Charcoal optics observed the assassin as she went along yet another path to reach the pub, optics belonging to a lone man, tall in stature, bestowed with the benediction of youth. His indifferent demeanor being kept in concealment by his ebony strands of hair. However something unusual was happening behind the veil of those hues; they were inferring, analyzing, and calculating everything from the slight bunching and shifting of her muscles as she moved, to the juxtaposing colors of her jet hair and alabaster skin.
Those obsidian soon came to fall over nothing but the building; forthcoming with no emotion, revealing no intent. The current situation did however warrant him to once more reevaluate the plan; peruse in his mind’s eye the series of events that would provide him the opportunity to observe the assassin Kurome, if not in the least serve to dissuade him of his choice to join ‘her faction’.
A mere flicker of umber, a glimpse of sienna these were the only prelude before the frame of the assassin impacted with the mahogany floors. Splintering the air with a resounding crack that alluded to the inevitable giving of the wood as it failed to stand against the force of the impact-- Now entered the male that had enacted these events; muscled, exuding bloodlust, and utterly unpredictable and unlike the assassin entrance his was met with a pregnant silence. Silence only broken once the vamp of the male’s shoe connected with the underside of Amadi’s jaw sending that familiar shrill sound throughout the air as the assassin’s head slammed against the floorboards once more sending the mask that concealed his features skittering about till it stopped before a fellow patron as if in offering.
Three males trudged into the pub, there clothing spotless and meticulously pressed. Their eyes alight with savagery, their skin was pitted and their knuckles bore the marks of previous beating. Hair had been torn out of their scalps in chunks leaving them mostly bald. But the worse part by far was the smell that permeated the air before them they smelled of a mix of urine and liquor, laced with the underlying stench of blood and feces. It served as no surprise that they served as companions to the man whom had begun to take pleasure in his role, whom now pummeled the male without form or pattern. It was almost laughable when the other’s followed suit in a ‘style’ that mimicked the sloppiness of the leaders. Though even they had sense enough to give pause when they heard it the audible crunch, the contortions of the males face as anger exploded through him, a white hot lance devouring everything in its path, poisoning his thought, sullying his judgments a simple miscalculated had seemingly shattered his index finger against the armored shoulder pads he wore.
Finger’s tangled themselves in Amadi’s ebony strands snapping his head back, while another of the perpetrator’s fingers dug into the underside of his shoulders as he was lifted for show to the patrons of the pub. Then he heard it those words tossed to rouse crowd. “Does anyone know this Night Raid trash? Nuisances, spies, and bringer of troubles the lot of them.. so shall any come to this traitors defense?” That’s when things began to delve from the plan he hadn’t anticipated these drunken fools to incite the tavern nor had willed them to press a blade against the nape of his neck..
Yet here he was.. In this situation…. Unable to harm the drunken fools…. Yet unable to save himself as well. He could almost read the thoughts of those trash ‘Maim, destroy, kill’ it likely ghosted like a mantra within their thoughts
