Night Air Is Bad For You

The patter of rain was heavy outisde, echoing and pelting against the rotting roof and pouring in through its gaps into the warehouse's vast foyer, ruining the rotting memories left behind that weren't missed by time. Anouk's arms came up to wrap around herself to stave off the dank chill, already feeling sick. She was here. Again. Or had she never left? Mr. Blasty wasn't at her side, but she could feel the pressure of her butterfly strapped to her thigh. Why? Why couldn't she leave this place that she wanted more than anything to forget? Lightning ouside illuminated the foyer, washing the molding boxes and dummies in ill light, showing that for now, at least, she was alone, but the feeling of being watched creeded down on her with every drop of rain that dripped from high above. In the dim light she turned around, looking for the door out of the foyer, only to find there was none, only more and more lobby as far as she could see, inescapable windows high above and glaring down at her like the judgemental eyes of God.

The rumble of thunder reverberated down the rusting iron skeleton of the building, Anouk braving a few steps away from the foyer toward the only door she could see by the stairs that led to what had been apartments and offices once. The wooden steps were warped and rotted, moaning under her weight as Anouk rushed upward, trying to get as far away from the lobby as she could. Away from those eyes that cast down and through her like that. Up, as the stairs vanished into blackness behind and beneath her, Anouk panting and almost daring to pray for salvation if the stairs would ever end. There were no landings or halls, or anything to indicate that they went anywhere other than up and more narrow as the stairwell began to shrink in width and height like some optical illusion.

The ceiling and walls pressed down against Anouk's back and sides, making her crouch as she crawled up the last few steps, the stairwell, hall, and warehouse vanishing into nothingness past her feet as finally her outstretched hand touched a door, small enough for a child walk through, but for her would be a squeeze. She'd seen this door before; it was meant for a child, the smooth yet textured bright red plastic brandishing the white lable of PLAYSKOOL. It was the door to one of those plastic playhouse sets like the one she and Ryosuke had bought for the boys and let them play fort in. A sinking feeling knotted within her, Anouk suddenly becoming very afraid to push the plastic door open, unsure if it would be better to sit here and let the darkness consume her or not until finally the counter-weight of the step beneath her foot vanished. The damn place was deciding for her. Taking a deep breath, Anouk pushed the door open and squeezed through as the last of the stairwell was swallowed and gone, leaving her in her own hallway.

Their beautiful home above the Green Dragon was here, Anouk smelling the floor polish lightly under the aroma of that night's dinner. Her breath held, tears forming in her eyes as she heard it; Ryosuke was home. He was alive, and here, and home Laughter bubbled up from the dining room, Kitaro and Kenta squealing lightly. It was all as it should have been, as though none of it had ever happened. Slowly, she reached a hand up, tugging at her ear hard, surprising herself when it hurt. She.... was awake? And this was real? Anouk's heart sped up. Had everything with Takatori just been some horrible nightmare? "Nu-chan! Come downstairs before we eat your dessert, too!" His voice. Oh God, his voice. Anouk was shaking now, caught in disbelief as she wiped furiously at the tears that tried to escape her eyes, confusion and joy burying any lingering traces of fear. It had never happened.

"Coming, Ryo! I get the big strawberry!" The pure elation in her voice was impossible to hide as Anouk rushed down the stairs, skipping the last few to wheel around and hurry to the kitchen as their laughter grew louder. Ryosuke was there, she knew his laugh, and so were Kitaro and Kenta. But a fourth voice was there as well. A laugh she didn't know. Kenta squealed again in delight as Anouk turned into the kitchen and froze. The burnt and bleeding corpse sat in one of the chairs at their small round table, his flesh falling from his bones in places, blackened where yellowed bones weren't exposed. Large, round glasses sat on what was left of Ryo's nose, sliding down as he laughed again. Lucas stood from his seat, steely-eyes shining under shaggy blonde hair, dark blood staining his body from the long sword that protruded through him. Anouk's hand flew to her mouth, trying to swallow back the terror as Kenta giggled from atop the table, laughing shrilly each time Lucas rocked back and forth, slicing into the child with the blade that skewered him.

Kitaro hopped down from his seat, rushing to his mother, blood smeared across his face and hands as he grabbed her own, tugging her toward the table. "Mama, come have cake. It's fun." Her legs moved forward in a zombie-like motion, unable to peel her eyes away from her baby being served up like pastry, blood and cake clinging to the sword as a large piece was carved by Lucas from Ken's chest. Ken giggled brightly, unphased as the plate was put down in front of Anouk.

"We saved you the best piece, Nu." Ryosuke smiled sweetly, the flesh pulling away from his teeth as his cheek moved upward. Cake and blood, the heart shaped to something like a giant strawberry. Shaking, tears rolled down Anouk's cheeks, finally looking up at the man who had been her husband and the boy she had wanted to save.

"What is this? Why are you doing this?!" Ryosuke stood up, moving behind his wife to hug her shoulders tightly, the smell of burnt flesh making her gag. He gave a loving squeeze, Ryo's voice just as soothing as it had always been.

"It's a party, Nu. A Welcome Home party." Lavender eyes widened, suddenly trying to get out of the arms she'd prayed every night to feel again as kisses began to dot her neck gently, working up to her ear. "Welcome home, Nu. Stay with us. Come home."

The scream was followed immediately bu Anouk's stomach churning, the muscles clenching and working into a hard heave as she nearly fell out of the table chair she'd fallen asleep at and scrambled to the bar's bathroom. The Steel Rose was nearly ready for opening, Anouk spending a lot of days there cleaning and working on inventory and several nights lately sending the boys home with their uncle while she stayed to finish cleaning, small repairs, and the never-ending paperwork. Thankfully, the bathroom was working, and now christened with it's first person throwing up violently, ironically not a drunk patron, but a terrified and shaken bar owner. Anouk gasped, catching her breath finally as a shaking hand lifted to flush, her knees wobbling as she stood.

She was alone in the bar, now stocked, polished, and ready to open that week to what would hopefully be a fabulous opening party. There were still jitters, though. Not about her bar or the location; Nu had every confidence in that, and her skills. But starting over... that was oddly scary. It wasn't just a plan now, something talked about at the table with Ela over dinner. It was real, and tangible, and happening. And that was scary. Anouk wondered if she really could just go back to something that mimicked her old life in Vegas, if things could go back tot he way they were, or if instead, the dead would continue to haunt the mirror of her sleep and serve as the jailors of her days. But that affectionate tone... That was something Ryo had only ever used in bed, or when he really was trying to talk Anouk into something gently. Come home? But he was dead. In the dream, he and Lucas were both dead, and Ken.... Kenta...

Anouk looked at her watch. It was after two in the morning. Everyone would be asleep when she got home...and how long had she been asleep at the small desk in the bar's office? She shook her head lightly, jamming her wallet into her pocket as she grabbed her brown leather jacket and left the bar, locking up. She just needed to go home, get a shower, and spend all day at home playing with the boys and watching them like a hawk to make sure Ken was okay. Her balisong was in her pocket, promising to never leave her defenseless as she locked the bar and headed down the street to walk home. The night air was warm against her, and quiet, thankfully. Nu really wasn't feeling well enough to take her time on the short walk; shower and bed were calling, and even if she didn't sleep she'd be home and where she could watch her boys sleep. Home wasn't far, thankfully, and the few miles it was between here and there always gave her time to clear her head. Maybe she'd be calmer whe--

THNK!

....What was that? She blinked, looking around the empty street. Cars were parked and locked, and though the occasional one drove by, there wasn't much foot traffic going on, or even anything open at this time of night.

THNK!!

There it was again! Anouk's pace slowed as the sound drew nearer, the bartender listening to try and pinpoint where it was coming from, not realizing that she was nearly holding her breath. Months of hunting alone had honed her instincts which apparently weren't so easily shrugged off, even after trying so hard to get back into the swing of life as though nothing had changed or happened. Her steps were quiet, stalking on the pavement as she came closer to an alley between darkened buildings.

THNK!!!

The sound was smooth and striking something hollow as her eyes finally caught what was making it: a man in the alley, throwing something against a large scrap of plywood propped against the building's wall. She let out the breath quietly, quickly looking away and trying to not draw any attention to herself as she stepped away, reminding her body to walk away calmly rather than anything that would suggest she was jumpy. After her dreams, part of her kept expecting to still be asleep any anything around her to still be part of that horrible world that lurked in her mind.

He'd been sat there sombrely under the sun as it had sat and was sure he would do so for as long as it rose above his head. The throwing knife hung in his hand as a leather-clad figure arched its back against the alleyway wall, water trickling from crevices and running-off rainwater from apartment gutters pattering down below, his ambience and background music. A gloved hand sat clutching a bucked knee; silvery tendrils of hair obscured a clear view of the man's cerulean irises. His other foot held a thin slab of wood in place against the opposite wall - the alley was thin - with a vice-grip as the free hand clutching the black knife moved to flick, skewer, and collect in a deadly rhythm.

The assassin moved with stochastic order, almost eerily so. There were equal intervals between every time the knife hit the wood and dug into it; the slab was liberal enough in thickness and size that there were still a few square inches left unscathed, but for the most part, the wood was dirtied and marred with thick, widened slits as moonlight danced along the blade's black edge, and water slipped from the point and joined a slowly growing puddle within the man's legs. THNK. The sound came again; he reached out to grasp his knife, tugged it from the plank, and threw it once more. THNK. Commotion upstairs. A wayward, disinterested glance regarded the flickering lights above and the muffled shuffling of feet tied all together with weary sighs and the hacking sound of a woman vomiting.

Nothing of this upset the assassin Derocha as he sat in the alleyway, throwing his knife against the wood again and again. THNK. Cars sped past and regarded him as a phantom, a ghost in the night, their headlights on full beam as they carved their own paths through the glorious city of London. THNK. A spectral image of what he had been only hours ago, pale face and pale hair making him seem gaunt and almost lifeless in the dancing moonlight.

He didn't bother checking his watch. He wasn't even sure he'd brought it with him. The routine was all that mattered; a simple meditating reflex occupying the front of his mind as the gaping, wide-open back struggled to find peace, with that same image flickering again, and again, and again, and again...

A black rosewood coffin slowly lowered into a pit, dug ten feet by six. "Ash to ash, dust to dust..." Came the infamous line from the reverend's hypocritical mouth. There weren't many at the funeral. It had been arranged by a man who wished to keep his anonymity - that was all they knew. Regular patrons of the bookstore, business associates, locals...

Pale sunlight danced across the white cross. From within his car, on the burial grounds' main path, he sat and watched, tinted window rolled down just so those piercing cerulean irises could gaze over the scene. He was background noise, ambience; no-one acknowledged him or thought him to be of worth, just a passer-by. The reverend caught his glance and sombrely bowed his head. The assassin simply watched; a smirk took his face as he realised just how stupid that cross was. Heart would have wanted a pentagram. Or a transmutation circle.

Or a serpent.

The funeral had been a simple procession. Anything more lavish and questions would have been asked. THNK. Questions that couldn't be answered. Amestris didn't need to know about his ties to Heart, to Creta; now, with things here well and truly finished, there wasn't much reason to come here. He thought back to Berk; the chimera who had so adeptly tried to speed away from the assassin who he'd presumed to be Heart's ghost or ephemeral visage. THNK. Another smirk, gaunt, uneasy, and transparent as he took pleasure in the little things, the macabre things. At least the so-called "don of demise" had left his mark, eh?

THNK. A pause before he went to pull the knife out, looking to the hand cradling his knee, staring as for a moment, just in the slightest degree, almost unnoticeable, it trembled and shook. Spinning it around and facing it upwards, he wondered about the ethereal blood on his hands, that he'd long-since washed off. As an assassin, he'd broken the golden rule, the one code that had to be kept above all else: he'd let things get personal. And now that he'd started, he wasn't going to be able to stop. Vengeance was surging through him and tingling on his fingertips like icy adrenaline coursing through those veins. Frozen blood. He drew the knife once more and threw it. THNK.

Reaching forwards to draw it, a pang of the sharpest unhappiness struck him, a lightning-bolt through his body and straight to the ground as the wood split in two with a clatter. He froze in a moment's mourning before fetching the knife and settling back down onto his seat, shutting his eyes, and finally sheathing it. The sun would rise in a couple more hours. Perhaps... perhaps he'd whittled away his regrets enoug-

The scuffle of feet. Those trademark assassin reflexes kicked in. Barely sheathed a moment, Ayden flourished the knife once more and curled it into a reverse grip, taking cover behind a nearby dumpster. The steps stopped. Analysis kicked in; it had been one pair of feet, and one person. Weighting the chances... if Berk's team had sent people after him, it wasn't going to be a single unit for a veritable one-man army who had killed over two dozen in a matter of minutes. Twisting the knife up against his wrist and hiding it, he presumed it was probably a civilian, and sighed, twisting himself back up to full height and peering over his impromptu cover.

The sound of gunfire fortunately didn't cut the night's silence in two. Urban crickets chirped and had there been any tangleweed around, it would have blown straight through the empty space between the pair of them. She was no threat. He stood back up fully and slid the knife into its sheath, drawing the coat around him and staring down towards her. First contact would be his to make, then. "Evening." Blunt enough.

London wasn't the same as the suburbs of Vegas at all, and no matter how many weeks Anouk stayed here, she knew it never would be and that she'd never fully get used to it. Night had always been her time to relax, think, and unwind, and where she had lived was safe enough to go walking in the wee hours and not worry about other people being awake save for the occasional car driving by, or some cashier working overnight at a fast food joint. London never seemed to sleep, even when the damp smell of the dirty night air settled down and should have urged people to stay inside to save from having to breathe the sooty air that the night made worse. Rainwater excess ran down the gutters and pattered heavily against the cement below, alerting Anouk to the fact that it had rained and she'd slept through it.

Somehow, the world felt surreal right now, as if part of her wasn't sure she'd wokenup from the dream. After all, she'd tried to wake herself up, and you don't usually say ow in your dreams and feel it when you yank on your own ear. You don't suually smell dinner, or feel the wooden banisters that needed to be dusted, you don't smell the gag-inducing stink of burnt flesh.... Anouk shuddered hard, her face pale and almost ill-looking in the washed out and wet light of the nearest street lamp that cast odd shadows down the alley by her bar. He was tall, and equally, pale, with long pale hair that could have been white for all Anouk could tell from where she stood. The coat seemed to swallow the tall man like a dark cloud as he began to walk out of the alley.

Generally Anouk would have walked on, but at the moment, her heart raced and left her feeling a bit cold. She knew it was just a ftershock from that damned dream. She knew it wasn't real... but there was a lingering uncertainty about the present moment. Anouk needed to stay, for just a moment. Just to prove to herself that the man in the alley at three in the morning was simply that and nothing more, and not some monster from Hell there to torture her more than she already had been that night. "Evening," he said, his voice sounding just as damp and murky as the night around them. The sound of his voice alone almost made her jump, instead only eliciting a faint, apprehensive twitch.

Mother of God, get a HOLD of yourself, Nu. A soft shudder ran off her back as Anouk tried to not seem as jumpy as she was; last thing she wanted to do was give some stranger the impression that she was some kind of nut. "Good... good evening," Nu answered slowly, trying to keep her voice even-sounding. The ill yellow lamplight caught him, making the man seem that much more unhuman, his hair showing to really be white, and his skin not much darker. She took the smallest step to the side, not wanting to imede his way out. He wasn't there to rob the bar, was he? There wasn't anything in it yet, well, no money at least. Still twitchy, part of Anouk wanted to make sure, and told the rest of her that was whining that she just wanted to go home and kiss her baby. "..Nice night." She smacked her face internally, groaning at how bad her skills had gotten, either from months of disuse or from still being very spooked. It was a nice, wet, starless, black, dirty-smelling night.

"Good... good evening," Ayden cocked his head and extended his full form proper, stretching and making sure that his circulation was all in order with a quick raincheck. Once everything seemed to be in order, he flashed a brief, false smile at her as she stepped to the side, apparently not wanting to be an inconvenience if he wanted to leave. The assassin asked himself. Did he want to leave?

It probably looked fairly curious, in all honesty. A pale-faced man garbed in black residing in an alleyway, with as much equipment as Ayden was set out to have. The faint Amestrian twang on his accent probably wasn't helping much, either; the assassin wasn't sure if he wanted to reinforce whatever xenophobia was present, if she could already sense his being foreign. "..Nice night." Her speech felt awkward, strange, just to listen to. Jagged and impeded by some intangible obstacle, as if opening her mouth and producing noise just felt... beyond awkward, almost impossible. As if she hadn't used her tongue and lips in years, like returning to the gymnasium after spending a few months out of action, or physiotherapy after a debilitating accident.

A smirk lined the pale face. He could sympathise with that. After all, in his time, he'd had a few reprieves from his assassination. The time he spent with Jeu-Hee, the time when he focused on research for Hans... and every time, after every break, the first contract, as insignificant and simplistic as it could be, always felt like it was just oiling the machine. The writer's dabbling before he truly dove into his literature ready to stroke away upon a paper. A little dab of satisfaction on his pallet, some lemon juice squeezed out onto a parched and waiting tongue. A taste of what was to come.

Alarm bells would have cropped up had she been larger, or emanating an aura of fright; but she didn't seem too concerned from first opinions. Well, as concerned as one could be, happening upon a stranger in a dark alleyway, the source of such a noise as he was, constantly tossing that knife into the wood over and over. Analysis could wait, however. She had made a statement. One that required a response. "It is," He remarked abruptly, before finally taking to movement, bold strides towards her.

Those ominous boots of his slammed against the stone beneath his feet, deathly clap sounds resonating throughout the Cretan dusk. Briskly, he made his way over to her, trying his best to seem at ease. A few feet from his target, he pivoted on his heel to align himself, and simply looked up towards the stars. "A beautiful night." Coming as a murmur, it seemed her conversational inability had severely prohibited his own in some manner. Normally he was fluent, flowing, articulate and poised, a viper of speech ready to strike down all and any that so opposed him.

He could sympathise with the woman tonight not because he had felt the same way, with that jagged awkwardness, but because he did. As he stood now, a concoction, an invasive cocktail of emotions coursed through him, and it had come like that first debilitating blow. It had hit him when he slowly watched them lower the embossed black rosewood coffin into the pit. Geoffrey Heart. Without the man, his teacher, his leader, his mentor, he was useless. Heart had brought him into this business, and everything he had ever done had been a testament to the old man's skill. And now, he was gone.

Not sure what he'd do now the man was gone, Ayden had found himself doing the one thing he'd told himself would never happen. He was wallowing in despair, drowning in pity, sitting at the bottom of a murky lake of sorrow as he just wished for the grimy water to rush in through his lungs and let death take him prisoner. This year had been tumultuous at best for the assassin. He had let someone get close, and compromised every ideal he'd been taught. He'd fallen in love. His mentor - no, his father, his father had been murdered, and he'd embarked on a brutal quest for vengeance to get his just desserts for the man. He hadn't even had time to tell him of Jeu-Hee, to tell him of why he'd broken the rules of the killer.

He'd made new friends and new enemies that came with his posting at Briggs; he'd come so dangerously close to letting emotions take over and opening up that monster locked within that would compromise everything that he'd worked so hard for. Not just a cocktail of contrasting and conflicting emotions raged within; but a maelstrom, a storm, a veritable typhoon as he stared up into the starlit sky, his eyes lost within.

Without thinking, he rose his hand. The night was clear; clearer than most. For a moment, everything shunted to the back of his mind and one word became clear above all else. A single finger, outstretched, carving lines between stars, drawing a constellation up above. "Orion," He spoke clearly, for the first time in hours. "The hunter."

In a flurry, his manners, courtesy, and, of course, the facade, all came flooding back. That cracked white mask laid itself over the indents in Ayden's face and he turned to extend a leather-clad hand towards the woman. "Where are my manners?" A brief smile. "Ayden Derocha. And you are...?" Waiting for a response, he pondered to himself for a moment as things slowly began to piece themselves back together. He was a long shot away from full restoration, but at least a shadow of his former self was in order for the woman. His eyes flickered, something wild beneath that dull blue glow that would have usually been sparkling azure. Even a passer-by deserved that much coming into contact with the...

The smell of the rain lingered, even as the night sky cleared, revealing the tiny diamonds of stars overhead; a rare treat since London's skies were so often overcast and damp. As Anouk's body slowly pulled its own threads back together at the seams, the remaining dampness of the air was refreshing against her skin, like a wet cloth pressed to your head after being ill. There was a feeling, though, that came from having just been ill within the last half hour and having those horrible dreams that never seemed to go away anymore; a feeling that left Anouk feeling edgy, off-balance, hungry and yet completely not, and really wanting three or four paracetamol and some whiskey to wash them down. She would have mentally swatted her own wrist if Anouk were in a better state at present.

"A beautiful night." His voice seemed as damp and distant as her own, the darkness of the alley hanging off his words limply like wet hair. As Nu stepped aside, Ayden exited the shadow-infested alley that was so close to her bar. It was so late, and they were both here, in the dark, with only one yellow streetlamp illuminating the sidewalk and casting glaring reflections on the wet pavement below. The coat around Ayden was as black as the pure void, swallowing him and all light, and yet, it was... bulky. It made Ayden seem larger, but not in the tall and muscular way. Just larger in the broader, unnatural way. Or maybe he was just a really big guy secretly, or a thin or average guy with a smaller person wrapped around him under his coat.

He seemed to gather himself, suddenly his arm raising to let a gloved hand point to the stars above. "Orion, the hunter." Life was beginning to spark in the man's voice, and something in Anouk's stomach sank hard. Something about the combination of strange people in dark coats in dark alleys during late hours and casually bringing up hunters just set off a bell from months of that being such a common scenario that almost always ended up with Anouk leaving a body behind and hurrying off to wash away the blood and evade the cops. The light shifted and was absorbed into his coat as he moved, but lavender eyes caught something as Ayden's arm lowered again: the outline of a gun. Anouk was awake, and she wasn't dreaming that he was armed, the bartender now slipping back into habits as she reminded herself to be more aware, just in case, the balisong waking against her from its dark and bloody sleep. No, no.... There's nobody out after you. The Men in White are gone Stagno and his men are gone, and weren't that high on the food chain... London's a dangerous place. Maybe he's got a conceal and carry on him. As much as she tried to reassure herself, Anouk knew that 80% of what was running through her head was utter crap.

Something bubbled up to the surface as the weary numbness seemed to be cast aside, Ayden's voice more solid now and certain of where it was going as he extended his hand out to Anouk. "Where are my manners? Ayden Derocha. And you are...?" ....Then again, none of the people Anouk had met that actually had the intention of killing her had ever bothered with a proper introduction, and usually muggers didn't take this long to get to it. A smile was pushed up to the front, tied, a little edgy, and not at all carrying the ease and charm that came with a seasoned barkeep that usually got everyone else in the world to unload their cares to her. Whiskey, toast, and tablets still sounded like the best idea all night, and Anouk really hoped Ela wasn't waiting up for her.

"Anouk Ito," came the soft but decently pleasant reply. Something inside of her froze, though. Why had she done that? Nu didn't even think about it, her maiden name just rolling right out without hesitation. Had guilt and nightmares really pushed her so far off-center that subconsciously she'd do anything to try and dull the pain? Yeah, probably. That thought in and of itself was heartbreaking and only served to cut in deeper, even as Anouk swallowed it to try and smile a bit more naturally. "Sorry, long night. Just closed up or I'd invite you in to what's on tap." Nu gestured toward the building that housed the soon-opening Steel Rose, and hopefully if he was looking for a potential hit, mentioning she'd just closed for the night would underline that there was no cash in the bar to take. "It's awfully late, though. I'm probably keeping you."

"Anouk Ito," Ayden froze in his footsteps. Anouk... Ito? Did that mean... she was related to... well, it was a small world after all. The assassin surveyed the woman up and down with that cold, blue analytical stare of his. She certainly didn't possess the long, winding, crimson hair that the Ito boy did; though he'd cut it, now. And those piercing lavender orbs of hers were so different from his. Perhaps it was a larger family?

"Interesting," The assassin murmured at first. A distant relation, he pegged. Though, in Aerugo, Ito as a last name was probably a dime a dozen. Scratching the back of his head, he smiled up at her. "You're from Aerugo?" The blunt question came as a murmur; an inquisitive murmur with no malice wrapped beneath it, genuine curiosity caught the silver-haired assassin. "I should probably explain. A co-worker of mine is a Mr. Ito."

Looking up to the skies, he remembered Daigoro. So submissive, whereas the tenacity that twinkled in those lavender eyes of hers told a different tale entirely. "Lieutenant Colonel Daigoro Ito, to be exact," Bucking his head back down a moment after he'd flicked it up, he smiled again. "To my Major General, that is." A smirk crept back onto his face for a moment before vanishing again. Ever the egoist, Ayden couldn't put it past himself for even a moment to not drop rank and file with every new face he came across. Hans would probably approve. Amestris was a country to be proud of; and even the ever-independent assassin could agree, begrudgingly, there. It had been through many hardships lately and still emerged hardy and ready to fight another day.

"Sorry, long night. Just closed up or I'd invite you in to what's on tap." Another smile. Long night, eh? So he'd heard from the retching into the toilet basin above. Not the most attractive of noises, but, then again, Ayden was all but taken in that regard. Looking down to his gloved hands as he slowly retracted them, he realised that he wasn't wearing a ring. Not that he had one to wear. Things with Jeu-Hee and the wedding had been moving slowly at best. He'd only just met her parents.

"Shame, a glass of something strong sounds about perfect right now," Ayden put on the most exasperated smile he could, and for once felt like he was being truthful enough. The funeral had taken it out of him. Cross-cut images of that same coffin being lowered in flickered in front of his eyes, again, and again, and again, and again... alcohol felt like it would save him from these wretched pits of despair, but he didn't want to fall into that trap. "Sometimes, it's good just to enjoy the simpler things..."

The assassin trailed off. He was a man of knowledge, a man of alchemy, and a man of art, but, even then, a good glass of whiskey as the most base form of joy he could muster was always in order from time to time. And this was one of those times. "It's awfully late, though. I'm probably keeping you." Ayden smiled. From what? It was good to see that a mixture of polite bullshit and fear kept the Cretan people's reputation as personable around. The assassin shook his head.

"From tossing knives into blocks of wood and wallowing in my own despair?" There came another blurt of honesty. "No, talking to you is probably the most exciting thing that's happened all day." The assassin sighed. He'd put all hits off for the day. Dotted across the globe, a patchwork group of the most unlikely and likely people simultaneously had just earned themselves another day. Though, unwittingly, they probably wouldn't spend it as best they could.

Regardless. "I understand it probably isn't the most orthodox of things, being approached by a pale man out of an alley at such an hour at this," He gestured to the night sky, stars dwindling ever smaller as morning slowly crept through and dawn slid beneath the murky blanket above. "But it's not safe for you to be walking alone through the city. At least let me escort you home, if you're about to leave."

It certainly wasn't usual for Ayden, but he was anything but his regular state at the moment. A cocktail of despair for Heart's death and rage at Berk and the band of other merry morons who'd riddled him with bullets like any other average criminal when he was more deserving of a death befitting an emperor was slowly prying him away from criminal pragmatism and dogma he was so used to. It was a fresh breath from his regular lifestyle, but Ayden wasn't yet sure if it was a fresh breath of air or poison. Things had gotten personal. And once he swept the stragglers all up, would he be able to go back to the way it had been?

"Interesting. You're from Aerugo?" Ito was about the tenth most common last name in Aerugo, but a lot less common to run into in Creta or Amestris. When she was little classmates and teachers found it funny that the obviously Cretan girl had a distinctly Aerugese last name, It still came off as a little strange when she moved to Aerugo, too, but given that she was staying with family with the same last name nobody really cared. But there wasn't a bit of Aerugese in her, as far as she knew. "I should probably explain. A co-worker of mine is a Mr. Ito." Anouk gave the pale stranger a curious look, not having expected that as a reply. Did he know her brother? "Lieutenant Colonel Daigoro Ito, to be exact. To my Major General, that is."

...Oh this night just got stranger, didn't it? What was a very high-ranking military official doing in an alley throwing knives at wood at three in the morning? While that did explain why he was armed to a point, it was still very unusual. But then again, Anouk had long-since given up holding to any ideal of "normal." Her tired, distant smile seemed to relax just a little more, even as her eyes hardly left the Major General. "That's interesting. Don't think I've met him, though." Part of Anouk wondered if Ela had stayed up, but given the hour, probably not; he knew she was at the bar doing last minute work to get ready for their opening, and he hadn't been feeling well lately. If he were still up by the top she got home most likely she'd be annoyed that Ela wasn't sleeping. Her boys were all home, safe. And she'd keep it that way, no matter what.

Anouk listened carefully, noting things down, and slowly reconsidering that drink. She wasn't really a heavy drinker (even though she'd won a fair share of competitions shooting scotch, especially in Aerugo), but there were some nights where it really was needed. At the moment, even if she did go straight home, Nu doubted the odds of her really sleeping that night, unless she satayed up so late that her body wouldn't sleep deeply enough to dream and torture her some more with the black angels that preyed on her. "I understand it probably isn't the most orthodox of things, being approached by a pale man out of an alley at such an hour at this, but it's not safe for you to be walking alone through the city. At least let me escort you home, if you're about to leave." Even though every night Anouk told herself that the monsters were gone and thre was nothing left to fear, and she smiled and stroked her sons' hair as they were good boys and said their prayers, Nu wasn't sure if she really believed it. There was a certain element of trust in humanity she'd lost over the months.

This was a man of high rank, and doubtless, respected, who was also armed and had a fair point of London being a dangerous place at this hour. And, well, most hours as far as Anouk had learned. The one safety she'd enjoyed holding onto was that relatively few people knew where she and her family lived. Sure, the other members of the royal guard knew where Ela lived, and they probably knew by now that his sister had moved in with him. But they never came back to the flat with him after work. The quiet vote that wanted to give this stranger the benefit of the doubt was heavily outweighed by her own paranoia. Did she really feel okay with leading some stranger to the last safe place she knew? Even though they lived on the top floor of the apartment building, it was still something Anouk just wasn't ready for yet. It would be morning soon, the night caught in that state between the hours of pre-dawn when the sky almost debated if it would lighten in the next hour or not, almost so easy to change its mind if it could. Her hand moved up to rub the sop of her arm, not cold but still uneasy. No. Sleep wouldn't come. She'd had too many nights like this to consider otherwise.

Anouk glanced over her shoulder at the building she'd come from, almost like it was a safety zone in some video game. The keys in her pocket jingled slightly, weighing against her, almost silently urging her to turn around and go back. With a soft sigh, she gave, in, looking back to Ayden. "That's very kind of you to offer, Major General," she said, at last making her decision. "But I think I may have left a few things undone at the pub that needed tending. You're welcome to join me and be my first guest... It's still operating hours somewhere, and a glass of something does sound good." Even though it hadn't officially opened to the public yet, the energy that the old building used to contain was still there, and was ready to be a pub again. The pub was a safety zone, lit, and she could just wait a bit longer and go home when it was light out. She'd just apologize to Ela later for not coming home sooner, and nothing said sorry better than butterscotch pancakes. But for now? Scotch was calling, and might have entailed company of some kind, even if they were sharing a drink called loneliness it was better than drinking alone.

"That's interesting. Don't think I've met him, though." Ayden arched an eyebrow, before letting it fall back down. Ito was probably a fairly common name in Aerugo, regardless. He shrugged and nodded; Daigoro was an interesting character, and a useful acquaintance when it came to hardware needs, though those probably weren't of Anouk's concern, given that she was a bartender, and not a mass murderer. As far as the assassin knew.

"He's... different," That would about summarise. A submissive Lieutenant Colonel in an involved relationship with his direct superior, an alchemist, a gunsmith... Daigoro Ito was lots of things, and "different" was definitely one of them. "Fairly personable, for if you are related to him." Just incase Daigoro's real name was a moniker or somesuch.

Anouk's keys clanged against each other in her pocket, and Ayden arched an eyebrow as she spoke once more. "That's very kind of you to offer, Major General," Ah, she was going to turn him down. It wasn't really a problem; he had just hoped for some company. Heart's funeral had gotten him down, and whilst he wasn't feeling like a spot of murder or a touch of genocide to cure the palate, losing himself in tales of another's life and affairs would help him to re-adjust. Sleep couldn't hurt, either.

"But I think I may have left a few things undone at the pub that needed tending. You're welcome to join me and be my first guest... It's still operating hours somewhere, and a glass of something does sound good." A smile launched onto the Major General's face. He'd gone from no company and no alcohol to what appeared to be copious amounts of both. He wasn't short on money, and his car was just around the corner; spending the night in Creta didn't sound like a bad idea, but the assassin's head wasn't in the right place at the moment.

"I'll drink to that," Ayden smiled. She seemed bright enough, but not without her share of problems; then again, who alive on the globe wasn't, in this day and age? Avoiding problems quickly becomes an impossibility, and on a long enough timeline, everyone runs into them. And even as much of a sociopath as he was, with most problems not even brushing him in the slightest, the death of his mentor had the assassin in a darker place than usual - believe it or not - which made a cold glass of something - anything - sound all the more appetising. It was clichéd, but the pair of them were troubled - each visibly. Anouk's retching into the toilets could have been morning sickness or maybe just a cold, but the assassin had an idea it was something a little worse than that.

Ayden tried not to analyse. Her personal life was no business or care of his; for now, he was a stranger, and trying to pinpoint her problems without adequate basis or her extrapolating was, at the moment, a moot point. But looking into those piercing lavender eyes, the assassin could sense something there. Anouk was no ordinary woman. No ordinary bartender. Even people usually paid to stand, pour drinks, and listen to drunken slobs regaling tales of all their multitudes and swathes of problems didn't have a stare like that. No; this woman was something else. She was haunted by ghosts of the past or present. Beyond that, the assassin couldn't tell.

The weight of his weapons hung heavy on Ayden's frame; he thought idly of Jeu-Hee, for a moment, and how she was doing. The wedding still wasn't for another couple of months; his love was probably fast asleep in Xing, time differences aside. All the planning was exhausting him - and she was the bride, with more than adequate reason to be tired, so it wasn't to say she didn't deserve it. Her parents seemed happy; though, of course, there was always the issue of payment. With enough money and nothing to spend it on, the assassin would have been happy to order a grandiose wedding; but just as much, the issue of money had come up before. They wanted their daughter to have a traditional Xingese wedding. Something he had no problem with; just that he didn't want to see his love's parents spending all their pension on a single day in their life.

Regardless, if they did end up paying, he could make up for it with a limitless amount of expensive meals and lucrative birthday gifts. They hadn't spoken much, but jewellery appealed to almost all women, Mei Han included, and Jun was bound to have a hobby of some description that Ayden could appeal to. For a moment, he lost himself in happier places, then the damning reality of the fact that he was alone, with no mentor, no guide, and no-one to chuckle as a young man's aspirations were succeeded nine years in the future. All the assassin had now was whispers and echoes of that grizzled, gravelly, coarse old voice, the memory of that stench of stale tobacco, and old nicks and cuts they'd gotten from dancing around each other, jabbing and kicking, on that old Aerugese martial arts training mat Heart had, fifty years old, tainted with white stains of sweat and brown of old dried blood.

Ayden mused for a moment on the fate of that mat, then realised that it was probably all but ash, now. The bookstore wasn't a crime scene any longer; but there seemed to be no plans for the burnt-out wreckage. Technically, Heart had left it to him; but it wasn't smart to further involve himself in this issue just as soon as one of the perpetrators had been cut down. Maybe he'd keep the land around as a memoir, at eternal, scorched testament of the way things had once been. Or maybe he'd clear it out and replace it with a safehouse, with a bed and wall upon wall of guns, knives, and conventional explosive. He couldn't think of what the old, late, so-called "sultan of slaying" would like more.

But alas; no amount of reminiscing would bring him back. Heart would have wanted him to look to the future; a future of glorious murder and crimson fountains, with all the fresh canvas at the world at Ayden's fingertips. Heart had lived seventy-two long years, and killed for at least forty of them. His life hadn't been wasted; in the sociopath's twisted view of things, it had been bountiful, fruitful, and well-lived. It was a life he'd want for the younger assassin, too. Just a shame, really. A shame that he'd never told him.

Pangs of guilt surged through the silver-haired artisan like a hot iron sinking in his gut. The realisation came in full: He'd never told him about Jeu-Hee. Those damnable mercenaries... slaughtering him like a dog. As hypocritical as it was... Ayden hated it, and hated it so. He wasn't sure whether Heart would have approved... so he could only presume that he wouldn't have.

But then... what about the time with Miss Vinrouge? When he'd mistaken her for a woman? Perhaps... maybe... yes. Within, Ayden knew that the old man had regretted missing his chance for a legacy; and not just that, for someone to share it with. He'd never found anyone accepting. But inside he knew that with Jeu-Hee, it was different. Heart would have loved her. She was courteous, bubbly, interesting, exciting... a perfect daughter-in-law, even if he'd never been his son's father in the first place.

He sighed. Though that series of revaluations had in turn helped tie up one loose end, and made him feel a touch better, Heart was still dead. Companionship and alcohol... that sounded about right. "Lead the way," Spoke the silver-haired assassin, his voice light and his words softer than silk, but carrying within the capacity for a poison deadlier than any other.

So wasn't this shaping up to be an interesting... almost morning. Even in death Takatori still had the last laugh and was probably relishing the fact that Anouk's nightmares made her suffer the way they did. Fucking bastard. And while there being other Itos wasn't exactly a headline to stop the presses, he was apparently decent-enough and might have been related to her. At the moment, Ela was the last Ito in her family that she knew of, unless she changed her last name back to her maiden name, or let the kids choose which to take. And she'd met a Major General, of all things, standing in the alley by her bar at odd hours throwing knives way wood. Well... Guess we all have to have a hobby of sorts. Or maybe that block of wood just really had it coming.

It was a bit fun, though, reading the slight physical reactions to things. There was a pause that depressed the air just slightly before it launched a smile upward onto his face, which was a welcome thing. "I'll drink to that." He seemed alright, but strange, armed men in large, black, bulky coats just seemed a bit more inviting to be around when they were smiling. Funny that. Anouk's own smile met his, albeit a far more tired one, her body begging for sleep that her mind and soul were afraid to take anymore. No, no. A drink sounded good. If she kept herself awake long enough, she'd be too exhausted to dream and revisit her own private Hell that she'd carved for herself. God, she hoped Ela's nights weren't like this, or Kitaro's... She'd sell what was left of her ravaged soul to untangle any dark claws that gripped and scratched at them at night. She knew her baby still had nightmares, and it killed her to watch him sleep, Kitaro's little hands balled into fists, or the way he'd defensively curl around his baby brother, even in their sleep.

[i] "Lead the way.{/i] With a voice smooth as the hot pink paintjob on her new Porsche and softer than the rain, the Major General seeming like he needed a stiff shot of something as badly as she did. Anouk gave a soft nod and pivoted on her heel in a nearly-perfect about face that came not from years of military experience, but the years she'd spent in martial arts and gymnastics. Back to the bar on the corner, imbedded in the row of buildings that had been in the area for nearly a century. Old, run-down in some places, bricks faded, chipped, and cracked. Some parts of the area weren't too bad, but it could use from fresh life, and hopefully, having the bar here would do just that and bring it all up for them. And who didn't like a convenient watering hole? Her hand shot back into her pocket, pulling the keys out that had barely had a chance to get comforatble as Anouk led Ayden to the front of the Steel Rose.

The windows were covered in brown packing paper, boasting that they'd soon be open for business. Large white letters in a font that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi samurai movie spanned the glass, lettering out the bar's name and a large decal of a samurai's sword whose end became a sharpened rose, each petal painted to look like it had a deadly edge. "Home sweet home, Anouk said softly, the door's bolt unlocking with the kind of hard click that only brand new hardware could bring. A lot of the features were new; the bar was great, and Nu was sure that in its prime it was something wonderful. But after years of disuse and neglect, repairing and resuscitating the place had been an effort of love that was finally showing through. The dark black and silver door pushed open, Nu hitting the light as she walked in and held it for her guest. Her tired smile warmed, Anouk in her element. "Welcome to the Steel Rose. I'm proud to say that you, officially, are my first guest."

There was a newness in the bar, in its fixtures and harware, its cushioned stools and the new varnish that made the wooden floors shine. But there was also an oldness, memories that carried and lingered through the polished oak bar and floor that had been there for decades, through the faceted Tiffany-esque lamps that hung down over booths, and the many vintage features she'd found in the building's dank and dusty basement from years gone by that Anouk had revived and made a part of the bar's newest incarnation. She could almost feel the ghosts of the bar that came before, the life and energy that they had that still hummed in the floors, and most of the time when she was alone Anouk could hear them. The echoes of people talking, the feel of them brushing against her as they oved around the bar, the merry buzz that came with a good night's crowd. Her new bar was haunted, but in the best kind of way.

Her purse plopped onto the polished bar without much ceremony, Anouk taking a deep breath to cleanse herself as she moved ot a place she'd known as home for almost ten years in Vegas. The shelves behind her were fully stocked, all the bottles of alcohol gleaming, full, and boasting the better brands of even the cheap stuff. Dark Amestrian beers and Cretan ales were on tap, along with one or two Creig brews. Anouk lifted a hand, gesturing to the bottles that sparkled behind her."So Major General.... Pick your poison."

Ayden's hand brushed over the paper covering the windows, silent as he examined the establishment. It seemed to be in good condition, even if a few signs did show that the previous owner had neglected it a tad; even just a gentle, old musk and a few markings in odd places which Anouk couldn't help if she tried set the assassin's analysis alarm bells ringing. Regardless, he stayed quiet and followed in, the cold, early-morning Cretan winds blowing harsh outside, having decided to almost toss them off the street forcibly. "Welcome to the Steel Rose. I'm proud to say that you, officially, are my first guest."

"I'm honoured, Miss Ito." The assassin spoke slowly. Anouk shut the door, and he smiled to himself at the insignia that the Miss Ito had chosen, a more... a more abstract image pertaining to the subject. All in all, the place seemed to have a more-than-homely feel with a strange, yet vacant energy to it, and a look of familiarity shot into Ayden as he cast his eyes over the shelves of spirits at the back. The proprietor quickly skirted around the bar and dropped her purse upon the counter, before smiling over to him.

"So Major General.... Pick your poison." The reassuring warmth within and the stars dancing in the skies outside gave this place all the charming features of the bitter, cold outside and none of the drawbacks. Even a creature sometimes branded as inhuman and monstrous - often, in Ayden's case - didn't respond well to these temperatures. A smile and cerulean eyes flicked along the sparkling fresh bottles of alcohol until the General finally set his eyes on a familiar bottle of a rich, deep, golden-brown.

"I'll treat myself to a double measure of that eighteen-year-old Glenfiddich you've got at the top, if you wouldn't mind," With age came quality; but it was a shame to drown your sorrows in something quite as expensive as the fifty-year stuff, without really enjoying it. A sharp taste for a sharp night; bitterness hung in the air like a lingering bad scent, and only strong alcohol could possibly alleviate it. The Major General swiftly tucked into one of his overcoat pockets, fetching a fifty-dollar bill from within and sliding it across the country. "Keep the change. Call it a gesture of good will and a wish of luck for the Steel Rose in the near future."

The assassin found it time to shed his coat. It became too awkward and weighty inside - and whilst there was always the fact that a lot of people could be offset by the sight of his various items of... "hardware", Anouk knew now that he was a man of the military, and possibly one of the only men around in London at this time of knight with reason, license, and trust when it came to firearms. Still, he didn't want to set the woman off - she was still only an acquaintance, and for all the assassin knew, there could be all manner of death machines tucked neatly away beneath the bar.

Slowly, he set the coat off and revealed his ceramic plate beneath. Dual, interlinked shoulder-holsters hosted a pair of machine pistols - the infamous Twins that had put a sudden stop to so many heartbeats, an end to so many pitiful lives - which the assassin neatly hung over the barstool to his left. "I hope my being armed doesn't offset you, Miss Ito." Slowly, he unclipped the bandolier of throwing knives over his torso, and let that fall down to the other stool. The similar string of blood phials came next. Those were always the most awkward to explain in conversation. "I promise you, I bear you no ill will. A man of stature must simply be able to defend himself and others around him." In spite of everything, a smirk flickered on the man's face. Heart would be proud. Drinking with a stranger at this hour, and still, he could muster just a touch of a famous facade.

He froze mid-movement for a moment and the smirk turned to a full-blown chuckle beneath the assassin's breath as he unclipped his twin tanto and set them down as well. All of the other unnecessary peripherals - halberd, crossbow, sub-machine gun, sniper rifle, shotgun, et cetera - had found their way safely into the locked, bolted, and code-operated trunk of Ayden's R8. There wasn't a single hope in hell of some Tom, Dick, or Harry cracking into his... private stocks. There were still a few burlap sacks containing "proof" within, so there was a change it'd be a little more private and surprising than usual. Gyahahaha!

The assassin smiled and set himself back down, finally unstrapping Interceptor and coiling that around the stool. It was almost ungodly, the amount of weaponry he carried even in day-to-day life; though it did help with muscle tone and donated a decent amount to his weight training. He could run half as far with twice as much and stay in the same sort of fitness state. "As you can probably see, I like to ensure my protection is paramount. Personally." As was typical protocol, the Children stayed holstered firmly at his ankles. Ayden smiled. That was another point Heart would have been proud of.

It wasn't long before it struck him. Jeu-Hee or not, Heart had been his father; or the closest thing he'd had. The man loved him like a son, and mistakes were made - they had to be - and even then, he would have - he had - supported Ayden through thick and thin. All this interpersonal and silent commentary on how Heart would appreciate this or that really finally clicked. The man was gone, but a memory remained. A ghost that would haunt the killer forever. And a ghost that he was thankful for. A ghost lurking around the corner reminding him to double tap when it came to certain headshots. A ghost that told him cover behind corrugated iron was temporary at best. A ghost that told him that enemies could come from anywhere, at any time. A ghost that told him to be prepared.

This phantom, this spectre, this phantasm... it wasn't some immortal essence of Ayden's psychological wellbeing. Not in the slightest. It was a ghost compiled of all the lessons that Heart had ever taught him, everything the man had ever told him or instructed him. Every little last iota of information the assassin had soaked up. And though memories were the only other things he had, some only voice clips from his earlier years, stuck eternally on loop in his head... he carried Heart now within him.

And inside he knew that the man would have been proud of him whatever he'd done.

A smile crept onto the assassin's face as a feeling of contentment rushed up from within. The wounds were still sore - and Glenfiddich would soothe that pain - but the first major step in clotting it and the skin knotting itself back together, thread by thread, had been accomplished. Pace had been started, and from there, Ayden could find himself a rhythm. Murder was in his blood, in his lineage, in his mind; in his Heart. And he wouldn't have had it any other way.

And he knew now that the man would be proud of him for humouring a stranger in a drink, and for providing company to someone at their bleakest. For even assassins are people; even assassins need contact, and need friends. No-one can survive alone. Loneliness brings delirium. Delirium brings insanity. Insanity... well, insanity is just unprofessional.

A cackle slowly hissed out from the assassin's mouth, and he trailed off into his regular mania. That rhythm had found its tracks, the man's twisted mind its stompinh ground. And with a basis, a source, something to hold fast to and something to keep a vice-grip on... from there, stability would come second-nature again. Before long, he would - he KNEW - be up on his feet and murdering again. There were a vast world of fleshy men and women out of there just itching for a knife to the throat or a cluster of buckshot to the chest.

"Miss Ito..." Ayden began softly, with a look of contented glee upon your face. "Do you ever know - not tell yourself, but know - that whatever happens to someone, wherever they go, whatever fate or change befalls them... that the person they were, the person you knew... will always live on within you?" An uncanny smile from the assassin. Mental wounds healed, time the only therapy. And in this case, less than most for the murderer's mourning. "They will always live on within you..." He repeated, interlocking his fingers and looking up off into the sky. "For better... or for worse." In this case, it was both. For Ayden, better. Evil swirled and stemmed within him. Jeu-Hee had accepted the means to an end for the pair of them. But, for any targets? Worse. A whole lot worse. "I should explain. My father passed away recently." He smiled. "I guess you could say I've had a crisis... a crisis of faith." That was... the most adequate way to put it.

"He was a confusing man, but, now, I understand what he meant for me." Ayden smiled, azure meeting lavender as he finally drew back up to her. "I'll carry on his bidding and his legacy, even out of respect." Sapphire flames burned wild in those eyes as a primal, bestial snarl stemmed from the silver-haired maniac's throat. "Even if it takes me to the end of the world and I have to cut through an army alone to do it." Targets would be aplenty now; for as long as the assassin was able and willing, the only problem just having solved itself, business was never in short supply.

Why was business never in short supply? Something Heart had told him so very long ago. "So long as there are two people still left on this world, at some point, one of them will want to kill the other."