Post by coraline on Jan 29, 2012 18:35:46 GMT -8
December 5th, 2011
9:55 p.m.
"Just over the hill..." the mercenary muttered to herself as she climbed through the thick forest surrounding the village. True, she could easily have Apparated to the Hog's Head, but it was just a matter of security: a good assassin never assumed they got away undetected. That was one of the first lessons she learned from the Dark Lord all those years ago. 'When you assume you are safe is the time you are most likely to be caught,' he taught her. And so it was a personal rule for Cora that she never went directly anywhere right after a job, which is why she was two miles outside of Hogsmeade and walking rather than already at the Hog's Head by the fire with a stiff drink.
As a biting wind blew through the trees, the hit-witch grimaced in pain and grabbed her left arm. Although she had carried out the terms of her contract to the letter and had seemingly made a clean getaway, her target had been expecting some sort of attack and had put up a fight when the Dark Lady had finally come for him. He had cut her pretty deeply with a broken bottle as they fought, leaving a deep gash down her left bicep. Once the target had been eliminated (perhaps a little more spitefully than was necessary...) Cora had made sure every drop of her blood was scoured from the room and bound her arm to stem the bleeding before Disapparating out of the factory. The injury was not life-threatening, but it was deep enough to restrict range of motion to that arm and in the cold wind it throbbed painfully.
After another ten minutes of walking, Cora came to the edge of the village, about a hundred yards behind the Hog's Head pub. She hesitated a moment to tighten the tourniquet on her arm and consider what she was doing. She hadn't spoken to Teague in almost a month...he could very well have given up on her, or assumed she gave up on him. The sinking feeling she felt in her stomach at that thought just steeled her will further; she had to find out some time. And besides, she reasoned, she had lived by the Dark Lord's rule for nearly twenty years: she wasn't about to break that now.
Heading toward the pub, Cora checked that all her weapons were properly concealed, grimacing again at the pain in her arm, and pulled open the front door. Scanning the room out of habit, she was satisfied that she was relatively safe. After a brief conversation with the bartender about whether or not Teague had been in this evening, Cora went upstairs and knocked at the door to what she had been told was the tracker's room.
9:55 p.m.
"Just over the hill..." the mercenary muttered to herself as she climbed through the thick forest surrounding the village. True, she could easily have Apparated to the Hog's Head, but it was just a matter of security: a good assassin never assumed they got away undetected. That was one of the first lessons she learned from the Dark Lord all those years ago. 'When you assume you are safe is the time you are most likely to be caught,' he taught her. And so it was a personal rule for Cora that she never went directly anywhere right after a job, which is why she was two miles outside of Hogsmeade and walking rather than already at the Hog's Head by the fire with a stiff drink.
As a biting wind blew through the trees, the hit-witch grimaced in pain and grabbed her left arm. Although she had carried out the terms of her contract to the letter and had seemingly made a clean getaway, her target had been expecting some sort of attack and had put up a fight when the Dark Lady had finally come for him. He had cut her pretty deeply with a broken bottle as they fought, leaving a deep gash down her left bicep. Once the target had been eliminated (perhaps a little more spitefully than was necessary...) Cora had made sure every drop of her blood was scoured from the room and bound her arm to stem the bleeding before Disapparating out of the factory. The injury was not life-threatening, but it was deep enough to restrict range of motion to that arm and in the cold wind it throbbed painfully.
After another ten minutes of walking, Cora came to the edge of the village, about a hundred yards behind the Hog's Head pub. She hesitated a moment to tighten the tourniquet on her arm and consider what she was doing. She hadn't spoken to Teague in almost a month...he could very well have given up on her, or assumed she gave up on him. The sinking feeling she felt in her stomach at that thought just steeled her will further; she had to find out some time. And besides, she reasoned, she had lived by the Dark Lord's rule for nearly twenty years: she wasn't about to break that now.
Heading toward the pub, Cora checked that all her weapons were properly concealed, grimacing again at the pain in her arm, and pulled open the front door. Scanning the room out of habit, she was satisfied that she was relatively safe. After a brief conversation with the bartender about whether or not Teague had been in this evening, Cora went upstairs and knocked at the door to what she had been told was the tracker's room.