rose from the partial shadow of the side of the landing to meet his gaze on her. She only broke his gaze for half a second to glance quickly up at the corpse peeking out of the bag slung over his shoulder. She stared at him, mouth partially open and frozen to the spot, for several moments. Spot wanted to run. To disappear into the shadows and flee into the streets and straight out of Arca. But open flight, she knew, would put her at more risk than staying put.

So instead she fell back to her normal tactic for dealing with stress.

"Oh, yeah, definitely, yeah, I mean, because everything's totally normal and relaxed here,"  Spot answered with a breathy, casual little laugh, nattering with an overdone nonchalance, and took the proffered cigar from the assassin. "I mean, I know I always, always like to have a smoke after punching the lights out of strangers. It's only civilized, right? And bags these days! They just don't make them like they used to, am I right? Never just stay closed when you need 'em to. You should take that back to the manufacturer. Get your money back."

Imitating other cigar-smokers Spot had observed (having never smoked herself), the girl bit off the end of the cigar, then promptly spit out the butt  with a disgusted crinkle of her nose. But she was quick to 'recover' and gave a shrug and a little 'puh' and an over-casual smile as if to say, 'Isn't that just always the way?'  The whole act didn't really cover her nervousness, but it wasn't entirely meant to. After all, a Nice Young Lady would definitely be unsettled by witnessing a fight and a corpse all at once! But this sort of exaggerated play-acting was Spot's fallback when she didn't know how else to act in a situation (and frequently when she did!) and surely it was better than showing how really frightened she really was.

"Got a light?"

Jarrett never carried a light since he could make one. So, giving a wipe to his nose, he felt just the smallest bit of blood and snot upon his hand before whispering some words of another language, and the faint smear of blood took to life, dancing magically against his skin before he offered out the hand that held the small flame for her to use.

Spot couldn't help but scrunch her face up as she watched Jarrett wipe the blood and snot from his nose and turn it into a small flame. "You don't light smokes for other people too often, huh?"

But Spot leaned in and held the cigar to the flame, keeping her eyes on Jarrett, and dragged on the cigar to light it. Then immediately started coughing once she had. But after pulling a face and clapping her chest a few times, she regained her 'composure' and leaned casually against the wall. Giving another 'oh isn't that just always the way' laughs. She took another puff of the cigar and, making a very brave face, managed not to cough again. Just.

Spot took this opportunity to take in the assassin. She'd never been tasked with tracking him - she had other duties, after all, or had had - but she'd heard plenty of grumbling from the Soot Wolves who had. It was one of the least desired job assignments. After all, who wants to have to put their life on the line for someone who wasn't even in the Guild? Without even knowing why? The Red Jackal hadn't been a big fan of the practice, either, a frustration vented to Spot because of Spot's, well, because people just seemed to tell Spot things.

And now she knew too much. And who was there to tell?

Spot wondered, though, if the assassin knew that the Blood Wolves enjoyed the task of babysitting him just about as much as he appeared to like being babysat. She was a bit intrigued, though, if still quite nervous. What kind of successful assassin carried around bodies in obvious sacks slung over their shoulder with their heads peeking out? Then got into altercations in the middle of public places where his actions would draw attention?

And just as Spot was thinking that, the mild-mannered hostess who Spot had just talked to came frantically around the corner.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked shrilly, her face white. "What's going on here? I just saw a man -" But she cut off when she saw Spot, Jarrett, and the suspicious bag slung over his shoulder and stared at them, mouth open.

Spot jumped back to her feet, away from the wall, and wished very much that she hadn't taken the cigar from Jarrett. She didn't look half as much like an innocent bystander now!

Jarrett gave a blink at her statement, as if hearing such an accusation for the first time. His lips sagged into a frown, expression becoming somewhat contemplative as he studied the woman (or rather just knitted his brow and happened to be staring in her direction) as she went on to half choke on the cigar. He supposed cigars weren't for everyone, and her face only proved it as she tried to pass it as nonchalance.

Jarrett L'isson was always an observer, a quiet observer, but it was how he worked. And he rarely missed much in the details. The quirks came in how he worked- and it appeared as if this young woman was just about to get caught up into some of his more personal shenanigans (after all, it wasn't like the woman smoking on the steps had actually helped him kill Mr. Allendale)- She was just an unfortunate passer byer, and that's all he really saw this as until a squawk from behind him made him turn to regard the hostess. His lips sagged, his time, the cigar in his lips seeming to follow as he drew in a breath, nostrils flaring before he exhaled a puff of white smoke past the cigar.

And so as they all stood there, awkwardly staring at one another, Jarrett figured he'd speak up first.
"I punched him." Then he paused in the middle of his still dead pan look before adding, after shifting the cigar around between his lips. "With my fist." And he stared at the woman, adjusting the weight just once of the bag with the corpse in it over his shoulders and stared at the woman expectantly. It was as if there was nothing sinister going on here-
Jarrett showed absolutely no signs of either being hostile, or... well.. amicable. And even at this, the woman still gaped.

Spot stared at Jarrett. What was wrong with this guy? 'I punched him. With my fist.' Spot suddenly wondered if maybe he wasn't exactly right in the head. Maybe that was why Rufus had the Wolves tail him. Though that didn't necessarily make any more sense...

"You punched him, you-" the hostess flustered, still clearly beside herself. "We are not a place for violence and ruffians! I think I better call the -"

Guards. That was obviously going to be what she said next, and more attention to the situation was the last thing Spot needed. Then the girl leapt into action. "No, no!" she interjected quickly, face white and eyes wide and earnest. "You don't understand! He was just... he saved me!"

The woman stopped, and looked at Spot agast. "Miss Clemens?"

"The man who ran off," Spot explained quickly, talking more fastly and confidently now that she'd had a second longer to think up her story, "I think he was a drunk. He grabbed me as I was coming down the stairs. Saying all sorts of... of... indecent things!" Spot did her best to say 'indecent' the way she thought a Nice Young Lady would and sniffed loudly. Tears welled up in her eyes and she waved the lit cigar out in front of her, "He was about to burn me with this," she sniffled, swallowing hard, "when this man came and got him off me. Then- then when he wouldn't apologize, he hit him! But, if it hadn't... If he hadn't... I don't know what would have happened!"

"Oh, Miss Clemens!" the woman explained, looking horrified at the story. Then she looked at Jarrett very differently. "Oh, I'm so sorry, sir. You're a hero! And Miss Clemens... I can't even... We always do our best to secure our guests' safety..."

"I don't even know," Spot half-sobbed, covering her face, "how someone like that got in here."

"Oh, you're absolutely right! I will talk to the guard about that! We really do take young ladies' safety very, very seriously. Please, I'm sure you're both very shaken up," the woman said, and it was clear on her face that now that the immediate threat was gone, she was already thinking of how to cover her own ass. How did someone like that get in here? "I insist that you both come and have some refreshment. On us, of course! To show our gratitude, and..." But she stopped talking, she was already gesturing urgently for them to follow her into the dining room. She wanted to quiet this down as quickly as she could. The last thing she needed was for more guests to get involved in this affair. Someone might complain!

Jarrett was at a loss. The strange woman (sort of) saved his ass. He supposed if it came down to it, he could just knock the hostess out- though he never normally got innocents involved. Well, normally. It was hard to deduce exactly what normal was for a man like Jarrett, and he stared from Spot to the woman and back again he frowned. But when the woman offered refreshments, his frown deepened considerably as he was urgently 'ushered' forward to the tavern's main dining hall,- corpse bag in tow. Though as they walked, he paused to readjusted it, cinch it tighter before reslinging it over his shoulder, and paused only once to look at Spot critically.

It seemed the dark hair woman now caught his interest, and he was curious as to what was her game.

Oh brother. This is not what Spot had signed up for! She didn't want to sit down and stick around with this hare-brained assassin, she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. What if another Soot Wolf materialized again to keep tabs on him? What if - Spot suddenly wondered - Jack wouldn't have hired an assassin who was the pet of Rufus, would he? Right? Spot didn't want to raise any suspicion, though, so smiling graciously and giving many 'oh, thank you, oh no, it's fine, oh thanks so much' to the hostess, followed her and Jarrett into the dining room. She couldn't help but eye the lumpy sack, though. Spot did not want to end up there!

The hostess hurriedly ushered them to a small table in a corner of the dining room. Fitting with the upscale feel of the guest house, it was bright, neatly decorated, and possibly the cleanest place Spot had ever eaten in. Sitting down when she was bidden to, Spot watched as the hostess waved over the sommelier. The woman's lips were clearly silently telling the man: 'Bring something nice. NOT TOO NICE.'

"Here we are!" the hostess said with an overdone graciousness. "Our treat to you. These sort of unpleasantries don't normally go on here, we assure you."

With a bit more twittering, the hostess left and the sommelier brought over a bottle of dark red wine, pouring out a measure for Jarrett to test before pouring out the glasses. "A very nice year. Very fine grapes from Adela."

Spot gave a nervous little laugh. "You don't have anything stronger, do you?" Then, as if to explain why a Nice Young Lady would ask such a question, added hastily, "For my nerves."

"Oh! Of course! If the lady desires!" the sommelier said brightly. He liked a pretty young lady with a bit of spunk. Grinning, he returned to the bar, but left the wine behind. Well, just as well. Spot wouldn't mind a few drinks.

Spot smiled a 'thank you' smile at him and watched carefully as he left. As soon as he was out of earshot, she turned to Jarrett, the carefully maintained Nice Young Lady expression dropping. She took another drag of the still-lit cigar she was still carrying, again barely suppressing a cough and feigning a familarity with it she clearly didn't have, and shook her head at him. "Are you always so smooth?" she asked him, keeping her voice low. "You're lucky she didn't call the guards anyway."

Lucky for Jarrett, he was still in his suit, but he probably looked like a sore thumb in this place- considering the nice suit was open in the front, exposing just glimpses of his well toned chest at times, and also- well..
he was carrying a corpse shaped sack.
But no one seemed to pay them much mind, and as the wine was poured Jarrett simply watched it, spotting the bubbles as they drifted up from the center of the cup. The only thing that drew his supposed deep interest in the glass away was when they were alone and Spot spoke up.

He lifted his green eyes to hers and said nothing, just kept his gaze on her before removing his cigar and tapping the ash onto the ground.
"This is my job." He gave a shrug an leaned back in his chair casually, perhaps a bit too casually, exposing some more of his chest. His hand reached up to rub at his neck and shoulder, the one that had been holding the very heavy Mr. Allendale as he frowned.
"And she wouldn't have called the guards."
If she would tried, he could have just killed her...

Not that he wanted anymore casualties than this. And then as he studied the woman across from him now, he went curiously quiet, puckering the cigar at his ips before breathing out the smoke in leisure.
"So you're a Soot Wolf?" It was odd how he deduced it, or how it even came up, but there it was. It just came off of his tongue- and there was indifference in it- for it was a statement more than anything, even if it was posed as a question. And those green eyes, unphased, remained locked upon her's as the slowly drifting smoke from his cigar snaked between them in a fading haze.

Spot couldn't keep the frown off of her face at his question-statement. She was good at coming up with stories and sticking to them, but she wasn't a very good outright liar. Spot had a tendency to let her feelings show. It was a boon sometimes; it made people trust her more easily; but not always. But her expression didn't quite say 'yes, I am.' In fact, her expression and tone were both very definite when she said, "No, I'm not."

That, she was sure, was now true.

The sommelier returned with a bottle of amber brown liquid and two two tumblers. "Our finest Connlaothian whiskey," he declared proudly. "And you can keep the wine," he said genially, gaving Spot a wink, as he poured the two tumblers and set them down before Jarrett and Spot. Spot crinkled her nose in a playful smile back at the sommelier. Probably not a bad idea to have a friend if things went south. With another smile, the sommelier left the table.

Spot exhaled and quickly took a drink of the whiskey. She regarded him again, then, noting the casually exposed triangle of exposed chest. Then she put the glass back down and leaned forward with her elbows on the table. Her expression serious - perhaps too serious - and puffing again on the cigar, which she finally managed to do without coughing, she looked more like a grumpy old crime boss than a cute young girl. Which was, of course, what she was going for. She looked him over, gave a little unimpresed huff, then took another drag on the cigar.

"So are you always so subtle when you're 'at work?'"

Spot wasn't really sure where she was going with this... But she was stuck with him for now!

Jarrett gave a shrug, finally lifting his glass to his lips and removed his cigar. Then he enjoyed a drink, then two before setting it down as he released a breath through his nose and turned to her before swallowing.
"I can't say I've ever been invited to have a drink before."
And with a corpse in tow...


Then again, there had been that one time he was dancing, and the other time he bought his corpse a drink...
But he was being stealthy. He realized if you didn't look suspicious, no one would even notice if you carted around dead people. It was a strange reality, and somehow- Jarrett took full advantage of a thing- even if it was not fully intentionally half the time.

"So you're no longer a Soot Wolf?" he asked casually, taking in another drag. He read that face easily, and Jarrett was never one to make light fluffy conversation. A lot of things he said seemed black or white, or rather, shades of grey COULD happen, but that required a lot more effort and thought. Besides, what was wrong with being blunt?

"I hate to tell you, but technically," Spot corrected, "I didn't invite you for a drink." She made a 'sorry to break the bad news to you' face, then took another healthy drink of the whiskey. "Not that you're not cute enough," she said with a sideways cant of her head, chin now resting on the heel of her palm. It was true, she supposed, but she wasn't really flirting. Instead her eyes glanced down at Mr. Allendale. "But I think you come with a bit too much baggage for my tastes."

Spot really wasn't sure what to do with herself. She wanted out of here. But she couldn't really leave now without drawing attention to herself. She saw that the sommelier was still beaming warmly over at her every so often. So she simply watched Jarrett with her big violet eyes while puffing on the cigar, which was starting to make her feel queazy. Well, maybe it was the cigar. It could be the situation.

"Anyway, since you're so curious," she finally said, her tone still overly casual, but not as bad as it'd been earlier, though she lowered it now so it had the tone of confidential information she was just telling him, "I'm a call girl. With a decent price, mind you. Some of my clients prefer discretion," she gave a little shrug, then leaned back in the chair. She took the final drag of the cigar, then stamped it out. (Thank goodness!) "So I don't really need guards or overly curious hostesses snooping around my business."

When Spot leaned back, though, the silk scarf tied about her neck slipped, just slightly, but enough to expose some of the bruising (though not the garish, scabbed cut) from the previous night's attack.

If there was any doubt in his mind who this woman before him was, it was more than evident to him now. Not many women, he was certain, could boast such a fresh wound on their neck. And he was too easily putting two and two together. But he said nothing, nothing to her comment about his looks or his baggage, or even about the drinks. Instead, he simply stared at her as his cigar smoke continued to waft her way. And only when the ashes seemed about to fall clean off did he remove it from his lips and helped himself to another drink.

Spot fidgeted in her seat. She was starting to wonder if she could even stay here tonight now. No, she supposed she couldn't... Fear was beginning to creep back into Spot's mind, and the silent stare of the assassin wasn't really helping.

"Not much of a talker, huh?" she asked, trying to stifle a nervous laugh, but not wholly succeeding.

At her words, he continued to stare before lifting the glass to his lips again and nearly finishing his drink. He peered down to where her cigar was discarded, then looked back up into her face.
"You should probably leave this place."
In fact, she should probably leave this town....
And he had no idea why he cared to tell her that. She was one of his marks after all. Though he supposed he'd rather not deal wtih a second one right now. He still had one fresh corpse in the bag.

Spot scrunched her face, no longer putting on any airs. "What do you know?" she asked, instead of 'what do you care?' which she was thinking.

"You've got a mark on you," he told her with indifference, eyes never leaving hers as he went back to nursing her cigar. The look on her face wasn't lost on him, but he'd rather hear what else she'd have to say on it.

"No," she answered quickly, and rubbed at her cheek, "it's just a smudge."

But she knew, of course, what he actually meant. The young woman held his gaze for several moments. She was trying to decide what to make of his actions, or rather, his words. After all, most assassins didn't warn their prey. Did this mean he was about to make a move on her? What would she do? Spot realized suddenly that her body was very tense. As a remedy, she finished the rest of her drink in one go. It didn't really work.

"Is that why you're here?" she finally asked. Might as well be forward. What did she have to lose? Except... Spot swallowed. Oh right.

"No." he told her, gaze never leaving hers. "I came for Mr. Allendale."

Spot bit her lip, but she didn't look away. The intensity of the sustained eye contact at their table would probably garner attention if it went on for too long. "Why are you telling me this?" she finally asked. Then added dryly, even managing the best 'winning smile' she could muster, "I'm guessing it's not just because I'm so darn adorable."

Actually, it just might have been the very reason. He had grown accustomed to some of the quirky, cuteness that made up some of the population of women when he was spending more time with his unfortunate fake fiance, Lady Beirne. Something about her mannerisms just made him react that way, and he wasn't sure he could explain why.

"To give you a fair chance." A fair chance at what? He didn't know, but he wasn't sure if he would completely let such an easy target get away. Not for the kind of cash she was worth. But she hardly seemed dangerous. Most of the men he killed (and he tended to prefer to kill men), were anything but innocent of nature. But something about this woman struck him as different, but he couldn't quite but his finger on it.

Spot actually laughed at that; an unexpected laugh that started off something like a scoff and ended with her looking half-believingly at him, a shadow of a smile on her half-opened mouth. (In between it was also a laugh!) It was just too ridiculous. This was actually happening. She stared at him like that for a moment, then nodded, straightening herself up.

"Well, I say, very sporting of you, ol' chap!" she declared in her best Rich Tosser voice; one of her standards. "What a stand-up gent! Here," she poured picked up the bottle of wine and poured a glass for him, then one for herself. Now that the situation was clear, they may as well have a drink first! "So then, Mr. L'isson," she she said, switching into a Very Serious Business voice and posture, but there was still the faint hint of an utterly disbelieving oh-fuck-it-this-is-real smile on her face, " here's to fair chances and a good run," she clinked her glass to his and took a drink of the wine.

"Tell me, do I get a head start?"

Jarrett lamely held the glass as they clinked. His eyes still remained placid and glued to hers.
"You already have."

"Hm." Spot looked across at Jarrett. He'd already given her a headstart. That was true. And Spot had stuck around like an idiot. What was she thinking. Keeping her eyes level with him, she took a long drink from the wine glass. "I guess you're right. You have already."

Spot frowned. What now? Just then she noticed the sommelier was making eyes at her again. Maybe Spot had done herself a favor, asking for something stronger... "Well, you'll let me have another drink, right?" Spot asked, flashing him a pretty, helpless little smile. Spot reached across to pick up the bottle to pour herself another glass then, glancing quickly to verify that she had the sommelier's attention, she knocked over the bottle, spilling the wine all over Jarrett's chest and lap.

Spot leapt up, covering her mouth. "Oh! I'm so clumsy! I'm so sorry! I-"

But before Spot could even finish her exclamation, the sommelier had rushed over to the table. "Sir! How can I help? Oh, we'll get some towels, some," he waved wildly over to the busboys, who rushed over with arms full of towels. A small circus was circling around Jarrett now, trying to dry the wine off of his jacket and trousers. "We'll get you a new jacket, of course, sir! Maybe your friend-"

But in the commotion surrounding Jarrett, Spot had disappeared. And just when it didn't seem it could get more chaotic, one of the busboys stopped to inspect Jarrett's bag, the one containing Mr. Arrendale. "Oh, sir, I think there's wine on you bag, too. I'll just-" but he frowned as he tried to lift it. Suspiciously heavy!

...

Spot, meanwhile, was already on the street, moving quickly through the evening crowds away from the guesthouse!

Jarrett wasn't entirely sure how the events came to be, but there he was sitting, with a lap and chest full of wine. He only frowned, and that frown deepened as all of the staff began to fuss over him. Though as they worked at dabbing him off, promising new clothing and this and that-t he second someone's hand found his bag, Jarrett's hand shot out and gripped the man's wrist roughly.

"The bag'll be fine. It's just a bag." And the look he was going made the helper freeze in shock. Terror gripped him and when Jarrett finally released his arm, he stumbled away, stood gaping before his boss ushered him away. And as the sommelier went on asking about the price of his garb, Jarrett simply rose with a frown, puffing out cigar smoke trough his nostrils before hefting the bag over his shoulder.

"There's no need for that. I was only here to enjoy a few drinks with a ..."a nd here he paused to think over his choice of phrasings when he realized the woman had gone. He frowned and added the words, "'Friend'". THankfully he hadn't been dumb enough to say fiance. That lie already got him in a world of trouble.

Waving the men off, he simply turned from the 'scene of the crime' and pushed the door open to the place and walked away, leaving the sommelier and everyone else utterly, utterly confused.

Spot wove through the evening streets of Arca, not going so fast that she'd draw attention, but she certainly didn't dawdle! What was she going to do? Part of her just wanted to bolt - get out of Arca tonight! But where would she go? It was a bogus idea and she knew it. Maybe, though, she could join one of the caravan troupes that wandered the countryside trading. There was one in Arca now, she knew, but could she trust that there'd be no assassins amongst them? Spot didn't know is Jarrett L'isson had been contracted, or if there was a general mark out on her. Well, maybe she would go to the traders' market tomorrow and see, but tonight Spot just wanted to hide. Hole up somewhere and regain her wits.

Just then she was passing the university library. Spot paused. She was still a Nice Young Lady; she could be a university student. Plus the university library and collections... it was a huge building! Full of places to hide and disappear. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure the assassin hadn't caught up with her, Spot turned and walked confidently into the library. It would close relatively soon, and she needed to hide herself away somewhere. Then she should be able to weather the night in relative safety.

Even though Spot's mind was obviously occupied, she couldn't help but be impressed when she entered the library. It was a huge building, ornately decorated, and full to the gills of high shelves, plush reading rooms, and other side rooms and hideaways housing the university's collections of academia and oddities. It wasn't hard to disappear into the maze of the library and to disappear into the tall stacks when the library emptied and closed.

Spot was tired, but she was also curious, and now she had the whole university library to herself. She hadn't had the benefit of an education - a decent one or otherwise! - and though she could read, struggled with the books in the room she'd hid in. So she walked, hands clapped behind her back, through the library, taking in the art and statues and impressive looking tomes and architecture. Finally, she found her way into a circular room that had, in its center, a globe so big it was several feet taller than Spot and was covered in countries near, that she recognized, and mysterious landmasses far away. The walls of the room were floor-to-ceiling glass cases holding large minerals and gems, and strange skeletons and shells. Spot stared at the globe, circling it with wide, wonder-filled purple eyes.

"Maybe I'll start my new life here," she muttered to herself, looking at a far and distant landmass, covered with artistic representations of palm trees and green mountains.

Had she inquired to the assassin, he would have told her there was a general mark, and that he wasn't the only one aware of it. Whether he was to actively pursue her was really up to him, and he already had some corpse in a bag to deal with, so Spot was really not on the fore front of his mind as he hefted the corpse from one shoulder to the other, and began to make his way through the streets, puffing away at the remains of his cigar.

He spotted a few Soot Wolves here or there, but they left him alone, simply observing him and whispering among themselves. But it was not the Soot Wolves that concerned him, but a certain figure he caught out of the edge of his eyes-
a certain fellow assassin he had the pleasure to run into at one time or another, a certain Jade Avue. Jade was a Lord in the highest regard that took pleasure in the hunt and kill. He was not entirely new to the assassin career, but he was definitely a man he knew many others were wary of. Not only was he an assassin by nightly trade- but he was also a killer. He tended to focus on women, and pretty women, and once he had his fill of them, and his mental cravings went from lust of bodies to lust of bones- he'd kill them- simple as that, and collected their bones.

Finding out about Spot's mark had Jade Avue curious, and finding himself bored of his usual whores, he took to the streets and clung to the shadows. He had spotted someone that looked similar to his mark, but lost her somewhere int he library. But he had a hunch she was still there.
But Jade and Spot weren't the only ones stuck in the university after hours, for Jarrett decided to follow after Jade, to see what the criminal Lord was up to, when suddenly his awkward shaped bag got stuck on the edge of a displayed skeleton's foot, and snagged intot he burlap and  began to teeter over.

Whirling around, the assassin lunged out to catch the skeleton into his arms, bridal style, and managed to save the skeleton from any damage, but his corpse bag swung awkwardly from his shouler, threatening to spill off his arm, and the jerking motion from that was enough to decapitate the skeleton as the skull fell off and tumbled to a roll across the floor, all the way over to where it stopped in it's roll at Spot's feet.
And there it remained, two hollowed eyes looking up at her in endless wonder.

Spot literally jumped straight into the air when she heard the skeleton fall. She was the only one in here! Her first thought was, embarrassingly, of ghosts and ghouls in a place like this. When she came back down, though, Spot landed right on the skull, sending it spiraling towards into the air and sending Spot falling head over heel.

She landed with an audible 'oof' with her back on the floor. She cursed when she looked over top of her own toppled form to see Jarrett cradling the skeleton. Well, fuck.

Spot gave a nervous laugh, looking up at Jarrett. "Come on, now. You're passing me over for her? She doesn't even got a head!" she asked with a nod to the decapitated skeleton.

Despite her jest, though, Spot's heart was pounding. What was she going to do now?

It probably did look ridiculous from her angle- considering Jarrett was draped from head to two with now TWO dead people, while the living, breathing (and much more attractive) woman was left to fall painfully onto her ass. Though in his defense, even if he would have been there to catch her, it would seem he was too far away from even considering such a feat, and he stared at her a moment, cigar smoke puffing through his nostrils before he moved to untangle himself frm the skeleton (which proved to be a vastly more difficult task than it seemed), since in the process, he yanked the right arm off of it, and gave it a stare as it rotated awkwardly at the wrist, and settled into a small, wilted swinging motion before he simply tossed the dislocated bony arm aside.
The rest of the skeleton, however, he neatly hung back onto it's post-
well, as neatly as he could, fr it now hung awkwardly, like some coat on it's hanger before he turned to observe Spot on the floor.

And he wasted no time in slowly crossing the distance between them as he picked up the skull by her boot then offered her out a hand.
"Someone's followed you here," he told her plainly, though by the tone of it, it was obvious it wasn't him. Well, him, or the skull,.. or his... you know, bagged dead guy.

Spot scrambled to her feet, most definitely not taking Jarrett's hand. Scuttling backwards to put more distance between them, Spot circled around to the other side of the globe. She really didn't understand what this man was after. If he were going to kill her, couldn't he be, well, more aggressive about it? So she at least knew that was what was going on? Instead he kept giving her warnings, and Spot couldn't help but wonder if anyone had followed her in at all. Probably he was just trying to get her to trust him!

Spot didn't realize that she'd kept backing up until she bumped into a display pedestal. It rocked, but didn't fall over. But Spot's hand came down on something... She glanced away from Jarrett just long enough to look. There on the pedestal was a GIANT tooth! Triangular and jagged and serrated and the size of an axe! Spot had no idea what it was, but she swiftly picked it up, holding it out in front of her like it was a sword or, at least, a dagger.

"Good thing I'm armed then," she said with a faux-confident (but-obviously-terrified) laugh. "I'd like to see some lowly assassin get through this... this... Death Tooth! That's right. Beware Spot, wielder of the Great Fang of Suffering. Just you... try and come closer! I'll tooth you to bits!"

Jarrett stared at her, more curious than impressed. But as he studied the way she held it, he merely told her, "You're holding it wrong." And then he pointed out, "And the blade looks dull." And at such an accusation, he gave a curious tilt of his head. Yeah, it at least looked dull from here.
"You could use it to bludgeon someone to death." And he remove his cigar he had been speaking through and flicked the ash aside. "Do you know how to bludgeon someone?" And somehow that made him frown. She looked awfully scrawny to be able to do something like that.

"Hey! How do you know? Are you a Death Tooth master?" Spot responded quickly and defensively, but frowned at her megatooth. "It's not for slicing it's for... jabbing!" She made a few jerky steps forward, jabbing the Death Tooth awkwardly in the air (but at least in the direction of Jarrett). "See? You don't  know anything about how to properly wield a great weapon like this! It's not about big slashy brute force stuff, this is a stealth weapon!"

But as soon as she made this proud declaration (though she sounded quite dubious about it herself), Spot scurried backwards again in retreat from the small advance she made. If the situation was too serious for such joking, Spot didn't seem to realize it. Serious situations, she was sure, were the ones that required the most joking!

Or, maybe, Spot just didn't know what else to do.

She frowned at him from her new 'safe' distance, as though she could read his poor assessment of her. "Well, no, maybe not," she admitted, her anxiousness painfully obvious "but I'm not a 'bludgeoning' type. I'm more of a 'fly like a butterfly, sting like a... Death Tooth' kind of fighter."

What Spot really was was a 'run-like-the-fucking-wind' type, but right now Jarrett was blocking the only exit from the room. Still, she glanced over his shoulder, assessing whether or not a sudden break was an option.

Jarrett continued to assess her, puffing away at his cigar as he moved to adjust the weight of the corpse on his shoulder, but it was beginning to hurt. The damn dead dude was incredibly heavy, and with a frown, he moved to place the corpse over his other shoulder when a knife glinted through the air- one landing incredibly close to the display nearest Spot, wobbling to a halt where it was sunk into the wooden support beams- when two more glinting objects flew through the air- one- landed painfully through Jarrett's hand, while the last one cut into the corpse's bag, ripping open a hole big enough the dead man's hand came tumbling out. And all Jarrett could do, was stare at his now bleeding hand as the blade shined red with his blood.

WHAT?!

The blades whizzed by - one clipping a lock of Spot's hair - and Spot stood open mouthed. Then, reacting faster than she would have guessed, she curled the megatooth as hard as she could at the unseen adversary in the darkness of the hall. Much to Spot's surprise, the sound of ancient-tooth-hitting-fesh and a muffled curse suggested that the tooth actually hit its mark!

"Yeah! That's right!" Spot called into the darkness not unlike a little dog yipping at a much more Dangerous Animal. "I got more teeth where that came from! I got a whole mouth full of 'em!"

Wait! What was she doing?! Suddenly realizing the danger she was obviously in, Spot hurriedly threw herself behind the 'safety' of the globe. At least another blade - thrown from the hall - wouldn't reach her here. Another blade didn't come, though, but what did that mean? That the unseen enemy was dead, or regrouping?

"Who was that?!" Spot demanded in a hissed whisper, peeking around the globe at Jarrett. Then she saw his hand for the first time and she startled and declared unehlpfully. "Your hand! You're bleeding!"

Where as Spot was so enthralled with her successful hit, Jarrett's eyes suddenly tore away from his bleeding hand as they peered over his shoulder, ears listening intently, even through the woman's yippy cries of victory. And when his eyes stopped, so did the sounds he had been following. And though she had only then gasped over his hand, Jarrett saw the flick of something else in the dark and told her flatly, "Move." As another knife came sailing straight at her head. A second one was thrown at Jarrett, but this time he jerked aside as it flew right past him- clattering into the dark.

Spot leapt forward just in time to miss the blade whizzing through the sky. How was that possible? she thought. Wasn’t their assailant outside the room? “Why are you helping me?” Spot hissed, a mix of fear, suspicion, and confusion plain on her features.

But before Jarrett would have a chance to answer, a strong arm grabbed Spot from behind and she found herself pulled roughly backwards. She was pinned now against the hard chest of a man she couldn’t see and before she could struggle and try to escape - she had big plans of biting the bastard - she felt a small, cold blade against her throat. Spot went stiff, and still. (Spot wouldn't be able to see it, but Mr. Jade Avue sported a nice, Death Tooth-shaped black eye.)

“Well, well, didn’t this work out much more nicely?” a cold voice cooed in her ear. “Pretty thing you are, it’d have been a shame to strike you down from so far away. I much prefer to work,” she felt his grip on her tighten, “up close.”

Spot’s heart was racing now, a cold fear spreading rapidly from her stomach. No way. This was not how she was going to go. The reason Spot had joined the Soot Wolves was so she wouldn’t have to deal with creeps like this. Like any girl who grew up poor and desperate, Spot had the quick ability to pick out the sick men who would take you somewhere dark and slice you into pieces. And Spot did not want to be sliced into pieces by some creepy creeper!

“You’re getting sloppy, Mr. L’isson,” the unseen voice said haughtily. He began moving backwards, Spot’s body flush to his. But it seemed he wasn’t going to miss this chance to gloat. “It’s always amazed me you hit any mark at all, to be honest. But with these snake-like women, you can’t let them talk too much, you know. The tongue is the first thing that has to go.”

As he said this, Spot was tracking the distance between them and the globe. And at his last remark, she decided to take a risk and put all her weight and strength into leaping backwards, sending her and the unseen assassin crashing into the glass case that was now not so far behind them. Shattered glass went everywhere as they continued backwards, slamming into the carefully manicured mineral display it had protected. In the fall, the man’s knife had slipped and cut Spot just below her jaw bone, but missed any of her vital arteries. The glass, meanwhile, had smashed into the head of her assailant, who cursed loudly, and Spot was now covered in her own blood and his. But when his head smacked against a giant quartz crystal, his grip loosened and Spot sprang forward.

The man’s hand grabbed her ankle before she could get away, though, causing Spot to crash onto the glass-strewn floor.

And that's when Jarrett stepped in between them- yanking the knife from his hand and crouching down over the bleeding form of Jade. He could feel his own warm blood dribbling down his hand and falling down in spots over the man's shirt beneath him, and a thousand versions of Jarrett came sweeping underneath Jade's form, reflecting in the sea of broken glass as Jarrett stood over him and between he and Spot as his none bloodied hand gripped violently onto Jade's wrist, while his bloodied hand smashed onto a tight, venomous grip to his face.

And he muttered something, something Jade did not quite catch as the other would be assassin jerked back within his grip. But even as Jade found himself free of Jarrett's hold, the blood from the Lone Wolf was already smeared onto his face, and the words already uttered, and suddenly, the blood on Jade's face erupted into flames and the man let out a blood curdling scream.

Spot hastened to crawl further away, putting more distance between herself and the I’m-Going-To-Slice-You-Up-Creeper when Jarrett intervened. She didn’t make it too far, though, before she turned to see what was transpiring between the two assassins. She watched with a mixture of confusion and admiration as Jarrett dealt with Jade. The assassin, his entire head engulfed in flames, stumbled to his feet. In a bout of strength brought on by the sheer adrenaline pumping through the crazed man’s body, he shoved Jarrett aside and, still screaming, ran headlong out of the room. Looking, maybe, for a way to douse the flames that were consuming him.

It wasn’t to be, though. Because, as the man fled, his foot fell on an unseen object - the Death Tooth, which still lay on the floor outside of the circular globe room - and threw him off his balance. Spot watched in wide-eyed horror as the flaming torch of a man’s body flew forward and disappeared over the banister to the entrance hall. The light grew further away until - thud - they heard the sick sound of the body landing on the cold marble floor of the library below.

Spot was frozen for several moments, still sprawled and bloody on the glass-strewn floor, listening for the sound of jade Azue rising. But no such sound came. Painfully, Spot picked herself up into a half-sitting position. But she nearly passed out when she looked down at her arms. They were cut and bloodied from the glass, with one particularly large shard of glass still embedded in her right forearm. Swallowing the faint feeling, Spot carefully withdrew the large piece of glass, wincing sharply as she did. As soon as it was out, blood poured from the laceration and Spot immediately clamped her left hand down over the deep cut. It would need stitches… well, if, that was, Spot made it through the night. Or though that hour.

And that was when her mind turned back to the other dangerous assassin, the one who was still in the room with her.

Spot twisted around to face Jarrett, still on the floor, still holding tightly onto her right arm, blood oozing through the fingers of her left. “I guess it must be quite a lot, my mark,” she said with a breathy, nervous laugh, “for you to go through all this trouble. Just...” here Spot pulled a face, "don't barbeque me, okay? I don't want to loose my looks."

Jarrett turned to regard Spot now with a blink. By now, the cigar was practically a nub, and he frowned through it.
"Mr. Allendale was worth more," he told her simply, then tossed the cigar nub from his mouth and crushed it under his boot heel. "Besides, I have no plans to barbecue you." He said, frowning at repeating her choice of words.

Now it was Spot’s turn to stare at Jarrett. Here she was, covered in blood, stuck full of glass, sprawled out on the floor after Mr. Creeper Creepyface tried to slice her, holding her arm together, bleeding her guts out, and he couldn’t even let her feel like her life was expensive? What a jerk.

“You really know how to make a girl feel special, you know that?”

Kicking some of the glass away, Spot tried to pick herself up without using her arms. She was much too afraid to stop holding her arm together; as much as she hated it, Spot was a bit queazy about these things. And that was what did her in, because all the blood was making Spot awfully light-headed and her attempt to get up just resulted in her crashing back to the floor.

Already on the floor, Spot flopped her back down on the floor in a grand gesture of ‘oh-fuck-this’. Staring up at the ceiling, which she only now realized was painted with a map of the stars, Spot gave a loud, melodramatic sigh. (Well, did it count as ‘melodramatic’ given her current state?) This was not Spot’s day!

Jarrett just stared at the woman, who was cut and bleeding on the floor. The glass shards around her sparkled like diamonds and rubies- rubies because of the blood mixed with the twinkling shards. His gaze eventually followed hers to the ceiling, but he only stared at it briefly before glancing back down to her.

"Do you need help getting up?" Maybe she could use a hand, but he had a feeling she needed more help than just that. And as he examined her, he frowned. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a kerchief and crouched beside her.
"Here, you can tie this around the deeper wounds. If you don't, you'll bleed out all over the floor."
And though she was a mark, he didn't want to kill her like this- you know, if he was going to kill her. It wasn't really his style.

Then again, did he really have a style? But she also, from what he could see, wasn't really like any of his other marks, too.

Spot didn't pick up her head, just turned it to look at him. She still had the distinct look of 'nope-fuck-this-situation this is all just too exhausting' in her demeanor. Spot stared at him for a moment, before asking flatly, "How am I going to tie anything around my own forearm?"

Spot sighed again, turning her gaze back up to the ceiling. The irony that the only person she could turn to for help right now - and she needed help - was an assassin, who coincidentally was also trying to kill her was not lost on her.

Then, belatedly, she answered his first question. "No," she answered glumly, "I think I'm just going to stay here. I guess if you're not going to kill me, I'll get arrested in the morning. That's not the worst. They might patch me up, at least."

Jarrett still stared at her, and still stared, crouched down and careful how he did so (as there was still a dangerous sea of glass all around them), he just silently took her resignation as tending to the arm himself. And carefully pressed the clothe to the wound, and began to tie it into a tight bow. Then once he was done, he continued to stare at her. She looked rather pathetic just lying there on the floor. And if the guards were to come find her like this...

Without a second thought, or even asking if it was okay, he suddenly scooped her up into his arms, glass shards tinkling as they fell off of her form and he held her against his body.
"The least we can do is get you patched up," he told her plainly, and began to move her away from the scene of the crime. And holding her this close, she'd be able to smell the fresh cigar smoke off of his body, and also an exotic scent of river reeds mixed with his own natural musk.

Spot watched sullenly as Jarrett began to tend to her arm, only hesitantly daring to remove her firm clamp from the wound. For some reason - perhaps due to her new exhausted resignation - she decided she may as well trust him. Lifting her hand up, she looked at the sticky dark red blood covering it while Jarrett bound up the wound. Until a drop of her own blood dripped down onto her nose, that is, and she looked back at Jarrett and her wounded arm. All the time unmoving.

"I like the bow," she told him flatly.

But she didn't have time to say anything else (if she'd had anything else to say) before he scooped her up in his arms. Spot made a small noise of surprise, but didn't protest. What the hell, she figured. Instead of struggling, she just let herself be carried like a little girl, or a limp little rag doll, resting her head against his chest as he carried her out of the room, not even to bother questioning where they were going. She'd never really been able to feel, like a child does, that she could just rest on someone else and that they would take care of everything. Not even as a little girl. But there was, Spot figured, no time like present. She still had an entirely, utterly sullen, morose, resigned air about her until...

"Wait a second." Spot turned in his arms, just a little, and reached out with her good arm towards the floor. "I want that," she said plainly, grabbing at the air not unlike a toddler. Anyway, she felt like a toddler. "I can't leave my trusty ol' Death Tooth behind!"

Jarrett paused and gave a subtle tilt of his head. He stared at the 'death tooth' for what seemed like an eternity, before bending over and fishing it up. He then handed it over to her, sort of like a mother would a rattle to it's babe, except Jarrett was no mother, and she no babe (except maybe the hot, adult kind) as he peered down at her, face unchanging.
"Here."
He couldn't carry her and it- besides he had to pick up the dead body, too. So as he moved forward, he paused over the bag containing Mr. Allendale and hefted him up and slung the bag over his shoulder before proceeding onwards to who knew where.

Spot had to hold on to Jarrett with her good arm in order to not tumble onto the floor when he bent down and picked up her beloved Death Tooth. But she snatched it happily when Jarrett offered it to her, at first holding it up in front of her.

"Who's a good Death Tooth?" she cooed at the ancient, giant tooth. "Who tripped that Awful, Nasty, Creeper? That's right! You-ooooOH!"

Spot was cut off by Jarrett bending over to also grab Mr. Allendale and throwing him over his shoulder, forcing Spot to hold onto Jarrett again and stop talking to her lovely tooth. She decided, this time, to just keep holding on. Spot thought about saying something cheeky - "Onward, Oh Eccentric Assassin!" - or something, but given that he was an assassin and she was, quite literally, in his hands now. So instead Spot just shifted her weight so she was leaning her weight against his body more and once again rested her head on his chest.

If the whole thing took a turn for the worse, anyway, at least she had her trusty Death Tooth again now!

It seemed like a bad idea, or perhaps, it was just down right terrible that Jarrett shifted the weight of the injured girl in his arm, death tooth in hers, while doubly shifting the weight of the bagged corpse over his shoulder as he began to make his way towards the front door- acting so casual in his strides as if nothing was out of the ordinary- or if nothing bad could happen if they walked out through the front an no guards might be waiting-

Yet behind them was a terrible crime scene,a nd in the bag... naturally, a second one.

Spot was busy turning the Death Tooth over in her 'good' hand, running her fingers over its serrated edges. This had not turned out to be her night. Though she'd spent most of her life up to this point as a criminal - though she'd never really thought of it that way - before all this business with Kui and Jack, she'd kept her hands pretty clean of violence. And not by accident. Spot didn't have the stomach for it. Inflicting it or sustaining it. Now she seemed like she was stuck in a spiral of it. In a way, she killed that man. Sure, he was a Creeper out to slice her up, but Spot wasn't sure she'd ever been responsible for someone else's death before. He'd tripped on her Death Tooth, after all. And now she was letting herself be carried off by a combustible and rather strange assassin, while there was a price on her head, so it didn't seem like things were going to lighten up anytime soon.

All these things were going through Spot's rather glum head while Jarrett carried her out, so she didn't notice how they were leaving the library until the last minute. The main entrance! Was he crazy?! "Hey, maybe we should-" she began, but it was too late.

The library had a guard stationed inside the front door on a little velvet-lined stool. Spot sucked in her breath. The man looked a bit old for a guard and a loud snore emitted from him. Well, that explained why he hadn't already been alerted to all the noise they'd made, Spot thought, but still! But the approach of the odd little 'trio' caused the old guard to startle, and he snorted awake.

"Wha-! Er-! You there!" he finally burst out, fixing his eyes confusedly on Jarrett, Spot, and Mr. Allendale. "What is the meaning of this!? The library is closed! Er-" he rubbed his eyes, looking at Spot again, who was covered in blood. "What is going on?! What are you doing in here?"

Spot knew better by this point to think that Jarrett might say anything clever. Or, who knew, say anything at all! So Spot rattled off a story as quick as it came to her. "Finally! A guard!" she cried. "I was calling and calling for one. There was a man in the library! He- he attacked me. I think- I think he was trying to take me," Spot blurted out with a suppressed (and fabricated) sob. "He- he tried to..." now Spot started the waterworks, sniffing loudly as big tears rolled down her cheeks. She was telling the tale in a quick, tearful stream now. "He grabbed me and I tried to escape and we crashed into the display case and I don't know what I would have done but he," she nodded at Jarrett, "chased him off but I think he's still back there somewhere!"

"Hey, hey, hey," the guard said, looking confused and, even more, worried that something important had happened on his shift that he'd missed! "Slow down, sweetheart. Who attacked you? What are you even doing here?"

Spot sniffed loudly again, (mostly) fabricated tears still falling freely. "I- I wanted to stay late and study," she said guiltily. "I don't know who the man was. I didn't even get a good look at him. I think he got away- I- I was so scared!"

The guard frowned, sleepy and uncertain and still worried about his job performance. The girl, though obviously the victim of some kind, was babbling nonsensically. "So you hid here to study late in the library? Then a strange, unseen man attacked you? But was chased away by..." He looked up at Jarrett then. "And who are you? What are you doing here?"

"He's the janitor, of course!" Spot blurted out quickly before Jarrett could answer. Given his track record so far, he'd probably say, 'I'm an assassin who just dropped in because this girl has a price on her head.'

But maybe it would have been better for Spot to let the man answer (or not) himself, because her quick answer raised a look of suspicion in the old guard, whose attention now turned to the bag carrying Mr. Allendale. "Eh, what's that there? What are you carrying?"

Jarrett just stood there lamely and waited for the exchange to be over, but once the man turned his attention to the bag, Jarrett effortlessly tossed it at the old man's feet.

"Eh?" the old man leaned forward, scratching his head.

"There's a dead body in there," Jarrett informed him without missing a beat, and as the man's eyes went wide, Jarrett yanked the death tooth from his accomplices clutches, turned it around and knocked the man over the back of the head- and down to the floor, face first he went- completely unconscious. Lifting back up the bag, Jarrett said nothing as he moved towards the door, but before he could open it, he handed her back her death tooth.

"Here." And then the pair simply stepped outside.

Spot flinched as Jarrett pounded the man over the head. And with her Death Tooth! Was that really necessary? It wouldn't have been too much work to convince the man of their story! Then they could have sent him looking for the mystery attacker, and they could go on their way!

She gave a loud, exasperated sigh as she snatched the Death Tooth back from him. "Why do I even bother when you're around?" she complained aloud. "Why bother tricking anyone when you can just clobber 'em over the head!"

But Spot didn't make any moves to distangle herself from Jarrett and her complaints were a bit tired. The truth was that though the assassin's make-shift tourniquet had stemmed the flow of blood from one wound, it hadn't stopped it altogether, and Spot was getting by now rather light-headed and woozy. She was a little worried about how far she'd even get down on her own two feet.

"But maybe," she suggested, a bit sleepily from her lightheadedness, while she laid her head back against his chest, "we can take a more sneaky route to wherever you're going to chop me up."

It was hard to discern just how long it had taken for Jarrett to reach his destination, and being that the woman in his arms was barely conscious by the time he had reached the place, he had he secured upon the most biggest and plush bed imaginable- at the fanciest and biggest hotel in the city, a place normally reserved for the most finest and richest of world travelers. It was said the Grand Duke of Connlaoth had stayed in this very room- but thankfully for the pair of them, it was vacant when he broke it, climbing in through the window with both a bleeding woman, and a bag with a corpse.

Mr. Allendale was temporarily forgotten, the lumpy bag discarded carelessly to one corner while Spot was laid out across the bed. Being he hadn't the right supplies and the bed had more than enough sheets on it, the assassin got to work, using a small blade to cut thing strips before moving to clean out her wounds, removing the glass shards with care and setting them into a nearby wine cart. He was solely focused on his task, and when the last bits were removed, he gently cleaned out the wound, applying pressure until the bleeding had slowed before gingerly, but firmly, wrapping up her arms. Though one arm was wrapped up a bit too tight and he had to redo the thing so she could at least bend her elbow, but once his work was done, he peered over it with mild scrutiny, tucking in a loose end to the make shift bandaging before pausing over her, finding his green eyes drifting up her form to her face. And there was something about the serene expression of the mostly unconscious girl that simply made him stare. But he wasn't quite sure what it was. So he just continued.

To stare.

Spot muttered incoherently through her daze of blood-loss-induced semi-consciousness. It mostly had a dark and confidential - though oddly childlike - tone to it. Occasionally, the odd word or phrase would come out clearly, things about "they keep changing their faces," and "but he's dead," and "they won't take my Death Tooth, it's mine." Names were also thrown in the jumble: Zahi, Clarion, Rufus, Kui, but the significance surrounding them was unclear.

The only break in this murky stream of consciousness was when Jarrett carefully removed the glass shards from her arms. Oddly, this caused her to squirm and giggle. "Hey, stoppit, Tag," she protested, "that tickles!" But she fell silent again when he was done, and finally still as she drifted into some form of sleep.

It was some time before Spot finally woke again, but she seemed to sleep peacefully once the mumbling had ceased. Perhaps an hour after Jarrett had finished patching her up, she made the small noises of a slow wakefulness. Had it all been a dream? she wondered. From the incident with Jack on... yes, she must have dreamt it! But then she felt something in her hand. The Death Tooth. And she realized it had, in fact, all been real.

Then she realized what she was lying on! The smooth silk sheets of the giant bed were surely the nicest thing Spot had ever woken up on. By a long shot! Slowly, Spot stretched awake, wincing when the motion pulled at her lacerated arm, and awkwardly fumbled into a half sitting position. And there was the assassin, staring at her. Spot looked at him for a few moments, lookingly mostly dozy and content. Then she looked around the room, and as she did, her expression changed. It didn't turn to fear, so much as it soured.

"Oh, fuck no," she finally said aloud, more complaining than fearful, "is this some sort of weird sex fantasy thing?"

Jarrett stared at her in silence for a good long while before he blinked and his eyes changed a bit, seeming to register her a little more. Though at her question, he seemed to frown.
"I bound your arms, removed the glass."
Then with a more casual shrug, he informed her, "And if this was a sex fantasy, I would be drunk."

"Hm." It was a doubtful sound and Spot regarded Jarrett with a look both suspicious and defiant for a few moments. She was not going to be the center of some sicko's weird I-saved-you-now-I'm-going-to-make-love-to-you-then-slice-you-up perverted fantasy! Spot had been born poor and penniless and pretty, and the idea that she would ever end up anywhere like this for any other reason clearly didn't come quickly to her. But the nearly blank stare she got in return wore her down, and her expression softened to something less defiant, until finally her expression and her body relaxed and she slumped a little. As if to check his claims, she looked down at her arms. They were, indeed, free of glass and neatly cleaned and bound.

But instead of saying 'thank you,' as she ought to, she gave a resigned sigh, as if to say, 'Fine, you and your weird blank staring win!' Then she flopped back down onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, and got off her final retort, "I guess you would have to be drunk."

But she looked around the room, a bit wide-eyed and trying not to seem too impressed, all the same. Finally she gave in again. "Where are we, anyway?" She almost asked if they'd broken into the palace, but decided that might end up embarrassing for her, so she didn't hazard any guesses.

"The King's Inn," he informed her, dryly. "It wasn't too far from where we were. And I saw this room was vacant. So I broke in."

"Looks like it," Spot replied, purple eyes still scanning the room from her prostrate position on the bed. "Nicer than anywhere I've been before, that's for sure."

If she was going to say anything more, it didn't come out, because just then her eyes stopped on something Very Interesting. At the foot of the bed, laid out on fancy white linen and a silver tray, was a pyramid of cookies. "Hey!" Spot suddenly exclaimed and bolted into an upright sitting position. Too quickly, though, for the motion made her head swim and her vision fade for just a moment. But it passed and Spot scooted over to the delicious looking tray, not leaving the bed, and grabbed a handful of the cookies.

"Do you think," she asked through a mouthful of cookie, "it's okay for me to eat these?" She grabbed another handful. They were delicious! "To make up for all that blood I lost?"

It was a fair point! Spot'd never make a proper recovery if she didn't get something to eat! She'd just keep passing out, right? But she was very unladylike, eating the cookies by the handful, as though she'd never seen food before.

"Anyway," she asked, still chewing, "how come you're doing this?" Nom nom nom. "Not very assassin-like of you."

Jarrett watched as little pieces of cookies kept falling out of her mouth as she talked, simply staring at those puffy, squirrel like cheeks and wondering how she was managing to both speak and gorge at the same time. But once he was able to digest her question, he looked up from her cookie filled mouth to her eyes.

"I think the cookies are fine."
Though by now, she had almost gobbled them all down.
"I doubt they're poisoned."

Then he paused, still staring at her before telling her,
"And I'm not here to kill you."
Of course, he had no idea why he even did this at all. It made him frown.

How strange.

Now it was Spot's turn to stare back at him. Cheeks full, she paused chewing when he said, 'They're probably not poisoned.' Well, it was too late now if they were, so Spot went ahead and swallowed. The cookies were gone now, and she turned her attention to Jarrett, returning his gaze. Though hers looked more like she was trying to decipher him than just... observing him. Or whatever he was doing to her.

Spot scooted further on the bed to get a little closer to him, looking curious and still just a little suspicious. "I believe that by now," she responded. "But why not?"

Jarrett blinked slowly as he stared back at her, not certain what he was looking at- or for.
"I don't know."
And it was the truth. He had no idea what he was doing, but here he was doing whatever this was. Perhaps he had no idea he had a natural knack for rescuing 'damsels in distress'- or perhaps it's something he didn't realize was intuitive. Either way it was peculiar to him as he continued to find himself staring at her face. She had a pretty face. But then again, most women you found in a bed like this were. And the foggy memories of a bed, that face..
her face made him blink and move away, tearing his eyes from Spot and looking down at the floor.

For a second he thought he was with his mistress again, but as the reality of where he was sunk in, his eyes went over towards the bag containing Mr. Allendale, then drifted back towards the room. He still stood near the bed, and realizing he was stressing again, for whatever reasons that be, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a cigar. Frowning, he realized it was the last one, and placed it up against his lips.

"Hm," Spot made a dubious sound. His answer wasn't exactly reassuring. Though Spot wasn't sure what she had been expecting. Or if she'd been expecting anything sensical at all! But it was interesting to see his gaze finally break away from her, and Spot watched curiously as his eyes wandered across the room. Whatever had triggered the sudden change, which would seem miniscule in anyone else, was hidden from her. "Well, I suppose I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth," she finally said, not really sounding like she believed it. That logic, probably, was how you ended up dead. But what was she to do? As it stood, it seemed like sticking with this man until she could get out of Arca was her best chance to stay alive.

So Spot was going to let it go for now. After all, the cookies left her feeling relatively chipper. All things considered. And the mystery of the Altruistic Eccentric Assassin was, for the moment, distracting her from thinking about the reason she was in this predicament in the first place. The fact that she'd betrayed her guild, or that her (sort of) mentor was probably dead...

Instead of thinking about any of that, Spot watched as Jarrett pulled out a cigar. She couldn't deny that there was something intriguing about the man. Scooting closer to the edge of the bed, and closer to Jarrett, she asked, "Can you blow smoke rings?"

Realizing he had no injuries, which lead to no source of blood for him to conjure any magic, he turned away from Spot and went over to where the glass shards had been discarded and picked one up, staring at the glinting edges for but a moment before dragging the shard across his thumb. Once he saw the warm droplet of blood, he shifted the cigar from one side of his lips to the middle, where be jutted both lips and cigar out after a small flame lit from the blood. Then he.dipped the tip of the cigar into it and it took to light.

Pulling back, he snuffed out.the flames by smearing it with another finger, then took in a long drag before tilting his head back and opening his lips, allowing two o shaped puffs to drift towards Spot's face.

Spot beamed at the smoke rings, pursing her lips to blow them away before they cascaded into her face.

"Not too bad!" she declared brightly. Then Spot jumped off the bed and, swiftly closing the distance between herself and Jarrett, snatched the cigar away from him. (The actions left her feeling a little dizzy, but the cookies saved her.) "But let me show you how it's really done," she said in a very Stern and Serious voice, with a 'harrum harrum' thrown in for good measure.

Then Spot took a long drag of the cigar to, she imagined, draw in enough to make something pretty come back out. It was much too long of a draw, though, and Spot tried to keep it in, her purple eyes widening, before she choked it all back out in a puff of smoke.

"Here you go," she wheezed, waving the cigar back at him. "I did that on purpose. Didn't want to make you feel bad. What with you being so nice to me."

Jarrett watched her lamely as he held the returned cigar in his fingers. After a time, when it appeared as if her lung wasn't going to fall out, he lifted his cigar back to his own lips.
"You're doing it wrong." And his chest puffed out as his cheeks swelled inward as he took in a bigger drag this time. Feeling the throat conjuring in the back of his throat, he removed the cigar and pursed his lips, as if in a simple kissing gesture as he blew, then moved to open his mouth wider as he exhaled one ring, then a second, and a third, smaller one before he closed his lips and released the rest o fhis breath through his nostrils.

"Like that." He said, and held out the cigar for her to try again. "You use your throat and keep your tongue out of the way. The key is in the shape of your mouth. You start off like a kiss, then open it to breath into it, keeping your mouth open wide enough to make the shape."
And he peered at her, fully expecting her to take the cigar and try it for real.

"I've heard that one before," Spot retorted to Jarrett's various instructions about the use of her mouth and throat. She scrunched up her face, looking balefully at him as he did so well what she had failed utterly - and embarrassingly! - to do herself. Show off! But it wasn't very serious; Spot preferred things to be not too serious if at all possible. So, curious, she took the cigar back from him when he offered it again.

Spot shifted her weight, standing in clear imitation of Jarrett's posture and stance. In kind, she puffed out her chest and her cheeks, just as he had, and she took a drag of the cigar (though smaller this time than last). Spot held in the smoke for a moment, then opened her mouth and Jarrett had done. To Spot's amazement, a small, wobbly ring of smoke came out! But seeing it left her far too excited, and she made the mistake of gasping in delight. The result of which was choking again on the smoke, which this time came billowing back out of her nostrils.

Coughing, Spot wheezed, "Maybe I can just be a dragon instead."

"Breathing smoke through your nostrils is easy." And he demonstrated, drawing in a deep drag then closing his lips as smoke flared out through his nostrils. He handed her the cigar again. "You can try again. You seem like you've got it."

Spot glared at Jarrett for that remark and for his display of blowing the smoke out of his nostrils. She knew it was easy! She hadn't even meant to do it, after all! Leave it to this guy to not even hear a joke when you said it three feet away from him! But Spot was stubborn, and she liked learning new tricks, so she took the cigar back from him.

Not bothering imitating him this time, she again drew the smoke into her cheeks then, opening her mouth, let out two decent smoke rings, remember not to gasp in excitement. Once they were both off, floating in the air between them, Spot straightened herself up, looking rather pleased with herself.

"See," she beamed smugly at Jarrett, not, this time, giving him the cigar back, "I told you I'd show you how it was done!"

Jarrett simply stared at her, and it almost appeared as if the assassin had smiled. Though perhaps it was just a change in the glint of his eyes.
"And here I thought I was teaching you."

"Well, that's where you went wrong," Spot said with supreme confidence, over-casually tipping the ashes from the cigar and letting them fall onto the expensive carpet at her feet. Spot took one more drag off the cigar - she much preferred blowing smoke rings, where she didn't have to actually inhale the smoke! - then blew a lazy smoke ring into Jarrett's face.

"But you've been so nice to me," she said, flashing him a pretty smile, and handing the cigar back to him, "that I won't keep showing off. I'd hate to make you feel too inferior!"

Spot turned then and started inspecting the room in greater detail. Opening drawers, closing them, opening closets and cupboards. Naturally, when she found something she liked, she pocketed it. Actually, Spot started categorizing some of the things she found (which couldn't be fit into her pockets) into two piles: Things She Would Definitely Take and Things She Might Take.

While taking this inventory of the beautiful room, Spot found herself at a rather lavish vanity, complete with beveled mirror. Spot blinked at herself; she definitely didn't look her best, but that wasn't what got her attention. Testing what she thought she saw in the mirror, Spot lifted a finger to her hair and pulled her hand away to see thick, sticky, half-congealed blood covering her fingers. She remembered laying on the floor of the library, in a pool of her own blood and the creeper's.

"Gross," she said aloud. "I'll never be crowned Miss Arca Underworld with blood in my hair."

Jarrett peered curiously at the goopy, dried mess of blood in her hair that she had plucked out. Her body seemed to fair in the same shape, her clothing well stained in her own blood, and probably that of the gentleman who tried to kill her. Stepping closer to her so that he was also peering into the mirror, he said,
"You could always bathe and wash that out. Blood runs like water. It'll wash away."

Spot met Jarrett's gaze in the mirror, raising an eyebrow. She would normally be suspicious, to say the least, of a man who suggested she take a bath, but, well... Not with the odd assassin, she supposed. Idly, Spot wondered if he was sexual at all. Not because he hadn't expressed any particular interest in her - she wasn't so vain - but just because, well, he was rather special, wasn't he?

"You always charm girls out of their clothes like this?" she asked him dryly.

But it was certainly a point. Spot wouldn't get very far looking like she did now. Not only did blood stain the nice dress she'd so carefully stolen, but it was caked on her skin and gooped in her hair. She'd be picked up pretty quickly on the street like this. Spot's eyes roamed curiously to the large door next to the vanity. She hadn't made it there yet in her clockwise assessment of all the doors and drawers and closets of the room. Stepping over to it, she pushed the door open.

"Oh, Kia."

The bathroom was huge! Spot had never seen anything like it. It was at least as big as the bedroom. (How many did this place have??) On the far side of the room was a giant stone basin that Spot could only guess was a bath tub. It could easily have fit four people in its smooth, black stone. On the other side of the room, there was another, shallow basin. Opposite of that was a small fountain of a mermaid surrounded by a veil of flowing water. There was even a red velvet sofa! In the bathroom! Cautiously, Spot took a step in.

"Have you seen this place?" she asked, not paying attention to where Jarrett was now. Curiously, she took in the details of the room. Next to the huge stone bath tub was a large copper boiler with steam coming out the top and a narrow, elegant pipe that led to the tub, stopped by a small, ornate valve. Carefully, Spot opened the valve and hot water streamed into the tub. Almost as quickly, she closed it again. Hot water! Direct into the basin! She looked curiously at the boiler. There was no fire beneath it. "It must be magic," she muttered to herself. Somewhere in Spot's brain, her cautious, warning sensors were blaring that prepared hot water was a bad sign. The room must be prepared for someone. But if it were magic...

Spot opened the valve again, letting the hot water stream into the basin, filling the tub. Then, looking around, she spotted a series of scented oils, soaps, and salt.s On impulse, she dumped all of them into the hot water filling the tub and the room was immediately filled with competing, bathy fragrances. Spot might have looked like a child as she watched with wonder as the tub filled up with dense soapy bubbles and hot water on demand.

Eventually, the boiler filled the tub, and Spot turned the valve off again. But when she tried to reach to remove her dress, she found her range of motion limited by the lacerations in her arm and the bandages binding them. Never one to be shy, Spot called to Jarrett, "Want to lend a girl a hand?"

Jarrett had become interested in the bath tub as well. The magic was new to him, and though he was intrigued, it was a barely registered expression on his face. In fact, as he peered at it, his expression never changed since the first time she saw him, but what expression was there was shown in only the smallest shimmer in his eyes. But upon hearing her last request, his eyes moved up the curves of her body, resting just over her hips to where her hands settled upon the laces of her dress. There was a slight piece danging out from her finger tips from where she was failing to uncinch herself from the confining garments. But he said nothing, at least not at first, as he stepped up behind her and large hands worked at the binds, but as she'd feel the dress come lose, he finally spoke.

"Is it not inappropriate for me to be here with you? Removing your clothes?" Or in this case, untying them. And he wasn't sure why he cared to ask. Perhaps this woman reminded him of Einin and her laws of propriety of the upper class. In most cases, he'd figure this sort of moment would lead into something else. But he was no fool, even if seeing extra flesh sent a slight shiver through him. But no one would be able to tell, for Jarrett's expression remained as bland as bland could be as he looked at her, now fully ignoring the tub as the last lace came loose.

"Inappropriate?" Spot repeated with a laugh. Her purple eyes glanced over her shoulder back at him, a bemused smile on her face. Spot was sure they bypassed an 'appropriate' evening - whatever that was - some time between when Mr. Allendale's head first rolled out of his bag and when she poured half a bottle of wine on his pants. But certainly the idea was entirely out the window after they'd killed the bounty hunter. Inappropriate, indeed!

But instead of saying any of that, her bemused smile turned into a stern and grumpy look, her brown knit. "Well, well, then, inappropriate! Undressing a lady, wot wot!" she huffed in a voice that was perhaps the imitation of a grumpy, stiff, upper-class old colonel. "Absolutely bloomin' right you are, son! So you'll just have to keep your hands to yourself, wot, and no inappropriate peeking!"

Really, though, it was hardly as though he'd never seen a naked woman before. Well, Spot wondered as she shrugged off the dress, maybe he hadn't. It was hard to imagine a situation in which he would, and he didn't seem like the type to pay for it. But Spot shrugged the idea aside; it didn't really matter much to her sense of modesty anyway. Carefully, she removed her undergarments, then kicked the whole bloody mess of clothing to the corner of the bathroom. She'd deal with that later. Still standing with her back to him, Jarrett would be able to see her namesake - though he might not realize it - in the form of an egg-sized, round-ish birthmark on her buttocks.

"I think we're already way past appropriate," she told him in her normal voice again as she carefully lowered herself into the large stone tub. She let out a small moan as she sunk below the thick bubbles into the hot, soapy water. This was heaven. Why didn't she always stay in Arca's fanciest hotels? What a mistake she'd made being born poor! Careful to keep her bound arm above the water, the rest of Spot disappeared below it, and when she re-emerged her dark hair had transformed into a white mane of soapy froth. "Plus, you can't really see anything anyway," she declared, grinning happily. She repeated the processes, untying her hair from the now-disheveled bun. When she looked up again, she gave a slight side-nod to the dirty piles of clothes. "If you want to feel like the situation isn't too 'inappropriate,' though, you can make yourself useful and wash those out in the sink."

Jarrett tilted his head as he watched the woman sink into the bubble bath.
"Do I look like a laundry woman?"

Spot pulled herself up enough to fold her arms over the edge of the tub. Resting her head on her folded arms, she tilted her head in consideration of his question, giving him a long look over.

"Well," she answered thoughtfully, tilting her head to the other side, and pursing her lips, "you'd look more like one with one of those flouncy white aprons on." She pushed herself up a little, smiling brightly as she offered a new idea, "I bet you can find one in a hotel like this!"

For the time, it was almost as though Spot forgot that she was in this bathroom was a provenly dangerous assassin!

Jarrett blinked at such an idea, and stared at the bubble haired girl as she grinned back at him.
"If I were to find such an apron, it would be more appropriate on you," he told her, approaching the bath and lightly flicking some of the suds.

Spot scoffed and looked at Jarrett aghast, or at least, faux-aghast. It wasn't always clear when thief was acting and when she was genuine. Usually she was a bit of both.

"And why's that?" she asked, her tone indignant and perhaps a bit high-horsed, "because I'm a woman?" She pulled herself up straighter (though bubbles still ensured her 'modesty') on the edge of the tub, looking at him and shaking her head. Spot clicked her tongue in a reprimanding 'tut tut.'  "How very conventional of you. I don't see any reason why I'd be more naturally inclined towards a maid's work or attire than you. " She drew back into the large tub, just a little, at his approach, and gave him a wolfish grin. "Anyway, I think it'd be cuter on you. More fashionable and edgy, you know? On me, psh," she gave a shrug, "it'd just look rather conventional. Boring."

Spot disappeared under the water again, and re-emerged next to where Jarrett flicked at the bubbles. "But that dress isn't going to clean itself," she told him. Then gave him a wink, "Don't worry, I'll find you the apron later."

"There's a robe in one of the closets," Jarrett told her after a time. "You could wear that instead."
And his eyes went from her back to the bubbles, and lightly, he poked one, and it popped.

"I can't wear that out of the hotel," Spot countered and scrunched her face at Jarrett. "Unless you're planning on keeping me here forever." It was a joke, of course, but it reminded Spot that this man was a stranger, an assassin, and that she had a price on her head. As inexplicably nice as he'd been to her, nothing really changed that.

A shadow of doubt crossed her face for a moment as she looked at him, but disappeared when he popped the bubble. "Hey!" she shot, flicking some of the soapy water at him, "go get your own bubbles! I need these ones to keep this 'appropriate.'You can probably make some in the sink over there when you wash my dress," she told him, childishly sticking her tongue out.

When she splashed him he barely flinched as he raised his eyes to look at her. But after a while, he seemed to oblige, rising up from the ground and walking over to where her clothing now lay. And after scooping it up and examining it and all of it's messy glory, he walked back over to the bath, then dropped it into the bubbly waters with her.

"You can clean it while you bathe," he told her simply, and moved to walk over to the bed.

"Whoa! Hey!" Spot protested as Jarrett dumped the messy dirty clothing in the tub. She should have, she realized, seen that coming! "You'll get the bath dirty! This is the fanciest bath I've ever had!"

Nearly as soon as the dress hit the water, she snatched it up and threw it hard as she could at Jarrett's retreating form. Now that they were wet, the weight sent them pretty fast and they hit Jarrett's back with an audible SPLAT!

Jarrett barely made it a few steps in his slow strides, but the moment the soggy dress splatted against his back, he froze in midstride. A moment later the dress fell to the floor with another splat and Jarrett now turned on heal. He wasted no time scooping the dress up again, and then returned to the tub side and redumped the thing ontop of her head.

"You are responsible for your own clothing. Besides, you should make use of your time in that bath. It's big enough to fit at least three people. I'm sure you can spare the room and grime to clean your dress."

A muffled protest - muffled by the fact that her face was covered by the dress! - came from Spot when Jarrett dumped the dress right on her head. She pulled the garment quickly off. "Yeah, but then the water will mix and get all dirty," she said, frowning, as she dumped the clothing back out of bathtub. This time, however, she wasn't going to risk it and throw the dress back at Jarrett. "This is the nicest bath I've ever had. I don't want to ruin it!"

Instead she set about washing her hair, getting rid of her own blood and grime. As she worked on the long, thick mane, she peered at Jarrett with one eye, then asked in deadpan. "Are you always so jovial and chipper? Or are you saving it all for me?"

He didn't answer her. Instead, he simply dropped her dress back ontop of her head.
"Yet you'd ruin your dress by letting the blood set?" He stepped away just then, a simple step back as he pulled out a cigar. He didn't figure he'd need one so soon but...
Well, this woman was rather taxing.

"It isn't really my dress," Spot corrected him as she snatched the garment from her head. He just wasn't going to let this go! What did he care, anyway? Jarrett might find her taxing, but Spot was likewise getting annoyed with the assassin. If he wasn't going to kill her, then couldn't he let her enjoy the bath after a night that was... well, demonstrably rough?

"And I will probably dump it as soon as I get the chance. But since you're so concerned about it," she tossed the dress away from her to the other side of the bathroom, "I'll clean it in the bath water once I'm done. It's not going to get worse in the next tens of minutes than it was in the last... however many hours it's been since we got here."

Spot sank back into the water, half watching as Jarrett lit the cigar. As the hot water dulled her aches and she got a moment of relaxation, she started to feel a bit bad for being, well, a bit snippy with him just then. After all, he had saved her life. Even if he didn't know why.

"Hey, watch this!" she said brightly. "You know how you can blow those nice smoke rings?" Spot carefully pulled her hand up from the soapy water with her index finger and thumb forming an "o" filled with soap. Then, blowing on it, she sent a stream of shining, wobbling soap bubbles Jarrett's way. She beamed. "Not too bad, huh?"

But before Jarrett could answer, a sound came from outside the door. Not the bathroom door, but the main door of the suite. It was voices at first. An older male voice and a bubbly, younger-sounding female voice. At first Spot couldn't understand what they were saying, but when they got closer, she could make out the female voice, giggling, asking, "Oh, but Lord Ammalin, what would your wife think? Imagine the scandal!"

That was followed by the sound of the doorknob turning and the door being pushed open.

Jarrett could in no means doubt he was at least somewhat intrigued by the bubbles she blew his way. Perhaps not by the act itself, but also by the act in it's own right. It was a playful, attention getting thing, and part of Jarrett couldn't turn away. So he simply stared at the bubbles as they floated past.

But just like how each bubble ended in a sudden pop, so did the moment, and their aloofness there in. It seemed the actual occupants in the room were returning home, and Jarrett, not even appearing to tense when the door was suddenly swung open, simply turned around to peer at the couple as the woman draped herself all over the other man. Her lips were all over his throat, and his hands, all over her body. They were barely stumbling in a few feet into the room when the woman noticed Jarrett, and screamed.

The wealthy lord's attention snapped to the source of his mistresses screams. An intruder! In the room he had paid very good money for! It was an outrage! But it was clear what his true colors were, because he bodily grabbed the screaming woman and held her firmly in between him and Jarrett. After all, the man might be dangerous! To him!

"GUARDS!" he hollered. "GUARDS! INTRUDER!"

Spot wrinkled her nose at his cowardly display. Her initial instinct had been to hide beneath the bubbles... but what good would that do? And after all, her and Jarrett were, somehow, something of a team now, right? Plus the old man, holding his young mistress as a human shield between himself and the assassin, rankled her. But she wished she hadn't thrown the dress across the room! Because when she leapt, naked and dripping wet, from the tub - eliciting renewed screaming from the mistress - she nearly skidding all the way across the bathroom to retrieve the dress. In an unusual move, though, Spot didn't put the dress on.

"GUARDS! GUARDS!" the man continued bellowing, "THERE'S AN INTRUDER, GU-" He was cut off by a wet, muffled SPLAT! Spot's soaking wet, blood-stained dress landed loudly over his face and mouth and silenced him.

Knowing the sopping wet dress wouldn't silence the man for long, Jarrett wasted little time peeling it off of the man, only to strike him over the head with a nearby candelabra, and moved towards the shrieking woman, grabbing her by the arm and appearing as if he were about to do the same.

Spot wanted to throw her arms up in the air in surrender: Did this man ever face any problem without bashing someone over the head? But she didn't have time for that. As Jarrett pulled back the candelabra to strike the woman, Spot moved quickly, leaping forward, snatching up the wet dress, and pulling the woman bodily away from Jarrett, and shoving the dress over the woman's mouth in one swift movement.

It was quite the picture: One woman half-dressed in the beautiful and alluring clothing of a rich man's mistress, struggling in the arms of naked, dripping wet woman who was gagging the first with a discarded dress, a puddle collecting at her feet.

"What's wrong with you?" Spot snapped at Jarrett. "You can't just bash everyone over the head! It's bad enough the creep tried to use her as a shield." Despite her protests, Spot's sympathy clearly only went so far, because her next suggestion was, "How about finding something to tie her up with, then we can get out of here before the guards show up."

"We could use the dress," he told her lamely. "Though I doubt it offers much."
Plus what would she wear when they had to inevitably escape? It was then his eyes went to the bed, and after producing a knife, he set to work, cutting up the sheets into long strips and tossing the casually at Spot's feet as each one was made.

"I'm keeping her shut up with the dress," Spot answered as she struggled to hold onto the terrified woman. Spot didn't relish in upsetting the woman, but aside from making sure Jarrett didn't clobber her over the head, she didn't seem too concerned about her either. Using the sleeves of the sopping wet dress, Spot tied it tight across the woman's face, keeping her from screaming while still allowing enough room around her nose for her to breathe.

Grabbing the strips of sheet that Jarrett threw at her, she bound the woman's ankles. But before she bound her hands, with a quick, "Sorry about this," Spot stripped the dress from the poor mistress, leaving the woman in just her underclothes. Those Spot would let her keep. Then Spot bound the woman's wrists, and tied it to a bedpost.

"If we're lucky," she said as she put the woman's dress on her, it wasn't the most comfortable thing without anything under it, but time was of the essence and it'd have to do, "the guards will just think it's some kinky sex thing and be too embarrassed to look much further into it before Mr. CowardFace over there comes around."

And again, like when she was taking the other dress off, Spot reached a point where she couldn't do up the rest of the laces. "Can you help a girl out again?"

Jarrett, who seemed momentarily transfixed on something, blinked and turned his attention to her back. He saw the loosened laces and found himself staring at them for a while, and how they contrasted against her milky white skin, before rough, large hands moved forward, and he simply undid the lace until the dress grew loose and sagged around her body, threatening to spill down to her feet.

Spot felt the dress loosen around her, teetering on dropping to the floor, and felt a strange feeling shoot through her stomach. What was he doing? There was no way they had shut up Mr. Cowardface that quickly. No chance that no one had heard his shouting, or her screaming, Spot thought as her eyes drifted to the half-dressed, tied and gagged woman who was watching the Wolf and the assassin with wide, terrified eyes.

They needed to get out of here. But suddenly the rough feeling of his hands brought goosebumps up on her back.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, turning her head a little back towards him. "You're supposed to be doing the laces up so we can get out of here."

Had Jarrett a cigar in his mouth it would have fallen out. And the man, who's expression never wavered, suddenly broke it's normal nonchalance as those green eyes widened, as if in surprise- for perhaps he was  as he peered at the laces he had undone. Then in a flustering, swift motion, but still with somehow, deft hands, he began to tighten the laces back up as he mumbled a , "Sorry."

Much to her surprise, Spot couldn't help but feel a tiny tinge of disappointment when Jarrett suddenly did an about turn and laced up her dress. She turned to face him after he'd done up her dress. It was her turn to stare at him as she bound up her wet hair with one of the loose strips of the torn silk sheets. Her eyes were clearly scrutinizing the assassin, but her expression was neither scandalized nor judgemental. Simply... observational.

"You had me going there for a moment," she told him matter-of-factly. "Thought you were going to turn this into some sort of turned-on-by-the-idea-of-getting-caught captive-audience," a muffled squeak came from the bound mistress, "quick-fuck-before-the-guards-got-here sort of thing."

She finished binding up her hair then and, very unladylikely, adjusted the dress to sit a bit better over her otherwise naked body. Dresses like this, Spot decided, were not meant to be worn without underclothes. Then she turned back to Jarrett. "But now that we have that cleared up, where to now, O Eccentric Assassin?"

Jarrett frowned and as much as he'd not like to be affected by the awkward moment, his cheeks actually flushed, which would be barely visible on his already dark skin. But at her last question, his frown only deepened as he shrugged, then asked, "How are your wounds? That'll judge how far we can travel. If we have to, we could hide out in the sewers." He'd done so before and they could always just steal another bath or dip in a lake to wash off. Better than getting caught, anyhow.

Jarrett's embarrassment didn't go unnoticed and, for a moment, Spot felt inwardly proud of herself. She'd finally gotten some reaction from the strange, stoic man. But there wasn't time to enjoy the feeling for too long. Spot frowned at the idea of hiding in the sewers. That sounded both gross and exhausting. She'd also used the city's drainage and sewage tunnels for getting around unnoticed, and she didn't really want to repeat it... It required not only getting dirty, but keeping on the move.

"I'm feeling alright now," she answered Jarrett, "but if I'm really honest I wouldn't mind somewhere to hole up and sleep some of this off. I'm not sure how long I can keep going before all this," she flounced her bandaged arms, "catches up with me. But I-"

Before Spot could finish her sentence, though, there came the sudden sound of hurried, heavy footsteps from down the hall. The distinct gait of guards.

Spot glanced quickly at the door, then back at Jarrett with her eyes a bit wide. "Nevermind that. Let's get out of here and then figure out where we're going next!"

Jarrett wasted no time when he heard the men coming. He scooped up his corpse bag and headed towards the window, and with a grunt, hefted it open and was out of it in less than a moment. Once his long legs were out, he began to climb down, his eyes catching Spot's briefly before he began to descend without her.

Grabbing her Death Tooth, Spot followed Jarrett to the window. But when he disappeared over it and started down the wall without her, she stopped. Spot looked down at her arms, judging their strength. Her strength. Just looking at the by now blood-stained bandages made her a little woozy. She looked out the window again and knew immediately that she wouldn't make it down the wall.

Spot was surprised to feel a sudden pang of hurt betrayal catch in her throat. She thought they were a team! Clearly she was wrong. So when Jarrett caught her eye, her look was one of dark disbelief. She opened her mouth to swear at him, but she wouldn't get the chance. The heavy boots were nearly at the door!

Swearing under her breath, Spot ran back to the tied up woman. Looks like she'd have to get clobbered after all. "Sorry about this," she muttered before whacking the woman over the head with the candelabra, knocking her unconscious. Spot just had time to kick the candelabra back towards the unconscious man when the door opened.

"Help!" she sobbed when two guards stormed into the room, pointing to the unconscious man while big, fake tears rolled down her cheeks. "He- he attacked us! Hejustsaidweweregoingtohavesomefunandthenhecameatus!" Spot dissolved into sobs as the baffled, embarrassed guards took in the scene.

In the end, with no conscious witnesses, they believed her story. What else could make sense? Surely the woman, even if she were a prostitute and not always likely to be honest, wouldn't have been able to wreck this havoc herself. Plus why would a woman do something like this, anyway? So Spot was brought in, given very provisional medical treatment (don't want to waste too much on a whore!) and, several hours later, turned back on the street. No one wanted to show more kindness to a prostitute than they needed to.

Now Spot was in a rotten mood, leaving the guards' station as dawn peeked over the city. What had she thought, trusting some stupid assassin? If she ever saw him, he better be the one to watch out! she thought grumpily to herself as she walked down the gray streets, making her way towards the travelers' market.

Jarrett had presumed the woman had a plan for herself, considering she had taken care of herself before he came along, so even if he just so happened to disappear (thankfully, with his hard earned corpse in tow), she could do it again, right?
But that look she gave him....
and recalling her injuries gave him way to pause, and he had contemplated going back up there to help her.

Then the guards came.

Nope.

So he kept on going down. It seemed as if she had it under control. Now he had to find a way to get his corpse to where the money was. That would be another weight off of his shoulders, but as she shifted the weight about upon his shoulders, he realized his one mistake-

The streets seemed to be teaming with extra guards. Great. And his bag looked just a tad bit suspicious. So he peered around, looking for something to help him hide the body when he spotted a cart full of vegetables. The owner of said cart had just stepped away, so nonchalantly, Jarrett went on over to it, loaded his corpse into the bed of vegetables and stepped on up into the buckboard. ANd just as he was giving the reigns a good snap, he nearly ran someone over.


And she wasn't that hard to... Spot!

OOC: I'm assuming several hours have passed since the incident in the hotel, fyi.

---

Spot probably should have been paying better attention to where she was going and her surroundings. Her life, after all, depended on it. But she was exhausted, battered, and angry. So she didn't think twice about passing the lazy oxen in the early dawn light. But when she heard the snap! of the reins, she startled and leapt a foot into the air and out of the path of the oxen.

And when she landed...

Spot gained her footing, turned to face the cart driver. The Vile Betrayer!

She held his gaze for several moments, her eyes narrowed and angry. Then she huffed, not unlike an angry wild animal, and turned away, stomping off away from Jarrett. She didn't have time for him. He was the worst. Stupid assassin. And Spot still needed new clothes and a way out of Arca. He clearly wasn't going to be any help. Stupid assassin.

As he watched the woman huff away, he blinked simply, and calmly told her, "You should watch where you step." And gave a snap to the reigns again to get the cart started again.

Spot was already walking away as Jarrett called to her as though she were just anyone. As though he weren't her weird eccentric assassin who'd left her to be carted off by the guards. And right after trying to take her dress off, too! What, had he thought since she didn't want a quick fuck before the guards showed up she wasn't worth his trouble? She thought about throwing something at him, not that she had anything to throw, but Spot had more important things to do.

Spot carried on to the Travelers' market. In this early hour, it was only just getting set up, but Spot found a peddler setting up his stall of simple clothing. The same style that the Travelers themselves wore. Spot bought a simple dress and shawl of linen, like the Traveler women wore, which she paid for. Spot never stole from the Travelers. She liked them. When she'd been a starving, begging kid on the streets, she'd received more kindness from them than she had from the permanent residents of Arca. Spot gave the old man copper for the garments, then slipped him a gold piece and thanked him for his discretion. It was always easier to be generous with stolen money.

She slipped into an abandoned corner of the market and quickly got rid of the mistress's dress she'd been wearing, changing instead into the Travelers' clothes. The long linen sleeves of the dress covered the wounds on her arms and she wrapped the shawl loosely around her head and neck, partially covering her hair as the Traveler women did, and more importantly, covering the conspicuous scabbing wound across her neck. Spot already felt much more comfortable, and much less conspicuous, in the new clothing. Most in Arca viewed the Travelers as some sort of underclass, invisible and below their attention. That would work to Spot's advantage. Maybe she could convince one of them to take her with them...

As she made her way back into the market, she picked up the thread of conversation between an old Traveler man and one of the shop keepers. The old man was saying that someone had stolen his vegetable cart and all of his goods; his livelihood and only real possessions were gone. Anger boiled in Spot's stomach. These were not the sort of people you stole from! People who had almost nothing, who would go without if you took their few possessions from them. And Jarrett, who she was sure must be the thief of this man's vegetable cart, wasn't even supposed to be a thief. It never would have occurred to Spot to go to the guards to report the theft. She'd grown up too poor for the guards to ever pay much mind of her, and they definitely wouldn't go out of their way to help the Travelers. They probably wouldn't even listen.

Ugh. Spot was so tired. Why couldn't she just sleep? Why did Jarrett have to ruin everything?

But she knew she wouldn't just walk away. Cursing Jarrett and her own softness, Spot approached the man. "'Scuse me, sir, but I saw a stranger witha oxen cart," Spot said, doing her best to affect the Traveler way of speech. "Didn't seem like 'e knew how to drive it. That'n isn't yers, isit?"

And in no time, a group of brawny young Traveler men were assembled from the various market stalls. Spot had to admire how quickly they came forward to work together and aid the old man. And it was Spot who was leading the way to where Jarrett had nearly hit her with the oxen cart. And if Jarrett turned any of these Traveler boys into more corpses, she would kill him!

The oxen were none too pleased, becoming ornery as Jarrett tried to get them to move through the city streets. He couldn't have known the pair were picky with where they walked, and had to take there time in getting anywhere, less the city streets spook them. So by the time Spot returned with a small band of burly men, Jarrett hadn't really gotten that far.

And despite Spot being in new attire, it did nothing to hide her identity from Jarrett as he caught sight of her face- just enough to make him halt the cart. It didn't seem as if the men before him really registered with him as he addressed Spot, "Nice outfit." Then he paused to add, "You ever street oxen before?" Maybe she could help him outta here.

"Oy! Pretty boy!" One of the men called at Jarrett. "That ain't yer cart or yer oxen yer tryin'ta drive there, is it, boys?"

There was a chorus of "no's" in response and the six young Traveler men fanned out around Jarrett's cart, leaving Spot standing behind them, her dark purple eyes glaring at Jarrett.

The men were carrying an assortment of weapons, real and improvised. and now the first man, who appeared to be speaking for the lot, was thumping his club threateningly in the open palm of his free hand.

"Yeh better be tryin'ta drive those oxen back'n to their owner, son."

Standing behind the men, Spot crossed her arms and, fixing Jarrett with a stink eye, stuck her tongue out at him.

Jarrett simply looked from men to Spot, then back to the men again. And the oxen were still squirming.

"No," he said with indifference. "I was taking these oxen out of town."
Was that much obvious? Especially if they weren't his...

But well, it seemed there was a lot of flaws in his plans-
and he was wondering what was Spot's game.

"Ehn-ehn. I don' thinkso. That's Ol' Man Karov's livelihood yer tryin'ta take outta town, mate. An' we canna have that, can we, boys?" Again, a chorus of no's responded. "Lis'en, I tried'ta ask'ya nicelike. Guess we hafta try the hard way."

Jarrett, as far as the Travelers were concerned, had given the wrong answer. And now the circle of men was closing in on him, bats and clubs swinging menacingly, a pitchfork and an axe held ready for jabbing and hacking.

And the oxen, for their part, stayed stubbornly put.

But the Travelers moved in slowly, giving Jarrett a bit of time to change his mind. After all, the day was early and they weren't dying to fight just yet.

Spot glared daggers at Jarrett. Stupid assassin! Just give back the cart! she thought furiously. What was wrong with him? For all her gusto, Spot didn't really want to see a proper fight, either. She just wanted to go to sleep. And for Jarrett to be sorry that he abandoned her. Stupid Jarrett. Stupid assassin.

Jarrett simply stared. His expression never wavered, if anything, there might have been the subtlest bit of curiosity in those green eyes of his, but as the men advanced, he remained perched on the buckboard, reigns in hand.

"But I can't give the cart back."

And when the men all sneered and one inquired why, the natural response was,

"Because I have a corpse in the back. And if he continues to rot, he'll attract flies."

Silence fell on the small crowd.

Had he just said there was a corpse in the cart?!

“Oy, what’d you say, boy-o?” the leader asked. All of their expressions were dark now and they kept moving forward. “Whatchu mean ‘corpse?’”

“ You rottin’ all Karov’s stock?” another angry voice interjected

“An’ where’dya getta ‘corpse?’” the leader asked darkly. “We needta bring the guards into this?” It was an empty threat, though. They all knew that the guards wouldn’t listen to a pack of Travelers. Much less a menacing pack wielding a hodgepodge of weapons.

Spot watched with her arms folded, glaring and shaking her head. What was he doing? Why didn’t he just give the stupid cart back? And how had he STILL not taken that body to whoever employed him? Jarrett, Spot decided, must be the World’s Worst Assassin.

While the leader was questioning Jarrett, the group was now close enough that one of the guys in back flung open the door of the cart.

And Mr. Allendale rolled out onto the street.

And that's when Jarrett reacted, something the other wise slow talking assassin might have seemed incapable of; but there it was, somehow within seconds, he was in the back of the cart, on the ground and hefting up Mr. Allendale, who had to unceremoniously fall out of the bag.
"Excuse me," and he turned to shove Mr. Allendale in the back of the cart, and gave a firm and unhappy look at the others.
"I told you, I'm not giving back the cart." Because he knew another one would be even harder to steal. Besides, Mr. Allendale had been comfortable.

The Travelers saw their opportunity. As soon as Jarrett left the driver's seat of the cart, two of the Traveler men leapt onto it. Taking up the reins, they gave the oxen a firm smack! of the leather reins and gave a quick command in the Travelers' tongue that the oxen were trained in. The oxen, which had been so sluggish and stubborn for Jarrett, were suddenly alive, alert, and running.

So as soon as Jarrett had Mr. Allendale back in the cart, the oxen were thundering away down the dirt street, with Mr. Allendale in tow. The rest of the Traveler men leapt onto the cart as it thundered away, leaving Spot and Jarrett alone in their dust.

Spot, for her part, just wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out at Jarrett. Of course, with Mr. Allendale gone, Spot might be a more tempting target for Jarrett. But she was too exhausted, sore, and cranky to worry about that right now.

Jarrett watched as the cart rolled away with his corpse, and his frown deepened.
"They took Mr. Allendale..." And after a moment of just staring, he began to look around for a horse or something else to steal to go after them.

Spot rolled her eyes at Jarrett's statement of the obvious. Then she gave a little shrug to say that it was no matter to her where Mr. Allendale ended up. "You shouldn't've stolen from the Travelers," she said matter-of-factly. "They're pretty clever. And they don't have much, so they keep what they have. Your mistake."

Spot pulled a face, regarding Jarrett. Look at him, guffawing around looking for a way to go after the Travelers. As though nothing else had happened. He was like... a child, maybe. Spot still wasn't sure there wasn't something wrong with his head. "What'd you carry him around for so long for, anyway?" she asked. Then she added pointedly, "If I were you, I'd've taken him to whoever paid for him straight after you abandoned me to those guards."

Jarrett still frowned.
"I didn't abandon you," he corrected. "You didn't follow me fast enough."
He must've presumed someone like her would have been quicker on her feet-
perhaps her wounds were worse than he thought. He peered down to try to get a look at her, as if trying to look through her clothing.
"How are your wounds?" From here, there didn't seem to be much trace.

"Like balls you didn't!" Spot bit at Jarrett, surprising herself a little with the ferocity of her response. What did she care? Maybe she didn't. Spot was so, so tired. But she finished anyway, "How was I supposed to follow you and climb down after you with my arms all split open?."

Spot glared at him fiercely, and maybe a little petulantly. Did she actually feel... hurt? That the weirdo assassin had left her behind? Maybe the idea of being able to trust someone after the last few months had just been too tempting. Well, turns out you can't trust anyone anyway.

She huffed, though, and her glare turned into a general look of grumpiness. But she answered Jarrett. "Ah, well, the guards did a nice job of stitching me up. I'm a proper franken-arms now. Always knew I should've learned to sew. Could've done it myself."

Even though Spot's wounds were now hidden beneath her Travelers garb, she looked nonetheless pretty... bad. She was several shades too pale and her pallor was taking on a definite grayish tinge, while her eyes were dark and tired looking. She had the distinct look of someone who might tip over at any moment.

"Well," she finally offered, her tone and demeanor now both definitely petulant, "I suppose without Mr. Allendale you'll have to slit my pretty throat after all and haul me off to Jack or Kui whoever's got it in for me."

Jarrett still was frowning, shifting a bit uncomfortably as he began to walk away and mumbled, "No. I have to get Mr. Allendale."
Spot really wasn't on his list, nor was he interested in her prize. Finally finding a horse tethered outside of a building, he approached it and began to untie it, but its owner quickly noticed and rushed on back.

"Hey, hey, hey!" the gruff man barked, grabbing the reigns from Jarrett's hands and yanking them roughly away. "What do ya think yer doin' with muh horse?" And he spat some dark tobacco juice onto the ground, right near the horse's hooves.

And Jarrett's response only came ever so calmly, "I'm taking him to get my corpse back."

And the man just stared before he began to holler up a storm, and just about everyone was looking at the pair now.

Jarrett just stared.

This was why he worked best at night....

But perhaps luck was on his side, for the ever irritating flea infested Soot Wolves returned a moment later, delivering a 'package' to Jarrett. Peering down at the lumbering sack, it seemed as if they secured the corpse up good and well for him, but before he could say anything- the Soot Wolf was gone.

And before he could do much of anything else,t he guards were calling out into the street for them to 'Stop!' Jarrett turned to Spot.
"Do you know how to ride a horse?" And before she could ask why, Jarrett slammed the back of the corpse back into the man's hed and knocked him out cold. ANd the guards were advancing even quicker after that, so with some unceremonious skill (or rather, the lack of skill) the assassin got onto the horse, corpse on his lap as he fought iwht the reigns.

He then peered down at Spot.
"You coming?" he said, as the horse moved about unhappily beneath him.
But hey look- the guards were nearly there so...
Before she could squeak out a reply, he plucked her up and pulled her up before him.

"So.. how do we get this animal to run?" he said, keeping one arm around Spot to keep her close.

It was Copper. Spot recognized the Soot Wolf who delivered Mr. Allendale immediately. And worse yet: Copper recognized her. Though he'd only been there for half a moment before melting back into the shadows, their eyes had met and recognition passed between the two. Copper's eyes had, at first, looked surprised to see Spot. Then they hardened. And he was gone. Spot swallowed. Copper was a Blood Wolf, it was true, but she didn't know him very well and she didn't know where his loyalties lay. Even if she did, Spot didn't know what rumors circulated now around the Den. What was being said about her, about Zahi, about Jack...

But what she did know was that if Copper had seen her now, it wouldn't be long before he returned with others to drag her back to the Den. That was certain. Spot had to get out of Arca.

And just as she was deciding that, Jarrett pulled her roughly up onto the horse he'd stolen in a whirlwind of activity from the now unconscious man. Did she know how to ride a horse? No, not really. She'd been on a horse, of course! ...Once. Or twice. But she had just been riding along with someone, much as Jarrett, it seemed, was now riding along with her! But the guards were closing in on them and the crowd looked angry, and the Soot Wolves would no doubt be returning for her.

"Of course I know how to ride a horse!" she lied with an airy confidence she didn't feel, and probably didn't entirely pull off. But luckily for Spot, she'd spent enough time hanging around the Travelers as a beggar child that she knew some of their tongue. Mentally crossing her fingers, she whispered the command to the horse and dug her heels sharply into its side.

Perhaps Spot shouldn't have been hoping she knew how to get the horse to start. Because when she gave it the command, the horse thundered forward at full tilt, plowing through the crowd. In no time they were out of the market, stampeding through the city streets. Spot clutched the reins, trying in some vain to steer the horse. But the horse thundered on, causing people to leap out of its way. Spot yelled a 'Sorry!' back to a group of old women who'd fallen over while jumping out of its way. It was clear that what Spot should have hoped for was that she could get the horse to stop.

Awkwardly the horse bolted off, and frantically the pair were now zig zagging down the street. It was a wonder how the two even made it out of the city, corpse in tow, injured girl in tow, awkward assassin somewhat leading them onward. But even after the pair headed over a bridge and bolted outside of the city gates, the man did not stop the horse- as he found it easier to control the beast when there was open lands, and it wasn't until they were surrounded by dense wood did he have the horse slow to a trot as he began to peer around the area, curious of where they'd gone.

Spot certainly didn't argue as the horse continued to thunder through and then out of the city, though she occasionally fought Jarrett for control of the horse. Not that she wanted to be in charge of the horse, she just thought that she was. But between them they managed to get out of the city, even with the guards trying to follow the mad beast. And Spot definitely didn't argue as they continued to run through the countryside. Really, it was kind of exciting. Spot had never spent much time outside of Arca. And now as the countryside unfolded before them, the dangers of the city at least temporarily behind, she rather enjoyed it.

So when the horse finally slowed to a trot, Spot went ahead and leaned against Jarrett, making herself as comfortable as one can against a horse. It seemed that at least for now she'd forgotten about his Great Betrayal.

Now that they'd stopped running and without a rider who really knew how to control the beast, the horse slowed to a walk and frequently stopped to eat a choice looking leaf or grass here or there. But the woods were thick and dark and close around them, and Spot thought for now the horse had earned its snacking. Spot felt the rise and fall of Jarrett's breath behind her, and the beating of his heart as she leaned against him, and she wondered just how she'd ended up in this position. And she wondered how long it would be before the Soot Wolves caught up with them...

After a period of surprisingly comfortable (for Spot) silence had passed, she finally asked him, "So where are we going, anyway? Where is Mr. Allendale bound?"

Now that they were riding much slower, Jarrett could feel the awkward pull in his legs that normally came with riding on a horse, and she shifted a bit in the saddle behind her.

"Prophet's Point."
Which made all too much sense when revealed, because such a place was the name of one of the small villages tucked away in the Adelan mountains, and was famous for unscrupulous activity.

"Prophet's Point?" Spot repeated. "That's pretty far. I didn't realize you were a quite such a delivery man."

In truth, Spot wasn't really sure how far Prophet's Point was. She'd heard of it, sure. But Spot hadn't really spent too much time outside of Arca. A few times, for work, and she knew the basic layout of Serendipity and Adela. But how long did it take to get to Prophet's Point? And what lay in between?

Spot had no idea.

"We probably need to go a bit faster if we're going that far," Spot noted. For now the horse was just munching. Occasionally it took a few steps more to get to a choicier patch of clovers. But basically they were getting nowhere.

Spot knew a few more Travelers words and she thought now was as good a time as ever to show off. Especially since Jarrett had taken over control of the horse in their escape from the city. She'd heard the word for 'trot' before, she was sure, but which one was it? There were two and she sure it was one of them, but...

Well, Spot figured to risk it. "You think you're a good horse rider," she said smugly to Jarrett, "watch how a master does it."

Then she patted the horse's flank and gave it the command she decided upon. But instead of encouraging the horse to a steady trot, the horse reared up on its back two legs. Sending its riders - Jarrett, Spot, and Mr. Allendale - tumbling to the ground!

The fall was painful, and most unexpected, and not having a heads up to stop it; there the pair were, dizzy and in pain, on the ground. Grunting, he sat up and peered over at Spot, then at the horse, who merely walked away from its' discarded riders and went about to munch on more clover. It seemed to really love clover.

Jarrett turned his attention back to Spot as he frowned. Mr. Allendale was half out of his bag again by now and he turned with just enough of an angle to stuff the dead man back inside.
"I think Mr. Allendale would have had better luck with the horse had I kept him alive."
And he paused, before adding, "He was a champion horseman." Or so they said.

Managing to get to his feet, he dusted himself off before offering a scraped and slightly bleeding hand down to her.
"Shall we try this again?"
Though truthfully, he was now a bit skeptical to get back onto the horse.

Spot pushed herself up. She wasn't in too much pain. Her fall had been broken by... Spot started: Mr. Allendale! She cringed away from the corpse. She'd been fine with it up to this point. But now that it was so close. Ew.

Scooting away from it, she looked up at Jarrett and his proffered hand. She paused for a moment, then took it and pulled herself up. "Er, sorry about that. Bad form. Bad form," she huffed in her best impersonation of a 'champion horseman.' Spot imagined that they sounded stuff, and rich. "Just have to walk off all this life-change-induced dizzy, wot wot! Let me try again an' I'll 'ave him in line!"

But once Spot was on her feet, she looked at the horse again. In her normal voice, she said a bit more cautiously, "Or maybe we should walk him for a bit."

Taking the reins herself, Spot took the horse's reins and pulled. The horse, for his part, looked up at her, huffed, then went back to eating clovers.

Jarrett simply watched.
"It looks like he's still hungry..."

Spot frowned at Jarrett's obvious statement of the obvious. At first she was going to tell him off for it, but instead she heard her own stomach grumble.

"Yeah, me, too, actually," she answered. Then she looked Jarrett over. "Can't you go assassin us a deer or some fish or something?"

Spot, it could be said, had no idea how things worked outside of the city.

Jarrett turned to Spot with a questionable expression before turning away and staring off into the forests.
"There's a town not too far from here. If we continue through these woods, we should come out in Abberdam."

"Abberdam," Spot repeated, patting her rumbling stomach. "Well, sounds as good as anything. Come on, you two," she said with an airy tone of leadership, taking the horse by his reins and giving him a sharp tug. It seemed better to walk the stubborn creature for a bit, if Abberdam was close and all.

It wasn't a long journey, but Spot's stomach got rumblier and rumblier as they went on and she had to wonder just why Jarrett couldn't just assassin them something to eat. What was he good for if he couldn't kill them anything to eat? Spot'd already be roasting deer by now, but...

The smoky scent of a fish smokehouse stopped Spot's grumpy thoughts and sent her stomach flying. Abeerdam was just visible now through the trees. The small town was situated along a clear river perfect for trout and salmon, and it made much of its income and livelihood in fresh and smoked fish. Spot paused as they drew up to the town, and handed the horse's reins over to Jarrett.

"If your attempt to steal that vegetable cart is any indication of what kind of thief you are, I think I better handle this. But you better be able to cook or something, you great useless lump of social ineptitude."

Spot stuck her tongue out at Jarrett, then melted into the shadows of the forest and into Abberdam. She returned some twenty minutes or so later, smelling strongly of the smoked fish hidden in her dress. She beamed happily at Jarrett now that she was laden with food: smoked salmon and trout and bread and cheese and fresh eggs and even a few apples for the horse. The beauty of the Travelers' garb was that it gave her plenty of room to hide it all.

"Shall we find ourselves a sunny lunch spot?" she asked brightly, and perhaps a tad smugly; pleased with herself for having provided for them both.

Jarrett was never a quick one to relay his plans to those he wished to share them with- but then again, he was never used to having a partner in crime, as it were. So when she rushed off, he simply watched her until she disappeared from view, and then disappeared himself for just a brief moment, entering and exiting a small, local inn and returning back to the horse just a few moments before Spot returned with the fish.  When she showed him the goods, he stared at her for a moment before revealing,
"I procured us a room at the local Inn down the street. We have free food while we stay there. I got us a room at least for the night." He gestured to where the squat little inn sat facing east, down the street. "We can eat the fish in the main tavern, or take it to our rooms. They even have a stable at the other end of the street for our horse."

ANd then he peered at the way Spot was looking at him before his face shifted subtly.
"What?"

Spot deflated. An inn? Free food? But she had done all this great thieving for them! And there was just something more adventurey about sleeping outside off the road under the stars. That’s how Spot always imagined the rangers and adventurers and such doing it, anyway! Staying in an inn sounded more comfortable, but much less on-the-open-road adventuresome. And the point was that she was supposed to be the clever one to figure everything out and provide for them!

All Spot said out loud of this internal monologue, though, was, “But I smell like fish now.”

But Spot wasn’t one to let disappointment get her down for too long and she picked herself back up. She shrugged it off and looked curiously at Jarrett. She hadn’t really expected him to make any plans for them… she wasn’t even sure when they became an ‘us’ anyway… Or why. So, picking up on something that he said, Spot gave an amused, sideways smile.

“A room for ‘us’?” she asked with raised eyebrows. “Why, Mr. L’isson,” she said, taking a long step closer to him and leaning against the horse with with a posture so overtly seductive that it left no doubt that it was play-acting, “if you keep this up, I’m going to think that you’re out to woo-hoo-HOO HOOOOOOOOO… me.”

The last bit came out as a pathetic wheeze, but just when Spot was in the middle of ‘woo’, the horse - who didn’t appreciate being leaned against like a piece of furniture, sidestepped, sending Spot toppling over and landing inelegantly on her bottom, smoked fish spilling out of her dress pockets.

Despite the evident play in her tone, her jest made him flush. Thankfully he had tan skin, so it wasn't too evident, but still, his awkward stance might have suggested how strange to him this was. Then again, it was hard to tell his awkward stance from a normal one, considering he didn't showcase much emotions, if any at all.

When she fell over, it was like he was broken from a spell as he grabbed onto the reins and peered down at Spot. He offered down a hand.

"You do smell like fish. But there's a bath house on the other end of town. You could get cleaned up there." And to make matters worse, someone's dog barked over at the pair of them and when he noticed the fish dropped, the mongrel dashed on over, sniffing the goods before beginning to gobble them whole. Jarrett only stared a moment before he frowned.

"Guess we're eating soup tonight." He was actually looking forward to some of that fish...

Normally, Spot would have noticed the change in Jarrett's demeanor and used it to further embarrass the assassin, but at the moment, she was occupied by the snuffling beast gobbling up her fish. The dog, a great bull mastiff, was larger than Spot was herself and it nearly knocked her over again as it gobbled the fish from her dress pockets. "Hey, hey!" she protested, trying to push the great beast away to no avail.

The dog nosed through her dress pockets, looking for more fish. Finding none, it went for the next thing dogs were always interested in, and shoved its nose into Spot's crotch.

"Hey!" Spot squeaked, pushing against the dog's head to get it away from her. But without fail, its sniffing nose returned right back between her legs.

Jarrett just stared.
And stared and stared before moving in a flash, and stabbing the dog clean in the throat. The dog released a garbled whine before gurgling on it's own blood and falling over, whimpering but once more before it slumped completely to the ground where it lay still as it's throat wound drained of blood onto the dirt road.

Spot leapt backwards with something between a gasp and a squeak when Jarrett lunged forward at the dog. At the dead dog. He had killed. The dog. It lay on the ground now, motionless, as a pool of blood spread out beneath it. He had killed the dog. Just like that.

And it was Spot's turn to stare now. First, and for a long time, and the slain animal before her. Then at Jarrett, her dark purple eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and newfound wariness.

He killed the dog. Just like that. And suddenly Spot was wondering again just what she was doing with this man. With this assassin, when she had a price on her head. A voice in the back of her head was whispering that she was going along with him now to deliver Mr. Allendale, but on his way back to Arca, Jarrett would be delivering her. That by tagging along with him, she was just saving him the inconvenience of carrying two dead bodies around.

Spot's eyes wandered back to the dog. No, Jarrett was no tame assassin. Silently, Spot decided to slip away from him that night.

Aloud, she only asked, "Why did you do that?", the straightforwardness of her question, lacking any of her normal bluster and playacting, betraying some of her fear.

While Spot stared at him, Jarrett stared back at her. But it was awkward at best, as he frowned a little and shifted his weight. Then when she inquired why, he simply stared and murmured, "He was bothering you." Then he went silent a moment before adding, "And was making a scene. He could have brought unwanted attention."
And then as his eyes drifted down to the dog, he began to realize...
Hrmmm.. perhaps this also could bring unwanted attention.


Well, he supposed it was too late to go back on that. He had never been good with animals.

"I suppose we should get rid of the body, or run," he said, his brow wrinkled as he stared at the dog's corpse. He kind of looked constipated, or perhaps, just a little uncertain. Then again this was Jarrett L'isson - his emotions were always constipated.

Spot looked at Jarrett incredulously, a disbelieving sound sputtering from her lips.. Because the dog was bothering her?! "You couldn't just laugh at me good-naturedly like a normal person?"

But something about the way he murmured his answer made him actually seem almost sheepish. Like a child who only just realized he might have done something wrong. And despite her better judgement, she felt a stirring of... sympathy for him?

Spot sighed. Jarrett L'isson the assassin. The awkward assassin. Well, maybe he wasn't a tame assassin, Spot thought, yet. She'd just spend a few more days with him, she told herself,

"Just leave it there," she told him exaspirated. "It's just a dog. If anyone asks, we'll say it attacked me. I'm so darn cute, no one will fault you for saving me." She shook her head at him, heaved another sigh, then offered him her elbow like a gentleman might offer his elbow to a lady at a ball. "Shall we go to 'our room' at the end, then?"

Jarrett still remained, awkward as ever, as he peered down at the bloodied dog. He didn't know why he was suddenly feeling a little awkward over it- perhaps a little guilty, but when Spot offered out her arm, he was still looking down at the dead dog as it was still seeping out it's last bits of pooling blood. The eyes were already starting to glaze over, and it was at this that Jarrett recalled his first kill.

A young woman.
Just like Spot.
With a similar motive to get the hell out of her life.
He wasn't sure how he felt then, and he wasn't sure how he felt now. And it bothered him he had been doing this for so many years, and he felt as if he was reverting back to square one.

Spot had already taken her first step in the direction of the inn, assuming that Jarrett's stomach would be just as eager to get there as hers was, when she realized that the assassin was not taking her arm, and not even following!

In fact, he wasn't doing much of anything at all.

Spot stopped and turned to look at him, hand on her hip. She was about to give him a hard time about refusing a lady's proffered arm, but something in his expression stopped her. Instead she watched him for a moment, considering, then took a step closer to him. She peered at his face as though he were a statue, then waved her hand in front of his eyes.

"Hooo-hooo, hello?" she called. "Anybody in? Don't tell me it was some sort of demon dog and now we're all cursed and going to turn into stone right here on the spot!" She poked cautiously at his cheek as if to test if he were still flesh and blood and not stone.

Jarrett turned, which made her finger press more into his cheek, which skewed his features all the way to his lips. It took him another moment to take her hand to remove it.
"No." He paused, staring down at her, then the dog. "It's not cursed." He rubbed at the back of his head now. "At least I don't think so..."

Spot looked at him with a cocked head. She could tell something was going on in that brain of his, but couldn't quite put her finger on it. Before she could say anything on the matter, though, her stomach gave a loud grumble.

"Well, then, no cursed dog, but one Very Grumbly Tummy. Come on," she said, then she took his hand in hers, leading the way towards the town and grabbing the horse reins with her free hand, "let's go before I eat the horse."

Jarrett didn't fight her taking his hand, though it was awkward to be guided away by another. He only stumbled in his first few steps before falling in line beside her and at her comment about eating the horse, he looked from her then to the horse, then back to her again.

"Horse meats pretty good," he said, giving a shrug. And the horse made a noise. It seemed none too happy with this discussion.

"Sure, but do you want to walk all the way to Prophet's Point?" Spot countered. She led the way as far as Abberdam. But the only places Spot knew in the city were where the fish smokers and egg sellers and such were. On the main little market square of the town, there were two inns Spot could see. Neither was as lavish as their last hotel, but there was a pretty marked difference between them none-the-less.

The first, on the right end of the square, was made of solid wood, freshly painted, with stone ornament. All of the windows had flower boxes, and all of the flower boxes were full of bright red geraniums. A warm orange light glowed from the windows as daylight was beginning to fade outside, and smoke puffed out of the stone chimney. Most importantly, the inviting scents of fresh cooking wafted from its kitchen.

The other, in a corner on the far end of the square, was a squat stone building that looked like it had seen far better days. If it weren't for the dim light in its dirty windows, Spot would have thought it was abandoned. Rather than flower boxes, the windows had broken shutters that didn't close properly. And the whole building just looked... damp. Instead of homecooking, the smells coming from it were of stale alcohol. On the ground floor, where 'food' and drink was served, the sounds of a drunken fight came tumbling out onto the street.

Spot looked at both inns, then to Jarrett. "Well?"

Jarrett gave a shrug on her comment about the horse.
"Probably not." Though he had walked quite a distance before. But not quite THAT far. But he remained quiet as usual as they moved forward and while Spot was peering at the two obvious Inns, Jarrett stepped before the one with pink and red, rosy colored flowers that dotted the flower boxes beneath the windows. And entwined between each pink petaled flower were little yellow ones that just seemed to shine in the sun. He gestured towards the door.

"We're staying here. At the Pink Rose Inn." And at her look he gave a shrug. "The other Inn was full."

Spot looked between the two inns again. If truth be told, the rundown inn was more what she was used to. Not that she would rather stay there! Exactly. She looked between them again, then shrugged. It might be nice to stay in a respectable place and be treated like a respectable person!

Then Spot thought of something, and gave Jarrett a wary look.

“When you say you booked a room,” she asked slowly, “you do me that you booked it for us, right? It’s not going to be another one of these situations where the real guests come in and interrupt my bath and then I have to strip some gross old man’s mistress then knock her out so she can't snitch to the guards again, is it?”

Jarrett just looked at her with a long face.
"No. I mean I paid for them." He gave a shrug. "But we'll have to share the room. I couldn't afford more than one."

"You better've," Spot warned darkly. "A girl can only stand getting stormed in on so many times in a 24 hour period!"

But Spot was rather looking forward to spending the night in a clean, cozy, warm, clean inn, so she let it go and led the stubborn horse onward to the inn's stables. The inn was just as nice on the inside as it was on the outside. Almost too nice. As though it had been decorated and maintained by someone's sentimental old aunt. Which it was. There was even, Spot saw with horror, a painting of a kitten behind the inn keeper's desk. And if that wasn't enough, Spot had to struggle to keep a straight face while the plump, silver-haired innkeeper kept referring to them as "Mister and Misses Carlisle;" assigning the fake name Jarrett must have used to Spot as well.

The frilly old innkeeper led them to their room, cooing over what an attractive young couple they were and how she just couldn't believe they weren't traveling with a baby or two. When they got to the room, Spot nearly lost it. The room was cute and cozy and would have been perfect - a little overdone, but perfect - were it not for all the flowers. There were the flowers in the window boxes, to b sure. But there were roses - pink and white and yellow - in vases on the bedside table and on the table by the window and in vases attached to the walls and who knew how many other places. And what was best was that the bed was covered in rose petals. Spot bit her tongue and smiled and nodded sweetly until the innkeeper left, then she burst out into laughter.

"Oh, oh Mr. Carlisle!" Spot laughed as she swanned over to Jarrett, throwing her arms around his neck and feigning a swoon. "I don't think you've taken me anywhere so nice since our honeymoon!"

Jarrett hadn't come up with the married couples name when he came for his room- he just took the name for the guest who had reserved it. Though apparently they were a no show, but then the old lady presumed that Jarrett was it. He just sort of went with it, paid for the room and was done with it. He didn't consider the old woman would start gushing over them. So when it happened, Jarrett stood there about as useless and unfeeling as a potato.

He was relieved when they were finally alone in their room and paused to observe Spot as she laughed. His eyes too, took in the room. It was a bit too.. flowery for him, but he wasn't about to complain. But he wasn't paying attention to his 'wife' when her arms suddenly came around him, and he had been in a mid-turn so when her arms caught around him- the tall assassin found his weight off set and -


down to the floor he went, he on his back and well- Spot halfway on his lap. And from where he lay uncomfortably on the floor, he simply looked at her throw a mess of his black hair that fell over his face.

Spot was all laughter as they fell, she landing in his lap while he fell full to the ground. Spot wasn't one to miss an opportunity for a bit of jest, though, and Jarrett's awkwardness whenever she pretended to flirt with him hadn't escaped her. So, still laughing, she moved quickly so that Jarrett was half-pinned to the ground, Spot lying on top of him.

"Oh, Mr. Carlisle!" she said breathily, as though he had pulled her there rather than her pinning him. "So impatient, Mr. Carlisle! So scandalous! You can't even make it to that bed before trying for all the babies we haven't got," Spot said, echoing the innkeeper's grieving over their lack of babies, a cute young couple like them! "You beautiful brute!"

At this close of a proximity, his dark skin could not hide the blush from her as he peered at her, his eyes a bit larger than normal. And though he relaxed some after the woman was done with her jests, he gave her an awkward frown and placed his large hands on either side of her and said,
"I don't think that's a good idea. My mistress would kill you."

'Mistress' meant nothing more than 'woman you're sleeping with who isn't your wife' to Spot, at least at first mention. She had no idea what Jarrett really meant. So instead of just giving it a rest, once his hands were on her, she lowered her face closer to his and, though she was still barely containing her laughter, said in a husky voice, "But everyone is trying to kill me, anyway, Mr. Carlisle."

And he stared at her.
And stared.

And continued to stare for what was probably a very long time. Those violet eyes of her were bright like crystals, her face sweet, her hair long...
And before he knew what he was doing, he was cupping her face, catching some of her long hair in it as he did so, and kissed her with a hunger that felt feral and new.

Never one to back down once she'd started something and usually a bit bolder than was good for her, Spot returned Jarrett's stare, her eyes sparkling with amusement. But nevertheless, Spot let out a muffled squeak of surprise when Jarrett actually kissed her. She might not have expected it from another man, a normal man, but she hadn't really thought of Jarrett as a normal man, and she hadn't expected it from him. Still, Spot wondered, feeling the hunger in Jarrett's kiss, if she hadn't wanted it, even if she hadn't expected it. Spot remembered Jarrett deftly undoing her dress in the last hotel, when she'd asked him to lace it up, and the vague feeling of disappointment when he'd laced it back up. Then Spot parted her lips and returned his kiss, kissing him deeply and properly, leaning her weight into the pinned assassin beneath her.

Spot kissed him for what felt like quite awhile, and when she finally pulled away, she peered down at him for a moment with her purple eyes. Curious. Then she half rolled off of him, with just her legs still draped over him, so that she was also on her back now and propping herself up on her elbows. Spot was laughing again, if a bit sheepishly now. She shook her head and, with a fake gasp meant to sound scandalized, chided, "Not in front of Mr. Allendale!"

The joke was lost on Jarrett, his expression husky and hungered as his lips remained purse as he breathed. His hair was still a mess about his face as he looked at her, licking his lips and stating simply.
"But Mr. Allendale is dead."

And just like that, he moved to lean over, hands on her face as he kissed her, then hands moving down her body.

Spot gave an amused little sigh and smiled at Jarrett and his literal interpretation of her joke. "Yeah, you're right. Not sure how I forgot that."

Before Spot could say any more, though, or make another attempt at a joke, Jarrett was kissing her again. She reciprocated much quicker this time, but still found the whole thing a bit surprising. She wrapped her arms around him, running her fingers through his messy black hair and pulling him down on top of her. She felt herself flush and her heartbeat quicken in response to the hunger behind his kiss.

But that wasn't the only hunger.

Spot broke their kiss and, barely pulling away, her voice breathy now but not in jest, told Jarrett simply, "You promised me soup."

Jarrett paused for one moment, he feeling dizzy in the moment as he peered down at her before replying, "Okay. I'll get you soup." And he leaned down to kiss her again, then again.

Spot wasn’t having a lot of luck getting a word in edgewise through Jarrett’s kisses. Though she wasn’t trying quite as hard as she could. “I thought we’d,” she breathed when she got the chance, then kissed Jarrett again, then, “actually go,” her hands moved from his hair as she kissed him, down his back and finally stopped on his ass, “downstairs.”

She kissed him again quickly, pulling away, but she was grinning up at him. “‘Cause what if I want seconds?” she asked, pinching his right cheek. “Of the soup, I mean.”

It was then Jarrett stopped to look at her. His heart was beating heavily in his ears, his skin, lightly flushing.
"Then we can order seconds. I should have the money..." And his eyes trailed away from her face, looking down at her outfit as his fingers idly found the laces on it, as he attempted to loosen them with one hand to get her free of it.

"Oh ho!" Spot laughed at his answer. "Aren't we an eager beaver," she said, smacking his hand away from her dress laces.

Whatever Jarrett might be thinking now, Spot had every intention of going back down to the dining room. Her own hunger aside, she saw no reason to rush things when she could make Jarrett sweat a bit. Spot wasn't necessarily stingy with her affection, but she that didn't mean she let strange men undress her the first chance they got!

Of course, Jarrett had already undressed her. But that was besides the point!

Plus, it was more fun this way. On some unconscious level, perhaps Spot even wanted to give herself a little space to think about what was going on with this untame assassin, but she wasn't thinking too hard about it now.

She kissed him again, pushing up against him, and used the opportunity to turn them over, so she was on top of him. Then she sat up, straddling him, and shook her head at him as she redid the laces he loosened. She looked thoroughly amused, though, and not unhappy. "I'm going down to the dining room," she said, sticking her tongue out at him. "You can join me if you want to."

For the longest moment, Jarrett simply stared up at her before asking,
"So you want to have sex in the dining room?"

Spot guffawed, her mouth open in surprise that was finally not feigned. But at least she was still laughing. Even if she did smack him, which she did. But not too hard.

"You're a real charmer, you know that?" It seemed Spot was never going to stop shaking her head at him. "And presumptuous! Anyway, I thought you said," she said, putting a finger on his nose, "that you had to be drunk. Surely you weren't lying!"

But Spot leaned down and kissed him quickly, before getting up on her feet, though she was still straddling Jarrett. "Now c'mon, let's go get food. You don't want to know what happens to me when I get hungry!"

And with that Spot skipped over to the door. But once her hand was on the doorknob, she stopped. What was she thinking? People were looking for her. Soot Wolves and assassins. What had she just said to Jarrett, before things got out of hand. "Everyone is trying to kill me, anyway." She couldn't just flounce around the dining room like everything was A-okay.

"Actually," she turned around so that her back was against the door now, then said Very Seriously, "I'm not sure I can stand looking at those awful kitten paintings again. Maybe it is best to stay up here."

Jarrett felt even more awkward now as he stood up, brushing himself off lightly and frowned over at Spot. He wasn't a man who usually felt or acted on many emotions, but here he was being put through the ringer. It was exhausting, and he found himself growing irritated.

"No, we should go down. You said you were hungry. Let's get you something to eat."

"Well..." Spot ran a self-conscious hand through her hair, looking up at Jarrett a bit sheepishly.

She wasn't used to being chased by assassins or even really other Soot Wolves, and she suddenly felt worried that Jarrett would think she was very silly for being too worried. Or worse yet! Too scared! Plus, she could sense the shift in his mood. And suddenly she was wondering just what she would do if Jarrett grew sick of her?

Finally she looked up at him again, blushing just a little in embarrassment at the question that followed, "What if there are more assassins? Or more Soot Wolves? I don't really want to get caught just yet... Well, I don't really want to get caught at all."

Jarrett stared at her for a long while, his gaze still appearing hard from his frustration. And the only solution he could offer to give was,
"If they come for you, I'll kill them."

Spot stared at Jarrett. She wasn't smiling now and for once there was no joke in her eyes as she considered what he said. "If they come for you, I'll kill them." And Spot believed him. For a moment she was thinking about the dog. It wasn't a nice thought, and Spot remembered that she'd told herself then that she would sneak away from the assassin tonight. But another feeling was growing in her stomach... With her life turned completely upsidedown, his frank answer made her feel, well, safe. What she was feeling, Spot realized, was grateful.

Or, mostly grateful. Spot didn't think about what else it might be mixed with.

Then Spot threw her arms around him and kissed him again. A hard, genuine, full kiss. It occurred to her for a moment that the act might annoy him, or frustrate him more. But she didn't care. In that moment, it was the only thing she could do.

Jarrett always reacted on impulse, though he's not without his thoughtfulness. But it wasn't a job he had to plan for when he was reacting to Spot's sudden kiss, and the deflating feelings from earlier were rekindled when her lips pressed to his.

His large hand found her face, brushing her dark hair from it as a hand moved around to rest against the small of her back.
"You're tense," he told her, his face just an inch from her. "Let's fuck, then eat."
Because well, it was hard for him to think of anything else. And it had been a while since he'd been laid.

Spot gave a short, breathy laugh at the incorrigible suggestion. Then smacked Jarrett again (though again not very hard). For a moment it looked like she was going to say something, but instead she kissed him again, more hotly and fiercely than before.

Her enthusiasm nearly knocked him off his feet, and as he stumbled, he managed to catch himself on a piece of furniture, his other hand still on the small of her back as his lips remained locked to hers, kissing her hotly back before pushing her up against the wall and hands finding the laces of her clothing again.

She gave a muffled sound of surprised as Jarrett stumbled, then again as he pushed her up against the wall. But she continued to kiss him, all other thoughts shoved out of her mind as she pulled herself tight against him. And this time when his hands found the laces of her dress, she didn't swat them away. Instead she helped him, removing the Traveler's shawl and outer coat covering her dress. The raw eggs she'd stolen earlier and stuffed into the dress fell with a splat onto the floor below. Then she turned her attention to him, unbuttoning his silly red dinner jacket, kissing him urgently all the while.

If Jarrett was concerned with the splat, he didn't show it. The only thing he was thinking of, breathing in and tasting, was her. And as he continued to kiss her and she helped with his clothes, he shrugged off his jacket, and moved to whip off the belt of his pants and then to help her undo the long length of buttons of his shirt- which was a dark black silk that felt smooth and cool beneath his fingers, contrasting to the heat of his tanned skin beneath.

Spot, it seemed, wasn't one to mess around once she decided on what she wanted. Because as soon as she'd pushed off his shirt, not even registering the contrast of the black silk and his tan skin, her hands found the fastening of his pants. She moved to kiss his neck as she undid his trousers. She only moved to shrug off her loosened dress as an after thought.

Dropping his trousers, the man was at full attention, and his own body was fully exposed, showing off the finely tanned skin of his, his black hair on parts unseen, and the scars that were once well concealed. His lips were moving to her throat as he moved over her, guiding her to the bed and positioning himself between her legs. And as he kissed her, he moved his lips downwards, towards the skin above her chest, then to where her breasts began to mound, then up to the pointed peaks of her nipples where he nursed there for a time before moving his lips down her belly, then back up to her lips.

Once his lips claimed her, his hands sought hers out to hold them above her head as his sex prodded between her leg. It was only then his green eyes returned to look at her, and he could hear and feel his heart in his ears. And for a moment, his hazy vision stirred. He thought he felt something- a distant voice inside his head which sent a thrill down his spine. But he ignored it, any fear or signs of warning behind that call as it only drove him forward as he claimed his prize.

And of course, that's when there was a knock at the door, and Jarrett froze over top of her, then glared at the door. But he chose to ignore, and simply buried himself into Spot, and did so over and over again. But the knock came louder and louder each time, before something caught his ears as he heard the words,

"Spot! We know you're in there! Come out now before we force the door open."

And Jarrett stared down at the woman, the woman he so desperately needed to claim, and with some reluctance, removed himself from her and grabbed a weapon and opened up the door. And the second he saw the man on the other side, he plunged a knife into him- and all the man could do was stare at him in wide eyed shock- not only because well- he was probably dying but the assassin was standing in all of his naked glory, in the open door.

The Inn wasn't too large, and the bedroom doors could be seen where the dining room was, and it was then the lady who owned the place caught sight of what was going on- and let out a blood curdling shriek that was loud enough to wake the dead.

BUt unfortunately, the Soot Wolf wasn't alone, and the other two with him reacted fast, one man throwing a knife at Jarrett's head, which barely missed him, nicking L'isson's ear and sinking into the door frame, the second one sailed past him and towards the bed, aiming directly for Spot's face.

They weren't actually a married couple! That's what Spot nearly protested when Jarrett moved her to the bed. No need to give in to boring sex; Spot had planned to take him there against the wall. But her thoughts didn't linger on it long as Jarrett's mouth moved over her. Her head dizzy, her patience was already running thin - she didn't have time for this foreplay business - when a knock came at the door and Jarrett paused. Spot made an impatient sound, sure that it was just the innkeeper and she'd just as soon go away. She was about to say so when Jarrett finally entered her, the words dissolving in her mouth.

If the man outside the door had said anything before Jarrett stopped, Spot didn't hear it.

But when the assassin stopped, and a pounding from the other side of the door was coupled with someone calling her name, the heat drained out of her. Jarrett got up, and Spot scrambled into a sitting position, half-hiding behind her knees (for all the good that would do), as the bloody scene unfolded too quickly in front of her.

It was Copper that Jarrett stabbed. The young Blood Wolf collapsed to the ground with a gurgle. But it wasn't Copper that had Spot's attention. Or even the second assailant who came at Jarrett. It was the third. A young man with messy, sandy blonde hair and warm brown eyes. It was Micah. Micah was a friend.... a close friend... how could he be-? But before Spot could think longer on it, the knife came sailing at her and she only flinched away just in time to avoid it. It bounced off the wall and fell between the sheets next to her.

The sandy-haired Soot Wolf quickly closed and locked the door behind him in response to the innkeeper's blood-curdling scream. The other surviving Wolf flew at Jarrett with a long dagger in either hand. Micah, in the mean time, rounded on Spot.

"Oh, Spot," he sneered with a venom Spot had never heard in his voice, "caught you with your knickers down. And here I thought you didn't share men's beds. Thought you were supposed to be after that Jackal bitch. Thought you were supposed to be in love with her. The dead Red Jackal. Well soon you can join her."

Spot's stomach turned to ice and her entire body stiffened. Suddenly she realized: This was not Micah. This was one of those... creatures working with Jack and Kui. The truth hit Spot hard, and it showed blatantly on her face. "Micah" saw it too, and gave a broad, ugly grin. They'd meant for her to recognize it. They'd meant for her to know: the real Micah was dead. Because of her.

That's when the creature made his move, while Spot was still frozen with the horrible realization, and he lunged at Spot. But for once her fighting instincts - or maybe just survival insticts - took over and she grabbed the throwing knife as he lunged at her, driving it hard into his throat. 'Micah' collapsed. It shrank and curled and wrinkled into something small and old and utterly different to what it had been.

And Spot sat there, the knife still clutched in her hand, her eyes glassy. The bed turned rapidly red and the man suddenly changed. Spot had never killed someone before.

While Spot dealt with the last of them, Jarrett was taking care of the second, fighting with the man until somehow he had him on his knees and he got down and broke the man's neck. Like the one Spot killed, it turned into something else, and even the awkward, almost expressionless assassin, leaped back in surprise. He stared down at the two dead things and the body, then over at Spot.

"I thought just Soot Wolves were after you. What are these creatures?" Last time he checked, the Soot Wolves didn't have peculiar things like this!

Spot didn't answer Jarrett. She sat there, frozen, the man... or creature's... blood staining the bed around her, making her hands and knees sticky. Spot was staring at the blade in her hand, eyes wide, face white. It was Micah. She'd killed him. No, said another voice, it wasn't Micah. You didn't kill him. It was one of those creatures.

And they killed Micah.

Because of her. Micah hadn't even been a Blood Wolf. It would make no sense to involve him in this except... Spot's breath grew heavy and she realized that she was about to cry. But no. Not here. Not now.

Instead she turned to Jarrett and said, "I think we should go."

He gave a nod and moved past her, past the blood and moved to clothe himself, and he waited for Spot to do the same. But as he was buttoning up his shirt, he noticed the blood stains on her and he paused a moment and turned to the curtains, tore them off and began to help her wipe it off.

Spot was frozen, numb, as Jarrett clothed himself. She didn't move from where she was, staring at the knife in her hand and the fallen body of the... the... creature in turns.

It wasn't until Jarrett tore the curtain and came over to her that she snapped out of it. Though at first she still didn't move as Jarrett wiped the blood from her hands and knees; only her eyes turned to him.

Spot wanted very much to cry. But she held it in, though without realizing it her body was shaking. Gradually, Spot moved herself, pushing the torn curtains gently aside. The blood didn't really matter.

Shakily, Spot got to her feet and stumbled to where her dress had been discarded. She got it clumsily on. Then she looked out the window. It was only one floor up... maybe less. But Spot wasn't sure there was a better way to leave. And this time she wouldn't be able to just fool the guards who would surely come. It wasn't far. Even if she fell... it should be okay.

Spot looked back at Jarrett. Her expression hadn't changed the entire time; wide-eyed and frightened and a little bit in shock. But she forced a small smile. "Down we go?"

Jarrett might not react to emotions very frequently, but he was not ignorant to them. He could see the way Spot's demeanor had changed, and he'd seen stuff like this a hundred times with the innocent. It was a horrible side effect of someone with his sort of job, but perhaps he was perfect for it- for he literally didn't care.

It was a job, after all, and the corpses he brought in, more or less, deserved it. And if it put a little cash into his pocket..

But this death was different.
ANd it was not by his hands, but hers.

And he knew the feeling far too well of the first kill

For it still echoed in his mind like a scar that had never gone away.



So after staring at her for a long moment, Mr. Allendale in tow over his shoulder, he moved to do something suddenly, and scooped her up- like a bride, and held her close.

Then out the window they went. Their house, they'd find it already knifed and bled out on the stable floor. But Jarrett didn't think too muhc into it. He simply took another's horse and rode out into the night, cradling Spot close infront of him while Mr. Allendale rode tied up, still in his sack, in the back like the sack of luggage he had become.

And he kept riding until any signs of civilization had been lost. He paused by a stream and let the horse drink, and offered to help Spot off the horse.

"You should drink too. We've had a long day."

Spot had been ready to try her luck with the window, but when Jarrett surprised her and scooped her up, she let him. She was too shaken, too tired, and too worn through to protest. So instead she melted against him, trying hard not to cry. And it was harder when they found their horse. Sure, he’d been stubborn and didn’t listen to commands well and wasn’t theirs anyway, but tears sprang into Spot’s eyes when she saw the beast dead and bled out.

The dog, Micah, Copper, the horse… Spot felt like a trail of bodies was growing behind her. It was only then that she realized she hadn’t seen the other Faceless Creature that had attacked them. Had it been someone she knew? Someone like Micah? In other words, someone killed for her benefit.

She choked back the tears and followed Jarrett onto the new horse. Spot made a silent promise to the beast to not let it also be killed, not if she could help it. Spot pressed herself close against Jarrett as they rode, her thoughts drifting back and forth between what had happened after Copper and the two creatures came into their room and what had happened before. But they always came back to Micah.

When they arrived at the stream, Spot nodded in silent assent, but she got herself down from the horse. Even through the shock of it all, Spot had a distinct feeling of uselessness after the way she froze up when they left. The least she could do was get herself off a horse. Spot walked a bit stiffly to the stream, crouching down beside it to fill her cupped hands with water. In the rush to leave, Spot had managed to put on her dress and grab the shawl, but she’d left behind the outer coat of the Travelers’ garb and now she was shaking like a leaf. But if this was from cold or from shock, even Spot probably couldn’t say.

Spot stayed silent by the stream for several moments. She drank a little water, but mostly she just watched the dark water slip by her. Finally, she spoke, very belatedly answering Jarrett’s earlier question. “I don’t know what they… those things are,” she told him, her voice a little shaky, but matter-of-fact, “but what they do is… Steal people’s skin.” That was the best way she could think to say it. Spot didn’t know the mechanics of how they worked. “The people that they kill, they take their form. Maybe more.” Was there one running around with Zahi’s face, she suddenly wondered? “I think they’re very old.”

Spot fell silent for a moment then, her eyes dropping back down to the stream, then back up at Jarrett. “I don’t know too much more. But I know about them. That’s why... ” Spot didn’t finish the sentence, just pulled the shawl more tightly around herself.

Jarrett was quiet, thoughtful for a moment as he too, stared at the stream. A long moment passed before anything was spoken between the two of them, but when he did speak, he simply said,
"There are a lot of unnatural creatures of this world. Most of which have terrible intentions towards man. I've never run into such a creature that literally takes another's skin, but I've seen ones that trap another's souls, and even some that devour men's hearts and make them walking corpses."

He went quiet again, thoughtful of this, but said no more as a cool breeze moved between them, swaying and rustling the leaves of the trees.

"These ones have terrible intentions towards the Soot Wolves. I don't know why, or how many of them there are, but..." Spot frowned, guilt welling up in her thinking about the fact that she knew - or even guessed - these things but hadn't told anyone. That she'd been bullied and threatened into silence and worse. "They're working with the Beta Wolf and the White Wolf to throw the guild into turmoil. I... I'm not sure what's in it for them. I wish I knew nothing about it. But I heard one of them plotting with the White Wolf and I knew that the 'Soot Wolf' that she was talking to was dead. But the... thing, it had his face. Well anyway," Spot said glumly, looking at the ground, "I don't normally get caught. But I got caught that time. And with Rufus gone, the Beta wolf is in charge... So here I am."

It was a short telling of the story and omitted all of Spot's complicity with Jack and Kui and their Face-changing allies. But Spot couldn't bring herself to talk about that now. Not out loud. She couldn't really admit what she'd done, and not done. She was silent for awhile. And now with the adrenaline of all of the events in the Pink Rose Inn gone, she realized how exhausted she was. Spot was cold and hungry, but mostly she was just worn out: emotionally and physically.

"Do you think," she finally asked, "if we go off the road for a bit we can find somewhere to rest for the night?"

"We could keep traveling and look for another inn, or perhaps a barn to spend the night, but it might be more wise to camp outside and avoid the streets and towns until daylight. If you're to be followed, they'd presume you'd try to get to civilization for safety. And if we're out here...."
And here he managed to recall her hunger from earlier.
"If you need to, I could 'assassinate' us something to eat."
Though it'd been a while since he had done any real hunting. He must've been a kid last time he tried- but that seemed like eons ago.

"Oh, I'd rather stay out here," Spot agreed quickly. She pulled a face, then added, "I don't know if I'm too keen to find another cozy little inn yet. That didn't go so well."

Spot was about to say something more about how much better it would be to stay outside, but something Jarrett said surprised her. He offered to go 'assassinate' something for them to eat. Spot looked at him with a surprise that turned, slowly, into a genuine smile. "Did you actually just make... a joke?"

Jarrett gave a shrug. His voice, as usual, had little difference in its fluctuation. But he did answer her.
"You seemed upset. I've see others trying jokes to make another less upset. But seeing how you're smiling, I guess it worked." Because he'd feel even more awkward if it didn't.

Spot's nose crinkled in a bigger smile at Jarrett's honest and somewhat awkward answer. Even though the gesture was so much smaller than everything else that had happened that evening - much smaller! - for whatever reason it dissolved at least some of the icy feeling that had grown in Spot's belly and crept through her.

Jarrett L'isson the Awkward Assassin had made a joke. That was surely enough to get through one night.

"Let's find food in the morning," Spot said, her eyes still lit up with a funny smile as she took the horse's reins, looking sideways at Jarrett. A joke! Rather than riding the horse through the forest, Spot led it by its reins as they made their way off-road. After a bit of walking, they came across a small, mossy clearing near the river. Pine trees grew thick around it, hiding it from anyone farther away in the forest. Spot was ready to drop, and this looked good enough to her.

"Well, it's missing the kitten painting," Spot said with faux-disappointment. If Jarrett could make a joke, she certainly could!

While Spot was off inspecting their area for rest, Jarrett worked at unloading Mr. Allendale, quite literally, into a big, leafy bush. He was all but obscured from view within it, except for just a single shoe lace that snaked in the grass. He then took the burlap sack the corpse had been in and laid it out flat on the ground, smoothing it over and gestured to spot.

"It might not be much, but it'll keep you from getting muddy on the ground."
And then here he paused to answer her first statement about the kitten paintings and said, "And if you miss those paintings so much, you could always just use your imagination and pretend the trees above us are decorated in them."
And if that ws a joke, his voice came out as even as ever, and his face never broke out once into a smile.

Spot gave a little snort of a laugh at Jarrett’s comment about imaging trees full of kitten paintings. Then she fixed him with a stern look and warned in her best Threatening Voice, “Watch out, Mr. L’isson. I make the jokes around here.”

She watched as he laid out the burlap stack and pulled a face, crossing her arms, when he said it would ‘keep her from getting muddy.’ “I’m not some prim little lady, you know,” she huffed primly, “I don’t melt or swoon or something if I get a bit of mud on me. No more than you would!” She stuck her tongue out at him, but immediately flopped - rather inelegantly - down on the burlap sack. As soon as she was horizontal she felt a wave of exhaustion and relief wash over her. Finally.

But once she closed her eyes, she saw the knife plunging into Micah-not-Micah. And blood everywhere.

So Spot opened her eyes and looked up at the dark swaying tree tops above her. And, joking aside, pictured kitten paintings.

She folded her arms around her, trying to focus on the joking. On feeling safe(-ish) out here in the forest. Finally she said through a yawn, “I think it’d be better if they were kitten-shaped lanterns. Out here in the open night, I mean. More fitting to the atmosphere.” Then she gave Jarrett a pointed look and said, "C'mon, it's cold down here."

Jarrett moved to sit down, his back against the tree with Spot before him. But then he noticed her patting the spot before him, and she mentioning it was cold. He supposed she was right, it was a bit freezing, and their body heat combined would at least make up for them not possessing a blanket.

Slowly he moved over to where she sat and moved to lay down near her, with just a few inches of the burlap sack beneath him while the rest of him lay in the wet ground. The ground felt cool, but Spot felt warm, though even as he lay there beside her in silence, sleep did not take him as his ears continued to listen for anything unusual in the night.

Spot took off her shawl when Jarrett came to lay beside her and draped it over both of them, before laying back down on her side close against Jarrett, one arm wrapped tightly around him. This was partially because of the cold, but partially just because, well, it felt better. Spot was scared, tired, worn through, cold, and alone. At least pressed against the strange assassin, she felt a little less of all of them.

But even as exhaustion took her, Spot was finding it hard to sleep. And she knew why. Normally, Spot wasn't overly modest and sleeping - platonic sleeping - beside another would only register to her as 'warmer than sleeping alone.' But now as she lie beside Jarrett, listening to his heart beat, Spot felt awkward. She was far from a blushing maid when it came to sex, but she was young, and while thus far her sexual partners hadn't been exclusive romantic partners (that wasn't really her style), they had all been friends that Spot had an open and trusting relationship with. And, you know, they had talked about what they were doing. And Spot knew they cared about her, and vice versa.

And they didn't have mistresses.

It wasn't that Spot felt bad about what had happened earlier in the inn, but she did feel uneasy now. For the first time she thought about how much older Jarrett probably was than her. And wondered again about why he was carting her around in the first place.

Finally, sensing that Jarrett was also awake, and feeling more awkward laying away in silence than not, Spot asked, "Do you always travel alone?"

Jarrett shifted when she spoke. He knew she was awake by the way she was breathing.
But now as he looked over at her, he just told her simply,
"Yes."

Though he didn't count the fact the Soot Wolves kept a track of him in the city. He had never asked for that sort of assistance, and frankly, it wasn't even wanted.

"I've never been on my own before," Spot said, half to Jarrett, half just talking out loud. "I joined the Soot Wolves when I was 14 and before that... Well, my family was mostly awful, but there were still a lot of us."

Spot might have been reading his mind a little, because she turned her face to look at him then and said, "Except for the honor guard Rufus gave you, I suppose! What'd you do to get that, anyway? We all figure Rufus has Wolves follow the little noble girl because he wants to fuck her. But no one has figured out why you." Spot gave him a funny look then, smiling a bit slyly. "Unless you two are closer than I guessed!"

This time Jarrett made a face, one of obvious irritation as his frown deepened.
"Your guess is as good as mine. I'm not associated with Rufus, or his band of thieves. It's irksome, and I find myself more irritable with eyes on my back. I prefer to work alone."

“Aw, it’s okay,” Spot said sleepily, “you don’t have to hide the fact that you’re carrying his love child from me.” Spt gave a little yawn at her joke and patted Jarrett’s belly. “But if it makes you feel any better, the rest of the Wolves aren’t too happy about it, either. You’re pretty unpopular. But don’t worry, I’ll help you raise junior.”

As she finished the last sentence of the joke, Spot’s voice grew fainter and heavier with sleep. If anything put her at ease, it was a lark. And somehow joking about Rufus impregnating Jarrett made Spot feel a bit less awkward about what had happened between her and the assassin, as well. And before Jarrett could say anything to her about it, her breath slowed and sleep and exhaustion finally took her.

---

Spot was stiff when she woke up the next morning and it took her awhile to remember just where she was, and why. But her ‘bed’ was warm. Lump, but warm. Opening one eye, Spot saw that it was because her ‘bed’ was mostly Jarrett. During the cold night, she seemed to have abandoned the burlap sack and slept more or less mostly on top of the assassin.

Spot opened both eyes. To her surprise, Jarrett was still asleep. Carefully, she extracted herself from him and got to her feet, stretching. Spot’s stomach felt hollow and, she thought, maybe she could make up for how useless she’d been the night before. She’d get breakfast! And this time, sleeping, Jarrett wouldn’t be able to dash off and book them into an inn while Spot was trying to provide food for them. She'd show him who wore the pants around here! Stretching again, Spot looked around and saw the stream. She had an idea.

Spot might not be the best in a fight, but she was a thief, and a sneak, and she knew how to move carefully and quietly. Carefully, she removed a small knife from Jarrett then she set off to find a nice, straight-ish sturdy long branch and tied the knife to its end. Then Spot took off her boots and hitched up the skirt of her dress and tied it in a big knot so that it didn’t fall past her mid-thigh. She didn’t want to get it wet.

Spot was going fishing.

The fact that she had never fished in her life didn’t phase her. She had no real knowledge of how hard it would be to spear a fish, so she waded into the icy water feeling pretty pleased with herself. Oh! But the water was cold! And she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Spot waded out until she was up to her knees in the icy creek. Once she got over the feeling of the cold, Spot was actually feeling pretty good! She was going to get food, Jarrett would be Very Impressed by her Excellent Hunting Skills, and staying busy kept her mind off everything else.

So Spot stood, knee-deep in the stream, spear hoisted, and eyes intent on the fish flitting past in the river.

She looked ridiculous.

Jarrett had been awake for a while. He always slept with one eye open, but didn't bother to react as Spot moved about. But after a while, when he realized she was gone, he sat up and stifled a yawn as he looked around. It was when he stood up he caught her form by the stream, and though he approached, he said nothing and watched as he leaned casually against a tree.

Spot ignored Jarrett as he rose and yawned. She had more important things to do! Breakfast to spear!

But when he came and leaned casually against a tree, she glanced up at him. "Woman," she barked at him, impersonating her drunk father, "why don't you make yerself useful and make me a fire? So you can cook all this breakfast I'm gonna spear!"

And just then, a small school of perch swam by. Excited, Spot stabbed the 'spear' downward at them. Obviously she didn't come close to touching any of them, but the movement made her stumble. And though she gained her footing again, it sent a splash of muddy water up at her face.

Jarrett continued to watch her in silence for a bit longer before suggesting, "why don't you leave the hunting to me and you can gather wood for a fire."

Spot's eyes didn't leave the river as she replied. "Oh ho, you think I'm going to leave my breakfast acquisition up to a frail and feminine little thing like you?" she asked gruffly, in a voice that was trying to sound like someone many times Spot's size. "Why don't you be a good girl and take that sweet little -"

But Spot stopped suddenly before she could finish whatever surely charming suggestion she was going to give Jarrett. Because just then the largest eel she'd ever seen in her life appeared in the rushing water of the stream. Spot stood stock still, fingers clenching the 'spear,' eyes tracking the eel, waiting for it to get close enough then...

The spear thrust forward in one stealthy and silent motion and, much to Spot's surprise, she speared the eel! Spot let out a little yelp of happy surprise and, forgetting that she was knee-deep in the river and standing on some rather slippery rocks, also gave a little jump of triumph. Eat that, Jarrett! (Literally!) But when she came back down, Spot landed on a particularly slimy rock and...

Splash! Spot fell backwards. In one moment, the eel flew from the spear into the air and Spot fell full on backwards into the icy water. Spot reemerged a moment later, spitting out water, just in time to see the eel flying through the air.

And then grin happily.

As the eel landed, with its final death throws, directly in front of Jarrett's feet.

"See?" she called, beaming, her teeth chattering a bit from the icy water she was still submerged in. "You're with Spot the Super Hunter now. And you better start that fire!"

Jarrett watched the spectacle with mild interest. But when the eel came splashing to his feet, he peered down at it as it flopped it's life away. After a moment, he rose his eyes to look over at Spot as he said, "I don't like eel."

And here he presumed she'd catch them a fish!

Spot's eyes narrowed dangerously from the river. She was still on her but with the water rushing around her torso and shoulders and her hands in the sandy bed below. That's when she realized that the rock under her palm was, in fact, a freshwater clam.

Digging it out, Spot hurled the large clam straight at Jarrett's head.

"How about shellfish, you big fuss pot?!"

(OOC: Eel is fish!!!)

Jarrett continued to frown.
"I hate shellfish even more." And he moved to stand nearer to the river, the dead eel in his hand (but the shell fish, ignored).  "How about you try for a trout?"
He did like himself some well cooked trout.

Spot glared back at him. "How about you cook that eel? Eel's good for you! It brings strength and virility. Plus!," she started out in an angry bluster that quickly turned into a somewhat cheeky grin, "they're not so easy to spear. And I haven't seen any trout anyway and-"

"OW!!!"

At that moment, a crawfish scuttled over and pinched Spot's little finger. Swearing, she shook it off, frowned at Jarrett, then threw the crawfish at him, too!

The crawfish landed with a sploooosh and clatter against his boot. It then rested in a tumble near to the shellfish, on it's back side where it wriggled around until it could re-right itself, then it began to back up against a rock.  Jarrett took his gaze from the crawfish over to Spot and peered down at the water.

"If you catch more of those, we could make a stew..." he went on.
Crawfish could be pretty tasty, after all. Much better than eel.

"Well," Spot had to concede, "I think that one caught me. But I'll see what I can do. I don't know what you plan on making a stew in, though! Or on for that matter, Mr. Fireblood-who's-too-lazy-to-make-a-fire!"

Spot took a big breath, then plunged her head underwater again so she could have a better look for more crawfish. Lucky for Jarrett, and for her grumbling stomach, there were several of the pinchy little critters hiding under the rocks and crags of the river bottom. And crawfish were MUCH easier to catch than real fish!

Then Spot got to work carefully grabbing as many of the little critter as she could without getting pinched. When she finally got out of the water, she had maybe ten or fifteen of the crustaceans gathered up in the skirt of her dress, which she was using as an impromptu basket. She waded to shore, soaked to the bone. Her hair lay wet and flat and messy across her face and her dress - except for where she held it out to hold the crawfish - clung to her goose-bumped skin.

Now that Spot was out of the water, it was very! cold. "Are you sure," she asked Jarrett though chattering teeth as she came up on shore, "that you're too lazy to make a fire?"

Jarrett had been watching her, but he wasn't a man without a plan. Sure he hadn't built a fire while she was fishing, it was just too interesting not to watch, but he built many a fires in his time, though he didn't always need them to keep warm. His 'curse' had some advantages, after all. But with a shrug, he moved to snap off a low branch of a nearby dead tree, then tossed it into a pile before moving to draw out a blade where he cut the top of his hand. Smearing the blood that came otu across the wood, he murmured something and the blood lit up and soon a fire was crackling wildly before them. And as it was beginning to live, Jarrett moved to get more wood for fuel for their fire.

He wanted to eat cooked food, anyway. He wasn't overly fond of things fresh and raw.

While Jarrett finally got to work making a fire, Spot untied the knife she'd stolen from Jarrett from the stick that'd made it a spear and set to work gutting and cleaning the eel. She might not have fished much herself, but she'd stolen plenty of fish from fisherman as a kid and knew her way around them. Once the eel was cleaned and the crawfish wrangled so they wouldn't scuttle back to the stream, Spot made a spit to roast the fish.

But she was still so. cold. Looking down at her dress, Spot realized there wasn't a chance that it would dry on her. With much the same matter-of-factness as she'd done when she found the bath in the fancy hotel, Spot simply took the dress off. It took a bit of fiddling on her own with her arms still sore, but at least this dress she could do herself. Standing naked by the fire, Spot wrang the dress out, trying to get as much water out of it as possible before throwing it over a branch near the fire (but not over the fire).

Wrapping the shawl tightly around her shivering and now naked body, Spot plopped down near the fire. "You're cooking, right?" she asked. Then, beaming through her chattering jaw, she added, "I caught everything, after all!"

Before he replied to her, he tossed her his red blazer.
"Here. Before you catch your death."
He didn't need to be carrying around two corpses.
And at her mention of cooking, he simply took what she had prepared and set it over the fire without so much as a second thought, and then sat down before it and simply stared at the fish as they crackled and cooked.

Spot could kick herself. Because as much as she appreciated the fire, the proffered jacket, and the food, part of her - much against her better judgement! - was annoyed that her nudity had elicited no further reaction from the strange assassin.

Not that she wanted it to.

Right?

Stupid assassin. This, Spot knew, was how she always got herself into trouble. It was precisely why she was in the trouble she was in now. Spot always felt all the emotions before she could think any of the thoughts!

Spot took Jarrett's blazer all the same, putting it on over the shawl wrapped around her. The fire and the smell of cooking fish, at least, were certainly keeping her spirits buoyant! And the smell of the roasting eel sent a loud rumble through her stomach. It looked done enough for her. So since Jarrett had said he didn't want any, Spot removed the eel from the fire and set to, her fingers getting greasy as she ate. Spot certainly knew how to tuck in!

Then she stopped after she'd eaten maybe two thirds of the fish, she suddenly looked up at Jarrett. "You didn't want any, right?"

Jarrett had been watching the fire and the other items cook when she posed her question, those rose his gaze to her as he blinked.
"No, it's all yours." Then he went back to poking at the fire, and the crackling food.

Spot happily finished the eel. Only when she was done did she realize that her stomach was still growling.

Wait, that wasn't her stomach!

But something was definitely growling. She looked up at Jarrett, cocking her head. "You better eat something, too, Mr. Grumbly Tummy, or -"

Spot stopped again. The growling wasn't coming from Jarrett. It was coming from the bushes where he'd hid Mr. Allendale.

Spot knew that growl was certainly not a human noise, and instantly his eyes went to the bushes. Suddenly he was on his feet, crossing the distance over there, and when he parted the bushes, and was nearly knocked off his feet as a young wolf pup gave a growl and pulled Mr. Allendale's body clean out of the bushes and went scampering off with it.

Jarrett found himself staring with wide eyes for a moment before suddenly making chase, but he found himself halting suddenly, arms pinwheeling when the wolf pup headed straight for Spot! And had he not been able to stop himself, the entire mess of them would have collided and created some sort of special pile up!

The pup, having smelled the cooking fish, suddenly dropped the corpse, it's head rolling into the fire and well, his hair catching on fire as he hungrily began to gobble up whatever he could, not seeming to mind the fact some of them were fresh off the fire!

((OOC: Ugh, sorry for the super lame post. Been a bit swamped work-wise lately!))

Everything happened so fast!

Before Spot knew it, the rest of her fish was gone and Mr. Allendale was in the fire and a burning dead man did not smell good!

But through all the chaos, Spot felt a rush of delight sweep through her at the sight of the scrappy little wolf pup. Oblivious to Mr. Allendale, she pulled the pup into her lap, feeding it by hand the crawfish it had scattered around. If the pup was naturally suspicious of humans, the fact that Spot was feeding him seemed to have won him over! And it didn't look like the little wolf had been faring too well, Spot though as she took in its bony ribs and hungry eyes.

He was all alone.

Like her.

In need of a pack.

OOC: No worries XD
you get lame ones from me all the time <3

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If Jarrett had a cigar in his mouth, it would have fallen out. He immediately ignored the pup for the burning corpse, and with a grunt, dragged the man out of the fire and began to step all over his head and hair to put him out. Though in the process a small portion of his own pant leg got singed, but one it was all said and done, he sighed and glanced over at Spot and the wolf pup, who was now moving on to eat the rest of Jarrett's dinner.

((OOC: It's his breakfast, not dinner! :P))

Spot happily fed the wolf pup the rest of the crawfish once the eel was gone. And once the pup had eaten everything they had left to eat, it redirected its attention to Spot. It happily set about licking her face as it squirmed in her lap. (Pups were always so squirmy!) Spot didn't seem to mind, though, and - laughing - ruffled the pup's ears, laughing.

Looking up at Jarrett, she asked between wolf-kisses, "Can we keep him???"

Jarrett's face remained long as he studied the pair in silence. Then, after a moment, he replied, "It's not a dog. After we go to bed, or finish eating, it most likely will return to the wild."

"Well, if he chooses to leave, I suppose that's his business. But until then, we'll keep him," Spot said decisively. Then she kissed the wolf pup full on the snout, and set it back down. The silver-furred wolfpup stayed close by her ankles, looking suspiciously at Jarrett. Spot didn't seem to notice, though, as she got up and tested how wet her dress still was or wasn't.

Deciding it was good enough, Spot shrugged off Jarrett's red dinner jacket and threw it over to the assassin. Then Spot stepped into the still partially damp dress. The wolfpup hid under the skirt of the dress, sticking his nose out to sniff around. Spot laced the dress half up then - even though she could do it herself if she wanted to - for "old time's sake" asked Jarrett,

"Can you help a girl out?"

Jarrett found himself watching her as she dressed and was as equally fascinated by how the wolf pup hid near her heels. But when she posed her question he peered over at her and stepped over, having finished placing his jacket back on before moving to stand behind her, an action that caused the pup to completely disappear beneath the dress, tail and all.

Spot looked down at... Well, the skirts of her dress. The pup had completely disappeared. She could still feel it squirming around her ankles, though.

Then she glanced over her shoulder at Jarrett, suppressing some sort of smile.

"Are you just going to lurk back there, scaring my puppy, or are you going to help me with my dress?"

Jarrett blinked and looked back down at the ties, and quietly, he laced her back up.
"Are you sure its a good idea if that wolf comes with us? It could attract more unwanted attention," he said as he stepped away.

Spot sighed. He was probably right. If it stayed with her, a wolf pup probably would draw attention. Especially if she brought it into a town. Could she train it to wait in the forest outside, she wondered, whenever she had to go in? Spot knew she couldn't live in the woods forever. Was it foolish to try to keep the pup?

So far, letting her heart rule her mind and gotten her - and who knew how many others - up to her eyeballs in trouble. But...

"No, I'm not sure," she answered, sounding resigned and suddenly exhausted again. Deflated. Spot felt a sudden, overwhelming sinking feeling in her stomach. Maybe she should just march herself back to Arca and face whatever consequences waited for her there. What did she even think she was doing out here? What was her end game? "But he hasn't got anyone else, and neither do I. Wolves need packs. And we both know you won't keep toting me around forever."

Jarrett stared from Spot to the wolf, then to Spot again.
"If he follows, he follows, but this journey is long. Don't cry if he wonders off or leaves us when we get more south."

Spot could have punched him just then. 'Don't cry.' Like she was a baby, or a little girl. Jarrett had her riled, and she wasn't entirely sure why, but it didn't sit well with Spot. So, rather than punch a dangerous assassin, she scooped up the wolf pup onto her hip, marched over to the horse, took its reins and began leading it back to the main road.

"Come on," she said brusquely, "the morning is already getting late."

Jarrett wasn't ignorant to her huffy anger, but it was hard for him to figure out why. She was toting around a wild animal. Did she truly care for the little beast? Following after, he kept his eye on the pup, as it studied him back with a curious tilt of its head. Then, after a few minutes it began to squirm.

Spot marched silently forward, carrying the pup for as long as it stayed still. When it started squirming, she plopped the little wolf down on the ground. She gave him a quick, "Come along." then continued. The wolf pup followed quickly at Spot's heels, only glancing every so often over his shoulder to look distrustfully at Jarrett. Spot continued much the same way after they got to the road. Now that they didn't have a cart to shove Mr. Allendale in - they'd lost that while fleeing the inn the night before - the corpse had to ride their horse, meaning Jarrett, Spot, and the pup had to keep walking. So that's what she did. When the pup got tired, she carried him again until he squirmed, then put him down again to let him follow.

Spot stayed quiet while they walked, though her posture relaxed a little and wasn't quite so icy towards Jarrett. Instead of being angry now, she was thinking. Wondering what she was doing with this assassin. Or, more accurately, what he was doing with her? And how long would it take for the Soot Wolves to catch up with them again? They'd probably be after both of them. The ones looking for Spot, and Jarrett's "Honor Guard." Plus she was starting to doubt herself. Jarrett might have been confused about Spot's mood earlier, but no less so than she was. Spot knew herself, she knew her heart usually made decisions for her long before her brain caught up. Not romantic decisions! Not like that, but Spot cared too quickly and too deeply for people. She glanced over at Jarrett while thinking this through. There wouldn't be anything to gain, she was sure, if she ended up caring for someone like Jarrett who... Well, who had all the emotional depth of a mannequin..

He'd been awfully good to her so far, there was no denying that. But he said himself he didn't know why. And when he got bored of her? When he realized that he had no clue why he was carting her around? Would he just leave her, wherever it was, or sell her, or change his mind about assassinating her?

This was churning in Spot's mind when they crossed a road. The sign was old and poorly kept, but Spot still recognized what it said. "Cerenis," accompanied by an arrow to the left. Spot crossed the road and walked on for another twenty paces. She remembered when Jarrett killed the dog, and what she decided then.

It was midday now and there was no way she would do it once the sun was down, once night fell.

Spot stopped suddenly, and turned to face Jarrett. She looked him over for half a moment, pulling a face. Then quickly and rather inelegantly said, "I think Timothy," presumably the wolf pup, "and I are going to go that way," she pointed to the road they'd just crossed. "You've been swell, but they'll be looking for us together, and what would we do after Prophet's Point, anyway? I mean," she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, giving Jarrett a funny look, "I don't really like unfinished business, but I think it's for the best."

While Spot was unusually quiet, Jarrett was...
well, Jarrett. He wasn't one to drum up conversations because things were dull, after all, he rather liked the fact all he had to listen to was the singing of birds, the chirping of insects, the rustling of trees, and their foot falls sometimes intermingled with a sigh or breath from Spot, and little noises from the youthful wolf.

After a time, there was a sign, and by then, Jarrett found himself growing tired, but frowned a little at the idea of Cerenis. He knew this would be the fastest way to get Mr. Allendale to Prophet's Point (considering he'd have to trek across all of Adela, and then some of the desert to get there...)
But it was what it was, and he at least had money to spare for the boat ride.

So when Spot made her suggestion, he gave a nod. Who was he to tell her to do otherwise, though as he adjusted the corpse on the horse's back, he turned with a small sack and gave it to Spot.

"In case you need a ferry, or a boat to take you someplace else." And that was that, he said no more, lingered no more, and turned from her to go back to fussing over Mr. Allendale.

Spot stared at the sack of money Jarrett put in her hand, not sure what to think of it. It was, she supposed, nice... sort of. But she was a thief! She could take care of herself! She didn't need hand outs from some crazy assassin.

Spot glanced up at Jarrett, glaring a little. Again she felt riled, and unsure why. So she figured she'd give in; she didn't know what else to do. Dropping the sack to the ground, Spot grabbed Jarrett around the neck and drew him to her, kissing him long and hard and, she knew, futilely.

Afterwards she let go and took a step away from Jarrett, giving him a funny look. She shook her head. This one, she would have to accept, she just couldn't figure out.

Then Spot turned, hoisted up the pup. "C'mon, Timothy, let's go."

It wasn't until Spot turned away did the emotions begin to subside, a strange burning sensation from within, almost like fire, that lit his cheeks, belly- and perhaps his heart. But it made him shift uncomfortably, especially in the pants, as he shifted that subtly and simply watched as the woman and wolf pup go.

Spot left the sack of money where it landed on the ground. And Jarrett where he stood. She felt suddenly light. Buoyed by her decision to take the next step on her own. She could have spent the next weeks being funny and adorable in hopes of getting a smile or who knew what out of the assassin, and very likely in vain. Or instead, she could step out on her own for the first time... ever? Worry less about making everyone else happy, or protecting them, or whatever else she'd gotten herself all tangled up in - her family, her siblings, the Wolves, Zahi, Kui, and maybe even a little bit Jarrett - and finally just worry about herself.

Well, and Timothy. Of course.

All the same, it wasn't easy to walk away. But Spot didn't turn around or look back. She just called brightly over her shoulder,

"Have a good trip, Mr. Allendale!"