“I’m sorry. I simply just don’t think that I can reasonably agree with what you’re suggesting.”

Simple words otherwise masked and shrouded by the sounds of the active Crocus streets just outside of their reach, the man stood there beside the counter of the small shop; a passion project of his, one that he had spent years trying to prepare and open, only having found success in the recent future with his having become a Senator within Crocus, gaining the necessary influence and affluence to be able to fully open up this shop and realize his delights.

Those delights did not seem to mesh with Lady Tsara or Astrid Venier, the pair having come to his shop in the midst of the busy day in order to garner his support for the inevitable conflict that were to come from Astrid’s confrontation with her father. Already they had managed to build a sizeable amount of support from many of those within the active Senate, though it were still a hotly contested issue if it should be made to the public and as confident as they may have felt it to be, they knew that it was still d a very real question mark. Ever politician that they were able to get behind their cause was going to be all the more valuable, and the man whose wiping down the countertop resembled more of a shopkeeper than that of a politician was one of the most valuable names that they could have had backing them.

“Krautt, I would urge you to reconsider,” Lady Tsara insisted, her displeasure evident upon her face. Astrid maintained a look of general indifference; if there were one thing that she had learned in the shadow of her father it was the risk of showing one’s hand. She was the unknown element of all of this, her presence alone being the card that Lady Tsara dangled before him. For Tsara, it was in their best interest that she show the emotion to provide balance. “What good do you think comes of not standing with her?”

“Plenty, I would say,” the bald man said almost dismissively. “Things are good here. You know full well that things are safe, the people are happy.” He leaned over the counter, “In fact, it would almost seem that the only ones who aren’t thrilled are you and those who felt it worth siding with that, underboss…”

“You make him out to be some sort of monster. We both know full well all the good that has come of his involvement within the city. What hope do you think would have come without his involvement?”

The man sighed, “It doesn’t make it right.”

“You would be willing to have things move backwards, the people ultimately suffering as a result?”

“If it’s an honest way to see them reach that same sort of glory…” His words reeked of uneasiness. It was clear that he were not sure of what he believed, finding that the only option he could go down was to object to Lady Tsara’s position. Even if he did not seem to believe it himself. “The people are safe right now. That’s all I need. Her father,” he remarked, pointing to Astrid, “helped achieve that. For that, I cannot go against his decision or vote against him.”

A moment passed, almost soberly, before Lady Tsara and Astrid departed, seemingly dejected.

It was not until they were back upon the streets that a smile formed upon Lady Tsara’s face.

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Some hours later.

She found herself now within the streets of Crocus, the evening darkness having long taken over the skies above, the coolness of everything around her leaving an almost uneasy feeling within her. Crocus was largely abandoned, the contrast between when it rests within the day and night being overwhelming stark differences. To the point that she could not help but wonder if this plan were even reasonable.

A brainchild idea of Lady Tsara, its inception having first come forth out of having been rejected by Krautt Freedman, the key Senator who may have been one of the overall key figures that would have helped influence the Senate in her favor.

“If the streets are safe, your father can safely assume Krautt will be aligned with him. He as much confirmed it,” Astrid recalled Lady Tsara explaining when they met up again with the underworld winery owner, Freddie. “And so we give him reason to believe otherwise.”

“A riot wouldn’t serve any purpose. You know that. Mindless violence, Krautt may be stubborn, but he’s no fool. He’ll inevitably figure it being something that you tried pulling,” Freddie had retorted, insistent that the idea was foolish.

“Mindless violence isn’t mindless when it’s directed. Krautt needs some reason to believe that her father’s interests do not align. We give that to him.”

“How so?”

“Simple. We let our project here have some fun, get a chance to see the night life of Crocus, maybe do a little more,” a mischievous grin formed on the face of Lady Tsara as she looked over to Astrid, as much indicating for her to simply have fun. She turned then towards the man overseeing their effort, “Once that’s all squared away with, we pin it on him and we’re as good to go. Simple.”

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She hardly had to venture anywhere to find someone, an unfortunate soul whose only crime, only offense, were being out there at the wrong time. Any other day, they would have been fine. Their free nature, innocent concern towards the world, it would have been fine on any other night. Astrid could not help but almost feel a bit sorry for them, neither knowing nor realizing that their deaths were only a short time away.

Almost sad, she thought to herself, pulling out a small flask that she had made a point of taking before venturing out here. Less about any sense of guilt, and more the feeling that came of it. It was still getting close to winter after all. Adorned in thick dark leather aside, comfort was the first and foremost thing on her mind.

Taking a quick swig, a warm, almost fruity brandy being the beverage of choice for tonight, Astrid set out, keeping her distance throughout her venture through the alleyways, avoiding the lights, sticking close to the shadows. The first one, a young man, barely her age even, was simply seated upon a bench, admiring the cool near-winter air.

Never did he see nor register the blade running across his throat until it had gone from one end of his neck to the other. Barely his hand raised before the life left his body, slumping over in the same place that it had sat only a moment ago.

“Easy,” she mused quietly.

More bodies followed suit, many of them dying in much the same fashion; without realizing neither the risk they were in, nor how quickly and painlessly Astrid would thankfully end them with. A stab through the heart, a slit across the throat, maybe even a quick puncture through the head, almost never did it call for a second strike from her to end someone. One exception being a larger man whom somehow had managed to withstand the blade being punctured into the back of his head, Astrid unsure if she had missed the brain or otherwise it had glanced off of the skull. Either way, the man somehow survived, getting up to his feet, albeit such to the point that death was but a formality than anything else. Another stab of the blade through the man’s throat – hardly elegant – was the best she were able to do while still maintaining pace.

She was, after all, as much on a mission to kill as many people as possible while also being on a very tight schedule.

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Night continued on and so too did her kill counts. Shy of a dozen people now, equal amounts men and women, each of them with characteristics enough that few, if anyone, would be able to decern any sort of pattern between them. Looking above, the clear sky proved to be an unexpected but welcome asset. Seeing the moon overhead, she knew it was nearing midnight, exactly the time she was wanting.

Midnight was when the guest of the hour, or perhaps guest of the evening, would be making their debut.

She hurried along, finding it surprisingly easy to navigate through the streets despite the chaos now beginning to form around her. Despite this, she remained in absolute pursuit, not once worrying towards her own safety or risk of being caught. At this point, she would have to have gone out of her way to be thwarted. Everything had gone according to Lady Tsara’s plan, almost too well even.

Turning another corner, Astrid’s eyes widened with anticipation at seeing exactly whom she was hoping to have run into. A man, adorned in a dark trench coat, a serious look upon his face, half-covered by a heavy hat.

He hadn’t realized that she was there until she were already heading towards him, the gesture being something that caused him to take a defensive stance, his hand hovering over something on his waist, but quite what it was was something that Astrid could not make out. Whatever it may have been, it did not matter.

Just like those before, he too failed to realize what was happening until it was too late. The glinting of the blade coming into view just as she plunged it directly into the man’s heart. A hasty blow, not at all coordinated or precise like that of her previous kills. A bloody display, one uncoordinated, but deliberate too. From the outside looking in, it almost seemed like he was killed in a struggle, one that Astrid would perfectly sell, as soon as her screams littered through the streets.

It only took a short time for the sounds of footsteps to come echoing forward, a group of men, all dressed in similar trench coats and facial helms. Each one looking at Astrid with bewilderment trying to understand quite what had happened. “Thank god you’re here! He… he tried to attack me!” Astrid’s voice was meek, like that of a survivor having just survived an attack. She held up her arms, small cuts and tears all up and down her arms, artificial wounds that she had cut up prior to her attacking the man. It was enough to draw attention and suspicion onto the man, not a single person able to dispute the wounds on Astrid, the dagger that she had dropped onto his body, and the convincing alibi that she had, one that would have been furthered when they questioned Lady Tsara to confirm it.

The plant was successful. Astrid had brought the fear of death all throughout the city, and now was walking out without a single eye pointed towards her.

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