#urwin

"Ma'am, are you alright?" One of the nurses questioned as I emerged from the bathroom. I glanced past her to see three police officers talking to a distressed nurse who gestured towards the bed I'd been lying in. Shit. "I'm fine." I stated simply. Moving past the nurse who stood in my way and walking towards the exit. "You're bleeding." The nurse insisted, I glanced down at my arm, a trail of dark blood leaked from the spot I'd ripped the drip out of. Glancing back up, I noticed another set of police officers standing just outside the ward exit. "I'm fine." I insisted, turning back to look at the nurse. Before she could push me any further, I turned and ran towards the fire exit. Grabbing a handful of wound dressing and a scalpel from the nurses' desk. I shoved it in my pocket before shoving the fire exit open and quickly scaling the steep stairs down to street level. An alarm began within the ward as the door swung shut. Landing roughly on the street, I pulled my jacket on and walked quickly past the hospital entrance, avoiding the next set of police officers who stormed up the central stairs. Steering clear, I quickly jogged down the east stairs and towards a side street. "Leaving so soon?" A voice sounded from my right. I froze mid step, my weight falling back onto my heel as I slowly turned to face the speaker. It was a man wearing a double breasted grey suit. He leant on his umbrella, watching me through his clear glasses. My fingers closed around the scalpel in my pocket, my senses screaming danger. "Who are you?" I questioned bluntly. "I'm the man who saved your life." He stated simply, unfazed by my curt mannerisms, my eyes narrowed as I sized up his claim. His appearance matched the man from the shipping yard, along with his voice. "What do you want?" I questioned, "Just a convocation." He stated, pushing himself up from where he leant on the side walk. "You're a hard person to track." I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the scalpel. "Where are you going to take me?" The man turned back to look at me surprise, an amused expression masking his features. "I was actually thinking a local bar, I could do with a drink. Got any suggestions?" I blinked back in surprise at his response. He wasn't here to interrogate me, perhaps he didn't even know who I really was. "There's one three blocks from here." I mumbled under my breath, relaxing slightly as I took a step down to the street, following the unnamed man. "Oh, and you won't be needing that scalpel." He called over his shoulder, not even looking back at me. I blinked back in surprise as I removed the half blunt blade from my pocket and looked down at it before glancing back at the man who leisurely strolled down the street. I knew it was a bad idea, the whole thing. But with a sigh, I dropped the scalpel into a trash can and walking after the well-dressed man. ―☂― "Why'd you save me?" I questioned, leaning back the seat to watch the man. "A little gratitude would be nice." The man responded simply. I watched his posture closely, taking note of how he sat straight and projected a combination of relaxed calm and keen alertness. "Who said I was thankful?" I replied in a challenging tone. He raised an eyebrow at my tone but when I didn't back down he nodded. "And you would have preferred I let that junkie put a pretty hole in your face?" He questioned, taking a relaxed sip of his drink. "Would've saved me this convocation, wouldn't it?" I replied bluntly, he choked on his drink as my words registered. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting the response I'd given. "Who even are you?" I questioned, relaxing my position. "Who are you?" The man responded with an equal challenge to what I'd given him earlier. Once upon a time, a smirk would have lit up my lips at the signs of a challenge. But I felt nothing, I just looked at him blankly. "You're one of them intelligence." I stated simply. The clashy speech of a street life making me cringe internally. But I needed to maintain it if I had any hopes of making sure this man had no idea who I was. "Of sorts." He nodded. "But so were you, once." My eyes narrowed instantly, but I leaned back, crossing my arms in front of me. "Don't even know what the word meant 'til last week." I stated, the man raised his eyebrow again, giving me the same unimpressed look. "You're lying, convincingly. But never the less, lying." He proclaimed, inspecting the detailing of his glass that lay on the table before him. Like he was satisfied by his analysis, he looked up at me, his gaze calm and collected. "You can drop the act, I know you were trained well." My eyes instantly narrowed at his comment, but I did as he said. "And how could you know that?" I questioned simply, swallowing as I let myself use the words that came to mind. Rather than putting up the act of a street life. "You just said I was intelligence, didn't you?" The man smirked, taking a sip of his drink. "How many red-headed, females, between the age bracket of eighteen to twenty-five, are in the United Kingdom Special Forces database?" He questioned simply. "Two." The simplicity of my answer caused him to blink back in surprise. "And the second holds one of the highest roles in our country's military." "Exactly." The man nodded. "Celaena London." I explained, looking down. "My file would have been redacted." "Dare I ask what lead to a redacted SRR file?" The man questioned, acknowledging that he knew exactly which file had been mine. "It would take an exceptional amount of trust, years of friendship and a few drinks to learn that." I stated simply, I saw him glance at the lack of alcohol in front of me before nodding. "How about we just start with names and an offer." He suggested. "Harry Hart." I looked down at his extended hand before hesitantly shaking it. "There is a position within the ranks of my organisation that just opened up. And each of the table's men has been asked to select a candidate." He explained, pausing to take a sip of his drink. "I would like to extend that offer to you." "What sort of position?" I questioned. "One that is in line with your skill set." He assured me, with a small nod. "You'll work in the shadows to protect the greater good of the world." "And the selection process?" "Nothing you haven't experienced before, in your previous line of work." I nodded in understanding. "Should you be interested, I assure you the details will be less vague." "And any conditions?" Mr. Hart chuckled at my question, taking the time to sip at his drink before responding. "That you don't go getting yourself killed in the meantime." Once upon a time, I would have laughed, even chuckled at his suggestion. But I didn't feel anything more than the pain of the stitches in my side. "If you are who you refuse to say you are, then I won't exist. I'll be another faceless force." I stated simply, my gaze, cold and truthful held his. He didn't blink back, no shook masked his expression. I could see in his eyes he knew what I was, what I could do. "You don't exist Celaena London." Mr. Hart stated simply. "You could die one day and you would be yet another nameless body in the gutters. I'm offering you the opportunity to do something better with your life. I don't know why your time in the UKSF ended, but I know it ended too soon for you." The bar door creaked open as five men walked in, my attention leaving Mr Hart and moving to the curled snake tattoo on one of the men's arms. "What is it?" Mr Hart asked as he followed my diverted attention to the five men. "They're part of that cult whose fake heroin I burnt to the ground." I explained. "Who also almost killed you? But then I did the polite and saved your sorry life." He added. "Are you always such an ass to people you just meet?" The words came out before I could think twice. "Well everyone has got to excel at something." He muttered, taking a sip of his drink, before turning his attention back to me. "I've met bigger asses." I muttered under my breath, glancing away from the group. "Who said that's what I excel at." Mr. Hart smirked. I shot him a glance, my eyebrow raised. "You just–" "Oi, that's the red-headed brat who blew up business." One of the men hissed, cutting me off mid-sentence. A grumbled agreement was heard from the four other men as they approached our booth. Sighing, I turned to look up at the man who'd spoken. "What do you want?" I questioned bluntly, my eyebrow raised in an impatient manner. "You're gonna regret not blowing yourself up with our shipment." The man spat, a few drops saliva flying from his mouth and landing on my cheek. Out of the corner of my eyes, I watched Mr. Hart take a sip of his drink, an amused expression pulling at his features. I looked back up at the man, satisfaction pulled at me as I could see his anger almost boiling over, my slow calculated movements pushing him over breaking point. "I actually, am quite happy being alive." I stated simply. "Just give my friend here five minutes to finish his drink, and I'll make sure your sorry necks are broken." "You bitch–!" "I suggest you turn around and leave, now." Mr. Hart placed his drink down, cutting the brute off as he looked up at the five men. "I suggest you piss the fuck off silver ass, we wouldn't wanna get blood on that suit." The man hissed, I turned my gaze back to Mr. Hart, who raised his eyebrow at me. "Go on." I muttered, nodding to Mr. Hart. "I can handle myself." Taking a final sip of his drink, he picked up his umbrella and walked passed the five men and towards the doors. "Ain't he a little posh for you princess." The first man smirked leaning in to brush the hair from my cheek. I caught his hand and twisted it to the side and locking it. The man swore as his knees buckled. Yanking his hand from my grip he hugged it to his chest, glaring up at me from where he now knelt on the ground. "He's smarter than any of you could be." I stated simply. All five men turned to look at the door where Mr. Hart stood with his back to the bar. He reached up to the lock on the door, his hand hovering over as silence blanketed the room. "Manners." The first lock clicked in. "Maketh." The second lock clicked. "Man." The third lock clicked into place, I watched as Mr. Hart paused. One hand on his umbrella while the other resting on the door. "Do you know what that means?" Mr. Hart questioned, watching the reactions of the men in the reflection on the plaque. They glanced between one another, cracking their knuckles and moving towards Mr. Hart. I rose from my seat, moving behind them as they approached. "Then let me teach you a lesson." In one swift movement, Mr. Hart lowered his umbrella onto the table and flicked the glass back into the face of one of the men. He dropped to the ground unconscious, shattered glass surrounding him as the other four men turned to look at him in shock. One's knuckles turned white as he curled his fingers into a fist, another reached behind him for a bottle. Without waiting for them to gather their wits, I lunged forward, slamming my foot down the back of one of their knees. My hands finding one of the men's neck as I threw him backward, his head hitting the table we'd been sat at. Mr. Hart easily evaded a punch and hooked one of the men's collars with his umbrella, pulling him up as a body shield from the thrown bottle that sailed towards his chest. It shattered in the face of one of the men, knocking him to the ground. Mr. Hart smoothly ducked the punch of the second last man, shoving him in my direction, I caught his blind whirl of his fist, hocked him over my shoulder and flipped him to the ground. The man who'd been hit by the first glass let out a groan as he pushed himself up, reaching for the gun in his waistband. I lunged forward but one of the men grabbed the back of my collar. Spinning around I locked his arm in my elbow as he collapsed to one knee in an attempt to release the lock of his joint. Gunshots rang out as I glanced over my shoulder to watch Mr. Hart hid behind his umbrella, the bullets ricocheting off the surface. The man whose arm I held locked began to squirm, attempting to break free. Yanking him forward I hocked an arm around his throat, holding him still as I blocked his airways. I watched as Mr. Hart neatly disposed of the armed man with a projected slug from his umbrella. Slowly, he raised from his crouched position. Adjusting something with his watch before pointing at each man in turn, a small dark exiting his watch and piercing their skin. "I can handle myself." I announced, clearing my throat and reminding him I was still present. "You didn't need to step in, someone of us don't need flashy gadgets to do the job." Mr. Hart looked up at me as the last man in my arms lost consciousness and collapsed to the ground, proving my point further. "I know you can handle yourself. That's why I chose you as my candidate." He stated simply. "And the gadgets tend to make the job cleaner." He noted, glancing at the blood on one of my hands. I snorted at his comment before turning away, the smallest bit of satisfaction pulling at me, at least I'd gotten to punch one of them n the face. "I'll see you at the Kingsman Tailor Shop tonight, seven pm sharp." Mr. Hart announced, fixing his cuff before turning and opening the door to exit. "Mr. Hart." I called out after him, he paused mid-step, turning and glancing back at me. "Manners maketh man? You say that, but I'm not a man." "That is exactly what makes you so interesting." He stated simply with a small smile. "And Celaena, its Harry, not Mr. Hart."

The sound of a gun's safety clicking off echoed through the silence. She froze, the cold hard steel of a gun barrel pressed against the back of her head. "Turn around slowly." A man hissed, taking a pain-ridden breath, the woman turned to face him. Within seconds, she recognised him as the gang leader, She'd spent months scouting him, learning his schedule. "Do you know who I am?" She asked, her voice shaking as the blood continued to leak from between her fingers. "To me?" The man questioned with a snort that turned into a violent coughing. Without readjusting his aim from her head, he wiped a hand across his mouth, black mucus covering his fingers. "To me you're dead." Before she could react, the man lowered the gun and pulled the trigger. The woman staggered back, the impact to her stomach causing her to lose her breath. Another shot rang out in the silence, and the woman waited for the pain to hit. But no new impact came. Slowly, she looked up to find a dark hole in the man's head as blood began to leak out of it and run down his face. Staggering backwards, the blood beginning to gush from the hole in her stomach, she caught herself on a set of crates. Her legs began to go limp as the blood began to soak her shirt. Collapsing to the ground, with shaky hands, she desperately tried to apply pressure to the bullet wound but the blood continued to pool on the ground. Her vision began to blur as she looked around desperately, blue and red lights flashed in the distance but her focus wanned and her sight began to darken. The sound of material flapping in the wind forced her sight to a tall figure that appeared ahead, walking towards her limp body. Her breath began to slow as the pain took over. She collapsed back onto the ground fully, the pain so much she was barely breathing. "Shit." The man swore as he crouched down beside her. "You had to go and get yourself killed, didn't you?" "Who... who are you?" The woman whispered, but before she could hear his answer, the world around her blackened with pain and disappeared.

Although you are not sure how it was possible that the two now stood before you, or whether the Monk had somehow survived as well, you decided to save the questions for after you accomplished what you came here for; to deliver Ireena to safety and try to discover a way to return to your home world.

His instructors praised him as brilliant, and not because they had to. Stuffed with all the pride of a preteen boy, Urwin accepted that praise as due course, and he had enjoyed the drills, the lessons on swordsmanship and archery, the body conditioning and running. Well, the running and winning the practice bouts, that he was not one of the trainees with perpetually sprained wrists and smacked fingers, how easy the answers had come to him when quizzed over old battles, that he had excelled. He would have excelled as a captain-general of the clergy, but also if he had been allowed to further his talents with spiritual purification.