Thread: "La Vittima" and "Le Sauveur (for RTP and TheWaitingDisaster)

Repeat's Post Rosalba had turned to face the other direction, and then she felt something cold and razor sharp pierce her in the back. The pain in her body met the dismay that shook and disarmed her consciously as her knees caved in and gravity taking a hold of her. She wanted to get back up and turn around- defend herself and disarm the one that was very clearly now her opponent, but the wound made her torso stiff, limbs limp, and mobility impossible as the pain seemingly kept pulling her closer to the grounds rough surface. It was the sound of laughter that irked her pride and motivated her to painfully roll back on her other side face pitifully face her opponent. She watched as her new enemy's silhouette- the one who she had just moments before seen as a valuable ally and friend- stepped back once, seemingly to pause and watch her shudder in pain, then saunter away from her and out the room, leaving her the sole presence left. ----- An hour or so passed. Maybe it was two hours- as what had previously been twilight turned to the dark night. It felt more like broken minutes for Rosalba, however. She wanted to writhe in the discomfort, but the dull, aching wound throbbed and kept her still- her torso now heavy with the bleeding in her insides, and her limbs very clearly weak and drained. All of her energy had been drained away, and it now sit in the pool of blood beneath her- soaking her clothes and hair, coating her skin. She could no longer see clearly, the corners of her vision had darkened and any source of miniscule light that the dying out candles were distorted. A voice came very clearly from somewhere. It almost seemed to be from above, but really it had been to her right. It took effort, but Rosalba turned her head and peeked through her eye lashes. All she could see were hues of dark greys and blues, with a shining light of pale yellow and orange. The voice came again, this time closer to her. Then another voice came, slightly more to the left, but very clearly still above her. The voices were not directed at her, and she could not make them out. A hand lay itself upon her forehead and pushed her hair out of the way, and she felt herself pushing her head into the warm palm, relishing at how warm it was. Can you tell me who are? The words were now clear, and the hand didn't seem to move. Rosalba's eye flickered open, and she found that she saw still saw nothing but blurry colors. She closed her eyes to focus on her speech. R- Ro- URK-KAUGH! She felt something thick and warm bubble up from the back of her throat, with the feeling of a painful chill washing through her as she bled out from her back, and crimson dribbled from her lips. Blood. Rosalba squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered. More voices wavered in the air and the hand moved away. Rosalba tried to move away, but then something warm and soft wrapped itself around her. Arms took her and gingerly lifted her up. Then the feeling of the other person lifting her up faded away, and as Rosalba fell out of consciousness, the feeling of warm tightness did not follow her into the void. ------------------------- The Waiting Disaster's Post Felicien frowned down at the young girl. So young. Too young for her life-style. He had been running surveillance when he and his partner Archard had spotted the young girl. They didn't know how she had gotten there, but her clothes made it very obvious that she was an Italian assassin. One of the very people that Felicien and his like had been trained from a young age to kill. They had always been taught the Italian ring was full of deadly, blood-thirsty monsters. Yet here she was, totally defenseless, and with the look of her wound it had not been a Bras Militaire Military Arm blade that had done her this horrible wound. The three triangularly oriented blades would have been unmissable if that had been the case. No, the Bras de Bibliothque Library Arm had taught Felicien well that this was an Italian blade which had been drawn against her. Under the glow of the early rising sun, her scarlet-red blood seemed to sparkle on the shingles of the roof. Leave her. Archard spoke plainly from the opposite side of her. We can't Archard. You know. Felicien reprimanded the younger assassin. Why not? He asked curiously. Felicien shook his head, If there is descention amidst the Italian ranks, then the Bras de Bibliothque will wish to know about it, and so will the Master. You know this. So what do we do with her? Archard asked. We take her back with us. Felicien said. He placed a single gloved hand on her forehead. Who are you, little girl? He asked, with no response, Can you tell me who you are? She tried to respond, tried to form words, but in the end her attempt met with failure. She coughed, hacked, tensed up, and slipped in to total unconsciousness as Felicien pulled her in to his arms. Now, let's get her to the safe-house. Felicien ordered his companion. -------- The safe-house was a warm, homely affair. Nestled indiscreetly amongst middle-class housing it was a nexus point for local assassins of the Bras Militaire to receive orders from. From the outside, it was no different than a normal house, and the first floor or higher gave that appearance as well save for a well-hidden loft for roof access if necessary. It was the two basements that held the real secret. It was in the lower of the two where the young girl would find herself. Her room would be lit by candles, with a comfortable one-person cot that she was laying on. A tub for bathing rested in the far corner and there was a heavy wooden door with metal strips to prevent it from being kicked in by would-be raiders. A barred window let in the noon sunlight and a relaxing breeze that gave a very comfortable and at home feel to the place. She would awake with the distinct sensation of a drug-induced sleep and she would find that her bandages, while still sore, had obviously been tended to, and bandaged by somebody. Her clothes, freshly cleaned, were folded, and stacked on one of two chairs at the foot of the cot. And now, for the continuation...