westwhere | An assassin in his element

WHO: Ratonhnhaké:ton and Jon Snow
WHEN: About now
WHERE: The barracks of the Hand
WHAT: Infiltration and rescuing some mimes
WARNINGS: TBD

Shortly after they first arrived, Ratonhnhaké:ton had spent a long time familiarising himself with all the corners of the city. The barracks, however, he's mostly left alone, because drawing the ire of the Hand seemed like a bad idea. He's mapped out what he could of it from a distance, but he finds himself wishing, now, that he'd risked it after all. This way, he doesn't know too well what he can expect.

To hope to make up for it, he spends a day simply watching and observing, never staying too long in one place but just enough to work out when would be the most ideal time to sneak in. Night and the cover of darkness is simply the basics. Eagle Vision also helps him work out where to look to find the prisoners. So as he returns the next night, he feels pretty confident with his plan. The main issue is what the patrols are like inside, but there are still many hours of darkness, and once he's inside he can deal with that.

And, so, he makes to climb onto the roof.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The troupe, having realised something is going on, stir. A wave of nudging and elbowing the next of the eleven members awake travels through them, and there's a wide collection of different expressions on their faces. Some look frightened, others angry, and there's a healthy amount of suspicion.

Ratonhnhaké:ton raises his hands, the hidden blade still extended, tainted red with blood. It's the only visible weapon he has on him right now, and he wants them to see it.

"It's all right. We are here to help."

Finally, one of them moves. The leader, though Ratonhnhaké:ton wouldn't know it, of course. With some effort, he stands, looking between the two of them with a face Ratonhnhaké:ton can't read as easily. His best guess is apprehension.

Ratonhnhaké:ton slowly pulls down his hood, for all that it's risky if they get found out. Trust is imperative here.

"Gnaeus Aemilius is my patron. I heard about your predicament from other artists. I could not just leave it be."

The man waits for a moment or two, considering the words, but the name drop seems to have helped. He heaves a quiet sigh that seems like relief.

"This was supposed to be a six-month contract, not ... Not this. They captured us as soon as we got here and we, we quickly realised we were never going to leave. Some of us tried to escape, but they-- They didn't make it."

There is no hood for Jon to pull down, only a cloth over his face; he would have had to fight anyone who saw him, regardless. He still will.

"We'll do what we can to get you out. Can all of you move? Any sick or injured?"

The man shakes his head.

"We can move. I'm Aquilus. I don't know how I could ever-- Thank you."

Ratonhnhaké:ton raises a hand, and offers a gentle smile.

"It's all right. We are happy to help."

It seems Aquilus can't find it in him to be quiet, though. In fact, he seems outright panicked in his need to keep talking, to explain. Maybe he's worried that if he doesn't take this chance, no one will know what happened. How they were forced to teach members of the Hand how to mime and behave, but obviously not for entertainment, but for espionage. And perhaps most importantly, that those members didn't really seem human. The longer he talks, the more he rushes and trips over his words, the more hushed his voice gets, and Ratonhnhaké:ton has to move closer.

Until he starts to worry this is taking too long, and he settles a hand on Aquilus's shoulder.

"It's all right," he says again. "We can talk later, once we are out of here."

"You don't understand," Aquilus hisses. "They can't be human."

"I understand," Ratonhnhaké:ton says, trying to express how much he truly does understand. "We must leave. Come. Everybody on your feet. Everything will be all right."

After giving Aquilus's arm a gentle pat, he holds out a hand toward one of the other members.

Listening to Aquilus, Jon's expression becomes increasingly troubled and dismayed. He glances at Connor.

For himself, he's been in this world for nearly two years, and this story isn't new. If it was a song, the words would rhyme a little with some of the things that happened in Serthica: a surprise attack, the thought of inhumanity. There would be harmony with some of the other places they had been.

"We both understand. Better than you can know." He doesn't know how much Connor knows, perhaps less than him, but he assumes it must be enough.

He also holds out a hand. Thank the gods these people are performers: they can move quietly. Silently, even.

Slowly but surely, the members get up one by one. Some are clearly worse for wear than others, but they can all stand without aid, as Aquilus said. Now comes the difficult part: Getting everyone out without being seen. Whether they could win a fight or not doesn't really matter, because he doesn't want one in the first place. He's a rather public figure, and the last thing he wants is any of these poor people to get hurt in the fray.

"Everyone follow me. I know where to go. If I tell you to stop or move, do so." Then, he looks at Jon. "Will you watch the back?"

Another quick nod.

"Aye. One of us does that, it's the best chance for us all." After a beat, he adds, "If any of you knows how to use a knife, you can take my other dagger and walk right ahead of me until we're free of this place. But gods willing, you won't need to use it."

Perhaps it's a lucky thing, after all, that he didn't go in here alone.

After a moment's pause, one of the women holds out a hand for the knife. As soon as she has it, she gets in position near Jon, and the rest follow by forming a line in-between Jon and Ratonhnhaké:ton. Even though they stay huddled together, it's a long line, and he doesn't entirely like the thought of relying on Jon to know what happens behind them all.

But there's nothing to do about that.

He walks over to the door, gestures for them to keep put, then makes sure the coast is clear. A part of him wants to stay put and memorise some of the guards' paths, but there's no guarantee no one will come in here, and so he gets moving as soon as he neither hears nor sees anything. He'll retrace their steps, even if it might be farther than other paths, if only because he knows for certain that leads out.

As they move through the place, back the way they came, Jon keeps an eye out behind them all. The performers may know their business, but most of them have also just woken up -- still, they are quiet enough as they file past the bodies of the unfortunate guards and through the passages.

The woman to whom he's given a dagger seems more than ready to use it, her hand wrapped tight around the handle, her knuckles white. But no real occasion presents itself.

Once, he hears something behind a door, but it seems to be just a man snoring and turning in his sleep.

There is a risk with so many people, but it turns out to also be a boon. With so many eyes and ears, they know to stop and wait, or backtrack a few steps to wait for a guard to pass by where they just were. It's painstakenly slow, but they eventually reach where Ratonhnhaké:ton and Jon entered, and now comes the task of helping these weak and tired artists onto the roof. Staying put for so long is a less than ideal, but if it comes down to it, they can keep climbing even if they are caught by one or two guards.

Maybe.

They don't have to find out, luckily. With some help, the artists get onto the roof, and Ratonhnhaké:ton and Jon can follow. From there, it's a lot easier. He's completely sure of where the patrols are (but they of course still proceed with caution) and can get them far enough away to get out of trouble.

Hopefully his patron can help them out now that they're out of there.

An assassin in his element

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yes, the last line is a mime joke.

wow

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