Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20190205035159/@comment-26571677-20190710134715

Their looks weren’t lost on her.

How could they be? None of them made any effort to hide their disdain, and she did not embarrass them by pretending otherwise.

Their relationship had always been uneasy; she was the one without contacts or relationships; the wildcard of the group. By revealing the ploy so quickly, she’d painted a fat red target on both her back, and the back of her brother.

Though, there was some extent that this would always have happened. There was no doubt in her mind that this group would never last. On one side, there was the man with white hair, yet holding onto his petty hatred; stuck in the past with holes yet to fill. On the other, a corrupt and bloody family of killers; known for their ruthlessness even within. And at the last, yet another pair from a shadowy organisation; one to add to the pile.

They were criminals. They were the underbelly. Betrayal was par for the course.

But for now, she’d follow, and for now, she’d cooperate.

No difference between dying at the docks or dying in the water, but she’d rather to be known as one that went down biting.

Hazel and the hunter were the second pair to enter the vicinity of the boat; and she watched as Diaboli armed himself and began repairs; moving to a crate and rummaging through its contents herself, even as the others began arriving.

She armed herself with ammunition aplenty, and refilled in enough ordnance to make a demolitions crew blush. They’d need it for the coming tide and as a precautionary measure against whatever schemes she was sure the less…desirable persons of the crew would try and pull against them.

The Stalker turned back as the woman with the mask of a swan stepped towards a machine gun perch with a shoulder torn open; evidence of the rats that had swarmed them. Grabbing a nearby medical kit, she slid it over to the woman and jumped off without a backwards glance; that woman could take care of herself. Her main goal now was to survive; that meant keeping Diaboli in her peripherals whilst doing her best to take care of the approaching hordes of apathy; undoubtedly already closing in.

Through the double doors came sounds that made her ears ache; as if the screams and screeches were driving a spike through her ear and into her brain. Stupendous was their effect, as she felt the uncontrollable effects of their emotional dampeners seep in; her concentration waning with each intermittent scream; eyelids already twitching and becoming heavier.

Unclipping a flare from their strappings over her chest, she twisted the top; forcing herself to inhale the sharpening scent of burning nitrate before tossing it far into the darkness of the wide open doorways.

She saw something strange.

Two people running towards them; limping, by the looks of it.

She saw something worrying.

The pair were slowing down.

She saw something terrifying.

The Grimm had converged into one, gigantic group.

The Stalker paced backwards.

She unslung her weapon.

She loaded a round in.

She ignored the pain in her shoulder.

She aimed down the sights.

-

Dust was quiet as he walked along with his surrogate sister; despite his jokey demeanor and playful tendencies, even he knew the levity of the situation he was in; surrounded by people that would kill him and sleep soundly. He knew the risk that his sister had taken, and despite the fact that it had saved untold amounts of the bullhead crews, no good deed went unpunished.

Now, he waited for that punishment to manifest; he just hoped it wouldn’t be overproportionate.

They arrived in front of a boat and Dust watched as Hazel began rummaging through the store of arms the former-now dead-owner had left in their possession. He himself went through it; grabbing a few boxes of ammunition and belts of grenades.

The rounds themselves slot into his empty magazines effortlessly, but noticeably without the lustre of his typical armaments.

Yet with his weaponry filled and vitality rejuvenated, he joined the rest of his soon to be enemies at the centre of the battlefield.

The robot lizard guy seemed to be handling the entranceway they’d come through pretty well; spraying ice to seal it shut. Trying to meet its eyes, Dust couldn’t help himself but give a wink, a smile, and a pair of fingerguns at his former enemy; smiling even with the blanket that was slowly casting itself over everyone’s emotions.

But the sight of Hazel moving backwards and laying down with gun pointed at a separate entrance dimmed his joviality.

He peered down her sightline, and felt his smile fade into the barest of upturns in lips.

Two people coming; a flood approaching.

There was no time for their scheming anymore. No time to worry about Diaboli, to worry about the swan mask, to worry about the Syndicate.

The Grimm didn’t discriminate, and if they didn’t work together, they’d drown in a tide of darkness.

His rifle began to sputter in intermittent bursts of gunfire; spewing out flame and hellish explosive rounds; striking down the closest shadows that jumped towards the pair that seemed still so far away; yet ensconced by the darkness that they were trying to escape from.

Hopefully they weren’t the next casualties on a list that was already far too long.