As they approached the table, he heard her whisper her name into his ear. Feyre, was it? Baz was now almost certain that she was a type of Fae, from both her name and her talent for mischief. By the time he cast his eyes down in her direction, she had disappeared into the crowd. His mouth twisted up into a small smirk, and he continued over to the man's table, confident that Feyre could easily steal the silver from his bag. All he had to do was keep him occupied.

The man had a blindfold over his eyes, likely to give the impression that he was blind. The trick probably worked on many of the dense idiots who played his game, but Baz could already tell that the cloth was an illusion. It wasn't really there, giving the man an immediate upper hand. Sitting himself down at the table, the ginger put on a face of arrogance and tossed a piece of silver on the table. "Let's play, mate," he stated boldly, a cocky tone in his voice. If the man thought he was overconfident, then he was more likely to be less discreet with his trick. Baz only needed to see him do it once. The man showed him a card, then shuffled it with two other cards. In the middle of it, the man swapped the card with another from his sleeve.

Choosing a random card, Baz pretended to be furious when it was the wrong one. He slammed his hand down on the table. "Dirty thief! Again!" The man saw him toss more silver his way, and once again showed him the card. What he didn't see, however, was the ginger switching one of the cards with his own. Now, there were two of the correct cards in the game. The procedure repeated as normal, except this time, Baz kept track of the card he'd replaced. At the end, he chose it, and the blindfolded man was duped. Angrily, he grabbed Baz's collar and shouted profanities at him. "You bastard! Cheater!" Feigning ignorance, Baz replied, "I've no idea what you're talking about, but keep the silver! Just don't hurt me!" With a scoff, the man tossed him backwards to the ground and counted the coins on the table. Baz scrambled to his feet and ran over to a wall, waiting for Feyre to meet him. "What an idiot," he mumbled as he rubbed the back of his head.

Feyre weaved through the people, occasionally bumping into a prissy noblewoman or well-dressed man, making sure to "accidentally" slip her hands into their coin purses and pockets. Shoving the loot into the satchel she wore secured beneath her cloak, she moved behind the gambler and his table. From there, she watched as Baz adopted a role in front of the table. He really was quite good. She watched him work with deft fingers, swapping the cards out.

"You bastard! Cheater!" The man screamed out, holding Baz by the collar. That was her cue to move. Swiftly stepping up to the man, she pulled her favorite blade out from the holster on her hip. The clasp was much too time-consuming and she was in no mood for another fight. Grabbing the coin purse with one hand, careful not to tug on it too much, Feyre cut through the shoulder strap. She caught the purse before it fell and calmly walked into the crowd, careful not to draw attention to herself.

As soon as she was safely hidden in the sea of fabric and faces, she broke into a sprint. Her eyes searched for Baz, finally locating him near a wall. Running to him, she sheathed her blade and reached for his hand, never slowing down. Tugging him behind her, she turned back to see a furious gambler flipping his own table and waving around a small length of leather. A grin lit up her face as she jerked on Baz's hand, urging him to speed up. "Run faster unless you want to be stuck behind bars" She yelled out, pushing her feet harder.

Baz noticed the sack of coin Feyre held as she neared his location and was doubly impressed with her skills. Even he hadn't seen her take it. He had wanted to make a witty comment about her sleight of hand, but as quickly as she arrived, she was dragging him along. The gambler's enraged voice was enough to get him moving faster. Creating a path through the thick crowd, however, would be an issue with two of them. Especially since his bright hair would draw attention to the pair no matter how far they ran. "Hate to break it to you, partner, but jail's gonna be the least of our worries if we get caught," he stated through grit teeth.

His eyes darted around for a place they could slip into and hide, spotting a dimly lit tavern wedged between a couple of shops. He ran ahead of Feyre, his long legs allowing him to pass her nimble frame. Motioning with his head to the tavern, he quickly pulled her inside, careful to be sure that the gambler hadn't seen them. After watching the angry man run past the tavern, Bonifaz turned his head to study the inside of the building. It was small and dim, with only a few patrons scattered around at various tables. Despite their abrupt entrance, none of the people inside seemed to care what they were doing. Even the bartender was disinterestedly scrubbing a glass.

"Sorry," he whispered with a hint of a smile in his expression. Upon another glance around the room, Baz did see one man staring them down from his seat at the bar. His eyes bore intensely into the two of them, making Baz extremely uncomfortable. It felt like the man was sizing them up, figuring out what they were like just by looking. The ginger didn't like that at all, especially since he couldn't learn anything from the other man's appearance.

Feyre narrowed her eyes at the man staring them down, instantly uncomfortable. She tucked the small coin bag into her satchel, moving slowly so as not to draw attention to her hand. She moved her free hand to pull the cloak further down over her eyes, drawing the attention to that motion instead. Her legs shuffled quietly until she was hiding behind Baz, peaking around him to gaze over the tavern.

"I don't like the look of this place" She mumbled to him. "Or the mercenary over there" 

She wasn't sure exactly what the man was, but he looked big and gruff enough to make Feyre assume he was anything but nice. Her hand clutched around the fabric of Baz's shirt, tugging once like an impatient child trying to get someone's attention. "Lets grab a drink and go?" She asked, waiting to see what he was planning.

A frown stretched across his lips, as an eery smile replaced the buff man's serious expression. Baz reached a hand behind him and gently pulled her hand from his shirt in an attempt to be comforting. "Yeah, then we can find our next target~" he responded, trying to lighten the mood a bit. He walked over to the bar, flashing a grin at the bartender. Here, he didn't need to put on a mask or pretend to be anything, because there was nothing to be gained. He was okay with simply being himself, something that got increasingly harder the more he gambled and swindled. 

"Two glasses of mead," he requested, removing a few pieces of silver from his bag. The bartender's face never changed as he filled two cups and set them in front of the pair. Although Baz had been sure to take a seat as far away from the creepy man as possible, his gaze never left the pair. A few more moments passed, and the man stood, gruffly walking to get closer to them. Subconsciously, Baz moved closer to Feyre, whispering in her ear. "Time to go."

As he swiveled around to bolt for the door, he realized that they were surrounded. Since they'd been so focused on the one man at the bar, neither had noticed the other patrons closing in on them. Even the bartender stood behind them, reaching for something beneath the bar. They'd walked right into a trap– a cunning one, at that. This was beyond the realm of lowly pirates. This was a clan of mercenaries, all brandishing swords or knives or magic of some kind. 

Feyre sensed the figures behind her without even having to turn around. She bit back a string of curses as she kept her head down, still sipping from the mug. One of her hands traveled painfully slowly down to her thigh, unsheathing two of the small blades. Her other hand let go of the cup and moved to her boot. She curled her leg up, hidden from the pirates by the simple cloak. The Fae unsheathed her flat boot knife and placed her hand back on the table, sliding the blade to Baz. 

"Aim for the inner thigh, stomachs, and throats" She whispered, shifting her eyes to him. 

Swiveling in her seat, she turns to face the majority of the ruffians. Pulling her hood back, Feyre flashed them a cheery smile. "What can we help you with gentlemen?" She asked sweetly, watching confusion flash across a few faces. A few of them turned to a man a bit smaller than the rest, with beady eyes and a few missing fingers. That must be the leader. She nudged Baz with her foot and looked towards the leader, hoping he got the hint. As the room stayed silent, in a tension-filled standoff, Feyre summoned what little magic she had. Forming a thin barrier around Baz and herself, she prayed that it would withhold the majority of things flying their way, but she knew it could not hold back a giant man with a sword. 

Bonifaz saw the man Feyre had gestured to, and he carefully observed him. He didn't have very long to do that, though. "Get their money. Don't damage the girl too much," he commanded gruffly, trying to snap his men out of their confused states. All at once, any magic that had been prepared flew towards them, and Baz flinched and shielded his head. But there was no impact, and when he looked back up, he saw that the attacks had crashed into an invisible barrier. He smiled gratefully at Fey, then felt the sting of a sword slash his arm.

Although he let out a grunt of pain, Baz reacted quickly, returning the act with a cut to his attackers throat. This seemed to prompt the others to charge at them. Their leader slipped to the back, watching with an amused expression as no less than a dozen mercenaries launched themselves at the pair. Scowling, Baz just hoped that Feyre had a little bit more magic to play to their advantage.

Stabbing a man twice in the gut, he realized that breaking through the mob of fighters was going to be impossible, and he'd never get to the leader like that. His eyes flashed back at the bar, and he had an idea. "Survive for a minute!" he shouted at the girl over the sounds of screaming and clanking metal. Without hesitation, he pulled out his bow and an arrow and jumped onto the bar, aiming at the man in the back. His arm was in immense pain from the cut, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. Once he was ready, he loosed the arrow, watching it fly towards his target, who noticed the attack a little too late. Just as soon as the tip made contact with the man's chest, Baz felt the blade of a sword slice into his back, causing him to stumble to the floor. It looked like most of the men had been distracted, but he couldn't tell. All he could feel was the wound on his back.

A stream of curses passed the girls lips as she flew into action. The smell of blood and sounds of clashing metal brought a grin to her face. This was her element. With two small flicks of her wrist, she let two blades fly into the throats of the men nearest Baz, before turning her attention to the men gaining on her. They looked slightly unsure of themselves, the Fae observed. Then again, she was still smiling sweetly at them.

Feyre pulled out another small throwing knife and kept her lucky dagger in her right hand as she lept towards the men. Her foot flew out, connecting with the first man's groin and as he keeled over, she swiped the small knife across his throat. The second man managed to get a nice kick to her ribs before her dagger was embedded between his ribs. She flicked her eyes over to Baz who was down on the floor, next to the dead men with blades in their throats. Sending another shield his way, she hopped up onto the bar and ran across it, dropping down next to him.

"You alive?" She called out, nudging him with her foot but keeping her eyes on the last two attackers. An insanely large man glared at her with a sword in his meaty fist, and a slightly thinner man smiled at her, flipping a throwing blade between his fingers. Neither of them glanced at their dead or nearly dead companions. 

Taking a deep breath, Feyre waited for one of them to make a move. The meaty one charged, sword raised. She ducked the first sweep of his sword, and before he knew it, her boot was kissing his teeth. Sadly, that did nothing to stop his impending attack. The Fae dropped to the floor as he swung his sword again, sweeping her foot out and managing to knock him to the floor. She lept on top of him, quickly slicing the dagger across his throat before he could fight back. Her small victory moment was cut short by a sharp pain in her shoulder. Feyre jumped to her feet, her left arm dangling uselessly by her side with a knife stuck in her shoulder. 

"Baz…a little help?"

Baz regained his composure in time to see Feyre knock one of the two remaining men to the ground, slicing his throat without hesitation. He made a move to warn her about the incoming knife, but by the time the words reached his mouth, the blade had already been lodged in her shoulder. Jumping to his feet, he rushed at the last attacker, pulling a knife from one of the lifeless bodies as he did. Without a moment of reluctance, Baz plunged the knife into the lanky man's right eye socket, causing him to screech in pain. He then immediately jerked the knife out and used it to slice into his throat. The man fell to the ground, gargling and sputtering until he finally stopped breathing.

His chest heaved as he surveyed the scene around him, complete with piles of dead men and a hurt Feyre. They would have to leave before any passerby got too curious, but first, they'd heal up their wounds. The stinging in his back was now merely a numb sensation, and it could wait. He ducked behind the bar, pulling out a couple of rags and a bottle of straight alcohol. After a few minutes of scouring the tavern's cabinets, he even found a small bottle of healing potion.

"I don't think I gave you enough credit at first, Fey," he stated as he emerged with the gathered supplies, walking over to her. "You're a better fighter than most warriors." Baz slightly pulled down the shoulder of her dress to look at her wound. "You're lucky it only hit a nerve and not anything major." He'd have to take out the knife before she could drink the potion. Who knew Thea actually taught me something useful, he thought with a small chuckle. "I'm going to pull the knife out, and as soon as I do, drink this," he instructed, handing her the bottle.

With a rag in his hand, he gave her no warning when he ripped the knife cleanly from her shoulder. The wound wasn't too deep, but he still applied pressure to it with the rag, waiting for the potion to take effect. "…Sorry."

Feyre clenched her teeth and let out a small grunt as Baz pulled the blade out. "…Sorry" He apologized, and she quickly shook her head, waving the apology away. Placing the bottle to her lips, she tipped it back and let a bit of the foul tasting potion slide down her throat. Her nose crinkled as she coughed, handing the remainder back to him.

"Thank you. It's fine now, just cover it so I can take a look at your back" She said, wiping her blade off with a rag she found on the floor. Glancing around the room, she couldn't help the smirk that tugged at her lips. Who would've known they'd be this good at handling themselves? She was fairly surprised at how well Baz fought. She had taken him for more of the mastermind type, but he had proven her wrong. 

"You fought well back there. Who taught you?" She asked as he finished patching up her shoulder, pulling the sleeve of her dress back on. Feyre rolled her shoulder once with a sigh and moved to stand behind Baz, examining the wound with a hiss.