▐▒⊰
This made no sense all together. None at all.
Firstly, she was an assassin. Not a bodyguard. The madame knew that full well, and yet still was she hired. Perhaps a contract would come out of this. Perhaps it was a waste of time. But in the end, this woman would become a valuable contact. And Ira needed contacts like she needed blood.
But the second issue at hand was just who she was protecting. Why would a whore need a bodyguard? Especially with guards frequently patrolling the grounds? And from who was this girl needing protection from?
So many questions that drown her mind, and yet none of them slip past tiers. It is better to not ask at all; eventually, all things unravel.
She moves with silence up the stairs, boot-clad feet giving off only the faint whisper of soles meeting wood. One tries to go without garnering the attention of others, but such seems to be an utter failure. Perhaps it is the fact that she is a woman in the Golden Cat, and yet not a working girl. Perhaps it’s the attire of deep purple and black. Or perhaps it’s the obvious hilt of a blade, tucked so neatly at her side.
Whatever the case, glances are wholly ignored, focus doted upon only the task at hand; finding the being’s new charge. Upon reaching the uppermost hallway, the woman turns lazily upon left heel, stalking down the hall.
Painted lips form a frown as feet stop at previously indicated door. A quick rap of knuckles upon worn wood occurs before she settles back upon heels, arms crossed behind back.
❝Miss Amelia. Open up.❞