Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20190205035159/@comment-26571677-20190207093902

Her eyebrow raised once more in the sanctity of her airtight mask.

She’d been tailed, that much was certain; one did not simply attract and subsequently escape a small gathering of people without drawing attention, and the hurriedness at which she’d bumped into Dust would have given knowledge to something being wrong.

It was a small price to pay, though; she would have been found sooner or later, and in this way, she would have a leg up on both the location of possible squads of police and on how to avoid her loved, but obstinate kin, who would be a large obstacle to her escape; should the stories in turn about ‘The Dust Devil’ also be true.

However, her attention was focused on the now, and the point of the present was to get eyes on her tail.

She raised a silver necklace; seemingly examining the blue jewels imbedded into its polished and glinting frame, but instead looking beyond; focusing on the reflection of the metal; angled ever so carefully towards the doorway as she discretely observed the person who appeared in the crowd.

She noted the unusually confident gait of her tail and how she seemed to stop for a few moments to observe both her and those Hazel herself was eavesdropping on. It was that person. No question of it.

It was a girl. A girl dressed in the black, darkened clothes of the Daylight Syndicate; a source of some of the information that she’d gathered over the many years of her less than legitimate profession. Of course, as with any other underground organisation, loose lips sealed their fate, and though it was admittedly difficult to find many moles; she’d had a good enough idea of their structure and goings on.

Specifically, their betrayal by one of their own.

Even more specifically, the former leader of the youth group of the Syndicate; though its name was currently lost on her, but it was evident when she’d heard tales of recruitment. Especially exciting was that news to the underground, considering the Daylight Syndicate’s relative secrecy as opposed to other groups.

To Hazel, it reeked of internal weakness; internal power struggles almost definitely, and all signs were pointing at its instability. No wonder that they were here; they must have been recruiting or gathering information; either option was likely to Hazel’s obsessively detail oriented eyes.

Moving casually, she then raised the necklace and clipped it around her neck; looking in the mirror as if examining how it looked on her figure, but in reality taking the chance to observe the girl in even more detail.

Imagine her surprise, then, as she saw the girl make a small grimace of distaste at her trying on the metal baubles; she’d fully expected her to be more dedicated than that.

Or perhaps it was another person that drew her attention.

A person such as Brunhilde Engelnacht; the heiress of the Bluthardts.

She was also the second cousin of the girl she’d encountered at a bar some time ago; the one she’d given a beating. The one that she’d also placed a tracking beacon upon.

What an auspicious event.

She was close enough to the other pair of men to hear them speak, and noted the oboist’s open acknowledgement of her presence with a roll of her eyes.

Really, the world famous musician who had mysteriously resigned from his position under an excuse as weak as a spider’s skein and subsequently disappear into a life of mask collection and firearms expected her not to know his real name?

The thought was laughable, but she allowed no humor to stain her mind, nor cloud her judgement; as useless as the protection of his secrets had been; the fact that he’d even bothered to do so with any sense of conviction was sign that this man was nobody to underestimate, and most certainly one to keep an eye on; considering his close connection to the heiress currently behind her.

Speaking of which, she noted the nonchalant manner at which her tail greeted the woman; unable to read what she’d said owing to her back to Hazel but noting with certainty as clear as day the reaction that it provoked. Brunhilde’s face twitched ever so slightly and she took a moment to compose herself; a telltale sign of calming aggression.

There was subtlety in her bodyguards’ movements, however; and Hazel watched with faint admiration at their practiced movements and discretion in wielding their weapons against her tail’s back.

What she did not admire, however; was their effectiveness. As intimidation, they would certainly work, but as bodyguards, they had failed the job the moment that they’d allowed a hitherto unknown entity walk up to their charge. Though Brunhilde was no weakling, that of which she was sure of; it was unsightly to see her so poorly defended. Hazel would wager that she could have shot the heiress over a dozen times now, especially as the guards seemed to favour staying in a box formation around her; nothing that would allow them to reach in time, should somebody be making a serious move at her harm.

Irregardless, the heiress’ weaknesses were her advantages, and so Hazel continued to watch without interjection as Brunhilde began to speak.

It was too loud to hear anything of substance, but the trained sniper needed no sound to understand what was being said; simply watching with intense focus as Brunhilde’s lips moved softly, parsing the words that were said, and filing them down in surprise as she finally ascertained for certain who her tailer was.

Brunhildes’ alias in this event was Swan. The woman she was talking to was Maris.

Maris of the Daybreakers.

Alyxia Hei’an, of the same family.

Leader.

Traitor.

Assassin.

Kinslayer.

How amusing, to know that now those two were connected.

How amusing to find such important people in one place.

The police really had hit the jackpot.

Then Brunhilde’s guards began to move, and Hazel kept up her obviously kaput appearance of being interested in jewelry as she watched them encircle the area; frowning under her mask. She didn’t like being boxed in.

It was too claustrophobic.

Felt too much like the room.

She took off the necklace and set it back into its container, brushing a hand against a set of decorated rings also on display.

She closed her hand in a fist and turned around; fully exposing her trademark green trenchcoat underneath the tattered beige cloak that she wore, shoving both hands in her pockets as her body language visibly relaxed as she leaned against a post holding the place up.

She waited for the others to finish their whispered conversations before piping up herself; activating a voice changer that distorted her usually deeper, huskier voice into one of a male’s, deepened to sound like it was coming through a speaker and with just enough clarity to be able to enunciate her words, nasally as they did sound.

“An auspicious night, to be able to see so many powerful people around. Even stranger, to see them gathered in one place. The heiress, The anarchist, The oboist and The kinslayer all in one vicinity. Not something you’d often see, and for good reason, too. How are we all, this fine, fine night underneath a concrete sky?”

Her eyes watched.

Her knowledge waited.

Her hands thumbed at the safety.

In the auction room, Dust sighed as he walked to the refreshments table once more, accepting another small shot of the liquid gold he’d drunk a few moments ago.

He swigged it down and sighed.

It really was good whiskey.

Good enough to die for.

He raised a hand to his ear, finding some secluded, unwatched place and activated the small device hidden behind the crook of the said appendage.

“The Dust Devil, radioing in. Stage is set, targets are beginning to gather, lots of big fish to fry in this place, shit’s like a goldmine and they’ll be expecting something dodgy, so keep your guard up. ETA 15 to 30 minutes from the start of the auction. Beaches alongside east and west coast are mostly unguarded. Some spotlights are shone down, but there’s plenty of rock cover to get in from. How copy, over?”

Dust had expected many things of the commander from which he was assigned to; tough, gritty, professional and old as the shoes that he wore.

What he did not expect was the youthful, squeaky and familiar voice on the other side of the comms.

He sighed, putting a hand to his forehead in exasperation.

“Hey there Jett. How’s it goin?”