Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20190205035159/@comment-25389303-20191203190903

Diaboli remained silent as the Engelnacht finished her spiel, looking up at the masked woman in quiet appraisement. Upon being called easy prey, though, he couldn't suppress a small smile. Behind him, Trago folded his arms and waited patiently - his gaze never leaving the armed men until the Bluthardt ship had fully disappeared into the darkness.

"Another troublesome heiress to add to the list," Diaboli eventually said, when the two were finally alone on the jetty. "First in Vale...now, on my own doorstep."

A flash of light to Diaboli's left made him turn his head, and he watched as the bridge of their old ship burst into flames. The work of the Syndicate's spy, he noted - the one he had mistaken for Zanipher, back in the auction room. The sight of her made him hesitate in his thinking, momentarily detatching the dark thoughts that had been plaguing him since their first meeting all those hours ago.

Without realising it, Diaboli found himself reaching towards the flames spilling out from the ship's windows, entranced by the comforting heat of the rising fire. The warmth of it quickly washed down his outstretched arm, spreading like an intoxicating drug through the rest of his body. After so much cold, he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be warm.

He took a step closer.

"Our opponents are multiplying, commander," Trago observed matter-of-factly, his abrupt voice snapping Diaboli out of his trance. Frowning, he turned to his subordinate, who continued diligently. "Combined, they present a great threat to our operations."

For the longest time, Diaboli remained still. Then, with visible reluctance, he withdrew his hand, choosing instead to pull the frayed edges of his shirt tighter around him. The damp fabric immediately squelched the fleeting warmth, and the night's creeping chill enveloped him once again.

Paying one last cursory look at the beckoning flames, Diaboli turned his back on the dead man's pyre. As he marched down the lonely walkway, a fresh stoicism had taken hold of his sharp features, and when he spoke, he spoke with dark sincerity.

"When liars join forces with cowards, what can they hope to accomplish?"

---

When the pair rejoined the remains of Mistral's finest, Diaboli found the two still-conscious Hunters debating their next course of action. At the sight of the defiant expression the Huntress' face, Diaboli and Trago exchanged a look.

"You can relax, Miss...whatever your name is," Diaboli said in a calming tone, his hands open and raised in a peaceful gesture. "You're wise to wait for your friends. But what are you going to do when they arrive?"

He waved his hands at the surrounding area. The 'beach' upon which they stood was more like a thin spit of sand dividing the rocky coast from the dense woodland - barely wide enough for a car to fit lengthways, let alone an entire airship. Any pilot daring enough to try and land would more than likely clip their wing on the treeline and crash into the sea.

A feature Diaboli had not overlooked when choosing this as their landing zone.

"As amusing as watching a one-armed cowboy try and somersault into a hovering Bullhead with a cripple on his back would be, I suggest you follow me instead. There's a clearing in the woods not far from here where you can have your ship land." He waved his hand at his robotic companion, who was standing idly by as Diaboli spoke. "I'll even let Trago here carry the girl for you. Before you...you know...collapse.

"Of course, one of you should wait here to flag down your friends when they arrive. Best make your choice now, though, because I don't intend on being here when they do."