This was no good. The longer she talked to this ex-Promised (Shamed seemed too cruel a word, for someone excommunicated from a cult whose own creed was shameful to her), the more she liked him. He seemed newly cast out, and in his despair and confusion, his reactions were honest enough that she even found them cute. And she was growing too comfortable, flinching at pain in front of a potential enemy. While she was quite certain he could destroy her in her current state, as off balance as he was - well, maybe once he'd sobered a bit - he didn't seem to have realized it. It was better to keep it that way, even as she tried to convince him that her job offer was worthwhile.

It was such a relief to act honestly herself. She was committed now - she had been ever since she revealed herself as something other to the rest of the tavern here, acting out of reckless anger and pride. They might not realize yet how other and dangerous she was, but once the rumors spread tomorrow she knew Aisel would not let her play here anymore. And with Orlo's sight, it wouldn't take long for the whole town to decide it might be better if she left. And if they did, she would have to leave - the valley Witch's rules demanded peace, and peace never held long when it was strained by fear. This was not a sanctuary for her anymore. She could not stay here now, no matter how this turned out. It was time to leave, and perhaps it had been for a while. She would only fade away here. It had been months since resting had done her any good, or gained her any strength or help. All the wounds that could heal already had. The wound at her side was cursed, and she would be lucky to last another five years before her body gave out. Seeking healing was useless; if the Witch here could not heal it, then it was unlikely anyone could, and she refused to waste her life on anything but vengeance. Valla had known this for a while and stayed here as her desperation grew, hoping that something, anything, anyone would prompt her to remember again. And she had grown numb in the waiting and watching. But then today, this bemusing, music-loving assassin had just walked into this nowhere, Nameless tavern and shaken her awake. Valla was now certain she could end this on her terms.

His eyes were wide again. Gods, it was fun to watch a trained killer like him startle over and over like a frightened deer, then attempt to seem stoic again. This time though, he did not make any effort to mask his surprise. Looking at him now, the fading fireplace giving off low light, he could almost be a statue of gold, his bronze skin and clear amber eyes lit with oranges and reds, his dark hair a stark contrast.

"What are you?" he asked.

Valla laughed again, this time in pure amusement rather than relief or joy. She kept laughing, tears forming, her torso on fire. "So very practical of you," she finally got out. "Not who, or why, or 'could I?'. 'What' indeed... Well. Of course, that is important, isn't it? Can't kill a beast without knowing what its weaknesses are, after all." 

For once, he didn't look affronted or shocked. He looked at her steadily, waiting for her answer. He seemed to be growing used to her sudden outbursts. It occurred to her, suddenly, that she didn't know his name.

"What is your name?" she asked, unwilling to wait for this conversation to resolve itself before satisfying her curiosity. 

"Doren," he answered after a pause. 

"Doren, I can't tell you," she smiled. "And before you threaten to walk away from this, it's not because I don't want to! I just don't know myself."

Doren regarded her blankly. Gods, this was hard to explain, but she was still high on the decision to act, and it was rather fun to watch the expressions of consternation and frustration move across his innocent-looking face. A naive assassin. She laughed again.

"But I don't mean to fight you, Doren," she continued, glancing over to the bar as she sensed a gaze. Aisel was listening to a visibly shaken Orlo, eyebrows pulled together as they stared at Valla. Already, she was running out of time. With more urgency, Valla turned back to Doren, but was struck silent at the look on his face. It was horror, resignation, and maybe pity. What had she said again? Her stomach dropped slightly as she realized what his conclusion must be. He thought she wanted him to act as her executioner, that she was seeking death and wished to use him as she might a knife or a rope. 

"No, no! I am seeking vengeance," and thank the gods, his face eased back to confusion. Well, mostly confusion. Some horror remained. For some reason, as much as Valla was enjoying his reactions, she had not found the sadness or the pity on his face to be remotely satisfying. "If I fail, I can't give my enemy the honor of killing me." 

Doren leaned back, having moved closer incrementally throughout their conversation. His hands, which had clenched on the table, relaxed to lie flat in front of him, and he held her gaze now as he hadn't before, no longer the deferential wolf facing a threat. He seemed calm. Perhaps he was comforted by the familiarity of the topic now at hand; vengeance and honor rather than talk of treason and music.

"Being there to kill me first will take skill. I am not asking for help in defeating my enemy. Just kill me if the conditions are met."

"Who is your enemy?"

Valla grinned. Still practical. "I don't know."

Doren actually seemed to start to roll his eyes before catching himself. One of his fingers began tapping the table, in the same rhythm Valla had earlier. "I believe you. But I can't agree to a job that may never happen. What if you don't find your enemy?"

He had moved past the risk of angering whoever she intended to hunt very quickly. His lack of self-preservation was almost concerning. Not that she was one to judge, she supposed. "Aren't you worried that my target might decide you are collaborating with me if you decide to take this on? You will need to travel with me. People will assume we are partners." Why in the broken Imperium was she trying to dissuade him? "I may not know who they are, but they are not to be taken lightly."

He actually smiled, almost smug. Pleased to have turned things around, and to see her off-balance now? "That's true. But it's possible you won't find them at all, or won't ever remember. I'm more concerned I'll tie myself to you for eternity, and never see my reward. Aren't I the mercenary here? What did you expect from me?" As he spoke, his amusement was tinged with bitterness. "Honor? Cowardice?"

It was Valla's turn to lean back now. From his despondency before, she had guessed he had only recently been cast out of his order. And he had been easily confused and disoriented by her approach, hardly the haughty and self-righteous prick she would have expected a Promised to be. But she had somehow still expected more certainty from him, more confidence and arrogance in his own morality. Of course he was shaken, shaken by his lost status, and likely by her appearance in this nowhere town. By her assault on his preconceptions. But she realized that she did not enjoy the sight of his sorrow and self-hatred any more than she had his pity.

"I expected someone who would honor a deal, and who would understand my need for vengeance. And that was not because of the marks you wear. I am usually quite good at reading someone's character." Well, she had been since she'd come to this town. It was possible she hadn't always been so good at it given the state of her when she'd arrived at the valley. But it wasn't like she could remember that anyway, so no need to admit as much to the man sitting before her. A man who looked like he was about to object.

Before he could, she cut him off. "We will set a limit. Two years. Follow me and see if the conditions of the contract are met within two years. If they are, you kill me. If not, you move on. You will be paid regardless." 

She hesitated now. There were ways to ensure he wouldn't leave early, to make sure he wasn't paid until after her death. So that he wouldn't just leave, take the payment, and she would be alone again, left to throw herself into vengeance like a salmon hurling its starving body against a towering dam. But what did it really matter? If he wasn't trustworthy, it was better to know sooner. And it wasn't as though the funds were of use to her - she'd honestly forgotten about them until now. She didn't dare try to find her enemy by any means that depended on vast sums of money, and she remembered at least one other stash which held enough to finance a surreptitious search. Well, she acknowledged to herself, it wasn't as though she could remember where that stash was, exactly. But she'd probably remember if she tried long enough. And she knew where the key was, so she could use it as a clue. 

She ignored a voice at the back of her mind that said she was trying to give up, one way or another. This would be on her terms. She was done fading away. It was odd for her to want so badly to trust this man, but then, perhaps it was natural. Valla had lived on a razor's edge in this innocuous place, wounded and angry and poised for a fight that never came, for so long now. Every mundane stranger had been a potential threat. And now that she had met the first truly dangerous stranger, she was desperate to take him - to take anything - at face value. She would trust this man to follow his nature and trust herself to be right about what that was. It wasn't as though she'd come up with a better plan in the years she'd sat in this tavern so far. 

As she sat dazed, considering her choices and marveling at her own fragile mental state, Doren spoke. "How do I know I'll see my payment after the limit is up? It is a long time to wait just to be cheated or for you to die before you can pay me." 

"Again, so practical," Valla almost sighed. Resigned to her own foolishness. "I'll pay you in advance."

Now Doren looked at her with naked alarm. Ah, of course - now it seemed like a trap, a trick of a daemon or god in a parable about the dangers of human greed. And here she'd forgotten how terrifying her existence was to this pragmatic but naive traveler. Maybe she could just show him how weak she was now and he'd be calmed. But no, that would simply scare him more, make it seem even more like a test. Too good a deal and he'd back away, not realizing she was gambling away her life for the slim chance of really living, for the reckless thrill it gave her. That she was not here to trick and devour him. It was very possible she'd ruined her impromptu plan now. It was odd how attached she'd become to this plan so quickly. But it was almost nice for her to learn more about herself - impulsive. Immature. Reckless. Who knew? She chuckled to herself, stopping quickly when it occurred to her that continuing to laugh maniacally in front of Doren likely would not ease his fears.

Aisel had been moving in and out of the tavern for a while now, no doubt mustering up some thuggery or even a mob to drive away the faerie or daemon that had nested on their bard perch. Foolish of them, but typical.