fever. [tag; circenn]

They were doing this on purpose.

Heaving a sigh, a tall Italian rocked back and forth on her heels as she absently watched people pass, her large deeply brown eyes flicking left and right lazily. She'd been waiting for fifteen minutes and what little patience she had was running out. Fast. They had her gold and she wanted it back. Sofia would be the first to admit that her dealings with certain things had been…less than legal but when it came to money, everything was done by the book. Having champagne tastes, she'd become accustomed to having money at her disposal and she'd like it back. As soon as possible.

Goblins were fine but they had awful customer service. Sofia had been sweet and polite and that just seemed to infuriate them even more, which was probably why it was taking so long.

She looked up at the large chandelier, admiring how the crystals twinkled in the light. "Where'd you buy that from?" The brunette asked one of the pointy faced goblins who sat high at one of the cashier desks, offering him a bright smile. The goblin scowled, narrowing it's beady little eyes at her. "Madam," it began, speaking slowly and deliberately and the words dripping in acid. "It wasn't bought," the creature scoffed. "It was made by the finest goblin craftsmen. It is not something that you can simply acquire."

Blinking quickly, she simply shrugged. "Shame," she said gently. "I wanted something similar for my living room." The mere suggestion seemed to anger the goblin so much that he slammed the shutter down with a loud bang! that echoed through out the large marble room. These goblins were worse than a teenage girl having a door slamming strop. Pathetic. Feeling suitably pleased with herself, she took a step back and made a slow pass back along the room. Dressed smartly all in red, Sofia's long glossy brown hair was tied back into a sleek, professional ponytail as she began to whistle in a rather unprofessional manner.

It was a regular grey old day in London town. Despite being mid-January, it was still damp. The foyer of Gringotts was pristine and bright but freezing and coming from a Mediterranean climate, every second spent in this awful city made her hate it even more. As soon as she was done here, she was hopping back to Tuscany and having a long hot bath.

A cough caught her attention and she turned, looking down at a smartly dressed goblin carrying a leather bound book that looked bigger and heavier than he was. "Miss. Rossellini, everything seems to be in order," he replied in clipped, terse tones. She rolled her eyes. "I told you that, Bogrod," she said patiently as she stooped to collect her book. "If you would stop being so prickly, you wouldn't have wasted my time as well as your own. Bye then!" Sofia called out with a wave to the goblin's retreating back, snorting with laughter at how abrupt he'd been. It was usually her trick, leaving mid conversation if she was finding things a bit boring.

With her book under her arm, she spun on her heel and strode towards the tall, heavy doors that lead back out and into Diagon Alley. Half of the day was wasted and she was hungry but she didn't eat here. She didn't often eat in her own bar in Knockturn Alley, either. No. Too much grease and too many poor quality ingredients. A pale hand reached out to grab the handle, letting out a grunt but managing to haul it open with relative ease. Sofia was a strong, sturdy girl. She ran, she enjoyed cardio, swimming was fine and she did it often.

Letting the door close, a frigid gust nearly knocked her sideways, sending her glossy hair fluttering behind her as a heady and expensive scent of her rose perfume caught on the wind. Wizards were milling about in coats and hats but she'd not dressed for the weather because like Hell was she sticking around longer than she had to.

Taking a step forward to descend the stone steps, what looked like something the size of a boulder came towards her, causing her to sidestep awkwardly and wobble a little, a stab of pain spreading from her ankle. "Excuse you," she said darkly, muttering under her breath as she straightened her finely cut blazer irritably. She didn't bother looking up, she'd already decided that whoever it was was a bit of a loser. "Take your big shoulders somewhere else and knock someone else over, would you? And try not to get wedged in the doorway." When he went grocery shopping, he must knock of the displays over but Sofia? Nah. She had people do her shopping for her.

Today was not Circenn's day.

Not in the least bit. It was the day after a crucial game against Puddlemere. His team had played hard, left everything they had on the field, and yet victory had eluded them. It had been a close match, but the crush of disappointment and defeat had crashed down on his shoulders nevertheless. It was the last of three games that his team had lost and there were no doubts about it now: the Magpies were in the middle of a skid. Circenn couldn't stand himself right now. Last night was only one of many examples.

He had left the arena last night with a few of his teammates and the time after the game had not soothed his temper in the least. A few rowdy Puddlemere fans had stuck around and apparently continued to imbibe in celebration of their team's victory. Circenn ordinarily wouldn't have given them thought or notice, except for the fact that they decided to throw their full cups of firewhiskey at his seeker, their ugly showing through beneath their gold and blue jerseys. It had been the trigger for Circenn's famed temper and he had pushed back two of the men who had threatened his teammate, giving warnings with his words and his look. The guys didn't seem to take the hint and had instead in their drunken stupor swung at Circenn. The captain felt his hold on his control slip away and instead felt his fist connect with a jaw just before his other teammates pulled him back.

That hadn't been the worst of it though. If his chagrin and regret wasn't enough. If the fact that his coach and general manager had given him a talking to wasn't enough. If the fact that he had disappointed himself with letting his temper get out of control wasn't enough, the media was all over the incident the next morning. The Daily Prophet had arrived on his doorstep with a large photo of himself punching the Puddlemere fan on the front page. He had been even more disgusted as he skimmed over the article. None of it had mentioned that the fans had provoked him. None of it had explained his side of the story.

So today he set out to complete his list of errands, compelled to bring himself back to basics, back to normalcy. It had been a long while since he had let his temper get out of hand even though the media still liked to paint him as a raging, mindless player. Discomfort with that image simmered beneath the surface as he had brought himself to Diagon Alley. He had some transactions to complete at Gringotts. It was his monthly look at his savings and investments and he thought something simple would help him return to an equilibrium he was comfortable with.

That wasn't necessarily the case though. At his 6'4" height, he was easy to pick out among the other wizards and witches milling about the area and it just so happened that some photographers from the Prophet and other tabloids who had been in wait for a singing starlet spotted him as he approached the bank.

Circenn, eager to get away from the hungry media members, had hastened his step, hoping to make it inside before they could catch up to him. Surely the stern goblins of Gringotts would not tolerate the flashes of cameras and hollering of questions in their establishment. He didn't quite get there as planned. A woman with hair the color of dusk careened into her path and Circenn didn't sidestep soon enough to avoid bumping into her. He reached out an arm instinctively and was glad he did so after he saw the shoes she was wearing, but her words didn't exactly register other than the tone. She was upset, it was understandable. He was sorry, but he also wanted to get the hell away from those reporters. He glanced between the woman and the reporters and then made an executive decision.

With a murmur of an apology, Circenn placed an arm around her waist and ushered her back into Gringotts. He pushed open the door with his shoulder and then nodded at a goblin at a counter he dealt with every time he was here. Circenn was known for wanting discretion and luckily his reputation was at the very least good enough for him to have some sort of precedent. The goblin nodded toward a door to the left and Circenn once again ushered the woman through the door and into a small meeting room. This was where Circenn conducted most of his investment meetings and discussions and would work for him in this instance because it was a closed off room. No reporters had a chance of getting in. He dropped his arm and gestured toward a chair for the woman.

Then he finally took a deep breath and exhaled, rubbing one hand over his face before refocusing on the woman all in red. The color of her eyes, warm honey and golden sunrise, struck him as intriguing. "I apologize," Circenn told her, his voice low and rumbling as he stood a few feet from her. "I didn't want you to get swept up by that crowd," he said with a jerk of his head toward the outside. "Are you okay?"

Her stumble caused a jolt of pain to shoot up her shin as she wobbled. Usually a very graceful creature, it was unusual for her to be anything less than totally centered. He was huge, though. Was his mother or father part giant? She didn't like London, never had. It was too grey, too cold and the people were awful. Italians weren't much better but at least they chose stylish insults. A slim hand came up to touch her glossy dark hair when her eyes widened considerably at the melee.

"What the --"

Sofia didn't have time to finish. People were swarming, bodies swirling, everyone was pressing in. She felt panic as she took a half-step backwards. Sofia was wanted by nine countries' wizarding police. Ten if Puerto Rico hadn't given up yet. Her initial fear was that they'd found her and they were swooping down to capture her. She hoped not. How had they found her? She was so smart, she prided herself on being several steps ahead of any police force. Still back tracking, her deeply brown eyes flicked back and forth, looking for flashes of silver of their badges but all she saw was…cameras?

Oh. They couldn't be here for her, then. They were yelling as she squinted against the camera flashes, instinctively holding a hand up to shield her eyes and turn away. This was an unusual start to her day, that was certain. Mr. Broad Shoulders had either pissed someone off or he was famous. Either way, the Italian had no desire to be tied with him on the front pages of the British newspapers.

An arm that felt like thick rope wound around her waist and Sofia tensed. Her slender body wiggled, twisting and turning in an effort to get away as the menacing crowd pressed in towards them. Her job was to blend in. Her hours were spent lurking in the shadows. It'd be easy to hide once free of this man's grip. She could take a left. There were a million and one little back alley ways in the capital she could take. Perhaps wearing a shocking shade of scarlet was a mistake but she could bin her blazer if she needed to.

Unable to breathe, the cool air of Gringotts greeted her once again as she tripped into the foyer. The large wooden doors had slammed, the mob's yelling now muted as her heart began to beat hard against her ribs. Why was he still holding her? He hand big hands, she'd noticed. Warm, too. Unaware of what was happening, Sofia had no choice but to play along. Her heels clicked across the floor as her mind tried to play catch up. Who was he? A hit wizard? Nah, she'd established those people weren't here for her, thank goodness. What she didn't understand was why he'd effectively kidnapped her.

A room.

Sofia blinked. Safe room? Interrogation room? She'd been in several of each and she wondered what type of lock  was on the door. Butler? Worthington relay system? Give her five minutes and she'd be able to pick it with her bobby pin. It was dark in here. Sofia blinked, clenching and unclenching her eyes to try and make them adjust to the change in light that little bit faster because every second might just count.

Once free, she stepped forward and away, turning to face him with her chocolate coloured eyes wide. Tilting her head, she looked him over swiftly. Tall, broad, infinitely strong. Oh goodness, she needed the name of his eyebrow plucker because his eyebrow game was second to none indeed. As he gestured, she backed up and sank into the chair. Adjusting her blazer, she crossed her long legs at the knee and watched him. She'd been tied up and locked in dungeons for days so this was a cake walk, really. He did look genuinely sorry for dragging her back through the bank. If this was his first kidnapping, she felt compelled to give him some pointers.

"Hello," Sofia replied, her accent soft and warm and sounding considerably less harsh than when she'd insulted him a few moments prior. Her voice was gentle, every word coated in honey, soft and smooth. She smiled, her full lips stretching as she relaxed; he wasn't here to kill her. Shame, really. He was rather beautiful. "That wasn't your choice to make, don't you think?" She asked him curiously, leaning forward a little, a slim eyebrow arched. "I can look after myself," she told him. "I might not be dressed for it but I can." Oh, if only he knew how prepared she was.

"Fine," she said shortly, watching him closely. "Are you?" She asked, blinking her large eyes at him placidly. "They seemed more interested in you than me," she stated, staring right at him. "Whatever could you have done to attract such a wild crowd?" Sofia asked, deflecting. He didn't need to know anything about her. He needed to forget she was ever here. She eyed the door. "How long am I going to be in here, querido?" she asked, pointing behind him. "Not that I wouldn't love to stay held against my will and stuff."

Circenn took her in with curiosity, her accent noticeably rounding her words, her tone soothing and calm. Well damn, he thought. She was much less flustered than he was and he was used to that sort of media circus. He could admire that sort of poise. The crossing of her legs drew his notice for a few moments and he once again took note of her insensible choice of shoe, but he said nothing. Besides he was distracted by her words. He would be lying if her reaction didn't surprise him.

Circenn gazed at her, a brow quirked in the slightest as he studied her again. The steely strength of her voice and that look in her eye told him that she wasn't joking and he found himself believing what she said. "I don't doubt that at all," he murmured, deferring to her. "My apologies." She was an interesting mix of femininity and curves and quiet power. The gentleman in him would have never allowed her to be swept up in that camera-hungry crowd and yet he was sorry for overstepping his bound. But he also wouldn't go back and change what he had done.

Her curt answer to his question had him nodding once and murmuring a similar sentiment. This wasn't the first time he had dealt with something like this or had to hide out until they got bored and chased someone else. Circenn felt as if he didn't have to explain anything though. It was like she could see right through him. It was relieving and unsettling all at once, but he wasn't one to shy away from that. Her question about the crowd had him folding his arms across his chest though his expression stayed relaxed, curious. "Nothing that was by my design," he answered her vaguely, his brows pulling down at the end as a twinge of bitterness pinched at him.

It was an issue he was forever battling against. Why were the media so interested in his personal affairs? Sure, post game interviews were just part of the job, but what did it matter what he was wearing, who he was seen with, or where he ate lunch. As he leaned against the edge of a table, Circenn glanced at his shoes for a moment before her warm and soft voice caught his attention once more.

Querido? He repeated the word in his head once or twice, rolling it off his tongue, but it did nothing to clue him in on what the word meant. Nonetheless, something occurred to him that hadn't before. She thought he was holding her in here against her will and both his brows raised with the surprise. Circenn had assumed she would be appreciative of him saving her from the crowd that would have had no qualms about trampling anyone in the way to get their photos of him. And he only knew that from experience, not arrogance. Yet this was the second time her steeliness had surprised him and a small smile pulled up at the corners of his lips at the thought.

"I wouldn't keep you if you were determined to leave," he told her quietly, his eyes honest even if he didn't wish to see her go just yet. "I wouldn't recommend going out in that crowd either.." He tilted his head and studied her for a moment. Her eyes were very distracting. ".. but I also wouldn't assume again that you couldn't handle yourself." He lips quirked into a smile this time and he took a half step forward to extend his hand. "I'm Circenn," he said introducing himself and then waiting for her to return the favor.

How tall was he? Six-five? Six-six? More? Sofia blinked, making quiet mental calculations. He was broad shouldered, a huge man but he didn't seem like he was up for fighting. He looked rather docile but she wasn't dumb enough to assume he just was. If she needed to escape, a well placed kick or a jab to certain pressure points would have Man Mountain crumpling to the floor like a sack of spuds.

His sudden change in tone and posture made her blink, suddenly reeling. "Apology accepted," Sofia said gently, genuinely amused at how meek he'd become. Unusual. The Italian was as prickly as a cactus and really, been bundled into a room wasn't really enamouring her to this man but he seemed harmless enough. Deep down, she knew that the man had helped her out and she hated getting help. Relying on people meant returning favours and that meant being in debt to another person. She wouldn't let him have the well deserved "thank you."

The chair was cold and uncomfortable but she lounged on it regardless. He needn't pick up on her annoyance and confusion. Sofia's finely groomed eyebrows arched swiftly, her chocolate brown eyes wide. "Right," she said, making it clear that she didn't believe him and she offered a slow, knowing grin. Not by his design. What an odd and lovely phrase to use. She leaned forward a little, interested as she watched him. How wonderful he was. Clearly, he wasn't into divulging information and the notion thrilled her.

She wondered what he'd done to provoke such a marvellous reaction from the crowds outside. Who was he? Some sort of celebrity? If that was the case, Sofia couldn't be seen with him. She was careful and kept a low profile but one rogue picture could cause a world of pain. Things tended to unravel so quickly. She had secrets that would send ripples through dozens of lives so regretfully, she'd made her decision that this would be the first and only time she'd see him. It was a shame, really. He had such lovely eyebrows and a quiet charm.

Suddenly, Sofia laughed, loud and clear. "Touché," she told him as she chuckled and shook her head, glossy dark locks bobbing in protest. He'd let her go if she asked him to but funnily enough, she found herself rather content to stay exactly where she was. Smiling again, she nodded. "My," she replied gently. "You seem awfully concerned for my welfare, considering I've been so awful to you so far," she commented, leaning back in her chair. He'd saved her from the paparazzi, made sure she was okay and had been generally rather chipper about the whole thing. So naturally, Sofia smelt a rat.

"Good," the brunette concluded, seemingly placated. He stepped forward and she alighted from the chair. He seemed to learn from mistakes which was a vast improvement to most men she'd met lately. Swiftly, she extended her own lithe hand out to shake his. His hand enveloped hers and it looked comical but she gave his hand three, short business-like pumps as a greeting. Circenn, hm? She blinked. The first name sounded vaguely familiar, like she'd seen it on a billboard or in some passing magazine that she was haphazardly flicking through.

"Sofia," she told him and instantly regretted the choice of giving him her real name but she tried hard not to let it show. Besides, what were the chances of them meeting again after this? They were slim to none. Standing her ground, she left their hands touching for perhaps a second or two longer that normal before she disengaged. "The pleasure is all yours, I'm sure," she said with a bright and sunny smile. She was still upset about the state of her new designer shoes. She made no move to step around him. In fact, she hadn't been locked in a room with an attractive man for quite some time.

"So," she began, looking around the dimly lit room. "Do you make a habit of rescuing damsels in distress? Or am I your first?" She asked casually, sliding her hands into the back pockets of her bright trousers. She felt rather comfortable, if not slightly claustrophobic. "And how did you know where this room was?" Sofia asked Circenn quickly, frowning at him. Oh shit. What if he was just a really pretty serial killer and she was his next victim?

He gave her a quirk of a smile when she accepted his apology and nodded to her in thanks. He gazed at her unabashedly as he tried to figure her out. She was an enigma and he was intrigued. Her sarcasm did not go unnoticed and he arched a brow in response, a small smile playing about his lips. He delighted in the idea that she didn't already know who he was. That sort of normal human interaction didn't happen often for him. "You don't believe me?" he asked lightly with a smile. "I don't know of anyone that would welcome that sort of.. chaos."

Circenn found himself smiling wide in response to her laugh, getting distracted by the way her hair seemed to shimmer in the light. He shook his head and countered her comment, feeling no urgent need to be anywhere but right in this room. "No, no. You've been far kinder than I should have expected considering what I got you wrapped up in," he said with a nod toward the door and the media just outside. "I'm sorry if this is delaying you from your plans. I'm sure they'll lose interest soon enough." Even as he found himself thinking that he wasn't terribly upset about hiding out in this room.

"Sofia," he repeated, his brown eyes warm, liking the way her delicate hand fit in his yet she had a firm grip. There was such a strength to her that he immediately admired. "Italian?" he asked, putting her name and accent together. He chuckled at her comment and tilted his head in agreement, "You're right. It is a pleasure to have met you, even in these circumstances." As she began to wander about the room, he perched back on the edge of the table and crossed his arms in front of him. His eyes following her about the room.

He tilted his head at her and shrugged. "I wouldn't say its a habit. Just the right thing to do," he told her. "Those people can be ruthless." He tried not to let the hint of bitterness seep into his tone, but he heard it there nonetheless. It was frustrating for him to be dogged by people who made it their profession to be heartless and uncivil. And even though he got the feeling that she probably didn't need rescuing very often, he was glad to have done it.

Her change of expression puzzled him, but he answered her question without hesitation as he tried to figure out what she was thinking. Did he say something wrong to make her frown that way? "I use these rooms to discuss my investments and accounts when I come here. Offers more privacy.. which is a little more difficult for me to come by sometimes." He explained as he gazed at her, trying to decipher her mood.

"Do you work in this area?" he asked politely, trying not to reveal just how much he wanted to know more about her.

"I barely know you," Sofia responded with a bright smile. Maybe he was kidding but thinking she'd trust him did seem a little farfetched, even to her. Sofia shrugged. "I disagree," she said breezily as she tilted her head back to look at the ceiling, the dim light in the room catching her diamond earrings and making them sparkle prettily. "Some people crave the lime light," she explained with a tilt of her head. "There's a lack of privacy when you're in love with the thrill of things." Absently, she looked down at her hand and examined her fashionably scarlet nails. "I'm not one for the fast lane," she told him. "I'm content at home with my cat."

"Oh I'm not wrapped up in anything," she told Circenn directly with another smile. "They weren't after me," she said, her brown eyes sparkling. Thank goodness for that. If her face happened to be in the paper, all Hell would break loose. She was more back office than front of house now but that didn't mean that the people she made her deals with wanted her to be noticed. If she had to go to the Daily Prophet and various other wizard media then she would. If she had to threaten to remove any incriminating photos, no problemo.

"Are you sure about that?" Sofia asked with a grin. She could still hear people shouting outside. Gringotts couldn't be happy about that. Unless this sort of thing happened a lot. She had no idea who Circenn was or why thirty photographers were stalking him. He could be a model, a businessman, a sportsman, a millionaire. She thought she detected a hint of sadness behind that broad frame of his. That wasn't much fun.

Sofia blinked. "Yes," she replied slowly, wondering how he knew her nationality. Her accent wasn't overly strong, she'd worked hard to tone it down as she grew up. Then again, she supposed she carried herself differently from British women. Sofia had more style, grace, swagger. British woman were sad and boring. They lacked imagination in their clothing, their food, their way of life. It just occurred to Sofia that she must stand out like a sore thumb in London. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing most days.

Rather than answering, she just tossed a smile over her shoulder at Circenn was she wandered. Her arms were crossed over her chest, just below her ample bust as she strolled up and down, like she didn't have a care in the world, conscious of him watching her. "You don't know me," she reminded him softly, her honeyed voice gently. There wasn't an accusing or mean tone to her voice, it was just matter-of-fact. "Trust me," she said, addressing him directly with a small smile. "I've handled worse than a pack of story-hungry journalists." She had. But to him, she supposed she must look like a quiet, Italian housewife. But she'd dealt with murderers, robbers, loan sharks, psychopaths. That reminded her; she did awfully miss Dieter Meer.

"I'd invite you out for a coffee to say thank you for protecting my virtue but as it stands," Sofia said, jerking her head towards the door. "We might need a rain check." She honestly doubted she'd see this man again so it was fine to flirt a little to pass the time.

"Oh," Sofia said, visibly relaxing. It wasn't her fault. She saw the bad in every situation. She was trained to find an escape route. She wasn't fatalistic, she was realistic and people didn't seem to know the difference. "So what do you do that means you can't even pop to the bank without getting mobbed?" She asked, stopping as he stared at her. Uncrossing her arms, she slipped her hands into the back pockets of her trousers casually, the picture of ease. She tilted her head and let out a tinkling laugh. "I'm messing with you," she said trying to placate him. "If you were going to kill me, you would have done so already, right?" She grinned.

Ah.

"I'm a black market dealer and a serial killer," Sofia told him. The truth was often more absurd. "I own a bar in Knockturn Alley so I'm in London a lot of the time," she said with a sparkling smile. "I'm an accountant," she said. It wasn't a lie. She did the finances for the black market part of her family business. She kept inventories and receipts. She chased up late payment and punishments. "I tend to work from home mostly but needed to pick up a few deposit slips for clients," she said breezily, leaving out where "home" actually was. She shrugged. "I'm a big fan of expensive things."

Circenn smiled in response to her quick-witted ceomback, making a study of her as she gazed up at the ceiling. The light fell on the elegant slope of her neck and he swallowed thickly. He hmpfed in response to her comment about some people liking the lime light. He knew that to be true, knew it in the fabric of his soul because a girl he had loved had sewn it there. He nodded once, his eyes still on her, noticing the sparkled reflection that danced around her room from her earrings. "If it were up to me, I would do what I love without all the lime light," he remarked. If only.

He glanced toward the door at her question and listened for a moment. There was still shouting out there and she must hear it too. Dammit. "Usually they lose interest by now," he muttered with a frown. He was surprised, relieved, and suspicious that she hadn't asked why he was chased by so many photographers or who he was. Usually it was one of the first questions he got. He didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The quidditch player smiled easily at her, picking up on her wariness and questioning gaze when he had correctly guessed her nationality. "Lucky guess?" he offered in explanation. "Venice was a very beautiful city when I visited a few years ago," he added, remembering the city.

He watched her from his perch on the table as she glided around the room, glad at least that she didn't suffer any lasting injury to her ankle. You don't know me. "So you've said," Circenn said lightly, his eyes on hers. But I'd like to was left unsaid because he wasn't sure if it was true. He was certainly intrigued, he didn't want her to leave just yet, and she kept him guessing. Was that the same thing? "You have?" he asked, curious now. What an odd statement to say without giving some hint as to what she meant. He was polite enough not to dig for more details even though the question did burn at him. He didn't exactly know what could be worse than the pack of hungry media members chasing him down Diagon Alley, but each had their own demons he guessed.

Circenn perked at the mention of coffee and nodded along before he deflated a little at her mention of a rain check. The idea stuck with him though. He noticed the change in her mood and he was glad that she seemed to be relaxing, even enjoyed the sound of her smile, the ringing quality to her laugh. He found himself grinning along with her, but shaking his head. "Yeh," he said shortly, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "Getting trampled by media reporters is not the way I usually carry out my hits." Circenn was even a little proud of himself for his joke and then laughed more fully at her own joke. Sarcasm again from her. He delighted in it.

He shook his head at her obvious lie of being a serial killer, but quirked a brow. "So that means I should watch myself around you, eh? Might end up at the bottom of the river if I pull you into a room like this again?" he said jokingly, his eyes dancing with levity. "That sounds interesting," he said, trying not to feel to guilty about the little white lie. Accounting seemed dull and boring and staying inside all day would be like torture for him. "Did you get what you needed?" he asked her when she mentioned her errand for the day. "We could ask one of the goblins to get them for you."

"A little pomp and circumstance never hurt anyone," came the casual reply as she shrugged, sliding her hands into the back pockets of her bright and tailored trousers. Sofia did her work in the shadows and so, she can appreciate what he was saying. But she was also an exhibitionist. It was in her mannerisms and how she dressed. Expensive fabrics, perfectly cut. She wanted people to be interested in her.

Tilting her head to the left, she smiled slowly. Her big brown eyes were bright and seeming golden in the light, like a cat's. "Now just what did you do?" Sofia asked softly, watching him closely. His name hadn't rung a bell. He wasn't someone famous that she cared about. Not a politician or an activist. He was probably a model or something else wishy-washy and froo-froo. There was a crowd baying for his blood just outside and she wanted to know what had elicited such a reaction.

"Overrated," Sofia snapped, her pretty facial features darkening. Venice was a shit hole, simply as. It was expensive, dirty, smelly and overcrowded. She failed to see what all the fuss was about. Romantic? Oh, give over. No, thanks. She folded her arms crossly. It was full of tourists and that dulled it's sparkle. Sofia wasn't overly fond of water too so having so take a boat everywhere was rather tiresome indeed. To her, it wasn't full of quaint charm. It was noisy and hot and disgusting. "I suggest you visit Bergamo next time," she said calmly, her demeanour turning on a dime.

She smiled again. He didn't know her and she'd like to keep it that way. Keeping people at arm's length wasn't a defence mechanism, it was a necessity. She grinned, folding her arms underneath her ample bust once again as she cocked her hip. "You really do have outdated ideas of women," she told him, though there wasn't any hint of anger or malice behind her words. In fact, she was genuinely tickled by the look of shock on his face. Oh if only he knew that she'd strangled a six foot man with her bare hands, cut down a group of seven burly men and single handedly picked off an entire Chinese triad.

Sofia took a quick breath. Cool. He thought she was kidding but she was being as truthful as she could. "I much prefer the cover of darkness," she added. Her mother didn't know she was a trained killer and as a result, she had forged papers to cover her tracks. Naturally.

She offered a smile, this one tinged with almost sadness. Sofia couldn't have a normal relationship. She couldn't date, she couldn't marry, she couldn't have kids. Not that she wanted to but they could all be used against her. She'd been engaged once before and she was thankful that things ended swiftly. Lars knew too much, too soon. If he slipped up, he'd be dead and so would she. She'd seen couples now that it was summer in parks and the like, kissing, holding hands like they didn't have a care in the world. But no. A life of solitude was lined up for her and for the most part, she was okay with it.

"It's probably not a bad idea," she said genuinely with a nod. People just got hurt, often not even due to her. Shit happened. All the time. She fixed Circenn with a swift gaze, trying to make him realise that he needed to be careful without her divulging any more information. "Nah," she said, waving a hand through the air nonchalantly. River? Rookie mistake. "You could get washed away and show up further down. The decomposition is too slow. I'd probably dismantle and set fire to you," she said, suspiciously cheerily. "Harder to identity a pile of ash," she explained to Circenn, oblivious to any shock or horror he might be expressing.

She laughed again. Aw he was nice! Way too nice for her, to be honest. Bless him. "I think so," she said, nodding towards the door. "I did leave my handbag but there's nothing much in it," she said honestly. Just a tube of expensive lipstick and a switchblade that she hoped he wouldn't find.