(I feel you. Its alright :) )

Armand Atelier
A man stepped into the tavern, his worn boots clanking at the old floorboards. His rusty red hair was parted over his pointed ears, hanging down the back of his red overcoat. A faintly glowing saber holstered next to a flintlock pistol and a curious mask sat at his right side.
He seemed to scan the faces of the tavern before locking eyes with Ciki and making his approach.

"Are you the one called Verenda?"
His voice was somewhat haggard and he reeked of alcohol and gunpowder. Clearly a busy man.

Armand Atelier
"I did not expect to be working with a woman. Interesting change of pace." He stated brusquely through a slight upturned hint of a smile.
"I trust you won't get in my way. This seems all a very simple job considering the nature of the target. I scouted out the outside of the estate on my way to this tavern. We should have no troubles getting inside before dawn breaks."

Armand Atelier

"My pleasure." He lead the way without so much as a further word to her. Without any hiccups, he wouldn't have to see her again or for very long. Just the way he liked it. He preferred to work a job alone. Things were quicker and easier that way. Less chance for a rat or some sort of interference.

The night air was crisp and cold under a blanket of just fallen snow over the town's paths. The Helmen estate was a mile or so ahead on a hill overlooking the sleepy, winter colony. It was just barely visible from their position by way of magically lit lanterns posted and hung by the wrought iron gates and delicately manicured evergreen trees, flickering with wispy, blue flames.
The night would indeed give them substantial cover as the small plantations of the estate were unmanned by the owner's servants at this hour, the colony was fast asleep aside from the occasional drunkard, and there seemed nary a soul left in their path.

The target was an older man by the name of Erickson Helmen, a wealthy official of the country of Athia. He had more than quite the hand in recent politics, something that had attracted him a fair amount of negative attention from rivals. One of whom, it seemed, wanted to take matters into his own hands.

Armand, on further thought, found the situation of his employer rather amusing as he padded through the snow in slow, crunching steps. He had no stakes in the affairs of humans or their squabbling. He had even less ties or loyalty to his own country, yet the petty conflicts of high society never seemed to fail to pad his pockets.

He kept an eye on the gate as they made their approach, attempting to relocate the two bent, gaping bars on the west end of the property.

Armand Atelier

"There." Armand pointed to a point in the iron gate where the frosted bars had been forced apart. A small bush sat at the outside of the opening, just concealing it from view of any passerbys that had climbed or looked up at the estate.
He slipped inside with some effort before straightening himself and brushing some leaves and snow off his overcoat.

As the two got closer to the front of the property it was now apparent that someone was awake, a flickering lantern lit at a desk near a window. A young man, clearly the landowner's son, sat awake studying over various books in the magical candlelight.

(I'll reply when I'm less out of sorts. Family drama has my anxiety really high right now and it's killing my creativity. ;;)