Wit had officially decided that humanity had dropped to it's lowest point twenty years ago with the Fall of the Kingdoms. Now, however, he finds himself corrected once again by the vulgar witch many called 'life'; the perfect flawed specimen of humanity, sitting right here in his very own dirty hovel. Really now, did she think he was an idiot?

How brave (or stupid) must a weakling like her be to claim to be one of the greatest heroes of Naga? One of the five sacred Guardians? Honestly.

Putting aside the obvious evidence to this farce of Ira Fawke being already dead, Wit could name many other reasons as to why she couldn't possibly be who she says she is. Even in the off chance of Lady Fawke actually being alive, there was no way this little runt was anything like her. She was too skinny, too short, too weak, too, well, everything to even resemble the great electric warrior often described in his childhood.

Wit, being the painfully nice person he is, decides to play along. Nod his head, hum a little sound of acceptance, and let her see who this little fool thinks she's playing.

Oh look, she even looks shocked he had believed her. Her grey eyes widened in disbelief, and a faint glimmer of relief could be seen in them. Hah.

"Oh. Excellent, I was worried you might have had some reservations as to my identity. Especially considering my rather dirty appearance." She certainly spoke like a noble. Good on her, it added a little legitimacy to her lie.

The girl paused to re-adjust her rod-like posture, and it became obvious to Wit that she had been standing on her toes to look at him eye-to-eye. Her feet clearly strained upwards but she maintained the regal look on her face, and her ram-rod spine remained as such. This was the fool who thought she could trick him into thinking she was a Guardian.

Wit wanted to punch her.

But he wouldn't. He found way too much joy in watching others flounder in their own ponds of deceit. Instead, he paused for a moment, making it seem like it was sinking in. "Well then Lady Fawke, my dearest apologies," he smiled placidly, "It just seems that you aren't like what many stories say you are. Forgive me. But do tell, what exactly have you been doing these last twenty years? I say, you've aged considerably well, my lady."

He watched with glowing amber eyes as her face fell with growing horror. Yeah, you've been caught in your stupid lie. Now what will you do?

But...instead of the fear or pleading for forgiveness he'd been expecting, she simply uttered, "Twenty years..." Her voice trembled a bit, and her height dropped significantly when her feet rested all the way back on the dirt-covered floor. She looked even smaller now.

"Yeah. Twenty years since you've been gone. Or rather, since Lady Fawke had been gone." Done with the niceties, Wit crossed his arms tightly and leaned into the rusty metal table behind him. It gave a groan of complaint; he'd need to find a new one soon.

"I-I was gone that long?" She whispered, voice almost crushed among the heavy silence. Or maybe it was his rage.

Is she still going on with this crap? It was obvious she was lying. "Look, whoever you are, I don't quite appreciate being lied to. In fact, it's kind of a pet peeve I've got, so I suggest you don't continue."

Her head darted up, and her steely eyes narrowed in a desperate glare that nearly rivaled his own. Her eyes seemed to search for his in the darkness, and Wit couldn't help but feel a bit smug that she couldn't meet his eyes with his back to the lit candle. "I am not lying. I cannot show proof of it at the moment, but I assure you I am not."

Wit clenched his fists to stop himself from doing something rash. He was seriously considering throwing her out now to the demons outside-after all, who was she to treat her savior this way? "You know what? Sure, you can be a Guardian if you wanna be. Don't let me stop you; you'll be out of my face by tomorrow." He turned around to search through the various junk scattered on the table at his back, careful of the candle's fragile ember. He couldn't trust himself to look at her without potentially doing something. He gritted his teeth in frustration at the liar in his small home. Why did he let her in here? Why wasn't he throwing her out already? But even so he knew he was too nice to do such a cruel thing, never would he admit it, though.

It was only a few more moments of tense silence when she spoke up again, her tone betraying her emotions of tentative disbelief, "What do they say about m-her? How did she die?"

I guess she's finally given up. That was a relief, if a small one.

"Lady Fawke, the real one, died coming back from a tragic mission to the Kingdom of Lucim. Her body was never recovered, and her fellow Guardian wouldn't speak of the heartbreaking tragedy," Wit turned around.

The woman's face darkened considerably, and the air around the room felt like it dropped a few degrees. Wit fingered the well-loved knife hidden in his jacket sleeve; just because she was scrawny and weak doesn't make her unable to attack him. A wild animal had a saner look than the one currently worn on her gaunt face. Wit was nearly impressed.

Her body tensed (as did Wit's) before relaxing in a large huff of breath. Her thin figure swayed for a second before limply plopping back down on the mattress, all acts of regality and uptightness forgotten. Wit would pity her if he wasn't still angry at her earlier transgressions. Her face cleared of its murderous intent, and sorrow took its place.

Wit turned away again, going back to looking on the table. He knew he wouldn't want anyone looking at him in a moment of weakness. The candle flickered.

The nameless liar had been silent for the better part of five minutes, and Wit had gotten tired of looking at his pieces of scrap scattered out on the table. Immediately reaching for the thing he'd been looking for on the table (because of course he knew where it'd been the whole time) he turned around and tossed it to the motionless bundle of skin and bones sitting on his poor excuse for a mattress.

A little stained towel, merely a washcloth, soared across the underground bunker to land on her lap. It wasn't much, but Wit couldn't help but feel somewhat guilty about the drying line of blood running down her neck. It wasn't like she deserved it at the time, but it was the only way to shut her up and not attract the demon above. This doesn't mean I forgive her for lying to me.

Wit genuinely respected the Guardians, and for such a woman to falsely imitate one of them, it led to a growing hate and distrust within his mind. If she couldn't do something as simple as telling him her name truthfully, then whatever else can he trust her with? She was a liar, simple as that.

She hesitantly lifted the cloth from her lap to hold it in her hands. They trembled a bit, but Wit merely leaned back onto the table once more with a light creak, deciding not to give her anymore leeway than felt deserved. The light was dimming, he'd have to get a new candle soon.

She carefully and efficiently wiped the blood off, not fazed by the red liquid absorbed within the cloth. Her hands, they moved in a trained motion to clean off the blood. It wasn't the first time she'd done this. Maybe she's a medic.

She didn't stop there, though. The woman then moved the cloth downwards, towards her chest. Wit's mind stuttered for a moment.

"What the-?" He exclaimed, amber eyes searching.

Her chest held a dark, old bloodstain about the size of his fist, more linear in shape and positioned directly over her heart. It looked remarkably like a stab wound. A deadly one. Wit would normally be fine if it stopped there-because perhaps she'd found an abandoned shirt and decided to use it-but she had wiped the washcloth under the shirt; on her skin. Her skin had been bloody too.  The candle flickered.

She looked up, started to open her mouth, but halted mid-motion. She shook her head and looked back down at what her hands were doing. Silence reigned. Wit could only try to piece together the story.

What if she wasn't lying? A voice in his mind pondered, but Wit waved away the thought as quickly as it had come. Yeah, no. Just because it looked like she'd been stabbed, doesn't make all the other fallacies in her lie null and void. She still wasn't anything like the legends, and dying and coming back to life was unheard of. She was still a liar.

A liar with an odd bloodstain on her chest.