So, I've pretty much introduced every major character (that includes Schemer, as well) as well as a certain person in this chapter (of course, there will be more characters, like targets and such).

Let the story continue...

-Dreksler, out!

Red eyes squinted harshly in the bright orange torchlight; a little itch crawled up her nose- she scratched it away with her muddy paw. A dark smudge surfaced on the dark skin, making it seem black. Little flecks of light sparkled in the wed mud- it was pretty in a strange way. Sloshing along, Mhezsura headed off into a quiet room. A pot of warm water squatted, under a torch in the centre of the room-hanging in an old, iron bracket bolted into a pillar. Made of snow-white concrete slabs. Near the pot, inlaid into the rough floor was a small drain- churning, as water gurgled deep below. It was the bathroom-of sorts- where she had put on her armor. For the first time.

She sighed. And began to wash herself clean. She worked the soapy, warm water into her hands- clear water turning black, as it trailed over her small frame. Worked it into her hair, tugging the mud out- her hair slicked in front of her face, water crashing down. She began to hum an old tune- a Dunmeri folk-song from her homeland. Morrowind- more specifically Vvardenfell. She shivered slightly.

But not from the cold. From the memories.

Meanwhile...

Antoinetta was impatient. Badly impatient. She was like Lucien, in that one way; they both couldn't be kept waiting. It killed them. She shivered slightly in her seat, as a familiar coldness crawled up her neck. She glanced behind her to be met with a familair face. A Breton face, with dark-brown shaved hair and slightly-curled lips. Sickly, pale skin failed to take any tone when the orange torchlight hit it- indeed, his beady eyes seemed to be black instead of ice-blue.
"Hello, Bellamont" Antoinetta said through gritted teeth, pushing his large hand off her shoulder rudely. She turned away from him, in a huff- the rudeness didn't really surprise him.

Of course, he didn't know why most people just seemed to not like him- it was their loss. Let nobody else tell you otherwise, his 'conscience' told him. His hand had flopped to his side- over his dagger. Years of training does that to a person, he mused. He could feel Antoinetta getting tense around him; annoyance crackling between the strands of her straw hair. He skulked away, hands straight at his sides with a slight bow of his big head- until he heard a little song.

A hum. Definitely from Morrowind- a folk song?It echoed from a sturdy, oak door- it was commanding attention. It was louder than the patter of water Mathieu could hear- it was a keening sound. Almost bittersweet. The water stopped eventually but his sharp ears could detect the rubbing of cloth...against leather? Unusual. The song was cut short in his opinion, but then again he remembered the Dunmer people would perform medleys on their string instruments and flutes, at their fairs and those 'holy' days. According to a book Mathieu had read, they would get rowdy (or drunk...perhaps both) then proceed to gamble, drink, gamble and curse- in that order. How different that was to Breton celebrations, say on Flower Day- all the little children would get dressed up, and pick the spring blossoms whilst the elders, endowed with countless wrinkles and arthritic pains would sing- as much as their weak, croaking voices could handle.

He wanted to find the face, that had that light voice. That wondrous voice. Damn my curiosity!

Something tingled on Schemer's whiskers. Something delicious- the fresh smell of cooked apples whooshed up his nostrils. With a thick lash of boar-meat and cinnamon and poached egg; Schemer charged down the wide corridor like a lunatic. His claws began to slip on the stone, feet flying around wildly. His tongue rolled out, spittle glidng as he sprinted towards the eating hall.

The open door at the end of this corridor was his target- light spilled through, and the fumes danced across the stone slabs. Time seemed to slow as he ran- about fifty metres away from the door, he could see it began to close. He squeaked with anger and threw himself towards the door- teeth bared, and claws flashing with hate.

Slam. Dunk.

"What was that?"

"Just Schemer"

"Oh... all right."

Dinner. Food. More like a bleedin' banque'. A little tower of fruit- from red raspberry to warm mango- sat in the middle of the long table, stretched from one end of the eating hall to the other. At the opposite end, she could see a small window up high- and the last remnants of the day. A little glint drew her attention to the table again- spaced along the table there were metal plates. Next to each a little knife and fork- silver by the looks of it. At each plate, there was a seat- old chairs with rough, scuffed cushions. Everybody took a seat, chattering away with each other.

She felt lost. And hungry. But mostly lost.

Until a little hand waved at her- looking at it, she could see the friendly face of Antoinetta. And her pearly white smile. There was indeed an empty seat next to her, opposite Telaendril. 'Netta kept on beckoning and waving towards her, desperate to grab her attention. Mhezsura gave in and walked over- trailing her left hand against the stone-brick wall. She managed to squeeze past that vampire- Vindra? Vinblah? It was a Vin-something. His long fangs ripped through a leg of lamb, the body-juice thick around his chapped, skinny lips. Same old ponytail as usual she noticed. Sonnerset dumped herself into the seat, the softness startling her bones. She sank into it warmly. Comfortably.

And with an unannounced, silent bell, dinner had begun. A surge of hands rapidly reached out, viciously tugging food away from the plates. The plate of boiled saltrice was empty; only the juices left. Raspberries were endangered, some falling out- trying to get away from the massacre. It was confusing to Mhezsura- she had seen greed before. But this... was a motherfucking kick-ass type of greed she had never seen. Only ever read as a little girl, in the fairy-tales at those royal banquets. Antoinetta frowned as she could see the confusion in Mhezsura's fiery eyes. Antoinetta could tell she would need a little training in the art of deception- I mean, killing the target is good and all but Lucien always says it is far more enjoyable to string them along with lies. And then, stab them in the back. Maybe I could teach her something. Wouldn't that be great? She braved herself, steeled her nerves- and her small hand dove into the frenzy. Slap. Scratch. A little burn from Uvani- 'Netta glared at him. Back out of the fray, her hand managed to get out with a modest leg of lamb- bleeding seasoning onto the table- and a few sprigs of thick, green artichoke.

'Netta with a kind look plastered on her face, dumped the small meal onto Mhezsura's plate- turning her face away quickly, when Mhezsura stared up at her. She began her meal, quite nonplussed. As if nothing happened.

That is when they became best friends.

Mhezsura used her forefinger and thumb to delicately pick up the thick end of the little, silver fork- and stabbed it into the soft flesh of her meal. Squelch of juices over the plate, she ripped a small piece off- mixed it with the running sauce, impaled an asparagus and stuffed the food into her mouth. She chewed loudly on it. And enjoyed it.

Apart... from a deathly-pale man staring at her coldly. His blue eyes were frozen over- no emotion ran through them. A black hood was pulled over the top of his head- gloved hands elegantly cut meat into neat, little piles. Locking of her jaw, and her hackles began to raise. Until he did something strange. He didn't glare or spit or angrily jut his chin at her. Instead he smiled. A smile like Antoinetta's. Genuine. But still, no emotion in his eyes. That intrigued her. Made her want to know more.

And the trap sealed shut.