Ava spots a shadowy figure leap off of a windowsill and then start jogging away. Tucking her knife away in the front pocket of her leather jacket, she takes off running. Moving through the area expertly, she moves through the alleyways at a quick pace. She scales a decent sized wall and lands on the other side. This is right where she needs to be. Taking a few steps forward, she cuts off the sniper and pulls her knife back out.
Cameron noticed a few shadows flitting about and finally determined someone was following him. He kept running, perhaps faster, deciding not to slow down. If it were someone worh a gun, they would have shot him. And if they had a knife pulled out… well, he knew the company he was working for wouldn't let him die out here without reporting back. Soon he was close, he could see a feminine form in the darkness of the alley and a subtle glint of a knife near her chest. He swerved to her shoulder and slammed his weight into her, pausing a yard or so away after his impact.
Ava moves just in time to avoid a full on collision with the man. His shoulder knocks into hers but not enough to do any real damage. With the differences in their height and weight, the man has the obvious advantage but she's been trained to take down men more than twice her size. She throws a fake punch to get him distracted for a moment. With that in play, she puts her strength into a leg sweep, aiming for the most weak and sensitive areas of his legs. If she can knock him down, she'll get the advantage in this fight.
Cameron tensed in his legs and swept away from her in a jump, allowing blind luck to move him in this fight. He tightened a fist over his pistol, his heart pounding in his chest. Her leg had barely missed his shin and kneecap area, which was definitely one of his more sensitive areas. He had shattered his left kneecap quite a few years back, but his body never truly recovered. He pulled out the pistol on her and shuffled back a few feet, showing her his shoulders as he held the pistol in a defensive position, though he was ready for an offensive attack.
The moment her leg fails to make contact with his leg, Ava jumps back up to avoid being in a vulnerable position even for a moment. Dying is just not an option for her. When the pistol comes out, her body tenses. Things just got a lot more interesting. She pulls out another knife, this one a throwing knife. To avoid getting shot she'll need to either get the gun out of his hand or kill him. She's certainly not beneath the latter. It only takes her a split second to aim and then the knife is flying through the air, heading right for his heart. Another knife follows a second later, this one going for his hand.
Cameron gasped and glanced around wildly, fleeing for a dumpster a way behind him. The first missed because of his sudden turn, but the second got him in the upper arm as he ducked away. He clutched at his right arm, yet bared the pistol in his left with carefulness behind the dumpster. He could feel small, hot drips of blood stream down his black sleeve, but he knew not to rip out the knife. That would be stupid. Plus, it was probably what the knife-bearing woman wanted too.
Ava watches as the knife hits it's mark, digging into the man's upper arm. Before she can throw another knife, he dives behind a dumpster. "Coward," She mutters under her breath. Pulling out another knife, she stalks forward. Things have already gone off of the rails so an unexpected causality won't be the end of the world. Glancing at the ground, she smirks a little when she sees the blood drops. Good. Rather than her usual taunting, she decides to just end this. Knowing that he still posses the pistol, she approaches the dumpster with extreme cation.
Cameron cocked the pistol, squinting at her as she started to move. He pressed on the trigger, then realized the safety was still on. Fuck me! He hastily moved with a hand to turn it off as she approached, gave up with the pistol and shouldered off his rifle, pointing it at her, only to look up and see her right there. Well, I get a better shot… He shrunk back into the corner, rearing the rifle so it rested on the flat plain of his broad shoulder, his left hand hidden beneath the huge body. He squeezed the trigger but didn't quite release it.
Ava glares down at him, still furious. When he shoulders his rifle, she automatically moves to the side to avoid being shot. Watching as the man shrinks into the corner, memories of her training flash in her head. People beging her for mercy, to please let them live. She shakes her head and returns to reality. Her eyes meets his. There are so many ways that this could go. No matter what, someone is going to get the worse end of the deal. She takes one more small steps forward before pulling back her leg and kicking at the gun, hoping to knock it out of his hands.
Cameron watched her warily, being the cornered dog. He was told not to harm anyone else to avoid compromising his mission, but he wasn't expecting this. He wanted to distract her and perhaps make her walk away, but that wasn't happening. When she stepped forward again, he recklessly pulled the trigger, which popped out a quick-moving bullet through the silencer at the end with a soft shomp.
Being in such a tight small makes it difficult to move quickly. Ava swiftly jumps to the side to avoid the bullet but ends up hitting the wall. The bullet tears past her leather outfit and into her tender skin, digging in the right side of her stomach. Gasping, her eyes go wide and her hands automatically press to her side. Her knife clatters to the ground, forgotten. Pain courses through her body. Damnit. She scrambles backwards, knowing that she needs to get out of here while she still can. The bullet didn't hit anything important but it's still going to make getting somewhere safe hard.
Cameron shifted himself forward and stretched for the knife, grabbing it and his pistol on the way back. He stood slowly, pocketing the knife with difficulty, pressing the pistol to his chest with a soft gasp of pain and turning off safety, then pointing it back at her, breathing rather heavily. Despite the scare, he had finally regained the upper hand on his foe.
Ava presses her hands against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. When he points the pistol at her again, she takes note that the safety is on which means that he isn't going to shoot her again. Stepping backwards, she scrambles out of the alleyway, still clutching her stomach. The sudden movements cause her to sharply breath in. She turns around and moves forward as fast as she can, which granted, isn't very fast.
(Meant to type off, sorry.)
Cameron immediately dropped his arm and swept the pistol away, hiding into the shadows again to rip off his sleeve to expose the bloody wound. He cursed angrily and shook his head, gritting his teeth. Using his ripped sleeve as a bandage, he slowly took out the knife, expressing pressure onto the wound as to not make it more gruesome as it was already. Once it was out, he pocketed it and tightly wrapped the cloth around the open, freely-bleeding wound as to stem the bleeding. He prayed for rain the next day, before their blood stains were found, and ran after the girl for a renewed taste for her death.
Ava uses nearby walls and anything she can get a hold of to balance herself. Pausing, she leans heavily against a nearby building and let's out a loud whistle before moving again. Much to her relief, she catches sight of a flash of dark fur several moments later. Kreja bounds forward, having been trained to stay nearby on her hunts and respond to her whistles, the dog always stays nearby. The Akita mix raises his nose to the air and catches the man's scent. Grabbing onto his owner's sleeve, he tugs her in the opposite direction. "Get us home," She commands Kreja, her breathing ragged and her voice cracking. If she does get back soon and get her wound taken care of, she'll bleed to death.
Cameron stopped dead at the whistle which pierced the air around where he was running. She could be calling for help. Not to mention he had a wound to be tending to before he himself bled out. He already did enough damage to the female. Perhaps when they met again, he'd be ready. He peered around a corner to see the black-clad girl and… a dog?
No…
"Get us home," She had demanded weakly as she and the dog hobbled away. Her voice rang a bell in his mind, too.
Nevertheless, she had tried to hurt him. Cameron tightened his hand around the butt of his pistol, but did not unsheath it.
Ava follows Kreja without question, trusting the animal with her life. He leads her through the streets of the city, only allowing her to stop when absolutely nessicary. Glancing over her shoulder, she doesn't see any signs of the male. Perhaps he stopped chasing her. A few blocks later, they reach the library. Going around to the side of the building, she examines one of the windows before expertly popping off one of the larger planks and slowly crawling inside. The interior is pitch-black, making it impossible to see but the layout is embedded in her mind. She weaves through rows of dust and cobweb covered bookshelves until she locates the door tucked away in the very back of the room. Swinging the door open, she exposes a spiraling staircase leading to the tower. She only makes it up a few steps before she falls. Panting, she lays there for a moment before she starts to go up the stairs on her hands and knees. Emerging through the trap door on the top, she finally allows herself to collapse. She needs a minute to rest before she can even start thinking of dealing with the wound.
Cameron turned on his heel and continued jogging, keeping an ear out for sirens in the distance as he quickened his long strides and fast kicks towards his town home. It took him a bit to realize where he was, but his home wasn't all that far. He relaxed his pace to a jog when he could finally skulk within the shadows, slipping up between rickety fences into his neat little townhome. A large dog bounded over to meet him, barking softly, its collar jangling rather loud. Cameron bent down and gently grabbed her collar to silence it, approached the back door and opened it. He let her inside, followed after, slipping off his mask to reveal his usually neat, curly hair, to be sticking up with sweat. He had almost lost his money, which was never a good thing.
Ava drags herself across the floor, not trusting her legs right now. When she reaches a table, she blindly reaches up and searches until she finds what feels to be her medical kit. She pulls it down and sets it beside her. Carefully rolling up her shirt, she hisses in pain. Much to her dismay, it looks like the bullet is still inside of the wound which means that she gets the fun task of getting it out. She grabs a thick cloth from the kit and shoves it into her mouth before pulling out the alcohol, the twisters, and the needle and thread. After cleaning the area around the wound and sterilizing the tweezers, she digs around inside of her flesh. Her screams are muffled by the cloth. The tweezers finally make contact with the bullet and she pulls it out. The extreme pain causes her vision to blur but she works through it. Wiping away the sweat beading her forehead, she takes a moment to gather her strength before cleaning out the wound and stitching it up. She spits out the rag and leans heavily against the wall, panting. Now that she's taken care of her gunshot, she gets to rest. She takes a deep breath before dragging herself across the room and collapsing on her pathetic excuse for a mattress.
Cameron fed his dog, which he forgot to do, and gently stroked her ears before heading up to his room to deal with his ripped clothing and wound. After all, he did need to look his best or the people would get suspicious. He took off his shirt, closed the blinds to his room, and turned on his lamp, looking at the arm of question with a grimace. He turned, walked across the room, opened up his nightstand which was full of medical supplies. He reallt didn't have an excuse as to why there were so many things in his drawer, but it didn't matter. He pulled out a small pouf, the alcohol, bandages, and a needle and stitching. He sat on the bed, frowning in concentration as he slowly took off the cloth with indifference. He set it down in the bandaging he had prepared, then poked the stitches in the eye of the needle before setting to work, gritting his toes in and out as he worked through pain. Soon, it was completed, and he bandaged up his arm. He changed out of his bloody clothes, then tossed them into his reignited fireplace in his sitting room, only in a pair of shorts and a tanktop, watching the cloth burn until it was gone.
Ava curls up on the mattress, pissed off and in pain. If she even runs into that man again, she'll kill him. She grabs the bottle of whiskey laying next to her and take a swig. The liquid runs down her throat and helps soothe her nerves. Kreja approaches and sniffs at her face before giving her cheek a lick. "I'm okay, love," She tells him, stroking his soft fur. Not convinced by her words, the dog snorts. "Shut up and cuddle with me," Grumbling, she pulls him over to her and he happily curls up beside her. Pain is still flaring in her stomach by the alcohol and the presence of her beloved companion are certainly helping. Going over the events of the night, she makes mental notes of what exactly went wrong and how she should correct it in case something like it happens again. She sighs heavily and drags her hand across her face. Only then does she realizes that her domino mask is still out. She carefully takes it off and shoves it under her pillow, putting it right next to the knife that resides there. Knowing full well that she needs to get some rest, she spends the next few minute peeling of her clothes, each movement agonizing. Now in just her underwear and a tank-top, she settles back down.
Cameron didn't move until the fire itself wass snuffed out. He dug under the cusions of his couch with a sigh, pulling out a burner phone. He dialed a number which he had memorized to the exact digit, and as it rang, Cameron regretted giving that girl mercy. He should have killed her and done away with the body, which he had done many, many times. He wouldn't let her go again.
"Hello?" Answered a voice. It was a feminine, gritty one.
"Hey. I need a new set. This time, make the cloth thicker. A fucking knife ripped through it."
"Ahhh, my Umber. Yes, I'm quite busy at the moment, but I can make you a new one. Did the Sythei not work for you?"
"It was light but not durable. Put me back on Lytheron."
"I should have just fucking stabbed him," Ava mutters bitterly as she polishes off the last of her whiskey. The good news is that she's drunk enough to not feel any pain, or anything at all really. Burying her face in Kreja's fur, she sighs. "I miss having a real bed and a real base," Things were so much easier when she was with the Kosci. She could do whatever she wanted and have the supplies to do it. "Why did I thinking leaving was a good idea?" She misses her family and her old life but going back now could be disastrous. They all think that she's dead. Hell, she's seen pictures and read articles of her funeral. She even visited her grave a while back. It's in a nice area of the cemetery and people had left a lot of flowers. Kreja listens to her rant for a few minutes before pawing her shoulder to get her to shut up so he can sleep.
"Will do hon, what happened to it?"
"Too light, it almost cost me my life and my contract. If you have anything thicker, put me on that. Nothing light. Never again. I don't care if it's fucking lead-based (well, I do), I want that cloth to not be penetrable."
"Alright, alright, relax my child. I'll get you something heavier. Good-night, Cameron."
Cameron was not able to say another word as the line clicked off. He was left back in his dark home past midnight, the light of the phone dimming and flickering off. Another lonely night.
Ava huffs when Kreja flops onto his side and starts ignoring her. "Fine," She mutters, giving up on trying to hold a conversation. It's not her fault that she's lonely, being dead to the rest of the world means that you don't have any friends. Pulling up her tank-top a little, she checks on her stitches before letting her hand drop down. She should probably get some sleep and let her body start to heal. Planning her revenge can always wait until morning. Yawning, she curls up like a cat and snuggles under the thin blanket. "Goodnight, love," She tells the dog before shutting her eyes.