chrisisofaith | IC Contact

[He needs to do more. This isn’t enough. They needed him to make this easier for them all. He offers a small smile back to his friend when Chris catches his eye and racks his thoughts a moment for something for their shadow mistress.]

Amelia, I think my clothes are in the dryer. Could you find them for me? At least to have them available.

[Something for her to do. Especially as Hawke’s magic begins to take hold and the tension in Chris’ very pores begins to loosen. It’s not all of it, but there’s a notable difference as a long sigh of relief escapes him.. He was still sore, his throat ached inside and out, and the burns on his arm seared, but he felt less like he needed to handle himself like glass.

Slowly, he lets out a long breath as the bruises from the guards’ sticks fade to yellow as well.]

Thank you. That’s already leagues better and plenty from you, handsome. I’ll be alright.

Edited 2023-02-17 15:30 (UTC)

[She doesn't feel useless, exactly, but being called something soft when this is a time for her harder side is unnerving. This isn't a time for Wolfe to speak to her fondly; there are thing to do, a man of theirs to see to. Is it reflexive for him to say such things? With everyone? Only with her?

Now isn't the time for such worries, and she knows it. She closes her eyes when lips press to her temple, offering the mage a small smile in return, but no words. Best not to get in the way of a healer and their work.

Chris is grasping at anything to find her things to do as he lies on the couch. Clothes from the dryer? Hardly an actual task. She watches him closely for a long moment, frowning at the struggle in his face. His desire is understandable - she'd do the same if in his place - but it doesn't feel like... him. Not who she knows him to be. Perhaps it shouldn't right now, while he's beaten, broken, and bruised down to his soul.

A frown almost slips to her face, but she hides it behind a last sip of tea before nodding to the cleric and silently making her way about the house to find the dryer. It's not a difficult task, and soon after Chris' clothes are laid out on the couch above him before she retreats to the kitchen once more.]

If there's naught else, it's all right to say so. [Her smile is small, but warm.] Your well-being comes above all else, Chris. Focus on that over finding me tasks when the effort's best spent elsewhere.

Finally being able to force himself into being calmer has a centering effect on Hawke. He has a way forward, he has his people to take care of here, he knows what to do and what they need.

Chris struggles to find something for Amelia to do and Hawke judges that perhaps that shouldn't be his priority. It's clear to him that Chris just wants her here, a comforting protective presence, but not necessarily needing to be more useful than that when that's what's sorely needed all on its own. Hawke glances after her as she returns from her quest with the trophy of clothes and retreats back into the kitchen. By the time she's back, he's nearly through. He should probably not be pushing himself quite so hard to heal so quickly but it's not in him to leave Chris like this for longer than he has to.

Ducking his head to the side, Hawke leans in and speaks softly to Chris, not carrying his voice past the two of them at the couch. "I've got something for her to do, don't worry about it overmuch. Do you think you can roll over now?"

He waits for the answer, but once he's got it he leans back to address Amelia in turn. "Could you bring another potion, a rag, and the bowl of warm water? I think there's room enough on the coffee table."

The look he gives her out of Chris' sight says there's one more thing he'd like her to do and he gives a little motion towards the end of the couch where Chris' head is, imagining that she can slip onto the cushions behind him, a warmth at his back. It's what they both need, he's surmised, that softness of contact and solidness of presence. It's what he needs too, frankly, but he still has other work to do.

He gives Amelia a quiet thank you when she brings his clothes and he starts to reach for his underwear when Hawke leans in by his ear.

“With how well you’re fixing me up? I’ll do a summersault for you, if you’d like.” It’s hyperbole, but only just.

He abandons his goal of clothes and turns over, albeit gingerly. Though, once he has, he reaches a hand over to grab for Hawke’s sleeve. “I said you could stop, you know. Don’t think I’ve not noticed you healed more’n I asked.”

Which is a light warning, but one he follows with a pointed call to their lady rogue, green eyes still set on Wolfe.

“Did you know he can overextend himself if he casts too much or uses too much energy? Especially with magics he’s less familiar with. It’ll make him sick and weak a while. That would hardly be a wise action here and now.”

Her eyes narrow slightly as Hawke leans in to whisper to Chris, watching them both closely. She doubts they'd do anything foolish, but if they're thinking about it, even a little...

She forces her worries down when the cleric begins to roll over and she's given something to do with her hands. It's not much, but anything that keeps Hawke focused is good. She collects everything without a word, nodding to the mage once she's close enough to let him know she understood his meaning. She'll get there, but her hands need to be emptied first.

"I believe he explained he could... taste colors if he pushed too hard? Am I remembering that right?" The bowl of water and rag are set out on the coffee table before she kneels next to the mage, finding his hand to press the potion into it. He's also getting a pointed look right now. "If he shows any signs of distress, he's done for now, and the both of you will get something to eat and some sleep before we continue." As she's done before, she leaves no room for dissent. This is how things are going to be, and that's that.

Exhaling a sigh, she presses a kiss to Wolfe's forehead then gets to her feet once more, reaching down to unlace her boots as she walks to the end of the couch. Before Chris can protest, she slips out of them and then behind his head, giving him a warm place to rest his head that's surprisingly free of knives. Mostly. She has to shift one out of the way as she helps him lie back.

"Now hush, both of you, and focus on the healing and recovery. All else waits for now unless it's urgent." She gives them each a stern look, but it's wistful at its edges. This is something she's done hundreds of times, the habit nostalgic, easy, and painful all at once. The pain she keeps down by distracting herself with clearing Chris' forehead of mussed curls, and the rest... is useful enough to let it be for now.

"Glad you're feeling better, then," Hawke side-eyes Chris wryly for being thrown overboard like that, but there's relief and joy underneath it for the change in demeanor. The release of tension. It feels real too, not just an act to put them at ease.

He takes Amelia's kiss and admonishments both with a smile and puts in a theatrically indignant look. "I'm not so careless as all that. I've potions, haven't I? And you said could stop but I'm not about to leave you unable to sit down comfortably."

This is better, easier now that Chris is more animated. Encouraging too when he'd been worried his meager Creation magics weren't enough to heal the hurt visited. He's glad to have that lain to rest.

Hawke shifts his weight, sitting up and leaning more towards Chris' head and Amelia's perch behind it. He pops the cork on the potion and downs it, setting the empty bottle aside on the floor and trying not to look too much like he's bitten into a lemon for the taste. Still, it does it's work and as soon as he feels his connection to his magic strengthen again, he reaches out a hand to gingerly rest against the hollow of Chris' throat. It's not just the marks without that need healing; the cleric's voice had been a giveaway. He'd heard that rasp to it before - intimately - and if he hadn't already resolved to make certain the guards who'd done this had a limited number of breaths left to draw, he'd lose hold on his temper all over again. For now, though, its just a passing shadow over his expression, gone again after barely appearing.

"I'll stop when I'm finished and not a moment sooner."

He’s torn in that moment, stuck between Amelia’s stubborn streak and Hawke’s and the lingering need to do as he should and take control of the situation. He shouldn’t be indulging in this care, should he? Is that what they needed? Maybe.

It would also likely make him the biggest hypocrite of any plane if he turned them away.

He gathers what remains of his pride and lets out a long, quiet sigh while he relaxes into Amelia’s presence behind and above him and the cool sweep of mana at his throat.

The careless bruising and stretch left behind by rough use of his mouth and throat eases and, with it, most of what remained of the physical evidence of the violation barring his arm and lip. It was…something. A start. His next breath is a little easier still.

“That truly is enough.” His voice dips a little softer even with the rasp now missing and closes his eyes. “Thank you, loves.”

There’s still too much static and guilt and a cocktail of other things he can’t shake, fear, shame, and anger…but he couldn’t deny this was still better.

He knows what he wants to ask, but he keeps his peace. This has been plenty.

Edited 2023-02-18 02:41 (UTC)

Amelia watches Hawke closely for signs of overuse of his magic or general physical distress, not breathing a word. It's likely she can't distract him at this point, but she wants his full attention on the cleric and not torn between the two of them. She didn't see any other potions, and if this is all he's got until he's able to get some sleep? He needs to focus.

It's not until Chris speaks that she gives any mind to what comes next. The look in his face is worrying, his continued upset and struggles obvious to her. He can say they've done enough, but she doesn't believe him, not when his expression is tense even after all the healing he's received. No, it's likely he can't speak, or thinks he shouldn't, and she's not going to let that stand.

"Shh, rest yourself and your voice for a while." She brushes her fingers through his hair, thinking back to the many times she held any member of her Family while they needed a moment to recover. If it's unwanted, she'll stop, and she'll watch his face for that rather than wait for his words. It doesn't hurt her to hold off for him.

She exhales a breath, smiling a little sadly down at him before glancing up at Wolfe. They're both so tired, and she can't do anything for that.

She can do something for their hearts, though.

Continuing her gentle strokes to Chris' hair, she softly starts to hum a tune she remembers from home. It's not a happy song, but it's home and that's what these two are part of for her now. So, she shares with them a little of what she can of her world, something traditional to end a night with, in the hopes she can convince them both to wind down and rest.

It's not enough, not yet. His healing of Chris' throat is nearly done but there are other things to see to. He does know Chris will likely stop him is he goes too much longer so he has to choose what ails to mend well and quickly. Amelia helps with this, perhaps unwittingly, but she begins to sing and that gives Hawke a moment's pause as well, looking at her from his kneeling on the floor beside the couch. He doesn't recognize the tune but it's a balm regardless and he smiles again as he finishes up his work.

Throat mended to just some apparent redness, he withdraws his hand but not far, hovering over Chris' forearm just below the crook of his elbow, over the pocked burns left there. He can't tell what manner of weapon left them, but he's sure as hell not going to leave them puckered and painful looking like that. He waves the green pulse of his magic over the area, taking whatever pain they're still causing and pushing it to something dull and easily ignored. They'll likely scar but its better than remaining as they are.

He's beginning to feel light headed but the last spell he casts is the one he's wanted to most fervently since Chris' bandages had been removed. Not healing, but a spell Chris had taught him, one for cleaning, and he uses it now with effort to remove the already partially faded words from the cleric's skin. He reads each again as he makes sure they vanish. 'Slut' disappears without much thought. The dregs of 'you're welcome' fades away with a note at the back of Hawke's mind. 'Nothing' he erases last, staring hard at it and the absolute falsehood it spins. Chris is not nothing.

Chris is everything.

Everything he can see finally set as right as he can make it, Hawke releases his pull of his mana and settles back from his knees to his ass a little suddenly, like he's lost his balance. He has, a bit, but he's not going to swoon, not after all that. He just needs to sit for a moment and he'll stop tasting green.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Hawke shuts his eyes and leans into the couch, his forehead coming to rest very gently at Chris' temple and his hand on Amelia's knee as he listens to her song, the mood of it tugging at his already wrung out heart. They can yell at him now for overextending if they want, but he can't regret being able to do at least this.

He wants to snap at Hawke, tell him off for continuing to try and heal and for the brush of magic he can feel against his skin, even if he's not sure what it's for. But Amelia starts humming and it steals his attention a moment.

A night in the Charm, a couple older sailors a little too far into their cups began to sing. He could remember folding his skirt awkwardly in his fingers, half expecting someone to tell his clients to keep quiet...but then another table started in and Riol behind the bar joined as well. All through the room, conversation halted to listen or sing in turn. Chris had asked them to teach him the words after that.

He sings them now, low and soft to join her tune as something shifts uncomfortably in him. He hadn't been expecting this little piece of home. Hawke leans in close and Chris' eyes squeeze tighter to stave off the sting that starts in them. It doesn't quite stop the trail of a couple tears that see themselves free.

When the song is done, he sighs and moves to sit up as a hand comes up to swipe at his face. "Didn't know you knew that one...glad for it." Another breath. and he swipes a hand back through his hair and makes to stand so he can put his underthings back on and the loose pants he'd been wearing before. "I owe you both, but it's getting later."

Her humming pauses briefly when Chris joins her, singing words she knows so intimately they almost live in her skin. It brings a warmer smile to her lips as she adjust her pitch, accompanies his words with her own as she looks down at him. She and Aloïs have never shared anything quite like this, and it makes this moment special. Pained in many ways, but this is a good thing. Something worth allowing no matter how much any of them are hurting.

Her heart almost stops when Wolfe hits the floor. Not a far distance fallen, but enough of one. It takes her a moment to recover enough to finish the song, and it takes everything to keep herself from shaking as she rests her hand over the mage's on her knee.

The spell's already broken before the cleric moves to sit up, and the fresh round of adrenaline in her system allows her to help him steady himself. "We'll sing again sometime," she murmurs, "but you're right that it's late. Are you back to bed? I know this isn't your home, but I'd be fine keeping watch over it until your Jacob turns me out into the cold."

She frowns softly for a moment, takes a breath to steady herself, then forces down all of her thoughts and feelings as she turns to look at Wolfe. "Where will you rest tonight? I want to see you there safely, soon as I've cleaned up the mess we've made." What little there is. Another breath as she rests a hand on his arm. "Please. I need to know you're both getting the rest and time to recover you need tonight."

Edited 2023-02-18 04:47 (UTC)

"The Cat House, probably, but I wouldn't mind the company back there." He moves to rise, using the couch to push himself up not from weakness but simple age. Sitting on the floor is becoming harder and harder on his knees. He brings the spent potion bottle he'd left on the floor with him, pocketing the empty glass for later use. "Before we go, though, Chris?"

He looks over at his friend, seeming much better physically but the ghosts of the injuries still overlay in Hawke's eyes like a film. Black eye. Belt marks at his throat. Burns on his arm. Brutal mottled bruising all down one side from the beating that had given him a broken rib. Redness from a caning that burned like shame. And those angry words, hateful and mocking. He'll remember them all and keep that knowledge until he needs to use it.

Soon. But they need just a little more information, enough to follow through. He walks over, not unsteady but with purpose, and moves to pull Chris into a soft hug, a gesture he lets be easily broken and moved away from if it's not wanted. It's a gamble, maybe. He's not entirely certain that Chris' desire not to be touched right now will not outweigh a need for physical affection but he can't just leave without Chris knowing he's well loved, whatever form that takes.

"Since we're going to be about, as are you soon, what do we look for so we can keep you safe?" If Chris hasn't ducked away, Hawke brushes a stray curl from his face. "If you want it, not need but want, we'll see you anywhere you want to go for awhile. Just call."

He glances at Amelia briefly to make sure she's on board with this plan, fairly certain it's a yes before he turns his head. They're similar enough for that. Protectors and defenders both. "We just need to know who to be on alert for specifically in case they're not in uniform."

He hopes that's a covert enough way of asking to not arouse Chris' suspicions of their immediate purpose. If he thought the cleric wouldn't warn them off he would simply ask outright but this is better for now. He won't worry that anything will happen to them if he doesn't know they're going.

He shoots Amelia the first sizable smile he feels he's managed in some hours for her suggestion and nods. "I'd like that."

He's got his pants on and is contemplating Jacob's shirt when Hawke says his name. He's half turning back to him when strong arms wrap around him. The cleric goes still a moment, even his breath pausing with his surprise, before he finally brings his arms up to return the hug. It's light at first...but it quickly turns tight, Chris' fingers digging into Hawke's shirt until he can pull himself together enough once more to loosen his grip.

It's...a practical ask. Information. Three sets of eyes are better than one. It still sits oddly in him, but not in a way he knows how to look at just yet.

"I hardly need bodyguards here." But he can imagine them, leering expressions and knowing smiles and he can picture how his blood would run cold in his veins. He's not so foolish to think he'd be immune. And if he's out with someone he felt he needed to protect? He couldn't afford to be paralyzed by fear. He tucks that train of thought away. It wasn't a problem until it was.

"One of them was broad, heavier set. Medium-dark skin and clean shaven. Eyes like steel. I think I heard him called...Callous? Calus...something like that. He likes to follow and be in the thick of whatever's happening. Likes to be part of whatever will get him approval from those around him. The other...ringleader of them, but with no self-worth to speak of. He makes a grand effort of it, though, and seems to have the rest fooled. His name was Tarent. I heard that clear. Pale, sharp jaw and cheeks, dark hair and dark brown eyes and a few inches taller than me. Strong, too, so I imagine he's built like it."

Chris shakes his head. "They're probably stationed around the People Zoo most often. A couple of those in the group had been assigned to some of Jon's punishment details before, so I'll not say it's impossible to see them again, just...unlikely. So don't worry much for it." Probably. He could tell himself that, anyway.

He looks back to Amelia. "To your question: yes...I think I'll head back to bed. There's a few I need to check in with tomorrow. Jon..." He pauses, discomfort and guilt breaking across his expression before he can school it back into neutral. "Jon already knows something's happened. Don't fuss him for it, please. He's alone in there, he has enough on his plate."

She lets Hawke speak and pull Chris in without speaking, only managing to step closer and rest a hand on Chris' shoulder as the cleric curls into the other man. It isn't her place to crowd, and she knows how Chris is with physical touch. If he wants something of her before they go, he'll have it. There's nothing else to worry about outside that.

Every detail offered about the assailants is burned into her memory. They'll need that when they go clean the city of their filth. It doesn't matter how large they are, how strong they are, or how clever they are; she is faster, lighter, and has a powerful mage on her side. They won't stand for long. Blood will be spilled and she may very well paint herself in it to add insult to the injury of their deaths. She doesn't care; their lives were forfeit the second they thought themselves capable of getting away with what they did to one of hers.

"If you give me your key, I'll get those things at Marzipan Terrace you asked for and have them for you here sometime tomorrow. I can ask Cinder for more of what she made for you, too, if that will help." She gives the cleric's shoulder a small squeeze before withdrawing her hand.

"What happened is between us. I'll speak none of it to anyone. Aloïs will hear you've been hurt, but nothing more. It's your story to tell or not." Her partner only needs to know why she's off to commit murder. Any deep injury by city guards is more than enough in both their eyes to deserve it. "Jon stays out of my range until well after this is done. I agree he has plenty to deal with right now, and the last thing he needs is to see a face he doesn't get on with."

She's not even angry with him. It's not Jon's fault Chris was in jail, it's the city's. Later, she'll be angry with herself for realizing she's hopped to Jon's side of the fence on fighting the city's ways directly when occasion calls for it, but that's hardly the worry of anyone in this room. They don't need to hear it, and she won't dare speak of it. Her expression darkens briefly, but a breath allows her to school it into something neutral before she picks up the bowl and rage from the coffee table then heads to the kitchen, calling softly over her shoulder as she does.

"Rest, Chris. You need it, and we'll not be far if you have want of us." She offers him a small smile before beginning to dump and stack all of the various bowls into the sink. She'll gather any used rags as well, getting them deposited by the washer on her way out the door. It's what she can do to keep things moving right now, and she will make sure it's done before she steps a foot out the door of this house.

"I'll still send him a statement tomorrow, so if he asks I'll let him know you're safe and nothing else. He may feel alone in there but I've tried to make well sure he knows he's not." As much as he could with the limits of text messaging.

He resists the urge to kiss the top of Chris' head, not for the worry that he'll give himself away but because with the tightness of that returned hug - a cling, nearly - he's not sure if he could bring himself to actually leave were the levee to break. It feels a close thing and he'd encourage it otherwise, but he can't in good conscience when he and Amelia have grim business to attend to.

"You're safe now, Chris. I promise." He pulls away first, squeezing his friend's arm as he goes, giving an encouraging
smile. "Get some sleep and know you're protected while you do. Jacob's probably cold and wondering after you."

He turns to join Amelia, sliding a hand on her arm in silent signal that they should be going. He tossed one more look to Chris before they step away, expecting to have to wrestle himself into leaving and feeling only fierce protectiveness and resolve. "We're only a call or text away, though if it doesn't go through right away try again in a few minutes. We'll wake if we hear it twice, I'm sure."

And their phones will be left off until through with their business, so. An excuse. Everyone here needs sleep so it's believable as anything, and careful phrasing to make it clear he will be with Amelia and it may put anything Chris is worried on their condition to rest. Calculated. Careful.

"Sleep well."

“Hold a moment.” He nods to them and vanishes back into the room with Jacob, the rest of his clothes in hand, and returns with his key to marzipan terrace only.

He presses it into Amelia’s hand and gives it a squeeze, his other hand brushing by her shoulder. She was as hesitant about touch as he was, so even if part of him craved it right now, he didn’t reach for more. To Hawke, he pauses only so long to reach up and brush his fingers through Hawke’s hair before stepping back.

“Thank you, loves…truly. I-“ brambles flood his throat and his mouth works a moment before any words find their way out. There was too much, like a churning sea beneath calm waves…but he simply couldn’t. Shouldn’t. So he doesn’t. It gets buried away and he simply nods to them before turning to head back to Jacob’s room. His assassin’s arms were empty and it seemed a good place to bury himself a while.

Chris gets a hand to his shoulder in return for the touch to hers, but she doesn't try to prompt him further. He needs his space, time to recover, and now's the time for that. She watches him retreat without a word, depositing the key in one of her pouches and pulling on her boots before walking out the door with Wolfe. Without much thought to it, she reaches for one of his hands as they walk through the cold.

"What's on your mind, Wolfe?" she asks once they're decently far out from the house. Her eyes aren't moving from the horizon as they walk. "I'm with you in this. All of it."

Chris can't get the words out but brushes through his hair ones with tenderness and Hawke nearly pulls him in again to bury his nose against blond curls as if he could be a shield against wrongs already committed. Instead Hawke nods and watches Chris' retreat to another safe space before retreating out the door with a safe space of his own.

He threads his fingers with hers, the anger that he'd finally been able to tamp down while healing now seeping again into his demeanor and expression as they walk. When he answers her, his voice is hard and cold as deepest winter. "I need one more potion, and then we make sure this can never happen again."

Rest isn't an option, not while the ones who did this still draw breath.

She's careful to have given him her uninjured hand, not wanting to distract him. His anger is more open than hers, and if it's focused, she'd rather follow it. Disruptions will only slow them down when there's vengeance to be had.

"To The Cat House, then. I have everything I need on my person." She gives his hand a squeeze. "We'll start at the Zoo after, track them down from there."

He nods and speaks a little of focused planning with her in quiet voices that don't carry beyond them as they travel. The potion is easily procured, as is a cloak in deep navy. His staff he leaves, having decided it's too recognizable for their work tonight. They need to be as unrecognizable as possible.

Note left for Festival that he'll be out until the following day and phone put on silent, Hawke rejoins Amelia on the street, already having downed the last of his silvervine potion and feeling the course of renewed mana through him. Other effects of the potion as well, but easily ignored with the grim business before them. His gaze is dark and equally grim to face it as he moves in beside her.

"The tracking is up to you. All I ask is that while I know you're efficient, I need to look them in the eyes. Make sure they know why before the light leaves then." There's almost an audible growl in his undertone, a subtle reminder of his snow-prowling namesake.

Amelia's silent on the street as she waits, a mask tied over her mouth and nose to keep anyone from recognizing her directly. Aloïs already knew she'd be out for the night, possibly without returning, so she doesn't send him anything else before silencing her phone. Too late she's realized she didn't bother with a cloak this evening, but it's fine. She has a few black kerchiefs in her pouches that will have to do enough work before they take to the streets after they're done.

She nods to him as they start their walk to the Zoo, voice as quiet as she can make it. "You'll have the last blow. You need it more than I do." As angry as she is, as full of rage and unfettered need for violence as she is, Hawke has it much worse. This is his for the taking, but she's going to help.

Getting to the prison is easy, though Amelia keeps them to the shadows as they approach. She motions silently for Hawke to wait for her as she nears the entrance, closes her eyes and listens for words from inside on movements and who's where, and it's not long before she has what she needs. A usual hangout near the outskirts of the Down is their target. It seems the unassuming victims have the next day off and are celebrating their successes with excessive drink tonight.

It will be their last.

Information relayed, the rogue quickly starts them off. "What else do you need once we've found them? Other than space to work." Something readily available at this time of day where they're going.

He's not sure he would say he needs it more but he takes it. What he has in mind will be satisfying enough for the both of them.

He doesn't have a mask, but the hood of the cloak is deep and as long as he keeps it up most of his face is suitably obscured. Without his staff there's little to mark him as anyone specific, just a tall broad man. It will do.

The questions he considers along with the setting. The Down is better than the Up for this, less on patrol guards and the camera birds are more obvious and easily avoided. They still have to be careful, quiet, but that would be the case anywhere. "Nothing specific. Just no prying eyes, some time, and a place to put them after."

There's no regret in him that this has to happen, no second thoughts or remorse. If he didn't already considered these two having killed themselves when they brutalized Chris, there might be.

He's humming with magic, spells chambered and ready to let fly the second they're able to do so out of sight and earshot.

Where to put the bodies when they're done is something Amelia's been pondering since they left Broken Hollow, and as they make their way through the Down, straying near South Park, an idea comes to mind. She smirks behind her mask, eyes dark and devious.

"Let's get them closer to here," she murmurs, gesturing past him to where the park - and its giant sinkhole - are located. "I know what to do."

There's nothing more to be said while they find their targets. The bar the pair have sat down in is half-empty when they peer in through the window, winding down for the evening and with most of its patrons so drunk they should've been cut off several cups ago. It makes what's going to come next very easy for them. Amelia stations them half a block from the entrance in a shadowed corner, not taking her eyes off the door as adrenaline starts to filter into her blood once more.

"We need to spook them in the right direction. Keep them to the alleys in that direction," she points to a few darkened side streets leading back toward the park. "I can make them fear the shadows enough to keep them going in that direction if you cut off other access points they might try escape down."

There's only a few seconds for Hawke to respond before the pair they're looking for stumble out, laughing jovially. The Shadow Mistress' heart rate drops, all sounds that aren't those fucking voices, that glee. If the mage at her side says anything else, she isn't going to hear it. She takes a breath, pulls her slingshot her belt, and takes a single step out from the corner. The guards get two warning shots close to their ears before she's making straight for them as they curse and jump down to first alley she indicated.

It's time to make them fear for their lives before they're ended. They won't hear her coming as she does it either, only rocks whizzing past them, catching them across the face or legs as she forces them on her chosen path. Silent as shadows she follows them, and in that silence, she's going to strike when the time comes.

He says nothing, only nods in a cold calculating way that doesn't break the veneer of placid rage etched into the lines on his face. It's a hard expression for a face so used to laughter and coy looks but it's settled on him and doesn't shift even as she begins the chase.

He keeps pace with her across the way, sticking to shadows and throwing walls of force at intervals where the two guards may turn away from the intended destination. Ice would leave evidence at least for awhile, but force is invisible and impenetrable, sending the guards bumbling and bumping into each other as they sprint away, arms up by their ears and yelling drunkenly about assault.

Arms up protecting their heads and necks, like Chris had from their attack.

The next force spell doesn't block a path but instead propels them down an alley of Amelia's choosing, sending them sprawling and scrambling with wide eyes and more urgent movements. They're starting to panic.

Good.

It's easy to keep the men running to where they want them to go with Hawke's magic in the mix. On her own, a maneuver like this would never have worked. In Ragneux, she would've needed at least three well placed Family members to pull it off. He's resourceful as well as powerful, and in any other moment, the thought might send her pulse racing for a different reason. For now, it's merely information to be filed away, held onto until it's useful again. It'll come again soon enough.

Amelia closes the distance between herself and her targets with each alley, jumping off anything above ground level to give herself an extra boost of speed and distance. She doesn't need to catch them to scare them, and each shot across their ears, arms, or chests is enough. Rocks do plenty of damage when fired hard and aimed well, and these men are on the receiving end of decades of practice, bleeding from many cuts across their bodies. They won't survive this.

When at last they leave the security of alleys on their way to South Park and the sinkhole there, the Shadow Mistress gives herself a little more speed to get alongside her targets. One she slows with a rock to the forehead, hard enough to daze him a little. The other takes a knife to the outside of his thigh as she closes in. They're starting to scream now, to get loud, and she won't have that. They're not done yet, and she won't have them be disrupted by anyone who might think these men are in need of help. They are beyond that, having lost their chance for it when they assaulted one of hers.

She's on them both in seconds, leaping from the ground to come down hard on the taller of the men with a dagger to his shoulder, in the soft spot between bones just above his armpit. Her weight hits his chest and sends him down, and she rips his shirt before stuffing it in his mouth.

"Keep quiet," she commands, voice so guttural as to be unrecognizable. "You'll speak when I say you can."

There's one left to take care of before they take these two down into the sinkhole, and she trusts Hawke to have him when he's still stumbling from being his so hard in the face with a fig sized rock.

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Switching to prose because I keep doing this on my phone and messing up coding

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