❖ ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST ❖ (Ahote/Vera)

Three.

That was the number of times Ahote had seen the ocean now, and it has always been on Hargeon's waters, sitting on top of a rooftop closest to the shore. Each time, the sea gained a more personal, feminine look to it, always seeming to reciprocate a long and admiring gaze when Ahote would give one, it's exquisite beauty and overwhelming vastness commanded the pronoun of She. Each time he looked at her, Ahote remembered the conversation he had with Iris and Aeluri and thought to himself that desiring the taste of Her brackish waters, the feeling of seaweed wrapping around his ankles, and the chilling sea breeze of Hargeon, perhaps, wasn't such a foolish or trivial thing to desire after diverting from his path as Guildmaster. The weight of it all seemed even more delightful on nights like these—when atrocities were about to take place.

On the same rooftop Ahote lounged on and enjoyed the sea from did he patiently wait for a purple-hair woman to assassinate. On nights like these, Ahote was "Jericho" and these victims were no more than targets. He often cared very little for the personal attachments one might have for their victims and cared even less to pursue them in that light. Hargeon fell asleep under an early morning sky, dark with a nighttime's blackness. No more than two hours had passed since midnight, and many of Hargeon's flotsam stumbled from bars, too drunk for their own good, and into their beds for the night.

According to the client, this target was selected to be eliminated for some sort of illegal drug deal. He didn't know the particulars of it all, but the woman is told to have made some sort of error or mistake that would ultimately conclude to this. Regardless, the darkly-cloaked Jericho seemed to blend into the nighttime sky as he waited patiently, playing with a boxcutter in between his fingers whilst humming a little ditty of no particular import.

The sound of gurgling and distress rung in the near distance, forcing Jericho to perk up and locate the source of the discomforting noises. It wasn't because he was terribly interested, but the sensitvity of his ears seemed to spike when the world was quietest. It was an unfortunate perk of his magic, leaving him with knowledge of conversations he wished he hadn't heard or noises he hoped to forget.  

When Jericho found the source of the noise, it turned out to be a violet-haired writhing in the sand. How stupid would you have to be to end up like that? She was the only one on the beach too, which wasn't very safe to begin with for a woman. If hypothetically, she did not rouse from that position and ended up passing, Jericho reckoned that she'd have hours to spare before someone discovered her corpse. Those sorts of stories in the paper were always fun. It was something to read about while you drank your morning coffee and something to gossip about on your way to the ports. He was almost going to laugh about the idea until suddenly, he stopped playing with the thought.

"Huh?" Jericho paused for a moment, staring at the violet-haired woman from the rooftop. Upon closer inspection, she looked an awful like his target. Violet hair, white skin, and supposedly amber eyes, but he couldn't tell from this distance. It would require an even closer inspection.

Tap, tap, tap.

Jericho didn't hesitate before hopping from one rooftop to the next, making his way to the beach with his boxcutter blade unsheathed, approaching her not with malice, but with curiosity. If she did turn out to be who he was supposed to assassinate, then it would've been an hour or passed her expiration. Who would've thought she would be so easy to find? Well, if she was who he thought she was, anyway.

The sound of Jericho's boots grinding into the sand as he approached the woman seemed to be the only sound in the area aside from the crashing waves. The flicking and swishing noise of his thumb sliding the boxcutter blade in and out of its handle was ominous, and still Jericho said nothing as he closed in on the woman. Would he need it? If the woman turned out to be dead, there would be no need to kill her. But if she wasn't, and she had seen him, then there would most certainly be two counts of murder tonight. Regardless, the moment he had taken enough initiative in the woman to approach her, Jericho seemed to have put her between a rock and a hard place with no good options to pick from. Or, this is how he saw it anyway.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

Jericho stopped a few meters away from her and continued to play with his boxcutter, staring at her with distant eyes veiled beneath his black mask. He blended in with the night, and even against the sand of the beach he seemed hard to discern between the rest of the earth. It would've spooked anyone, for sure.

"Hm." Jericho grunted quietly, quiet enough for the sound of waves to overpower. He stared at the woman from the uncomfortable distance bewteen them.