Who was that? Alana had just swatted a lecher's straying hand away from her bum when a hooded figure entered the tavern and distracted them all. The woman was simply dressed and for the most part quite ordinary but there was something different about her. She couldn't put her finger on it.

Alana watched her rather warily. She did not approve of hoods. One never knew what was hidden underneath and they were ruddy mysterious. Assassins did not like surprises. Or mystery for that matter. She liked knowing exactly what she was dealing with. That way she could better prepare for whatever threat faced her.

The woman pulled back her hood and revealed a face that left Alana gasping; she was most intrigued by the colours that decorated her visage. How did she do that? The succuba felt the unfamiliar sting of jealousy. She considered beautiful women to be rivals and no friendly ones at that. In the past, she'd encountered some nasty backstabbing bitches in her trade. Assassins were ruthless and frequently snatched contracts from another's grasp if they could weasel themselves in the client's good graces.

Alana became increasingly suspicious of the female when a nobleman hesitantly approached her. For what purpose? Surely the woman was no prostitute although her painted face might suggest otherwise. A drunk nearby made some lewd comment regarding the woman's looks and Alana nearly planted her katar in the bastard's face to shut him up. Instead, she elbowed him in the ribs and he went flying to the floor with a loud thud. Good riddance. No one bothered to help him up.

Her attention returned to the encounter between the lady and the nobleman; after exchanging a look they sat down at a table together to discuss some sort of business. Surely not. Could this woman be another assassin? How had the man spotted her first? Alana must be losing her touch not to be noticed when that was her very objective for coming here. This vexed her to no end. To be bested by another woman like this had hurt her pride exceedingly. Was she getting rusty?

In that moment, she decided she would not stand for it. This was her tavern. No one could simply waltz in here and steal her clients from underneath her nose. But how to approach the situation? Alana pushed herself to her feet and ignored the men ogling her as she moved past; they didn't matter anymore. Her eyes focused on the table ahead as she mentally mapped out her strategy.

Should she be nice to the woman and attempt to befriend her? Her succuba charms did not affect females whatsoever and she wasn't known for her social graces; but she could be friendly if the occasion called for it. It was certainly preferable to a full blown tavern brawl. She imagined furniture being blown to smithereens and attacking the woman with a pirate's wooden leg (with the pirate still attached to it). These things never ended well. The client definitely would not offer her a contract after such a display of violence. This required a more subtle approach.

Nice it was, then. She plastered a friendly smile across her face with some effort and tried to look as human as possible. Don't expose the fangs. They don't like succubi here.

''Good evening, you two,'' she addressed them in an unnaturally high-pitched voice. It actually hurt her throat a little bit. Don't overdo it. Keep it casual but natural.

''I'm terribly sorry to disturb when you're obviously here to discuss business but I was rather hoping I could be of some assistance. Can I please sit down?'' she asked, gesturing at the empty seat with a hopeful expression.

''My name is Alana, by the way.'' She made a polite curtsy that she hoped would satisfy the nobleman that she wasn't a heathen. 

''Are you here about a contract?'' she whispered so no one could overhear their conversation.

This had better work. She needed the coin and the lack of contracts did little to boost her reputation as a skilled assassin.

Yes. It had been a good idea to go out on such a gloomy day. There was hardly a soul outside, so instead of weaving her way through the crowd from one dank alleyway to another, she could move freely towards her goal.

Fuck. Fuck fuck. No, not now. Noooo.

Eva hit the side of her head with her palm. Her hood did not protect her from the pain, but at least the voices were gone for now. We had to concentrate. I mean, I have to concentrate.

Brazenly, she stepped into the tavern and threw off her hood. All around her, people instantly stared. She was used to it, although she did not like it. But it was what they did.

They saw colours, black and red paint covering her face. Only she knew that it was in fact not paint or any kind of fancy decoration. It was a…

"Miss Eva, I assume?"

"Oh, yes."

A man had approached her. This had to be Gainsley.

"Please sit down, before you draw any more attention to yourself," he hissed.

She did, and planting her elbows firmly on the table, moved her face as close to him as possible.

"So, you might know a…"

He nodded with a smirk. "I might know a…"

At that moment, they were interrupted.

Startled, Eva quickly pulled the hood back over her head.

A contract? Sure. Better lie than tell the truth.

"Yes, I am," she replied in a hushed voice. "What's it to you?"

The succuba struggled to maintain a neutral expression. Yes! She said she was here for a contract. Alana breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps this visit hadn't been a complete waste of time.

The woman's companion hadn't spoken so she simply sat down next to him, her eyes still on the woman. As long as the assassin was willing to let her assist her, the client didn't matter. What say did he have in the matter? He needed them. They didn't need him. Although Alana's grumbling stomach said otherwise.

''I am a skilled warrior and have completed many a contract. Together, we would be so much stronger and more efficient.''

Alana eyed the nobleman now in case he wanted to elaborate on whatever mission he had in mind. ''You will find that I am the soul of discretion,'' she told him solemnly. It was certainly true. I leave no witnesses alive to tell anyone anything.

She tried to ignore the hunger pains and forced her mannerisms to remain casual and almost detached so she wouldn't see too eager, too desperate. They couldn't know. I could eat every chicken in this place.

Leaning toward the man so no one would overhear their conversation, she whispered: ''What service do you require?''

If the woman did refuse her help, she would bid against her and accept the contract for a lower rate. It wasn't something she normally stooped to, but she hadn't had any work all week and the rent was due in two days.

I will get this bloody contract no matter what it takes. I'm sick of being hungry. Enough.