[img]https://i.ibb.co/fqh9L2N/M.png[/img]   
Another fucking day in hell. Three months had she been down there with the rest of the lot…three and had made zero advances on her plan. She would be the laughing clown of the assassin’s group, that she would, she could almost hear them, mocking her with their “hey rookie! Too much for ya’?” yes, they would no doubt laugh at her face or —even worse than being their play thing— they most likely leave her down there to root, not being even worth the problem. They sure could have 100 more like her by the next full moon, why bother rescuing a nobody street urchin who didn’t make it out of a place like that? No… she wouldn’t be worth their time. She [i]had[/i] to escape somehow.

The little paper note weighed more than ever on her secret pocket. Even when the ink had started to fade and it was smaller than before, it weighed in her mid, made her palms itch with the need to do something…[i]anything[/i] that would get her out of there. Her face showed nothing of the chaos that was her mind, she was as stoic and unfriendly as the first time she had been mining, only this time, people around her could feel a change on her, they could almost feel the danger pouring out of her skin, maybe it had something to do with the hard unforgiving way she hit the boulders, but they could feel it. Her rage. And why shouldn’t she be angry? The Crows didn’t even give her instructions, they just “sold” her as disposable gear and gave her a pat on the back for “good luck”. 

She hated the mines and the stone, and the sand, and the people there with their odors and smelly mouths. She hated it all. And as always, the day went by with only a few punches to some idiots who thought they were being funny about her ears  and a mildly annoyed guard who preferred to yell than actually due anything about a bunch of slaves quarrying. 

she found her self sited at a small stone on the far end of the table, where an annoying man —that looked a lot like her usual aristocrat targets did— was talking about being free, as always was the case with the “dreamers” on the mines, he had an audience of people she had worked with before, but couldn’t really put a name to. Her plate rested untouched in front of her, but she made sure to eat the brick that was supposed to be bread, as a fainting assassin was as good as a baby, when her interest was piqued….a party. Her colorful eyes swept to her right, listening to the blond man’s tale, gears already turning in her mind, even as a …. Goblin? Spoke from behind her own bread —at least, her voice seemed of a female, but it was too hard to say—.

If she could steal the map —and [i]she could[/i]— she would be out of that place in no time. 

[color=bc8dbf]-You know…-[/color] she finally spoke, not really talking to anyone in particular, her eyes still fixating on the bread, her long lashes casting shadows on her unmatching eyes [color=bc8dbf]-a smaller group might be…wiser than a larger one-[/color] if she was going to get out of there and had a chance at taking the key, she needed numbers, not that they would be much help, but people were pieces to move and use, so why not?