(SE) Come out, come out, wherever you are

I R I S Hood drawn down to her nose, Iris entered the VlamVloed before dawn. Dark eyes sought out the patrons’ faces, searching their expressions for a hidden threat. Her instincts nagged her that this was a bad idea. She didn’t waste time and asked for her old room. Of course it was in use. A quick bribe later its tenant was to be evicted. Iris sat in the corner not drinking her beer, watching the stragglers that sat around the bar awaiting the morning light. Time was dragging out like stale caramel. Finally, the room was ready. First light streamed in through the window, spreading across the hardwood floors. The table screeched as she pulled it aside. She got on her knees and ran her fingers across the base of the paneling along the wall, searching for one that opened. She felt her heart beat against her chest. There it was. She grabbed the black woolen sack, undoing the string that tied it closed. It was all there. An assortment of gems twinkling like the Rainbow Road at the height of summer. Only then did she notice the layer of dust covering the floor. The room hadn't been used. She felt the walls tighten around her.

honey, i rose up from the dead. i do it all the time

There are a few things that Varus picks up on quickly. One, a fire that’s taken out the place he’s staying. A fire that’s endangered someone he’s growing quite close to. A fire that’s taken the lives of two bystanders within it.

The second thing, is that he knows a thing or two about bribing someone to leave their room earlier than planned.

The third? Well, he certainly couldn’t let it slide without finding out what was happening. Luckily for him it’s easy to remain hidden in a room you haven’t used. It’s easy to remain secret in a place that nobody expects you to be. He feels like he’s getting back in the swing of things, even if it’s three hundred years late.

She grabs this… Black wool sack from a panel in the wall and freezes, and Varus is patiently waiting in the shadows of the room, quiet as a mouse, still as a statue – he doesn’t need to breathe, has no room for those sorts of hindrances.

He’s careful to remain as quiet as he can, straightening up, the metal arm a slight glimmer in the light that filters in from the drawn curtains. A knife is drawn, slowly, carefully, and he flings it at the bag – avoiding her completely, but aiming for the sack that holds whatever it is she seeks.

VARUS

I R I S Dumb, dumb, girl. She pulled her hand away, watching precious stones spill out and clatter against the floor. Time slowed while all thoughts went alight with danger, one taking prominence - the dagger that now rattled between the floorboards could just as well have been lodged between her ribs. Something told her not to reason with its owner. A merciless tension thick in the air. Like the release of a bowstring, her muscles spurred into action, drawn on by sheer instinct. Each muscle and tendon poised to do one thing – flee. In this sudden burst of strength she yanked the knife out of the floor, flinging it back in the direction it came from. Taking no time to check if her aim was true she grabbed what was left of the black velvet sack, a handful of cloth and gems, and made for the window. She caught only a glimpse of the threat, a dark form in cover and a glint of light against metal. Iris stuffed the bag inside her cloak, hearing more stones clatter against the floor in her wake. She lunged against the window, pulling at the latch that held it closed only to barely land on her feet on the other end. To her left there was a narrow street, curving upwards. She didn't know where it lead, and the walls that flanked it could trap her in the attacker's aim. To her right the path was blocked by a wall, too high to jump over. In front of her lay a street that branched out towards busier roads. The time of day she chose for her task was proving unfortunate. Even as the morning shadows retreated, the Sun was yet out of sight, unaware of the urgency of Iris' need. Even Sanctuary's busy streets were likely to be empty. But the middle road was familiar to her. And it spread forth at an angle so as not to leave her back exposed, at least for a few precious seconds. She sped towards it without hesitation, taking the first turn that came up, and then another quickly after - into an empty room, half collapsed. One of Sanctuary's forgotten corners, left in ruins and ignored. She spied a window opening on the floor above, looking out at another street, another lifeline. The ceiling peeled down, seemingly hanging on by an invisible thread. Stepping on a mound of debris, Iris took a leap of faith and hauled herself up onto the second floor. There, she stopped to breathe, wincing when a piece of stone dislodged and feel onto the floor below. She cooped up by the window prepared to jump out. It was then that she noticed the cut in her hand. Previously just a throbbing in her palm, it suddenly became a stinging pain. Although it wasn't too deep, the bleeding it caused couldn't be easily stopped. Needing desperately to gain her bearings, she listened, watched, and felt fear course through her like poison.

honey, i rose up from the dead. i do it all the time

Jewels. It’s glittering, vibrant jewels that spill from the bag.

Now Varus could assume that it’s something she’s stashed, or he could assume that it was payment of some sort. He doesn’t get the time to ask, because the knife wedges itself into the wood with a groan, the handle springing back and forth with the momentum of which he’s thrown it.

The bag is stuffed into her coat and she’s moving, and luckily for him (not so much for her), the knife she throws slips by his arm, cutting a line through the fabric and a line that draws a bubbling amount of fluid from his good arm. That’s fine and all, considering the fact that Varus here doesn’t feel pain and it’s absolutely no hindrance to him otherwise.

The knife is grabbed, tucked away, and he’s following her. On the hunt, as it were, to figure out what the fuck she wanted it for and whether she had anything to do with the Infirmary fire. He slips through the window just as she had, bright blue gaze shadowed as he focuses on the brief glint of gems that pepper and lead to her as they fall.

And all he has to do is bide his time, tail her, wait for her to think she’s safe and has lost him, but Varus grew up in the Grounds, this was his home.

Iris gets a small amount of time thinking she’s alone and by herself, before Varus has made it to the house with the sinking ceiling, before he slips in to avoid the sunlight. He’s quiet as can be, remaining once again in the shadows, away from the window, to focus on her. “The next knife is aimed at you next if you don't answer my questions." He announces at first, voice throatier than usual, his focus evident on her. "What are the jewels for?"

All he wants to do is talk, after all.

VARUS

I R I S Iris guessed the assailant was her father's man. She hoped that he'd still be busy getting a knife out of his flesh. She assumed that he might be attracted by the allure of glittering jewels, up for grabs and within reach (more so than knife-related revenge). She looked though the small window, an opening held gingerly by a rotting frame, down at the worn cobblestone that stretched upwards. Deserted save for a sleeping dog. Above, she saw quiet rooftops branching like a stairwell leading nowhere. In the distance, a single chimney was releasing grayish fumes that reached up into the pale blue sky. She felt him approach. A second later the shadow had slid into the ruin, making the space tight and narrow. She curled up with the window behind her, just a girl again, the light framing a shrinking frame. The threat, vocalized, told her only what she already knew. This man was dangerous. The type that skulked through the Acquarone estate to and from her father's rooms. Quiet, distrustful, with eyes that took hold of hidden corners and never let their back face the room. She'd ripped a piece of fabric from her shirt, fumbling with the cut on her hand. Every nerve in her body told her not to listen to his words, but they still made her hands clumsy as they tied a knot around her palm. "Convenience," she answered feeling the need to clear her throat. "What did he trade for me, I wonder?", she grit her teeth when anger didn't completely mask the sudden sting of pain that blindsided her just like a dagger out of the dark.

honey, i rose up from the dead. i do it all the time

There’s a part of it that feels so good to fall back into old habits. And in a way, Varus relishes in it. He relishes in the quiet that he can slip into, into he shadows he can hide into, in the way he doesn’t need to breathe and could remain as still as a statue, unaware and unassuming until he makes his presence known.

Luckily for Iris, she doesn’t choose to run again. Luckily for Varus, he doesn’t intend on harming her unless absolutely necessary. It’s a fact of which he airs for her, to get her to talk. The question of compensation, though, has him inclining his head in his curiosity even as his gaze remains focused like a predator to its prey on her in case she does try to run. “Convenience for what?” He asks, still with that throatier voice.

But the second part? Well that’s certainly confusing. “How long have you been in the Grounds and what were you here for?” He asks instead, not wanting to dive into who he that she referred to just yet.

VARUS