His name was Ratman. Contrary to commonplace opinion it wasn't for his features that may have resembled certain furry little mammals or for her mannerisms which were decidedly unique. He had a tendency to twitch, it wasn't anything horribly remarkable normally but when stressful situations came up he did resemble a cornered rodent. His name however, had very little to do with this- his parents had been freakin' sadists who just happened to not know the language or the culture of Lomedor. Primitive savages- he had gutted Pops himself and Mom... well he was still looking for Mom.

Ratman spat. He hated thinking about the past.

It was because of the pair before him he knew. A mother and a child- or so it appeared. The child was unmistakably dead though, he had dealt in enough corpses to know the signs. That pale skin, that subtle scent of necromantic magicks, that utter lack of vitality- yes, she was a zombie or some derivative of thereof. Fairly advanced but still, nothing more than a zombie. He doubted that she could even take on a vampire- not that they were going to go play with vampires (thank the gods!)- but a rather un-glorious bodyguard. He preferred it like that. Unassuming, unappealing and viciously posessive of his territory he was seemed to be of little threat and consequence to the top dogs in this little underground world.

That would change. And change soon.

“You know why you've been hired.” He told the two bodyguards. But even as he said it, he felt like he needed to repeat himself. The bloody zombie child seemed so damn innocent! “The fuskin' Falcons,” (he always felt like spitting when he heard that divinely uninspired name), “are planning to do a few of meh boys and girls under while they're off doing... chores.”

“I need ye two to catch the Falcons and give them a bloody message.”

“Capische?”

Triella's gaze didn't waver from the inhumane creature before them. They'd looked about this small hole in the earth, not literally but metaphorically speaking, and found it lacking. It was appropriate for the type of person he was, which only sickened her a little more that they were willing to be paid to do his leg-work for him. Money can win over anything though.

It had been arranged through a maze of contacts and employers, but now Triella and Robyn were getting a small reputation as a pair of body-breakers who would generate a high body count if that is what the job required. Granted this caused the more foul and unscrupulous individuals to seek them out, for employment or death. The two were usually linked together somehow, or quite directly.

"Will the bodies of the dead deliver this message? Or is there to be someone left behind to recount the tale to others?"

It was so much easier to simply have everyone killed. There wasn't a guarantee the last person would do as they were supposed to. sometimes even cause larger problems down the road...

Ratman considered the question, considered too, what it meant to be able to thus control the lives of his enemies. It gave a feeling of power that riddled his form with that pure and potent drug known as joy but that he preferred to think akin to ecstasy. Or shadenfreude- a good word that tended to surprise his superiors... not that he would have any superiors soon. He was on the way up and those on the way up couldn't be distracted by the presence of those already there. He had to imagine that the gilded throne of the underworld was free from the presence of the fickle and almost imaginary leaders that already inhabited it... no, there would be change and Ratman would be the one to initiate, lead and live it. He could almost taste the dream, so potent was it. But then he returned to the real world.

"I'm paying you for your services." He snarled. "I expect the best that money can buy, and I expect that when I next see the Falcons they'll be begging -Me- for protection. Do you catch my drift?" It was dangerous work, antagonizing people in power but it had to be done if they were to take you at all seriously. "So just use your judgment. Will their corpses, lack of corpses, or living corpses speak louder? Take your pick and then slaughter them."

He stalked away into the darkness, leaving the two of them in that dark, dank sewer tunnel, hopefully impressed.

Their services to the best of their ability would involve a long and drawn out hunt over a period of years as every member was killed, every ally of theirs was killed, every relative, friend and contact. Nothing could be spared or left to grow into a token of resistance. Not a single being. It was a logical outcome to Triella, if they were expunged from all records, they'd never again be a problem.

That wasn't Rat-face's aim however. He was trying to make a situation where he could profit. Which meant a show, without a staggering bodycount.

What troubled her more so, was what would happen to them after or during this? The two of them were to be the source of fear and the need for protection, so as a show of his strength he would attempt to dispose of them. It was what she'd do in his shoes.

Rat-face is going to end up another notch...

She didn't have a vendetta or even a grudge. Just a matter-of-fact objective to do if she intended to remaining breathing for a few more years. What would Robyn do without her Mother? so obviously she needed to keep one eye open now more so than before, she had a child to look after.

As the funny looking employer-person (Alice-Mommy, Poppa Bear and Momma Bear had all tried to explain the concept of ‘employment’ but Robyn-rin was still a leetle bit confuzzled over what it all meant so she just kind of went along with what Alice-Mommy said and did and assumed that treatsies would be forthcoming- because that was what employment was! Treatsies for doing stoof, what that stoof was was terribly complicated though since it changed ALL the time) left Robyn waved good-bye but since he hadn’t returned the good-bye, Robyn-rin was left standing there looking kind of silly. But Robyn-rin didn’t mind, she had had stoof to do! Leaving bloody messages! And doing stuff that seemed right to do!

Yupyup, all very complicated. Robyn wondered if she would have to learn to read and write. It seemed pretty simple, but she had to rely a lot on Momma Bear and Poppa Bear for the really hard words like ‘cough,’ and ‘blearg,’ and ‘pulverize.’ She wondered a lot over why The Chef wasn’t helping (it was –his- job to help with the wordy-words after all) but he didn’t. Poppa Bear and Momma Bear were being awwwwfully evasive when Robyn-rin asked to where he had gone. They looked kind of guilty when TC was mentioned so Robyn was watching them, carefully. If they had started eating each other Robyn would have to make cages for them- and they never liked that!

She was pretty sure they didn’t. Not entirely sure, but still pretty sure. It was hard to tell sometimes.

“Alice-Mommy! Will we start now?” Robyn asked cheerfully.

They stared for another moment, as if expecting her gaze to strike him dead where he was walking away. Would've meant she found a highly amusing gift to try out, but alas no such thing occurred. Shrugging to herself rather than Robyn she smiled at the undead child before holding out her hand.

The main reason he'd met them this close to his operational base, and without any minions present, was from the rushed-nature this contract had been formed upon. He'd given them enough details, hopefully, to give them a game plan for what was happening tonight

"Yes we will! And not a lot of time, so if there's something you want to pick up or need to go potty (XD), now is the time."

It was collection night for a block in Lomeador, and the gatherers were the targets of the Falcons. This meant the escorts were expendable, but the money-mules should be kept alive. Technically the mission parameters didn't concern any subordinates of rat-face's. So in truth a portion of the enemy force was not expendable.

And attacking the collectors might prove useful...

When he had gotten far enough away Ratman started to twitch. Violently. Spasmodically. He could barely manage to get the neatly rolled cigarette he had (it was a real one, not the counterfeit ones that he and his chums dealt with) into his mouth. Getting it lit was even more troublesome but in the end he managed. It was nice being able to wield a small amount of magic, even if it was just for parlor tricks. Nobody appreciated parlor tricks as much as they should- likely as not they didn't enjoy the very large and broad applications of parlor tricks either.

But parlor tricks had informed him that he *could* go into a high-stress situation without spazzing. And that was most undoubtedly as high stress as it got- when the woman, the mother, had stared at him he had felt like there were holes being drilled right into his skull. He was surprised to be alive, truth be told in full. He regretted his poor children that would no doubt get caught in the crossfire but that was alright. Now all he had to plan was how he would get rid of these two permanently... or manage to sway their perspectives enough that he could be sure of their loyalty.

Was it a full moon today? Probably not. Ratman was glad of it- he wouldn't have wanted to go running amok while their were professionals in town. Dangerous business, that was, getting in the way of those who knew what they were bloody doing. He heard, somewhere in the distance, the mother talking- in here, voices echoed. But that was alright.

The Falcons were dead. He knew it beyond a shade of a doubt. That much these two could accomplish and could accomplish well.

It had started to drizzle softly, a calming ever-present background noise. It pattered on the roof, the cobblestone streets, the people who walked them. Made everything a dark grey tone, as if killing life within Lomeador a little bit. Perfect weather for such activities, wonderful excuse to wear heavy clothing to disguise their weaponry.

As well as disguise her opponent's too however.

They'd taken to sitting outside of a small pub, the Dirty Wanker or some other bizarre name. The "seats" were really just architectural designs on the side, but worked wonderfully as a sort of bench out of the rain, but outside. Their target was wandering into a little bookstore. A shop for those in the know to pick up lore banned from public, or even trained, usage.

He, or she, had entered and left their gumshoe bodyguard outside. The way his longcoat was open and hands were close to his waist meant he was on high alert, but obviously had a holstered weapon. Nothing poked out from behind him, and no unusual bulges were present. Probably a dagger or some equally worthless weapon.

All that was left was for the other pieces to show up, then another clash for blood money in the slums of Lomeador would break out.

The rainwater tasted good, better than good actually. Robyn stuck her tongue out and caught droplets, giggling as they splashed and then gargling when she had caught enough to actually gargle. It was kind of fun. She wasn't sure if Alice-Mommy was watching her gargle (she hoped Alice-Mommy was watching her gargle!) but it was still fun anyways. Gargle, gargle, gargle. There was a pathetic mewling sound in her chest cavity but she ignored it. Silly Meester Fluffington. He didn't need to stay there- there were lots of things he could be doing! Fun things! Like playing with his tail, playing with his friend-friend that had turned into part of Meester Fluffington...

Lots of fun-fun stuff. Yupyup. Lots an' lots.

On the rain drizzled and when the novelty wore off, Robyn swallowed the water causing her cat to cry out. She wasn't at all sure of what they were doing, they could be doing any number of things- like nothing, playing at doing nothing, nothing-nothing just to name a few- but Alice-Mommy seemed particularly glad that they were at this spot doing apparently nothing so Robyn copied Alice-Mommy and just sat there doing nothing. Only it was annoying. And stoof. Her leg muscles wanted to move away from her bone muscles!

Did her bones have muscles?

Annnyways, just when Robyn was going to get really quite bored, a funny looking bunch of peoples walked towards them and past them, apparently headed towards where Alice-Mommy was watching. They carried loooots of sharp-sharps.

A smile stretched across ehr face, that of a shark spying a wounded obese person a good hundred feet away from shore. One that belongs to predator watching unassuming prey. She didn't move yet, there might rearguard specifically waiting for an ambush. They'd be harder to identify than the mass, but no less obvious in being armed to some degree and intently looking and watching.

Why suspect some single mother, probably a lady of the evening, and her daughter? So long as nothing bladed was shown by them, they were invisible as far as she was concerned.

First people to murder would be the rearguard, then the main bulk. Everyone in the combat would be killed, anyone nearby would also be butchered. Every corpse was to properly be mutilated in a suitably ghoulish fashion after the torture and execution of the last Falcon occurred. then the fun would begin as they'd give rise to a new urban myth of some cult targeting criminals.

"Sweety, we have to leave on birdie intact and okay, Mommy has to ask them some very important questions, okay?"

Robyn should understand her vague terminology. she didn't want to out-and-out hint at what they were planning, or even involved.

One birdy? Robyn blinked. She'd... she'd get -all- the other birdies? All of them? Not just one or two but -all- of them? Her mind spun round and round as she sought to encompass this dastardly reality where too much of a good thing was a very, very good thing. She opened her mouth, disused portions of her mouth that shouldn't have been functional suddenly going into overdrive and filling it with liquid. One birdy? Only one birdy? Oh my. Ohme ohmy. Ohmeohmy.

Robyn-rin was suddenly a very happy leetle gurl.

“Only one. Right Alice-Mommy? Riiiight, Alice-Mommy?” She nagged a bit, trying to be sure. Even as happy and go-lucky as she was, Robyn-rin was still deeply suspcious of things that were too good to be true. Mainly because she usually woke up from them wondering what happened to the people-cake that she and Alice-Mommy were baking.

By now the Falcons were approaching the bodyguard. He got up, trying to look burly. Failing. Failing badly when the lead falcon punched him the gut, slammed his forehead onto the ground when he leaned forward clutching his stomach and let him lie there dazed and stranded. As the falcons ambled into the locale of the money-grubber each one of them gave the dagger-wielding pseudo-bodyguard a good kick. He groaned and lay still. Apparently aware that he was in over his head he just lay there quietly.

Which was a bad idea, he realized, when a girl walked up over him and smiled cheerfully.

“Bon appétit!”

What did that- GRAAAAAH.

Robyn was a bit too enthusiastic, she'd gone running off before all the targets ahd reached. It was helpful however in picking out their rearguard. The man was dressed in the same rain-sheltering fashion. His wide-brimmed hat adorned with a hawk's feather. He had pulled out the components of a crossbow and was hastily assembling them, knowing full well Robyn was not one of the ambushing parties, but some psychopath on the loose.

Looking up slightly he seen the woman sitting next to the girl had jumped up and was going at full speed across the street at him. Her hands had jerked free a crude, but still deadly, looking axe from behind her. His hands started fumbling as he tried to place a bolt into the lock so he'd have a shot.

Each step she took seemed to be a split moment, but with every crank of the wheel she seemed to draw several feet closer. Pushing back he started a gaged retreat, trying to place some distance while loading his ammunition. The painful grinding of the gears echoed in tandem with the clatter of her charge, but still it seemed as if his weapon was slower.

There was finally a glorious crack as the notch had been reached. Raising his weapon he paused for a breath as he aimed it at Triella. there was a keening sound and a meaty thwack. The axe had struck deep into his neck at a downward angle, severing the throat from the lower part of the body and causing the body to collapse.

She hated ranged weapons.

The first birdy was scrumptious. Robyn was giggling as she watched him slowly flop and flop and flop. Like a fishy! But birdies weren't fishies! This might be a birdy-fish! Robyn-rin wanted to ask him if he was a birdy-fish but then Alice-Mommy came with her big sharp-sharp thing that was used to make treatsies and then went BAM! and turned one of the other birdies into a treasty. Robyn watched in fascination as the crimson spread of guts and blood colored everything with such very nice paint. It didn't burn very well but it was still paint! Robyn smeared some on her cheeks before watching the other one continue to flip and flop and debated the merits of going for more birdies or...

Hmmmm. Deeficult choice. Very deeficult. Exceedingly deeficult. Probably one of the most horrendously, horribly deeficult choices she had ever had to make in her life!

But in the end it had to be done. Robyn growled and got up, leaving the birdy to flip and flop with her thin, curved and deadly spineslicer still stuck in his (well obviously) spine and then looked at the building. And at the people who were hurriedly (in all sorts of distress) trying to get back towards the entrance of the building. Robyn frowned at them. She made a broad, cupping motion and a palm of orange-red fire kindled into existence on her hand. She frowned at it. She had really meant to make a nice, icy arrow to return the favor of the not-so-nice arrow person.

She turned to Alice-Mommy, remembering her manners. "May I?"

Kicking the body off her feet a bit too violently she nodded at Robyn. As long as the Falcon's were all massacred to a soul survivor things would be done as she wanted. another of the rearguard, this one a bit more capable of stealth, was darting down the street, his black cloak concealing the tip of a rapier. He'd probably try to skewer Robyn, and while that wasn't fatal, the mis-shot fire spell might be.

Hefting the black dagger she threw the weapon at him, succeeding in only landing a wound on his left arm before the blade clattered to the ground. What Robyn was doing, where people were, any other rear guards emerging from the shadows, none of those mattered. Her sole goal right now was to cut down that man before he harmed Robyn.

Robyn kept on staring at Alice-Mommy as Alice-Mommy nodded her head until she remembered one of Alice-Mommy’s lessons: nodding of heads meant aff-ir-mation. Affirmation. Basically yupyup. Yupyup meant that there could be-

“Fire in the hole!” Robyn shouted cheerfully, launching her magical projectile. Midway it seemed to gain wings and a pincer- but that may have just been an overactive imagination at work. Or the vague whisps of smoke that it was hurriedly ejecting. Her aim was poor though, and instead of launching itself right into the charging humanoids it slammed into the floor, scattering liquid fire for a moment before grabbing at the floorboards and hungrily devouring. The humanoids watched and then a particularly brave one vaulted over the floorboards and rushed towards them anyways- the one who had been hit by the dagger.

Maybe he was angry?

But that wasn’t important. What was important was that cooking birdies wasn’t quite like ‘getting’ birdies. There were important differences, what exactly Robyn wasn’t quite sure, but she liked to think that she was right on this.

She thought for a moment about what she needed and then groped inside her shirt to find a wand. An icy wand. That could make things into ice. She didn’t know how she knew it could make things into ice, just that it could and that it was important because it wasn’t burinating day. Burinating day was on Tuesdays. Today was… not Tuesday. Or something.

Robyn stared at the fire and at the funny looking birdy that was charging at them, at Alice-Mommy and then at the door. She touched the door- and it promptly turned into ice.

Robyn could throw fireballs. Learned something new everyday!

That, and her fiddling with an odd wand and then freezing a door was also bizarre, but not important. At the moment. The casting of spells and producing random magical items was gonna be tonights little talk. If they lived that long that is.

Interdicting themselves between the assailant who was coming from behind Robyn, Triella slapped aside the fine blade with her hand, only for a swoosh and a flick to find her axe falling to the ground and her wrist bleeding.

Lashing out with a boot she caught him in the crotch as his rapier found her chest. It would've pierced through her heart, but a little magical trinket managed to deflect it into her shoulder. Capitalizing on his temporary paralysis, she brought her axe up and down onto his throat, severing his head from the body with a slight spray of richly oxygenated blood.