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Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 1, 2010 12:14:26 GMT -5
Wednesday the 18th 8:36 pmTo say the Magnet Train “rattled” or “churned” along the tracks to Saffron, or to invoke any of the other verbs Charles Tanner was used to employing when he wished to describe the motion of trains, would have been unkind. The Magnet Train could only be said to glide over its westbound path between the mountains. Tanner had long held that trains were the most elegant form of travel, but the railroads of England and the continent had never yielded any passage to compare with this one. The sensation was perhaps akin to riding in an airplane that skimmed directly over the ground, albeit with rather fewer suicidal trappings. He was seated in the dining coach before a table strewn about with empty plates. The rest of them had already taken their supper and had politely left him to consider the situation in solitude. The old man pressed a napkin to his fingertips without hurry, and let his gaze linger out the window. The sepia-toned peaks had cast the Magnet Train into shadow under the deepening sky. Soon the train and the moon would provide the only illumination until they reached the city. At some length he stirred himself, picked up his cane, and left the table for the busboys to clear. On the way out of the coach he nearly struck a young dark-skinned girl with her hair in a plait who had got up from her table at the wrong instant. He brushed off her startled apologies with a preoccupied smile and left her to the reproach of her parents as he slid open the coach door. As he had expected, only Kenneth, Muriel, Hugh and Bryan were waiting in his coach. Until he had firmly closed the d., no one spoke. Then Hugh was the first to. “What do you reckon, boss?” Charles Tanner had made up his mind while he had watched the sun set. “We shall carry on with it.” Hugh grinned widely underneath his shaggy blonde hair. He rubbed a tremendous bicep as if in preparation. “ Excellent.” “You mean that?” asked Muriel, lifting her head off Kenneth’s shoulder. “You’re sure we can pull this one off?” “It is on rather short notice, isn’t it,” Kenneth commented. Tanner saw his hand go mechanically from Muriel’s waist to the sizeable lump on his head which had not yet fully receded. “The conditions are appropriate,” Tanner said simply. “Security is deplorable, and several parties in the dining coach appeared quite wealthy. And we’ll not be in Saffron for a couple of hours yet.” “Sounds like a clean job to me,” Hugh said. “Eh?” He nudged Bryan’s shoulder, eliciting a nod from the thin man. But Muriel frowned as she straightened up in her seat. “Right, Hugh. And the Ansonia run was supposed to be a clean job, too.” “Ah, well, perhaps that’s not entirely true,” Tanner interjected, leaning on his c. “I did expect the Ansonia to be a bit of a fiasco. One hardly dared presume the business with the Giarrettiera family was going to play out simply and comfortably. As for the rest… Well, Muriel, let me say that I strongly disbelieve such an outlandish convergence of circumstances could crop up twice in three days. I’m prepared to risk that assumption.” “Besides, we ought t’ have scraped something off Johto in the end, right?” Hugh asked. But both Muriel and Kenneth were still looking reluctant. Tanner played another card. “Of course, if you two are disinclined to participate this time, you may hurry into another coach and pretend to be among the victims. Perhaps you’d rather let me know now whether or not you’d like your memories erased with the rest of them…?” This achieved the desired effect. Kenneth stood up at once. “I’ll hang in on this one, sir.” After a moment’s pause, Muriel stood up as well. “I’m glad to hear it. Bryan, the transceiver, please.” Bryan passed a walkie-talkie to Tanner, who spoke into it, “Flo? Culverton? Allen? Are you there?” In an instant came Flo’s reply. “Yes, Mr. Tanner.” “We will proceed. All in your coach please move to dining.” “At once, Mr. Tanner,” was the cheery response. Tanner set down the w. t. and brought out his suitcase, from which he extracted a white mask, a wide-brimmed felt hat, and a black cloak. As for the revolver he was already carrying it in the inner pocket of his jacket. The others armed themselves with guns from Hugh’s case. The Ansonia had been a fiasco; that seemed the ideal term to describe it, no doubt due to the word’s Italian pedigree. However the King of Clubs did not suffer such setbacks with any degree of self-pity. All that was necessary was to shuffle the deck and pick up a new hand. And (to run the metaphor about as far as he could) although the stakes of tonight’s game might not be so high, there would be no wild cards on the table. He was certain of that. “Are you all ready, then?” he said briskly. “Don’t let’s keep Flo waiting.” ISHKABIBBLE SCENE THREE Blaise Euler Demonstrates Surprising Compassion and is Subsequently Held at Knifepoint Monday the 16th 1:03 pmVincenzo blinked slowly awake. He was in the back seat of a car, between Phil and Dom. Both were still unconscious. Vinnie shook his head and tried to unbuckle his seatbelt, but his hands were tied together and his arms strapped to his sides. The f*cking counterfeiter knew what he was doing. Vinnie’s forehead pounded. He looked outside. They were in a public garage with tiled walls and soft, incandescent lighting. It was the garage of the Hotel Ansonia. Interesting. So the counterfeiter knew that the Giarrettiera family did its business there. Obviously he and his friends had come here to discuss things with Don Massimo. The counterfeiter had probably been hoping to use Vinnie, Phil and Dom as pawns for safe negotiation. And for some reason they’d been stupid enough not to leave someone to guard the car. No, Vincenzo reconsidered: obviously the f*cking counterfeiter did not know what he was doing. Something flickered in the corner of Vinnie’s eye, and he strained to turn around fully enough to get a look. There was a woman standing next to an old, piecemeal American-looking motorcycle parked alongside the opposite wall. The woman hadn’t been there a minute ago. Not so weird. Weird part was that the chopper had been. Didn’t matter though. She could help, that was the important thing. Vinnie started yelling for help at once, stirring Phil and Dom awake in the process. The windows were all sealed tightly, but Vinnie hoped he could get the woman’s attention even so.
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Post by Tout-Perd on Jan 3, 2010 15:37:43 GMT -5
Blaise put a hand to her ear. The shouting... Even with the car acting as a buffer of some manner, it could only aggravate the dull cephalalgia that had been growing since her arrival. Arcane transit was much more efficient than any normal means of travel, but even the most advanced kinds at the Institute could not cover for natural flaws.
The human body was not made to cope with such swift changes of location... The instantaneous shift from the balmy, almost oppressive heat of Louisiana to the brisk, breezy climate of winstone... The disorientation inherent in being translocated across a third of the planet... Yes, even the slightly different magnetic fields, something that Blaise had spent weeks of training to be able to detect without equipment...
It all, in summation, was giving her a feeling akin to being punched behind the eyes. Repeatedly. And every time that one of the captives called for help, it only seemed to put a bit of extra muscle into those punches. Blaise's hand drifted from her ear to her forehead. At this point, she really was having trouble believing that requisitioning one of the transporters from the Institute was truly a more practical option than simply buying a plane ticket.
Another yelp. Some kind of pleading for her to do something. They seemed to be invoking the Christian deity for whatever reason. Possibly an appeal to faith, possibly as an invective. Blaise didn't bother paying attention. The pleas were irritating enough without having to sift them for content.
"Render yourselves inaudible presently, or I shall be on my way!" The first words Blaise had said in return to the men were extremely harsh in tone, enough to silence them even through the car door. She raised a finger, and placed it against the passenger-side window.
The surface of the glass seemed to droop, and then, after a moment, began trickling down like water. A similar display happened on the inside, the clear liquid forming a pool on the front seat.
"Accursed composite materials. Had this not been laminated glass, this wretched obstacle would have already been surmounted..." Blaise winced ever so slightly, even the sound of her own voice making her head feel like it was trying to explode.
"Just need to render the material slightly more brittle..." Blaise caressed the glass, and then stepped away. She wrapped her lab coat around her fist.
The prisoners were treated to the window collapsing inwards in a cloud of glass shards, crumbling quietly to the floor. The scientist released her hold on her coat, and flipped the white fabric out of the way. She pressed the switch, the power locks all clicking in unison.
The rear passenger side door swung open, and Blaise grabbed Dom by his belt and shirt collar. She still ignored what the men were saying, trying to regain control of the runaway hammering in her brain.
Dom hit the ground as Blaise yanked him out of the vehicle, and pragmatically dropped him to the floor immediately beside the vehicle. His two colleagues followed him, unceremoniously dropped on top of him despite their protests.
Wordlessly, already having analyzed all of the knots used, Blaise began working on untying Phil.
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Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 3, 2010 18:29:27 GMT -5
"Oh, Jesus -- f*ckin' -- shit!" Phil shouted, drawing his knees up suddenly. The woman wasn't being none too gentle with his legs. Vincenzo blinked. Least Phil's kneecap was bandaged up now. Awful considerate of the counterfeiter and his buddies not to just leave Phil to bleed out like that. Then again probably the driver just didn't want blood all over his upholstery. No such thing as chivalry, these days.
"F*ck! Take it easy!" Phil cried as the woman unceremoniously hoisted him up to finish untying him. As soon as his hands were free, his fingers were inexpertly fumbling with the red-stained bandages in an effort to assuage the pain.
"Let it alone for Christ's sake. And whyn't you learn to express a little thanks?" Vinnie muttered as the lady untied him. With his hands free, he scratched at the stubble on his chin that'd been nagging him since he'd woken up. Once Dom was free too, he helped Phil up and took an arm over his shoulder. At the first sign his knees'd locked, Phil buckled over and started howling again. "Aw, shut up," Vinnie added.
He stood up and brushed off his clothes, getting a look at the woman as he did so. Another Power. Pretty obvious she was a different breed from the lowlifes back at the counterfeiters' place, though. The lab getup was a tipoff there. Not that that coat was going out of its way to hide her figure or nothing. Good-looking lady. 'Cept for the eyes. Something a little too cold about them. On the other hand maybe that was just how Vinnie saw people wearing glasses. God knew he got the same vibe from Cesare and the Don's little bro.
"Thanks a lot, lady," he said. "Hostage situation there, I'm not even shitting you. Gonna have to get this sad sack to a hospital..." He gestured to Phil.
"Think you could just magic my knee better?" the latter said weakly.
"Shut up, Phil," Vinnie growled. They weren't pushing their luck with the woman. They had other things to take care of. He looked around. Yeah, there was the employees-only stairwell. Sucked for Phil, but they could avoid the main lobby by not taking the elevator. Lucky enough it was only the woman here in the garage right now. Vinnie didn't want to risk too many other people seeing them in this state. They weren't calling an ambulance 'til they'd said hi to Don Massimo.
"What can I -- can I pay you or somethin'?" Vinnie had just realized his wallet was still on him. Dumbass move for the counterfeiter not to take it. But now that he thought about it, why would the counterfeiter need to? "Don't want you to think we're not grateful."
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Post by Tout-Perd on Jan 3, 2010 19:13:21 GMT -5
"It appears that none of you can understand even the most basic of requests," Blaise snapped, putting her hand to Phil's throat, "If you can promise to cease that thrice-damned caterwauling until you're out of my auditory range, I'll give you some medication to aid in your recuperation."
Blaise backed away, and then reached into her pocket, drawing a silver tube. She unscrewed a cap from it, and tilted it, many small objects rattling around inside. She shook one out into her palm. It was light blue with flecks of white, with a peculiar shape reminiscent of a rectangle with rounded edges. She gently put it to his lips.
"Swallow it. Imbibe a glass of distilled water at the next possible occasion. It's an extremely potent concentrated pain-killing agent, available only to the foremost agents of the Parmigianino Institute," Blaise turned away.
She touched her throat with one hand, carefully readying to displace the sound of her voice around Phil's head. His two colleagues, however, would be quite capable of hearing.
"If you don't want me informing your colleague that I dosed him with a placebo, I'd advise both of you to, without speaking, exit the premises. That is the only payment that I'm willing to accept."
OOC: Eh, short. But not too terrible for the resources at hand.
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Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 3, 2010 20:56:43 GMT -5
Once he was sure he'd followed the woman all the way through her talk, Vinnie nodded. "Sure. C'mon, guys." He jerked a thumb toward the employees-only door. Dom started plodding in that direction, going slowly enough to keep Phil from protesting. Actually Phil seemed to be doing better; there were tears on his face, but he wasn't shouting any more. What the hell, Vinnie thought, looked like the placenta effect really did work.
And the woman'd definitely sounded like she knew what she was talking about. Strange though that she'd dropped that Italian name -- Parmigiano or whatever. Didn't look like she was from the boot. Vinnie's brow furrowed as he looked at her again. Perfectly honest, he was curious. Interesting lady... But no time for questions. Or at least, not with her. Maybe if she was checking in for a while, he'd spot her again.
"Thanks," he repeated, then followed the others to the door.
It was locked of course, but a swipe of his employee ID did the trick. Not that Vinnie and the boys were formally on the Hotel Ansonia payroll or nothing. They just had some benefits, was all.
Vinnie held the door onto the stairwell open for Dom and Phil, then let it close and relatch with a heavy click.
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Post by Tout-Perd on Jan 3, 2010 23:27:17 GMT -5
Blaise nodded slightly, without looking back to the men. Even a slight gesture like that had been enough to make her feel like marbles were caroming around in her braincase. At least the men had heeded her requests after the initial issue. That was worth somethi- Blaise shuddered as the door clicked. Funny how a small, sharp noise could be so much more grating than a man screaming in agony.
She listened for a moment. The men themselves seemed mostly to be muttering amongst each other, but there was a second set of voices in the stairwell. Blaise could almost recognize one of them, but before her mind could lock down on an answer, the voices faded away into the distance.
No matter. Her target wouldn't be hanging around this hotel. He had something substantially more grand, somewhere in the outskirts of Winstone. At least, as far as Alpha- Blaise punched the 'Up' button on the elevator, the plastic cracking in three places. She looked above the entryway. The lights indicated that the elevator was almost at the top of the hotel, and still rising. She'd need to change that.
She let her eyes drift shut, and pushed her headache aside. Focus. That was one gift she'd always be able to call upon, regardless of the situation. She extended her mind, probing the lift with her manna. The cables up top- Blaise decided to dismiss the majority of the friction, leaving the coils grasping at nothing. A plummeting, screaming mass of steel and passengers headed rapidly towards the bottom floor, stopping only once Blaise let the cables lock into place once more.
There was a loud TWANG as the cable went taut against, and the sound of half a dozen people falling down as it came to a sudden stop. The doorway dinged loudly, and then slid open. Five of the passengers scrambled out, trying to flee the elevator after what had seemed a close call with death. The last one, a rather portly man, was not able to rise before Blaise stepped in, and hit the lobby button.
“There is no need for you to indulge in asinine delusions of peril in this situation. This contraption is entirely within my control, and could not descend without my assent even if the building itself were to collapse,” Blaise looked at the fellow from the corner of her eye, the mere glance carrying the full weight of her disgust. To even doubt in her capabilities...
She was tempted to reward the man's impudence with another plunge, but she didn't have time for that. Even if he didn't believe the veracity of her statement, she was on a mission. The man's corpulent trembling, however offensive it was, would need to go unpunished.
The door dinged, and Euler paused, both hands going to her temples. Before she could look up, the man had gone clawing past her, and ran screaming into the lobby.
“Such intolerance for those of an arcane persuasion...” Blaise tut-tutted as she stepped out of the elevator, and into the resplendent entryway to the Hotel Ansonia. The carpet was soft and clean, absorbing the sound of the traffic despite the sheer number of people entering and leaving at any given moment. The ceiling was high and vaulted, giving the impression of a soaring, massively open space. There was a large row of double doors, opening to the street. Presumably for those that commuted mostly on foot, Blaise surmised. The archipelago favored more primitive methods of travel, both due to a health conscious public, and also due to the tendencies of gas stations and other such spots to be wrecked in battles between Powers. Sometimes, walking everywhere was truly the safest option.
Blaise walked up to the front desk, approaching a clerk with red hair cut at a moderately short length. She didn't ring the service bell, simply staring icily at the woman until spoken to.
OOC: Amusing enough, each time that I typed "could" while writing this post, my autocomplete suggested "counterfeiter".
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Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 4, 2010 1:19:34 GMT -5
The young red-haired clerk blinked in surprise. A fat fellow had just fled the elevator and, screaming, pushed out through the double doors. How odd! She was quite certain she'd just seen him go into the elevator to proceed upstairs. People could behave so strangely. Ah, well, her business wasn't psychology, was it?
She watched beyond the glass as the porker trampled a path through the flowers in the plaza out front. There was one the Hotel Ansonia weren't likely to say hello to again in the near future. Couldn't be helped. Frankly, he hadn't looked all that well-to-do in the first place. She didn't mind being rid of him. Not in line with the ideal demographic. Nor was he the only one who'd been flitting through this place in too-casual clothing this afternoon. There were a few in the dining hall just now wearing t-shirts and the like. A bad sign. Perhaps this wasn't the best day after all.
Ah. There was a lady in a labcoat standing in front of the counter, wearing a quite unaccommodating expression. The red-haired clerk shook her head slightly and straightened up. "I'm so sorry!" she said at once. "I was years away. My fault. Do you already have a reservation, miss?"
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Post by Tout-Perd on Jan 6, 2010 2:49:28 GMT -5
"Such is understood. If I were to berrate an individual such as yourself for being distracted by intellectual ruminations, it would be the pinnacle of hypocracy. The mere fact that you were preoccupied with cogitations, in and of itself, justifies your inadequacy in the field of alacrity," Blaise reached into her pocket, producing an expensive looking pen with a sharp snap of her wrist.
"Resume capillary action..." She stated in a stage whisper, a peculiar gleam catching on its nib.
"I regret to inform you that I am not presently the possessor of a reservation for lodgings with Hotel Ansonia. However, I am willing to compensate those providing accomodations with no deficiency in my generousity, provided that they are capable of furnishing me with said reservations," Blaise's pen darted about as she talked, stabbing at air to empasize points. It seemed almost as if the woman was more preoccupied with getting to sign into the hotel than she was with the flow of travellers, or even the woman attending to her...
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Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 6, 2010 13:19:42 GMT -5
"...furnishing me, with said, reservations," the young woman whispered. She had been rhythmically mimicking this lady's words under her breath to ensure she'd got all the way through it without missing anything. The lady talked like the worst sort of textbook. She brightened. "I must say, ma'am, you've got quite a gift for articulation! Most people'd call it quits after a simple 'Yes'."
She looked the lady's attire up and down. Not a subtle dresser, really, flaunting a labcoat like that when she was clearly off duty. "A scientist, then? I can't imagine what there could be in a city like this to interest a brain like yours..." Were those test tubes in her hair? How brazenly tacky. The young red-haired clerk couldn't tell whether to be amused or disgusted.
"But that's neither here nor there," she said hastily, calling up a new entry page on her computer. Couldn't waste all day on this one. Talk your ear off if she had the chance. "Now, I'll need your name, please, and the length of your stay."
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Post by Tout-Perd on Jan 8, 2010 13:42:12 GMT -5
Blaise paused. A slight blush touched her cheeks, and she stopped writing in the air.
"It's not much of a profficiency, veraciously, but I do apply some modicum of effort into cultivating a robust vocabulary," Blaise's lips turned upwards ever so slightly, a tiny shadow of what could be a smile. The headache fled like a pack of baying hounds had been set upon its heels, receding away almost instantly.
The second comment, though, was enough to slap the traces of happiness from her face. She didn't particularly enjoy having to come here to track down the repudiator of their contract, but consequences were a neccessary projection of a failure to meet his end of the bargain.
"I'm present to secure a... possibly former lab assistant that has gone absent without my consent. Considering the secrecy of the project that we're engaged in, his nonattendance could represent a critical breach in the classified information that he has been party to," Blaise didn't hesitate with the information. The woman had good taste, and, considering her ability to follow conversation with her, clearly was bright enough not to go leaking the reason for her presence.
"So, naturally, there is very little here to actually entertain my intellect. This is, if you will, an errand. A beleaguering duty. If I had been forced to select a location for recreation in the archipelago, it is highly likely that I would have fancied Canalave, for their capacious and comprehensive libraries... But, alas, one rarely can designate their appointments, even less so when in a crisis such as this..."
Blaise was cut off by the demand for her stay.
"Oh, of course. Blaise Euler, of the Parmigianino Institute. Please allocate me one week of reservation. If I do not resolve this situation by then, the lack of lodgings should prove adequate motivation to drive me to conclude this episode. If I resolve before then, all's the better. I'll simply pay the full dues, including those for the days iI leave the residence unoccupied. The Institute, after all, does afford all operatives a generous budget for peregrination."
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Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 8, 2010 16:19:05 GMT -5
The young red-haired clerk craned her neck slightly to look over the shoulder of the woman in the labcoat. A scrawny man with wispy black hair had taken up residence behind her in line. The clerk pressed a finger idly into the cushion of her seat and stole a glance at the digital clock display at the top of her computer screen. 1:13. Going to have to cut the lady off midsentence if she kept blathering on. When she'd finally got around to saying her name, the clerk obediently typed "BLAZE OILER" and "7" into the appropriate fields on the reservation page.
"And might I interest you in one of our luxury suites on the first floor?" she asked, repeating a stock pitch. "They're our most spacious and elegant offerings... You can compare the prices here." She pulled a brochure out of the tiny stand on the counter and handed it to the woman in the labcoat.
Simultaneously, she took another look at the time. Still thirteen past the hour.
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Post by Tout-Perd on Jan 8, 2010 17:29:28 GMT -5
Blaise leaned in, glancing at the display. She had suspected it from the order the woman had struck the keys. One did not type an ‘E’ with their right digitus annularus. Unless, of course, they were using a bizarre ergonomic layout. However, odds were against the hotel lobby having one at their front desk.
“You seemed to have perpetrated an error in your typography…” Blaise reached across the desk, leaning in at an odd angle. She put her fingertip to the monitor. The screen wavered, as if it had just been degaussed. When the image became clear again, her last name had been corrected to the appropriate spelling.
“Much better. Now that your inaccuracy has been remedied, we may proceed with business. I do not presently believe that luxury would prove to be a positive or at least neutral asset in my current situation. Anything that encourages me, even on a subconscious level, to not be out and about in pursuit of this defector is a gross inefficiency. Actually, if possible, would you be capable of enrolling me for the least pleasant of rooms that you have available? That would prove the most productive in the long run,” Blaise handed the brochure back without so much as a glance.
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Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 8, 2010 19:03:14 GMT -5
The young red-haired clerk blinked, then stared. This woman -- Ms. "Euler" apparently -- had just altered the display on the computer with a touch of her finger. Well, she supposed it'd been silly of her not to guess that the woman was a Power. Might have worked that bit out from the start, with such an eccentric. Come to think of it, odds were spot on Bryan had already figured Ms. Euler for who she was. Explained why he was keeping an eye firmly on her. "I think we can manage that..." The clerk let her eyes wander across the room as she spoke. In a far corner of the room, a strapping young customer with shaggy blonde hair was sitting on one of several sofas in front of the fireplace. There was a dark briefcase at his feet. He caught her eye and brushed his bangs out of his face, momentarily revealing the watch on his wrist. The clerk, understanding, looked at the clock on her computer. 1:14. "Now, will you be paying by check or credit?" The pixels flickered. 1:15. Immediately, from the dining hall, the clerk heard the sounds of gunfire and furniture crashing over. She pushed her chair back and pulled the gun out of the drawer under the monitor. At the same time, Bryan stepped forward, grabbed the Euler woman by one arm, and held his knife to her throat. The strapping blonde leapt off the sofa and flipped his briefcase open to reveal a sizeable revolver. The customers in the lobby immediately started up with the screaming and general carrying on, but he stepped in front of the elevator and covered the front doors. "This is a stickup!" he yelled. "Everyone on the floor, here in the middle, where we can see you! That means you too, loves!" For the other hotel employees behind the desk were screeching and trying to hide. The clerk stepped back to guide them out from around the counter toward the center of the room. "All right there, Flo?" the blonde asked. "Aces," the young red-haired clerk responded. "Nice bellowing, Hugh! Course, they probably heard you all the way down at the station..." "Florence!" another, older woman from behind the desk cried. Her eyebrows were arched in what looked rather like disbelief at a bad joke. "What's -- What are you--" "There, there," Flo smiled. "Come on, now. No need to worry. Onto the floor you go, Sal, thanks, sweetie." She looked back at Euler and Bryan. The latter hadn't said anything yet, just pressed the blade against her neck gently with his eyes focused squarely on an opposite patch of wallpaper. He'd never got used to guns as far as Flo knew. Right shame that, but she reasoned slitting throats was a time-honored enterprise which still deserved some support. To Euler, she said, "We also accept cash."
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Post by Tout-Perd on Jan 10, 2010 23:37:40 GMT -5
"Inevitably," Blaise glanced around. Most of the people had guns, but it seemed that her fortunes, not exactly wonderful this past week, had held into the present. A knife... She couldn't melt it, couldn't cause any ammunition to be useless. She'd get exsanguinated if she tried to resist, no question about it. Blood running down one’s throat typically would obstruct the ability to speak, words of arcane power or otherwise.
“Fortunately for you, Parmigianino Institute operatives are admeasured only a credit card to utilize. So I suppose that your attempts at evading the unavoidable arrival of officers of the law will be aided by the fact that the only capital I can provide you with would be…” Blaise slowly drew her hand from her pocket, producing a rectangle of black plastic. It depicted crossed maces, connected by a chain at the bottom, with three stars between the heads. The design was across a stripe of red, all done in what appeared to be actual gold.
“Of course, the operational assumption there is that your party would be moving along anon, and that the lack of voluminous valuables would accommodate your exigency for expedience…” Blaise had other reasons for bringing the credit card along instead of other manners of currency. When she had handed it over, she had tweaked the magnetic field ever so slightly. A crude, boorish effort, but enough to wreck the information held on it.
Even if she was at their mercy, she had the inalienable feeling that control would be hers to wrest away from them at the first opportunity. Unfortunately, it seemed that the stickup artists were not moving along as she had anticipated…
A single drop of sweat trickled down the center of Blaise’s forehead.
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Post by Beelzebibble on Jan 11, 2010 8:20:18 GMT -5
"You still talking, love?" Hugh called to the Euler woman from across the room as he was guiding customers onto the floor. "Heard your whole routine with Flo before. You just can't belt up, can you?" Flo tut-tutted sagely as she pocketed the woman's credit card on principle. "I tried to put it to her gently, you know." "Oh, yeah?" "I did! I was very tactful. I nearly complimented her on it. Of course our little chat was crackling with subtext." "Yeah, some real Tom Stoppard shite between you two, I could tell. Bryan, just keep a lock on her, would you? If she tries anything..." Hugh jabbed a finger briefly in the direction of his throat with his free hand. "Vocal chords first." "Dunno," Bryan said in his hoarse whisper. This was the first time Flo'd heard him speak since he'd showed up in the lobby. He pulled the Euler woman in tighter with one wrinkled arm; the tip of his serrated blade met the surface of her skin. "Think I rather like the way she talks." Flo and Hugh stared at him for a moment, then looked at each other, and then burst out laughing. "You bleedin' nonce!" Hugh brayed. "'S next, little kids?" said Flo. "Should we've got you on playground duty, mate? Might not be too late to swap out..." But if Bryan had been going to say anything to this, he was cut off by Hugh. "Right, too much fun and games around here," he said clearly to everyone in the lobby. He extracted a few garbage bags from his briefcase. "Let's go. You know what to do. Wallets, jewelry, cell phones, the whole bit. And don't let me think you're being tight-fisted with me, now, 'cuz Bryan gets to frisk anyone who's holding out." Flo chuckled and started unlocking cash registers with the key round her neck. She turned an ear toward the dining hall, trying to catch a listen, but things seemed to have quieted down in there. So much the better, she supposed. Probably meant they'd already moved into the collecting phase. Or the management here had stopped in for a bit of a chinwag. She gave Bryan and the Euler woman a quick perky smile before extracting the cash from the first till. ISHKABIBBLE
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