Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20180122052038

The sound of shuffling paper and muffled conversations permeated the interior of the Vale Police Department precinct. For a city whose Huntsman training force had all but dissipated, the air inside was unexpectedly dreary. Uniformed officers sat at their nondescript desks, while large blue holograms on each wall silently displayed maps of the city, or news reports. The only notable sound was the occasional sliding of the metal doors at the holding cells, at the far end of the building.

A young Huntress sat on an office chair at a desk against the wall, feet propped up lazily on the tabletop. Compared to the grey and blue uniforms of the officers around her, her outfit was self-aggrandizingly decorated - an unbuttoned white military jacket with brass epaulets over a white blouse, and calf high laced military boots over black leggings. A gold locket dangling around her neck and its matching gold cuff bracelet around her wrist hinted at a feminine vanity that was normally absent in the working uniforms of Huntresses. It was a getup that was quite classy compared to her true nature.

A young detective, in creased dress shirt and tie, approached her rather boldly. Hearing his footsteps, the brown-haired Huntress lifted her head and eyed him lazily. A thin scar gleamed above her left eye, cutting a pink line through her eyebrow.

"What do you want?" she said brusquely.

"Chamberlain, you're sitting in my chair again," the detective said sternly.

"So?"

"I need you to move." Though his words were formal, the way the detective said them positively oozed contempt.

"And what will you do if I don't?" The Huntress sounded bored.

"You're forgetting your place, Chamberlain. One wrong move, and we'll send you right back to prison where you belong," the detective said in a low voice, approaching the huntress and making as if to pull her out of the chair. In a flash, she had planted her boots on the ground, and extended a single, long needle, which pressed against the detective's jugular. When she spoke, her voice was menacing.

"Don't think I won't kill you if you piss me off, Vanger," she sneered.

Vanger gulped, but a stern female voice from across the room cut off anything he could have said.

"Lustra!" The voice came from a woman in her mid-twenties, clad in a thick black longcoat, with metal greaves glinting from underneath the folds. Her black hair was shaved into a neat pixie cut, and a pair of fangs were visible when she spoke. Her expression was rightly pissed, and Lustra quickly retracted her needle and leaned back.

"I was just messing around," she said casually. "Here, have your chair," she continued condescendingly, rising to her feet and sliding the office chair over to Vanger, who was massaging his throat with one hand.

"I warned you about this kind of conduct," sighed Nozomi, the black-clad huntress.

"Really? Must have forgotten," Lustra said, stretching her arms above her head, and sauntering over. "So, do we have an assignment or what? I'm tired of chasing down burglars." 