Sweeping up the Dirt (Job/Arsene)

There wasn't a single part of his body not covered in sweat. The heat was sweltering. It made the world around him look like it was melting, with the rising air distorting the house in the distance. He was being melted, probably prepared for a giant of some kind waiting inside the building. 'Of course, that makes perfect sense... That's the reason this armor is so damn hot, and why they make you go to the desert covered in all black... This is some sort of grim sacrifice to appease some ancient being hidden hear, and the uniform is a glorified cooking utensil.' Despite his inner sarcasm, Arsene wasn't entirely sure he was wrong. This entire ordeal stuck; both physically of sweat and metaphorically of torture. Hidden Blades was an assassin's guild; it was a place for dark alley deals and covering in shadows. So why was he trudging through the blazing sun in the middle of a desert? It couldn't be farther from the job description when he joined, and the irony wasn't lost on Arsene. A small chuckle escaped his lips, more from the delirium that was taking over him than the irony though.

The desert was Arsene's natural enemy. He hated the heat, and it hated him in return. His magic could fool anything; it could project appearances very few could see through. Yet, it couldn't fool the sun and it's harsh rays. An illusion was not enough to stop reality from cooking him alive. So, while everyone around him saw a figure covered in layers of white, protective cloth, the sun saw a black figure to transform into a raisin. The only benefit was that the armor protected him from sun burns; that didn't protect him from the smell of hot air and body odor however. The fact that he was dripping like a wet dog bothered him immensely. Arsene was a performer, he had to look good at all times. That lead to an inner distaste for dirt. Perhaps though distaste was an understatement; Arsene was a clean freak, and being made dirty like this frustrated him to no end. Nearing the house, he internally prayed to whatever deity there was above for safety of shelter.

This should be an easy job. Partnered with Indigo, a member he yet had the pleasure of meeting, 'Troubadour' was charged with cleaning up after a botched mission. taking care of others messes wasn't his forte, but forgery was. This should be a cinch; collect any papers and info, go through all of the paperwork and rework it to remove their presence, and just resolve whatever sloppy work was done before him. He couldn't even see why he'd need a partner for the work, but it'd give him someone to show off to at least. Entering, reality seemed to pause for him. What was a second at most in real time as he saw the room before him, turned into an eternity as he took in every minor detail; bullet holes along the walls, broken pottery and loose pages, sand and dirty across the floor in nearly every direction, not to mention the blood. Oh, there was blood. Small drops on the floor, splatters on the walls, some somehow even on the ceiling, and footprints leading to the stairs and next floor. Once it all clicked in, and he realized his misunderstanding in the job for 'cleaning', Arsene snapped. "This, is NOT what I signed up for!" Rage, fear, and defeated acceptance formed a strange tone in his voice as all three struggled for dominance. So upset by the revealation, he didn't even change his voice, using his actual one this time. Recovering from the outburst and realizing what he did, it was then he noticed the figures in the room, staring at them quietly through his cloth-covered illusion. ".....I assume you're Indigo...?"

WC: 644
Total WC: 1,014/3,000

Arsene attempted to straighten himself up and regain composure. Clsoing the door behind himself, he shook the sand from his "cloth", in reality shaking it off the black Hidden Blades armor. How the pair had made that trek in their gear and still seemed fine from it all was completely beyond him. Stretching out slightly afterwards, he tried to regain any sense of dignity he could after the small outburst, and analyzed the pair closely. Their synchronization was impeccable, and it would be no surprise to him if that off put others. If it wasn't for his magic and history himself, he'd probably be a bit more unnerved by it. To him though, it was almost comforting in a sense, bringing back fond past memories and giving him a sense of nostalgia. Behind the black mask and "cloth" covering it, Arsene smiled to himself briefly before responding. "Yes, I'm the one taking that role today. I'm known as Troubadour, and I assure you it's my pleasure...... unlike what this job entails." He half whispered the last part, venting out the frustration in himself and bringing it into his role. They already knew he was uncomfortable here, so why try to hide it at this point? Might as well own it. "Ah, but allow me to make myself more presentable; I didn't get a chance to freshen up on my way here."

Within a moment, reality around Troubadour flickered and shattered, the stacks of cloth around him vanishing in favor of a sleek, black suit, well tailored and cut. He didn't use his own face; instead borrowing that of a famous actor he'd seen before, but wearing the attractive and confident appearance as naturally as his own. Sleek black hair, with deep brown eyes and flawless skin to boot. "Now, onto the task at hand. I believe you are completely correct; it's best we approached this organized and efficiently, to make this unfortunate experience bearable for both of us. However, I think a few helping hands would be in order." As his appearance changed, so did Arsene's voice, replaced with the actors as well. With a small flick of his wrist, another copy of himself formed in the air next to him, as well still wearing the borrowed confident look. "Now, I know I'm asking much of you, but would you be so kind as to start moving furniture?" Look expectantly at his clone, Arsene was not expecting the next reply. "Unfortunately, I won't be doing all the work for you. Remember; I'm just as much you as you are, and you would never be caught cleaning while you do nothing. So, it would be great if you gave me a hand with the other end of this couch."

Expression breaking for a quick moment, his cheeks grew a bright red before he killed it and regained his composure. His clones shared a psychic link with him, and were an exact copy of him. Knowing that they were clones though, he'd have no problem facing death in the eye as Arsene worked in tandem with him. Because they were him though, they also wouldn't be his slaves and work for him, only going as far as he himself would. So, if they were going to do something he wouldn't do himself, they would never do it alone. Watching his lacking credibility dwindle with each moment, Arsene started to move the furniture to the side with his clone, trying to hide the shame as seemingly everything he did today embarrassed himself.

WC: 581
Total WC: 1,837/3,000
@Aoi and Aoba

Groaning slightly as he forced the heavy couch across the room, Arsene made a mental note to test himself, and see exactly how one could even manage to wring this much blood out of a person intentionally, let alone through a botched assassination. It was honestly remarkable. The couch, the walls, there was probably enough blood here to fill a small pool. With a final burst of exertion, he and his copy got the ruined leather frame pushed out of the way, clearing most of the floor to be mopped. Without a word, his clone moved to find one, checking a nearby closet and digging inside. Arsene moved to grab the curtains off the poles; they'd need to be hand washed to get the stains out, and he was unsure he could even get them out.

Piling the various cloth pieces over his arm, he turned to look at the twins. So far, they'd had it up on him, as much as it brought him to admit that. He was off to a stumbling start, while they coasted by without a hitch. It irked him, taking all his willpower to suppress the scowl that wanted to overcome his face. Already hatching schemes and ideas, his mind was racing for ways to bring them down a peg. It'd be so easy to sabotage this mission for them; after all, he was a master at hiding the truth. A quick spell, replacing the whole house with a sparkling clean illusion and pretending it was all done, only to come back here later with a Hidden Blades member and bring attention to the reality; how nothing was done and now they quickly have to fix it, else their cover be blown. The desire growing inside him, but he suppressed it. It wasn't worth it, He wasn't about making enemies in a guild full of assassins, and that still looked bad on him, since he was there partner.

Forcing his mind back to reality, Troubadour stared at the twins. A small part of him stung inside, something he thought long dead. Biting his lip, he pushed away the memories that tried to come back. This wasn't the time or place for nostalgia and personal crisis. This was work. Grabbing the lat of the curtains, he moved past the pair, but stopped before them, looking at their summon. Just like his reflection, it clearly wasn't happy to be here, something he could sympathize with. Turning back to meet the eyes of the pair, he let a small bit of his inner annoyance slip out onto his face. Not enough to be rude, but enough to show what he thought of their behavior. "Well I have no problem with letting your minion do the heavy lifting, I would appreciate it if you lent a hand. After all, each person working on this speeds up the job exponentially. If you're fine with wasting time and letting this drag out then be my guest, but kindly wait outside then so you don't get in the way of the rest of us."

His tone was dead serious, pushing aside of all of previous lighthearted attempts to play off his mistakes. On the job now, Arsene was focused and professional. Despite his attempts to play it off, Troubadour was a hard worker to the bone. and had little respect for anyone slacking off. Earning his way off the streets by working to the bone had given him a rock hard belief in the importance of a good work ethic, and so far Hidden Blades had met his expectations and then some, with everyone being the pinnacle of professional work, save these two apparently. Disappearing out of sight as he went for the kitchen sink, the reflection grabbed a mop from the closet and a bucket, moving to the now empty space where the couch was to begin working. "You know, I'd say it's rather unbecoming of a Hidden Blades member to laze around. Doesn't the expression go 'No Prey No Pay'? Or should your summon get your share of the pay for this job?"

WC: 686
Total WC: 3,116/3,000
Personal WC: 1,911