kawa~ inspiration #19
Jan. 12th, 2005 02:32 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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yrae
Title~ Back Stabber
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Still~ mine
Notes~ kawa~ inspiration #19. Nimay patching her shirt after an obviously very early assassination mission. Like hell she'd do that now =P *blinku* I just realised how long it's been since I wrote an assassination. I don't think any of the 15min fics have been, I know none of the random challenges or kawa~ fics have been... that means my last was Perfect Murder, and that was in April last year! D00d~ I've been getting slack with 'may's assassinations. Focusing too much on the Own and other army stuff, nothing about her paid killings. Hmm~ *ponders this*
~ ~ ~
Nimay fingered at the hole in her shirt. The cut that mirrored it in her back began to throb faintly, but it had scabbed over during the night. Even so, it had been the closest she had come to dying, and what frightened her most was the fact that it was in her own kingdom, her own city even.
A shudder that certainly had nothing to do with the weather ran down her spine, raising the hairs on her arms and legs in a wave. Last night’s memory would remain clear in her mind for a long time to come yet, but she was smart enough to realise that forgetting such an incident could well cause it to happen again.
She shook her head to clear it, then held up the portrait and its accompanying words that she had studied so carefully last night. She glared again at that last line, growling softly at the back of her throat. How could she have interpreted it so wrongly?
Blade runs the rear. It had nothing to do with guards at the back entrance. That was obvious. Only a fool would leave the back entrance to his villa unguarded, especially in Ni-Yana. What in Lin’s name had made her dismiss the warning so easily?
She rolled her shoulders to release the tension that had built there, then set the parchment alight with blue fire, blowing the ash out the window. She nodded in satisfaction and picked up the needle and thread. Holding the needle to her nose, she wet the thread on her tongue and made three attempts before finally slipping it through the needle’s eye.
Next came the task of sewing up the tear.
The assassin frowned in concentration, managing to run the needle through the fabric without pricking a finger. She tied off the end and held up her handiwork.
It looked like a black spider web knitting the hole together.
She growled again, pursing her lips and rethreading the needle, successfully pricking herself in the process. Maybe she should just hand the thing to the seamstress.
But then she’d be asked who the skilful swordsman was who’s laid his blade on her. Word would get out. The army’s swordsmen all trained in their standard red shirts, not black like the one Nimay wore on assassinations. The Own would realise something was amiss, especially when they found out that the tear was in the back of her shirt. Even the swordsmen in Sixth Company knew better than to display their backs to the enemy.
Oh shut up, she told herself sternly, stuffing the needle and tread back into the leather pouch. The seamstress couldn’t care less how you tore your shirt. If anyone else does find out… Mongrel bit you. It got caught on a doorknob.
She shook her head at the ridiculous excuses she was making for herself, then bundled the shirt up and headed for the palace’s seamstress.
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Still~ mine
Notes~ kawa~ inspiration #19. Nimay patching her shirt after an obviously very early assassination mission. Like hell she'd do that now =P *blinku* I just realised how long it's been since I wrote an assassination. I don't think any of the 15min fics have been, I know none of the random challenges or kawa~ fics have been... that means my last was Perfect Murder, and that was in April last year! D00d~ I've been getting slack with 'may's assassinations. Focusing too much on the Own and other army stuff, nothing about her paid killings. Hmm~ *ponders this*
Nimay fingered at the hole in her shirt. The cut that mirrored it in her back began to throb faintly, but it had scabbed over during the night. Even so, it had been the closest she had come to dying, and what frightened her most was the fact that it was in her own kingdom, her own city even.
A shudder that certainly had nothing to do with the weather ran down her spine, raising the hairs on her arms and legs in a wave. Last night’s memory would remain clear in her mind for a long time to come yet, but she was smart enough to realise that forgetting such an incident could well cause it to happen again.
She shook her head to clear it, then held up the portrait and its accompanying words that she had studied so carefully last night. She glared again at that last line, growling softly at the back of her throat. How could she have interpreted it so wrongly?
Blade runs the rear. It had nothing to do with guards at the back entrance. That was obvious. Only a fool would leave the back entrance to his villa unguarded, especially in Ni-Yana. What in Lin’s name had made her dismiss the warning so easily?
She rolled her shoulders to release the tension that had built there, then set the parchment alight with blue fire, blowing the ash out the window. She nodded in satisfaction and picked up the needle and thread. Holding the needle to her nose, she wet the thread on her tongue and made three attempts before finally slipping it through the needle’s eye.
Next came the task of sewing up the tear.
The assassin frowned in concentration, managing to run the needle through the fabric without pricking a finger. She tied off the end and held up her handiwork.
It looked like a black spider web knitting the hole together.
She growled again, pursing her lips and rethreading the needle, successfully pricking herself in the process. Maybe she should just hand the thing to the seamstress.
But then she’d be asked who the skilful swordsman was who’s laid his blade on her. Word would get out. The army’s swordsmen all trained in their standard red shirts, not black like the one Nimay wore on assassinations. The Own would realise something was amiss, especially when they found out that the tear was in the back of her shirt. Even the swordsmen in Sixth Company knew better than to display their backs to the enemy.
Oh shut up, she told herself sternly, stuffing the needle and tread back into the leather pouch. The seamstress couldn’t care less how you tore your shirt. If anyone else does find out… Mongrel bit you. It got caught on a doorknob.
She shook her head at the ridiculous excuses she was making for herself, then bundled the shirt up and headed for the palace’s seamstress.