(Tari, Liberna)

Tari chugged his drink in the dimly lit bar. Snow sat beside him, her black ringlet curls both framing and obstructing her face, which was as cold and white as her namesake. The window to her left was too grimy to get much of a view out of, yet she still stared out of it, her long dark lashes blinking indifferently. Their “contact” sat across the table from them, his face concealed by a hood and scarf. It most likely wasn’t the pair he was truly trying to conceal himself from, if it was he greatly underestimated them. He patiently waited for Tari to finish his drink before pulling an envelope out of his jacket and sliding it to the center of the table. Snow picked it up as Tari fingered the lip of his glass absentmindedly with one hand, beckoning the waitress over with the other. She thumbed through the bills, swiftly counting them. She unzipped her shirt slightly, tucked the wad of money inside and zipped her shirt back up just as the waitress came to replace his drink. When the waitress turned her back, Snow handed Tari the envelope and stole a sip from the glass. Tari pulled out the rest of the envelope’s contents, their contact’s cue to begin his usual spiel. Tari tuned out his ramblings about the greatness of “our wise employer” as he studied their new list of targets.

Tari had quit the SoftPaws but quitting killing seemed to be another thing altogether. But like this he could fool himself into believing he was helping the people, like he set out to do years ago. Tari handed the list to Snow and stole back his drink, slamming down his throat what remained. Their contact finished his speech about their great and anonymous employer and left them with the same statement he always did, about “working to expose the corruption of the nobles while Hurricane and Tsunami stopped their crimes from continuing.” He walked to the register to pay off the tab then left without a second glance to the two mercenaries.

Snow finished memorizing the list, folded it back into the envelope, and lit the corner with the candle in the table’s center. Her eyes sparkled as she watched it burn and the ashes pile up. She didn’t even flinch when the flames licked her fingertips. They were too cut, burnt, scarred to have any feeling left, which made her deft skill with knives all that more impressive.

“Ready to go?” Tari asked, rocking the glass back and forth with his finger.

She nodded her eyes still wide and watching the fire dance.

Tari grinned as he slid out of the booth. He could almost feel her dry mouth, hear her throat screaming for blood. She reminded him of the satisfaction of killing. Tari may not  relish in it like she did, may not thirst for blood like she did. He was a professional, bred, and trained. She was a beast. Murder didn’t bring Tari happiness but the vindication of a mission fulfilled was a pleasure he couldn’t forget.

To put the difference between them simply; killing was his pride and her joy.