Jackson leaned back in his chair, bumping his head against the walls and resting it there. He was sitting in the darkest corner- the one with the best view, too- in the tavern Galberd's Gallow, named probably because the owner, Galbeard, can't spell and doesn't know the meaning of any words. He nursed a mug of the "finest" ale in the city, which was about as good as the cheapest in a decent inn, and waited for his target to appear.

His companion was... somewhere in the room, gambling probably, and swiping everything from the particpant's coinpurses, both through the game and through a knife. She brought in consistent money- he brought in the big bounties and kept the contacts. It suited them both, as a team. He acted as protection and as the negotiator for the big shots, and she had her own network- hopefully- and kept it consistent, both in money and enemies.

The tavern was crowded, a haborside tavern catering more to the common man and sailor, or criminals, and had its fair share of the three in the tavern at the moment. But none of these were any of his concern- it was the captain of a ship that he was waiting for.

((Inspiration from: that one bit in Ranger's Apprentice, when waiting for that pirate captain or whatever))

Kayleigh was getting bored. For the whole evening, she had been gambling with a group of male strangers - seduced into inviting her into their games by her charm and extravagant act of feministic qualities. She didn’t even know their names, and never bothered to ask. And for the entire evening, Kayleigh had been losing more often that she had won. But no matter!

“What yours is mine, right?” She remarked casually to her temporary companions, seemingly out of the blue. Kayleigh batted her eyelashes and smiled sweetly. Eventually, she added in her mind.

“Anything you say babe,” they answered unanimously, dazzled by her flirtatious acts and beauty. They had failed to consider the malicious intent behind those casual words, and promptly resumed the game.

Time was ticking. A quick glance to the darkest corner of the tavern acquainted her sight with Jackson, her stealthy companion. She gave him a wink.

Then, the door to the tavern was unceremoniously thrust open.

“I DEMAND THE SURRENDER OF ALL OF YOUR FINEST ALE,” a voice boomed across, reaching far into the depths of the tavern. Before silence could descend upon the place, there was a clatter of both light and heavy footsteps and a dozen or more men emerged from the gloom of the night outside to join their master. Kayleigh had caught sight of the almost imperceptible shift in posture of her fellow partner-in-crime, and confirmed the identity of the coarse, unpolished newcomer.

“The rest of you,” the man snarled, meeting each fearful gaze with a cold, bloody stare. “Get out.”

The desired effect was instantaneous. People scrambled to their feet and shot straight for the double doors of the tavern. When the pandemonium subsided, only Kayleigh and Jackson were left. Both stared nonchalantly at the man and his lackeys, while Kayleigh repeatedly tossed a bag of coins up into the air. Her other hand slipped four more into her satchel.

Jackson kept leaning back, taking another sip from his drink, as the men began spreading out and leering at his companion. The closest one was still a table or two away from her when he decided to speak up, hidden in the shadow to the casual glance.

"I'd best advise you be stoppin' right there, mate. Wouldn't want to lose a finger, see, and then your arm, and then your head. She's a feisty one, and she'll probably kill you all in about three times the time it would take me to do so... so let's go with about, oh, fifteen seconds?"

The captain turned towards him, opening his foul, rotten mouth to begin speaking, before being interrupted.

"What was that, cap'n crunch? Didn't hear what you said there."

He got angry, and was about the shout when he interrupted again.

"What?"
A smirk followed.

"What was that you said?"
Jackson was enjoying yourself.

"GET-"
"What was that you was sayin'?"
He just looked about fit to burst.

"Alright cap'n crunch, sit right on down and have a drink on me."
This time, he made no move to stop him as the pirate screamed, "I'LL NOT BE HAVING ANY MORE OF THIS! GET 'EM!"

The first man to rush towards him collapsed soundlessly, the beginning of his warcry dying as fast as his heart, a knife protruding from his chest. And yet, Jackson had barely moved his arm, though he now set his mug down, and stood up. The other pirates all stopped, barely even starting, and Jackson smiled warmly at each one of them, scaring the shit out of them with just his eyes.

"I like to think myself a doctor for hire. I take out the rot in the society, see. Now you all rot, or you all civilized men who deal like 'em?"

“You show em!” Kayleigh gave a loud whoop, all her pretended dainty, feministic mannerisms vanishing in that mere instant. She stood up and stomped her way towards the Captain, who towered over her. His men, upon seeing her advancements moved in to intercept the woman, but a malicious, threatening glare from the friendly assassin halted them in their tracks.

Kayleigh stared him down (or up), looking at him squarely in the eye. “Whatcha gonna say to surrendering all your treasure before Mr. Badass here-“ she motioned gruffly towards Jackson “-detaches your head from the rest of you?”

“It’s not like you’re gonna bring all that cash to meet your great-granny anyways,” she added, finding it a perfectly logical statement, so she was genuinely confused when the Captain rejected her request by bellowing in her face.

“KILL THEM!” He screamed, his voice bordering between shrieking cats procreating and the worst opera singer in the universe.

“Okay, whatever,” she grumbled. “SMOKE BOMBS AWAY!” Kayleigh yelled gleefully.

With a deft movement of her hand, there was a faint thud as multiple rounded objects hit the floor, before throwing out puffs of smoke that expanded and billowed. Visibility was now close to zero.

Out of the chaos, a sharp whistle could be heard, the signal for the assassin to strike.

He stood up wearily, as if he really didn't want to but he had to, and called out, "All right everyone, kill me and she'll scram." He stood still as the half dozen men came charging through the smoke, roaring in rage and confusion. One of them accidentally ran his friend through; another crashed into him, knocking them to the floor.

Two more were nearly on him before Jackson moved, and when he moves, he moves. Both his hands were filled with his axes in a heartbeat, and he was spinning out of the way, the axe heads biting through the first man's side as he used him as a wall. By the time he had fully put him between his friend, his side was cut up and his arm was a bloody mess. He collapsed, and his bud took his place- a single swing took his throat, and he fell to the ground on top his fellow.

The assassin dealt with the others in a similar fashion, leaving the captain alive and unharmed, standing in the smoke cloud, roaring with anger and hate. He taunted him, all the while.

"Where's your henchmen, mate?"

"Did your guards decide to take a nap?"

"Are you playin' hide'n'seek or somethin'? Why wasn't I invited?"

“Ow!” Kayleigh complained as one of the bumbling buffoons stumbled into his crewmate, then into her, before rushing forward in the direction of her companion. And while Seth was busy ridding themselves of the garbage swamping the tavern, Kayleigh simply stood with a hand on her hip. For the most part, smoke bombs were good and all, but she couldn’t see. Jackson on the other hand, could rely on his exceptional sight and hearing to kick ass.

Before the smoke had even begun to dissipate, the Captain quickly caught on to the current state of affairs. The gradual, descending silence that marked the air along with the dying cries of his crew were an obvious indicator of what was happening while he stood, rooted to the spot in the midst of the smoke-engulfed tavern. Subsequently, with a fearful cry, he attempted to make a rush for the exit, boots stomping heavily on the wooden boards. I'M HERE, COME GET ME, they practically yelled.

What an idiot, Kayleigh sighed. Following her ears, she pursued him.

When she emerged out into the open and cool night sky, Kayleigh was greeted with a crowd of men who had, she suspected, surrounded the entrance of the tavern long ago, having anticipated the events following the entry of the Captain of the ship. Except… it seemed that there were now two Captains.

Confused, Kayleigh rubbed her eyes, and blinked once. She blinked twice.

Her next thought was: Balls.

“I suppose good ol’ Benedict deserves a reward for spilling the beans about you two brats,” the real captain laughed. Beside him, the man whom they had originally thought was the captain of the ship removed his disguise, revealing a simple person underneath who hosted one too many features akin to the individual he had just attempted to impersonate.

“Fire,” he smiled gleefully.

A net was thrown over her, sprung from the nozzle of an elongated hand-held mechanism, and in a split second she was unceremoniously and roughly dragged into the herd.

Hell, they were so stupid. He would've called after the girl if he thought she would listen so instead he made to follow her. Had he not been making sure the mens' throats were slit, he'd have been caught in the same trap as his companion. As it was, his blood boiled under the thought of them taking his companion- like hell they were going to take his punching bag.

He was standing in the doorway, more or less, but they didn't notice. He had a feature that let gazes slide over him if they weren't particularly looking, combined with his clothes and the already dim tavern, plus their attention focused elsewhere, he might as well have been invisible.

It was the same invisible demon that strode out of the doors, not really bothering to hide his approach, as the herd of a dozen or so turned towards him, already prepping another net-bow thing.

Except this time, when the man opened his mouth to say "Fire!" a knife persuaded him otherwise. A knife that had gone straight through his open mouth and lodged in the back of his throat. All the others started in shock, and the launcher man fired anyways, panicking. He was the next dead, and his net sailed over empty air as the assassin dropped to the ground and rolled to the side. He was met by three men, rushing over to take advantage of him being down- except it wasn't a weakness for him.

A three-second-long whirlwind later, all three men were down with their legs torn to bits, and both of Jackson's axes held in both hands, a murderous glint in his eyes.

And the pirates, foolish as they were, thought they had the upper hand because of numbers, despite facing a man who had faced armed, armored guards and had the advantage of night over him. He disappeared into the shadows, leaving the men to rush forward to try to catch him anyways, and swing back around to quietly cut open his companions net and give her a rare smile, if a little bloodthirsty.

A series of incomprehensible grumbles and mutters escaped Kayleigh’s throat.

“I had it all under control,” she lied through her teeth, as Jackson nimbly severed the bounds which had only a few seconds ago strictly confined her movements. Naturally, she was butt hurt that her capable self had to be ashamedly rescued. Oh, the embarrassment.

It took a while for the pirates to realize that their temporary captive had escaped, but when they finally did, Kayleigh and Jackson already had their feet planted firmly behind their Captain. Glinting eerily in the moonlight, the woman’s dagger rested snugly on the grooves of his rugged throat.

In one smooth, merciless motion of her hand, the poor brute’s throat was slit open.

“Do I get three-thirds of the bounty this time?” She prodded the assassin. “I think it’s only fair,” she pouted, giving her companion a hopeful glance.

Jackson smirked in response, saying, "You get one thirds of the bounty for getting captured- even though that's the same amount you always get paid. Besides, I know you're going to take all these guys' coinpurses when I'm done with them."

This was met with a grumbling among the remaining mercenaries and pirates, and they decided, once again, to attack. Fortunately, they were standing some distance away, at this point, and Jackson had enough remaining throwables to throw.

Half of them were dead by the time they reached him, four knives sticking out of their heads or chests, piercing measly, cheap leather armor. The rest turned and ran instead of facing the deadly man. How the hell could he fight so well, they would think.

Unfortunately for them, or for anyone, Kayleigh included, no one knew where Jackson learned how to fight- only he did, and he had yet to reveal.

An instant after the remnants of the Captain's crew had fled off, Kayleigh immediately set to looting their belongings, her fingers rummaging about their pockets, satchels, searching their clothes in an expert and thorough routine. Any passerby who happened to glance at the woman would have spotted her gleeful expression from a mile away.

Kayleigh loved her job, to say the least.

"You'd think these pirates would have more valuables on hand after pillaging from a hundred others," Kayleigh complained aloud. Grasping her hands around a considerably weighty pouch and yanking it out of the dead captain's belt, she tossed it in Jackson's direction. Then, her fingers felt the contours of a dry, wrinkled piece of paper. That, she removed from the deceased as well, and with a curious gaze, scrutinized it.

It was a note.

Greetings, Captain.
I'm writing this on behalf of no one other than yourself. Expect to meet a pair of mercenaries in your travels soon, both of whom will be after the bounty on your head. I have been tipped about their whereabouts. They will be at Galberd's Gallow, noon through dusk. Take care.
- Benedict

"Who's Benedict?" Kayleigh narrowed her eyes. How on earth had he anticipated their movements? "Well, whatever," she rolled her eyes. It mattered not, considering how they had the situation under control despite having their location being tipped by some unknown informant.

"So-," she begin, "-shall we get to collecting the bounty? I'm sure Balthazar is expecting us." Mentally, Kayleigh calculated the approximate time needed for them to travel to Vargoth City. Two days, perhaps?

Jackson caught the purse with practiced ease, giving it a toss to try and get a feel for what was inside, before slipping it to a pocket. He watched curiously as she procured a note from the dead man's body, and sidled up to read it over her shoulder [which wasn't all that hard, considering he was taller than her by a few inches]. He quietly started when he read the name 'Benedict,' not expecting to see the name again.

So when she asked and dismissed his name, his shoulders relaxed a tiny bit from her lack of inquiry. It would do no good to try and hunt his former mentor, Benedict Cumberbatch- a most inquisitive and eccentric man, whom they would not do well to cross, regardless if he tells people where to find him. That, and he was pretty sure he also had magic.

And so it was quite easy to simply say, "Aye, we shall. Might as well purchase some good horses for once, on the good Captain's purse, of course."

Jackson’s breath had tickled her ears as he peered over her shoulder to have a look at the note. For a brief moment, Kayleigh had thought she imagined him almost imperceptibly stiffening behind her upon glancing at the note’s contents, but that had easily been dismissed when he responded in his usual casual, breezy fashion.

As far as being travelling companions and a formidable tag team goes, Kayleigh could only somewhat glean the surface of the assassin’s inner thoughts. Sometimes. And sometimes not.

The duo acquired a pair of horses easily enough, and Kayleigh (with much difficulty and self-restraint) dissuaded herself from grabbing freebies from the horse seller’s pockets. She had already collected a fair bit of money from earlier, Kayleigh reasoned, plus they would be receiving plenty on their arrival at Vargoth City. Besides, she could always attempt at swiping Jackson’s belongings while the assassin was fast asleep.

The thought of that amused her, and she chuckled quietly to herself, hoping that Jackson failed to catch the mischievous glint in her eye. It mattered not if she got caught in the act of rummaging through his stuff - it happened quite often anyway – but she relished the prospect of forcing awake her companion in the dead of night, to which he would sit up and grumble non-stop. How adorable.

-------------

It was approximately noon when they arrived at the stone-cold city of Vargoth, having spent two days leisurely riding atop their horses. The weather had been calm, if not slightly sweltering, and they had been more or less free from the persistent wraths of Mother Nature on their journey there. Today, however, the wetness in the air along with the prevalent cold drafts of wind signaled that a thunderstorm was on its way.

Kayleigh anticipated a dismal, dreary day ahead.

Kayleigh rode ahead of him, probably dreading or disliking the thought of a dreary, miserable day, as marked by the incoming storm and the overcast sky, and the slight drizzle that will slowly but surely soak everything. He did enjoy this kind of weather, more than anyone else he knew. He knew most- including Kayleigh- didn't like it so much, so when he left their inn that night, he was doubtful she'd follow. And he would prefer that- he wanted to relax, and his childhood had left him so... set in his ways, that he could never do that in somebody's presence. Even someone as close as Kayleigh, at least in relativity. Did she even know his name? Oh, right. She did. Pretty sure she knew the whole name...

Didn't matter. He shook it off, and felt a feeling that most likely other people felt right about now- dread, an anxiety of dreariness, and he suddenly realized what people actually felt about this weather. The drizzle that starting coming down cooled him, slowly began slipping under his hood and wetting his face. He enjoyed it all, even with his strange newfangled feeling.

Either way, when they road through the gates in silence, only a coin per guard to allow them entry without question, he felt the dread increase. Something was about to happen, his assassin's sense kept whispering, something against him. But nothing did, and it slowly eased, as if they escaped the maw of a dragon without even knowing they were inside.

And he approached the innkeeper whose name was never learned, and was given the same room as last time. He hated the man's way of giving him the same treatment, the same nickname- the laughable "Darky," the same welcome and the same everything- and it left the other patrons knowing that the man who always came in that cloak was someone mysterious. The bartender, innkeeper, whatever, he never showed anything but respect to the man, besides the nickname. He was always a bit scathing and superior to all his costumers, though everything else was very good, very anonymous. Made people wonder about Darky.

But no one ever confronted, stopped by an invisible feeling of dread that might lead to something real, should they ever approach Darky. And so Darky remained a customer, occasionally coming into town and leaving the inn at odd times, always coming in at odd times.

So when Darky once again collapsed into the same bed he had previously stayed in- left exactly the same way- he figured that he'd wait a bit before slipping out the door, preferably when she was asleep, or pretending to be.