Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20190205035159/@comment-26571677-20190730123524

It occurred to her that she probably hadn’t appreciated the ability to take a deep breath as much as she should have in her life.

The boat was the first semblance of security that she’d felt for the past few hours, despite the fact that it had felt like a lifetime. She guessed it was true that what was said about adrenaline remained as true as ever; the shot of dilated pupils and quickened breath in the middle of combat remained potent as ever; all that changed was her ability to think while under its addle.

But now, they could sit, take a rest for a second, regain their bearings.

Though the growing interest in the boat seemed to imply otherwise, she figured they had at least a few minutes before the interest peaked and once more, would eventuate into battle.

In fact, she could already see the shoreline in the distance; through the zoom of her visor; she saw the softly glowing lights of the faraway Mistral harbor; despite the power of the tanker that was rapidly sinking behind them, it turned out that they’d only travelled a few tens of kilometres in the time that they’d been out on sea; at the speed they were travelling, it wouldn’t be too long before they were within the defence border.

Yet that only solved one problem; barely even that, in consideration. She’d only trade one enemy for another, and at least the Grimm would spare her a protracted death.

Which is why she had to move quickly, get her brother and then herself in as best a position as possible. Thankfully, with the arrival of two more variables that seemed to lean more towards the ‘lawfully good’ morality than not, the dynamic was just a little bit more in her favour, and for Dust’s.

Speaking of which, she hadn’t even properly assessed the two since they’d gotten into the boat. Now looking over them, her perceptions grew dim. One was a step away from an emotional breakdown; leg torn to uselessness and bleeding blue blood from ravaged and shredded synthetic muscle. The other also seemed worse for wear, and didn’t appear to realise just who they were.

Good. She remained yet unknown, it would give her some benefit that she and Dust were the first ones that the pair had seen; especially since she wagered that her brother's smile was the first anyone had seen this entire cursed night.

Her body language up to this point had been upright; attentive, yet unassuming; body kept dangerously relaxed when she spoke, but hunched and low when fighting.

Now that they'd seen an environmental change, it was the perfect time for her visage to change as well. She would keep her back slouched down; shoulders drooped and head dipped ever so slightly; giving off an aura of weariness that was just pronounced enough to be believable, but not so much as to be absurd.

That was the persona she would adopt; tired and prone to slipping up.

More honest. Less smart, less attentive.

She spied the man with mask of cobra approaching with a medical kit that seemed familiar. As far as she knew, he was the one allied with the black swan; a crucial ally for the upcoming battle. It would be less one of raw strength; far more the ugly crash of morality’s poles and ideologies antithesis.

Taking the medkit with sincere thanks, she looked at the man for a fraction longer than would have been for courtesy, hoping that he would take note of her intentions as she raised her voice barely above a whisper. The words that came out were far more loose. Far more casual compared to the usual aloof, calculated venom.

“So, Cobra…you loyal to the Swan?”

---

“Whoa there girl! Calm down now, we’re not out of the shits yet! Get on the boat, then you can jabber at me!” were the words he spoke.

Yet now that he say against the backboard of their mighty (and dingy) vessel, he found her quiet, looking down. In the reflection of a small puddle of seawater, he could see…her eyes were filled with a million tears, each holding a face of one she’d lost. SAINTs were dead. Her SAINTS were dead, dead for an operation that had barely yielded any results.

That had to hurt.

A kid, she was. Unprepared for the horrors of war, whether public or underground. Unprepared for the nightmares that would keep one awake at night, unprepared for the everlasting question of ‘why me?’ when the silence of darkness brought about the voices of dead comrades and dying friends; futures all so bright, yet extinguished nonetheless.

He pulled her close, just held her, arm around her shoulder. Just for a moment; he couldn’t imagine the feeling, but damn, he could at least sympathise.

In the silence, he spied the other girl that had accompanied Jett. Her eyes darted around in constant suspicion, body tensed and coiled like a spring that had been pushed down for far too long.

Does she know who we are?

“Do you know who we are?”

He paused, waiting for any response; though from the way the person was wound up, he had no doubt she yet considered him as just another lowlife.

“I’m assumin’ you’re an officer, otherwise you wouldn’t have some girl that looks half dead already through that hellhole…Thanks for stopping to pick her up; kid isn’t suited to this kinda fight.”

He reached out with his other hand; fingers weeping blood from a dozen little nicks, but face giving no sign of pain.

“Pleasure to meet you, name’s Dust. Dust McAllister. I’m a part of the…”

He paused, looked around with eyes coloured deep maroon; checking for anything or anyone that may have been listening, and perceived nothing as of yet.

“…Part of the undercover hunter attachment. Far as I’m aware, one of the only actual bloody hunters on that big fucking coffin.”

And then, his big, shit eating grin crawled onto his face once more, and his tired eyes took upon their usual, everlasting and almost annoying mirth.

“Looks like we’re up shit creek without a paddle, eh?”