Collab work - part 1

Brogan dropped her fake smile, exchanging it for a look of disgust as she pulled her dagger out of the chest of her victim. She got off the bed, dressing herself quickly so as not to get cold. She cast her eyes around the dingy room, looking for something out of place, trying to see through the eyes of her enemies. Everything looked normal, besides the dead man sprawled over the bed. Brogan retched slightly and walked over to the window: opening it and breathing in the cool night air, letting it caress her face and hair.

After a few seconds she leaned out and looked as far as she could away from the village, towards the forest path. A dark figure, barely discernable, leaned against a tree. She smiled and ran one hand through her hair, before turning back to look into the room. A mask of pure revulsion was on her face. The dead man lay as she remembered leaving him, only moments before, but somehow he looked more grotesque after the cool night air. Brogan forced herself to walk over to the bed and rummage through the sheets. This won’t take long, she promised herself, and smiled slightly as she felt the smooth parchment against her fingers. She straightened up, folding the already folded piece of parchment and pocketing it quickly.

Brogan’s gray eyes scanned the room again, this time slower, and finally rested upon her victim. The blood from her precise single blow was seeping into the dirty bed sheets, adding to the other repulsive substances that had leaked for years into them. She pulled out her dagger again, wrapping her cloak around her arm first, and placed it carefully back into the wound of her victim. She hesitated for a moment before lifting up his limp hand and placing it over the dagger’s hilt. It fell down, coming to rest very near it. She was satisfied. It looked enough like a suicide without more effort on her part. She turned to the window again, pulling herself athletically onto the window frame and out of sight.

She landed like a cat, silent and graceful and stood up quickly. There was no one around the entrance to the inn, all were inside or in their homes. The drunks she had encountered before were either asleep on the porch or otherwise elsewhere with prostitutes desperate enough to have them. She squared her shoulders, checking with a subtle movement that the folded parchment was still on her, and walked away towards the forest path without looking back.

--

Gellert looked up as she approached; he could sense her before he saw her. She’d been in his life forever. He knew her movement, her scent, her breath and her body (although not intimately). He also knew that she was angry, very angry, right then. She handled anger just like he did.

“The only difference between you and me, Gell, is that you have the equipment to handle both genders of victims.”

“Rough night?” Gellert grinned, pushing himself away from the tree with his shoulder and matching her footsteps. Brogan stopped, turned, and slapped Gellert so hard he stepped backwards, hand flying to his cheek. With a glare Brogan turned to walk away from the village again. This time, Gellert waited a while before following.

“Was he that bad?”

“The bastard had four stomachs! Like a cow!!”

Gellert barked laughter but stopped abruptly as Brogan turned to him again.

“Oh you laugh,” she spat. “But you didn’t have to go near him!” she closed her eyes and made a disgusted noise. Gell smiled innocently.

“Not this time…”

Brogan opened her eyes again, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh please, name one ugly or remotely disgusting woman that YOU have had to sleep with for information?” she grabbed his elbow and pulled him onwards, further into the shadows of the trees. Gellert thought, and smiled, knowing that he couldn’t name anyone who would fit that description.

“Will he bother you again, Brogie?”

“I don’t suppose so,” Brogan didn’t smile, but Gellert knew she’d calmed down. “He liked my dagger though,” she continued absently.

“Did you gift it to him them?” Gell grinned, Brogan smiled slightly.

“He took it to heart,” she reached into her pocket and pulled out the folded parchment, holding it between her middle and forefinger. “And gave a gift of his own.”

“Ah, the powers of equivalent exchange…” Gell reached out for the parchment but Brogan pocketed it again. She sped up her pace, looking around herself warily. She was sure someone was following… Gellert kept up with her easily, matching her stride. After a while Brogan’s shoulders relaxed slightly and she sighed.

“You finished early today,” she remarked, catching a glimpse of Gellert’s grin out of the corner of her eye.

“She was easy,”

Brogan sent him a sidelong glance. “Then you got it?”

Gell pulled a piece of parchment out from inside his cloak, holding it as Brogan had done before putting it away.

“All that, and no blood spilt.”

Brogan spun around, Gell automatically took a step back.

“You left her ALIVE?”

Gell smiled innocently. Brogan’s jaw dropped.

“For the love of…” she cursed loudly. “I don’t BELIEVE you! You’ve killed our reputation! WE NEVER LEAVE PEOPLE ALIVE!”

“We have a reputation?” inquired Gell with a smile, very ready to take another step back if need be.

“The Mar twins leave no one alive. Gellert, you IDIOT!!”

“But she was so scared to die, Brogie,” Gellert couldn’t control his smile at Brogan’s expression. Brogan ran her hands forcefully through her hair.

“She can identify you! AND me!”

“Well, I am unforgettable…” muttered Gell. Brogan grabbed his collar and pulled him close, almost nose to nose.

“Looky here, Ganymede.” She said quietly, slowly. “Tell me you killed her, or you’ll be unforgettable for a different reason.” She glanced down to emphasize her point. Gellert laughed out loud and she pushed him back, flicking out her larger dagger. He giggled uncontrollably and leaned against a tree.

“Brogie! Calm down!”

“Did you kill her?”

Gell nodded his reply, trying to stay upright. “Oh God, your face right now…”

“Why did you lie to me then?”

“I never did!” Gellert got control of himself again. “I said she was scared to die, I never said I didn’t kill her!”

“Well is she dead?” Brogan spun her dagger in her hand quickly and sheathed it again. Gell couldn’t help himself. He laughed again.

“For nearly ten hours!!”

Brogan muttered an oath under her breath and turned to walk away again. Gell caught his breath and jogged after her.

“Listen, Brogie? How can we have a reputation, if we stay hidden, silent and unknown?”

“Shut up.”

“But – “

“I said shut up.” Brogan had stopped walking, Gell walked into her outstretched hand but she didn’t seem to notice. She was looking around the forest. A twig snapped near them and she pulled out her dagger again, noticing that Gell was already armed with a dagger of his own. “Rangers…”

No sooner had Brogan whispered the word that an arrow whistled through the air, missing her by inches.

“Trees!” she shouted to Gell and thrust her dagger into the trunk of a solid-looking tree, using it as a foothold to push herself up. She hooked her legs around the branch she’d climbed onto and swung down to remove her dagger. She swung back up in time to avoid another arrow.

“Gell!” she didn’t get a reply, but she forced herself to believe that he was also in a tree, safe (for now) from Ranger arrows.
She removed another dagger from inside her boot and pushed the tiny button on the end of it. It split into three, needle-thin weapons. She placed them between her fingers behind the last joint and swung down again, flicking her hand out in front of her. She swung back up, with no time to admire her handiwork, the only proof of her success being the thud of a body against the cold earth.

“Gell! Where are you?”

No answer. And no answering arrows. She sat in the tree in silence, her breath coming in gasps… steaming small clouds in front of her before dissolving. She swallowed, trying to calm herself down.

“Gellert Isaac Mar! Answer me right now!”

The forest was silent. She swung down from the tree again, loosening her legs around the branch, and flipped off it easily onto the ground. The forest was silent again, nothing moved. She could see the shadow of her victim a few feet away, but no sign of her brother. She ran her fingers through her hair again, her hear rate speeding up again.

“Gell,” she whispered. She turned on the spot, her eyes searching for any sign of her brother. And then she saw it: his dagger, with the intricate carvings on the handle, stuck into the trunk of a tree nearby. Just as hers had been. Only he’d never picked it up.