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The trainee and the peasant (Sirix and Jemima)

sirix

sirix

Supernova
Joined
Aug 24, 2013
Location
Northwest
Lance, an assassin trainee, starts on his long journey with only his heavy leather bag containing clothes, his assassin gear, stolen important documents, and a few other things of necessity. He sneaks out of the dorm quietly, making sure to not wake the other trainees and the master of the dorm. He knows that he must jump the castle wall, an easy feat that he accomplishes quickly, since they taught it to all the trainees so they could do it in other castles for easy escapes. Once over the wall, he listens for the inevitable call for the guards to search the streets for a young man about 6 foot tall, wearing black clothing, hard leather boots, and a cloak hiding his build, with light brown hair and deep blue eyes.

Hearing nothing, for now at least, he starts his challenging run across the city buildings. The jumps were easy closer to the castle but the off kilter roofs farther away from the castle were not a good support to land on. The slums were the hardest part of the city run, with stealth at his level basically impossible. Masters could make this run without a sound, but Lance hadn't acquired that amount of skill yet.

Not long after he starts the run the guards hear his foot falls on the roofs and are sent on his trail. They gain on him quickly as Lance progresses through the large city. As he nears the outside wall, Lance landed on a bad tile on the roof of a peasant's house and stumbles. Unable to recover, Lance tumbled from the roof to the waiting ground below.
 
Fleur dropped the bucket of sloshing water onto the cobble-stoned street and dried her wet hands on an apron. It was barely morning, the sun still cold and soft as it battled the wisps of fog clearing the streets. There wasn't much beauty in Fleur's part of the city; the ramshackle homes were poorly kept, in need of repair that inhabitants couldn't afford. Fleur nodded at the elderly woman across the street shuffling back into her home. Poor as they were on the western wall, it was the kindest part of town. The slums on the southeastern side of the city housed the thieves and low-lives that she would rather avoid.

At such an early hour, the streets were quiet. People were still asleep or already departed for work, positions in manual labor that barely kept food on the table. Fleur's brother had left hours ago to help the merchants load their carts. Fleur spent her time caring for the sick in their neighborhood with what little herbs and medicines they could scrape up. She had done the same for her younger sister until she passed away a month ago. Fleur had considered searching for a job as well with only her brother providing for them both, but the only positions offered to a poor, beautiful girl were less than desirable. Fleur would rather fight a never-ending battle against the sickness in their streets than surrender her dignity for such little earnings.

Fleur pulled herself out of thought and gently tossed her ash blonde hair over one shoulder. Her slender build made it difficult to carry so many buckets of water from the well near the inner city, but there was laundry to wash. The hem of the sky blue dress she wore was beginning to soil from the streets - unavoidable in such a poor part of town, really. As Fleur bent to pour the bucket into the tub outside her door, a man tumbled to the street just steps away - from her own roof.

Fleur dropped the bucket of water and stumbled back, hands raised to stop the scream that welled to her lips. The man was mostly shrouded by a large cloak but, despite his dark clothes and hard leather boots, he didn't seem to be threatening her. Fleur hovered uncertainly, staring at the man, when the quiet streets were interrupted by shouts and heavy footsteps. The guards, perhaps?

Fleur quickly made the connection: they were after this man. She had no love for the law in her city. It was often mistaken and unjust. She impulsively opened the door to her home, creaking slightly on rusted hinges, and beckoned the man inside.

"Hurry," Fleur gestured urgently, glancing up the street to see if the guards had turned the corner.
 
Lance groaned as he pushed himself off the ground and did a quick self body assessment through his disorientation. Nothing was broken, thank the gods, but he would be in pain for a while. After getting up he takes a quick look around and sees only one person who could have noticed his little spill from the roof. He could hear what she was saying clearly but her hand motions made it very clear. The guards were near by. He didn't see any near by himself but that didn't mean they weren't close by

"Thank you" Lance whispers as he half limps into the small house. He was hoping that she was going to shelter him for a short time, but wouldn't be surprised if she locked the door on him and hurried to the guards herself to have him captured all the quicker. He pulls his hood a little farther over his face so he could protect his identity a little better. If she was helping him, the least she knew the better, if not.......well he didn't want her to be identifiable to him for her own safety.

Slowly becoming aware of everything around him but still a little oblivious to anything going on behind him, since he was still recovering from his fall, Lance starts a more full self check. His ankle was everything but sprained, and he has some serious cuts on his hands and bruises on his torso. All in all not as bad as it could have been, but defiantly on of the worst falls he had taken in his life. He groans again in pain as he starts to rub his ankle a little, hoping to get the blood flowing in that area to speed up the healing process.
 
Fleur glanced down the street once more before stepping back over the threshold of her home and closing the door. She secured it with a rusty lock that wouldn't hold against a rabid dog and nervously pressed her ear to the wood, waiting for the booted steps to hopefully pass them by. The guards had rushed down their streets many times before in the pursuit of stray thieves and the like. She had never housed any fugitives, however, and now turned to look at the man she sheltered in her home.

He stood in the middle of the room, rubbing his ankle and groaning lightly. He seemed in pain and there were some nasty cuts on his cheeks, his arms, that Fleur knew should be treated immediately to prevent infection - it was all too common in this part of the city. Her first instinct was to start a fire to heat some of the water she had drawn from the well earlier and begin treating his wounds, but smoke from the chimney this early on a summer morn would draw attention from the guards outside - and with so many on his tail, she doubted the man should linger.

"Sit down," Fleur directed the man to a spindly chair at her old dining table on the right hand side of the small living room. Her home had only one bedroom - her brother often slept in a pallet near the living room hearth - and Fleur briefly stepped into the bedroom to retrieve her washbasin. She set it on the dining room table and said, "You should wash your face." A strange order, but only criminals and thieves were dirty - the man should attract as little attention as possible. There was little she could do about his scraped and stained clothes.

"I'm going to wrap your ankle. It won't do much if it's broken, but it will help you bear some of the pressure," Fleur explained, now gathering some ill-gotten bandages from a cabinet and kneeling in front of the man. She needed to work quickly while the guards were still scouring streets and not homes - which they would undoubtedly start soon, if they truly wanted to find this man. As Fleur gingerly removed his boot and gently wrapped his ankle, she furtively glanced at the man she was helping. From her vantage point, she could see some of his features. He appeared honorable enough and certainly young, handsome...but she wondered if it was right to help him.

Resting back on her ankles after completing her wrap and leaving the man to replace his boot, Fleur asked with some measure of trepidation, "What are you running from?"
 
Lance followed this woman's orders since it seemed she seemed to be wanting to help him. As long as she didn't try to get to much information out of him, this little forced break wouldn't be to bad. The chair creaked under his weight but held, which actually surprised him since it looked warn to its breaking point. He watched her eye the fire place a moment but turn away quickly.

Lance chuckles a little as she tells him to wash his face, It was only dirty because of his recent fall if at all. At least that meant she couldn't see under his hood for a moment. His clothes had seen better days as well, but he wore these instead of his clean and fresh clothes for this purpose. As she moved to what he guessed was a bedroom, Lance knew she was going for something for his ankle, which meant a closer point to him and a good look at his face.

Lance pointed his face down as far as he dared, so she couldn't get a truly detailed look but it was still enough for her to be able to describe him. He kept his eyes closed so she couldn't see his most notable feature for now. "It's not broken, but thank you for the care." Lance tried to keep his voice non-descript. All this was for her safety of course should she be discovered.

Lance's breathe hitched as she asked the one question he hoped she wouldn't ask. He thought for a quick moment before answering quietly, "The less you know the better.........for both of our sakes." Lance slips his boot back on smoothly so not to hurt himself as he put it on.

Then came the knock. Then the rough voice of a guard. "Open up. We are looking for a traitor to the crown."

Lance opened his eyes and looked at this woman straight in the face, his shocking blue eyes almost pleading for her to not turn him in.
 
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