Isabella paced the throne room of the castle, seemingly trying to wear a rut into the stone surface her boots clicked on with each heavy step. It had been a week since her childhood friend had been taken from a family hunting trip out in the country side and no word from anyone other than a note that was left behind stating that they were to await instructions. Each day, each moment that ticked by seemed to last an eternity and the sands in the hour glass seemed to taunt her. The sun cut into the room through the stained glass windows and the colors seemed to dance about the darkly clad form of Isabella.

Her mood was as dark as her clothing for she blamed herself, she had been off dealing with her guild when the family vacation had occurred and she felt confident that had she been there this would not have happened. Stopping in her tracks she decided that she was tired of waiting around for something or anything to happen. Looking over to the king and queen she pursed her lips slightly, thinning them out as she stood there.

"I am leaving," she stated in a flat voice.

"What are you talking about? We must wait to find out anything," the Queen stated as she sat there in her throne.

"No offense but you can sit and wait all you want, I am going to do something," she retorted before turning and ordering the guards out of her way. They held their ground for a moment before the king waved them off their post. The door opened and Isabella push her way through the castle and to the stables to retrieve her horse. they could wait until the gods returned for all she cared, she was going to go find Chritina.

"Why did you let her leave?" the Queen asked her husband and liege.

"You know why," he remarked as he leaned back in his throne. "She just would have left under the cover of darkness if I didn't."

"You could have barred her windows ages ago."

"And what cage her? Wasn't that something we have tried not to do. Our arrangement with her has proved useful, especially now," the man said as he looked over to his wife.

"I know, you're right, you're right," she said with a deep sigh.

"GRRRRIIIIIIIBBBYYYYY!!!"

An older, but muscular man-- Dwarven in stature, pale in complexion, and balding in hirsute-- burst through saloon styled doors, "Gods, DAMMIT Griby!" The Dwarf huffed as he looked out into the dirt streets of the marketplace. The thinning crowd scattered about didn't seem horribly interested in his anger, by now a common public spectacle from the man for the shop goers. The woman he was yelling after had long slipped through fruit stands and codpiece store alleyways into the late fall winds of the wood.

The winds were always particularly harsh in the small town of Dead Dog Pines, the gale weaved through the trees that surrounded the town, and pulsed through it like evergreen veins. The young half-faun the dwarf would already be weaving through them by now-- he seemed to have developed a love/hate relationship with her over the months. In one instant, the two could work together and make more money in a night than he could ever make on his own in the old Dogwood Sap Tavern, and in another instant-- such as today-- she couldn't get a step in before the man exploded at some slight slight he'd perceived committed against him, and have her chased about.

The Dwarf huffed at the door, squinting as he examined the late afternoon bazaar. He was just following the motions, he knew exactly how this went; he would try to detect her, but he never could-- no one else could either-- she'd be gone for days, but everyone would know she was right there, waiting for things to cool down, the horny-sprite had a blessing from the wood, and she could wait you out until she wanted to be seen, until you'd calmed down, and reassure you with her... honeyed words.... She'd gone too far this time, though! And he intended on things turning out quite differently for the petty thief.

The Dwarf turned to the interior of the bar, several bored looking patrons sipped on some ale further in, and several paces behind him several short, orange Hobgoblins stood each craning their necks to get a look at where the dame had gone. His mercenaries... his guards... the man couldn't afford much, but the goblins would do. Their swords would strike true as any man, and between the four of them they even had a handful of entrapment spells... and... well...

The Dwarf gave a ragged sigh as the four immediately skirted back to their posts in the bar as he turned around, trying to pretend as though they'd been doing their jobs instead the entire time. His cousin had told him that Hobgoblins were excellent guards and trackers, 'like a foxhound' he had been told. He scrunched up his face at the group, the only thing they'd done like foxhounds thus far was eat a hole in his wallet and his pantry. He supposed he'd soon find out if the investment had been worth it.

With a scowl, he yelled at the lot, "Well!? She isn't going to bring me her own damn head you imps!" The carmine half-men jumped at that, nodding in vigorous acknowledgement they all rushed for the door, their leather armor squeaked as they all pressed against each other to get out at once. The Dwarf gripped the bridge of his nose in frustration as the four struggled to leave the tavern, but eventually felt some sense of relief as the four Hobgoblins began their sweep of the town for Jeanne Griby. The bitch had gone too far this time. It was one thing to steal from his customers... he profited from that! He could even stand if stolen a little from his own coffers, in fact, he was sure she had during her time in town!

But it was another thing entirely to take his wee girl's inheritance.

He nodded to the flamboyant Elf he had working as his bartender as he made his way back to his office. He'd been doing this for far too long to have this done to him... to just let it be done to him. No... he knew she'd try some shit like this... that's why he'd gotten the extra security, after all. He knew fully she wasn't above this-- he was going to get his due though, he'd have that bitches antlers mounted on his wall soon enough...

The Dwarf entered his office, failing to notice the door he'd left open was closed.

As he closed the door behind him, he failed to notice that a candle had already been lit in the regularly dim room.

As he sat at his desk, immediately checking the safe-box underneath, he failed to notice his window was open and the curtain was blowing in the breeze.

It makes sense, then, that in his rush to ensure not a penny more had been taken from him than he'd already had stolen, he failed to notice the feminine figure making a silhouette in the illuminated curtains, gently jostled by gales endemic to Dead Dog. The figure seemed to dance-- or perhaps merely sneak-- from it's place behind the curtain with the grace of a ballerina. She was slight in height, but full, perhaps even a bit plump in form and figure. Her long hair was almost as a gown in a way, and the clothes she wore-- some combination of the garb of a musician and a bar-maiden, were neither flashy nor thread-bare-- one could tell that they stood because she wore them so well. She moved around to the front of the desk as the Dwarf dug at the safe underneath, her light step did little to alert the greedy little man to her presence. In the dimly illuminated room, her skin seemed to glow, her make-up, which spoke volumes of her faun heritage, and how little she truly knew of it, seemed to emanate ferocity and, somehow, at the same instance a certain gentleness.

Sure, but honeyed words.

After a minute of watching the man with disinterest, Jeanne Griby sat across from the unsuspecting Dwarf, alerting him to her presence by plopping down as loudly as she could manage; She greeted the man excitedly, with her characteristic otherworldly accent, "Bonjour, Chichi!"

Chichi shot up-- or rather, tried to-- he hit his head on the underside of his desk before cursing under his breath, and quickly trying to recover by actually shooting up, full anger flaring. "Fuuuucking cunt! Half pixie fucking biiiiitch!"

"Mmmm," Jeanne rested her head in hand, with a polite smile, "Always se master wordsmith, patron."

"Don't give me that 'patron' shit you fucking thief! I'm going to fucking skin you alive for what you did to me!!!"

Jeanne feigned a surprised expression, "Oh, really patron? Whyever would you do that? Am I not your best employé? Is there someone I should be working harder than?"

"Yeah, laugh it up bitch!" Chichi pulled out a dagger from the desk, "You may as well laugh before you die anyway!"

Jeanne held a hand lightly to her chest, "I am to die?"

"That's the plan, cunt-horns!"

"Hmmm, well actually... I..." Jeanne leaned forward, whispering, "Well, quite frankly patron, I really doubt that."

Chichi the dwarf relented, if only for a second-- his face seemed to scrunch up into an actual question mark, "Why's that, forest tits?"

Jeanne leaned back in her chair. "I've already charmed you, monsieur Chichi."

Chichi looked down at the dagger in his hand, and already he feel his grip shaking. He didn't feel anything-- his opinion hadn't changed at all, but his desire to kill... to harm this bitch in any way had faded. She was... she was a friend. He sure as shit didn't believe that, but he was feeling it. He had to. Her secret was that she always knew how to use more than her words... "Fuck..." He muttered, defeated as the dagger fell from his hand and clanged onto the desk. He looked at her, a mixture of anger and defeat, "I know you aren't this powerful, bitch..."

Jeanne gestured lightly to the only source of illumination in the room. "You know, patron, you can buy amazing things at a candle stores here!" She shrugged, "Well, with the right friends..."

The Dwarf couldn't help but smile, he was impressed by the forethought, despite his desire to literally strangle the smug forest bitch to death two times over-- he was literally being forced to play nice, "Well played, cunt."

"Merci!" Jeanne beamed before noticing his expression and feigning a pout, "Ohh... You know you'll get your gold, Chichi!"

He sighed, "You know it ain't about the gold... you fucking stole..."

Jeanne frowned, "Stole what?"

"Her fucking life! Her FUTURE!You son of a bitch!"

Jeanne raised a finger, "I will acknowledge that my mother is a bitch, but technically this makes me a 'daughter of a bitch' not the son, as you claim." She flourished her hair, "And honestly I don't see how you could make the mistake!" Her expression became more grave, "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, you fucking bitch."

Jeanne tsked, "Ohh, patron, I'm afraid to be the one to tell you I really don't!"

"Why the fuck would you buy an enchanted candle then? You knew I wanted to kill you!"

"You always want to kill me patron!" Jeanne teased, "I simply didn't feel like playing our usual cat and mouse today, sorry to disappoint."

"But then..." Chichi looked down as the reality began to dawn on him.

"Mmmm?"

"B-but it had to be you!"

"I'm not a professional cambrioleur, Chichi! I rely on la ruse et les mots for my scores."

"What et what?"

Jeanne sighed, "Cunning." she spoke plainly, "And words." Relaxing a little, she leaned back in the chair and propped her feet up on the desk, "I may not follow the law, but do follow a law. I don't break into a man's sacred space to steal, and I certainly don't steal from my patron's child, this is what happened, no?"

"Fuck..." Chichi's head fell in his hands, "Fuck... fuck... fuck fuck _{fuck fuck fuckfuckkkufckfuck...}"

"Awww..." Jeanne leaned forward to comfort her employer, "Don't cry patron! Tell me all about it, I can get you... your... your..." She furrowed her brow, "I'm sorry, Chichi, what was it they took?"

Chichi looked up to the horned maiden with red eyes, waiting a moment before speaking two somber words; "My daughter."

Isabella pulled the hood of her coat up and tucked her hair back beneath it as she left the castle walls and made her way into the city proper. She was tired of sitting around and waiting for word about Chritina, it was not how things should be done. She was supposed to be protected; she was supposed to be rescued. She was not supposed to have to wait for a nation to get word of whether she lived or died and pay out some ransom. That was not the way to show the strength of a nation or the resolve of the royal family. It showed weakness and passiveness, two things that the nation could not risk.

The city was bustling with activity as trade came in from all over the lands to the capital. Isabella could tell by the look in the peoples eyes that the kidnapping had been kept quiet from the general population and none of them were even aware what had happened. Though if they had known would it truly have matter to them? It did not affect them directly, there was no loss to them if Chritina was never returned or if she was. As long as trade continued and the city flourished they would be none the wiser and could care less.

For Isabella, it was not that easy. She had been Chritinas confidant since they were young, they did everything together and Isabella blamed herself for her kidnapping. Since it was her fault in her minds eye, it was her job to make sure that Chritina was returned to the safety of the castle. Further and further she pushed into the city. She ignored the Lords and Ladies with their finery, the traders trying to make a gold piece. Further she pushed into the depths and heart of the city; to the darker side where those that they spoke not of resided - The whores, the brigands, the thieves. If anyone knew anything, it would be these people. Rumors ran rampant in such areas for in areas they felt safe they felt they could brag of their escapades.

Night was drawing near and the darkest of the folk of the capital would be out in force, working in the shadows to make their next score. Isabella blended in well around these folk for she did not wear the colors of the crown and did not flaunt her position. Her attire was drab and dark like the rest and she carried herself like the skill assassin she was and not a child of privilege who had been raised behind the walls of safety the castle provided.

Pushing a stout man out of her way and shoving him into the wall she lithely moved into the Dark Tavern of Night and found a place in the corner, out of the way of the rest of the patrons that would soon visit as night claimed the city from the day. There she would wait and watch for a time, see who would enter, who would leave and what information she could remove from drunken slovenly tongues. Resting back in a chair, it squeaked softly beneath her feathers weight as she crossed her ankles beneath the table and her arms over her chest. She watched.

The city!

... Merde! The city!

Fair Mother of the Hollow Moon's shame globes-- why oh why did it have to be in the city?

Jeanne wasn't quite sure what she had intended to do when she finally weaved her way through the shadows in the canopy from the small forest-edge town of Dead Dog Pines to that location Chichi-- and now, from Chichi, she-- had been instructed to deliver... whatever the hell was in the parcel she had been given. At the present moment, as she leaped from tree to tree in the pale glow of the dying day, she found that she had been transformed from thief turned courier.

She didn't normally take jobs like this-- and even though she had offered to help Chichi out, she was herself uneasy when she discovered what it was that Chichi wanted her to do. Typically she'd disagree to performing such a task, it was almost too close to a legal profession for her to even consider. But... In her mind at the very least, Chichi reminded her of her great uncle, the man who had raised her, and quite frankly, she couldn't turn him down for anything. He was the reason she was as skilled as she was at her art, and he was also the reason she was so comfortable with the constant threats of death from the Dwarf. She could do this for him; like her uncle, Chichi had taught her many tools in the art of theft, along wit constantly threatening to kill her-- just like grunkle! Besides, this was only one delivery! Once she dropped off whatever was in the parcel, they'd release his daughter on the outskirts of Dead Dog.

She was capable of completing this task... she had to believe it was within her abilities...

She had to.

At the very least, she didn't need to think of all of that right now. Jeanne lost herself in the instinctual speed she could achieve in the woods. Jumping lightly from treetops like a squirrel, she moved fast-- less like the people she found herself living around, constantly both trying to please and simultaneously harm with her profession-- and more like her father's people, an entire race she had, no, would never meet. With the rise of cities and places like Dead Dog in this region the nomadic Faun who had relied on large expanses of undeveloped trees had naturally fled south, Jeanne was probably one of the few individuals with the horns of an doe this far north.

It didn't matter to her though. Or a the very least, she old herself that it didn't matter. That the bark felt natural against her skin, that the world felt so much more comfortable moving at this rate, with a convenience the humans would never quite know by avoiding the roads and simply relying on Pan... a forgotten god's wisdom to reach her destination-- it didn't matter. Or at least she told herself that she didn't care about these skills. She couldn't deny, not even to herself, though, that they did have their uses. She found that she wasn't particularly fast when running in the streets, and her stamina was below average, for a human and a faun. It would be impossible for her to reach the city from as far away as Dead Dog in a matter of a few hours if she were simply running.

Jeanne supposed it was a rather scenic route, as well, she couldn't deny it's beauty. Although, it was a bit absurd when juxtaposed with her 'civilized' human raising. Chichi, just as her Uncle did, professed a preference of what can be used over what others might see as 'socially acceptable.' The weak cerulean sky, with it's mushroom-white, rolling clouds, died down as she traveled. And it gave way to an orange and purple soupy expanse about the jade canopy, Jeanne leapt from goldenrod branch to branch satchel in tow. Many may have seen her as a madwoman (and fewer, unscrupulous individuals may have questioned why she simple didn't steal whatever was in the package and run), to such individuals, she would respond that it was something that came naturally, from a simple performance of parkour to living by a certain code.

As darkness fell, Jeanne, too, fell upon the city. A Tavern of Night was all Chichi had given her to go off of, and soon, Jeanne followed several darkly dressed men who, from what Jeanne could hear, badly need a drink, into a back alley Tavern that seemed to exude a palpable miasma of misery. This wasn't a typical upbeat tavern scene, there was no bard, no yelling matches, no joyous laughter... This wasn't quite a bar that people went to forget their troubles, this was a place people went to drown them. Walking through the door, Jeanne could already see many black market deals taking place between various patrons, mixed in the sea of rouges who actually sought to drown their misfortune in watered-down ale. There were also... several shapely men and women who drew her eye for various other reasons. She tried not to let her eyes linger, she didn't need the unnecessary attention. Her goal here was simple; deliver the parcel, confirm Chichi's daughter's safety, get the man off her back fr a few months. Very simple.

Jeanne kept her head down as she walked over to a chair and observed the inner workings of the candle-lit tavern from inside. As she watched, she wasn't quite nervous in the environment, but more... uneasy. The tavern certainly wasn't lifeless as she had thought walking in, the illicit drug deals, the card games, the narcotics... There was a life that was low-key, very subdued. She felt uneasy because she was surrounded by individuals who were completely better at what she did for a living. Tack simply wouldn't do it here. She was uneasy because she was surrounded by masters of tack. She realized that she needed to make it obvious to whomever the delivery was to with something that didn't expect.

She needed to make a scene.

Jeanne stood. Emphasizing the sway in her hips and the bith of skin exposed by the split in her dress as she walked, earning more than a few whistles for her trouble. She waltzed over to the bar, practically nuzzling, or as close as she could get at her size, from across the bar, the bartender, a burly, no-nonsense looking human. With a dramatic flourish, she plopped the satchel down in front of the bartender and batted her eyes at the man as she practically sang, loud enough to carry through the room, in her accented voice; "Are there any kidnappers here looking for their ransom? if they don't come and get it I might just use it to buy everyone here a drink."

Sapphire eyes flickered in the low candle light of the tavern from beneath the dark hood that framed Isabellas features. Pure alabaster nails clicked against the table resting in front of her as she watched and listened to the ruffians in the establishment. Pale lips pursed out of frustration as it was as she expected, nothing more than a rowdy crowd looking for trouble but not much more than that. Her slender nose flared as a huff passed her lips and blew the ash pale bangs from her brows.

Her ears perked up at the words the woman spoke at the bar and her head tilted inquisitively as she looked the woman over. She seemed out of place there, then again so did Isabella. Sliding the chair back it thumped against the wooden wall behind her as she rose from her place. Stepping around the table she slowly made her way over. Coming up behind the woman her arms crossed over her chest and she gave the bar tender a look that made him swallow hard and take a step back.

“No..none here,” he stammered as he looked at Isabella trying to answer Jeannes question before turning and scurrying like a rat to the other side of the bar. Isabella was about to place her hand on the womans shoulder when a thick masculine hand gripped her own, nails black from dirt and grim packed beneath them.

“Remove your hand before I do it for you,” she said in a calm tone.

“Come on, just want a dance,” he said through a drunken slur. Isabella rolled her eyes.

“Last warning,” she said, repeating the same calm tone.

“Hey, I said I wanted a dance!” he sneered as he spun her around.

“Very well, let’s dance,” she said as a cold grin tugged at the corner of her lips. Her hand came up and over his, fingers curling against his skin as her nails pierced through the flesh and blood began to drip from the wounds. She pulled down as her leg arced over his arm and her foot found floor on the other side. A turn of her hips and a snap could be heard through the tavern followed by an echo of scream from his lip.

“Let go!” he said trying to pull his arm back.

“I thought you wanted to dance?” she smirked as her free hand drew a dagger, it spinning in her thin fingers. “Very well, just to finish my promise,” she added before blade met muscle and bone, severing his hand from his wrist. He fell back, holding his stump as she tossed the severed appendage towards him. Pulling a rag out she wiped the blade and her hand clean before tossing it over his face.

“Clean yourself up,” she said flatly as she turned to bring her attention back to the woman who had spoken about kidnappers. The mans comrades rushing him out of the tavern as he whined about Isabella taking his hand.

The bartender had seemed like a confidant man as Jeanne approached the bar, rather burly, muscular, grizzled and adapted to the world, yet still brimming with young testosterone. A man who was in the know, and well used to giving certain favors to maidens he favored... Perhaps all those things about the man were indeed true, and in any other situation he may have been an easy mine of information, and victim to his own desire. In this particular situation, though, as soon as the words had left Jeanne's lips, from her perspective, the fear of the Gods seemed to enter the poor man's eyes. He seemed to look right through Jeanne for a moment before it appeared to her that he even registered fully what she had asked.

Like a child who had seen a ghost, his eyes went wide, his lip quivered-- he stammered out a measly response “N-no..none here!” The man couldn't take his rag and glass and shuffle away fast enough, giving Jeanne cause to pout and nearly yell after him.

His answer was a lie, obviously, and his answer was suspicious-- such a stark juxtaposition could be seen on his face from one moment to the next that Jeanne actually had to restrain herself from giggling. He was afraid of speaking of kidnappers! Or perhaps he wasn't into horned lasses... Jeanne could only take pause to think for a brief moment, as directly behind her a commotion was brewing in the tavern, that most of the patron, now herself included, had turned to see.

"-- I said I wanted a dance!” Belched a rather lumpy and clearly drunken man to a tall, lithe and dark woman, standing not two feet away from Jeanne. He spun the woman around, and without missing a beat, she proceeded to use his unrefined energy against him, easily turning the encounter to one where he thought he had all the power, to one where he was in absolute submission.

Jeanne, along with most onlookers, flinched when the snap of bone came from the woman easily breaking the offender's arm. She then proceeded to slice the man's hand off with a smile, all with a cool demeanor. She didn't miss a step in any of that, she had a well-versed method and a precision to her movements. When it was over, Jeanne couldn't quite tell if she was scared, impressed, or... turned on. The man, now screaming over his broken arm and lost hand was helped out be his friends-- and soon enough, the tavern's more silent atmosphere returned. Patrons went back to their drinks after the drama had passed, Jeanne was still a bit star-struck, but apparently this type of thing was a common occurrence in the city.

Then, the woman turned directly towards Jeanne.

Jeanne flushed with nerves as her cheeks reddened, her eyes instinctively shot down after making eye contact with the woman. She was a professional on a whole other level of being, and Jeanne certainly found herself feeling a little intimidated. Had she heard me ask about the kidnappers? The thought crossed her mind, and seemed like the only logical reason this woman would even approach someone as green as Jeanne.

Despite the unnerving events, Jeanne adopted a cheery persona to address the tall woman, breaking her silence, "That was incredible!" She practically bounced with excitement, "It was... très chic-- I've never seen anything life that in my life before!" She let her own amusement dictate her for a moment, before realizing who this woman could be. She tilted her head curiously, ruffling her brown curls ever so slightly, "So, are you the kidnapper?"

Isabella rose a slender brow as she slipped the dagger which lay in her fingers seamlessly back into its resting place. She looked the woman over for a moment as she pulled the hood of her mantle back, her face as cold as the winters snow, void of any other expression at the mention of the word kidnapper. She drew a long perturbed breath through her thin nostrils before letting it out in a slight huff.

"You are a big mouth," she said in a flat voice as she stepped closer. "I am no kidnapper but I am searching for one. So why don't you sit down and tell me what you know and we can avoid any more conflicts such as the one that you just witnessed," she said as she sat down on a barstool. Her back was straight as she sat there, her long white hair falling down around and framing her features as she crossed one slender leg over the other and rested her hands in her lap.

The woman maintained the calm in her voice, but her body language told a different story, the accusation that she might have been the kidnapper was more than baseless. It made her truly angry, although it only showed for a moment. Jeanne guess that she might have been a victim of the kidnapping, as opposed to the kidnapper him... or her? Itself. Her expression at the word 'kidnapper,' or rather, lack thereof, portrayed some vulnerability. Almost as if Jeanne had accidentally prodded a very open wound.

"I probably know less than you!" She sighed. Fearful, and still rather impressed with the ability of the white-haired woman, Jeanne gave a nod and did as commanded. She sat on the barstool adjacent, with much less grace than the slender white-haired assassin. She sat hunched over, leaning on the bar, with her head resting against her hand on her cheek. Her legs were open, crossing them like a 'proper lady' as they dangled in the air from being in the stool, at her height, with her curves-- would be even more awkward than simply trusting in her skirt to protect her womanhood from view. "It was supposed to be a simple delivery--"

As Jeanne spoke of why she had come to the the City in the first place, the rocky relationship she had with her employer and the parcel he had given her as some ransom to men who had either kidnapped his daughter, or something very important to his daughter, and how it had all led her here, her eyes wandered. She observed the woman, who carried herself like royalty and her lithe features of a dancer. She was intense, serious, trained in her art and apparently oblivious to her natural magnetism. The contrast between the two struck her hard; Jeanne must have looked like some common peasant sitting next to this woman.

Still, Jeanne maintained jovial and finished her tale; "I thought the guy might show himself if a mere femme with a package was all that had been sent to rendezvous with him!" She shrugged, "If it was that simple I doubt the culprit is still here now... probably went running scared after you cut that guy's hand off." Jeanne blushed slight again, "Which-- again, I know you don't want to hear this, but that was really amazing! I've never seen anyone handle something so quickly and coolly before! Sorry."

Isabella sat there quietly, never moving or shifting in her seat as she sat there as a wall of cold stone as she listened. The woman seemed to be speaking the truth but that was something that could be trained, she had seen acts such as this before but there was raw edges to her persona that told her this was not an act but just nervous tension. after a while she held up a single hand to the woman, slender fingers with white shimmering nails.

"I see, then perhaps we both are looking for the same person," she said in a calm voice as she lowered her hand back to her lap. giving a quick scan around the room with incredulously pale eyes before looking back over towards her.

"You will come with me, I wish to hear every last detail you have from every event leading up to this one. Down to the length of the candles that burned," she stated as she slipped off the bar stool and her feet fell silently to the floor.

"But not here," she added as she drew the hood of her mantle up and tucked her silver locks beneath it.

"Follow me if you will," she said as she made her way through the tavern and back towards the main street of the city. The people making a path open for her as she walked, having seen what she did to the last person that dared touch her none of the patrons wished to risk brushing up against her.

"This way," she said firmly as she motioned with a single silken gliding hand gesture.

The woman responded quickly after Jeanne had finished speaking. Staying silent as those pale, thin fingers commanded, Jeanne's eyes traced the outline of the woman's lips as she spoke, Jeanne only half-registered that apparently they were going somewhere more private. When the lithe figure got up to leave, Jeanne followed in her shadow silently.

She was... almost hypnotized by the otherworldly dexterity with which she moved through the crowd. The patrons, for their part, made any effort possible to practically jump out of their way. Yet even taking this into mind, one couldn't help but marvel at the control she had over her body, it was if she weaved around the air itself-- all to get to the door of the tavern. Jeanne kept her head down, avoiding the stares of the customers, watching her with suspicion as she left with the woman who had just severed a man's hand. Jeanne, for her part, was plenty occupied with the movement of the white haired royal assassins long legs.

She moved like a dancer... but at the same time... off...

Jeanne, broke out of the spell of the woman's rhythmic movement, and for an instant, felt concern-- this woman could just be a kidnapper! Looking to lure her somewhere isolated and simply kill her for the parcel she carried. She didn't have an evidence that she wasn't, just a hunch... Jeanne wondered if leaving with her was the best course of action for a moment, could she turn around? Run away?

Standing at the door, as the woman gestured to leave, Jeanne hesitated for a few seconds, wondering...

Jeanne didn't quite shake the thought from her mind, but she ducked out of the tavern as the woman held the door open all the same. Cool night air made the hair on her skin rise, and her eyes adjusted to the silver moonlight-- the pale orb reminded her of this woman's ornate skin and glowing white hair. Following her into an alley, Jeanne cleared her throat, risking speech, "So... may I know where it is you are planning on taking me to...?" She shifted uncomfortably, "Or, your name, at the very least?"

“I am Isabella, Lead Assassin to the Royal Family and I am taking you to the assassins guild,” Isabella stated in a cool voice as she looked over at the woman out of the corner of her eyes. Turning she motioned with a single long finger for the woman to follow her. She was quiet as she made her way through the streets, leaving the deep dark dank of the inner city slum area and proceeding through the streets back alleyways quickly. Every so often she would glance over her shoulder to make sure that the woman was still with her but other than that she made no acknowledgement of the womans presence.

The dirt streets became lines with gravel, then stone, then brick as they worked their way further and further away from the poverty in the lower levels. The buildings became more and more grand with each turn down the street. Isabella stopped in front of a dark bricked building that stood high in the center of this particular region of the city. No windows, no way to see in and only a single large double door in the front that was emblazoned with the symbol of a dark cat. At the door stood two men dressed similarly to Isabella but there attire was not as intricately fashioned as hers.

“Isa,” one said as he looked to her and they both bowed their heads.

“Open the doors,” she commanded.

“And this one?” they said motioning to the woman with her.

“Questioning,” was all Isabella would say and it seemed that was all they needed to hear. Righting themselves they pulled the doors open and Isabella motioned for the woman to step inside with her. Inside it seemed to be a large rotunda. Black marble walls that stretched up high to a closed ceiling. In the center a single fountain that bubbled with a dark liquid.

The ASSASSINS GUILD?

Jeanne felt a chill run down her spine, suddenly the world felt much smaller; she felt much more alone-- fatally so. The rising stone towers that seemed to engulf the two as they made their way into the heart of the city took on a new sense of dread for Jeanne. She felt as though she were being consumed by some sinister entity that she couldn't comprehend; red and grey brick stone towers and spires were like jagged teeth for this thing of enclosing, crushing darkness. The darkness that surrounded her was a horrid, putrid throat-- slimy, wet, slowly sucking her in closer. What was the beautiful-- yet distant, as she walked several paces faster than Jeanne-- woman? An enchantress for her guild? For the king? A servant to a dark monster. Maybe she was just killing anyone with some connection to the kidnappings?

Why was Jeanne feeling such fear? Her surroundings? She admired the Assassins Guild, in truth! She shouldn't be feeling this uneasy... and if she was feeling this uneasy, she should have been able to turn and walk away... and yet...

She wondered; Had she been charmed...?

No. No, she wasn't. Jeanne was well enough versed in the alteration of the mind to know when her own psyche was being toyed with. So then what was it? As she followed behind the tall shadow that was Isabella, Jeanne admitted to herself why she hadn't turned and run away. There was only reason, in fact, as to why she hadn't turned and run farther away from the monster of darkness; run from slipping further into it's wet alley-way throat, run away from it's smokey servant-- her own curiosity.

Yes-- Jeanne was a curious girl in her youth, and had grown into an even curiouser woman. This didn't mean she wasn't scared. Of course she was scared! She completely acknowledge she could be walking to her death. To any half-sane man, this whole scenario practically dripped with a palpable fear, etched into it from various angles. I'm walking into the unknown on a dark night with an assassin. She acknowledged the fear, and while she certainly didn't have the mental fortitude to overcome it, she was in possession of an abundance of curiosity. She could distract her fear with that curious interest, a stupid desire for adventure, at a base level; that basic longing for novel stimuli overpowered her survival instincts. Following illogical steps was simply more interesting than the logical ones; spending one's time holed up in a funeral home tended to instill in one a desire for a the unusual and a numbed fear of death. Curiosity, her show-woman's bravado, and an already developing draw to be near the very cold, white-haired woman concocted a very deadly potion in the heart and mind of Jeanne.

Jeanne's eyes adjusted to moonless darkness as the fail light occasional flickered out of view, due to high stone bridges blotting out light between the buildings in the already dark alleyways. She could see naturally in this shade, and took note of Isabella ahead of her, intent to to lose her in the darkness... Jeanne's eye's-- perhaps, perhaps not-- due to her height, were naturally draw to Isabella's legs, which were outlined as so slender in her leather armor... Her curiosity was a big reason she was still trotting along, but Isabella's... assets... certainly didn't hurt her case. She was a simple, curious woman, with needs! She couldn't help it! She was following an interesting spectre into the heart of darkness, and that was exciting!

Back to the task at hand. She thought.

Right! Assassins Guild...

This could become something wonderful for Jeanne if she played her hand correctly. A fire welled in her chest, engulfing the misgivings she had initially felt upon hearing those two words. Assassins Guild. Why had this drawn their attention? Were the kidnappings really this high profile? As Jeanne knew it, the Assassins Guild was allowed to operate as it did by a royal decree from King himself, with direct ties to the authority of the crown they could operate with impunity; on the condition that they carried out all royal assassinations, as well as summoning as special members to direct service, should the castle need them. Isabella certainly fit that bill of 'special member.' Her high position in the Guild, and her ties to royalty did explain why she seemed to regal-- she was!

She was simply cut from an entirely different cloth! From a different type of expensive, poisoned, white-silver fabric! By a more honed, and trained seamstress! In a castle!

Jeanne couldn't help but feel a small smile creep onto her face as she began to fit pieces of this together. It had to have been someone Isabella not only knew, but was also high enough in rank for the King to summon her directly to prowl the streets in search of clues. So high up that not even a royal decree of her missing status had reached Jeanne. Meanwhile Jeanne was looking for a bar-owner's daughter... What was she getting herself into? As she looked around, she noted the spires that now stretched into the night sky were far too ordered to be the jagged teeth of a horrid monster. Their expensive architecture denoted that the two had made their way to the wealthiest circles of the inner city. Still on foot; as they walked, Jeanne noted that any of the weak moonlight that hadn't been blocked out before, was now completely eliminated from vision by the slowly rising, perfectly ordered spires. They were spines of the monster... or perhaps a gate? Hiding some majestic secret in the quiet night. The perfectly ordered miniature castles, afforded only to the wealthiest merchants of the realm, were filled with sleeping residents of the city, yet, Jeanne felt alone here, with her stern and intriguing white-haired guide? Did death await her in the darkness ahead? Or secrets? She pressed on.

Her fingertips became like ice as they approached a dead end of a winding alley. What filled her vision was a large door, dimly lit by candle, and two men, dressed similarly to Isabella. Was this the entrance? Was there some grand assassin's complex behind these two mere men and a door? Jeanne didn't know what she had expected at the end of the trek-- she had pictured something much more sinister, and perhaps a little less low-key. Although, in hindsight, it makes perfect sense for the door to be hidden in plain sight, even guard duty wasn't irregular on the upper side of town. It felt like it had been hours ago when the pair's footsteps produced the squelch of wet dirt, and that had eventually become 'clacks' against worn stone and brick-- Jeanne almost gave a double-take when the sounds stopped altogether, as the pair, too, stopped walking. She stood before the door, ever so slightly behind Isabella, feeling just a tad intimidated by their scowls. Their nature was clearly similar to Isabella's. Isabella began to speak, but Jeanne's eyes wandered to the only unique feature of this dead end-- there was a black cat, seemingly engraved into the very wood of the door.

Most saw black cats as sinister beings of curses. Jeanne, ever the rebel, felt a kinship with the creatures, black cats were Cheshire animals, like her; curious.

Meow.

She couldn't help it. The cat looked happy-- playful even! It was in a coquettish pose-- almost childish-- licking it's paw, looking at you, a curl in it's tail made an S that was bigger than it's body. Emerald eyes seemed to purr in the wood. Jeanne caught herself, distracted by the kitten.

The city had been humid moments before, but now the air felt like that of an arctic tundra. The chill traveled up her fingers, and moved along her arms, her legs felt as though they were submerged in rising snow. She may have even felt frost in her horns! Isabella's cool demeanor multiplied in the presence of these men-- the stone-faced assassins were so cold in their interactions that Jeanne could feel the temperature change by just witnessing it, a froideur in the gale around her body. It wasn't enough to extinguish the fire in her curiosity-- she was going to see the Assassins Guild in mere moments! She wondered if that curious nature would remain like the black cat once she stepped onto the other side of the door it would remain forever etched into.

Would it endure?

Jeanne remained off to the side as the three spoke, Isabella went through the motions to gain entrance-- apparently her name alone was enough rank above these men to grant her the ability to command them. They stepped aside, and as Isabella, or Isa, opened the door, she motioned for Jeanne to follow. With a nod, she did. And as she did so, the guards asked a final question, which Isabella had a one word answer for;

Questioning.

A crack in her bonheur appeared, and her smile at the cat vanished. Suddenly, Jeanne felt a lot closer to how she had when she had first heard those words uttered. Assassins Guild. They had slipped so easily from Isabella's lips, as had the reason she'd brought Jeanne here. The beast's maw she had fallen into was that of a black cat. Of a beast of her own curiosity-- or questioning. Jeanne did suppose in quite a few ways, she was questioning-- many things, in fact-- but she knew that wasn't what that word meant. Jeanne tilted her head, while following Isabella into the midnight black rotunda, it seemed the black cat had all black insides. The interior was amazingly designed ; certainly dark in tone, very somber, and clearly inspired by classic Gothic designs-- unlike the rest of the faux-regal wealth of this district-- like the rest of the district, this place couldn't have been built on a discount. The kings influence showed in the form of shining, flawless marble walls and obsidian floors. Jeanne's eyes were drawn to the fountain in the center of it all, and the strange black liquid that poured forth from it. If Isabella was merely leading an unassuming woman to a monster, then the black Jeanne was now in was the belly.

Jeanne was visibly unnerved. Walking forward into the rotunda, she turned to Isabella, "Questioning...?" She repeated, breaking the silence of the eerie black room, "Is that a polite assassin term for 'torture?'"