Paternity Issues

[Guest]

Four weeks ago
7:32PM
A particularly dingy London bar

Ah, London. The world's biggest criminal scene, yet at the heart of it all was the King of Creta; the man that all swore allegiance to, despite not knowing of his true intentions and the real politics of their nation. Crossing the Amestris-Creta border was hard enough as is; but if people in these bars heard even the slightest hint of 'foreigner' in your voice, be it Amestrian, Aerugese, Drachman... be prepared for a bar brawl. Sipping on his scotch on the rocks as he stared around the bar, Ayden smiled to himself beneath his long, silvery, silky fringe, and re-iterated the statement in his head. Ah, London...

Thinking in Cretan was now something of a rarity for the assassin. Most people usually thought in their native language; and whilst Ayden had been brought up and spent a good majority of the first eighteen years of his life in the heart of London, his dealings for the past six-to-seven years had been primarily in Amestrian; it was the universal language, due to Amestris being a major monopolic power, and, well... Amestrians always seemed to want someone dead. It was odd. Maybe they were just particularly hateful; maybe it was his half-Amestrian blood that made him the way he was... perfectly intermingled with his Cretan blood so he had that appreciation for fine foods, music, art... hah.

The bar was, for the most part, quiet. A single group of young - though rather burly - college students sat in the corner, bonding and talking over a few empty pint glasses, with grimy coins and crumpled notes sitting between them as they desperately tried to work out the solution to their financial troubles. Besides that, there was the slurring elderly man sitting at the bar, conversing with the stoic-faced moustache-bearing bartender, trying hopelessly to wipe the multiple layers of grime from the bar's surface. Intermittently, a light flickered on and off, hanging precariously from a single wire, swaying gently from side to side as the shabby door creaked open and shut every three seconds or so, the hinges obviously not as solid as they'd used to be.

Ayden smirked. Ah, London... He sipped down the last of his scotch, and quickly looked across to the bartender, the silver-haired mysterious figure clad in black material, cloak, jacket, and vest, before pushing across the empty glass, vacant save for ice and the faint odour of alcohol, moving maybe six inches before it ground to a halt, trembling from the force. Ayden smiled, and tapped twice on the bar with two glove-clad fingers, smirking, pulling up his collar, and brushing back his sleeve to check the watch laid over pale, bare skin.

It was getting well into night. A quick look to the window indicated so; although the dark sky had dawned since the seventeenth hour of the day, this far into the November months; it was closing up to winter, now. Light sprinklings of snow drifted down, some dissipating and melting before they hit the floor, and others settling and staying for a little while longer. It was cold enough outside that one could see their breath upon the air, but not so cold that the snow would settle to make a thick layer of crunchy powder; the thin Cretan frost was absent from the roads, and the stories of truck collisions had not yet hit the radio, although they were bound to in the next few weeks leading up to Christmas.

"Just another scotch, aye, lad?" The heavily accented bartender, plump, tattooed, and hairy, grasped a grimy cloth, and poured out the ice, rubbing the inside vigorously. Ayden grimaced, before looking up to him, smiling 'pleasantly', and nodding slowly. He was doing his best to kill time and avoid conversation, and hopefully alcohol would help ease the process some; the man could handle his measures well. No-one in the bar was interesting or intriguing enough to converse with, and so, for the meantime, a thick blanket of silence kept his mouth locked tight. A magician never reveals his tricks, after all; Ayden's fingers, however, twitched beneath the leather of his gloves, the transmutation circles anxious to get working and charged once more.

Shrugging, the bartender poured a liberal helping of whiskey into the glass, along with three fresh ice-cubes, and Ayden slid a three single-cenz notes across the bar. "Keep the change," He muttered, not wanting further converse between him and the plebian brute of a man. He was waiting... waiting for a meeting, which would commence at nine o' clock sharp. If only someone interesting would walk through that door now, for any number of reasons... Ayden trailed off, rose his eyebrows quickly and sharply, before settling down, drumming his fingers on the bar, and grasping the glass, raising the cool cup to his lips for another quick sip, the whiskey burning its way down his throat, and settling, warm, in his gut, the assassin releasing a small sigh in response.

If only someone interesting would walk through that door...

[Patience Vinrouge]

London. It was almost like home. Philly was a city built on crime of the foul nature. New York City, built on the glossy-crime of day. London was a delicate mix of both. And at this point, it was exactly what she needed. She had left Philly shortly after her completed meeting with Takatori and gone straight to New York City. The Christmas season was coming quickly and she knew she would not be there for the holiday. So the socialite and philanthropist Patience Vinrogue had returned to New York City to grace a few charities with her presence. And then the moment that always made Patience the tiniest bit uneasy; a visit to the asylum outside the city. As Patience wandered the streets of London, she thought back to just a few days ago.

She had held her parents as a nurse had watched on, smiling. The dutiful daughter, checking on her poor parents, their minds still crippled from too many years of drug use. After the nurse left, Patience spoke quietly. All nicieties, of course, in case anyone passed by the small visiting room. Her parents were kept in the best comfort she could afford (which was a lot). Her father looked... well, very much the same. Silver streaked his hair, his face and eyes void of any emotion. He was the silent one most of the time. Her mother also had gray throughout her hair, although she was the more vocal of the two. She never spoke in clear phrases; mostly incessant and incoherent babble. Patience had felt the tiniest pang of remorse as she finally said farewell to her parents. But she left despite that, leaving her parents to the fate she had given to them.

It was that pang of remorse that Patience reflected on as she now walked the streets of London. She wore 2-inch black heels on her feet, nude nylons on her legs. Her black skirt was a-line, reaching to her knees. Underneath the peacoat she wore was a purple button-down shirt and a black vest over it. Her hair was tied loosely at her neck. One of her more simple outfits to be sure. She walked through the chilly streets, recognizing she was in a seedier area of the city. But it didn't matter. She had less chance of running into anyone she knew and at this point, she was alright with that. She noticed a bar coming up and while she doubted they would have any good red wine, it would do. She stepped into the bar, slowly unbuttoning her coat as she did so.

The group of youths looked up at her in interest but she gave them a cool stare until they looked away. An drunk older gentleman continued on his rambles even as the bartender moved to better assist his new customer. The bartender seemed surprise to see a woman dressed so finely inside, but Patience didn't care. She didn't care about much at this moment. A man with long silver hair sat sipping at... scotch, most likely. Something dark rolled off of him in waves, which piqued at Patience's curiosity. But for the time being...

“Red wine, please. Your best.” She left her coat on, reaching into her shoulder bag. Pulling out a small handkerchief, she dusted at a bar-stool before sitting gingerly upon it. She crossed her ankles and slid some coin across the bar as the barkeep returned with her wine. Picking it up she sniffed at it, before letting the tiniest bit roll across her tongue. Not good, but passable.

[Guest]

“Red wine, please. Your best.” The bartender had immediately jumped to her command, apparently no longer intrigued by Ayden. That was good in its own way; he was no longer the centre of attention for anyone, though he had noticed the oddest of stares coming from the woman in the black skirt. She was most obviously a woman of taste, which the silver-haired assassin could tell very simply from a number of things; demeanour was key, but her choosing red wine over beer, cider, or any other number of less-effective, and usually cheaper drinks was probably the factor which pushed it over the edge.

Attraction. If you couldn't keep your body's reflexes and responses under control, rein them in when the time was right, then you didn't have self-control. You weren't controlling anything. Your body was controlling you. And the sad truth is that most members of the male species fell under this description; sadly, most of the people he'd met during his tenures in Amestris seemed to fall under this. Namely, one Spade Aeries, who was seemingly too busy indulging himself in life's 'luxuries' and what were really addictions to actually bother leading. But, the man was enjoyable, at least.

But what of this woman? She dusted at the barstool and sat down. Her voice showed a modicum of intelligence, of class. But beyond that, she was still shrouded in mystery. Analysis only showed so much without further prompting or observation. Ayden stared down at the dark brown scotch in his glass, tipping it back and letting it warm his throat, and, subsequently, stomach, before pushing the glass aside and shooting a stare towards the woman.

"Red wine, hm?" He smirked, looking back down at the ice, frozen in place inside his measure glass. "A woman of taste, perhaps?" He mused, half-asking a question.

[Patience Vinrouge]

“Red wine, hm? A woman of taste, perhaps?”

She had just taken a full of slip of the passable Merlot when the silver-haired man's voice reached her ears. She set the glass back onto the bar, her fingers gently holding onto the stem. He was... yes. There was definitely a vibe off of him. It was almost like he didn't really belong here either. Someone who walked the line between darkness and light. Yet, she wouldn't be surprised if he dabbled more in the wild side of dark. Nevertheless, he was the most interesting person in the bar, besides herself. She wasn't entirely in the mood to talk to anyone right now. A glass of wine and she was going to be ready to be on her way again. For the time being, however, perhaps he would offer some form of amusement.

She turned her body in his direction, taking another sip of her wine. “Perhaps. And you...” She gestured down to his glass, sitting near him. “Scotch. A good year? Or just average, like this establishment.” She saw the bartender shrug his shoulders, as if agreeing that he knew.

[Guest]

“Scotch. A good year? Or just average, like this establishment.” Ah, the word and mind games. Twisting, slithering, like a snake, manipulation and flirtation overlaying every syllable, every word, every intermittent breath... she was a woman of taste indeed... but for now, they were playing. Brushing, gently; enjoying each other's company in the idle environment of the bar. They had met but in passing, and Ayden presumed that this bond, this relationship... it would go no further. He knew this upon instigating conversation... but... she was... interesting.

And despite the brief amount of time he would have to play, to toy with her, to see whose manipulation of the Cretan language was superior, and to see who would succeed and who would surrender... the silver-haired assassin knew when a game was on. Licking his lips in under the discretion of a patch of shade and offering up an eerie grin in the finely-dressed woman's direction, Ayden shuffled up onto the next bar stool, leaving but one seat between the pair. "Why, a year is always good, and a year is always bad. It's all a matter of perspective; whether it's a year, a day, an hour..." He trailed off, pushing himself from the seat and hanging his coat on the back in a single, fluid movement, before pulling his athletic, gymnastic frame back onto the wooden platform with ease, and replying, flashing her a grin and a challenging tease of a look: "Or, perhaps even just a moment, fleeting as it may be..." The man trailed off, and pulled his glass along to the section of the bar in a single hook-like movement.

His hand fastened around the frosted, cool, icy curvature of the glass, fingers gripping it as a hawk would the skull of its prey, before wrapping, coiling the rest of his fingers around it, and tipping it back gently, placing the bottom edge to his lip, and letting the cheap scotch trickle into his mouth, barely a shot; and in an instant, the glass was on the table once more. He swirled the liquid, fiery and strong, around his mouth, his cheeks, his tongue... before knocking his head back and swallowing it, letting a small sigh escape as his eyes fastened on the woman of good taste once more.

"Let's do away with the formalities, then," Ayden smirked, placing one hand atop the back of his chair, and thrusting the second forwards in her direction, both leather-clad; his jacket hung open, and the bartender arched an eyebrow at his arsenal sitting perfectly visible within, taking a quick glance to Patience then shifting away. He held his hand there, in mid-air, suspending it and waiting for a response. "Ayden Derocha. Charmed."

[Patience Vinrouge]

“Why, a year is always good, and a year is always bad. It's all a matter of perspective; whether it's a year, a day, an hour... Or perhaps, even just a moment, fleeting as it may be...”

Patience had to deeply resist the urge to roll her eyes. His belief in his charm was so... pleasant. Pleasant and... disturbing. Clearly on less perceptive women, he would easily make them swoon. But Patience was no ordinary woman. She knew the charm hid something that was not-so-charming. In any other circumstances she would've played the silly girl to eventually have a good screw in the back alley. But tonight... tonight she did not feel the mood striking her. Of course, she still enjoyed the sex, but she couldn't bring herself to play the part. Which was just one more reason she was confused and annoyed with herself. She was half-tempted to finish her drink and leave the bar without another word to the silver-haired man. But she knew that he could offer her some entertainment for a short time and maybe even some information. She would have to draw up some of her iron-clad resolve and just stomach whatever charms he dished out.

She sipped at her wine, letting the red liquid roll over her tongue and down her throat. She watched him take off his jacket, watched him almost openly display the weaponry hid against his form. Ah. There was the proof of that dark side. Patience did not seem the least bit disturbed by it though; Takatori had worse. And besides, she had her own personal arsenal in her purse. She allowed a smile to flit across her lips as she extended her right hand, coolly placing her hand in his. She shook it delicately, as any lady of society would. “You may call me Miss Vinrogue. What reason brings you to this place, Mr. Derocha?”

[Guest]

“You may call me Miss Vinrouge. What reason brings you to this place, Mr. Derocha?” Ayden smirked, swirling the last of the dark, brown liquid about the ice, letting the frosty taste and natural cold intermingle with the liquid at every possible point, every single juncture of the liquid; he enjoyed a balance, a perfect see-sawing of temperature. If he drank it, and the end was warmer than the beginning, it stung too much, the heat did nothing to soothe his throat; if he drank it, and the beginning was warmer than the end, then... well... he just didn't like irregularities, put it that way.

Her resistances to his charm had not gone unnoticed; she was a woman who wouldn't stand for much more bullshit, he could tell. It had no seeming effect, and wasn't evoking any real response from her; her questioning was plain, simple, less-than-flirtatious. Maybe he'd give the jig up, or maybe he'd... maybe he'd just raise the stakes. Make himself a little more irresistible, switch off the clichés and spiels, and whatnot.

Tipping back the last of the scotch in an instant, the silver-haired, cerulean-eyed man pinned a fresh, crisp note from his pocket, the same with which he'd paid for all his drinks with the ornate glass, sliding it back across the bar, before flicking the edge of the container with the end of his gloved finger twice, letting the clear humming sound resonate - unusually loudly - throughout the bar, as he dwelled on his question, the last of the strong, woody taste fading from his mouth.

Images. Memories. A filing cabinet of them, and then some. His father, school, early contract... Heart. Of all the years he'd spent in Creta, of all the memories he'd gained from such precious yet horrific time, one strand, one group stood out, above all else. A man, kindly in expression, yet clutching a dagger behind his back, as Ayden had come to know him. Perhaps his one comrade in the whole of the world, a man he knew as a father, compared to that scumbag who was responsible for his birth. Fatherhood wasn't something that was given as a birthright by blood; it was naturally forged because of a societal typicality that supposedly stated that the biological parents were meant to stay with a child from birth, but there have, from the dawn of time, been many cases - children abused, neglected, abandoned - where this has not been the case. The silver-haired man was one of them.

His father figure, his parent-son bond, the sole one he had ever possessed, had been forged not in the blood that ran through his veins, but really, the blood that had an through others'; Ayden's 'father' was also his mentor, a man he grew up spending a good majority of his time with. An intellectual, a warrior, a strategist, and now an elderly man... but above all else, the most dangerously charismatic individual he'd ever come to know. Geoffrey Heart, or, as he insisted upon taking a less informational and suspicious moniker, for safety, these days, Mr. G.

So, his answer? Deciding instead to mirror her plain simplicity, he spoke in no riddles this time. "Nostalgia, amongst other things," He answered staring off into a glint in the window, the moon shimmering past a veil of clouds and thin, freshly forming hail; his eyes concentrated on the sole light source save from the orange glow of candles lit and old, musty light-bulbs hanging from the ceiling... "Visiting old friends."

The sound of liquid pouring snapped him back from his trance-like state into 'reality', and he stared at the gently-rising level of scotch in the glass once more, smiling silently at the barkeeper as he took the note, nodded, and walked away to converse with the older man, getting ever more drunk, it would appear. Really, was anything real? Was there a true, defined reality? Or was reality just defying yourself of a current situation, total ignorance?

Perhaps reality could never be achieved by most. Every man - and every woman - hides a lie within them, forged, hidden at the deepest level. Ayden sipped his scotch, and turned back to Patience. "What about you?" She was passing... Ayden could tell. She'd left her coat on. Just the one or two glasses of red wine, waiting for something, before she left for... an appointment? A meeting? Business? She looked like she could be a women oriented for any of the three... mysterious... yes. She was waiting for something, passing the time, as he was, too.

Ayden's azure eyes flicked back to his watch as he swiftly rolled the sleeve of his jacket back, revealing pale skin, registering the time, and tugging it into place once more, all in a single, fluid motion. It was getting close to that time... around 7:50. He had an appointment. Perhaps, if he was wrong... Ms. Vinrouge would accompany him? The silver-haired man's gaze was hidden by his thin, long, glistening silver fringe; he sipped from the glass once more, the alcohol giving him a fresh buzz, but nothing he couldn't handle; a wake-up call, reason for relaxation. He inclined his head ever-so-gently, and locked eyes with her, his gaze unwavering, never faltering, as he waited intently for an answer. His concentration had been dulled; if she was still listening, maybe she'd be able to tell. Maybe she'd like that she could play these little power games with him. The assassin smirked. Only time would tell, it seemed.

[Patience Vinrouge]

“Looking for something.” She shifted slightly on her bar stool, rolling her ankle absentmindedly. Well, not so absentmindedly. Patience rarely did anything without meaning to. And right now, she was meaning to look bored. But... she also was. Whatever excitement her mind was searching to find wasn't going to be here. Whatever her body wanted was definitely found in here. The college guys were easy enough to tumble with in the back alley and she suspected if she responded to Ayden's advances, they could have an equally good tumble... perhaps even better. The mind wanted greater stimulation right now, however. And the flirtations of Ayden just were not mentally satisfying. With a small sigh, Patience finished off the last of her wine. She stood, buttoning her coat and making sure her purse was still securely on her shoulder. “But it seems I will not find it in here. Until we meet again, Mr. Derocha.” She smiled at him faintly before exiting the bar.

Ah... there it was again. The smell of nighttime in London. Not exactly the most wonderful scent, but a refreshing one. Patience began to walk away from the bar, back towards the brighter lights of downtown London. Perhaps she needed to move... maybe that was what had her in a funk. A new town, new power to take. That was a nic-... Patience was snapped from her idle reverie by someone grabbing at her purse. Her ironclad grip remained on the purse as she and it were tugged close to some burly man who smelled quite disgusting. He growled out something in... it sounded like a strange mix of Drachman or Cretan. Nevertheless he was demanding the contents of her purse and maybe something else that made her openly cringe. She loved sex but definitely not with THIS one. Especially after he was touching her purse. No one ever touched her purse. She could hear the door an establishment open as she moved the tiniest bit closer to the man as he continued to grab at her purse. She wasn't sure who was stepping out, but couldn't risk that they would help her. Not that she needed much help. Quickly she reached up, grabbing onto the man's hair. As she pulled roughly at his hair, she brought her knee up sharply into his groin.

She heard the delightful tear of skin from his head and found she had a few strands of his hair in her hand. She then twisted her leg up slightly in order to kick him in the chest, watching him tumble to the ground in pain. He wasn't incapacitated by any means, but she had enough of a window. She could make the man hurt. She waited however, backing away from the man as she heard footsteps coming in their direction. The man would pay, but she wouldn't reveal her tricks.

[Guest]

"Looking for something. But it seems I will not find it in here. Until we meet again, Mr. Derocha.” Oh? Ayden arched an eyebrow. In an instant, waiting for no response or answer, apparently bored by him, the beautiful Miss Vinrouge rose to her feet and quickly exited the bar, slipping out of the door; and all-too-quickly, she was gone. The atmosphere returned; the stale taste of dust in the air, moonlight barely illuminating the room, the idle conversation between the bartender and patron, who getting increasingly more drunk, it seemed, with every moment, doing very little to stimulate him. The environment perhaps wasn't the best to allow the mind to incubate and excite itself within; it was a rest stop, a service, a utility. A public restroom - it certainly smelt like it.

Downing the last of his drink, the assassin grumbled to himself. Did he seem far more interested than he should've done? Did he turn tail and run after her? Did he pursue her silently into the night, until he saw fit to make himself known, and wait for her response and advances? A giggle of giddy glee slipped into the air, quiet and somewhat stifled; the man could perhaps make her a plaything once for. He could sense the promiscuity... she was most definitely looking for something, it seemed... oho...

Failure wasn't outright and definitive. It simply opened up new paths for success.

He'd hit a dead end in his initial toying and charismatic facade; now to access, appeal to the darker side of his personality. Give her something to respect, something to understand and relate with. Power, perhaps? Fine liquor hadn't exactly been the best of bonding points for them, it seemed.

Sighing, the silver-haired man slid the glass back over the counter, and flashed the bartender a frank smile in response, before turning away, shaking his head ever-so-lightly in response due to the sheer idiocy of the man. He received a sharp, perplexed glance drilling into the back of his silver-hair-clad skull, before he pressed his hands against the door to exit, and pushed it open; the frame triggered the bell, making a weak ding, as Ayden stepped out into the cold, crisp, night air. It was getting close to that time... he knew that he'd best get goi-

A groan. The distinctive, familiar click-clack of high heels he recognised; still in his mind fresh from not moments ago. The woman... she had been... assaulted? A man lay on the floor, clutching his gut in a near-foetal position, as two further thugs, garbed in tatty, raggedy clothes emerged from the mouth of an alleyway and began to converge on his position; she was still either running away or far enough away to be of no concern. She'd left him looking as if he was responsible... these men were likely neither intelligent nor analytical enough to realise that a WOMAN had done this out of self-defense and pure spite. Ah, well. C'est la vie. They'd die, either way.

He heard the one in the right, a man with a darker complexion in a beanie, draw a small black utensil, snapping a button and causing a blade to extend with a flick - a simple switchblade or butterfly knife. Nothing he couldn't handle with his bare hands. The other simply raised grimy fists; a sick grin set contorting his face, as per usual, the man too raised his own palms, however, flat and outstretched, fingers clamped together in a regimental line. A grin, and an insult, to start it off, before, mockingly, he further pushed his fingers forwards and beckoned the thuggish pair. "You know, I really don't like misogynists..."

The bulkier of the two, a taller man - the unarmed one - struck first. His fist lurched forwards with his body, movements sluggy and the smell of cheap beer upon exhaled breaths; he was old, fat. Tufts of greying hair sat beneath his lip... perhaps he had been a fighter in his hayday, but he was naught but a cripple and a relic now. Stepping to the side as if it were the most elementary and simple of moves, he rolled about the punch, grasped the outstretched wrist with two hands mid-swing, and, flicking his own, very simply snapped it; a yowl of pain, and the now-malformed, broken hand hung limp from a cleanly snapped wrist, the man struggling desperately to break himself from Ayden's grasp. He turned on his heel and began to stumble away. The growl turned quickly to a shout, maniacal in the most minor of relative triumphs. "...or rapists..."

Outraged yet still convinced he had the slightest chance of success, the knife-wielder, similarly intoxicated, lunged forwards at him with a series of slightly more accurate and precise stabs. Experienced, although not particularly far; vigour and adrenaline surging through his veins, Ayden brought the solid edge of a flat palm down on his collarbone, on the right side - the side which controlled the arm gripping the blade. Simple; the shock and pain caused the man to yelp, flowing through his arm, and causing it to go rigid from the uncontrollable reflex arc. The forearm was totally jarred in a single moment, wrist, hand, and all; the palm outstretched, fingers twitching, and the blade clattered to the ground.

Wasting no more time, the assassin darted forwards, once more snarling as he did so, a bestial yet lustful emotion on his face; he wanted nothing more than to maim, wound, agonise, pain, kill... "...AND PETTY THIEVES, TOO!" Fighting oh-so-hard to restrain the most base of primal impulses, the man snapped forwards, desperately shaking and taunting the beast within a rusting, faulty cage... his ring and little fingers curled back into his hand, along with his thumb, leaving only the index and middle on his right hand outstretched, as he lunged in turn.

"Gyahah!" A short burst of laughter; the fingers had only to press against the man's bare, dark neck, before that bright blue alchemical crackling discharged itself upon the air. This was his Respiratory Alchemy moving swiftly and coming full-circle far quicker than he'd ever intended it to. The process had been vastly catalysed and accelerated, due to the synthesising of carbon actually heating up the body, and allowing reactions to take place far faster. Simple yet vicious; a self-perpetuating cycle of destruction.

Carbon molecules began to fasten themselves to haemoglobin, something controlled and initiated on the most simple of atomic levels beneath the man's skin. His veins bulged red; his cheeks began to brighten. His eyes popped forwards, almost out of their sockets, in a comical fashion; simple breathing turned quickly to spluttering, and in an instant, teammate and gang-rape companion watching in horror, he clutched as his throat desperately, and cocked his head back to scream his last, but no noise came out. The man dropped to his knees, and collapsed, desperately sputtering for what little breath he could muster as his own body choked itself to death. Such a wondrous array of amalgamated chemical and biological properties, coming together from the simplest of triggers - a message which instructed the artificial creation and bonding of carbon from a totally base level. One spread to two, two to four, four to eight, eight to sixteen... and in instants, the entire body was enthralled in a fit of shock, body temperature raising to almost feverish highs, but that didn't matter - the man's air was all-too-quickly running out.

Body already sprawled on the pavement, further grime and silt collecting on the rag he wore over his torso and branded a shirt, the man collapsed, spiralling into unconsciousness after seconds. Frozen in place by the sheer shock of what had happened to his friend, and continued to happen, despite his fainting - the process would complete in a matter of moments, and Death would come, fleeting, welcoming the moron into his cold embrace, before passing him on to Charon and ferrying him off to the city of Dis. For this was truly where this lowlife piece of pond scum belonged, aye?

Elitist as he was, Ayden stepped forth, giggling maniacally and concentrating now on the man clutching a limp arm, bruises already forming; the one remaining of the three yet unaffected by either Patience or the azure-eyed assassin. He almost felt bad for not offering the woman a chance to pitch in with this, but her reaction was most likely a reflex and defense mechanism. Whichever, whatever.

The man, however, wasted little time. His alchemy had already come full circle once, and, removing his gloves from his pockets, and pulling them back on, he watched as, finally, the man uprooted himself from his own fear, and began to sprint, lumbering form stumbling and staggering in the other direction, drunk and in total disbelief, asking himself questions about science, possibilities, the futility of life, and, above all else, his fate.

A single, fluid motion. The sound of metal drawn against leather; a pistol raised to eye height. Hammer cocked. Aim not even centred for a split-second before a strong, sharp, loud crack resonated; a smoking barrel and cordite hanging upon the air. The plump, middle-aged man collapsed to the floor, desperately clutching a newly-formed hole in his gut as blood seemed to spill out regardless of the fleshy, sausage-like blockades his hairy fingers and palms created. Yelps and animalistic, gorilla-like cries.

Ayden could have shot out his legs if he'd wanted to, but this was painful and quick. Provided he'd been on target - which, at this range, barely twenty metres away, he usually was - the nine-millimetre round would've pierced either his large intestine, liver, or gut. Either way, the wound was fatal, ninety-nine times out of one hundred - there was no way this guy would survive blood loss, pain, and shock, unless someone in the bar called an ambulance.

His vision turned back towards the windows; he stared through the glass and watched a frantic scene unfolding within, as a wary, red-faced, sweaty bartender grasped an old-style black telephone and began to tap in numbers on the central hub. Ayden rolled his eyes, and shook his head needlessly from side to side, before squeezing the trigger another two times; a fallen, static target was much easier to hit. One round blew out his left shin, the other most probably striking him in the collar or back. Painful, either way. Shock and cumulative pain from three different impact wounds would be something only the hardiest would survive... and even then, this guy would have some serious battle scars. He holstered Astaroth, tear inlay glinting in the starlight, crouching down to adjust his trouser leg, before turning to check if Patience was still there.

Acting as if nothing had happened, a warm smile on his face, he began to approach her once more - tactically stepping over the piles of white vomit the man with, most likely, some form of horrible testicular injury had created - he let his cerulean eyes lock with hers as he homed in on her, closing up the distance in an instant, trying to set the pace and begin walking once more. "Apologise for the mess. Containment of it isn't my specialty," He shrugged needlessly, as if to say 'oh, well, what can I do?'. It was a triviality to him; spilt blood and agonising pain was simply something he controlled, other than nature or fate. He was Death's scythe. No-one and nothing else. "Perhaps I should re-introduce myself. The Blackskull Alchemist, and, well, Alkahestrist. I dabble in both. Ayden Derocha." He really had to resist the urge to tack 'assassin extraordinaire' onto the end, but realised he'd doled out enough pain for the night so far.

Seemingly apathetic about the wailing sirens in the distance - he'd be gone long before paramedics or police would arrive, and, hopefully, so would Miss Vinrouge - he doubled back and whistled at his handiwork, as well as Patience's. "I do have to commend you on one aspect, however. Side-thrust kick to the testicles is most likely going to inhibit that disgusting lowlife from contributing to the gene pool in the near future," Ayden nodded, before muttering an addendum. "Thankfully."

[Patience Vinrouge]

It seemed she wouldn't need her little big of tricks after all. The silver-haired man from the bar had come outside as two more thugs had emerged from the shadows. And the way he dealt with them was most... well, intriguing. The hand-to-hand combat was tastefully done, but it was what he had done to the other man that was causing a shiver to run down her spine. What an exquisite brand of torture it appeared to be, and more alkahestry than alchemy. Which would fit very well into her little dolls. She curled her lip slightly at the mess Ayden had created, clicking her tongue at him as he apologized. Her ears recognized the words “Blackskull Alchemist” and they were pleased. In the underworld, one did hear certain things. And what she had heard about Mr. Derocha was nothing if not interesting. Perhaps she had found something to capture her interest in London after all. Ayden had resumed walking and Patience easily fell into step beside him. She smiled smoothly, waving her hand nonchanlantly as he remarked on her choice of technique. “A means to an end, merely.”

She heard the sirens wailing closer and sighed. Shooting a man really did bring out the police. But it was not a place the young socialite could be seen. And walking only moved them so fast. “Now then, Mr. Derocha. Might I suggest we adjourn to another location? The likes of moi are not meant to be seen in such a distasteful area.” As they walked, she slowly extended her hand to delicately take his in a greeting handshake once more. “You will have to tell me more about your delicious alkahestry, Mr. Derocha. Allow me to reintroduce myself. Patience Vinrogue. They call me the Black Magic Woman.” A dark chuckle escaped her lips as she let her hand fall back to her side, her eyes glittering with the prospect of new knowledge and if nothing else, an adventure.

[Guest]

“A means to an end, merely.” Ayden smirked. A woman who meant what she said; what with all his dabblings with Generals Brighton and Stuka, metaphors and hidden meanings laid on thick amidst everything else... well, it could be said that this was a welcome change, in all honesty. Either way, the man quickly responded.

"You don't know just how well I can sympathise with that comment," Ayden muttered, raising a leather-clad hand, two fingers outstretched, to gently massage his temple - a vein had began to bulge beneath it all. Giddy, a dry chuckle escaped the boundaries of the man's lips, tickling across, as he felt the warm blood pulsing, thrumming, throbbing, just millimetres beneath that raised flesh... oh, how he loved to kill... murder was his art... his art...

Ayden's ears pricked as the sirens came into earshot; thankfully, the pair's pace quickly became brisk yet nonchalant, and, innocently - appearing to be only a somewhat unusual couple out for a night stroll - the pair turned yet another corner; the siren ground to an abrupt halt along with the police car, tyres squealing, too. There was a little hustle and some indistinct chatter about the three bodies Ayden had left in his wake; but the pair were well out of radius already, and at absolute worst they could be brought in for questioning.

However, it seemed that Patience's next suggestion was a good next move, posed in question form. “Now then, Mr. Derocha. Might I suggest we adjourn to another location? The likes of moi are not meant to be seen in such a distasteful area.” Ayden arched yet another eyebrow; how high-class of her. She seemed like the sort of woman who appreciated fine wines and quiet, classy environments; and yet at the end of the day, she had retreated to that dingy shithole? Although... everyone there had been there for a reason; he was no less appreciative of fine arts, cuisine, and alcohol than her... just... he needed an escape from it all. Rolling back his sleeve before answering, he checked the time once more; 7:53. Good. They were making good time; he aligned spatial awareness with his memories of the labyrinthine London streets - right, only a few minutes' walk left. They were good for time.

"Please, call me Ayden..." Alleviate any fears she might have; make the relationship that little bit more personal. Simplest tricks of the silver-tongue; although this Miss Vinrouge had dodged his attempts so far - what was she attracted to? Power? Gore? Violence? He could provide all those things in a steady flow; he was only as powerful as his business was, after all. "And that sounds... like a good idea. If you'd like, you could follow me to my... destination. I have someone I need to meet with," He explained no further; as assertive and highly arousing as she looked, alongside the facade of innocence with the scene back outside the bar - Ayden's reaction included, being the rather-twisted 'knight in shining armour' - she still had an odd aura to her. That intrigue wasn't natural. She saw something in him; some power... maybe some significance as a target; perhaps she was a rival. He didn't yet know; they were still playing speech games, beating around the bush, slaloming around points of interest... it was dull yet necessary. The same process he went through dozens of times a day; manipulation was an addiction.

However, as he'd said before - failure simply opened up the way for success. She saw something in him now after his little display... but he needed to be careful. She had the hungry look in her eye; hidden well but not completely. Composed... yet that aura of promiscuity, of deadliness... was all he needed to know. She appreciated power; success. He let her continue speaking.

“You will have to tell me more about your delicious alkahestry, Mr. Derocha. Allow me to reintroduce myself. Patience Vinrogue. They call me the Black Magic Woman.” A smirk; finally, he'd get to talk of his alchemy. Oh, how he loved it - and its use, practical or theoretical! So deadly, so powerful, so... devastating. He knew the textbook definition - chemical and simple variants both - off by heart. Now it was just a matter of recital.

"Alchemy, Miss Vinrouge. Alchemy; my dabblings in alkahestry is a different kettle of fish altogether..." A smirk and his opening to the retort was done; now would come the explanation. "This particular branch is biochemical. It maintains a contact link to the... victim..." How he loved that term. Suggested domination, power... "And attaches dummy carbon molecules, synthesised from proteins already present in the bloodstream, to blood cells themselves, mostly those intended for oxygenation." He knew this would most likely fly straight past Patience... which was why he had the alternative - the functions - prepared.

"Very simply, this causes dizziness and disorientation, initially, in living organisms. Shortness of breath; then muscular weakness and the feeling of atrophy. All-too-quickly, it takes hold; lethargy becomes lethal and the target lapses into unconsciousness, dying moments later..." He trailed off, eyes locked, fixated onto a mark in the distance; the moon, encapsulated upon a blackened shroud, surrounded by twinkling, radiating, pulsating stars, dead in the sky by the time he looked upon them. Diamonds dotted across a black dome of lace and cloth.

They turned the corner onto a pavement untarnished and not marred by splotches of chewing gum and black tyre marks resultant of a 'bad night out'; a better part of the city, undoubtedly. The moon illuminated the street, seemingly endless with the murky depths beyond them obscuring their path save for a few dozen metres ahead. Ayden knew this street; the book shop was near. Their destination. Stiletto heels and soles of two boots slammed against the sidewalk in near-symphonic synchronisation; the silver-haired, pale-faced assassin questioned his latest quarry. "So... Miss Vinrouge... what of you? Do you work with alkahestry or alchemy?" He already knew the answer; she had the telltale signs, inquiring into his 'alkahestry' - that also showed just how much she wanted to see and comprehend this power fully. She was an odd one, and one he'd have to most likely pretend to ditch the facades with, manage to double around her, or just play it straight - really, it didn't look like she'd take him to the police - but that was a dangerous game he almost attempted. Ayden was a man of many masks.

He turned on his heel, one-eighty degrees, as they drew closer to the bookshop; he checked his watch - 7:56 - once more as the moonlight danced across the old engravings, the painted sign atop a burgundy plaque: 'Heart's Books, EST 1873'. All-too-quickly, Ayden ground to a halt in front of it, and waited patiently for Miss Vinrouge to catch up, still firing another question at her. "And, going back to what you spoke of in the bar, if you'll excuse my nosiness and allow me to inquire further..."

Silence. Not even crickets chirping; muffled footsteps in the background. It wasn't even that late out; although the fact that it was a Wednesday night probably contributed a little more to that, plus the consideration that this street, sprawling and rather long, wasn't a real party destination.

"Just what are you looking for, Miss Vinrouge?"

[Patience Vinrouge]

Patience nodded in agreement, willing enough for the time being to join Ayden on his meeting. Considering his most recent display, she could only imagine what other secrets he was hiding in the long coat. And this “someone” he had to meet might have their own share of secrets. She also listened with fascinating interest into his alchemy. She was disappointed that it was alchemy but she guessed with some manipulation, it could be incorporated into the dragon's pulse. It would require a fair amount of research on her part, but for the fantastic trick it did... it would be worth the digging. Especially, if done well, it would look like a relatively natural death. And that was something Patience enjoyed immensely.

"So... Miss Vinrouge... what of you? Do you work with alkahestry or alchemy?"

“Alkahestry, although I feel you've figured that out already.” She smiled faintly. “I enjoy a little bit of voodoo.” She kept her explanation at that, not wishing to delve into her own secrets. She had worked too long to make it right and while she doubted Ayden would steal her concept, she had worked too hard and too long to give away the details so easily. She noticed that Ayden had stopped in front of a building. She looked at it, amused by the look of the antique bookshop. She frowned for a moment, thinking back to the last time she had been in a bookshop; only too recently. A front for a prostitution ring. It had disgusted her. She highly doubted Ayden would bring her to somewhere like that. He couldn't be that daft.

“Just what are you looking for, Miss Vinrouge?”

She stood beside him outside the front door of the darkened bookshop, looking into its depths for a moment, face neutral. What WAS she looking for? She had her penthouse. She had her money. She had power... but not nearly enough to satisfy her. And yet there was something else. Something that clawed her very being, asking for more. But Ayden did not need to know this conflict within her. So she allowed a coy smile to come across her lips, glancing up at Ayden. “I am looking for power, Ayden. Power.”

[Guest]

“Alkahestry, although I feel you've figured that out already.” Ayden chuckled dryly, shooting back a rapid retort. He'd figured, by now, that with Patience he had to keep his eye on the ball the entire time; if he let the game get out of his sight or grasp, it would quickly become game over. And Ayden despised failure at manipulation. Just motivated him more - a good challenge. He'd not yet found anyone totally immune to his control - that he'd decided to manipulate or go into this sort of depth with. Most of those he presumed to be too strategic and tactical to really control, he simply stepped aside for, and worked with their usually-stalwart personalities, trying to stay optimistic; most of the time, at least. It wasn't always, but, every now and then, he enjoyed constructing extravagant and multi-layered gambits, grandiose in every manner of speaking, simply for the thrill of the ride and the feeling of success when that final blow to the subject's ego and mind was dealt.

"You pay my deductive powers far too much credit, Miss Vinrouge," His cerulean eyes finally fell on the door; its bronzed, faded handle, sheen now all but vanished. It was dilapidated; well, still... tolerable. The front had been in a far better condition for the majority of the boy's childhood. Time had simply taken its toll - moreso in his absence than usual, it seemed. Many a summer had he repainted the burgundy coats of the humble bookstore's fronting.

“I enjoy a little bit of voodoo.” Ayden arched an eyebrow, but remained silent. Her ambiguity, however, wasn't what had piqued his curiosity. Voodoo? It sounded... interesting. Although, considering the assassin's nature as a hedonist when it came to science, his greed measuring far higher than any other of the cardinal sins, he would naturally be intrigued.

He desperately wanted to know more; but didn't let this on, even in the slightest. He kept his face pale and stoic, nodding as she continued in response to questions past. In a way, he could almost sympathise with her ambiguity on the subject of her calling card in the world of alkahestry; an artist's technique was often sought-after by fans and other competitors. The secrecy was always part of the allure, the draw to it all. And the fact that voodoo as a practice was entwined with negative magical energies - supposedly - juxtaposed alkahestry, strictly scientific and medicinal... oh, it just made him desire for the knowledge, lust after it, that tiny bit more. It was almost unbearable... but he couldn't show his insatiable hunger; freely, at least. If he was going to have to work to feed his ravenous curiosity, she was going to have to work to see his flaws and cracks.

“I am looking for power, Ayden. Power.” Ayden smirked. Ah, the allegory so true for many of the supposedly 'corrupt' and 'evil' individuals in common society today, mainly rejected by them. But yet, was being so power-hungry and dependent on it such a bad thing? Power came in many a variety... and Ayden thought the stigma of wishing for more of it to be stupid above all else. He had power. True, individualised power. He was independent and yet held dominance and dominion over anyone he chose to; this was a more primal, savage form of power, but he held his control in his own charisma, also. It was... odd. Too far and too broad a subject spanning too many bases to get into a full, fleshed-out conversation on; yet. The debate would last them hours.

The cocky smirk simmered down into a simple smile. "Power I cannot promise you," He began. "But the man we meet here today knows of it beyond measure. An alchemist and alkahestrist more learned and knowledgeable than even myself, my mentor, and, in many ways, my predecessor and forefather," For the depraved egomaniac to even ADMIT that the man within trumped his alchemical ability was beyond odd. Strange; and not in the 'eccentric' or 'insane' variety. Just plain, outright unheard of. If anything, Ayden was selfish and egotistical to a T; and here he was, accepting that the man behind those single-glazed glass windows was far more skilled than he.

With that, however, he flicked a simple hand towards the door, gesturing for her to follow. No speech; it wasn't narrated at all. Ayden wasn't visibly uncomfortable; calm as calm could be... and yet, beneath the surface, his stomach churned like a hellfire filled with fluttering undead butterflies. A pit filled with raging, hungry wolves, twisting and turning through rock crevices and tunnels as they hunted each other in a cannibalistic, dog-eat-dog society. Oh, the similarities to a world he knew so well and yet hardly at all...

The signature jingle of the welcome bell as he pushed open the door was followed by a sustained, increasingly dynamic creaking as he forced the door totally ajar for Patience's entrance. Cold winter winds, compared to the stillness of the bookshop's interior, momentarily seemed like harsh gale-force hurricanes taking a visiting stint from Drachma.

A fire crackled in the background. A rocking chair croaked; the musty smell of old paper, parchment, and papyrus hung heavy in the air. A library of knowledge; the oddest collection of books, shelved within the shop's humble showroom. A door at the very back, polished and of brown mahogany, was half-ajar. From it, light leaked, flooding into the front room proper. Before the pair had entered hurriedly to seek solace from the January colds, the voice inside had been humming a simple sixties jazz tune. Now, it simply made a single, alerted, croaking noise, leaning forward, evident from the weighted creakings of the chair itself. "...hnn?"

"Heart?" Ayden spoke. One word; barely more than a whisper. He kicked himself mentally almost immediately; he had sounded boyish, nervous, inquisitive, and far too curious. He was eleven years old again. He shot a quick look towards Patience, hoping she'd not interpreted it properly; he could still salvage this, if for his mistakes. He flashed a quick, charismatic - almost seductive - smile at her, before turning back and looking to the doorway as its quarry slowly creaked open...

In an instant, as the door shut behind them, resealing the calm warmth of the store's interior, a man was before them. White-haired, bearing a simple black buttoned shirt - sleeves rolled up - along with lightly tanned skin and black trousers, he was obviously a man well past the prime of his life. His tone, presence and dress sense created an aura of mystery that seemed unfitting for a man of his age. He seemed knowledgeable, exotic, and experienced, all at the same time. His complexion spoke worlds of him, and yet nothing of all; he was deceptively hard to figure out.

His grumbling, almost-growling, hoarse, aged voice, however, gave the situation a slightly different feel to it. "Ayden," He sounded... tired. His voice was gravelly. Something to it felt as if he was almost regretful to see the man; and yet happy, beneath it all. Ayden knew the bond between them was that of a father and a son. The pair were both as accepting of it as they'd ever be.

Heart turned to Patience. "I apologise, Miss." He shot daggers towards the assassin. "Ayden here hasn't always been the most courteous of people," Scolding him... a slap on the wrist... and, lo and behold, Ayden almost hung his head in shame. What was this? Ayden didn't feel shame for murder, massacres, genocidal activities... and now, a vicious telling-off from his almost-adoptive father... and he had a face rather like a smacked backside. "Who might you be, then?"

[Patience Vinrouge]

"Power I cannot promise you, but the man we meet here today knows of it beyond measure. An alchemist and alkahestrist more learned and knowledgeable than even myself, my mentor, and, in many ways, my predecessor and forefather.”

Hm. Well, well, well. Not power, per se... but didn't they say that knowledge IS power? And it was certainly a power that Patience could appreciate. And if a man who could so joyfully destroy bums on the street and consider this man in such high esteem... it was certainly worth going into the dark little shop. The air felt heavy inside, perhaps with the warmth of the fire that gave an almost eerie glow to the area. There seemed to be a minute change to Ayden as they went deeper into the shop. Nothing that was easily discernible to just anyone but for someone who found great enjoyment in reading people and picking them apart... it was delightful to see. It was so simplistic, a sudden change in the tone of voice, in the posture. Ayden viewed this man as much more than a mentor or predecessor. Even a forefather. This man was very much a father to Ayden. A man held in deep respect, affection and even a small mix of fear.

This man... "Heart" was now approaching them. He was an older gentlemen, who had the appearance of once being a great man. The greatness was still there, no doubt... but was now weighed down by age. He was still very formidable, however,... of this she had no doubt. An aura appeared to surround him... something mysterious and just out of reach. A lure to draw Patience ever further in. So much was to be discovered here.

"I apologise, Miss. Ayden here hasn't always been the most courteous of people. Who might you be, then?"

Patience allowed a quick glance at Ayden, holding back a chuckle. Yes. Definitely father, although perhaps not in blood. She looked back to Heart, allowing the sound of a smile to slip into her voice as she reached forward to shake the man's hand. It was a “delicate” feminine handshake, a sure grip without being overbearing. “Patience Vinrouge, sir. Ayden came upon me at a most unfortunate time and helped deliver me from some brigands. Now I'm just... along for the ride, you might say.” She decided to leave the story of their meeting somewhat vague. Let Heart (and Ayden, for that matter) take it as they so wished. She knew why she was here, as did Ayden. And she wouldn't be surprised if Heart couldn't figure it out either.

[Guest]

“Patience Vinrouge, sir. Ayden came upon me at a most unfortunate time and helped deliver me from some brigands. Now I'm just... along for the ride, you might say.” Heart arched an old, wrinkled eyebrow at this, letting out a short, abrupt chuckle, before nodding his head, slowly, and gently, as he turned to pull a chair from a dark corner of the room. The musk of old first editions still hung in the air strong, the door long shut behind them.

Reaching into the pocket of his trousers, Heart withdrew a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles, and gently unfolded each prong, before slipping them onto his forehead, and blinking a few times to adjust his eyes to the focus. He centred first on Patience, before spinning slowly to grab an old white cord hanging suspended from the ceiling, tugging on it with a grunt until it clicked.

The room was flooded with light; at least two dozen bookshelves were illuminated, no humble collection, it seemed. Even as a front for a far shadier business ran out of the backroom, this was... this was no modest achievement. Standing there, taking in the papery fumes with a proud sniff, he turned once more to the blue-haired woman and gestured for her to take a seat.

His expression fairly neutral, he spoke with a harsh tone on his voice, not exactly kindly, but not really grumpy, either. He sounded less like a scolding parent, and more like someone who could adapt, but just... preferred not to. "Please, take a seat," He spoke quickly, before explaining. "I'm more than happy to have one more guest than usual, but there's something Ayden and I need to briefly discuss in the backroom. Help yourself to any of the books, I'm sure there are a few you'll enjoy," His indifference towards the collection was odd; as was the grin flashing across his face. Slightly odd, and maybe a little perverse, but the reasoning behind it was almost legitimate, if for a few facial wrinkles marring the truth, clouding it just a touch.

This charisma was as feigned as it had ever been. Infact, it was simply a far more raw, unrefined method of the same tactics Ayden used. Both men were manipulative... Heart just hadn't had a lot of practise, lately. In the world of literature sales, there wasn't really a lot of manipulation to be doing... but retirement was as comfortable as it had ever been, and Heart was savouring the peace and quiet, having seen more than enough excitement in his time.

Shuffling towards the door to the backroom, it quickly became evident - simply from looking at his rear side, and the way he walked - that Heart had opted out of the excitement for more than just a moral decision. His leg was absolutely busted. Heart walked with a limp; as well as it was hidden from the front, it was still beyond obvious from the back. Sacrifices had to be made... the man had little else to work with in this world. He, however, used no walking stick or brace to tough it out. No, simply, he just dealt with it. Adaptability at its finest; he'd taken the moral high ground and the easy way out before, and, whilst it had been quiet, it had been a hell of a lot less enjoyable on the whole.

The pair quickly ascended the three steps into the backroom, Heart collapsing into his chair, causing two similarly-sized clouds of dust to puff upwards. Ayden spun as he turned to shut the door, flashing his face and making a quick, hushed statement. "I'll only be a moment," From within, Heart's chuckle resounded through the walls until the old door finally clicked shut.

Walls were thin, but Geoffrey Heart didn't care. She wouldn't hear it all, and, even then, there wasn't much to trace back to him. He'd heard rumours about a woman, stunningly beautiful, garbed always in white... working with the local gangsters. Nowhere near as impressive as they'd been back in Heart's heyday, but the fact that they tried to perhaps pay tribute to that way of life was admirable at best. "Your girlfriend seems nice," Heart teased Ayden as the silver-haired man collapsed back into a similar chair in an almost identical manner, the pair mirror images of each other in mannerisms, personality, intelligence... all but appearance.

"If only," Patience was around as attractive as they came, and he'd sensed the waves of desire and promiscuity simply erupting forth from her... but... Ayden was otherwise occupied when it came to that field. Jeu-Hee was never not in his thoughts, to say the very least...

A soft thud upon a wooden coffee table between them, and wrinkled fingers slid a thick dossier-like file along the polished surface. No dust, no grime, no dirt; the man was obsessive-compulsive and a neat freak. Ayden knew this much from living with him for almost years - likewise, he knew that the spirits stand in the corner of the room, lying there simply collecting cobwebs, held something of a darker secret behind its wall. "Good job on the last one. This should be just as straight-forward," Ambiguity, vagueness... excellent.

A pale, smooth hand slammed down atop the sliding file, and Ayden pulled the flap open, extracting the top three sheets of paper. Everything else was usually projection, known weaponry, company they kept, et cetera et cetera. He didn't like to know that. Kept the assassin on his toes, silver hair, cerulean eyes, impressive arsenal, and all. His trigger fingers itched and twitched beneath their leather bindings, and the Colonel nodded slowly as his azure eyes flicked over the papers, memorising every detail. He folded the three twice, and tucked the thin wad of paper into an inside pocket on his jacket. "Mm, Drachma, fun... eyes on the prize. What's the bounty?"

Simple, quickfire, question and answer. They could both be eloquent, but when it came down to it, they knew that the time for bullshitting had passed. This was business. Their meetings were never longer than three, four minutes. It was a window of vulnerability; Ayden and Patience would be out the bookshop in approximately ten to twelve, dependent on how many of the tomes she wanted. "Fifty, I take ten percent as a finder's fee, the usual deal." Ayden nodded, mulling it over slowly, before slapping his jacket pocket shut, and raising to his feet.

Likewise, Heart did the same, if he took a little longer to get his bearings once he'd elevated himself. "I'll have it done before the end of the week. You want proof of elimination?" Similarly to how his protégé and now replacement had, Heart bobbed his head gently for a moment, concentrating on a small focal point, a miniscule crack in the wood, before nodding, and turning back to Ayden.

"Ring finger, complete with ring. Mail it in a Ziploc bag or something," Ayden nodded vigorously, adrenaline shooting through him with every movement. This, and the actual showdown, was the part he lived for. The part he adored. From here, the analytical processes started. The call-and-response questions, the extrapolation based on data, the choices - oh, the choices! Close-range, long-range, alchemy, surprise, typical raid, accidental... so much versatility, so much paint, such small an area of canvas he'd been given! It was almost tragic.

"Oh, Heart..."

The old man turned quickly towards his young successor, eyebrow arched, wrinkled face scrunched ever further as he waited for a reply, offering a brief sound in response. "Hm?"

A small, self-satisfied grin carved across Ayden's face. "I got a promotion. Colonel." A warm, welcoming hand slapped across the assassin's back, and pride flushed upwards into his cheeks, a red blotch invading across that usually-pale pallor. Pride. Something he hardly truly felt... but when he did, it was warmer than all the stars in the sky. It lit him up, set him on fire; the knowledge that someone, somewhere... was proud of him, even for all the societally wrong reasons.

"Good, good, kid," The hand fell gently to Heart's side, and he rolled his eyes, chuckling. "But don't let it go to your head, son. You're already an egotistical asshole, after all," The pair indulged in a similarly brief chuckle, both ending at the exact, abrupt same point. Simultaneous grins, and Ayden swung the door back open, staring down towards Patience.

"Sorry. Business."

((Maybe have Patience have happened upon an Alkahestry tome? She can keep it if she asks Heart :P))

[Patience Vinrouge]

"Please, take a seat. I'm more than happy to have one more guest than usual, but there's something Ayden and I need to briefly discuss in the backroom. Help yourself to any of the books, I'm sure there are a few you'll enjoy."

Patience smiled kindly at the corners of her mouth but chose to remain standing as she watched the two men move to the back of the shop. Heart showed his age as he walked, although it wasn't exactly obvious. And his casual appreciation of his book collection made Patience affirm that his role as a bookseller was not his ideal career. She clicked her tongue lightly as she found herself alone in the shop. She felt no urge to eavesdrop on their conversation. She would not have been brought here to be a toy, so she did not fear that there conversation regarded her. Nor was she concerned that the activity going on behind closed doors involved the territory owned by the Men in White. All she needed to do now was wait... and why not read while she waited?

She shifted her small purse slightly on her shoulder as she quietly moved to the bookshelf closest to her. Science books, by the looks of it. A fair amount of them appeared to be first editions. Good quality stock here, that was for certain. She mused through several more bookshelves, taking a moment at a shelf dedicated to books on the mind. Ah, psychology. What a delightful study... one that she had not visited recently. Yet she wasn't so much interested in the old theories... the more contemporary theories is where her research was now focused. So she moved on, until she found several shelves filled with history books. Nothing really leapt out at her, but tucked at the end of a shelf just slightly out of her reach she saw a glimmer of something. “Psychic Phenom-” was all she could catch.

Casually, she reached up, going on her tiptoes. She slid the small black volume off the shelf, gratefully resting back onto flat... well, heeled-feet. “Psychic Phenomena of the Esparia: The Mysterious Workings of the Savage Tribes of Esparia” Her left eyebrow raised slightly. Dated, to be sure. Published in the 1930s. But the book was very much up her alley. She moved back to the chairs Heart and originally directed her towards and sat. She began flipping through the pages, glancing up as Heart and Ayden reemerged into the storefront.

“Sorry. Business.”

A polite smile whispered across her face as she closed the book and rested it in her lap. “I understand.” She turned her gaze to Heart, keeping her voice quiet and respectful. “You have a wonderful collection here, sir. I have found a book that very much interests me. I would like to purchase it.” She rose smoothly from the chair, keeping the book held gently in one hand. Tonight had not been a complete loss after all.

[Guest]

“You have a wonderful collection here, sir. I have found a book that very much interests me. I would like to purchase it.” Heart smiled, and Ayden slowly descended the wooden steps, black heels tapping against them audibly as he stood beside Patience once more. Click, click, click. Three simple movements, and a spin on his heel; then the assassin was aside the nymphomaniac once more, smiling pleasantly towards his mentor, the man who has raised him, trained him, sculpted him into the idol he was today.

Before the man and his shrouded, veiled might, he cowered; he quivered in his very boots in awe and fear. There was so much he had learnt, and yet so much he had yet to understand. Revelations Heart had even struggled to come to terms with, Ayden presumed; as he'd grown up, it had slowly evolved from a father-son bond to a battle of the analysts, a warring of the detectives. But even within that, each was allowed to have their secrets; Ayden could count his own on one hand, and he'd not even let them on to Heart himself.

Even in the most intimate of relationships, analysis became difficult. There was a point that you eventually reached, an event horizon by any other name, where you can continue, yet your respect for the other person thoroughly outweighs your curiosity. Ayden found that his was generally far further away from most others'; with a scratching, aching innate curiosity at his very core, especially with the man's penchant for deducing, concluding, and manipulating based upon evidence and information drawn, it showed just how much respect he held for Heart, and, indeed, his own past.

A faint smile touched the face of a wrinkled old man. "I'm glad you enjoy the collection. Simply the hobby of an old retiree who has little better to do, and even less to garner excitement from," He flashed Patience a wink; not perverse, by any stretch of the word, simply the adventures of an old man who simply hoped to connect a touch further with a fellow intellectual these days. Most men in his position owning such a humble business would be outraged, most likely, at Creta's pension system, the state of the youth, or some other clichéd and archetypical issue that elderly citizens moan about. Surprisingly enough, Heart had enough money not to concern himself with pensions, and had committed actions far more grim than a few drunkards smashing up a car. He recognised the errors of his ways, and one could say that in his pale irises, within bloodshot sclera, he even held the faintest twinkle of regret. At the very least, acceptance. The man knew fate was coming for him, and if any judgment of a sort was to be brought down swiftly upon him, he would be beyond content.

Stupid and irrational decisions had brought him into a life where he'd long since asked himself one question; 'what if?'. The very same question that Ayden Derocha, a student of the man, had begun to even ask himself. What if life had been different? Some believe certain people are born to fill natural roles of society. Geoffrey Heart simply saw in a man that should have been his son the continuation of a vicious cycle that had struck and crippled him... and, yet, he had come to accept it. The silver-haired assassin was smart. No remorse would fall upon him yet; after all, the man had still had much to prove himself for. The pair still had many memories they would share, many tales still left for Heart to recount before the end would even be allowed to draw near.

Heart felt incompletion, and the idea of death, now, even to an old man, felt alien. Foreign. He still had much to share with his former pupil. A light sigh escaped his lips, but his eyes quickly began to mask it as they flicked towards the book the beautiful woman cradled in their hands. He rose his own, wrinkled and unexpectedly steady. A smile passed his eyes and a finger and thumb went to a trouser pocket to retrieve a pair of reading glasses that the man slipped onto his face. Heart had simply come to accept the various clichés of being elderly. Except the smell. He was nearing his seventy-fifth birthday, now.

"Ah," He regarded the book first with a short, abrupt sigh of realisation, and then a dry, throaty chuckle, withered Adam's apple throbbing, pulsating, bouncing in and out. "A book I picked up personally during my travels. An expensive copy, first edition, should memory serve," He stepped forwards and rested a hand upon it, wrinkled fingers stroking the dust cover and almost evoking memories as the man chuckled once more, stepping back as the last echoes faded from the deceptively pleasant acoustics of the rather eerie book store.

"Ah, no. There's no need to purchase it," Heart smiled 'brightly' over at Patience, turning and flashing a quick look towards Ayden. It seemed that the apple didn't fall far from the tree at all when it came to manipulation of one's charisma. "You've got free lease of that tome for as long as you should require, Miss Vinrouge. It is 'Miss', right? Yourself and Ayden aren't yet engaged, correct?"

He looked upon the pair with genuine confusion, and, as would be typical of an embarrassed child, Ayden flushed. Heart retained the serious look for but a moment as his pupil shot the man daggers which bore into his temples and threatened to bring Death's presence a little early; finally, after the suspense had passed, he broke into laughter. Full, hearty, powerful, almost booming... frightening. A skilled analyst would easily be able to isolate the cold undercurrent, the fact that such over-exaggerated laughter... clearly meant that even the old man in the room was playing games. "I kid, I kid. But you're more than welcome to borrow the tome for as long as you want, provided you treat it well."

Heart shuffled back behind the shop's counter, and settled down slowly, easing his ageing frame into a padded armchair. His hand immediately went to an ornate tobacco pipe, carved of what appeared to be mahogany, on the desk, smouldering remains of the tobacco he'd smoked the last time he'd touched the thing still jammed far into the pipe's opening itself. "Besides," He spoke, uttering another chuckle as he positioned his mouth against the end of the pipe. "If you're of a discipline that this book appeals to you, should you catch my meaning, then I'm sure it would be beyond beneficial, eh?" Another chuckle, and the man then dove into various draws as he searched for a box of matches and his tobacco tin.

[Patience Vinrouge]

Patience chuckled drily at Heart's wink, remaining silent as he moved to view the book in her hand. Ayden had resumed standing beside her and she could feel the respect for Heart washing over him in droves. Well, they must have had a fruitful conversation in the back room. Good for them. Heart commented on how he had obtained the book personally, and the true quality of it. First edition, as she had guessed. Of course, price was no object to her. She opened her mouth to say as such, but he slipped in, saying she did not have to spend her money. A joke about her and Ayden's impending engagement caused Ayden to flush. Patience merely smiled; let the two of them play their father-son games. It made no real difference to her.

She watched Heart sit back down and pick up a pipe. She felt a flicker of distaste in the back of her mind. Disgusting habits... too many unfortunate memories there. But those had best be left in the back of her mind, where they belonged. She ran a finger down the spine of the book with a vicious, little smile. “I believe this book shall be more than beneficial. I appreciate your generosity, sir. Rest assured that I shall treat the book well.” She glanced at Ayden for a moment, eyebrow raised a fraction. The business had been concluded and a new prize had been found. What next?

[Guest]

Crack. The fizzle of red phosphorus on a match-head; the burst of heat as the fire began to rapidly devour the weak wooden pole. Heart lifted the incandescent stick to the end of the pipe, having since filled it up with tobacco, and took a long, deep, audible drag inwards as the flames snapped and crackled, desperately trying to connect with the wiry, processed brown fibres and ignite them.

Eventually, a few wispy grey tendrils of smoke rose from the bowl of the pipe, and Heart flicked the match away, Ayden gently shaking his head. "Never did understand why you like that damn thing so much," Followed by a chuckle from both parties, Heart too shook his head and looked to Patience as she spoke once more.

“I believe this book shall be more than beneficial. I appreciate your generosity, sir. Rest assured that I shall treat the book well.” Heart nodded, snorting in agreement, a small puff of dark smoke shooting forth from his nostrils as he almost barked.

"Good! I'm always glad to help," He murmured, offering up another smile. All-too-quickly, the room had filled with smoke; a thick veil of it was swiftly obscuring Heart's face, and his features became far more faded beyond the thick fog the man had created. Perhaps it was a deterrent. The smell almost made Ayden sick, personally, but he owed so much to the man - and everyone had little irritating habits, didn't they?

"Well, I think we'd best be off," Ayden nodded. The meeting had been interesting and hopefully profitable, to say the least, but the longer the pair were around Heart, the more of a window Patience had to conclude things about the silver-haired assassin - and that just wouldn't do.

Heart nodded, and made a brief wave, before spinning on his chair and returning to his bookcase, puffing another ring of smoke over his shoulder as Ayden stepped towards the door, pushed it open, letting the bell ring for a second time with those eerie, near-melancholy notes, before stepping out into the fresh air, taking a long, deep breath of it. Ah. Much better than that horrific stench Heart was obsessed with filling rooms with.

His eyes flicked first to the sky, and then down to Patience, and the book she cradled. It was late. He had a journey to complete. He sighed gently, and shook his head, walking towards her as the door slammed shut. "I think," He began, letting a short, sharp chuckle escape, as was his nature. "It's time for the pair of us to go our separate ways. I've enjoyed our little excursion, Miss Vinrouge,"

[Patience Vinrouge]

Apparently Ayden had picked up on her tiny visual signal. He made their excuses to Heart, who seemed content to be left there with his pipe and his tomes. She smiled faintly and nodded at him in farewell, stepping through the door just behind Ayden. She took a deep breath of the brisk night air. Ah, yes. She noticed that Ayden seemed just as pleased to be free from the smoky air. She watched Ayden look up at the sky. Ah, the “business” was likely calling. And her observation proved correct as he spoke to her with a sharp chuckle.

"I think, it's time for the pair of us to go our separate ways. I've enjoyed our little excursion, Miss Vinrouge.”

Patience released a soft laugh, a wicked smile curling the left corner of her lips upwards. “As have I, Mr. Derocha. Au revoir.” She turned and her hips naturally swaying with every step, she disappeared into the shabby London darkness. She skirted around the area lit by lights, where some horrible murders had taken place. Too bad they would never find any culprits. She was able to acquire a taxi and directed the sullen driver to downtown London. She would never give such a distasteful man the address to her hotel. As she sat back in the seat gingerly, she glanced down at the book in her hands. This delicate tome would release to her untold treasures and new secrets that she could then manipulate for her own uses. She was off home to Philly come morning, but she felt that a few extra hours this night could be used for a little research. She smiled as she paid the driver, emerging in downtown London. A fruitful evening, indeed.

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