Zaira, a name he thought that he'd never hear again.

As he looked out the bus, his mind wondered to his family. He could see his father now, being disappointed that he was an assassin - wishing his mother hadn't had such an influence on him. His mother was a well-known assassin, The Black Rose, as they called her, an assassin known for bother her beauty and wit but most importantly her affinity for poisons and getting the job done without a mess. He learned most of his ways from her, before being formally introduced into the profession that so many women within his family had taken up - it was strange for a man to be an assassin. It was a rather elegant and dainty job, one that a woman would usually do - a job, needing grace and poise along with intelligence and seduction if necessary. His mother had always prided that he was quite ambiguous in gender, his face being able to show his more masculine side and when he so wished a softer and more feminine side. Even the vocal exercises of changing the pitch of his voice to match "feminine" or "masculine" standards were useful - even if he had a rather neutral sounding voice in which you just couldn't tell the gender. Being able to speak in either pitch was useful was good for missions and cons. He sighed, and lazed back in his seat - eyes closing shut as he focused on the rumbling of the bus, and sounds of chatter around him. His head was especially sensitive today, and he wasn't feeling so well - but this wouldn't hinder his objective, he needed to get to his residence and then start looking around the area. Maybe even find somewhere to stop and eat, he was quite peckish at the moment.

He checked his watch, and huffed a bit annoyed - the bus was a bit behind schedule for his liking, but he'd still get to the Inn in a reasonable amount of time. He wore shades to cover his eyes, but even with them on the headache wasn't letting up. As for the rest of his attire, he wore a simple white dress shirt and black dress pants, both pressed and crisp with a pair of heeled Oxford shoes. The cushions in the bus were surprising comfortable, and he slumped lower into his seat and crossed his arms - he had a good while left to go, and he was quite happy he hadn't had a seat partner to bother him and he could rest and hear himself think for most of the ride. However, it seemed that this stop held something different as he felt the seat next to him be taken. He kept his eyes close and didn't say anything, hoping to keep to himself as he wasn't feeling very social at the moment. He was drifting off at that thought, and then he felt a slight nudge - and he ignored it. It was probably an accident, and his seat mate didn't meant to disturb him. And so he yawned, to make his point more obvious and lean against the window side - and he closed his eyes again, and soon the call of sleep was drawing him in again. And that's when he felt another poke against his shoulder, and which he gave a soft grumble - and he turned to look at this rather rude man.

He looked about to be in his mid fourties', old enough to be his dad - his skin was olive colored, and he had rich brown hair with an obvious greying streak in it. However, he was rather properly dressed - and there was something so painfully sinister about his smile and the way his pale icy blue eyes looked at him. And the man had the nerve to lean closer, as if inspecting him and Maximillian found himself growing increasingly uncomfortable - even if he was an assassin, this was not normal. He gritted his teeth in slight annoyance, and promptly pressed himself against the small window space that was his side in efforts to make distance between himself and this man.

"You know, I've never seen such a pretty guy such as yourself," the man said coolly, eyeing Maximillian as if he was some type of display object, "such pretty skin, pretty lips, full cheeks - just a rather pretty face in general." The man spoke, getting a bit more closer for comfort, "You wouldn't happen to work for that one club, uh, what was it, Silk & Wine Discotheque - with the rather pretty . . . call girls," and the man had a mischievous smirk on his face as he leaned in closer, brushing his one of his hands against Maximillian's thigh and using the other to brush softly against his lips, "because , how much are they paying you for, because I could make it worth your time. After all, a cute thing like yourself shouldn't be wandering out here all alone with no one to tend to you." And, Maximillian gave an incredulous gasp at this rather unpleasant experience he was having.

"How dare you." He said in a low voice, and he could feel his teeth grinding in annoyance, "How dare you!" He said this time, louder - with a firmness to it, not so loud as to cause a commotion but enough to draw attention. "If you do not remove your hand from my thigh this instant, I will make sure you have no hand to rude to relive yourself of tension - because certainly no woman could be endeared to a man who would be so crass and undignified to a stranger." And he watched in satisfaction as the man shrunk away from him, rather annoyed as if he'd been burned by fire or a new kid being deprived of their newest "toy" .

Thinking that he had made his point, he gave a satisfied huff as he made himself back comfortable in his seat. But that's when he heard the man muttering to himself, "What a bitch . Was trying to make him look better. Damn bitch thinking he's better than me, must've had a whore of a mother to make him soft." And that's when his body went rigid and he could feel his eyes dilating from pure anger.

"What did you just say?" He said, his voice firm yet, there was a certain calm to it as well. But one would have to be a fool to not notice the chill in his tone when he basked the question.

"I said you've must've had a whore of a mother because you have no manners to not even be able to accept a compliment." The man said scoffing and rolling his eyes at the younger male. Gasps of onlookers could be heard, and murmurs of displeasure as well. But Maximillian wasn't hearing that, his ears were ringing quite loudly and his fingers were twitching with a burning itch to deck this guy. Oh man, he was about to black out wasn't he?

And that's when his body moved before he realized what he was doing. He had punched the man right in the nose, and he could feel the vermillion liquid staining his knuckles - and he was surprised the man stood up, swaying as he tried to punch him back and he got a good one on his lip, and then had the audacity to try and pull his hair. "You goddamn bitch" spat the man, while Maximillian growled, quite feral in that moment, as he proceeded to give the man another solid punch , and then he proceeded headbutt the man, and knee him in the crotch. Causing the man to groan and fall backwards on the bus floor groaning.

"Your ass better stay down on the floor, before I bury you." Maximillian aggressively hissed as he staggered over to the male, and that's when he felt something dripping on his chin - and putting his fingers to his lip he saw droplets of blood and frowned. "You busted my fuckin' lip, 'astrd " he said as he checked his face. Max wasn't one to curse or be prone to violence but this was an exception - the fucker had been talking about his mother.

He mentally groaned for his lack of self control - how the hell was he going to play this off for his job? His looks was very important and it wouldn't be professional to show up to your first day of work with a messed up lip. This prick, ruining all his carefully crafted out plans for the next day - he gave an exhausted sigh and realized the bus had finally reached his destination. He aggressively grabbed his luggage, storming his way off the bus. Ignoring the calls and jeers of the bastard lying on ground - and he sucked in a deep breath as he entered the Elm Passage Inn. It was quite a nice hotel, and he sighed in relief as he entered the rather posh building.

"Oh my stars, sir! Are you alright?" A worried bellboy came to him, and Max plastered his charming smile and gave a soft nod in response.

"I'm fine, I just need to check in. You should see the other guy." He said with a cheery tone of voice, not holding back a giggle at the thought. And he made his way to the receptionist. Her manicured nails typing away at the computer, and he could smell her dainty floral perfume and he gave a soft smile saying, "Doctor Maximus Mallard, checking in."

"Doctor Mallard," the woman said with a raise of her brow, and she typed something in and then hummed softly. Her chair creaking as she turned to get a keycard to a room, Room 312. "Thank you," he politely said as she handed him the key. And he was off to find his room.

He soon found that his room was on the third floor, and so he took the elevator to the third floor - and afterwards took a right to where the numbers went to his room. And he sighed as he arrived at his door, he peered curiously at Room 313, wondering what was going on there but he was more concerned about getting out of his clothing and into something comfortable. He had this day to himself before he had to craft his identity. And so he swiped his card and made his way inside the room, and he began to look at the beauty of its modern colors with the dark greys, whites and black colors. And he unpacked his suitcase and took off his clothing while he went to the restroom. He was relieved to see a massive soaker tub, and some bath bombs - so the Organization did love him. And he proceeded to draw himself a hot bath, and the soak and relax in a citrus infused bath. After cleaning himself, he put on the white robe provided - enjoying the warmth it gave him. And he stared in the mirror, huffing about what he was going to do about his busted lip. But that was a problem for tomorrow, and so he placed a little vaseline on the wound and went to the bedroom and sat on the edge of his bed.

He lotioned his legs with his favorite scented lotion, it held the scent of peonies and roses - and it reminded him of home and his mother's large garden. He sighed at the memory, and continued to get some clothes to put on - he put on some solid black dress pants and a white collared shirt on, but with a few of the top buttons undid for a more casual look. Afterwards he put on some black socks and the comfortable oxfords he had been wearing earlier that day. And he then his hair back in a pony tail, tied together by a piece of black leather and then his golden framed glasses. They were prescription, he just preferred to wear his contacts however his eyes were irritated at the moment, so glasses would have to do. And he looked around before finding his pack of cigarettes, now, he wasn't one to make it a habit of smoking when he had a job to do, but his nerves were already bad and he needed some type of stress relief. And so he grabbed the cigarettes and his trusty lighter and put them in his pocket, and made his way downstairs.

He took in the crowd, they were talking and giggling without worry. He could feel eyes on him, particularly a gaggle of girls who were bashfully giggling as they watched him. He wasn't in the mood to enter them, so he sped up his walking before they could close the distance and interrupt him. He soon was back outside, and the cool spring air hit his face and he sighed slowly, he knew it would be summer soon and he was glad for it. His allergies wouldn't be messing up as much, and he paused and took in the breeze momentarily - afterwards he spotted a bench and made his way over to it. He slumped down on it, letting his body relax - these were the few moments he had to himself and not being on assignment, where he could just relax and not feel pressured to do anything else until he had a true lead. He fiddled with the lighter in is hand as he gazed up at the sky, not particularly looking at anything, and he stretched his body with a slight satisfied grunt - before what could be described as elegantly hunching over, ponytail hanging over his shoulder as he focused on getting a light from the match.

The soft flickering light illuminating his face, his soft features enhanced by the fading light, and he gave a small pout and huff of annoyance at the fact his lighter was faulty. What type of crappy romance sitcom was this ? Guy trying to smoke can't take a light, so an attractive stranger offers them a light instead, what pure nonsense. And he wrinkled his face in thought, where was the nearest store? No, he didn't feel like walking that far it would be pure torture . And he didn't want to do a delivery for a single object, that would be just stupid. And so he sat there angrily staring at the sky, this wasn't just his day and it literally couldn't get any worse.

"There is no god." He huffed annoyed as he straightened his glasses.

The young male was still fiddling with the lighter, giving a slight groan of annoyance about the lack of light he was getting and the sparks he was getting. This was ridiculous! He was about to throw the lighter down in frustration when he felt someone approach, and he looked up in annoyance at the person who dared to interrupt him - he was about to rip the person a new one, but he was promptly shut up when he caught sight of the tall young man before him. Whatever god he had cursed a few minutes ago must've been laughing at the internal panic he was going through. His eyes had shifted from irritation to mild interest and a bit of well curiosity, he looked to see that the male had offered him a lighter for his cigarette. He was looking quite dumbfounded at the moment, and he could feel the heat of embarrassment rising to his face, turning his cheeks to a shade of coral, and even his ears were gaining a more vermillion shade. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, and gave a polite smile as a thanks for the gesture of kindness that was being extended and he didn't think that he would find someone so interesting on the first day. He cleared his throat out of embarrassment, the males blush even extended to his neck and he looked at the other guy.

"O-Oh . . . I didn't realize anyone else was out here." He had said earnestly, hopefully he hadn't made a fool of himself in front of this cute guy, wait where did that come from? He blinked owlishly consumed by his own thoughts, and gave another nervous laugh. "But, um, thanks for the offer - I hope it's not too much trouble." he said with a slight smile, his teeth showing - and he reached forward and gently took the lighter, not noting how his hands brushed against the other male's as he took the golden object.

"You have no idea how much I need this," he sighed in almost relief, his thumb brushing against the lighter as he opened it and then used it to light his cigarette. The bruising on his knuckles more visible under the light of the lighter, and also the busted lip. The male placed the cigarette between his lips and took a slow and steady inhale, and then shaping his lip into an o-shape - he blew out soft smoke rings, the small clouds carrying the pleasant scent of a smoky dark chocolate. He took a look at the male, his head tilting and hair splaying against his face. Maybe it was the nicotine, the smoke or a combination of both, but he couldn't help but think the guy before him was sorta cute.

"Your eyes, are amber colored - but the sorta look like honey." He said murmuring, and unconsciously leaning forward to get a better look at them. Smoke gently billowing from his nostrils as he took another inhale from his cigarette. And he gave a soft chuckle as he relaxed a bit, "you wouldn't believe the day I've had. Man, I need a drink." He said with a huff as he finished up his cigarette.

"You care to join me for a drink ? " he said with a slight teasing lilt of voice as he walked passed him with an even more teasing grin, and he hummed to himself softly as he walked back into the Inn and found the bar. After sitting at the bar he gave a smile to the bartender, who came over to him quite quickly.

"Can I have a layered ombré lemon drop? " he said drumming his fingers along the bar top. And the female gave him a smile and leaned forward.

"Gonna need some I.D. on account of the baby face, sweetheart." She spoke, a slight flirtatious tone in her voice but he was distracted, and he reached to his pocket to grab what he assumed would be his wallet but found nothing.

"Crap, I left my wallet in the room." He huffed rather annoyed, and looking to his guest he said, "now I have to go grab my wallet and phone, and possibly get out this stuffy fit - you don't go disappearing on me." He said, hands on hips and a bit too close to the male, but he didn't notice .

He then made his way to the elevators and chose the third floor, there he walked down the hallway to his room. And he opened his door to find his wallet and phone right next to each other on the table, and he sighed slightly amused and annoyed by that information. Afterwards, he decided to loose the stuffy suit pants for a pair of form-fitting leather pants and as for his shoes, a pair of platforms that tucked neatly into the pants. He let his hair down, and messed around with it - letting it settle around his waist and then he went to put some black eyeliner on, and some lipstick as well. Afterwards he decided to put on a short shelved dress shirt with the top buttons undone for a more causal look and his chest being exposed a bit, one could see the beauty marks adoring his neck and chest. Once he was finally down, he made his way back to the bar.

"Hope you didn't wait too long, the names Maximillian, but friends call me Ducky." A truth, his mother's maiden name was Mallard and so she had affectionately given him a nickname after said waterfowl.

But he had a charming grin on his face as he showed the bartender his ID, and she slipped him his yellow and red drink, which he took a sip and awaited conversation.

Adelaide Verna

"Begonia"

Assassin | 23 | Female | Mentions: Katarina, Laceleaf, Rosella (indirect)

Zaira City was beautiful, there was no doubt about it. Towering, sparkling buildings; elegant, opulent residences. And one of them is where I will live...

Beautiful, yes. But that was nothing more than a mask. People tended to overlook everything else in favor of beauty. External beauty was intoxicating, but it was nothing. True beauty lay on the inside, and this city had none. Under the beguiling shine of Myre's capital city flowed an undercurrent of deceit and secrecy, conspirations and deception.

And Adelaide was a part of it all.

And she was here to kill.

Or at the very least, help others to kill.

She had traveled far and wide to arrive at this rose of a city, with its exquisite establishments and the hidden thorns of spies and assassins. People like her.

No, not a rose, she mused. That is entirely too common a description. Maybe... ah. Adelaide smiled to herself. A few passerby stared at her oddly, perhaps wondering what she was so amused about. Crown-of-thorns. A lovely plant with delicate blossoms in shades of brilliant red and pink, glossy green leaves, and dozens of extremely sharp thorns. Lovely, but poisonous, and an absolute menace, often spreading and outgrowing its designated space. And yet, so many people take these plants into their homes, intending to care for them and tame them.

A menace, ever spreading outwards, and poisonous, but beautiful. Yes, definitely the right way to describe Zaira.

Adelaide walked along the streets, thinking over her new mission and the women she was to work with. Laceleaf and Rosella she was okay with, and as for Katarina... well, less okay with. But then, really, Adelaide shouldn't let her feelings compromise the mission. Eh. She paused under the guise of examining a sign to watch out of the corner of her eyes as a young girl- no more than six or seven years old- pick flowers in her front yard. Fragile yellow blooms, with six petals (The perianth, she mentally added) and bell-shaped coronas. Daffodils. The child was delightedly examining the flowers, twirling the sun-colored blossoms around and tucking one behind her ear. Adelaide smiled again, although this one was small and hardly noticeable, with a tinge of sadness. I bet she doesn't even know those are poisonous.

When I was her age, I was learning to throw knives and where to stab someone to kill.

The little girl bounced excitedly about the yard, squealing happily, most likely unaware of the toxin in the pretty golden flower at the side of her head. Lycorine poisoning. Symptoms: Nausea, diarrhea, vomiting, abdominal pain, usually not too serious. Contact with daffodils may cause skin irritation or rash in some individuals-

She threw up a mental wall in her mind before her brain went off again on another trail of information. Sometimes, it was like her mind was too full and was leaking. However, she'd rather the information stay in her brain.

Ah, she had better move on. She'd lingered here long enough. Adelaide walked on, movements lithe and fluid as she headed toward... what was it again? Oh, right, Elm Passage. Adelaide had memorized a map of the city, committing to memory the streets, the pathways, the alleyways. You never knew what kind of knowledge might come in handy, after all.

Maybe my brain is too full, she reflected. Well, too bad. There's more to come, for sure. Adelaide strode on, till she was past Elm Passage and on Emerliers Pass and- Damn. Those are quite some large houses. She tucked a strand of stray scarlet hair back over her shoulder and took a quick glance around. No one in sight, no one visible in the windows of the houses before her, the only sounds being the bustle of the city behind her and the quiet melody of rustling trees and birdsong. Good. She did not want anyone to see her right now. Why? She didn't quite know. She simply did not want any kind of attention right now. And a strange woman walking onto the street where the city's most opulent properties- and most opulent people- resided was sure to attract some curiosity.

Adelaide moved toward the middle of the street, where her new residence was to be. She looked up at the house. An immaculate, imposing snow-white building. She slipped a hand into one of her hidden pockets and whisked out a small ring of keys, closed the distance between the front door and herself, opened the door, and stepped inside. Should I get some extra locks?

It was dark in the house. Adelaide took a moment to adjust to the lack of light, head cocked, alert for any sound that betrayed the presence of another, as she felt carefully along the wall for the light switch. She found it at the same time her ears registered the sound of a small swish of movement.

In a split second, she had flicked the light open, and had a dagger in her hand, ready to strike out. When, after a moment, nothing attacked her, she relaxed slowly and looked around. A cat lay comfortably atop a couch, eyes slitted against the sudden brightness. His fluffy tail was waving slowly from side to side against the cushions, presumbly the source of the swishing.

She rolled her eyes. "Stupid, Adelaide," she chided herself. The letter she had recieved had said that she would be caring for a cat. She'd burned the letter after she'd read it, scattering the ashes in the wind, but not before memorizing every single word.

Adelaide slid the knife onto her belt and approached the cat slowly, still wary of any other sounds.

"Hello, Kiko," she said quietly. The cat stared up at her lazily and permitted her to stroke his head. Adelaide sat down cautiously on the sofa. When Kiko didn't object, she leaned back against the cushions.

"Well, Kiko," she said softly, not quite sure exactly why she was talking to a cat. "I hope you know what you've gotten yourself into."

Arlo Nephilim

“Vitro”

25 | Spy | Mentions: Maximillian

Arlo gave the stranger a soft smile when he saw the dumbfounded look on his face. As the flame grew, Arlo had a chance to study the stranger a little more.

The first thing his eyes were drawn to was the male's lips, which seemed to be busted. Perhaps from a fight earlier on? His eyes went to his hands next, and there he saw the bruising. That all but confirmed it for Arlo, this man must have gotten himself into some sort of fight - and won, by how little damage there was.

“Rough day, huh?” Arlo commented. His voice was low and soft, almost as if he hadn't intentionally spoken aloud.

Arlo could feel a slight blush cross his face when the person across from him complimented his eyes. It wasn't every day he had someone notice them, and he couldn't help the small bit of pride he felt along with self confidence.

“Same here,” Arlo nodded in agreement with the guy's comment. “I'd love to.”

Arlo followed him back into the Inn, back into the bar and was happily thanking fate for letting the two bump into each other tonight. It was just what he needed.

Arlo took a quick second while his company was talking with the bartender to just… admire a little. He couldn't do this for long, however, only until the man had to leave and retrieve his wallet.

“I'll be here, don't you worry.” Arlo grinned, a flirtatious tone to his voice. ‘Hate to watch him go, but love to see him walk away.’

At this point, Arlo was just letting his thoughts go where they wanted to. Apparently, they were going wild. He turned to the bartender before she had time to leave. “Hey there, can I get a whiskey sour?”

He decided to stick with what he knew they had, and what he knew he liked. It seemed they had switched shifts while Arlo was away, a new bartender was in the place of the one before so he couldn't just ask for the same thing he had ordered and had it be a very short conversation.

Not that it was a long conversation this time either. She seemed to move on quickly. Arlo took a seat and watched her make his drink, waiting for his partner to show up again. Arlo hummed a soft tune after thanking the bartender for his drink.

He didn't take more than two sips, yes he was waiting, before Arlo spotted him again. This made Arlo grin like the Cheshire cat.

‘Maximillian 'is a bit long for a name. Ducky? It gets even more interesting, huh.”

Sadly, no interesting topics came to mind. Truth be told, he had to try very hard to get his mind back on track to something suitable for conversation. It wasn't as if he was best friends with this person so he couldn't go all out like that, but where he was aiming to go required.. something.

Arlo couldn't take too long with his thinking, he had to be quick. Conversation only lasts so long before your turn is up, after all.

“How'd you find it? Your drink, I mean.” Arlo settled on that. Wasn't the best, wasn't the worst. Maybe there was an interesting story accompanying it?

“Was it your first? I know this was the first I'd ever tried. I know it's been a few years but it's a reliable choice. I can know it's good and it's common enough that everyone should have it. A bartender once got mad at me for ordering it, though.”

With that, Arlo downed the rest of his drink. ‘Maybe the more drunk I get, the better the conversation can get.’ He sighed mentally. Even though he had a small story to tell about his own drink, he would have to order something else that would work it's magic faster on him.

~ ♧ ~

Arcane Camora

“False”

24 | Spy | Mentions: Katarina

Arcane sighed deeply, staring at his phone. He had just received a phone call from his boss and mother, if you wanted to call her that. It wasn't a bad phone call, just a really boring one that made him want to sleep or binge watch literally any show in existence to forget the boredom. His blue-grey eyes stared daggers at the dark screen.

“I suppose I can't blame her. She has a lot of information to sit through herself but man, I wish she could shorten it a bit more.” Arcane huffed.

He had been assigned a mission in Zaria City. More specifically: Arcane had to pretend to be a psychiatrist at the Bellflower hotel, find his target; find the best way to protect him AND keep up a thriving social life. That just meant he had no free time for his mission, how was he supposed to do that?

Only yesterday he had finished a much smaller mission, defusing a bomb at the clocktower in his current town.

“Looks like I'll be travelling..” False grumbled, picking himself off his couch and getting busy with packing. It didn't take long for him to jump into action. He packed his clothes first, and then spy gear. That was pretty much everything he took with him, excluding small things like his phone and toothbrush.

He took his luggage with him, locking the door behind himself to secure the house as he left it. That house didn't need to be cleaned, the agency would send someone before the next spy took up residence there. Besides, Arcane didn't leave a trace of him being there at all. After years and years of practice he had only gotten better. His skills had never stopped gaining.

Arcane checked in to the Bellevista Inn under his own name and was led to room 311. Well, not exactly led but he got there only seconds after the bellboy had so it appeared like he had followed behind the stranger.

Camora took his bags from the door into the hotel room and as soon as he had comfortably fit them into the closet, he was exploring. After locking the door, of course. Only a rookie would forget that.

Curiously, Arcane went up to the window to the left of his bed. Peering out lead him to see the beautiful orange that was the beginning of a sunset.

“That's quite pretty.” Arcane mused. He only stayed a mere minute. He busied himself in finding bugs, or cameras. He only found one, in the mirror. He covered it up quickly. That would have to do for now, until he could take it down tomorrow. It wasn't a huge concern as the camera had no audio attached to it and now couldn't see anything more than darkness.

He checked his phone one last time to see if there were any new notifications and immediately got hit with an ad for a nearby club. This made him groan in annoyance, but he couldn't resist that it was a convincing enough ad.

‘Fuck it. Might as well have fun before this pain in the neck mission.’

He changed into a plain black t-shirt that fit a little too tightly for his liking, but it showed off quite a bit of his muscles. He paired it with more black, ripped jeans that fit him perfectly and combat boots. After all, they were his favourite and it was a bit of a walk.

He fluffed up his hair a bit more and messed it up a tiny amount before being satisfied with his look.

It was… plain. But effective. Arcane unlocked his door, headed out and locked it again behind him. Travelling down the rather boring hallway and right into the elevator. He pressed the button for the first floor and headed down in silence. There was no time to regret this because as soon as the first regretful thought hit him, he was already out the Bellevista Inn's doors.

The walk was medium length, long for a civilian but Camora was quick and didn't waste time. He was hit with waiting for a long line of people to enter before him no matter how quick he walked. Time passed ever so slowly, causing Arcane to look up at the sky in exasperation at one point.

Finally, the bouncer let him inside. He wound around people and managed to find the bartender with relative ease.

“Maple New York Sour, please.” Arcane ordered. He watched the bartender prepare the red and orange drink, taking it and thanking her when he was handed it.

Camora sat himself down comfortably and looked around the club while sipping his drink. He wasn't exactly in the mood to go out and find someone, so he waited for someone to approach him instead. Hopefully someone interesting.

Katarina / Celine | 24 | Assassin | Mention(s): Arcane (Dir)

"Siberia"

Having lost herself in a good song her oceanic pools would fall upon a new possible contender. She had watched the blonde male in an all black ensemble slither his way around the mass of people and felt her ears perk upon his request for a sour. His drink of choice was not completely foreign to her alcoholic taste but did convey an interesting twist. Maple. A standard New York Sour was known to be a balancing act between a savory fruity red wine and smokey sweet bourbon combination layered tastefully in an almost summery dream mixture. However, the hint of maple would likely cause the taste of bourbon to become richer and be well complimented with the tinge of sweetness from the maple. An interesting choice in drink indeed.

Having her eyes rove across his fit muscular silhouette once more as she would finish the remainder of her drink before gracefully sauntering over. Prior to her dismissal from her seat she would give the bartender a curt nod as if to signal her interest in receiving another drink, however shifted her gaze silently in his direction as if to say ‘another but over there please.’ The bartender understood the silent order and followed suit, supplying her drink upon her arrival to the males right side.

“You seem a bit bored love,” she would chide warmly, glancing firmly at her drink and giving the male a blissfully wicked grin before gazing into his twin blue orbs. “Allow me to keep you company, that is, unless you are expecting someone else.” She’d add lazily, as not to seem too interested.

She was used to playing all sorts of flirtatious games thus having to make the first move had entirely unphased her. Some men owned rooms and made their presence known; while others preferred a more mysterious approach that fascinated and entranced women to take the lead for a change. She had no preference for either role and enjoyed bouncing between being submissive to dominant only preferring to be submissive in more private chambers.

Katarina was known to have a particular type. She favored blondes and redheads to brunettes and had an acquired taste for rather tall men given her relatively average height for a woman. With regard to musculature she preferred those that were well muscled over less defined frames. As far as social standing she truly could care less but would prefer the Average Joe rather than someone born of money and fame. They always tended to have too much arrogance for her taste. That and were always incredibly superficial causing her to grow bored rather quickly.

“You will have to forgive my manners, my name is Celine Gallo.” She would add softly, giving him another warm feline smile. She would soon allow her dainty fingers to reach her straw once more and softly wrap her glossy lips on the little straw taking a small sip of her whiskey sour. She would soon shift her silhouette to open up more towards him allowing herself to warm up to him by sharing a mere glimpse of her assets.

For some reason there was something vaguely familiar about him that she could not quite wrap her finger on however she would ignore this probing instinct. 'It's your first night, work can wait for tomorrow.' She'd kindly remind herself, oceanic eyes glimmering with life as she peered into his gaze.

Laceleaf Jensora

“Carnation”

21 | Assassin | Mentions: Reynard

The espresso machine’s set up… the rice cooker’s finally working… everyhing’s organized… what else do I need?

She needed a breath of fresh air. Laceleaf was perfectly aware that she needed to spend more time outside, and she was also perfectly aware of the fact that she was actively trying to avoid doing so. Or at least, her brain was attempting to convince herself not to head outside the door - what if the enemy spots you? What if you don’t successfully conceal yourself as an assassin? What if they’ve already found you?

But her body was itching for the wind on her skin. And, as previously proven, Laceleaf’s brain was never very reliable to begin with.

She sighed and tried to separate her “brain” from her “desire” - a weird method, but one that worked occasionally. She asked herself, why not just go outside? If she had made it here, what was so hard about leaving the apartment now? What was there to be scared of?

Everything, her brain replied.

Brilliant. Her brain loved developing agoraphobia the moment she stepped into a new city.

What’s the worst that could happen? she asked herself.

Uhh… everything, her brain replied unhelpfully.

“Shut the fuck up,” Laceleaf snapped at herself and turned the doorknob.

She regretted it the moment she stepped out of that damn door.

Laceleaf immediately heard a call for help and nearly decided to shut herself back in her comfortable cave. Hell, no. Absolutely not. No social interactions, no physical interactions, no nothing. It had been approximately five seconds and she already had sweat running down her back.

She furrowed her brows. The call for help didn’t sound urgent, just reluctantly desperate. Maybe no one was having a heart attack after all, except for her.

Another call, clearly a woman’s voice.

Oh. So it wasn’t an emergency.

It was just a woman who needed help with some bags.

That was still very much out of Laceleaf’s comfort zone, but it was much, much better than some of the customers she’s served as a bartender. If she could handle goddamn clinically insane Dave, she could handle a woman’s bags.

She stepped out of the door.

Sure enough, there was a woman in the central lobby, holding what looked like a multitude of luggage, and Laceleaf was nearly impressed by the amount of bags on each arm. She wasn’t even sure how this questionably strong woman was even able to get that many bags on both arms to begin with.

“Uh… you need help?” she asked tentatively.

Oh, great, it took two seconds for her to screw up her interaction. Of course the woman needed help if it wasn’t painfully obvious enough already. Laceleaf wanted to dive back into her apartment again.

Instead, she helped dig through the woman’s pockets for her room key and open her apartment door, before proceeding to help unload her numerous bags. Laceleaf did her best to avoid speaking, instead curiously scanning the woman and not quite taking the stranger’s repeated thank-yous to heart. The woman was quite tall, alright, and boasted a muscular build as well, which was unsurprising to Laceleaf, having seen the sheer amount of bags she’d managed to carry without assistance. She also had splatters of dark freckles on her face, complimented by her black dreads pulled into a messy but beautiful ponytail. Her high cheekbones, full lips, and stunningly vibrant makeup all created a lively yet elegant aura. She was beautiful and unforgettably expressive, with or without trying.

None of this caught her attention, though. As the woman remarked about the weight of the bags, Laceleaf replied with a simple “mm-hmm” and took the opportunity to look into the stranger’s eyes. She’d initially believed that they were hazel from a distance, and then she’d thought they were russet, but upon closer inspection, they were red. Not redwood, bloodred. Crimson glittering with everlasting joy, delicate roses blooming in those bright irises. Laceleaf found that she was completely unable to tell if the stranger was sincere or not through the two scarlet suns that were her eyes, whether she was a genuinely cheerful and energetic individual or if she had knives in her sleeves, waiting for a target.

Laceleaf decided to match the stranger’s lively attitude despite her usual lack of enthusiasm. As they continued to unload the countless bags, it didn’t take long for them to spark a conversation. Laceleaf just went with the flow of the conversation while also doing her best not to reveal too much and learn a little about the woman.

“Where are you from?” she asked, hoping for a genuine response. Civilian or enemy, it always helped to know a thing or two about another individual. Only a fool would pass this sort of opportunity. Or maybe she was just overthinking again.

“Have you heard of any good places to visit here in Zaira? Maybe a bar, or a restaurant, or a park… or something? I’ve heard of a good rice noodle place not far from here, but I’m not very familiar… are there any places that you plan to visit?” It was best to know the woman’s interests, and, perhaps, her destinations.

Once the last bag had been unloaded and the sun had long since dipped past the horizon, Laceleaf bade her farewell with a smile. “ No problem. You can call me Ellen Rivers, or just El. I’m on the second floor, if you ever need me again.”