Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20190205035159/@comment-5999656-20190814032721

It had always been like a tsunami wave, Lustra's anger. If she gave in to it, it would build and crest into an uncontrollable release of destructive tendencies, one that more often than not landed her in even more trouble than whatever had caused her to feel this way in the first place.

There was something paradoxically comforting about the white-hot release of rage, though. Just for a few moments, she could stop thinking, relax control, and act upon her own primal hunger for domination. Right now, her chest was throbbing with the desire to launch herself full force at Tragoedia, consequences be damned. And yet...

More of the criminals had showed up on the scene. Some simply watched the standoff from the corner of their eyes, feigning indifference with perfunctory gestures, while others were more eager to influence the outcome of their dispute. The robot's master, the two masked women, the criminal who had offered her a roll of bandages. The four of them were here now, watching. Watching, and waiting, and sliding the odds against her favor.

Lustra closed her eyes, knowing that none of them would attack in that moment, and took a deep breath, trying to quell the storm that had built up in her chest. When she opened her eyes again, the pulsating redness that had been building up at the edges of her vision was gone. She didn't sheath her weapon then. Instead, she glanced at Dust, and ever so slowly crossed her arms.

She hadn't considered Jett's condition. In fact, she had never bothered to examine the girl closely enough, instead merely assuming that the fact that she was still coherent meant she was alive enough to not need immediate emergency procedures. But perhaps this wasn't the case. Perhaps this child's life hung in the balance.

The rage still bubbled under the veneer of self-control Lustra had put up, but she made no provocatory moves. Instead, she gave the stiffest of nods towards Dust, the smallest indication of her willingness to default to his judgment in the matter laid before them. It helped that he was willing, so selflessly, to put himself forward as a scapegoat in this moment. ______________________

The two Syndicate agents watched emotionlessly as Black Swan moved past them, her disdain for their apparently subordinate position evident in her body language. Her move for the alcohol didn't slip past their notice either. It would be absolute insanity to consider becoming intoxicated at this point in time. To trained spies, it was obviously a self-soothing behavior, meant to calm oneself by going through a familiar set of motions. The Engelnacht heiress was nervous, and her amateur attempt at masking it wasn't fooling either of them.

Unexpectedly, Diaboli stopped the boat and strode past the duo and out of the cabin, the wave of stress billowing behind him in an invisible aura. It was vaguely amusing that both he and Brunhilde thought the agents were working for the other side. But they had long been trained to flow like water around conflicting groups, gathering information as they went.

And gather information they had. Sorrel had watched closely how Diaboli had piloted the ship, the careful movements the crime lord had made in steering the vessel through the treacherous waves. They'd seen how he stalled the boat into a halt, leaving them stranded tantalizingly within sight of land. Good knowledge to have, in case their unwilling captain suddenly tipped overboard.

"Do you recognize him?" Maris finally asked, quietly. His threats were ominous and yet vexing, considering she remembered nothing about the Syndicate making any sort of deal to stay out of Mistral.

"Nope," Sorrel replied. He made a mental note to check with the higher-ups after this whole debacle was done with. If there were deals being made without the greater Syndicate's knowledge, then someone was going to be held accountable. No self-respecting Dragon would ever leave an entire kingdom untouched, not unless there were some extraordinary circumstances involved.

The spies remained put, content to let the brink of bloodshed carry on abovedeck without any sacrifices on their end. Unbeknownst to them, the water around the yacht began to grow darker, thick blue sea becoming pervaded with fluid shapes just below the surface. A trio of tentacles, black as night and each as thick as a man's torso, slid out of the water at the vacated front of the boat and seized a tight hold of the railing, and began pulling the vessel nose-first into the sea.