A Clandestine Meeting

In the warm glow of the afternoon sun, a lean, hooded figure stood silhouetted in the doorway of Café d'Emilio, the classy hideaway for the wealthier denizens of the city. The lunch hour had passed already, so the place was fairly empty, save for a handful of patrons, lost in their own vices. A half-hidden face briefly scanned the room before locking onto a middle-aged woman clad in deep blue and gold, seated in the farthest corner of the room. The figure strode confidently over to the table and took a seat. The woman seemed indifferent to the sudden new arrival, and instead began to speak, keeping her eyes firmly away from her new guest, "I trust you had little trouble finding your way here?"

"Let's just say there's a servant somewhere with a little extra coin in their pocket," the stranger replied with a sly grin, "I trust you've heard the news?"

The woman's stoic shifted ever so slightly, the corner of her mouth forming an amused half-smile, "Oh yes. They say that poor old Lord Bruxley was assaulted on the road coming back from his morning ride. His horse was apparently found trotting home without its rider, and his body was later discovered on the side of the road."

"Yes, such a shame," the hooded figure paused, "Although... I also recall hearing the old bastard had it coming. Something about being a stain on the family name."

The woman's head twitched, almost breaking the calm, composed character, "I... I am certain those are simply rumors, things other lords and ladies say to discredit one another. Whoever would say such a horrid thing?"

"With all due respect, my Lady, rumors travel through many mouths to many ears," the stranger's tone suddenly turned cold and dark, "But when said rumors are committed to ink and parchment, they are suddenly much harder to ignore."

The Lady's eyes narrowed, "I am quite certain they would be, if such foul works existed."

"Yes, indeed. They might even be worth a pretty penny if they fell into the wrong hands."

This time, the woman's head whipped around to face the figure, who sat holding a small bound leather book in hand. The figure continued, "Only the cruelest of the cruel are twisted enough to journal their wicked deeds, but none are more foul than those who prey upon their own kin."

The Lady's eyes widened. An icy chill seemed to pass between the her and the stranger for a brief moment, as each tried to gauge what the other might do. All around them, the dull murmur of the cafe seemed to die away, leaving only the two of them, locked in this moment with each other. Then, slowly, the hooded figure set the book down on the table and slid it over to her. She stared at it, then looked back up at the one who had brought it before her.

The figure began to speak again, "In a profession such as mine, where discretion is key, it is of the utmost importance to control one's personal feelings when it comes to any particular task, so as to avoid the risk of too much information slipping into the hands of those who may wish them harm. However, every once and a while, there comes a job where the end goal is so in line with one's personal feelings, it is nigh impossible to ignore them."

The Lady sat in stunned silence, unsure of where the conversation was going, but determined to see it through to the end. The figure then raised a hand and pulled back the hood, revealing a younger, slender feminine face and long strands of curly red hair, tied back to keep it out of her face. Her intense green eyes looked upon the Lady with a deep, warm empathy that seemed pierce into her soul. The older woman took a deep breath to compose herself before replying, "If my suspicions of where you procured this are correct, it would seem that an extra reward is in order."

The younger woman's face broke out in a warm smile, and she chuckled to herself, saying, "My dearest Lady, if I wanted money for this, we would be having a much different conversation, I can assure you."

She sat back in her chair, her expression shifting to a mild discomfort, "There are a great many breeds of predators in this gruesome world. The late Lord Bruxley was but one of them."

The Lady nodded gravely, feeling tears begin to well up in her tired eyes, "Indeed, but is it not the duty of those who are made prey to cast light on said predators rather than condemn them to the shadows, where they may thrive off the suffering of others?"

The other woman looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "If that were true, then I would be out of a job."

The Lady's rigid features finally softened as she chuckled at the other one's joke, to which she responded, "Is that what you really are, then? A paladin of justice to those who pay well?"

This time it was the young woman's turn to laugh, "If I were accepting payment for this, you might say that, but as I said before, this would be a very different conversation."

She then stood up from the table as the older woman's face changed from amusement, to confusion, then to a mix of the two. The stranger leaned in closely to the Lady's ear, and whispered, "As I also mentioned, sometimes personal feelings become too intertwined with the job to ignore. So if that job involves the... involuntary removal... of an uncle who molests his niece, I am happy to say there is no charge."

The Lady clutched her heart and gazed happily at the younger woman, and said softly, "Stay safe out there. The roads are quite treacherous."

The Assassin reached up and slowly pulled the hood back over her own face, and replied, "I shall. Fair well, Lady Bruxley."