Ciarán dashed between gaily striped stalls in the market square, sweat beading over his forehead due to the bright day. This really was not the type of entrance he'd wanted.

Stepping around a corner, and slipping into the folds of cloth hanging from the side of one of the stalls, he glanced back into the main thoroughfare, trying to catch a glimpse of his pursuers. As he'd guessed, it was hopeless. He couldn’t tell the difference between them and any other person in the square.

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. Opening them once again, he looked around, casting his sight around the bazaar. Even in his current situation, he marvelled at the city. It was enormous. Sights, sounds, smells assailed his senses, and he breathed deep the rich aroma of the city. The scent of spice mixed with the strong tang of sweat from the crowd that bustled through the plaza.

His eyes widened as he saw a man in the center of a small pocket of people spew fire into the sky, red tongues of flame bursting from his mouth, and casting the faces of his entourage into a moment of shadow. Similar displays were occurring all around the place, each as amazing as the next.

Someone tapped Ciarán on the shoulder, and he spun around, every muscle ready, screaming for action, but it was just the stallholder, asking him to please move away, and stop hiding in his cloths. Muttering a small apology, Ciarán quickly moved aside, and headed away from the crowd, disliking the noise and closeness of it all, despite the amazement that it caused in his chest.

He headed to the edge of the square, revelling in the slightly quieter side. Somehow the stalls muffle the sound from the center, and so he could have a more reflective walk. Leaning on his staff, he trudged around, still fascinated by the every facet of life in this place. How different it was.

His moment of reverie was short-lived, however, as a shout echoed from behind him. Turning on his heel, he saw the people who had followed him from the gates, and with a sigh, turned and began his flight again.
Disliking the main square, he turned into an alleyway, only to find his path blocked by a wall. Muttering mild curses to himself, he turned back, but found his exit blocked as well.

Four burly men were between him and the bright sunshine of the plaza. With a wall behind him and to his left and right, and the men in front of him, Ciarán was starting to feel a little worried.
"Good day, friends," he said in a barely-wavering voice, surprising himself with its confidence, "I believe I've turned the wrong way, could you direct me to the Wilwarin?"

One, the ring-leader maybe, stepped forward, and said, with a dark smile, "you've really come the wrong way then...." Ciarán swallowed, as the man continued, "but we're not here for that... We would appreciate a little... help with our predicament. And we believe you could be that help..."

"I would love to hel...." Ciarán's voice trailed away, as he saw the flash of steel in the light filtering through from the street....
"help" he thought to himself, a silent plea to anyone listening.

Market day, again. Dayne was surprised by how it seemed that every time she was here, there was a market going. Then again, she reflected, there probably was a market here everyday. Sitting comfortably on the edge of the roof of one of the buildings that overlooked the square, the archangel contented herself with just watching the many performers that littered the square. Her favourite had always been the acrobats and she was watching one in particular very closely. He was flipping over the top of volunteers and rolling around in very strange patterns, much to the enjoyment of the surrounding crowd, who couldn't drop coins into his upturned hat fast enough.

Her entertainment was suddenly interrupted as a man ran past her vision, his black braided hair whipping around as he ran. She watched him with a detached interest before turning back to the acrobat.
"I wonder what he's running from?" she thought mildly as she smoothed out her white dress. That was when four men ran in front of the acrobat again, headed in the same direction as the first man. Her curiosity peaked; Dayne stood atop the roof and spread out her wings, flapping them experimentally a few times. Then she leapt off the roof, much to the surprise and amazement of a couple of street urchins lazing about against the wall below, and flew after the running men.

They were chasing the man with the black hair who was headed for the edges of the square before cutting into a side alley in an attempt to shake off his pursuers. But from her lofty position, Dayne could see he was about to run himself into dead end, and that his pursuers knew exactly where he had gone. Out of pure curiosity, Dayne dropped down until she was standing on the roof of one of the buildings that made the alley. From this position she could see everything that happened, and could quite clearly hear the man below muttering quiet curses.

The four men entered the alley, effectively cutting off any hope of escape that the victim had, but the trapped man still made an attempt to talk his way out.
"I believe I've turned the wrong way, could you direct me to the Wilwarin?"
The men blocking him just smiled, showing crooked and yellowed teeth that were obvious even from Dayne's height. The ringleader stepped forwards, and Daynee instantly recognized him. He was on many wanted posters she had passed in her time here, wanted for theft, trespass and murder.

Dayne grinned then as the soon-to-be-shot murderer began to say something in reply to his victim. The victims reply trailed off as the murderer drew his swords, but before he could get it even halfway out of his scabbard, he was suddenly struck by a red fletched arrow that buried itself perfectly in the centre of his chest. Before anyone could say or do anything, another arrow flashed down, slamming into the man behind the first, who went down instantly, t he arrow sticking out of his right eye. Dayne then drew her swords and dropped lightly down into the alley between the ruffians and the black-haired man. "Now, now gentlemen," she giggled, her swords held ready. "Four on one isn't fair at all, so allow me to help even it up."

Ciarán took a step back as two of the men before him hit the floor, dark arrows spearing their bodies, but then relaxed ever so slightly when it appeared that the figure before him was here to help.
He gave a silent thanks to whoever had granted him this help, then focused back onto the people before him.

Fear flashed across their faces for an instant, and the foremost glanced to the two bodies that lay bleeding in the street, crimson beginning to seep between cracks in the stones. Ciarán watched, noticing their eyes flicker between him, the lifeless bodies, and the woman, deciding...

Suddenly, one cast his sword to the floor with a clatter and a curse. Not waiting to see what would happen, he turned and ran back into the plaza, lost again in the crowds. His accomplice, probably more out of stupidity than any kind of bravery, charged the woman, his sword sweeping down towards her, a savage smile on his face, "foolish b*tch," he said as he bore down towards them.

Ciarán knew full well from the way she handled herself that the person between him and his attackers could take care of herself, but he still found himself reacting, launching his staff like a spear at their assailant. He instantly regretted it, but somehow it passed over the woman’s shoulder and clattered into her opponent, knocking his left shoulder back, exposing his chest and sending his attack looping down towards the woman's knees.

Turning to wink slyly at the man she had just helped, Dayne spun quickly when one of the remaining men dropped his weapon and fled, melting quickly into the crowd. The last man stared at her, first shock, then fury flashing across his face, before he leapt up into the air, yelling curses at her and raising his sword. Before Dayne could react, a staff flashed past her shoulder, slamming into the left shoulder of the man in the air before her. The wooden weapon didn't even seem to slow her attacker down, but it did cause him to spin, his sword suddenly aiming at her knees. Her swords already halfway up to block the down swing she had been expecting, Dayne had about a second to change her plan.

She leapt up into the air, her wings propelling her above the swing. From there she rocketed down, swords outstretched, but the man was ready for her and swung at her again. Veering off to avoid getting her head cleaved in two, the archangel felt a sudden, tearing pain in her left wing. Dayne cried out, her wing flapping erratically as she fought to prevent herself from careening into the wall. She managed to get herself in a position where she remained airborne without having to use her left wing much, and she spun to face her attacker, teeth bared in fury.

Not bothering to wait for the ruffian to reach her, the blonde girl slid out one of her daggers and tossed it straight at her enemy. The blade spun once in the air before burying itself into his throat. Killed instantly, the man fell to the ground as Dayne's wing finally gave out and she crashed to the pavement, red blood staining the white of her feathers. "Close one." she managed to say to the black-haired man, as she sat up and inspected the gash in her wing. Muttering something quietly, she attempted to heal the wound, the blood stopping its free-flow, but her wing still hung limp and lifeless.

Dayne sighed and leant back against the wall, her eyes following the man carefully. She still didn't know his intentions, reasons for being here or even his name, and so she remained alert, knowing that if he wanted to, he could finish her off with little effort in her current state. "I don't think I got your name, or what that lot were following you for." she said, her right hand gripping the hilt of her sword, just in case.

Ciarán watched the brief battle, cursing himself for a fool when he saw the consequences of his reckless attack. But even so, in a matter of moments, the fight was decided and a third body hit the floor, more blood feeding the cracks in the alley.

As the angel crashed to the floor, he stood stock still, waiting to see what would happen. When it appeared that she was in at least some form of physical well-being, her wound knitting itself together again, he calmly walked over to where his staff lay, and picked it off the floor, dusting the flecks of dirt from the end. "Close," he repeated, almost a question, "I'm sure you could have handled them if I hadn't interfered." Another half-question.

Rolling the most recently deceased over with the end of his staff; he regarded the body, catching her questions at the end. He didn't look up, just knelt down, and removed her knife with a tug. He wiped the blade clean on the man's jerkin, saying, "my name is Ciarán Bartholemuz. I don't know why they were following me. People just don't seem to like me much."

He finally stood, turned and looked at the woman, leaning against the wall. His green eyes flickered over her, the blood matting the almost lifeless arch of her wing, blond hair spilling over her shoulders with a strand hanging down over her face, and finally to the sword still clutched in her hand. "You can put that away," he said quietly, nodding at the sword and walking slowly towards her, "I'm not going to hurt you."

At just over arms reach, he knelt down, placed his staff on the floor, and held out her knife, hilt first. "Who are you?" he asked, eyes like chips of jade catching hers, "and why did you help me?"

Following the man with eyes like emerald fire, Dayne listened as he wrested her knife from her lifeless foe and wiped it clean for her. "My name is Ciarán Bartholemuz." the man said as he worked, not looking up. "I don't know why they were following me. People just don't seem to like me much." Dayne managed a weak smile then, her wing still hurting like hell whenever she made an attempt to move it even slightly. Ciarán finally stood and turned to her, the knife he held once again as though it had never been used. He seemed then to pause, looking her up and down, almost as if to consider whether or not it was safe to come near her.

"You can put that away," he said quietly and nodded to her sword, which Dayne realized was still held ready. "I'm not going to hurt you." he continued, moving slowly forward. After a moments hesitation she sheathed the weapon just as Ciarán stopped, just out of reach. Much to her surprise, he then kneeled, placing down his own weapon and offering her the hilt of her knife. "Who are you? And why did you help me?"

Dayne took the knife with a murmur of thanks and resheathed it before turning her attention the question that had been directed to her. "My name is Dayne," she said, flicking a strand of hair from over her eye. "As to why I helped you, even I couldn't watch you get murdered for no apparent reason in cold blood, however, my actions weren't entirely selfless." she said, calmly indicating the lifeless body of the leader, which still had her arrow lodged in his chest. "This one is wanted by the authorities, although, now that I think about it, they may have actually wanted him alive..."

The girl paused then, staring thoughtfully at the body, her head cocked to the side, before shrugging and once again attempting to refold her injured wing without success. "Strange though, that they should choose to attempt murder in broad daylight on a day as important as this." she said finally, turning her emerald eyes back to the man before her, their eyes almost level with his slightly higher. "And that they shouldn't attack one who is obviously overly rich."

Ciarán simply nodded as she thanked him for returning her knife, his braid jerking at the back of his head, then he listened carefully to her reply, judging as she spoke. "Dayne" he thought to himself, memorizing, "a good name."

He got a shock, though, when she said she wanted to help him simply for nothing. He'd spoken the truth when he said that people didn't seem to like him much, and finding someone who was willing to help without knowing him was surprising. But as she continued to explain, he understood better.

"People like him are better off dead," Ciarán said calmly, not turning away from her eyes, but the next thing that she said caught his curiosity; "and what do you mean 'a day as important as this'? What day is it?"

And he replied to her final comment with a depreciating glance down at himself and a small smile, despite himself. "I guess I'm not the epitome of riches..." he admitted, then nodded to her wing, "Are you ok?"

Giving her time to digest the questions, Ciarán turned back to look at the bodies again, and then up to the entrance of the alleyway. He knew they were exposed, that anyone walking past could see clearly into the alley, and the bodies. He idly wondered what the policing was like in this part of the world, then decided he should do something about the bodies, now the blood was slowing its descent to the earth, but he couldn't see anywhere to hide them...

Standing up, and awaiting her answer, he began to poke around towards the back of the alley, finally finding a few large metal bins. When he opened them, he withdrew instantly, the putrid smell rising off them causing him to gag. A swarm of flies zipped out and away, disappearing into the bazaar. He was suddenly glad for the noise of the market, something to disguise what had been happening in the alley. He slowly lowered the lid shut, trying to deaden the loud metallic clang that it made, and then turned about.

Returning to the first body, he took hold of an arm, and lifted it gently, trying to see how heavy it was, and whether it was possible for him to get into the bins. He then looked up again, back at the woman, awaiting her answer.

Dayne glanced down the end of the alley as Ciarán asked what was so special about today, watching for any passing people who may have been curious about the noise coming from such a place. "You haven't heard?" she asked, turning back to Ciarán, her eyes bright. "There's going to be a massive parade or something this afternoon, celebrating something or other, I can't quite remember." the girl trailed off, lapsing into thought. What was it in celebration of? Someone had told her, but she couldn't for the life of her remember what they had said.

Shrugging inwardly, she brought herself back to the present just in time to hear Ciarán say something about his rich looks and she laughed softly, raising her arms into the air. "Neither am I," she said, showing that all she had was her dress, cloak and weapons, as well as a golden necklace that glinted in the light filtering from the square outside the alleyway, "But I've had three little gangs attempt to rob me since this morning." She dropped her arms and lowered her wings, momentarily forgetting about the injury in her left wing, which she was reminded of by a sharp pain that made her flinch suddenly. "Are you ok?" Ciarán asked her and she grinned, the jab of pain receding once more to a dull ache.

"Probably not." she smiled, glancing at the blood stained feathers. "I may have broken one of the bones in there, but I don't think I'd be able to find a healer around here that knew anything about wings." she laughed, once again trying to refold the wing and only getting about halfway before the pain returned. "No actually, I may have just sprained it or something, I can still move it."

While Ciarán tried to find somewhere to ditch the bodies of their assailents, Dayne, after many curses and gasps of pain, finally managed to fold her wing back into a position where it could be hidden by her light grey cloak and not cause her too much discomfort. Then she turned back to Ciarán who had half lifted one of the bodies and was looking at her quizzically. "I s'pose I should help." she said, sighing then grinning darkly. "After all, it is sort of my fault that they're in this predicament."

Together, the two of them managed to lift the limp body up and dump it in one of the putrid bins at the back of the alley. "It's a good thing the guards are occupied with the crowds out there." Dayne said softly, wrinkling her nose and peering into the bin the body had just landed in.