A/N

'Ello my dearies, here's the next installment!

Thanks for the review Demiqueen, your continuous support is amazing :D

Also, I know it's great to have followers and favouriters, but please review!

I see what you did there, review!

SWEARING AT THE END, SORRY.

He sat for countless minutes, going over endless scenario's of Andrea's death, capture or little accidents that could have happened so easily. He was half way between sleep and consciousness when the memory came to him through a cloudy haze.

It consumed him; he could smell the dust, the blood, the pure fear in the air. He could see her water and sweat soaked hair, her blood on his blade, the smears his gloves had left on her ghostly pale skin.

She was all that mattered now. She had the answers he so desperately needed. She was the missing puzzle piece he had needed. Now, he had her. Even if he had her tied to a wooden chair, he had her.

"What's your real name?" He asked quietly as he crouched down in front of her, looking into her eyes carefully, examining each fleck of colour in her irises.

"Andraste Moran." Her actually answering his question surprised him, but he quickly regained face.

"Brothers or sisters?" He interrogated, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. His balance was, luckily, rather good, but he couldn't stay like this for long.

"Only child." She answered simply. She looked genuinely bored, her eyes rolling at each droll and sneer from him. He stood briskly and grabbed another wooden chair from the side and trailed it over to sit in front of her, the legs scraping and screeching across the floor.

"Favourite colour, band, nickname and place?" He picked up his stream of questions when he sank into the chair, slipping down and getting comfortable.

"Purple. Elastic. Andrea or winner an' in The Grove, wit' my horse." He saw her pale pink lips smirk at her own quip, thinking he didn't understand it. Truthfully, he couldn't really understand her accent, the joke just wasn't funny. He decided to humour her.

"Elastic? Andrea? Winner? What's your horse called?" He liked playing games, laying bait, getting his, uh, victims to open up to him, tell him things they hadn't even told their closest friends. He was a people person, he could mould people into what he wanted, make them think things they wouldn't normally think. He was an artist of the mind, a clown prince of crime; he needed a princess, someone with a little finesse.

"Elastic...band?" He let a manic giggle slip past his lips in spite of himself. He had made a little rhyme, he was like Dr. Seuss. She thought he was laughing at her joke; she really needed taken under his wing. "Andraste means victory in Irish, winner 'cause of tha', Andrea because it sounds like Andraste. He's called Evin, means swift; he's tha' alright." She smiled, a childish dimple appearing on one of her cheeks, obviously remembering her horse.

Well, she seemed comfortable enough talking to him now, he could easily get her to drop an address. "So...doll... where d'you call home?" He appealed again, for what felt like the hundredth time that night. His usually cold calculating brown eyes had softened, his frequent snarl replaced by a gentle smile, his scars looking less malicious and cruel.

"I still ain't tellin' ye." She said pursing her lips at him and shrugging, he wouldn't get it out of her. He couldn't break her. He was going to try though. She just had to trust him.

"Boss?" One of his goons calling for him wrenched him out of his dream. He wasn't sure if he was happy with that or not.

"What the hell do you want?" He growled at them, rising to his feet slowly and cocking his head with narrowed eyes.

"We, uh, found her... sir." They mumbled and stuttered, stumbling over their words and acting like dunderheads.

"Then where is she?" He challenged them, now at his full height. He conspicuously slipped a hand into his pocket and fingered his multiple weapons, his switch blade, a grenade and a potato peeler among the lot.

"She, uh, was slightly busy. She, um, said... she'd be back... at the dock house, later..." He scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. He had almost worried himself sick and she was fine! Alive, free and unharmed, he hoped. They hadn't specified.

"Well, bugger off then. Find more goons to recruit." He commanded and watched them walk off, before slumping back against his dent in the wall.

"How bloody dare 'e?! Sending his feckin' clowns to fin' me, whatta bloody bastard! No right. Privacy? Don' got none. Prospects? Forget 'bout it, mate. Actual frien's? Nah, left 'em in Ireland. Gah!" She ranted and paced, quite pleased with her multi tasking if nothing else.

5 minutes ago, a troop of Joker's henchmen had near broken down the door to find her. "No polite knocking. No 'Hi, how ya doin'?' Just barge on in, mate. I could be danderin' 'bout in the buff. I'm gonna kill 'im." She snarled like a raging dog, giving up on pacing and decided to shove her shoes back on and go see the dead man walking.

She slammed the dark doors behind her, restraining herself enough to shove the key into the lock and as she jabbed the elevator button growled, "Joker, yer so fucked, mate.".

Again, sorry about the language at the end, please don't flame me because of it.

It will happen again, sorry.

I do like reviews, so review me please?

I'll give you chocolate chip cookies! (There ya go Demiqueen ;D)

Slang-

buff- naked

There isn't that much actually, damn.

Hope you liked it anywho's.