11th of Zi'da, 716
Andras honed in on the men before him, more concerned with the skinny one than than the fat merchant and then cursed under his breath. Of course he couldn't have Alex fight. With her arm injury, she was in no condition to, and he hesitated. Like a cat honing on prey, his green eyes leveled on the two, and he tapped her on the shoulder, “Never mind. Change of tactics. Follow me,” he said nothing else, fading into the passing group of peasants, ducking his head and mingling with the crowd. He used a man about his size for cover, falling into step beside him, eyes briefly flickering downwards to sync up their footsteps. He might not have been able to imitate the man's mannerisms, but he used Alex's lesson to work on imitating pace. He hoped the guilty party wouldn't see him, that his plain colored clothing – even if it was leather armor – would be able to fit in.
The noble lifted his eyes, ducking behind the cover of an alley wall, and reached out to grab Alex and pull her beside him, “Having fun yet?” he asked, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he used his height to his advantage. From the shadows he could scout above the heads of the others, and he noticed the target approaching. The coin purse was no longer in his hand, and he looked more relieved. Sweat still decorated his brow and in the chilly weather, he shivered. From relief or nerves, Andras couldn't tell.
He had to gauge this right, and with luck, watched him walk along the side of street they were hidden on. Andras slowly began to count, gauging distance and how many tics it took for the man to walk it. He disappeared back into the alley, pressing his back against the stone wall, and motioned for Alex to move deeper into the shadows. He began his counting under his breath.
'One, two, three, four... Andras pushed himself sharply from the wall at last, spinning out of the alley way and came face to face with his old friend.
“Zachary!” Andras beamed as the man's eyes widened in horror, and the noble slung his arm around the man's neck, pulling him close and yanking him into the grimy darkness. His arm was tight around his victim's collar, and to an onlooker, it might have looked like a friendly embrace between two old pals. Andras leaned close, his voice cheerful with an unmistakable edge, “How's the nose?”
In their last engagement, Andras has shattered the cartilage, twisting the site of pain until the man cried. Now, he felt less compassion, seeing the man openly go against his order. All he had to do was not touch the money – money that very clearly didn't belong to him. “I want you to meet a friend of mine,” Andras held out a hand, putting Alex on display, “Isn't she lovely? The funniest thing just happened to us. We were out on a stroll, and I could almost swear I saw you doing something
very unfortunate.”
Andras finally shoved the abuser away from him, watching as his body stumbled backwards and smacked into rotting barrels, and he turned his attention to the red head, “You've put me in quite the predicament, Zachary,” he sighed, stopping in the center of the alley to stop the man from running, “Tell me, Alex darling, what would you do with someone who broke your trust? Who spits your mercy back in your face?”
Andras began cracking his knuckles, the grim shadow still cast over his eyes like a curse. He had remembered his promise. He had vowed that if the man went against his orders, death would be his blessing. He was already steeling himself mentally for the beating he was about to give the man, thinking of the battered wife and child he had pulled from the streets and sheltered. He had seen the destruction – the cruelty displayed by such a person, “Does that type of man deserve punishment?”
He stared blankly at Zachary when he asked this, turning his head only slightly in the girl's direction. Despite the anger, the dark side of him that wanted to claim him in this moment, he craned an ear. Would she try to convince him otherwise? Would he want her to?
