Word Count: 912
Total WC: 912
Mietitrice pulled the car into the driveway and looked about. As far as he could tell they were alone. Still the assassin did not trust what he saw. Currently he saw enemies around every corner and assailants in every shadow. The job had gone well, at least so far. Glancing beside him he watched the heir to the dagger family in the seat next to him. The man would probably be considered attractive, and charismatic if the reports were true. He had red hair, and eyes, and a demeanor about him that probably, on most days, drew in all the ladies. Tonight however, Mietitrice could see a difference, the events of the past hour had certainly taken their toll. The two mages had just taken on, and killed, most of the Black Rose guild. A legal institution and sanctioned guild within Fiore. Many had been left dead, and the two fled the scene just before Rune Knights had appeared.
Currently they were at a rather run down, and quite shitty hotel. The kind you would expect one to find lady favors, drugs, and the like. The hotel was not too far from where the Daggers Family Intel placed Artemis' apartment. Deleronark was to keep an eye on the other man should the events of tonight not go to plan, or should Artemis for any reason not have been at the guild hall. Now, he was to keep an eye on the red head until he left the town, moving out of reach of Black Rose.
Reaching over the assassin grabbed a black cloth from the back and placed it in the other man’s lap. “Place this over your head, you are too easy to recognize with that hair.” He then wasted no time stepping from the car and telling the other mage to follow him.
Calling the hotel room sub par would be generous, there was a single bed in the middle of the room, a broken TV, and in the far end what could pass for a bathroom. Upon the bed lay a bag, a black duffel bag which was currently zipped up. Walking forward the Assassin opened it and pulled out a large paper bag. Within it were clothes. Taking a breath, he tossed it at the red head. It was provided by the mans family and supposed to match his ‘style and size’. It was one of the few requests the assassin made when taking the job.
“Put your clothes in there, get changed.” Mietitrice could tell the other mage was having a rough time. This was, at best, a difficult situation. The assassin knew, if it was not for the fact that this was his job, his living, his livelihood, he would probably have a rough time with it too. In fact, to be fair the only think keeping Mietitrice together was that he had no memories. To be honest, he did not know if what he did was right, or wrong, he was fuzzy at best with laws, and knew only what he had learned over the past three months. That he was good at killing.
Taking a second, the assassin made a decision. The man in front of him needed help, and that was not something a killer could give him. Reaching up the assassin would grab at his mask, Mietitrice suddenly changed entirely as it was pulled from his face. His hair would turn pure white, and his eyes a shade of lavender. Even his very scent and magical aura would change. Taking a breath Deleronark spoke, his voice would be different and hold a lighter air than the gruff tone spoken through the mask.
“Listen, I know you have questions. I will try and answer some. But you will forget everything you saw from the moment after I removed this mask, deal?” Deleronark was not certain if the man would understand, but the assassin had to keep his secrets. Even if that meant killing the person in front of him… after he got paid of course. However, something told him he could trust the man. A feeling in his gut, a belief he held for the first time since walking up at Project Deleronark.
Deleronark would start doing the same, he would remove his clothes and place everything within the plastic bag before getting dressed in the new outfit. Once he was done, and the other man returned he would gather up both bags and place them within a metal bucket. He could tell the other man was having a hard time. Reaching over the grabbed a bottle of whisky from the bag he opened it and poured about three fourths of the content into the bucket and on the soiled clothes. Taking a heavy drink, he passed it to the red-haired man. “You look like you could use a drink.” The alcohol was cheap, and burned far more than it should have, the taste would be bitter, but it would get the job done.
Dropping a match into the bucket, lighting the alcohol within and removing the rest of the evidence from the past hour he spoke again. “Lets go find something better to drink. By the way, call me Deleronark.” Deleronark was unsure why he gave him his 'given' name, it just made sense. Besides, if he kept using fake names he would only risk confusing the man and having one he doesn't want others to hear slip from his lips.
Last edited by Deleronark on 29th December 2018, 8:52 pm; edited 1 time in total