Business wasn't hard to find, these days - not with the contacts they had acquired. Ever since 1994, it had been booming, in fact - well, as much as the business of an assassin and thief could boom...

The job had been one both had taken to keenly, and a simple one from the planning perspective. They wouldn't have to worry about the Aurors - in fact, they were rather doing them a favor, now weren't they? Criminal groups wiping each other out must be an easy job, for them - show up, identify bodies, go home and sleep like the fat pigs they were.

The group they'd cornered weren't the bosses; no, they would come later. This was just a group of the higher ups - they'd been leaked the news of an evening dinner party, and the opportunity had been simply too good to pass up. One normally would suspect a trap, but that was why they'd send Ignan and herself...they're been trapped before. It hadn't stuck.

It was a beautiful home, she had to admit. Richly furnished, the couches done in red velvet, the chandeliers of crystal and gold; goblets likewise, the wine the finest. It backed a canal - which would come in handy - and the walls were covered in frescoes detailing the family's heroic past. She wouldn't have minded moving in, in fact - but having a permanent home was one of the luxuries the life of an assassin didn't permit, though sleeping in your victim's bed did have a certain trill to it.

The ambush had gone off perfectly; they'd waited until the party had gone quiet and the non-target guests had left, and their group of 6 had retired to the parlor to drink and chat, unaware the two assassins had been laying in wait throughout the evening. Though the occasional missing sandwich indicated their presence, luckily, by the time they'd chosen to start nicking things to eat, the guests were tipsy enough not to notice.

Adamo Dolci, the homeowner and host had been the first to die - along with his young mistress. The two of them sat slumped in the chair they'd retired to, both having perished in a flash of green light, wrapped in a fatal - and final - embrace. The others had gone for their wands almost instantly, and Sir Campaniello's wife had died to Ignan's wand next, tumbling forward in another flash of green, her body falling near the fireplace, wine spilling into the flames.

The fourth down had been the corpulent Mario Potestio; he lay at the foot of the couch, gasp loudly. Blood was smearing and dripping from his belly, his life ending by inches; a slashing curse from Ignan had dealt him what was sure to be a mortal injury.

Azorma and Ignan stood back to back for a moment; the last two left were actually putting up a decent fight. Azorma was quite happy about that, though Ignan seemed to have gotten the more skilled man, given the trouble he was having in taking the bastard down.

"Need any help, Ignan?" She asked Ignan coyly, deflecting a stunning spell from her opponent; the fool seemed ready to catch her alive. How quaint - fighting the merciful always cheered her up. Ignan didn't get a chance to answer her; she had to dodge a second hex, rolling on the floor and raising her wand again, blasting the wand from her opponent's hand; he had only a moment to look surprised before-

"Avada Kevadra!"

He fell with a solid thump, slumping over the armchair and then tumbling to the floor next to his wife. Azorma stood up, tossing her long black and blue hair back over her shoulder; behind her, a lamp exploded from the volley of spells between Ignan and his opponent, who was putting up quite a fight.

Ignan dodged, and out of the corner of her eye she saw more movement- Mario was raising his wand, aimed at Ignan's unprotected back-

"Avada-" the large man started, and Azorma leapt; she kicked him in the face, her heel smashing into his temple. His wand fell from his hands, blood seeping from the gash to his head. His beady eyes rolled up to look at her and she kicked forward again, hearing a ever-so- satisfying snap.

Candlelight flickered in the reflection of pools of blood forming on the highly polished surfaces of ornate furniture and marble floors. The fire roared viciously in the grate - the air filled with spells disturbing this most domestic of magical functionality. Beside it, illuminated, and fast becoming singed, were the blank, dead faces of Sir Campaniello and his wife, both killed somewhat cleanly. Their eyes glassy, life snatched from them moments ago, Sir Campaniello landing heavily across the armchair and falling to the floor on his face, his neck twisted unnaturally to stare unendingly at his dead wife.

The heat in the room had soared, outside the temperature was relatively chilly, and its cool breeze which ran through the canals would certainly be of great relief to Ignan once they could step outside again. The canal water, a chilled, watery grave, less decomposition. The smell of flesh torn would soon permeate the air in the fine room, but for now the smell of food lingered with smoke notes behind.

All of this Ignan had very little time to consider. Mario Potestio had been an easy an inviting target to bleed to death, his blood seeped like a flood onto the floor behind Ignan, who was swiftly discovering Mario's brother, Franco, to be a far more proficient duellist. It appeared Ignan had discovered who had near cut him down two weeks before, and got away. Franco's style was remarkable, but as Ignan's mind made the connection, he began to pick weaknesses in the Potestio brother's footwork and skill.

The lamp exploded, and Ignan pitched forward, landing heavily on to his opponent. Not a conventional method by any means, and actually partly accidental. Still, his weight landing on Franco had winded the bastard, and Ignan's quick pinning of Franco's arms and disarming left the slighter brother of the pair immobilised, Ignan astride him.

"No thank you mio amore." Ignan finally managed to reply to Azorma, raising his gaze from Franco to her momentarily, he caught sight of Mario's head caved in a little from the temple.
"Thank you." He nodded to Azorma, putting two and two together, she had saved his back yet again, it was one of the many things he loved about her.

Turning back to Franco, Ignan gave the final victim of the group a slow, and foreboding smile.
"This is whom we met two weeks ago." He informed Azorma. "Keep him alive for now." Ignan retrieved Franco's wand from where it had clattered and wiped the blood from it on the man's clothing before pocketing it and stepping aside from Franco. With a flick of his own wand, Ignan pulled Franco's immobilised body into a slump, so he could see the other bodies in the room, unable to move anything but his eyes.

"I want him to see what we do." Ignan told Azorma huskily, straightening out his robes, aware there was blood splattered across his face, not caring who it belonged to just yet, with luck it wasn't his, though the glorious adrenaline rushing through him prevented him from feeling much. Reaching an arm out to Azorma, he drew her in close, encircling her waist with his left arm, and curling his right around the back of her head, his wand still in hand, before pulling stray strands of her hair from her right temple from across her face with his gloved fingertips.

He went as if to kiss her and stopped, as if knowing she wouldn't let him just yet, and merely rested his unfortunately fevered brow against hers momentarily before letting go, releasing her from being pressed against his heated body. The cool night air would be most welcome over this raging heat within the room.

"We shall start with his brother." Ignan decided, pointing to Mario. "Though its tempting to leave a few vital organs with his skin, the weight he is." Raising his wand, a cruel smile across Ignan's face, he cast the spell his dear friend Georg had demonstrated so well to him as creator, only Georg would never have developed it for such macabre reasons as for which Ignan and Azorma used it.

Mario's head split open from the back, blood splattering on the armchair behind, as a line drew down his back, skin severing neatly like a zip had been drawn from the point of his head to the base of his bottom. It took minutes, while Franco still had a complete unhindered view of his brother, to strip Mario's skin from his carcass into a suit, which hung over the armchair behind his skinned body, fluids pooling onto the marble floor with the blood.

Ignan turned once the deed had been done to see Franco's wild, wide eyes, the brother's sides heaving with rapid breath as he saw what was to happen. It would be right that he'd watch, given that these too were criminals, they had seen their fair share of violence, and dare say enjoyed it as Azorma and Ignan did. Franco would have enjoyed that on anyone else, but his own brother, he couldn't decide whether to stare or force his eyes shut.

"You're not going to make me kill him before are you, mio amore?" Ignan asked softly, but absolutely audible to the one remaining victim who still had breath in their body. "I don't think he deserves the mercy..." After all, nobody got away from them after attacking without mortal wounds, less limbs or carried out in the canal water. Franco had been lucky, Ignan was not about to let that go unrewarded, even if the reward was skinning the man alive.

She smiled as Ignan pulled her close, hands resting gently on his shoulders for a moment; but he'd get his reward later, and he knew that. She pushed him away a bit as he let go and turned to Franco, explaining the man's relation to them.

"Is he, now? Isn't that interesting..." She said, smiling at Franco. She walked to him; her walk was purposefully provocative, the sway of her hips emphasized and her hands firmly on her waist, though it was hardly for the soon-to-be-dead Franco's benefit. Ignan was simply more fun if she wound him up first.

"Silly boy," she told Franco, casually grinding her heel into the back of his neck as she bent over his prone form. The man winced in pain. "Ignan gets so very...cross if you hurt his pride, you know. He's like a little boy that way, sometimes..."

Franco got a serene smile from her before she set to her normal task -  fetching wands for their collection. Shoving the body of Dolci's mistress off her dead master's lap rather unceremoniously, she felt around the woman's dress for the object. The young lady didn't have a wand; Azorma scowled at her suspiciously, tapping a foot for a moment before she dug about Dolci's person for his. She was not pleased with her findings.

"Ugh - he kept it in his pants, the dirty-" she grumbled, holding his wand delicately at her finger's tips, glad for her gloves.  "You can have this one, I don't want to touch it, the bastard," she called to Ignan, flicking the offending object in his direction. It clattered into the pools of blood forming around Marco.

"I honestly don't care what you do with him, Ignan, provided he dies," she told him, picking up Marco's wand as she passed. "It was your fault for letting your guard down so foolishly; I'd say give the pathetic cretin mercy simply as thanks for a valuable life lesson." Her words were in the raspy, clipped tone she usually used when teasingly scolding him, rather like a displeased schoolmarm.

She walked back to Marco suddenly, reaching down to his shredded fingers, carefully removing his jewelry - the large man had worn several precious stones and she wasn't about to put them to waste. The wife, as well...

"Oh - how lovely," she said, mostly to herself, as she reached down to remove the dead woman's golden moon earrings. They were set with pearls, and she smiled at them and held them up for Ignan to see. "What do you think - shall I keep them, or given them to Paola? I owe her a gift, after all."

Ignan spun around on his heel, observing the earrings with narrowed eyes - the narrowing more due to the ribbing he'd just received for failing the previous week. It had been continual, underlying since then, Azorma taking pieces out of him, though he'd been doing it equally himself.

"It doesn't matter to me, though they are suitably individual, you may or may not want them to be recognised." He remarked to Azorma, flicking his wand at the discarded one that belonged to Adamo Dolci which Azorma had deposited in Mario's blood. If Azorma wore those, he'd only try to tear them off with his teeth later. Again, he wiped the wand on Franco's clothes, and tucked the wand away with Franco's. Azorma would collect the others.

Skinning Franco did not take long, and the look of agony as his eyes rolled upwards was intensely pleasing in replacement to the pure fear he had held over the wizard. Franco's mouth would have twisted into a scream had he been able to move. Ignan tossed the skin and clothes aside, Franco's remaining body all muscle and sinew over his bones, pooling water onto the floor.

Between them, they skinned the lot, and lugged them one by one out to the back with magic, bodies sliding into the cold waters with a rush and a ripple, bubbling momentarily before sinking under into the inky black depths. First the Dolci's, then the Campaniellos sank into their watery tombs. Franco followed without any problem whatsoever, his skinless face momentarily staring back with glassy eyes before sinking into the darkness.

Mario however, was bound to cause a problem. Not least due to his weight and the fact he literally obscured view. Levitating his corpse by one wand alone resulted in low clearance, and Ignan nearly dragged him across the floor through the mess in trying.
"Would you mind?" He asked Azorma, gesturing with his left hand to the flow flying Mario. Together they sent him sailing towards the doorway where he promptly got stuck, his body dripping and splattering all over the beautiful wall decorations and landing with a snap sound onto the marble floor below.

Despite himself, Ignan let out a titter of laughter at the scene, a bloated body stuck in the doorway until they forced it through like an obese, carnivore balloon.

Overall, it was a messy business. She chose to keep the earrings for Paola; she was sure, with a house like this, that turning the place inside out would net her something much grander. She got what she was looking for as Ignan set about skinning Franco.

She was beginning to wonder how these safes could be considered 'secret'; the small painting over the mantle slid aside to reveal a small safe, identical in appearance and placement to quite a few others. Smiling gleefully, she set about unlocking it, ignoring Ignan as he took his bloody vengeance behind her.

Inside was a cache of galleons and several pieces of very intricate jewelery, though it was one of the less decorative pieces she found the most interesting - the family's enchanted signet ring. She happily pocketed that - she'd get a pretty penny for it, she was sure.

Transporting the bodies was likewise an easy task; the access to the canal made it easier than usual, in fact. Marco was indeed the only issue, his corpulent form rather amusing in its unwieldy nature. The splat was the final straw; she too laughed, her mocking laugher ringing in the hall.

"Funny, you'd think the blood would act as a lubricant," she commented as they went back to work, attempting to force him through the doorway. "If his mistress were here, killing the poor woman would have been an act of mercy-"

Marco cleared the door with a wet pop and splashed loudly into the waters of the canal. That hadn't been the intention; the others had been dumped in near silence. She saw lights coming on across the water...but couldn't retain her laughter, or her wide smile.

"We'd best be going, Il mio signore sanguinosa," she told him affectionately, turning to Ignan with a coy smile. In the doorway to the canal, she leaned against the wall, pulling him towards her by the back of his neck; a leg came up, looped easily about his waist and was quickly joined by the other as she hung from his neck, lips on his - then she drew her head back and smiled.

"I will see you at the house, Ignan, after you've cleaned up," she said, then shifted her weight suddenly - and pitched him sideays into the bloody waters of the canal. Laughing, she tossed her hair and headed back into the house, cleaning off her clothes as she headed for the nearest window.

The shock of the cold water as he took a swim with the corpses, stilled his burning desire for now at least. He kept a tight grip of his wand, and resurfaced in the dirty canal water, tainted by Muggle engine oil and whatever else they too dumped in there even without Ignan and Azorma's victims. Franco momentarily resurfaced, he must have been snagged on something at the side of the canal to prevent him from drifting away with the current. Ignan stared at his inferi-like face for a moment in surprise, wondering if the man had managed to survive somehow, but realising not.

Pools of light were beginning to fall onto the canal water, getting close to where Ignan was with the skinned head of Franco floating on the surface. Cursing himself, he planted a gloved hand on the top of Franco's head and pulled the corpse under, running into Mario's form beneath the water in the dark, or so it seemed. Franco's arm broke free of what it was caught on and Ignan swam onwards, holding his breath to get clear of the disturbance, dragging Franco's corpse behind him with his right hand, his wand between his teeth.

Once he was clear, he would re-emerge, apparate back, stinking of canal water and murder, but victorious. The wands collected would join the others, they would feast upon the steals Azorma had procured from the house while he was skinning the bodies - the act a flamboyant but noted calling card of them both to aurors and criminal fraternities. Lungs stinging, Ignan let go of Franco's body, trusting the current to wash them up by morning downstream. Hauling himself from the water in the darkness, he exhaled and shivered in the cool air, dripping onto the side of the canal, an unhinged grin hanging across his face as he disapparated.