Behind the glass, the television flickered, the excess power from the unleashed energy slowly peeling away the cords as Rupert idly watched the explosions cut off the feed. They coincided with a muted, blunted noise far away. The ground gave the faintest tremor, but what little civilians went about their lives around him stumbled as if the earth shook like a wet hound. He glanced behind him as men and women and children began to murmur with discontent, some cautiously moving toward the direction of the explosions, and others hurriedly walking away to keep to their own business. Rupert was curious, but not enough to attach himself to the migration of people that scuttled like mice to and fro to beg for the news of what had just transpired. 

Under his wide brimmed hat, he gave a feral grin. The life or death of Mateo Cassalaro and his bride-to-be Sophia Tattersol was inconsequential to him, but it made things interest. Big events shook old hinges loose, one that should have fallen long ago. He might have no stake in terrorist attacks, but the inevitable fallout would flush some quarry out of hiding, potentially. It was a scavenger's life, but it was a role he played well. Maybe tonight's unexpected festivities would bring out some game. 

Rupert turned on a dime and stepped into the street, confident there was no chance of a mishap, all of the cars on the road having stopped so the drivers could get out and ask one another redundant questions on what had just happened. South street turned into Wallhaven, with its closed shops and abandoned basketball court. Next was Riverward where the men of stone made their work, and he turned into a small alleyway to find a nice nook to stop and light a cigarette. Maybe it would help him calm his nerves so he could better [i]see[/i]. 

Rupert produced a pewter lighter with bronze filigree, a latin inscription reading "And God Said" on the broadside. A cigarette fell out of his sleeve and into his waiting hand, and the knave thumbed the lighter once, producing a flame to light the stick in his lips. Breathing in deeply, he took a moment to himself. The old man had been quiet of late. He wondered why that was. It was not unwelcome, but it only made him feel trepidation at what he was cooking. His thoughts fled when a cough drew his attention, and he turned indifferently down the alleyway. The light of the moon cut the darkness like a knife, and a figure stumbled towards him, half concealed by the sharp shadow. Briefly, Rupert felt he might need to keep on edge, but lo and behind, his eyes did not deceive him when the bloody Winter Knight almost fell at his feet. 

She staggered into the wall, a gaping wound in her side she was desperately trying to hold with her hands. Her fair face ragged with stress and sweat, she coughed wetly and slid down the wall, her ass hitting the grime-laden pavement. He had seen her a couple of times before, albeit distantly. She was more likeable than her predecessors. Her hair was incredibly thick, blonde with a tinge of forest green that beglamored the senses. Her eyes were molten bronze, and she was a statuesque woman, taller than most men. Her fashionable cargo pants tucked into her black combat boots, she wore a crimson croptop with suspenders. He'd heard a human familiar describe her as 'a fit worth a thousand ships.... a retro style as deadly as her claymore." Rupert was only half confident he knew the terms, but he understood the spirit of it. 

"Not a good night for a walk," He remarked with a menace to his voice. Rupert took a slow drag from his cigarette. "Parties don't seem ideal, either." 

"I didn't do it..." She replied, breathing heavily. It gave a sense of desperation to her.

"I'll pretend like I know what you mean, but what you did or did not do doesn't matter. I haven't done many things. It's never what's at stake. The only thing you need to worry about is people's expectations." Rupert remarked sibilantly.   

To his surprise, the Winter Knight gave a soft chuckle and a devil-may-care grin. "I'll pretend like you don't know what I mean. There was a bombing at the gala. They think I did it. I swear on the Queen that's not true." 

"Then how'd you get the wound? You just stumbled and swooned. Your blood and sweat festooned. Don't lie." Rupert said. 

"I know who you are." She said with an ironic smile of victory on her blood-flecked lips, her eyes drooping. "The man out of time who rhymes. Lucky me, I guess." 

It was the last thing she said before she lost consciousness, sliding onto the floor as the grip on her side loosened. She hit the alley street softly as blood began to bubble on her side, and Rupert was left with a choice. Do something about it, or not. He took another slow drag from his cigarette, before flicking it into a puddle. The knave reached into his pocket and produced a silver rupee, twirling it across his fingers to flick up with his thumb. He caught the rupee mid-air, and checked the results. 

"Interesting..." 

[hider]Rupert finds the Winter Night who professes her innocence.[/hider]