Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20170521035143/@comment-5999656-20170607041228

Zanipher merely nodded at Diaboli's plan and moved around to the opposite side of the house. She leapt up and crouched precariously on an overhanging tree branch, nominally concealed by the foliage blending in with her faded green jacket.

An all black entourage isn't always the best, I suppose.

They were here to make a big scene, to send out a clear message to everyone who dared to challenge Decadere Diaboli himself. Zanipher unhooked her weapon and slid it soundlessly to full polearm length. She gave the Dust revolver at the base of the blade an experimental whirr before settling into position. If anyone tried to run, she could strike them down immediately with a healthy dosage of Lightning Dust. Meanwhile, her left hand strayed to the inside pocket of her coat, where her borrowed mask rested.

Wait...

Perhaps it wouldn't be bad to keep her face visible. Send out a message of her own. The ambitious thought blossomed in Zanipher's mind as she  smirked  unconsciously. Who said Diaboli ought to get all the credit if they were working together?

''The Nine Dragons of Vale have entered Mistral, and they have formed a direct alliance with the Patched. Anyone who dares to interfere with our profits with be personally hunted down and dealt with swiftly and brutally. The Mistralian crime scene should prepare itself for a brand new plethora of world players.''

Zan let the thought simmer for a few seconds longer. She then quickly grasped the mask and pressed its adhesive against her face, hard. Zan blinked a few times, adjusting to the shaded view offered by the visor as she settled into place, and took a deep breath. The thought dissipated as she scanned the perimeter of the trees.

No, she was here not on behalf of the Dragons, but as a passing individual. It was folly to consider herself as merely an extension of a monolithic machine. What was happening between her and Diaboli would remain private from the other Heads, and from her family. Revealing her face here would be pointless. To the victims today, she would not be the Ninth Dragon of Vale. She would be a mysterious associate of the great Decadere Diaboli. Every bit his equal and every bit his ally, disappearing back into the crevices of the underworld once the job was done. If that was the case, then she should even refrain from speaking too often.

Yes, inserting organization-wide ambitions into as self-contained of a mission as this was not only excessive, it was selfish. The confrontation with Diaboli had taught Zanipher to be aware of her vulnerabilities even with the dozens of alliances, and the pomp and the bravado. She'd thought herself infallible, become consumed by the thought of her own self-worth and mystique, until a foreign mafia boss showed up on her doorstep with a pyscho and a robot lizard in tow. The fragility of her mob boss persona had been shown after that night, and the cracks remained to this day. That was why she'd stopped wearing masks. She'd been trying too hard to be one. Dropping the act and being herself... it turned out making lies weren't so fun after all.

Of course, the irony of her present look wasn't lost on her, but she shrugged it off in anticipation of the short battle that would ensue.

Time to see if being bad still feels good.