She'd always known it would come to this, in the back of her mind at least. Heroics and camaraderie would never be her style, and she'd given it a really solid try at least. Strictly speaking, only the grace of Lyssa had kept her from shooting up that Gods-damned guild hall on any number of occasions, let alone putting a merciful bullet in the back of that do-gooding simpleton Syrgei's stupid head.

...sidetracked, where was she? Right, no more guild, no more well-meaning idiots trying to bring her out of her shell, no more fake smiles and drinking herself unconscious every night just to cope with the frustration of having to deal with her fellow humans. And prissy plants. And illiterate cats. And self-righteous rabbits. Ugh.

But no, this was so much better. Working alone, taking contracts for espionage and intrigue from the nobility, playing them against each other, occasionally offing them if the price was right. None of the others would approve, of course; this was hardly in the best interest of the city, but... Tsaerri couldn't exactly see how that was her problem. If not her, someone else would do the job (but not as well, obviously), and besides, give her an hour and a knife with any of them, and she'd come up with a hundred reasons why they deserve it.

Anyway. This particular assignment had come through an anonymous mediator and was of the murder variety. Not that either of those things were particularly unusual, but short of taking out the Queen, she could scarcely have chosen a more outrageous target for a public assassination. The fee, of course, was equally outrageous.

She was to infiltrate the Détente summit being held at Beetlestone Manor and eliminate Demmi Beetlestone herself, daughter of the Legate Minister Caudecus himself. And not only that, but her client wanted to send a message here. Tsae was to make the execution spectacular.

Which... wasn't exactly her style, being honest with herself. She'd killed enough people and not-quite-people at this point that it had become almost normal, but butchering a young girl whose only presumed crime was to be caught in the crossfire between an influential lord and his enemies just wasn't sitting that well with her. She wasn't even sure she'd be able to go through with it, mostly counting on self-preservation to kick in once the consequences of not carrying it out became suitably uncomfortable.

So here she was, affecting the haughty socialite on her way to meet the who's-who of Kryta. Hair pinned up in the gaudy style popular with all the ladies at court, check. Three pounds of makeup that felt like it was slowly paralyzing her face, also check. Ridiculous dress that somehow managed to be both luridly pretentious and make her look like an overdressed whore, definitely check, the noblemen liked their women that way, didn't you know? And worst of all, these Lys-cursed constriction vices on her feet. Whatever sadist invented heels in some bygone age, Tsae would love to take her tactical boots and stomp on his face. Not enough to kill him, just to get the point across.

Thus, to recap: charm her way inside with the assistance of a forged invitation, somehow pretend that she doesn't hate literally everyone there, identify Demmi and make a Gods-damned monument out of her corpse. Oh, and then escape without anyone the wiser. Totally doable.

She'd be lucky if she even got in the door.

So the Guild hadn't worked out. He supposed it wasn't crucial. Guilds were popping up all over the place, and more were hanging on by one cuttings worth of their nails than were succeeding. All it really meant for him was a different bed to sleep in, the odd time he was in the city to actually use one.

The Guild folded, it's leader off to pursue grander adventures than could be had in a shiny hall, and Syrgei had been exploring more of Kryta and what was outside of it, which was why it felt more than unusual to him to be standing about in a predominantly human crowd, dressed up in high class attire with a thin and ornate rapier on his belt rather than his customary daggers, and not much further than a day's jog home.

Syrgei thumbed the suit cuffs through through his gloves. Weeks in the jungle and I feel stuffy in this thing. Silk and fine linen, probably, vest and cuffs delicately brocaded with silvered thread. Borrowing a suit his size was proving awkward at best, but there was apparently no shortage of tailors where the nobility were to be found, and in ill-fitting suit was not tolerable at a such a party, nor was an an armoured long coat, so said lady Anise. who took it upon herself to look after the details of this particular job.

At least it's blue.

This “particular job” was less a job and more a favour. Any threat of any kind to the security of Kryta and it's queen was met with equal seriousness by one Logan Thackeray, Captain of the Seraph Guard. This was just an inkling of a threat, but it was good enough. It seems Minister Caudacus had gained Logan's suspicions, and that of a few others. Just why, Syrgei wasn't particularly sure, but the Seraph as a whole were never very good at maintaining a low profile. That was why Syrgei was here: come to the party, mingle, and -in a word- snoop. So, while Logan stood about doing a wonderful job of not blending in, Syrgei scanned the crowd for obvious onlookers before stepping in neatly with a group of nobles just passing the manor entrance.

She had to admit, the butler was remarkably professional. Not a single lascivious, sidelong glance her way. Not even a “My, you're looking simply lovely this afternoon, Lady Mir.” Maybe his sword was sharpened on the other edge. Or maybe you didn't get to host the most important party in Kryta without being an impervious stone wall of decorum and infinite patience.

Why the hell was she thinking about this?

Oh, right. So I don't have to think about what I'm here to do.

Damn it.

It wasn't actually as crowded as she'd thought it would be, or the guests were spread throughout the manor. The courtyard was filled mostly with the Minister's servants offering the incoming guests... “sausages-in-blankets”, because Lys forbid you call it a Gods-damned hot dog. Frankly, that seemed a bizarre choice of refreshment for a crowd like this. Maybe it was a Charr thing. Tsae politely declined.

Well, as politely as she could.

Just as she was done shooing away the insistent server, she nearly bumped face-first into a looming, heavily-armored figure ahead of her.

“Oh! And who is this? I don't believe we met.”

Oh my goddessssss!!!! It's Logan! It's Logan Thackeray! Oh, be still my heart! Do you think he'd ever be interested in someone like me? Oh, hold me, I might just swoon!

...did I say swoon? I meant vomit. That's the word. Just get the hell out of my way and let me get to my murder.

“Oh, *ahem*, Lady Mir, my lord, from Ebonhawke. My dear father could not attend, I fear, but I am simply so honored to attend in his stead.” Tsae gave him her most dainty curtsy... which was horribly uncomfortable, all things considered, but this was the absolute last place to put her cover in jeopardy.

“Dwayna! You must live near the front lines! Come, please, I have to introduce you to Jennah. Er, I mean Her Majesty.”

Tsae felt his gloved hand close over her bicep and had to sift through a dozen reactions that involved an inappropriate amount of violence before settling on demurely accepting his patronizing grip.

Wait. Wait, think damn it! Is she a mesmer? I think she is. And me without my blindfold. Um... um....

“Oh, oh my lord, you must forgive me, I feel a faintness suddenly upon me. The sun, I fear. Father always tells me I'm a fragile creature.”

That sure stopped him in his tracks. “We must get you inside, then! Ho! You there! Assist the Lady Mir inside and see that she's made comfortable.”

Lys take me, that was close. I bet she's powerful, too. Probably would have seen right through me.

Escorted by another impersonification, Tsae found herself in a quiet solar on the ground floor, blissfully away from the other guests once she convinced the servant that she'd be fine.

This place is crawling with Seraph. Of course it is.

But, nine-hundred gold.

It'll be worth it. Just don't mess up.

Kicking off those infernal shoes, Tsae set off to hunt the manor for her target.

Somewhere along the way, it occurred to Tsae that actually finding Demmi might prove more difficult than she'd originally accounted for. All she had to go off of was questionably-accurate portrait and a description. Auburn hair, medium height, air of not even remotely deserving a violent death.

It was going to be super awkward if she got the wrong person.

You know, the mesmer was thinking as she cautiously explored the ground floor of the house, I shouldn't have even bothered with the shoes in the first place. This is far more comfortable, and if anyone asks, I'm just imitating the Queen. She's such a trendsetter. All the girls on the frontier want to be just like her, don't you know? Especially if it comes with the noble attentions of the great Captain Thackeray.

Peeking into a nearby vestibule, she saw no sign of her target, or of anyone in general, though there was a curious-looking Asuran robot that didn't seem like it fit with the decor of the house. Maybe it was one of those exotic purchases people like Caudecus could afford to drop enough gold for an Eternity on without a second thought, just to show off how disgustingly rich they were. Oh well.

She came across scatterings of guests and servants as she continued to investigate, most of whom paid her no mind, too absorbed in contrived social niceties and throwing backhanded compliments at the delegates of the other races. Still, this party had an aura of tense apprehension, like everyone was waiting for something horrible to happen. Which, granted, if all went well, something horrible would happen, but no one should know about that....

Catching a moment where the attention of the main hall waxed around what must have been a particularly outrageous joke, Tsae made her way up the nearest staircase, hoping the second floor would be less crowded. Even the minor exertion of climbing the stairs was exacerbated by the discomfort of the dress she was wearing. She'd considered trying to sneak in a change of clothes, but it just wasn't logistically feasible with the level of security here.

Reaching the landing of the second floor, Tsaerri immediately froze, crouching in the shadow of the railing for all the good it would do her as her eyes fell upon an unexpected and uncomfortable sight.

You cannot be serious. Lyssa! Why do you hate me!? What is he even doing here? Why isn't he out being heroic somewhere far away? Or raising stupid, ugly babies with his stupid, ugly girlfriend?

In any other situation, it would have just been awkward, irritating, rage-inducing even. But here, like this, she had to actually consider killing him if he was in her way. It wouldn't be hard, the idiot had his foot stuck on something devious which was demanding all his attention. She could just step up behind him and pop-pop, no more Syrgei.

But she wasn't supposed to kill anyone besides Demmi here, they'd probably take a cut out of her fee if she got sloppy. He obviously wasn't lost up here, though. Whatever was going on, her former coworker had just as little reason to be poking around as she did. Knowing him, he was probably contracting to the Seraph, which meant that their presence here wasn't just for show. Was this some kind of sting?

Whatever it was, she was taking too damned long deciding what to do about it. Someone was coming up the stairs. Time to move.

Springing lightly to her feet, Tsae darted to the corner opposite Syrgei, pressing herself against the wall as the footsteps drew closer. His surprised glance was met with an emphatic finger to her lips, pleading for silence.

Does he... does he not... seriously? Do I look that different with all this on? Either that, or I made that little of an impression on him. Knew I should have him kicked him harder that day out by the dam.

That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, though. The prospect of avoiding detection was still on the table, assuming she could get through this next bit of uncomfortable inquiry. Silently praying to Lyssa that whoever it was wouldn't see either of them, her hopes were quickly dashed as the rough-looking man in servant's garb turned the corner of the landing, nearly stumbling right into her.

"What by Grenth!" The man shrank back in alarm, his oversized coat slipping to reveal the hilts of several knives strapped to his waist.

"Oh, I'm sorry little lady, I was just checking to make sure those flea-ridden Charr weren't getting into the master's personal chambers. Speaking of, might I ask what you're doing up here?"

"Well, you see," Tsae said as sweetly as she could, sauntering closer to the obviously-not-a-real-employee-of-Caudecus, chewing on a fingernail in mock nervousness, close enough that reaching his weapons would be problematic. With a snap, she has her pistol pressed against his stomach.

"Look. I don't care who you really are or what you're planning here. It isn't my business and mine isn't yours. So why don't we forget this conversation ever happened and you can get back to killing the Queen or whatever it is you're planning, and I'll be on my way?"

I should really just leave. But... what better cover for an assassination than total chaos? Just have to handle this properly.

Judging by the man's expression and his surface thoughts, he was vacillating between being properly handled and gambling that he could overpower the ninety-pound girl threatening to kill him before she could get a shot off.

Tsae considered it a mark of personal growth that she would actually prefer the former.

"So, if I told you I just made up that part about him wanting to kill the Queen to see how you'd react... how would you feel about that exactly?" She figured it's best to act like her mission isn't anything important. Not like he'd just assume she was here to engineer an atrocity that would probably cause a civil war.

...would he? She hadn't been that mean to him.

"You say that like I've been rude to you before. Surely you must be mistaken, a lady of my station is trained in all matters of etiquette and propriety." Tsae checked the careful pinning of her hair to emphasize the point.

Before Syrgei could respond, however, there was a loud crash from the first floor -- loud enough to cut through the din of the celebration -- and suddenly the sound of raised voices and people moving very quickly down below.

"Yeah," she clarified, "I'm not staying here a second longer than I have to. Whatever you were supposed to keep from happening just happened, pretty sure."

She turned to dart down the stairs and fade into the clamor, only to immediately throw herself back around the corner as a concussive gun blast blew a hole through the wall behind the stairs. She'd only caught a brief glimpse of him, a large man in a yellow scarf and wide-brimmed hat, wielding the biggest rifle she'd ever seen.

Trying to control her startled breathing, she made panicked eye-contact with Syrgei, vainly trying to impart some kind of plan to him in the precious seconds they had..

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Even if she was interested in trying to interpret his clumsy sign language, this really isn't the time for it, considering the badass with the hand-cannon reaching the top of the steps even now. He obviously has some kind of military training, and knowing her luck, probably significant body armor under that trenchcoat.

He wastes no time rounding the corner and immediately blasting off a shot in her direction at nearly point-blank, and faster than she was anticipating. Just as he pulls the trigger, Tsae lunges into a backflip and blinks across the room, masking herself in invisibility for a precious second to dart for cover as a phantasm in a frilly dress rushes toward the gunner with a ghostly sword. And is promptly obliterated by a second shot.

A stray pellet grazes Tsae's shin, tearing a bloody furrow through her stocking and eliciting a pained squeak from her where she hides.

You've only had a good ten seconds at this point, don't knife him or anything while I'm drawing his fire. Idiot.

...this really hurts.

Okay... just wait for him to turn on Syrgei, good... now to make my escape.

...damn it. Don't do this to me, conscience. Don't you--

Lys damn it!

Just as her former guildmate bounces off the planted form of this monstrous gunman -- really, what was he thinking? -- Tsaerri grits her teeth through the pain in her leg and launches herself forward in a dead sprint, her bare feet thankfully light enough on the hard wood to not draw their assailant's attention.

With a final leap, she springs onto the man's back in a death-clutch, tearing her dress in the process and wrenching his head back. She wastes no time pulling her pistol out of the ether and blowing a hole through the side of his head before he can shake her off.

The momentum carries his now-lifeless body in a tumble down the stairs, which she only narrowly avoids with a hard fall on the landing, right on her injured leg.

"Ughh..." she grunts with clenching eyes, clutching at the wound. Why did this always happen to her, whenever this idiot showed up in her life? Everything would have been fine if he just hadn't been here.

Ow... ow ow ow ow... why does this have to hurt so bad? Tsae is having difficulty restraining tears. She can see the injury isn't that bad, but her pain tolerance is somewhat lacking.

Beyond even that, though, her heart is pounding wildly and she feels close to vomiting, not so much from having to kill yet another person as from the fact that she just came closer to dying than she ever has in her life. The pain and blood coursing out of her leg is a constant reminder of that.

And I'm still not even close to being done here. Ugh, what the hell is he even talking about? Just leave me alone, please. Please.

She just shakes her head bitterly and pushes to her feet, wincing and leaning against the wall for support.

I should really, someday, try to trust people who are nice to me. It might make my life marginally better.

Not today, though.

She reluctantly puts her weight on her foot, stifling the impulse to scream. Hopefully she'll get used to it eventually, she still has to... oh to hell with the checklist. Getting out of here alive takes priority at this point. Alone, though.

"Excuse me?" she shoots at him accusingly. "I have a lot of problems, the largest of which happens to have a dysfunctional broom tied up on his head. Did you actually think that looks good on you? Anyway, we are not an entity with overlapping interests, concerns, or affiliations. You may express your gratitude for me saving your life by kindly getting out of my sight."

With that, she makes for the stairs and immediately stumbles on her injured leg, having to clutch at the railing to avoid tumbling down.

"What the hell kind of assumption is that! Put me down!" Tsae reflexively blinks out of his grasp, landing near the base of the stairs and leaving behind an equally-outraged phantasm of herself in his arms. She has the presence of mind remaining to check her surroundings, though from the sound of it the chaos was mostly confined to the courtyard right now.

Tentatively standing on her hurt leg -- the pain's finally starting to die down -- and brushing her disheveled hair out of her face, Tsaerri tosses a glare at her "rescuer". "Are you suicidal? Never do that again! And no, you can't keep that one." Her phantasm dissolves in a burst of ephemeral butterflies.

Taking a deep breath and wiping the nervous sweat from her brow, she asks him, "Okay, so feel like telling me what the hell is happening here? Why do we have paramilitary sweeping this house? Caudecus planning to kill the Queen?"

I don't feel like Demmi is getting assassinated at this point...

"Is there any reason I shouldn't? I'm not exactly interested in whatever's going on out there. But it sounds pretty exciting, are you sure you won't get fired standing around here looking after me? Why are you doing that, anyway?"

She has more to chastise him for, but her attention is drawn to the nearby door creaking open and another large man with a very large sword stepping through. There's a look like death in his eyes.

"Oh, for the love of Lys, you've got to be kidding me!" Tsae blinks away as fast as she can, narrowly avoiding a thrust from the massive blade.

"You want to deal with that?" She keeps checking behind her for more assailants. Suddenly this manor has more in common with a war-zone than the docile hunting ground she'd come in here expecting.

Definitely not leaving my armour behind again.

“Uhh, yeah.”

Their newest opponent doesn't look as large as the gunman, but definitely angrier.

“Get his attention, would you?”

Syrgei poofs out of sight in another cloud of thin black wisps, leaving Tsaerri now in full line of sight with the man who just tried to skewer her.

Being able to teleport like the mesmer would be a handy trick, but Syrgei must rely on his legs and own speed to get from place to place, unless he were to try stabbing the man.

If he's anything like the last guy, I may as well save the tip on my sword and just yell at him.

Resolving to get something with a bit more of an edge, he scans the room for some sort of substitute – for anything.

A few seconds, passed, a few seconds to go, with Tsaerri yelling what he imagines are all manner of colourful curses at him, he grabs hold of one of the standing candelabras by the doors.

That'll do.

This is not what I signed up for at all...

"What the hell are you doing!" she shouts at the quickly-receding back of her impromptu ally, barely able to get the words out before their assailant is closing on her with that horse-killer. He's whipping it around in a double-circular pattern, building enough momentum that he'll probably cut her right in half if he connects.

So we can't let him do that...

Taking the last half-second to brace herself for the mental toll of what she's about to do, the mesmer goes invisible a second time, dropping a phantom that is instantly bisected while she bolts for the stairs nearby. Half way up, she fires off a shot from her pistol, forcing the swordsman to duck for cover, the delay of which she uses to summon a phantasm with two identical copies of the same gun, which promptly begins unloading a barrage of butterfly-bullets at her attacker.

Not done, she blinks across the hallway to the stairs on the other side and summons two more copies of her illusory gunslinger. The lobby below is now criss-crossed with magical gunfire. None of those rounds will be fatal, but hopefully the bastard doesn't know that.

Tsae leans a hand against the wall to catch her breath, the other rubbing her head. It's been a while since she's had to go all out like that. The feeling shouldn't last long. Syrgei had better take advantage of the distraction, though...

"And I think you walked into a bullet like an idiot." Sufficiently recovered, Tsaerri makes her way back down the stairs, coming to stand next to Syrgei over the maimed body of their attacker.

"Wow, you messed him up pretty good. Kind of thought he was going to skewer you." She finally has a moment to free her hair from the uncomfortable, and now sweat-soaked perch it's held in, shaking it loose to tumble about her shoulders.

She wipes at her face with the back of her sleeve, probably smearing makeup everywhere, but it's driving her crazy. "Okay," she says in an exhausted tone. "I'm just gonna straight-out ask you, do you happen to know if Demmi Beetlestone is here? I kind of have a lot of money riding on her not getting out of here alive. And no, I have no idea who the hell's attacking the house, I'm not with them.... that I know of."

Noticing him probing tenderly at his injury, she rolls her eyes and adds, "Oh, grow up, it wasn't even a real bullet. You're not gonna die."

Syrgei looks mildly incredulous, brain working through the comments and questions that the mesmer just brought up.

Grow up? And you?

“Thanks, I guess?”

He straightens, tossing the bent and unwieldy candelabra to the side, and putting another dent into the already bloodstained and scratched flooring of the hall. Then, Tsaerri asks about Demmi.

“Okay, lets hope no one else heard you say that,” a great bash against the door where the fight with the golem outside was still raging indicating that it was unlikely anyone had. “I don't know where Demmi is, but she's not here. I heard there was some falling out of some kind between her and the minster. She hasn't been seen in Divinity's Reach in at least a week.”

The door to the garden shatters, splinters eaten by sparks and flame.

“Should take care of that now.”

The phrase is not addressed to anyone in particular.

Tsaerri has to forcibly resist the impulse to burst into tears. After all the frustration and indignity -- let alone almost dying multiple times -- to find out the godsdamned girl isn't even in the city... how is that even fair? And more importantly, how can she blame this on Syrgei?

The question, unfortunately, is rendered rather moot by the door exploding.

Seeing the rampaging golem outside, Tsaerri eyes it askance and shakes her head. "Nuh-uh. Not happening. I can do people, you put a bullet in their brain and they fall down. I'd be useless against something like that." She gestures at it dismissively as it plows through one of the pillars supporting the outer entrance-way.

Granted, there's probably a few things she could do to be of some assistance, but the effort is just... is just... yeah.

"Yeah, I'm pretty much done here. Have fun cleaning up."

Not sparing him another glance, Tsaerri sets off back down the hallway she originally came through, heading for outer yard of the manor. It won't be fun in her current straits, but she should be able to get over the wall and back out into Beetletun where she can make her escape. With all the commotion going on inside, with any luck this should be a clean exit.

Checking her surroundings, the mesmer furtively traverses the sprawling manor grounds. She can hear raised voices in the barn to her right, but they're no concern of hers. Probably the Queen's abductors hauling her away to a more secure location, not that it's any of her business. Coming upon the wall, she finds a brambly hedge barring her way, with no means of ascent in sight.

Great... this is what I get for trying to blend in at the party. Why did I not wear my boots?

Gritting her teeth, Tsaerri wrenches what remains of the tatters of her skirt and tosses them away. She coils up and bursts into a sprint, jumping as high as her tiny legs will carry her and crashing into the upper edge of the hedge, scrabbling for purchase as the thorns rip through her stockings. Fingers sliding over the edge of a worn-down brick, she finds a brief second to concentrate and blinks herself up onto the lip of the wall, rolling ungracefully onto her side as she assesses the damage.

Well, any pride or dignity I might have had is long since dead at this point, and I'm out sixty gold for the dress, minus nine hundred for failing the mission. I guess I can walk, though.

Wincing as she gets up, the mesmer checks for any sign of patrolling guards before making a more controlled descent down the other side and finally starting on her way home.

Leaving his party clothes in a balled up heap on the bed in his room, Syrgei takes a minute to stretch his muscles out and patch up his latest collection of scratches, electrical burns and, in this case, bullet wounds.

“I think I get to call in a favour from the seraph for this one” he mutters, putting on some regular clothes and pulling out the pony-tail on the top of his head.

If anyone decides to be unruly downstairs, they can wait until I've had a drink.

In spite of his 'wandering adventurer, sometimes seraph agent' status, Syrgei kept up his room at his friend's tavern, occasionally serving as informal bouncer. The folding of the guild hadn't affected his daily life all that much, save that he spent less time experiencing 'daily life' and more time being farther away and in conflict with things he couldn't always name.

A voice calls up to him as he comes down the stairs.

“Either cut your hair or put it back up, you look soft with it hanging that long.”

Petra stands behind the bar, leaning on the counter.

“It's about time you came back anyway. What mess did you have to sort out this time?”

Syrgei takes a seat and leans on one elbow.

“I'd rather not talk about it save that our good minster will have one hell of a repair bill, and no, it's not my fault.”

Petra smirks around a comment she was just about to make.

“You should have taken me along, I'd like to see what the nobles' idea of a party is.”

She puts a full mug on the table.

“Talking and fancy names for boring food,” he says, accepting the ale.

There of course had been more to it than that, but he expected Petra didn't need any extra details, and she would probably give him an earful for trying to plant explosives on a golem, even if it did work, somewhat. He thinks back to his sudden encounter with Tsaerri. He certainly hadn't expected to see her there, though she hasn't seem to have changed much. She has probably already forgotten about him.

Finally making her way back home -- more of a hideout, really, until she can find something more comfortable -- Tsaerri is ready to put the miserable events of her failed mission behind her. She didn't really need the money anyway, and this was one less burden on her conscience at least.

Checking out of habit to make sure she hasn't been followed, she unlocks the front door and steps inside.

Someone is waiting for her, a woman sitting legs-crossed in the only chair in the house. Almost faster than her brain can even register the detail, Tsae has her pistol out and trained on the intruder. Who does not seem particularly impressed.

Voice shaking a lot more than she'd like -- this is her safehouse, damn it. No one should know she even lives here. -- Tsae confronts her. "You have once chance to talk before I kill you: how did you find me and who sent you?"

Her threat is met with an unconcerned eye-roll. "Oh come now, dear, cut the theatrics if you will." And then the image of the woman vanishes, replaced by the point of something sharp pressing into Tsae's neck from behind. "We both know it's not going to get you anywhere."

The one time I forget my fucking blindfold! Godsdamned mesmers!

Reacting on pure instinct, Tsae whirls, ducking the knife and coming up with her pistol leveled, firing at point-blank... only for her arm to be knocked aside faster than she can even pull the trigger. She really should have seen the ensuing kick to the stomach coming. It sends her careening back, nearly falling over the chair her enemy's phantasm had been occupying.

Letting out a pained grunt that ends in a disbelieving laugh, Tsaerri meets the woman's eye and tosses her gun away, letting it dissolve before it hits the floor.

"Hope you're ready to die, I'm done underestimating you." Tsae snaps for both of her swords and falls into a fighting crouch.

"Good," comes the other mesmer's voice in her ear after a seamless blink. "You'll at least know you tried your hardest." The heel of her fist comes hammering at Tsae's ear -- she must want her alive, whoever she is -- but she's more than ready for it at this point, blinking away herself and splintering out three sword-wielding phantasms which immediately lunge at her attacker.

Except she isn't there -- of course she isn't -- and they vivisect the empty air. Tsae shatters them for a brief distortion -- transferring the force of the incoming injury harmlessly to her illusions -- just as the assailant's newly-conjured greatsword would have severed her spine.

What ensues is a flaring melee of countercuts and counterspells, teleports and invisibility bursts, and more than a few strategic portals, all thoroughly trashing her living space.

Yet it ends almost anticlimactically as Tsae's left-hand sword slips through her opponent's defenses, past the illusory blurring, and cuts the tendon of her sword-hand.

"I'll admit," she says, taking the leisure to slice through the tendon on her other hand, and then her ankles, "you're really fucking good. I don't recognize you from the academy, so gods know where you came from, but you and I are going to have a nice, informative chat on what you're doing bleeding all over my floor." She flicks her wrists and opens a pair of superficial cuts on the woman's face, just because.

To her credit, she's keeping the whimpering to a minimum. Thank Lys it's hard to do magic through shock and agonizing pain, otherwise she'd probably try to escape.

Tsae grabs her blindfold just to be safe.

The bar is reasonably slow, so after breakfast and another lecture from Petra about not being around enough, Syrgei heads back upstairs.

I guess this is a day off.

The room is relatively small, mostly occupied by his bed and dresser with various personal items haphazardly stored, except for his armour which hangs on a special rack by the wall. A work table sits out of the way in a corner on which his pistol parts are carefully laid out for care.

Entering the room and passing the dresser, Syrgei grabs a wide brush from its surface and sits on the bed, bending at the waist to let his hair dangle to the floor. He brushes it down towards the top of his head, then gathers it into a bundle more or less on the top of his head and secures it with a black tie.

“Better.”

He sits at the corner table and begins to reassemble his firearms.

On any other day, she'd be weighed down with irritating memories of her childhood in the Salma District, visiting this place again for the first time since leaving almost ten years ago. Not today, though. She knows he shacks up here with that small-minded, petulant little harridan Petra at the inn by Rook's Row, and somehow, some way, this just has to be his fault. How else did she get the gods-damned white mantle after her, of all people? Either way, she doesn't exactly have anything in the way of friends, and taking on a cult of blood-worshiping assassins with delusions of political grandeur isn't something she's about to do alone.

Hopefully Syrgei's sense of overbearing justice and his need to help poor, distressed damsels would take priority over any memories he might have of her engaging in crimes that would make a syndicate of anti-monarchist terrorists balk in disbelief.

I mean, he hasn't turned me over to the Seraph yet, so that's a good sign I guess...

Blessedly back in her more customary attire and having had a relaxing shower (with the tied-up body of her prisoner stuffed into an out-of-the-way corner), Tsaerri is feeling much more herself as she stomps into the crowded tavern on the ground floor of the inn.

She pushes her way through jocular patrons and up to the counter, pounding her fist on it to get the stupid girl's attention.

"Hey, Petra, long time. Looking as rough-and-tumble as ever, I see. You've got a stain there, by the way." Tsae snaps for her pistol to point it out for the dunce of a woman. "Be a dear and get me something strong." She takes a seat at the counter, idly twirling her gun around her finger.

"Anyway, I know your boy-toy is around here somewhere. You should go get him before I get bored."

Petra considers Tsaerri a moment with an expression just shy of a glare, before grabbing a clean mug.

“He'll be down in a bit, probably, if you care to wait, but you can do your waiting outside unless you put that pistol back into your fancy skirts.”

"Huh?" Tsae quirks a brow at the woman across the counter, feigning ignorance while she summons a phantasm right behind Petra. Sending her voice through the illusion's mouth, she speaks into the affronted barkeep's ear. "Oh, you mean this pistol?" The ethereal barrel caresses Petra's ear.

And Tsae pulls the trigger.

Sending a spray of harmless shadow-butterflies exploding out the other side of Petra's skull. She lets the phantasm fall away in a similar display and leans across the counter, letting the weight of the very real gun in her hand imply the threat in her voice as it slides sideways across the wood, now pointing directly at Petra.

"That was a warning. The next one will be real. Go get him."

"That wasn't so hard now, was it?" Tsaerri takes a gulp of whatever her hostess saw fit to give her -- no way Petra has the imagination to try poisoning her -- and tries very hard to avoid looking regretful as she forces the burning liquor down her throat. Elonian wine, it is not. Still, should take the edge of off.

Raising the mug in mocking approval at the outraged bartender, Tsae tosses her pistol in the air and lets it flutter away, the phantom butterflies harassing Petra's face before they dissolve out of existence.

Well that was a fun distraction, but it would be nice to actually get moving on this White Mantle problem.... The mesmer steals a nervous glance over her shoulder at the rest of the bar as Petra makes her way upstairs.