[ ♔. kill your darlings ]

[rogue,]

♔ ．Ｒｏｓａｌｅｅ Ｄａｇｅｎｈａｒｔxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx( ❝ the heir of ash & fire ❞ )xx( ❝ location; victor's estate ❞ )

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Petyr's laughter was something else entirely. The hint of the French accent of his seeping into the bright sound made it feel otherworldly, at least to Rosalee. "I do like to believe I put the bookcase in its rightful place." she agreed with a gentle grin, appreciative he was going along with her. "Perhaps not in your eyes," and those were the ones that only really mattered in the grand scheme of things. She was half-temped to asked for a translation for the mon chéri, though felt it would take away the air of mystery Petyr had oh-so carefully cultivated. "Do tell: what is 'you are welcome' in French?"

Rosalee planned on stealing these away from the party one way or another. "Yes, but give this Rosie-fish a knife and she will be in her element, I guarantee you!" she started to shake her head, breathing a content sigh. At his interpretation of a fish, Rosie quickly fell into a laughing fit, doubling over for a split second as she tried in vain to get a hold of herself. She would never admit that this light-hearted spirit was something she adored. "Yes, but cinnamon has it's own charming kick to it, does it not?" she took his words to heart, and it sparked, stoking the fire with a burst of pride.

While it was true that the assassin was fuelled with hatred and distrust on a good day, Rosie didn't have it in her shattered heart to hold this against Petyr; not quite. She was volatile and quick to anger, granted, but her intents were always far from malicious. "Is this a topic I can sway you on?" there was a flicker of eyelashes and a sudden award-winning smile.

Something new, new and heart-felt, tainting the air told her that Petyr had chosen, in that moment, to grace her with tellings of his world some other time. Knowing she'd won him over, knowing he trusted her had her eyebrows raising in revere. Rosie would love to hear anything he had to tell, be it of France or the Guard.

Petyr had a way about him, in which he could follow her into the depths of hell and still return with a smile. And that was what was happening at this precise moment in time, and he was perfect in holding up his own half of their joint act. A jack of all trades, if you will, while a master of none, it is still surely better than master of one, no? The Jack and Jill of all trades; the King and Queen of Nothing, ruling over their empty kingdom and their empty court. Rosalee was more or less blind when it came down to anything other than her assassin skillset, and Petyr knew far more than her in that respect. He could tutor her in the fine arts of emotion, and in return, she could teach him of the deadly skills she'd grown to rely on. Rosalee's eyes remained downcast and she began to shiver when he placed his hand on her arm, as if his touch were that of ice and it were scything through her skin to attack her bones. "Petyr, please," she let her plea hang in the air like a punch to the stomach. It was a bitter hit to her pride, granted, but it was all the means to an end. She felt Petyr gently raise her head, and as soon as the light burned her eyes, Rosie gave a plaintive noise of distress, yanking her face away with such a force it had her almost pitching backwards. Almost. All a part of their intricate dance of improvisation.

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[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( role: turncoat )xx( location: victor's estate )

xxxxx”See? I never doubted you for a second.” He shrugged, smiling lightly and setting down his glass of water onto the nearest table, sighing gently as he looked across the crowd of guests. Most of them were twirling in dance, paying attention to everything and everyone but Rosie and Petyr. That was good, at least. A break for them. When she asked for a translation from him, his head lifted slightly, his eyes briefly closing. ”Je t’en prie. It literally means ‘I beg you’, but we use as you’re welcome.” His hand gently smoothed over the front of his jacket, and he smiled at the thought of Rosie showing genuine interest in his language. Maybe one day he would take her to France, after Victor was cut down, and after their business in London was settled. Maybe.

xxxxxHis eyes brightened some at her joke, and he gently laughed, shaking his head. ”Cinnamon is a healing agent. Ginger, it clears the mind.” He gently tapped on his temple and smiled. His mother had been (before her husband left her) a nurse, a traditional doctor. Often she was claimed to be a witch what with her knowledge, but she shot down every attempt they made to surmount evidence against her. She helped people, and Petyr had adored that about her. He himself had taken to learning some of her tricks, too. ”Why would we give the Rosie-fish a knife? She always has a blade, a weapon, hidden somewhere.”

xxxxxTheir act was strung carefully together by the reactions of others, an act that forced them to bet and lean on the shoulder of Lady Luck. Didn’t Rosie know how dangerous this all was, them relying on others for their act to be perfect? Oh, it really was dangerous, but Petyr trusted Rosalee with his life, and right now, that trust was put in full-force. Rosalee and Petyr relied on each other, and they worked in tandem to get to their goal. Like a dance, almost. A dance with Death herself, a willfill and gentle spirit who was capable of ferocity. Just like Rosalee, he thought with a sad smile.

xxxxxHer beg made his expression drop immediately, and his heart ached at these words. Petyr, please. Oh, oh, dear. It tugged on his heart, even if that plea was an act, something in his brain told him to help her, even if she wasn’t truly hurt or in need of his help. ”Oh, Léa, I am here,” he whispered. When she teetered backwards, Petyr quickly grasped hold of her, catching her before she had a chance to hit the ground. ”I will catch you,” he promised, speaking out of memory of another conversation, rather than to her directly. His eyes lifted, almost frantic (but that was the act), as he tried to find his uncle amongst the crowd. His gaze fell on Victor, whom was now descending the steps, with his very own worried expression.

xxxxx”Victor,” he called out, but not too loud as to not draw attention to the other party-goers. When Victor approached them, Petyr held Rosalee close against his body. ”I am afraid that Léa has fallen ill, Victor. The lights, they hurt her, my lord.” His voice sounded… desperate? No, that wasn’t the word. But his concern sounded genuine and true, and it was all heartfelt and honest. There was no way Victor could turn that down. Victor rested a hand on his chest, looking to Rosalee - Lea - with his own concern.

xxxxx”Oh, dear, that will not do, oh no. Please, what can I do to help your lady?” Perfect, perfect. Of course, Victor would never turn down an opportunity to show his “compassion” to the crowd. Petyr only sighed, closing his eyes as he feigned a thinking process.

xxxxx”Is there, by chance, a room that she could rest in until she is better?” He finally asked, mentally crossing his fingers, searching for hope.

xxxxx”Of course, my dear friend, there are plenty of rooms that I can offer her solitude. Please, please, follow me to the stairs. Can she walk on her own?”

[rogue,]

♔ ．Ｒｏｓａｌｅｅ Ｄａｇｅｎｈａｒｔxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx( ❝ the heir of ash & fire ❞ )xx( ❝ location; victor's estate ❞ )

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"You know a Dagenhart does not beg, but for you, I believe I will make this one exception," at first, Rosie frowned, tapping a finger against her chin as she rolled over the pronunciation over on her tongue, before she even dare speak it aloud. It was the vowels that she could never quite capture in the way that Petyr did, but it was damn well close. "Je t'en prie." she smiled kindly, offering up a flourish of a curtsy. Would she ever love the opportunity to visit Petyr's homeland!

Rosie watched the light shine in his eyes. "Ah. You know your medicines too? You are truly full of mysteries. Granted, those are not my forte; sutures are." she pushed her mouth to the side in consideration, wondering where Petyr possibly could have learnt such a technique. Rosalee very much doubted the Guard, or the Templars did, so maybe France had given him more than just his language. To his next statement, she grinned slyly. "Mhm," the assassin agreed, "much like it's namesake, no?"

Rosalee, naturally, still didn't quite buy into the whole idea of luck. Not when the reckless Rosalee made her own luck. She was relying solely upon her own knowledge and skills at this point, rather than something she couldn't grasp onto securely. Still, a saddened part of her wished she could hold faith in such a prized concept as Petyr did. If it soothed him, who was she to deny it? To rely on something, someone, other that herself, what as that like? Now, that was dangerous, and fraught with both trials and tribulations, full of calculations she couldn't figure out. So, while it appeared she was relying on Petyr, she actually saw him as an extension of her perfectly-honed skillset and not a liability. Perhaps, unintentionally she was relying on him. (Good luck with telling Rosie that.) He was as much a part of this as her, held something to gain, and so much more to lose. It was for Petyr to decide whether it was worth the risk. Death was never evil, but Death was never good. Death, much like the other Horseman, was bound to the job. If Rosie was akin to Death, what did that make Petyr? War? Or was he a Deadly Sin? A Heavenly Virtue?

Victor the King of Crows. Crows were scavengers, not artful hunters like Petyr and Rosalee. Leeching the hard work of others by killing them and claiming their businesses? He was hardly the good man he painted himself up to be. A petty scavenger was exactly what Petyr's uncle was, only, this crow had long ago decided to take it upon himself to cross into the hunters' game. Live as a fraudulent hunter, die by the true hunter. Only in this case, a Turncoat and his Assassin.

The sudden drop of his expression and the tug on his heartstrings was a tangible feeling in the air, something like a fissure attempting to tear through her defences. Petyr was sticking to his guns though, and playing his part she had to admit; despite the distractions her own act posed. It made Rosie ponder as to what would have happened if the roles were reversed. The same reaction would probably lend itself to her. It was a heart-stopping moment, and time seemed to slow as her balance faltered and she tipped, waiting, hoping, that Petyr would catch her in the fall. His grip was welcomed, a surprised gasp slipping past her teeth to act as shock. Gods, was Rosie relieved he'd been there to catch her, his words soothing her mind. She couldn't smile, of course, though tried to thank him via the strings of their silent language. Now all that remained was the trust fall of the Brotherhood to really test his metal.

With Petyr holding her so close as his murderous uncle approached, it felt as if he'd thrown a protective shield out in front of them. It worked in such a way to make Rosie feel safe, and it started to smother the anger blistering her flesh. And she clung to him as if he were life itself; the one piece of driftwood in the middle of an unending, apocalyptic storm. His voice was so full of actual, not feigned, but actual concern it had her act of shivers appear more realistic. She freed a breath that had been frozen in her lungs. When Victor turned his piercing gaze on her, Rosie shut her eyes and tried to tune out the orbs boring into her soul. She couldn't actually tell if he held a sliver of authentic concern like her Petyr did.

Ha. Of course it would not do! Couldn't have a sick person ruin his grand party, could he? It was all about appearances after all, and right now, she was the blemish on his otherwise perfect mirror. Rosalee's voice was sweet and soft, tinged with the unease of sickness. "Oh, my dear Lord, I am terribly sorry; I wish not to disrupt your wonderful evening. But please, you are wonderfully kind," Sweet Léa. Sweet, naïve little Léa. Always so polite. "I only ask for somewhere with less lighting, please?" Pushing at the boundaries of whatever passed for her luck, perhaps, though who could deny Léa when she was so courteous and well-mannered? "I-I can walk," she assured, straightening, but her shoulders were still curved inwards and she held tightly onto Petyr; keeping up her act down to the dot.

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[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( role: turncoat )xx( location: victor's estate )

xxxxxWhen Rosalee spoke, Petyr paused briefly and frowned, looking to his uncle with an expression that showed his concern for Rosalee. Petyr worked to make Rosalee’s illness seem real, and he liked to believe he did a good job at that. Victor sure as hell bought it, and was willing to “help” the two of them escort Rosie to a place with lower lighting for her head.

xxxxx”Does she get spells like this all the time?” Victor asked Petyr as he led them to the stairs, the man trying to wave away the curious gazes that followed them. Because how dare they ruin his party, steal his spotlight, Petyr thought with a shake of his head that could be mistaken for a different emotion entirely, one detached from anger. It was all up to Victor, in how he would read into their various emotions and actions. But, again, when was Victor ever the one to calculate and read between the blatantly put out lines? Never, never, never. Victor spoke to Petyr as if Rosalee wasn’t even there, and that only made Petyr even more angry, more upset, more willing to lodge a blade into his throat. (Oh, but they couldn’t do that just yet, not what with all of these witnesses!) ”Oh, tell your Miss Lea that it is no trouble at all. I would be happy to help you and your lady with anything you need, ever. Do remember this, my dear Petyr.” Victor’s smile made Petyr want to punch him, and he had to hide his clenched fist behind his back, his other hand steady on Rosalee’s shoulder as she leant against him for support. Victor’s eyes were a strange grey colour, and they were far from pretty. These were the eyes that belonged to a dead man walking. A rat’s eyes.

xxxxx”I’ll be certain to keep this in mind. Thank you for your servitude, Lord Pravda.” Oh, how well Petyr had feigned gratitude! No, he was not thankful at all. In fact, the only thing his mind was focused on right then was the thought of lodging one of the knives tucked safely in his belt into Victor’s heart, make the man bleed. Not yet, not yet.

xxxxx”Of course, of course. Now, I have plenty of rooms with drapes made of thicker material, perfect for blocking out the light. I hope this will do,” Victor told them as he led them up the steps. The attention of the crowd was no longer on Victor, which was a relief, because this meant that the attention was off of them as well. ”Now, I will let you know that not many people have the privilege of wandering back here, so you shouldn’t be bothered by anyone. However, if someone does happen to cross back here, Petyr, come fetch me. I have plenty of guards to spare to send that person back their place on the floor.” Victor winked to the turncoat, but Petyr forced himself to nod and smile, his arm gently moving tighter across Rosalee’s shoulders, holding her only closer. Whether that action was for him or for her, even he didn’t know.

xxxxxVictor finally made it to the end of the hall, withdrawing a set of keys and pushing past five of them before settling on the sixth, unlocking the door. The room was dimly lit, the drapes already drawn in, preventing the setting sun from shining its light into the room. The room wasn’t too furnished, as it held only a wardrobe and a bed. The bed, however, was missing sheets and a duvet. Victor seemed to notice this too, and he immediately straightened his posture, entering the room and pocketing the keys. The man walked over to the wardrobe, withdrawing three stacks of fabric, gently setting them on the bed.

xxxxx”Oh, I am so sorry. I had recently had the maids wash these, but I forgot to put them back on the bed. Ah, a moment, and I will ready the bed for your Lady, Petyr.” It was no worry, though, didn’t Victor know? This was perfect. The door to the room was cracked, and Petyr took the liberty upon himself to shut the door, silently, so that Victor wouldn’t notice that it had shut completely. Keep everything in order, always. Petyr’s gaze fell from Victor to rest on his assassin, and he smiled gently, pushing what strands of hair that weren’t pulled back behind her ear, kissing her forehead.

xxxxx”I will handle this, mon cheri, and soon you will be better.” And if Rosie dared look into his double meaning, she would know exactly what he was telling her. Oh, he wished she did look! His right hand moved beneath his jacket, fingers resting on the hilt of his dagger. Rosalee needed answers, did she not? A non-lethal blow, that will do. And what with Victor’s back turned, that made it even better! Petyr approached the man, silently withdrew his dagger. He didn’t dare look back to where Rosalee stood. There was no going back at this point.

xxxxxNo turning back.

xxxxxHe was diving head first into Hell, yet he would not blink an eye or pray for a god to help him. Petyr dug the blade into the back of Victor’s shoulder, his left hand flying to cover the man’s mouth in case he shouted out (which he did) in pain. It muffled that cry, his hand did. He twisted the blade, but only barely. His intent here was not to kill.

xxxxx”Victor Pravda, you are being put under arrest for the death of many whom you have taken advantage of in order to gain higher positions in your business. The charge for murder is death, and it is my honour to deliver this sentence across you. However,” Petyr stopped, his breath momentarily stealing from him as he watched blood leak, staining Victor’s pearl, off-white coloured jacket. He sighed, then continued, ”you will need to answer several questions. Failure to cooperate will lead to torture, and a prolonged death.” And I will follow you into the darkest recesses without a second thought in my mind, and I will smile and I will not look back. And I will emerge victorious, with the lives of my enemies in my hands, their blood staining my soul, and I will not regret. I will move forward, and look to the darkness as it is the light and the only way I can further my salvation.

xxxxx”Oh, Victor, didn’t you know? Murder is a sin.”

[rogue,]

♔ ．Ｒｏｓａｌｅｅ Ｄａｇｅｎｈａｒｔxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx( ❝ the heir of ash & fire ❞ )xx( ❝ location; victor's estate ❞ )

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Oh, the duo were far too smart for Victor. This was child's play!

The shake of Petyr's head may have fooled him, but it did nothing to belie the anger Rosie felt emanating like a heatwave. How dare they indeed! What right did they have to spoil the party atmosphere Victor had carefully weaved together like the strings of a violin? She did well to hide a grimace. Clearly, I do not even need to be here if you are so willing to look me over. Tell me yourself, you insolent sewer rat! I'll have your still-beating heart on a stake! she thought furiously. Her mouth dropped slightly to reply with a biting remark, but the assassin held her fiery tongue; for Léa was supposed to be the polite one. The was a very strong compulsion from her most trusted to stab him right then and there, she could feel it. Petyr's hatred towards his disrespectful uncle was blatant only to his assassin, thankfully, whom reached her hand to rest atop the one on her shoulder.

Hm. Plenty of guards to spare. Either a prideful exaggeration, or the truth. She wasn't willing to risk Petyr's life by strolling back out through the front door. Perhaps if she'd been alone, she would have sauntered straight out with her head held high. That information tidbit was extraordinary! Best up your game, Victor, if you are so willing to give up such crucial information for free. Oh? You think swords can protect you from us? That's cute. It gave them so much to work with. With so many guards to spare, they would most likely be bored, and therefore prove themselves inattentive with their dulled senses. Or drunk, perhaps they were drunk. Rosalee felt Petyr's hold intensify, something she believed to be a thirst for blood; the first tastes of the thrill of the kill and she let herself sink into the killing calm, gently squeezing his hand.

The keys sparkled in Rosie's eyes. The Master set of keys, ones with access to his office, where she could exploit the damning evidence against him, submit her proof to both the Brotherhood and the Guard for the truth to be exposed to the world. She would drag the name of Victor Pravda through the mud, just like he had her family's own, before this was through. Rosalee couldn't bring herself to care for the bed; not when they were so close to justice. A hair's breath away from justice, revenge and solace, her fingers itching to grab her blades and shed his blood. There was a Dagenhart's dagger in her hands before she even blinked, before she even felt Petyr press a kiss to her forehead.

Something snapped, fissured and tore. Petyr's words finally registered. The very moment he muttered the words, Rosalee understood. She knew his plans; he had just laid them out in front of her eyes. Her jaw dropped to scream to stop him, but Petyr was already gone, and his own deadly knife; already planted firmly in Victor's back. No! no, no no! Victor was supposed to be her kill. Her kill. Her fist buried itself in the skirts of her dress, willing herself not to lash out. Her kill. All she wanted after years of gruel training and years of terrible nightmares, was to steal his life. Her kill. Blood boiled in her veins, and Rosalee was sure her skin was practically blazing. Her kill. But then she froze, and saw it from Petyr's perspective; his motives flashing across his eyes, and everything just... faded. It wasn't a killing shot. Petyr wanted to take his time. The world stopped spinning and her heart stopped beating. As if the waves in her veins washed all of the painful scars away. He had taken it upon himself to protect her; kill the monster; slay the demon and save her. Gods... how could she ever hope to tell him how much that one little action meant? Tell him exactly what he had proved beyond any and all doubts? How he had showed her such trust, love and compassion all in that one action. Rosalee was speechless. Petyr had gathered up the shattered remains of her heart and was handing them over, cupped carefully in his palms, to her with such a hopeful look. It was a risk, a lethal one Petyr had bet on. And Rosie knew exactly what she wanted to say to her Petyr there and then, but would save it for after Victor drew his final breath. The death rattle. It would be a sweet sight.

Fire flashed in her eyes at Petyr's words and she glared at him. Not torture. Never torture! Did you learn nothing? Rosalee stayed her blade. She didn't know how to take the threat, was it was harmless? Or whether it was just for her to understand what wrong he was righting?

The atmosphere was alive. As if a demon were prowling through, leaving a trail of mist; tangible murkiness in the air around the three. The darkness gripped them like a vice, closing in to envelope them in its embrace. No escape. No escape from Petyr and Rosalee's righteous justice. Even the hairs on the back of her own neck began to rise from the sheer power of heart-wrenching devotion Petyr had showed. For her. He held this burden for her. He was here to kill the demon. It was a long while before Rosie shot Petyr a fierce, conspiring grin, and nodded. From the bottom of my heart, I understand. Jusqu'à la fin. Now, let us install fear.

"Did I not tell you that you have seen me around before?" Rosie wandered in front of them and pinned Victor with a sharp-toothed grin. Shadows thrown from the lighting made Petyr look as if he were about to sprout wings and turn into a demonic, hellish creature set on revenge. It was something else entirely as the red-haze swept his eyes. The assassin was in her element with that look. Tonight, she was a reaper, and Petyr took on the role of Death. Rosalee grandly swept away the wrap from her shoulders - fire-infused eyes like steel as she gazed into Victor's very soul. "I am sure you recognise me, but do let me give you a final hint." She sucked in a breath, and Rosie span herself around to reveal the full extent of injuries, to the very man who had caused them. The backless dress was the perfect choice, (remind her to thank Petyr), only a serpentine criss-cross of lace holding the very base together. Other than that, each scar was clear as day. The ambience achieved from Petyr's icy, angered voice made each horrid burn appear even more brutal, the intertwining slash of scars turning her back into a mockery of a fine masterpiece. But of course; there were dapplings of precise curvatures inflicted by a skilled hand that followed along the more brutal lacerations. In that moment, she didn't care if Petyr saw. Rosie loved him without a shadow of a doubt, and he deserved everything for his diligence. She was fuelled with sinister intent. She hooked her chin over her shoulder to look back, blinking softly as she revelled in exacting her revenge. "You once asked if I still wore my scars. Do you still have yours?" she was of course referring to the time she had gotten close to tearing his life away.

"Does it hurt you? Does it infuriate you, to know he picked the worthless Dagenhart over you? I bet it is eating away at your festering, blackened heart, knowing Petyr is my family, and not yours." might as well pour salt into the wound. Yes: she was taunting Victor to lash out, challenging him, actually.

And she made damn-well sure to walk backwards towards Victor, bathing in his sweet fear. She rounded beside the man who had caused them so much suffering, "It would be impolite of you to die, not while we have so many questions for you." With that, Rosalee roughly pressed her hand against the wound, just below the blade still stabbed into his flesh, inflicted by her most trusted. It wasn't done to cause more pain, but rather to staunch the bleeding.

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[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( role: turncoat )xx( location: victor's estate )

xxxxxPetyr could feel the atmosphere change almost immediately, Victor making a strange sound from under Petyr’s hand. If Petyr had bothered to listen so carefully to that sound, he would have noticed that Victor had said Petyr’s name. But the turncoat could care less right now as to what Victor had to say. Rosalee was talking, and it was Victor’s job to listen. The man jerked hard in Petyr’s hold, which made the soon-to-be assassin only tighten his grip around the lord. He finally withdrew the blade from Victor’s back, looking to Rosalee when she pressed her hand just below the wound. Hardly any blood was pulled from the wound, and Petyr moved his blade to Victor’s neck, removing his hand from his uncle’s mouth. The only sound Victor made was a groan of pain, a hiss of defiance, and finally, words:

xxxxx”Dagenhart,” he spat as soon as he saw the woman’s eyes. Oh, how treacherous. Petyr only smiled, shifting his body stance to one more offensive than defensive. His uncle’s eyes fell to Rosalee’s back, as did Petyr’s own. Oh, her scars were horrid. Terrible, but not ugly, oh no. She wore them in a sense of pride, almost! Petyr could tell, above those tendrils of flame that marked her back so intricately, there were scars that weren’t caused by fire, but rather by blade. By a man of the name Christoph, whom had tried his damndest to hide his identity from all of London, but failed when his assassin had taken his life. They were truly carving a dangerous path, a reckless, blood filled path of nothing but Death. (Unrelated, but that dress really did look good on Rosalee like this, scars all aside. Though, those didn’t take away.) ”Oh, I should have known,” Victor still tried to sound confident, still feigned pride. But pride got men like him no where. ”Oh gods,” Victor whispered, clutching onto Petyr’s arm, ”you have betrayed me. Where is your honour, Lecuyer?” Petyr jerked his arm at his uncle’s words, and his eyes went slightly wide. Pravda sure knew how to hit a raw nerve in his nephew. Victor only laughed, turning his eyes to Rosalee. ”And darling Rosalee, I should have recognised you from a mile away. Smart of you to keep your…. eyes… downcast…” Lord Pravda’s quips were growing stranger as pain took over him.

xxxxx”Oh, Rosalee, Rosalee, Rosalee. Petyr is my blood, how could he possibly be your family?” Victor seemed to act like he was revealing a big piece of the puzzle, the man unaware that the duo already knew this information. Petyr remembered Rosalee’s words, in the house of his father. You can chose your family. The turncoat’s eyes narrowed, slightly, as he watched his assassin move around the wretched man, whom was clutching onto his stomach and coughing. Petyr decided he would let Rosalee take this over, get her answers from Victor before Petyr tore the life right out of him.

xxxxxThe gods abandon men like Victor Pravda.

xxxxx”That dashing mentor of yours, Cross, he styled himself, did he not? My brother, you knew this so, that is your knight’s father. Petyr, my good boy, you have traveled so far from dignity. You were a good man, a true knight of the guard. You have chosen the wrong path, but you can certainly redeem yourself... “ Victor paused, catching his breath, ”Kill the Dagenhart right now.” These words made Petyr smile, but that smile didn’t dare touch his eyes. This was not a smile that reassured, this was not a smile that he normally shone, oh no.

xxxxx”You’re much more daft than I remember you to be.” Petyr’s words held an edge, a sting that Victor seemed to feel, as the man flinched back to stare at Rosalee, at the assassin.

xxxxx”Offer me mercy and just kill me, Dagenhart. That is your job, is it not? It’s all you’re good at, killing without thinking, stripping lives away like they were nothing more than small notes of paper. You have lost yourself so much, Rosalee, I wouldn’t be surprised to know that there is nothing left to care. Do tell, what have you promised my nephew? Gold? Glory? Fame? Love?” Victor laughed at that last word. ”You cannot give love. Petyr, run away from this monster. Let me die, so be it, but save yourself from this wretched creature. She cannot love you. Save what is left of your pride, of your honour.”

xxxxxBut what did men like Victor know about honour, when all they knew was to kill to get their way, to climb the proverbial ladder of success? Victor was too far gone to be saved, to earn redemption. And those thoughts justified Petyr’s intent to kill. The kill is justified. Victor has lived a life of crime. Kill him, kill him, kill him. It took every ounce of energy in Petyr not to twist the knife at Victor’s neck. Not when Rosalee had unanswered questions.

xxxxxOf course, when Petyr had threatened torture, it was simply to scare the man. He did not mean that literally, not after what Rosalee had been through in her blood-stained past. He couldn’t do that to his assassin. Petyr’s posture straightened just slightly, and he inhaled slowly, counting the moments between seconds to calm himself down. He finally met Rosalee’s eyes, his light brown pair completely unreadable. There were no silent words to offer Rosalee, not from Petyr, at least. He couldn’t think of anything to tell her that could possible make the situation they had been thrown into any better or worse. They would have to play it out to the end, that was the only way.

xxxxx”Rosalee Dagenhart, tell me, love. What lengths did you go to earn Petyr’s trust? Don’t you know that he just throws it out like it’s nothing? He doesn’t really trust you, I’m sure. How could anyone trust a killer..?” Victor was trying desperately to tear the two apart, but they were unbreakable, unable to be bent or swayed or convinced. Didn’t Victor know this? Didn’t Victor understand the bond that the Turncoat and assassin had created between themselves? Perhaps not, if he thought that he could tear them apart with simple words.


xxxxxAnd finally, the words that Petyr has been waiting for: ”What is it, Rosalee, that you wish to know? Why I did that, all those years ago? What had become of your parents before their death? Do ask, and I will try my best to answer.” Victor winked at the assassin, something akin to spitting in the face of Death itself. Oh, how brave and audacious this twisted little man was. Who did he think he was talking to? Petyr frowned slightly, pressed the blade only closer to his throat until he felt the flesh beneath give way, but only slightly. Victor growled in response, shooting a meaningless glare at Petyr. ”And you stay out of this, you betraying little rat. This is our conversation, and it has nothing to do with you.” Victor was trying to put acerbic tones into his voice, but it was hard for him to do what with a blade against his throat and a wound in his back, bleeding slowly now that Rosalee was staunching that flow. Victor mumbled something under his breath, but Petyr wasn’t able to catch it. The Turncoat would just stay silent, and let his Queen of Nothing take care of the King of Crows.

[rogue,]

♔ ．Ｒｏｓａｌｅｅ Ｄａｇｅｎｈａｒｔxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx( ❝ the heir of ash & fire ❞ )xx( ❝ location; victor's estate ❞ )

────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

The faint cry of Petyr's name, as if that held anything anymore! It couldn't save him. Not now. Petyr either didn't notice, or simply didn't care. Or both, probably.

"In the flesh!" she sung rather cheerily when he spat out her surname. It was always those heirloom eyes, the ones that Petyr could read so easily. When her turncoat didn't make a sound of distress, didn't flinch away at her back, (Rosie didn't actually even dare look at her own back, even if it was worn with smug expression), a hefty burden was lifted from her, casting him a gentle gaze. Merci, for your diligence. A dip of the head accompanied the silent gratitude. "Yes, Victor. You should have. See, I gave you everything you ever needed to figure us out, but you never did quite piece the puzzle together, did you? Oh! But you, Petyr and Léa were such fast friends." The effect his words had on her turncoat caused a violent flare of anger. "But how could my Knight betray you, when he was never fully on your side to begin with?" she barked at him. Quickly, Rosalee let it fade behind her mask of calculated calm. "Aren't I just a darling?" Rosalee didn't so much as smile, as bare her teeth as she worked a flower free from her hair. "You can thank Petyr's intelligence and cunning for that one." she looked down her nose as his voice grew strangled from the pain.

Gods! Oh gods that was brilliant! Him: thinking he held information they didn't already know? Rosalee started to laugh down at him, doubling over as though he had spoken the joke of a lifetime. "What is the saying? Blood runs thicker than water, my Lord?" Rosie pretended to ponder, using the word 'lord' as an insult, "But, prideful Lords and Ladies like you fail to see that you have it backwards. 'The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.'," Rosalee chuckled softly and drew a cirle around his shoulder with an index finger. "Shall I elaborate for you? Why not? The blood shed in battle between comrades, you are the blood for example," she pressed her palm against his wound, "are far stronger than familial ties. Sorry to disappoint you, but family does not end in blood; and blood certainly does not mean family." her eyes flickered to Petyr's own pair for comfort.

At the mention of her former mentor, she looked rather uninterested. "Please, do spare the speech. Christoph; Chris; Criss-Cross, I get the joke. We have heard before this from Christoph's own lips... right before I stabbed a knife into his heart. Yes, he is Petyr's father. Yes, he is your brother, and it changes nothing between us. Petyr... Petyr has, and always will be the best of men, Templars, Guards and Assassins in my eyes." He was a pitiful sight; what will all of that strained breathing. It's was Petyr's territory, to question about his father and his family, and Rosie would let him drag out his answers. Bravado sparked and Rosalee swung out her arms for Petyr to kill her, knowing full well he never would. His vicious, pointed remark had her grinning, especially when she saw Victor flinch. That would hold her pride in check for the next few months. "Just as we know you sent your beloved brother to finish what you started after the fire and on the ice, but he didn't have the heart to kill an innocent, much unlike yourself. Isn't it nice to know that when it matters, everyone abandons you?" It was always 'we', because they were in this together.

"Mercy? You believe you deserve mercy? But I am nothing if not just, and will offer you a mercy. You will die on your feet, Victor. For: it is best to die on your feet, that to die on your knees." Her shoulders simply shrugged, his insults about her heartless nature just ricocheted; especially when she was already lead to believe them. "And I am damn well good at my job, suffice to say even one of the best, perhaps!" A sudden, warning growl. It wasn't human. By the Gods, help the King of Crows. He crossed a line questioning her love, one that Rosalee wouldn't take without a brutal fight. She released the murderer within. The violent creature held the reins - and hellfire followed.

Faster than any mortal should ever be capable of, Rosalee's hand snaked out and pinned Victor by the neck, her fingers curling around his jaw and gripping him like a vice. Nails dug into skin. The assassin's strong momentum shoved the injured man against the wall, her face inches from his as she spat out a very choice profanity: one denoting that of an, shall we say... illegitimate child. It shouldn't have been possible to pour such savage malice into one word, and yet somehow, Rosalee managed to. She was more animal than human in that moment. A vicious predator. There was a murderous rage in her eye, one that needed to taste blood, before the killer decided to seize hers as collateral. It was alarming, that such a savage creature could dare dwell beneath her fragile skin. Rosalee didn't deign to tame her killer in that moment, and she had risen from ranking of Assassin, to an Angel of Massacre in a heartbeat. And if looks could kill, it would have been nothing but a slaughter. With lips curled back, the inner killer snarled at the man beneath her. All her humanity had been annihilated by the murderer dwelling in the confines of her heart. Her face was the picture of the killing calm, such savagery as if she would rip out Victor's throat with her bare teeth. A weapon concealed by flesh. Let them see! Let both Victor and Petyr see the true demonic monster Christoph had created. Let them cower in fear. Nothing but a heartless predator, toying with her prey; that was true. The sheer sight of unbridled rage wasn't just terrifying; it was absolutely soul-crushing.

This was the reckless Rosalee Dagenhart of legend: nightmare given flesh.

Red haze clouded her vision as her eyes bore into Victor. "Don't you even dare, Pravda, you have no right to say that! I love him more than you ever could, I would burn the very stars from the night sky if he would wish it! There is nothing I would dare put in front of him, nothing!" Rosalee shrieked with such damning conviction, punctuating her final words by slamming him back into the wall.

It took sheer willpower, every single ounce that she possessed, to cage the monster and calm herself down. And it was a sight as the façade fell to conceal her features. Just as she was taught. Cauterize and sever the emotions, allowing them to return to Petyr and his knife, her hand on Victor's wound.

The assassin withheld a shudder. Victor now held the die, and she knew it. Rosalee had so many things she wanted to ask. About her family, Rosie needed to know his motives, his thoughts, his emotions and simply why. Had they hurt him? His family? Or was it purely business? She wanted to know what she'd ever done to warrant his anger in the first place. Why? she would scream at him, Why hurt an innocent? What threat did I pose to you? She'd planned them out long before now... This was it; the chance to find out each and every last detail. Rosie knew he wouldn't let her down easy, probably wanted to coax distraught tears from her eyes with a recount of the horrors he had subjected them to. Damn the man! He knew the exact point upon which to crawl beneath her skin. It sent waves of unease spiking through the otherwise calm Rosalee. But she had Petyr, and Petyr was all she needed to draw strength from, brushing her hand past his. Victor was baiting her, and it infuriated the assassin. "I want to hear why, and exactly what became of them before. Spare me no details." Fine, Victor. So be it, I will bite. A heavy breath left her as she steeled herself against what was to come. Go ahead and try to justify your actions; I dare you. She hated, with every fibre of her being, how he spoke to Petyr, but she bit her damned tongue. Her emotions had almost taken her too far, and she couldn't let it happen again.

────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( role: turncoat )xx( location: victor's estate )

xxxxxOh, Rosalee was absolutely terrifying like this, but Petyr really did enjoy watching her work. She seemed to hold this… uncanny ability, to twist Victor’s emotions right in the palm of her hand and manipulate them. It was enthralling, captivating. And downright horrifying. Every single time he heard Rosie say his name, Petyr would stop, his mind going absolutely blank. For what did he have to do with any of this? This was Rosalee’s rut of revenge, this was Rosalee’s show that she was leading. Not his. Not Petyr’s. All Petyr was was a supporting character, the small technical number that sat backstage, watching the entire play unfold. This was not his show, not his scene. It was Dagenhart’s.

xxxxxVictor didn’t seem to exactly catch onto the power that Rosalee had possessed. And that’s what made Victor as good as dead, for not holding the assassin in a higher respect. Oh, Victor was foolish. No, the man only glared at Rosalee as if this entire thing, as if Victor’s foolishness was her fault.

xxxxx”See, Rosalee Dagenhart, this is where you fail. You have too much pride. Your Knight will never protect you.” Victor was sneering, and Petyr was glad that Victor had no idea of his turncoat life. And that, of course, would always end up being for the better. Victor would use that against him. Maybe Petyr would tell his uncle, right before he twisted the dagger. Maybe.

xxxxxVictor dragged out a groan when he felt Rosalee’s hand press against his wound, and he staggered forward in Petyr’s hold, cursing. ”Blood,” he began, forcing a weak laugh out, ”is nothing when in such abundance. Just as is gold.” The lord’s smile was strange, and it seemed withered almost. And it was in that time that Victor looked all of his years old. Oh, but Petyr couldn’t feel bad about that at all. Not when this man before him had killed to get his way. Petyr met Rosalee’s eyes, and he offered her a smile, one that showed reluctance, but one that shone brightly to show Rosalee that he would always be here for her, no matter what. Rosalee was held so close to his heart, didn’t she know this? She was his entire world, his life. He could never betray her, no matter what words Victor spat between them. Because this wasn’t about Victor in the end, anyways.

xxxxx”Chris-Cross.” Victor lamented, then laughed. ”Oh, yes, my brother was really quite clever with that one, do you not agree?” When Rosalee reached the part of Christoph’s death, Victor stopped, closed his mouth and his eyes. ”Dear. Gods.” The man’s head hung slightly, and he sighed, rolling back a shoulder and wincing hard as a new bout of blood stained his jacket, making the lord dig his teeth into his lip to stifle a cry. How pitiful indeed. ”An innocent?” Victor suddenly bursted out, reaching out to grab Rosalee, but Petyr quickly grabbing onto Victor’s arms, twisting them back behind him. It was enough to get the point across to Victor that he wasn’t in charge, and never would be in charge.

xxxxxVictor lifted his eyes, looking into the heir’s infamous eyes. The blue, specked with gold like stars on the backdrop of the ocean. Did Victor see beauty? Or did he see rage? Petyr could only wonder. Because, where the turncoat had seen stars, surely Victor saw fire. Especially what with that… expression that burst alive in those orbs, and they seemed to bore deep into Victor and snag a hold, tearing into his flesh and soul. Oh, Petyr knew that look all too well. And if they would have been in any different situation, he would have begged Rosalee to offer the man mercy. But not now, not when that man was Victor Lecuyer Pravda. Not now. Rosalee had an animalistic look about her, and he could have stopped to pray for the man.

xxxxxWhen Rosalee lashed out, Victor and Petyr alike made a noise of surprise, but Victor’s ended in a choke, where Petyr’s faded after a moment. Victor tried to free his hands to grab onto Rosalee’s wrist, but he was unable to. Her movements pushed Victor against the wall, and she held him there, making Petyr take a step back away from Victor, his eyes wide in shock. This is the assassin. This is that hidden killer that he should fear. That hidden killer that lurked in the shadows of the heir, it was unleashed full force against the man that had hurt her all those years ago. Victor’s eyes were wide, his hands weakly clasped around Rosalee’s arms. At the curse that she spat into the man’s face, Petyr winced, closing his eyes briefly. It wasn’t the word itself that got to him, but rather, the way she put so much emotion, so much malice and acid into it, forcing it out to Victor. A word that would make him regret the idea of even being born. And how could Petyr not fear his assassin at that moment? A work of art, yes, she undeniably was. But this work was crafted expertly by deft hands, skilled tools as they scratched paint onto the canvas, creating a dangerous being, a weapon out of a person. The turncoat took several steps backwards, keeping his dagger clutched firmly in his hand as he watched his assassin’s rage spiral outwards. Gods be with them both. This was her, his Queen of Nothing, his reckless assassin, his Shadow Empress, his heir, everything, everything all pushed into one body, some pieces full of nothing but corruption, the others tainted beyond repair. But, oh, could Petyr live with this monster? With this hellish demon? With Death herself?

xxxxxOf course he would, if she willed it. Because that was who Petyr was, after all, wasn’t it? Naught but a servant, a slave to another man’s (or, woman’s, in this case) command. He had been taught to listen and to serve, to abide by law and rules laid down before him and to never question validity if it involved justice. Yet, here he was, watching his father’s weapon dealing her damage against the man that had taught him all of these things, and his morals kind of… cracked. Fell apart. Because when the Hopeless looks to kill the man who taught Hope, where would that leave Petyr?

xxxxxVictor bore the look of a man that knew he was going to die. Like a deer whom had been tackled by a wolf, they didn’t try to fight back. They lied down and they died. And here Victor was, losing his fight as he lost his blood, making strange noises when Rosalee would slam him against the wall and scream at him. Rosalee’s words, her outward promise and fierce tone stood out to Petyr. I love him more than you ever could, she had said. Oh, Rosalee. Petyr’s posture, it fell a little as he watched his assassin. Victor had tried to say something, but whatever it was that he had planned to speak was lost, replaced by a short cry of despair that made the turncoat shudder.

xxxxxWhen Rosalee pulled back from Victor and led him back to Petyr, he slowly inhaled, not looking to his assassin, scared that her rage still plagued her beautiful eyes. He couldn’t stand to see her anger, even if it wasn’t directed towards him. He had to force his mind to calm down as he held the blade back to Victor’s throat, Rosalee holding the blood inside of the man’s body.

xxxxxApart of him knew what her question was going to end up being, but again, Petyr wasn’t the man to guess and take bets. She wanted a why, just as Petyr had wanted a why from the man that Rosalee had killed days ago. But, Petyr earned no ‘why’, and he would continue to wander without answers. Until Victor. Victor would be cursed to answer many why’s in this moment, because between the two of them, they would have plenty of questions to keep the lord busy.

xxxxx”So our brave assassin wants a ‘why’ from the lord.” Victor’s words sounded weak, clearly still shaken up by Rosalee’s earlier display of anger. Victor rose his head, just barely, only enough to look Rosalee in the eyes. Grey against blue and gold. A rat’s eyes versus a queen’s. ”Answers never come free, I’m afraid.” Then, Pravda winced, sighed, rolled his shoulder. ”I think you be happy to know that your parents asked me to spare you. I think I did quite a good job in sparing you, shouldn’t you agree? But oh, your parents…” he smiled, feigning sadness, loss. regret. ”They were good people, really, they just didn’t know how to stand back and get out of the way. What a shame that it had to come to what it did… You truly did have a lovely house. I quite liked it, and enjoyed my time there. I’m sure you could agree?”

xxxxxVictor was playing with Rosalee, Petyr realised quickly. Which was a mistake on his part, didn’t he know? Victor’s vague answers would only make Rosie’s rage rekindle, and Petyr’s only source of answers would die. That would not do.

xxxxx”Victor,” Petyr warned, but didn’t say anything further. His uncle only laughed at him, but it wasn’t a laugh of malice. It was the laugh of a man who feared for his life.

[rogue,]

♔ ．Ｒｏｓａｌｅｅ Ｄａｇｅｎｈａｒｔxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx( ❝ the heir of ash & fire ❞ )xx( ❝ location; victor's estate ❞ )

────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

It would have been a lie if she stated she didn't like this onslaught. Rosalee revelled in it; feasting on Victor's idiocy and devouring his emotions. All of this, everything, was just as she had imagined it would feel. Power radiated across her skin like constellations, but never did she let it get to her head, it was there, but Rosie kept her intelligence, not risking a fall to arrogance. She could not wait until Petyr got his chance at this.

This was truly pathetic! Could Victor not see how awfully painful it was merely to watch him splutter, cough and groan? Every crease in his forehead was a decade marked on his face. Petyr did a good job of holding him tight and biting his tongue whenever Victor attempted to pit them against each other. That wouldn't work! He was foolish to even think he could force one to betray the other. He would get Rosalee Dagenhart to bow long before she ever turned on her Petyr. Victor would have to sever the invisible tether between them with his teeth, to even score a victory. Such a feat was impossible. "My Knight does not need to protect me. He is here, to protect you, from, me." she declared.

"Victor, if gold is as plentiful as you state, then why do you furnish your home with such a cheap element?" Oh! This was beyond triumphant! Such fun it was to battle and belittle Victor with words. Of course, she knew he was probably hinting at her mottled eyes, but she didn't let it bother her. Rosalee let loose a joyous cry when she caught Petyr's tawny eyes. I am always here for you. There was a certain freedom to this silence converse, and a new, more open look reflected back. The simple way of how he held her in such a high regard, as though she were his world, sky and stars, life and death itself. Her face softened at his charming, albeit reluctant, smile. The flecks of golds, almost unrestricted and the ocean of calm blues, almost liberated. Petyr was so close, he was practically one brick away from tearing down the defences guarding her heart.

It hurt to to have to turn her attention back to the task at hand. However, Rosie let herself nod in agreement to Victor's statement, staring straight through him. "I do agree. He managed to hide me from you for so long it is almost insulting. I would feel apologetic, if you were not such a filthy, dishonourable scavenger." her voice was rather quite neutral, talking as though it were a normal conversation; as though it were normal for her to just throw insults out there. She gave a long sigh, the sting of that particular tail was still lodged in her flesh. "He gave me no choice but to kill him. Though, he plead for his life just like any other man or woman in the end. Just like everyone; you can never quite accept death; you are delusional, always clinging to the last shred of hope that I cannot give you. You all bleed the same. All cry the same. All make the same mistakes over and over," there was a twirl of her hand in dismissal, I could go on, but what would be the point? You get it, don't you Victor? Rosie was grateful when Petyr did protect her from his uncle's sudden flare of anger. "An innocent." she repeated. Petyr held the floor. He was restraining Victor.

Victor's cries of pure despair, pure untouched terror was music to her ears. Oh-so much sweeter than that of a violin. It did wonders for her ego to know she had a deep hold on him, that her killer did, anyway. It was whispering. Let us end him, let us taste his blood, let us paint these walls... she couldn't fall completely for the temptations; there would be no salvation once she did that. The inner killer's eyes were different, held a far-off look. One that drew upon far more than anger and blood, fire and bone! It drew upon the shadows of the room, sucking the life from nature to fuel itself. "Christoph... he hid your contract from me," her voice was low with a growl. "Simply because he knew, that I would disembowel you, tear each and every organ free while you still lived. I want your still-beating heart to stop because I'm the one crushing it." she hissed. Rosalee didn't take kindly to Victor clutching weakly onto her arms like his one lifeline, she didn't flinch or shy away, instead, made a point of further invading his personal space with bared teeth. It reminded her of the fire, only this was vice versa; roles were reversed, not her as a child clinging to him and it wasn't Rosie who sought out compassion and assistance. How the mighty fall. There was fire in her eyes and smoke on her breath as she roared: "Don't touch me!" with such savagery it would have stopped a weaker man's heart.

Even Petyr! Even Petyr had backed up, not run, but he had cowered to the heir of death and destruction, of blood and carnage. A work of art, perhaps, though best not to be mistaken. A weapon, Rosalee was a weapon herself, equal to that of the First Blade; Death's Scythe; War's Sword; Pestilence's Bow and Famine's Scales. She could feel his presence declining at her back as he shrank away, fingers curling further around his little dagger. Her anger didn't just seep slowly into the air, it surged free; the nuclear fission of elements as stars and fireworks alike flew into the atmosphere and exploded. It was fierce-some indeed, must have been for her most trusted to distance himself. She didn't want this to happen. It wasn't supposed to happen. Petyr wasn't her servant, she wanted to rule by his side. Rule with her King of Nothing, her King of Justice, Law and Love.

A sudden huff. "Eye for an eye; tooth for a tooth; and a knife for the heart. I can give you your brother's dagger, his ring... various precious weapons," a list rolled off her tongue, but where Victor was heading, he wasn't going to have a need for such things. Of course Rosie knew the art of manipulations, Christoph had taught her well. And Petyr, oh Petyr! He had realised the power she held despite her hatred of it. She knew exactly how to stay one step ahead, and illicit what she wanted from Victor. He may not have known it, but she had him dancing in the palm of her scarred hands. One wrong move on Victor's part, and Rosalee would crush him like an disgusting parasite. "If it helps, he did not write you into his will, my Lord, and gave everything to his one chosen protégé. I believe it went to the right person, no? I can offer you a recount of Christoph's death as collateral, if that would please you?" while it was spoken with venomous sarcasm, Rosie desperately wanted to know his intentions.

"Caroline and Alexander," she interrupted. "Their names, were Caroline. And. Alexander." grinding it out between her teeth when he only referred to them as her parents, clenching her hand at her side. Victor wouldn't get a rise out of her, even if he were sharpening his choice words. (Rosie had once told Petyr her name was a derivative of a combination of her parent's names. Caroline, Ro, who held an alias of Ross and Alexander; Alex, A or rather Lee. Ros-A-Lee.) But, Victor had gone too far in an attempt to play her game against her; that same infernal fire sparked in her eyes and turned them into molten. "Petyr, my dear, would you mind stepping away from our captive? I will not hurt him significantly," she shot Victor a vicious, lopsided grin. Standing in front of him, she tilted her head, gliding to stand shoulder to shoulder with the awful man. They were both facing opposite directions, as Rosie snaked her forearm around his neck, smearing the acrid blood in the parody of paint from the wound Petyr inflicted. Her hand wound it's way into the back of his hair, and in one swift movement, she twisted his wrist behind his back, snared his hair and aimed a violent kick to the back of his knee. All Rosalee did was fall with him to kneel gracefully, as if it was all a choreographed dance. She made it look easy. "Last chance. Will you choose to die on your feet, or on your knees?" she held him in her strong grip, using his own hand to staunch the wound to his back.

"I am going to ask you again, Victor. Do not force my hand; you do not wish to know what I am capable of. Christoph held the audacity to bring a gun to our fist-fight, and look at who is still standing?" she raised her chin, but her eyes were dead and she visibly swallowed. Not that Victor could see: she'd kicked him to the floor. That's all she would allow the demon in the room to see in terms of heartbreak. "Why? Why them, why us? Why me? Why... and how? How did you get the drop upon two of London's finest Master Assassins? How," her eyes didn't close, and she leant back. A Dagenhart would meet Victor dead on as he spoke the words, "how did they die, how did you kill them?"

Her breath caught. He had just given away a vital piece of carefully obscured puzzle just by his choice of wording. Oh Victor! Victor, did you not know how clever and calculating Christoph had made her? "You were there," she murmured, something clicking into place. Her voice rose an octave, a Cheshire's grin on her lips. "You sent in those five others simply to overpower them. You knew, that you alone would never be enough, did you not? And so: after they accomplished your dirty work that is when you stepped in to question and hurt my parents. Oh, you are low, coward. Is that not true?" she gave him time for it to sink in. "But it did not end there! You wanted me, because I managed to escape and that infuriated you, for no-one, especially a child, should have been able to defeat the great Lord Pravda! Might I say, you did a horrendous job of killing me, you had three chances and threw them all away! Do tell, do tell! How right am I? Please go on, I am sure you wish to gain once last piece of vengeance to hurt me? Aren't you able to?" now, it was the assassin's chance to toy with the rat, bait into into answering. A man like him hated ignorance, and should jump on the chance to try and crawl under her skin. Isn't that what he wanted? To hurt her?

"Oh! I can offer you the answer as to where I hid...?"

────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( role: turncoat )xx( location: victor's estate )

]xxxxx”But, really, he need not protect me if you’re to kill me in the end, regardless,” Victor commented, and Petyr’s posture straightened slightly as he leaned back some, watching Rosalee and Victor closely. His uncle was losing focus, making the turncoat slightly worried that he might slip unconscious from his wounds before they had a chance to wrench all of the answers from him. At Rosalee’s insult to the items that so delicately furnished Pravda’s home, Victor scoffed. ”At least my home isn’t sitting empty, its insides scorched and the house itself falling apart as ash takes over it,” he hissed, glaring at Rosalee. Oh, Petyr could only pray that Victor’s comment wouldn’t cause Rosie to get too upset. The house of Rosalee’s past did seem to be a sort spot for her, still, and even Petyr wasn’t brave enough to bring it up again, not so soon after what had happened in his father’s basement. Petyr was brave, but he wasn’t stupid. Victor? Victor was naive and stupid, and his bravery did not exist, instead, arrogance rested in its place. And that was what made Victor a dangerous man. Lecuyer smiled at Rosalee’s expression, and he offered her a gentle nod. We walk in as the dungeon keepers, set to execute, but we leave as the King and Queen of the realm.

]xxxxx”Filthy and dishonourable? I do beg to differ. We’re not so different, you and I. We both kill to see the stain of crimson upon the dash of skin.” Victor seemed unmoved by Rosalee’s insults, as if they didn’t take affect. But this was a facade for the assassin, a facade that he could so easily see through. Underneath the calm, confident smiles, the corner of his lips quivered, and his eyelashes fluttered with a flinch at each movement that Rosalee made. His fingers would tremble every so often, clutched together tightly as if to prevent them from shaking any more. What a pity it was, watching Victor try to hide his fear to appear less pathetic in Rosalee’s calm light. ”You killed him,” the lord lamented, frowning briefly and closing his eyes. If there was grief, Victor did not let it show. Instead, he stayed quiet for the longest time, his eyes watching the floor. Petyr had to wonder if Victor even felt sadness towards the idea of his brother’s death. Hell, if Serge had died, had been murdered, Petyr would kill the man whom had killed his brother. But, no, Victor was here, hanging his head, in absolute silence.

]xxxxx”This is not the mark of a man,” Petyr finally said, speaking up, not looking at Rosalee, but rather, Victor. ”A man holds his head up, and doesn’t order others to carry out his work for him. A man does not sit in his castle whilst his knights carry out death.” Petyr’s gaze was steady on his uncle. ”That is what a coward does. A rat, intent on feeding in the sewers that he has made his home.”

]xxxxx”You shut your--” the rest of his words were nothing but curses and vile insults, all shot towards his nephew. Yet, Victor’s words had no effect on Petyr. Instead, he smiled, and looked away from Victor. Pravda then turned his attention to Rosalee once more, and laughed. ”Well, then, I must thank you for not murdering me sooner. Gods know you had the power to, even without that damned contract. Oh, how I loved my brother. He truly did care about me in the end, didn’t he? Christoph was a real man, oh yes, he was. If only you had taken more after him, Petyr! You wouldn’t be here, with this murderer. Perhaps, you would still be in the guard. Oh, do the knights know of your treachery?” How Petyr longed to get this over with and dig his blade into the man’s throat! But, he knew he couldn’t, not with this many questions that have gone unanswered. Rosalee had questions about her own parents, and Victor’s motive, his ultimate why. Petyr just wanted to know about his father, and that was it. When Rosie yelled at Victor, both Petyr and Victor flinched back, Victor taking most of that damage however, his hands falling behind his back, held by Petyr once more. ”Then don’t bloody yell at me!” Pravda shot back, not as loud as Rosalee, or nearly as harsh, but loud enough to get his point across without attracting attention to anyone in the nearby vicinity.

]xxxxxRosalee’s anger was unique, her rage different, her fury unlike any source of energy that Petyr had ever felt before. She was a true demon, wrapped carefully in a woman’s skin and given a voice to speak her heart. Her heart, though not pure, was something that Petyr sought after. Win her heart, win her mind. Wasn’t that how it worked, anyways? She was the queen of every hell that existed, yet the valiant defender of the very heavens above. A ruler who knew how to force her hand, yet a ruler who knew not on how to curve her temper into a better art, a better trade. Murder was not a popular answer, even when it was dealt with an air of justice. Yet, that was what she was, right? A dealer of justice? Eliminating every fallacy, every impurity in this sick and dying world, that was her job. Oh, how the devil must haunt her in her nights…

]xxxxx”Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, oh, yes, welcome back, Hammurabi. Haven’t seen you in quite some time.” Victor laughed. ”What is it that you seek, child? Justice? This is not justice, I can assure you that and so much more. This is treason. This is hardly legal, by both Parliament and King. Don’t you see?” When Rosalee offered Christoph’s items to the dying man, Petyr instinctively twisted his wrist, where the hidden gauntlet had been tied to his forearm, equipped with the hidden blade that Rosalee had pulled from her mentor’s body. Victor’s head snapped up at the mention of a will, and he studied Rosalee carefully before looking to Petyr. ”He put you in his will, Dagenhart? Now, that. That was audacious, even for him. And quite stupid…” He sighed, shook his head, and his body convulsed slightly. ”Do tell… He included his family… His wife, his children, in this paper, yes?”

]xxxxx”Even in the end, he thought of the people he abandoned before the man who crept through the sewers with his secrets and lies. A funny thing, fate is.”

]xxxxxVictor only offered Petyr a glare, ignoring him as he continued speaking, ”spare me that recount. I could care less of how he died, for I know how he lived just well enough. A good man, my brother was.”

]xxxxxCaroline and Alexander. Petyr recalled when Rosalee had first told him her name, she had said that it had been a strange combination of her parent’s names. He had, foolishly, assumed that these names were Rose and Lee. But, how did you pull ‘Rosalee’ from Caroline and Alexander? Perhaps, after all of this, he would put time aside to ask her this. But not now, not when her parents were such a sore subject as for now. ”Caroline and Alexander Dagenhart, oh yes, I do remember their names, child. I may be old, but I am not half as daft as he paint me out to be.” When Rosalee had requested that Petyr stood back, he complied, taking a few steps back and lightly tapping the blunt side of his dagger against his hand, watching Rosalee. Victor seemed even more frightened now than he was before. At her movements, Petyr watched in an expression that seemed more out to be awe than horror. It was a graceful move, one that placed Victor harshly on his knees, Rosie knelt beside him. Victor had made a noise of pain going down, but still looked indignant as ever. ”In the end…” he spoke, gritting his teeth together, ”it is always the most powerful who prevail, do you not agree with this, child? The mighty win. Turns out, your parents weren’t so mighty as they claimed to be.”

]xxxxx”Oh, child, if you look to kill me, then just kill me. I could not care as to what you are capable of, seeing as my brother trained you, I know fully that you are quite qualified in the art of Death. Do, spare me your blade, would you? Do not offer me a swift death, but do offer me the gift of death. You see, I am ready to accept my fate. Are you, child?” He stopped, thought over Rosalee’s question. ”So many questions, Dagenhart. Have mercy if I can’t answer them all.” Victor shot her a grin, then winced. ”It goes so simply. You should understand without my saying, no? But, for the sake of it all, and perhaps my life, I’ll give you what you want. You want a why? I’ll tell you why. Your parents, this Caroline and Alexander. Oh, dear, they were wonderful people, really, but they didn’t know how to leave things alone. They were digging too deep into my business, you see? They were in my way.” He met Rosalee’s eyes, smiled. ”Just as I am yours. I killed them, will you kill me? They died by blade, I offered them mercy. A swift death. They held onto each other in death as they did life. It would have been sweet if we had met on such different circumstances. Alas…”

]xxxxx”Those five were my fail safe!” He yelled out, gritting his teeth together. ”They worked for me, and they did their job damned well as I had them do!” Victor’s gaze briefly settled on Petyr, ”yet you sing coward, yet here you have brought a knight to your side! A man who I raised to come stab my back! Yet you have the audacity to dance around my dying body, claiming me as the hellion that you are.” Victor was clearly growing angry, his expression pulled tight, eyebrows drawn in on his grey eyes. When Rosalee mentioned Victor’s failure, something akin to hatred flashed across those eyes, and Victor made a strange noise in his throat, his fists clenching. Petyr no longer held him back now that Rosalee was with him. Rosie could handle herself, and she had specifically asked Petyr to stand back, so he would allow her that space. But, that made it to where Victor was free to lash against Rosalee. And Victor did what every man with a semblance of pride on his deathbed did: he reached out, grabbed Rosalee’s shoulder, attempting to pull her more level with him, attempting to look her in the eye, and he hissed under his breath, ”I killed your parents out of spite. I looked to kill you out of my hatred of the their creation, you understand this all too well. So, I give you my answers, assassin. Now,” he paused, his fingers digging into the bare flesh of her shoulders, now uncovered by the jacket that had been earlier draped around her, ”end this.”

]xxxxx”Rosie…” Petyr’s hand gripped his dagger, and he took a step closer to the duo, looking at Rosalee, silently asking her if she needed his help. He was sure she didn’t, but what with Victor’s anger and intent, who knew?