Fetch and Carry (open)

[Grace de Beaumont]

Two alleys down, Grace bade the man wait while she approached a back door. A knock produced a curiously robed figure, head-to-toe with the face veiled. Grace huddled in whispered conversation with the person, then motioned the injured man forward. The robed person inside had disappeared but left the door open.

"This is the back of a bakery," she said in a hushed voice as they entered. A large, darkened kitchen met her eyes, a single candle left burning at the end of a long work table. The figure was no where in sight. Grace gestured to a stool and bustled about getting a basin of water and cloth. "That was Hilda, proprietress of this place. Her sons do most of the day-to-day work. Years ago, her husband was drunk, went into a rage, attacked her with some of the knives. He was executed by the King but her face remains horribly disfigured and she's in constant pain. Poor dear. She also wears a veil continually and does not trust strangers." Grace shook her head as she laid out the supplies. "I bring medicines directly to her door so she doesn't have to go out in public. She owes me and will keep quiet about this."

Peeling back the blood-soaked cloth on the man's arm, Grace went to work, dabbing away the blood, washing the skin, prying at the edges of the wound. Her head bent, Grace murmured, "You know, I keep calling you 'the man' in my head. Sometimes 'the stranger'. While I know it's terribly mysterious and dashing and I'm sure you want to project that persona...." Grace glanced up with a gentle teasing smirk. "....Don't you think I could know your name? After all, we've had quite an eventful day together. You could even make up a name if it would be more comfortable?"

[Dante Grixis]

Dante nodded grimly as he heard the tale of Hilda the baker. It was tragic and he had a morbid curiosity about what her face looked like under the veil. He sat on the stool and let Grace begin to work. He winced in pain as she probed the wound.

The stranger... He kind of liked the sound of that. He smiled at her with her comment about being mysterious and dashing. What could the harm be in telling her his real name? She hadn't alerted the guards about the meeting, he had possibly saved her life and she was helping him now. If she wanted to turn him in she had several chances.

"My true name is Dante Grixis." He said into the quiet room. The candle sent strange shadows across his hooded face making him look more ominous than usual. He continued in a low voice, "What I told you about my origin is the truth, I was born in Italy and grew up in Spain." He was quiet as he watched Grace wash his wound. He cursed under his breath as she hit a particularly sore spot.

[Grace de Beaumont]

"Dante.... somehow that name suits you." Grace smiled, eyes still on her work. The wound was nearly cleaned and she glanced up in sympathy as she knew she was causing pain. "I'm envious of you, Dante, traveling to such far-off lands. I've only been as far as the borders of Mercia before...." Her shoulder rose and fell.

Finished with her task, Grace took Dante's hand and rotated it experimentally to make sure his wrist still had range of movement. His hand was large and rough with callouses. "There," she said in satisfaction. "I think that will work. I bound it tight to try to draw the skin together, but don't leave the wrapping on past sunrise or it'll stick to the wound and fester. Try to give it lots of air after that but keep it clean." Grace blushed a bit as she realized she'd been presumptive and let go Dante's hand, but it was good advice she remembered from Bush's notes. Apothecary's often acted as physicians for those who could not or did not choose to afford a physician.

Embarrassed, Grace looked down as she wiped her own hands on a cloth, noting her own clothing was spattered with blood. She would have some explaining to do to Richard later. A awkward silence ensued.

"You know," Grace finally murmured, her voice hushed. "You are a very skilled fighter. Desirable by those such as the Royal Guards. Why do you not work for them?"

[Dante Grixis]

Dante thanked her and looked at the wrapped wound. It looked to be clean and well cared for, much better than his wounds usually were. He often had to care for them himself and he had gained skill after tending so many wounds but he was usually working with one hand and it was only a mediocre job.

He listened to her quiet question and was silent for a moment. He wasn't sure how to best answer the question, but decided to tell her a tale from his life to explain his reasons. His voice was quiet and he stared into the flickering candle as he spoke.

"When I was young my father sent me to a monastery to be educated. I was there for almost ten years when I left to go home. When I arrived I could not find my father, my only remaining family. I asked around the town and I was told that he was killed when he got into an argument with the Prince. I was... torn. I could not let this pass without retribution, but the retaliation would almost certainly be my own death. Finally I sealed my fate. I followed the Prince on a trip that took him through the thick woods. He was separated from his guard for a few moments, and in those seconds I took his life.

Since then I have killed to make my living. I vowed that I would never hold an allegiance to a feudal lord. The Pendragons are cruel to the lows of this nation, and I could never work for someone who treats the poor with such indifference." He finished looking up from the flame and into Grace's eyes. "That is why I will not work for the Guard."

[Grace de Beaumont]

As she listened, Grace took the cue from Dante and looked into the flame of the candle. What he said shocked her, but it also filled her with a great sadness. Sadness for the cruelty the world could bestow. "We are similar creatures, you and I. Both lost our families suddenly and viciously. In some ways, I was lucky, I suppose. I had a guardian to take care of me.... after. I did not have to fend for myself the way you did." Grace turned her eyes back to Dante. "But then, you are lucky as well. You are a man. You were able to take up a sword and invoke your revenge. I am left scratching out a living selling herbs while the murderer of my parents and brothers walks around free."

Grace smiled sadly. "I don't suppose either of our stories has very happy endings."

Amazed at her thoughts, Grace had a moment of clarity. The thoughts she had now were no longer those of a naive noblewoman. She had experienced too much in the past year, journeying into one rough situation after another. The Grace of her former life would have been horrified and disgusted by Dante's story -- the idea of being proud at committing regicide! -- but the Grace that sat next to him in a darkened kitchen with two bodies lying in the street.... that Grace understood where Dante was coming from, and even admired him for it.

"If the Prince had not killed your father, what would you be doing now? Would you have taken holy orders? Worked alongside your father?" Grace had no idea why she was asking such things. Perhaps it was the hopelessness she thought she heard in Dante's voice, a man without a future, living each moment only in the present. Perhaps she wanted to prod the man into thinking outside of his cosy assassin shell.

[Dante Grixis]

Dante smiled weakly at Grace. "Well, our stories have yet to reach their end." He listened as she asked the question he often asked himself. What would he be if not an assassin?

"Well, I personally don't believe in the Christian God, so I would not have stayed at the monastery anyway. My father worked in the fields day in and day out. I probably would be a peasant in Spain, perhaps have a wife, children." He said and looked back at Grace with a small grin, "One thing is for sure, I wouldn't have this ruining my otherwise decent face." He pointed at his scar.

He was not ashamed nor did he regret what he was. He just had to wonder if he would be happier if the Prince hadn't killed his father. His present was good by all means, but his future looked bleak. It looked like a path to alcoholism if he wasn't already there. It looked like a road to self destruction, death by a blade or in the gallows. The day would come that his skills would wane and then his life would end. He led a violent life, damned to end violently.

He felt a small bit of comfort knowing that however his end came, that it would be quick.

[Grace de Beaumont]

Returning Dante's smile, Grace slid her eyes around the side of his face, head tilting to examine the scar. Earlier when he'd briefly removed his hood, she had spied the prominent feature immediately but politeness dictated she hold her tongue. As he had brought the subject up himself, however, Grace now looked at it openly, leaning forward.

"It's quite impressive," she agreed. "It's probably a detriment to your profession, is it not? Something that could be used to identify you easily? Ahhh..." She breathed the exclamation, an idea dawning. "That's the reason for the hood, isn't it." Something in the way Dante had brought attention to the scar had sounded odd and it made Grace even more curious.

"You aren't self conscious because of that, are you? That is quite foolish. It does not cut across your nose to make you look lopsided, nor through an eye to blind nor across your mouth to freeze your mouth into a fool's grimace." Grace laughed softly; really, men could be such vain creatures at the oddest times. "Your nose is quite straight, your eyes are clear and your mouth.... your mouth..." Grace stared at Dante's mouth. "...Is quite fine." Blinking several times, Grace recollected herself and ducked her head, feeling herself blush.

There was a muffled shout from the street and Grace was on her feet, moving quickly to the door. Putting her ear against the wood, she listened intently. "It's the nightwatch," she finally whispered, heart slamming in her throat. "They've discovered the bodies."

[Dante Grixis]

Dante smiled as he listened to Grace talk. "You are correct, that is the reason for the hood. I am not ashamed by it at all, it's just part of who I am now." He said.

He chuckled a bit at her description of his face. "Well thank you." Dante heard the yelling outside and watched as Grace ran to the door. It's the nightwatch.[/]

Dante wasn't in the least bit concerned. They would never trace them to the small bakery where they were sitting. His indifference showed on his face as he simply nodded and leaned back in his chair. Even if they did find him fighting his way out would be an easy task. The nightwatch were less skilled than the usual guard.

[Grace de Beaumont]

Her head still against the door, Grace twisted a strand of hair between her fingers in nervousness. The sound of running feet, several voices in argument, and finally the slow draw of a horse and cart being driven over cobblestones sounded, but nothing came closer. "They've called the dead wagon," she whispered, eyes wide. "Oh dear."

It didn't sound to Grace as though anyone was in any hurry out on that street. Several more footsteps made her think that quite a crowd was gathering, voices talking, someone even laughing. Wringing her hands, she stepped slowly away from the door, backing back to her stool. Fear turned to irritation as she glanced over at Dante. The man was just sitting there, infuriatingly calm! "Aren't you worried at all?" Grace huffed. "I mean.... really. Doesn't the idea of getting caught make you nervous in the slightest?"

Grace sat for only a few seconds, bouncing to her feet again unable to sit still. She paced back to the door, listened a moment, then paced back, unsure of what to do.

[Dante Grixis]

Dante tried not to laugh at Grace's panic. He was not worried in the slighest. It had taken several knights and the Prince himself to capture him, the tired nightwatch posed no more threat to him than a small mouse. Still, the girl was terrified and Dante could tell. He slowly rose from his chair and crossed the room to Grace where she had again returned to the door. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder and wordlessly guided her away from the door and sat her in a chair.

He grabbed the chair he had been sitting in and rammed it under the door handle, barring it from intruders. He leaned his back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. He was quiet for a moment before he quietly said "You will be just fine." He listened to the commotion outside. It seemed that maybe a dozen citizens and three guards were around the area of the kill. He heard hushed whispers but couldn't make out what they were saying.

He looked back to Grace. "Why do you worry so much for me?" He asked in the same quiet voice he had used earlier.

[Grace de Beaumont]

Rolling her eyes as Dante sat her to a stool like a child, Grace still lowered her eyes in slight embarrassment. She had been acting like a child.... she couldn't help it. For the past year, she'd been running from danger but now she was just sitting here in the back of a bakery, waiting for it to knock on the door.

Oddly, the chair Dante placed against the door was comforting, as was the large man's presence who leaned against it. That defied logic as did his question and Grace stared at Dante, puzzled. Why is he trying to comfort me?

"I would ask you the same thing" she replied, equally soft. "You saved my life. You are taking a great chance, not only with being discovered as the cause of those two bodies, but also in preserving the one who not only knows your identity but also saw you do the deed." Grace stood so she could better look Dante in the eye. She squared her shoulders, hands tucking behind her back. "It would have been much cleaner and safer to have let those men kill me. I put it to you, Dante Grixis.... why do you worry so for me?"

[Dante Grixis]

Dante locked his dark eyes with Grace's and tilted his head a bit to the left. "You remind me of me." He said and pushed himself off the wall, standing straight up and looking slightly down towards Grace. "As you said, we are similar creatures." He paused for a moment.

"The world is not fair, it can be cruel and ruthless, and in your position you need to be protected. You never did anything to deserve death." He smiled gently at Grace. She was the opposite of him, rather than when her family was killed she fled. She was hunted like Dante, but for different reasons. She was innocent and rather alone in this world.

He smiled slightly, "You seem puzzled that an assassin is capable of compassion." He admitted that it was a rather rare thing, but he had to believe that he wasn't the only assassin with a shred of humanity still in him.

[Grace de Beaumont]

Grace blinked. That was possibly the last answer she had expected. 'You remind me of me.' It was true, as she'd pointed out much earlier but somehow the concept had gotten lost in the heart-stopping danger of the street. Now she became aware of just how quiet it was in the silent kitchen, with her and Dante facing off. Like the rest of the world was far away.

"Oh," Grace said weakly when Dante stepped closer, blinking again. "Just so."

Very aware of how close this tall mysterious man was now, Grace's eyes glanced to the side. This was just such a situation that Richard was continually warning her against -- being alone with a strange man who's motives may be uncertain. She really should back away, call Hilda back in, perhaps try to sneak out the front and back to the inn. I really should. But there was something deliciously dangerous about the man and the situation she was in. Surprised at herself for she was not normally a daring person, Grace held her ground, returning her gaze up to Dante's face.

She smiled with a touch of tease to her voice. "You have to admit, the title of 'assassin' does not enjoy the.... best of public personas? I don't think most people believe them capable of compassion, but.... now I know differently."

[Dante Grixis]

Dante smiled. "Then perhaps you shall be a better person for the experience. You must remember, generally speaking, people are good. I try my best to rectify my evils with my goods, a karmic balance I suppose." He said with a gentle smile.

He was surprised again at the girl, remaining here with him after he was patched up as well as the fact that the guard could come knocking at any moment and she would be thrown to danger again. He turned to the door and heard a few doors open and close, people going home, and the sound of the cart wheels rolling away down the cobblestone street. He listened for a moment more and turned back to Grace.

He asked the question he most wanted to know the answer to now, "So, you're in a small room with an obviously dangerous man, why have you stayed here with me long after you could have left?"

[Grace de Beaumont]

"I... uh...." Well that was the question of the moment, wasn't it. "I-I'm not sure," Grace stammered. "It defies all r-reason. My guardian shall be very cross with me for doing it."

Shifting weight from one foot to the other, Grace desperately searched the air for an answer. "You saved my life so I suppose I.... trust you. You are.... I think you are honorable." Grace sighed. And I am so very tired of living life like a frightened rabbit crouching in a hole.

Feeling emboldened by that abhorrent mental image, Grace stopped squirming and gave Dante a direct look. It was hard to do because he was so tall; her head was forced to tilt back. "I.... enjoy your company. I can explain it no better than that. And why have you, obviously a dangerous man, not acted.... dangerously?"