Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20190205035159/@comment-26571677-20190208115457

She stood motionless, like a statue of old; her faceless mien hiding what could be an expression of untold wrath or everlasting apathy.

So far, as she watched Diaboli’s facial expressions change, it was very much the latter. The motionless stare at the two women; the small grin at better memories, and then…

Then, her left hand flicked off the safety.

She had realized it too late; that familiar scene of cold fury; the most dangerous kind. It was universally the most feared, and she’d learned to recognize it after years of feeling it bubble and boil within herself.

It was dangerous.

It was consuming.

It was too late.

Even as she raised the silenced pistol out of her hidden pocket compartment, Diaboli was already moving for the throat of Maris. No sooner had she steadied her aim and tightened the trigger finger had he grabbed her windcheater and whirled her around.

The human body was fragile. The brain; centre of all thought and crucial to life was protected by something little more than a glorified jar.

An untrained person could kill with one wrong punch.

A trained person could kill with a dozen different punches.

Hazel could kill in twice as many different places on the body.

Diaboli was no untrained man.

It was too late.

Then, right as she nearly sent an explosive, burrowing bullet into the back of Diaboli’s skull and through the other end; she caught her finger. His rage; extinguished as soon as it had appeared.

That was strange; either he was the most self-controlled man in the world,

Or he’d just made a big mistake.

She’d bet with the second.

Her sights kept steady, but she postponed his meeting with a reaper much higher than her for interest of why he had not attacked just yet; disregarding the fact that Brunhilde’s guards were essentially incompetent at their job.

She’d assumed that Diaboli had stopped for fear of further mistake, but was unsure why; someone else, perhaps? Or was he simply that intimidated by the Bluthardt family that he would beg forgiveness then and there?

Hazel hoped it wasn’t the latter. It had been a while that there was any real stirring between big families. Such wars always led to plentiful harvests and plentiful information to build atop her stockpile; snippets sold for a desperate buck by defectors or extracted from those unlucky enough to be left alive in the wake of a battle.

Her eyes narrowed; there was a thin layer of gas rising into the roof; barely noticeable owing to the darkly coloured and lit background. It curled unlike steam, which dissipated quickly. It was not gas either; that displaced the air around it in a shimmer…

It was difficult to tell what it was from her position; but perhaps owing to her extensive background as a detail obsessed painter, she was at least able to see it and attribute it to some hidden power; perhaps a semblance of one of the two, or perhaps some compound about to be burned; she couldn’t be sure.

Something to remember for later.

Then, yet another person appeared; this one wearing a highly intricate, technologically advanced exosuit with a helmet that matched the appearance of an elite bodyguard.

Or, it would; should it not have been for the comically inept choice of weaponry.

A custom Desert Eagle. How quaint; a large, slow firing hand cannon better suited to be inside some vain collector’s cabinet rather than in use for a world that was necessarily dirty and required the ability to engage multiple people at once.

Regardless, she understood it would make little difference in such close confinement. He might be able to kill one, perhaps two if lucky. Not her. She’d pull the trigger fast enough.

Her life had depended on the faster draw many a time, after all.

And then, the Crimson Snake sidled up to Decadere and slapped a hand on his shoulder; offering a reasonably well executed excuse for inexcusable behaviour. She watched as Brunhilde pulled her apparent ‘friend’ aside and listened as Diaboli gave an apology.

Then, it was her in centre stage, and the bodyguard turned to face down the barrel of her gun; primed and ready to fire as he was too.

She heard his question, and sighed behind her mask, lowering her gun, sliding the safety on and sliding it back into her pocket holster. No fight today, it would seem; though she supposed she was better off for it.

A place like this was hardly ideal for her main weapon, after all.

“Nought. I was listening. My main purpose was the auction.”

She spoke few words now; changing her attitude to fit the situation as her emotionless, staring mask shot arrows towards the small group that had now gathered; entirely ignoring the bodyguard.

“I would listen to more, if I am not to be barred. I have information myself that is of use.”

A dangerous proposition; one that would pay off.

It was time to see how the dice rolled.

Dust stood in the large hall; surrounded by a middling crowd of people all too engrossed in their own conversations to pay him much mind. He was smiling regardless of himself. Though Jett had once upon a time been a rather prickly girl towards his friends, it was undeniable that her cheerfulness was contagious.

One needed simply hear the sheer youth and childlike excitement out her voice for a brighter day, and he was unable to resist her charms despite himself.

“Alright Jett, happy to be of service…”

He did a casual sweep of the building; his typically blue eyes drowning in a torrent of maroon red as he stealthily activated his semblance, noting now that he focused on everything in his field of view with equal detail. There were at least 40 armed guards stationed around the building; moving along in groups of 4 with two standing guard at each of the four doors; one large entrance into the hall and three small fire escapes.

The chairs were set in front of a suitably large stage, with a control room atop them all managing the lighting of the spacious grandeur of the main auction area. It would be difficult to get in, even for SAINTS.

“I count about 40 armed guards, moving around in groups of four. Two at each doorway. Three fire escapes, one large entrance. The stage may also have some backstage exits and entrances, but I can’t see them. I will maintain cover until instructed to do otherwise. Recommend checking on the spy network to receive further information as well as their status. Don’t wanna get jumped, now do we? Dust out.”

Once more, he shut the comms, and ordered another drink; this time only a refreshing lemonade, though he did crave that alcohol a bit more after his first taste.

The tension was skyrocketing, and he prayed to whatever entity was out there that they hadn’t been found out yet.

Turns out that they weren’t listening for this day.