Blood Money [GlitchBait]

Hakeem Al Qatan walked in to Pan's dorm, bristiling with weaponry. "Pan, We going back to Damascus. A Saceren merchant is supplying Templars with weaponry. His death is essential for our crusade." He laid out a map on the dorm's table. He pointed on a certain corner in the souk. " This is his shop, we'll have to eliminate him."

Pan's corner of the dorm was littered with loose papers scattered across her desk. When Hakeem entered, she was lounging with her hood up and in the windowsill, staring out across the landscape sketching. There were several images. Faces of the assassin's and good views from places usually only reached by assassins. The images would cause trouble in the wrong hands, and it seemed she had captured them well. Her weapons were on the untouched bed in a very orderly fashion, like she had taken the opportunity to sharpen and care for her equipment and yet, hadn't touched the bed. Likely, she slept in the corner where her cloak was crumpled.

When he spoke to draw her attention, her good eye narrowed on him. "Your men are good, assassin. Good at keeping a person trapped. Novices... nosey." She grumbled in her false rough voice and hopped down, the window's view on a piece of parchment slowly being clenched in her grip. Her footsteps didn't make a sound as she ghosted over to the table and glanced at the map. "Tell me what you think you know, then." Her nose wrinkled and she kicked a chair into a place she could sit close to the map and peer under Hakeem's hood. "This is almost as insane as those leaps you guys take off the city walls." She dropped a small piece of kohl next to the map, her fingers stained black from it before she smudged around her eyes, giving herself raccoon-like shadows. It seemed an almost subconscious action.

"Insanity is the very core of order, Pan." Hakeem smiled. " Our target is a camel merchant, Tariq Al Quraishi. He's been a Templar for fairly short time, but more a pawn than a full member." Hakeem said. " He is a cowardly man, with a weakness for women, that's where you come in, although it might not be pleasing for you, and it might end with you losing your self-esteem. I will continue with if will agree to do what we tell you to."

She stared at Hakeem like he had lost his darn mind for several minutes, letting the silence speak for her. She didn't even twitch or shift to become more comfortable in the stony silence, her features screwed into a look of disgust and mild contempt.

"Weakness for women? Sounds like you need a whore, not a scoundrel. Of which I am not." Drawing to her less than impressive five or so feet in height, she let the cold expression remain. "No man with eyes looks twice at a defective woman. Why do you think I dress as a boy?" There was a madness to the methods she employed, or maybe a method to her madness? Whatever it was, chances of getting her to try and seduce someone would be like pulling out teeth as she made stubbornly clear as she crossed her arms. Pan could only shake her head at him, laughter threatening to bubble up and escape from her. Agreeing to do as she was told? The days were just getting better and better! Next thing he would insist was that she wore a dress!

" No,no, nothing like that, all you need to do is lure him out, disguised as a.. dancer. You lead him to this alley here," he pointed to a street in the map."Oh, and we have paints and pigments for your scars. There's silver in it for you, 400 dirhams, for a simple job.Besides, the man's an animal, he'll drool over any woman that crosses his path, in fact, I think he is too fat to walk a path. C'mon our horses are saddled."

An almighty snort tore it's way from Pan as she rounded up her weaponry and gave an eye roll to emphasize how insane she believed his plan was. It didn't take very long for her to strap up and collect her many drawings, stuffing them inside a roll of leather and attaching it to her quiver. Many more drawings were hidden away as well, it seemed she kept traveling records via picture as opposed to a journal. "Don't dancers wear those sheer outfits?" Like the women in the garden by the library? She wanted to ask but bit down on her tongue before she insulted the many women and shivered in disgust. Women could be catty, troublesome. Pan wanted to avoid that potential conflict.

The pay out would be worth a bit of a blow to her pride. It was almost as much as she brought with her to Masyaf. With it she may be able to bribe the guards at the gate instead of being caught at the archaic wall. If she was to think less of the man, she might try and say he had ulterior motives. Somehow she doubted it what with those actually attractive women in the gardens and all. Instead she muttered under her breath, carrying her saddle bags with all her worldly possessions on her shoulder, making sure her hood and mask were secure before making her way to the gate.

On the road, Hakeem was pondering about his plan. He knew it was crazy, in fact, quite insane. But, if the plan worked, it would deliver a crippling blow to the Templars and their motives. But he couldn't help but feel sorry for Pan,for shoving her into a new world of battling orders, something that took him years to grasp, even longer to understand. Touching the stub where his left ring finger supposed to be, he thought about the day he took his oath. Although it was 2 years back, it seem an eternity past. A finger as price for a new life, he thought, a life of putting men in their graves. " Pan," He said as the sun began to set." We should set camp, there are bandit and other dangers at night." Hakeem began unpacking things from his saddle bag.

Pan had been, all in all, perhaps too silent during the day's ride. Her gaze always wandered to the far distacne as if in deep thought. She even rode like a man might on the borrowed steed. It made her want to perhaps gut the man while he slept that when he barked orders, he expected them to be followed. He gave the illusion of choice and it was the illusion she hated even more than the orders themselves, Pan always had hated illusions. If she was honest... he didn't bark. But to her, he may as well have.

Her good eye focused once more on Hakeem when he finally broke the silence and she chuckled. "Bandits and other dangers? I never thought a high and mighty assassin would be afraid of the dark! Do you fear the subhuman creatures that thrive at night?" Her tone was highly sarcastic, trying to goad him into perhaps snapping and for them to have an excuse to kill eachother. In truth, she was more worried about the cold that came with the desert night and the poisonous insects and snakes seeking warmth. It never failed to happen. The wrong snake or scorpion and they would be dead by the time the sun dawned. The thought actually brought a bubble of laughter from her.

It didn't change the fact she slowed her pace and turned her attention towards areas they could camp off the road and out of immediate 'bandit' danger without risking the anger of the wildlife. When a suitable place was found, she tethered her horse and went quickly to starting a small but inconspicuous fire to cook by. If she could get the coals hot but keep the flames low all would be well. Experience played a hand in her abilities. Settling down as the sun dropped, she hummed a strange tune more for herself before daring to allow herself into the shallow sleep she thrived on. Her eyes cracking open every time a small sound was made, even if it was just cloth rustling. Traveling with a companion was going to leave her irritable in the morning.

Hakeem was up by dawn. He sat on a stone sharpening his sword, a gilded Arabian saber. As he honed his blade, he saw what were merely dots on the horizon, behind them a cloud of dust so high it almost halfway reached the hot middle eastern sun. As they got closer he noticed that they were half a dozen or so Sacarens, due to their clothes and and armour. They had long billowing black robes, which covered their necks and faces. Hakeem's heart almost stopped when he realized. Bandits. He ran towards Pan to warn her of their visitors. "Up, Pan! Bandits!"

Due to her half-sleeping state, she required longer to rest. The sharpening of weapons an oddly comforting sound as she picked up the sounds of movement in the camp. It was his shout that made her Crack open her one eye and level a glare on him. "Don't stare at me, Hakeem. It's rude- Wait. Did you actually say 'bandits'?" Her grumbling irritability seemed to fade as she sat up and tried to spot what he was claiming. Bandits on the horizon. Of course there were. She was up in seconds, rolling out of her tightly wrapped cloak and letting it fall back behind her with a small thump.

A rather crazed expression seemed to take her and she smirked to Hakeem. "Aww, don't tell me you were worried for my safety, now! Honestly, Hakeem!" With a laugh to match the insane expression, she swiftly packed up her horse and readied her bow in one hand. She was beyond livid at the wake up call, but nothing could be done about it. "Do we wait and dance or run? Personally, I advise we run!" She shouted as she kicked loose sand over the hot coals of the fire. There was no sense getting harassed and attacked for something she would rather keep. Right now, she almost preferred a cobra. At least those you didn't have to run far from and miss out on breakfast... to think her morning had almost been alright.

Hakeem sprinted to where the horses were tethered. As he mounted his horse, Hakeem barked at Pan." Ride hard! Damascus is a few hours away!" He galloped away, his spur bloodying the horse. He didn't mean to hurt the poor animal, who has already been spooked by the yelling. The howling and screaming bandits were ever getting closer, armed to the nails, ruthless and deadly. He regretted not bringing a bow with him, which could of been handy at the moment, along with Pan's, a few dead bandits would not have trouble. "Yah!" He urged the horse on.

Bringing her horse hot onto Hakeem's heels, she tossed him her reigns with a shout for him to catch before turning in her saddle and planting her feet firmly in the stirrups and taking aim. The first couple shots went wild, missing the targets before one arrow finally embedded itself in a following riders chest and they slumped right off their speeding horse.

One of the bandits fell back to pick up the fallen comrade while the others pressed forward with renewed anger. Their shouts increasing in both volume and velocity as they pushed their horses harder and pan had to abandon firing to make up for lost speed. "Two down! HA!" She drove the horse further forward along with Hakeem before the bandits steeds seemed to tire. They weren't far out from Damascus by then as she turned to Hakeem And drew another arrow, finding herself running low. "Did my ears deceive me? Where you scared? Six of them, two of us... the odds where in our favor!" Unfortunately her supply was running low. Aim was troublesome on horseback.

She didn't want to remind the man how they had met. Two versus several knights. Granted they were off duty knights but one of them had been injured, namely her. She rubbed her scarred thigh at the memory. To think it all brought her back to this city. The city she could see coming steadily closer on the horizon even as they were tailed by angry bandits. Pan twisted in her saddle once more and let loose a few more arrows, angry shouts ringing out as the riders tried to dash aside. The comforting twang of her bow brought a smIle to her masked face.

When they reached the Bureau in Damascus, an assassin handed dancer's silks to Pan. "You know the plan, lure the man we'll deal with the rest. Go on, wear them."Hakeem told her, he turned to his fellow assassin to continue planning.

Their trip was apparently rather quiet after bandits tried to take their swing and lost the two fleeing figures to the city. Therefore it was with little surprise that Pan regarded the Assassin's Bureau. The symbol on the roof had made her blink in surprise, mutterings of seeing it before floated from her as she pieced the reason for its existence.

But nothing could stop the sheer disgust on her face when she was handed the dancers outfit, not even her mask. Pan was wondering once again why she hadn't fallen back on years of survival instinct and fought her way away. She shook the material out and examined it almost like it was disease ridden. "Think of the pay. Think of the pay. You can break hands if you have to, but think of the pay." She muttered to herself as a mantra before looking around for anywhere 'safe' to swap clothes. An agitated growl came from her as she motioned to the Bureau exit. "Meet me there, one hour." With that, she made an exit swifter than anyone could stop her, making sure to lose any tail.

She honestly believed she was unmistakable when an hour later she moved stiffly through the souk towards the target. The material was far too revealing for her sensibilities and more than once she leveled a glare promising death to anyone who stared too long. She wasn't unhealthy or ugly but perhaps malnourished and the evidence she was a harder worker showed in the fact she had definition where most women didn't; muscle. Little attempt was made to hide the scars beyond a passing glance, but she didn't have a clue what powders or creams did what, so she did her best on her own. Pan's blind eye was the giveaway to who she was. Otherwise, no, she would not have been very recognisable.

Making her way past guards was troublesome. People had rude things to say about the scantily clad female. Through it all, she thankfully didn't snap. Biting her tongue as she altered her step to be more like a prowling feline, she gave a smirk as the target came into view. Perhaps this would go well, likely not. The major hiccup came when she got close to her target, a guard gripping her arm tightly. In a reflex, Pan reached for her weapon which wasn't in a trusty sheath on her hip. She panicked just long enough to slap the guard, letting out an indignant growling hiss. The merchant she was supposed to lure actually came to her rescue.

His fat sausage fingers wrapped around her waist and he slid her behind him, it would have been so easy to slip around knife in his lung from behind, but her hands came up empty. It was almost like her focus faded out around the camel merchant acted as a guardian angel, making promises to clean her up the guard... Pan only came back to when he took her gently in his grasp and began to lead her away from the souk. He was walking to his death as she was well aware. This Templar who saved her versus the Assassin who put her in danger to begin with. Taking his hand tightly, she cast her gaze around for said Assassin. She wanted to know the other side of this tale, but her irrational fear of soldiers stopped her from asking anyone in armor, making this perverted merchat perfect for answers. Pan lead the man to an alley and brushed his hands off her skin with brely repressed disgust. He felt like ants, crawling and making her skin respond in kind.

"Speak to me, Templar. Tell me what the Assassin's would hide. You cannot avoid your demise, but you might... help me. Help me understand. Why do you do this?" Her desperation was almost believable when the merchant flushed a dark purple and backhanded her. "Whore! Whore of the Assassins! Why should I tell you, a woman, of which you couldn't begin to comprehend? It is not I who will die today." His tone was grim and he forced her to the wall. His weight wasn't something she could begin to contend with as she kneed him in the 'family jewels' and scurried to a corner away from him, waiting for the assassin to drop down before she had to take the single knife she had hidden and relieve her target of his life. Her fingers fumbled for the blade as he righted himself. "I am no whore. I am your death." Came her response after spitting blood from her busted lip to the ground and threw her blade with precision.

Did it catch the sausage man in the throat or the assassin in the back, though? Would he drop down in time or and at the wrong time? Was he listening to her questioning the Templar? What would he think? What could either say? It was abundantly clear that Pan wanted to understand more than the Assassin was offering, she wanted a freedom neither party could offer. Blind faith was not in her capable skills. She was already blind enough, pun intended.