Hey, so this was first posted on Ao3 but I thought I'd probably stick it on here too.

The silver of the moon hangs low in the sky, casting blankets of night over the streets.

The gates to the town stood as they always had, open to all who could protect themselves. One such person crept up to them now, slipping past the guards easily. For his height he was surprisingly quiet, the swishing of his night-coloured cape against his thighs, and the soft scrape of gravelly sand beneath his feet the only sound. Dressed in dark navy's and purples he blended with the background and snuck in unnoticed.

Softly he strolled though the market. Now he tried less to be quiet, the market being loud and brash in atmosphere even at this late hour. As he ducked to avoid a punch gone wild from the fray in the centre of the square his cloak rippled slightly. It was an almost inconsequential movement but if you had been there that evening you would have noticed one less poster plastered to a wall.

The realistic drawing of a kindly gentleman with green eyes would not be seen by the townsfolk that evening.

A glass had just been placed on the bar, carefully if not politely, on the bar in front of a soldier when the door slammed open. Cracks of gunshots and screams of terror echoed around before the door was brought to a thudding close.

The soldier turned minutely and slowly, with the grace of a tired dancer, to raise his drink at the intruder. There was a whisper of movement then she was standing behind him, hand curled protectively around his neck.

"James"

"Natalia"

She nods to the barman as he places a pint glass down before her, and if given a grunt in return.

"Nice place" She observes as she slides onto the stool beside the soldier, his gaze returned to his beer. It is nice. Clean, with mismatched wooden furniture scatter around in table and chair formations. A fiddler plays in the corner, his fingers like artists, drawing haunting notes from the driftwood fiddle in his hands.

The beer is bitter as she sips on it, and room temperature. Out of the corner of her eye she sees her companion shuffle in his seat a little. Out of respect she waits for him to speak, but before he can do so the fiddler stops. There is a sound like nails on the blackboard and the fiddler has stopped. Natalia palms the knife she keeps on her a all times. Nick has disappeared from behind the bar, there is no one there to help them.

From behind there is a rustle of cloak.