Under The Facade

Moonlight Deception

Alexander and Mr. Blackwood sat ensconced in the dimly lit pub, surrounded by the haze of smoke and the murmur of hushed conversations. They sipped their whiskey, their eyes gleaming with a mixture of frustration and ambition, as they lamented their station as mere "Rooks" in the Snapdragon's hierarchy. "Tired of being pawns, old chap," Alexander exclaimed, his voice laced with the bitter tang of disappointment. "We deserve better. We deserve to be 'Knights', to wield the power and prestige that comes with it."

Mr. Blackwood nodded in fervent agreement, his eyes scanning the smoke-filled room with a sense of desperation. "Indeed, we do. But to win the Bishop's heart, we must prove ourselves worthy. And that means eliminating any obstacles in our path, no matter how... distasteful."

Their conversation was laced with subtle hints of their involvement in Lady Charlotte's demise, and the lack of generous reward that followed. "A paltry sum, hardly worth the risk," Alexander muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.

As they commiserated, their discussion smoothly diverted towards their urge to go for a bounty hunt, like a pair of hounds on the scent of prey. "I've heard rumors of a lucrative bounty on a certain individual," Mr. Blackwood said, his eyes gleaming with excitement, like a spark ignited in the darkness. "One who has been causing quite a stir in the underworld, leaving a trail of blood and mystery in their wake."

Alexander's interest was piqued, his mind racing with possibilities, like a gambler sensing a winning hand. "Oh? And who might that be?"

Mr. Blackwood leaned in, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone, like a confidence shared between old friends. "None other than the infamous assassin, known only as 'The Jaguar'."

Alexander's eyes widened, his mind reeling with the implications, like a man staring into the abyss. "The Jaguar, you say? Now that's a bounty worth pursuing, a prize worthy of our skills."
As Mr. Blackwood's words hung in the air, a figure shrouded in shadows, seated beside them, emitted a low, derisive snicker, the sound akin to a rusty gate creaking in the wind. Mr. Blackwood's gaze snapped towards the hooded figure, his eyes narrowing to slits, like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. "Pray tell, sir," he growled, his voice dripping with venom, "what precisely did you find so amusing in our conversation?"

The hooded figure snickered once more, the sound echoing through the pub like a challenge hurled into the void. Alexander, sensing the escalating tension, turned towards the figure, his eyes flashing with indignation. "Apologize, sir," he growled, his voice low and menacing, like a beast awakened from slumber. "You would do well to show deference to those who are soon to be anointed 'Knights'."

The hooded figure slowly pushed back its hood, revealing a face shrouded in shadows, like a phantom emerging from the darkness. "Oh, I tremble with fear," it sneered, its voice laced with sarcasm, like a viper's kiss. "You think dispatching a bounty makes you 'Knights'? You are naught but drunken 'Rooks', masquerading as something you most assuredly are not."

Mr. Blackwood's countenance turned beet red with rage, his eyes bulging like a frog's, as he spluttered, "How dare you, sir!" Alexander, equally incensed, slammed his fist upon the table, making the glasses shudder, like a thunderclap on a stormy night. "You shall pay for your impertinence!" he bellowed, his voice like a lion's roar.

Without another word, the two men launched themselves at the hooded figure, their fists flying like wild birds in flight. The figure, caught off guard, stumbled backward, but quickly regained its footing, its own fists flashing in the dim light, like a duelist defending their honor. The pub erupted into pandemonium, patrons scattering like rats from a sinking ship, as the fight ensued, tables crashing, glasses shattering, and the sound of punches landing like a drumbeat in the darkness.