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Post by Beelzebibble on May 4, 2010 17:02:52 GMT -5
Monday the 16th 1:22 pm“Sir!” A nervous-looking young officer stood up and held up a hand urgently to Inspector Davidson, holding a phone which was mounted on his desk. “We’ve gotten a call from the Ansonia lobby! They—” “Just tell them we’re on our way, for God’s sake,” Davidson snapped. “How many people in there you think I can personally reassure?” “No – sir, that’s not what I meant. I think the caller is one of the criminals…” “ What?” Davidson bolted across the office to the young officer’s desk and snatched the phone out of his hand. “This is Inspector Davidson of the Winstone Police Department. Who am I speaking to, please?” A female voice with a faint Irish accent responded: “Florence.” “Florence who?” “Nightingale.” * * * The red-haired young woman at the Hotel Ansonia’s front desk allowed herself a little smile at that. She toyed with the receiver’s coils in one hand while keeping the gun, and her eyes, firmly trained on the hostages in the lobby. “Don’t get cute. We don’t have the time,” came the remarkably impatient voice of this Inspector Davidson on the other end of the line. “What do you want?” “Ah, I just wanted to let you know the situation is perfectly fine in here, Inspector Davidson,” said Florence. “The body count so far is zero! I’ll be quite pleased if we can keep things that way throughout the afternoon.” “Are you in charge?” “No… rather not, I’m afraid. And I can’t put you on with my employer just now as he’s busy elsewhere. I hope you don’t mind.” There was a pause; the Inspector was, perhaps, talking to someone else. Flo waited politely for him to come back on. “Well, tell me this. You’re there because of the Giarrettiera family, aren’t you?” “Oh, very good!” Flo abandoned the conversation herself for a moment and spoke up across the lobby to where Hugh and Bryan were standing. “They can tell we’re here to clip the Giarrettieras! Impressive, don’t you think?” She spoke into the receiver again. “Of course, given you know they operate out of the Ansonia, I’m now a bit surprised you haven’t cracked down on them, to be honest. They haven’t got you on the pad, have they? How much are they paying you? Can I guess?” Bryan tittered appropriately upon hearing this, and Hugh let forth a low chuckle. “Stupid git,” he grinned. But on the other end, there was another, much longer silence. Just as Flo was beginning to wonder whether the conversation was over, Inspector Davidson’s voice came back on. “We’ve got squads on the way. They’ll have surrounded the hotel in a matter of minutes. You understand that, right?” “Of course. However, Inspector, we have guards stationed at all entrances and exits, so I’d rein in the cavalry just now if I were you. My employer won’t hesitate to give the order to begin killing hostages if we understand there’s been a break-in.” “Great. And how do you plan to escape after you’ve got your business with the Giarrettieras straightened out?” “ Ah. On that one I’ve got to ask that you let us surprise you.” Florence’s smile grew. “My employer will take care of everything, don’t worry. Remember: if you’re very nice and don’t interfere then I’m sure we can settle this with a minimum of bloodshed. All right, then? That’s all.” Flo hung up just as the faintest sound of sirens came to her ears. Across the room, Bryan, without looking away from the hostages on the floor, raised his balding head to listen. “Those’ll be the gents,” he whispered. Hugh shrugged his square shoulders. “Hope your bloke gets the message through to them in time, Flo.” “Oh, he will,” said Florence. She glanced over the hostages. That blonde woman, Blaze or whatever she’d said, was looking up, but returned her gaze to the floor when she made eye contact with Flo. “Anyway, not our loss if he doesn’t.” ISHKABIBBLE SCENE EIGHT Natalie Happens Upon an Easy Answer to her Puzzlement Regarding the Dead Body Monday the 16th 1:21 pmThe door into bedroom 207 lingered slightly open. This suite was all in purple, with a violet bedspread, lilac wallpaper, an indigo carpet that bore a grape design, and pale lavender curtains through which the afternoon sun bathed the room in amethyst light. The centerpiece of the room in its current arrangement was also purple. The body of a woman dangled on a rope from the rafters, her flesh darkened in death. She had ceased by now to trickle blood from the gashes running up and down her body, leaving a dull black pool on the floor framed by the grapes. Her mouth dangled open as if in surprise. She had been dead for perhaps half an hour. A muffled ticking noise could be perceived somewhere within the room, but amid the disheveled bedspread, slashed wallpaper, and torn curtains, there was no easy way to locate its source.
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Post by Tout-Perd on May 26, 2010 1:11:08 GMT -5
A single wall away, there was a world of difference. The room was decorated entirely in warm golden hues, sprays of ripe grain thrusting triumphantly from various brass vases scattered about the room. A girl was sprawled on her bed, supine, and most assuredly alive from her uncomfortable wriggling.
“Too soft,” She sighed, and rolled onto her side. A hissed exclamation of pain accompanied the motion. With a quick, pragmatic jerk, she freed her ponytail from beneath her shoulder.
Sylvia Natalie Ulima was not having an easy time resting. The accommodations were too nice, too trim, too proper. Too motherf*cking frou-frou. She couldn't sneeze without wrecking something needlessly expensive.
She rocked slightly, and then drew her knees upwards. With a smooth motion, she somersaulted off of the bed, and landed on one knee. A moment later, she lunged forward and caught a plummeting vase.
This room wasn’t helping her mood at all. The last thing she needed was a room full of f*cking booby traps to accompany her creeping feelings of claustrophobia tinged with paranoia. She gingerly rested it back on the table at the foot of the bed, and then turned towards the television.
She knew something was going on today. She’d spotted some of the Summoners in town since her arrival, and the strutting bastard she had just lunched with had been acting as if he knew bad news for Wisntone was on its way.
Of course, in accordance with the rules of her luck, he couldn’t actually give any specific answers or even as much as a solid clue. So, in the end, all she had to work with was the feeling that she was a stupid ruminant in the open, while something with a taste for her blood crept ever nearer in the bushes. And she was stuck waiting here until somebody else had the time to deal with her. At their own leisure, of course.
Screw it. She leaned back against the table, and knocked the vase onto her bed with the back of her head. With her foot, she tapped the power button on the television.
“-pensive feeding all of them?”
“Oh, of course it is. But with all the shows we do, it really isn’t that hard to make it work out.”
Two plastic hosts were talking with an incredibly clean-cut man wearing a safari outfit. They were in the middle of a studio with a shiningly polished wooden floor, and stylish red furniture with an art deco flair. One of those daytime talkshow deals, full of banter and D-list celebrities. Mind-numbing.
But if there was one thing she needed numb right now, it was her mind.
She closed her eyes slightly, and let herself slump. The guy with a big chin and fake tan, the male host, was making some abortion of a joke about the audience going wild, and there was the obligatory faked mirth. God, she hoped it was faked. His cohost with obscenely teased hair was laughing through her rictus grin. Her teeth were about five shades lighter than white.
Natalie sunk deeper into her seat and let her eyes drift closer to shut as the safari guy molested a parrot. She was waging a bloody war between the half of her brain that was threatening suicide, and the half that really didn’t want to bother raising her leg again to change to another station.
Somebody said the word “Lion”, and her eyes snapped wide open. They were teasing a shot of the beast before the commercials rolled in. It was staring directly at the camera. Something about the eyes brought a sudden snap of déjà vu to Natalie’s mind.
They were looking at the camera like it wasn’t a threat or even a possible challenge.
They didn’t look at somebody and see a person. When those golden orbs settled upon something, all they saw was meat. Another meal for the eating, another victim that it didn’t give a damn about. If it was feeling the urge, it’d bat you around a bit and tear off a couple limbs before it crushed your throat. It was nonchalant, monstrous kingliness.
It was the same eyes that had stared at her across the table at lunch.
Her foot shot up and kicked the off button with enough force to push the television into a quarter turn. It now looked like it was having a conversation with the nearby wall. Natalie rolled to her feet, and grabbed her shoes from beside her bed. She wasn’t going to stay in the room any longer than she had to. -------- The door to room 205 swung open swiftly. Natalie stalked out and closed it loudly behind her. Not quite a slam, but it still echoed down the hallway. The girl paused, awaiting a self-righteous hush or a hungover curse to come back at her. None did. Her shoulders dropped slightly, and she looked downwards. She wasn’t hoping for a fight with anybody, but she had been expecting at least some castigation for her loud exit.
She had taken exactly one step before she caught the smell of blood. It was one she knew very well.
Natalie spun on her heel, and raised her foot. She almost lunged into kicking down the door, only to realize that a faint light could be seen along one edge. It was open.
She dropped her foot, and put a palm against the polished cherry of the door. Yet again, she hesitated. Natalie was brash. She’d been told that a dozen times, and she agreed. Even if, though… She wouldn’t enter a room that smelled like a slaughterhouse without a certain degree of caution.
There was a rustling, and then Natalie was gone from the hallway.
A moment later, she appeared in the room. Her hands were both in front of her, clutching tightly to the hilt of a cruel looking blade. It was divided into segments like the chain of a bicycle, though some force was keeping them locked straight.
The weapon gleaming dangerously, Natalie stepped closer to the body. It wasn’t anybody she knew, at least. She carefully paced around it, observing the wounds and their placement. Something very big and good at chopping had been used, and it had been used with abandon.
Her shoe squelched wetly in the puddle of blood. Nat stepped away, and quickly wiped it on the carpet. She didn’t mind getting blood on her when she was injuring somebody else, but old, secondhand blood from what seemed to be a murdered innocent? That just didn’t sit well with her. She pushed past the corpse, noting how it was dangling on rope from the rafters. Whoever had done this went out of their way to make the scene horrific, the large crude knots in the rope bringing the gallows to mind.
A sudden movement caught Natalie’s eye, and she spun to face the door. It swung open, leaving a figure framed by the hallway light.
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Post by Tout-Perd on Jul 20, 2010 18:05:03 GMT -5
------- Monday the 16th 1:20 PM
The woman made her way up another flight of stairs, and slumped against the wall for a moment to catch her breath. With her radiantly dissheveledo garb, her looks were reminiscent of a drenched butterfly. She'd been getting back into shape as of late, but she'd never been one for carrying heavy stuff. Just a personal distaste of hers, she supposed.
She dropped the duffel bag with a soft thud, and then used her freed hand to brush a beadlet of sweat from her temple. Her chest was heaving slightly, a single button having come undone on her blouse. After a brief pause, she noticed the issue, and fixed it expediently.
“Helen, you need start doing some aerobics again,” She muttered to herself. Her right hand fell to her side, and grabbed the strap for the bag. With a grunt, she lurched to her feet, “And maybe some weightlifting...”
She heavily stepped onto the first step, swinging her bag to maintain her balance. Her hat shifted, its brim falling over her brow.
“Son of a-” She leaned against the railing, and used her left to adjust the gigantic pink top hat. A few steps further, and it dropped once more.
“Y'know-” Helen attempted to toss her bag aside, though it only went about half a foot before plummeting to the carpeted tread before her, “I don't have to put up with this.”
She slipped her hand to a concealed pocket built into her blouse, right at a seam in the side. The purple jumper she wore was typically enough to conceal it from the audience, so it was quite a handy cache to have for card tricks and the like. She felt a playing card brush her fingertips. No, wouldn't do any good to burn that off. Maybe... She probed a little deeper, and found some pocket change. A few quarters, in case she ever found herself without a phone. Those'd do just fine. She pinched them tightly between thumb and forefinger, and brought them out.
“This small bit of loot, My garb, substitute!”
The coins exploded into a nimbus of rose colored light, momentarily obscuring the magician. The duffle bag shifted slightly, as if it contents had rearranged themselves. An instant later, the stairway's lighting returned to what it had been before. Her dress, hat, and stockings were gone, replaced by a pair of jeans with sequins embroidered in the rough outline of a daisy on one leg, and a white shirt with lavender ribons threaded around the arms and low collar. A few glimmering sparks drifted to the floor, and then died away. She heard a door slamming somewhere on the second floor, the echo drowning out the subtleties of her fading spell.
“If I'm not doing a show for a while, why shouldn't I get more comfortable?” Helen scooped up the bag, and flung it over her shoulder while still holding the strap.
“Oof!” She staggered a step as the heavy luggage clapped her on the back. On the bright side, she had made it most of the way to the top. Once she got to the second floor, her room was only half the hallway away. Once she got to her room... Unpacking wasn't really an issue. TV sucked in the afternoon. She'd already had lunch...
Maybe a nap? That wouldn't be too bad. She'd been up early to work on getting her show ready, and hadn't been sleeping too well after the incident at the restaraunt the other day. So maybe that'd be something worth consideration. She had a few hours to burn, in theory.
She passed by room 210. Good, that meant she'd only have two more between her and good ol' two-oh-six. From what she had understood, the Hotel Ansonia had decorated the rooms on the second story with a harvest theme, in tune with the autumn tourism that typically occurred in Johto. She'd been lucky enough to get one of the grape themed rooms, a pleasant enough match for her own aesthetics. They'd said that room 207 was also available when she had made the reservations, but ultimately, she decided that she'd go for the slightly less expensive room.
That was some shrewd pricing they had going on. Despite the room ostensibly providing the exact same amenities, ending in the number '7' was enough to warrant a price hike.
“Of course, if you can bleed some suspicious businessmen dry, why wouldn't you?” Helen murmured darkly, coming to her door. She went to open it, only to notice that its counterpart was slightly opened. She let the bag slide down her arm and broke its fall with the back of her hand. Her eyes focused on the carpet by the door. It was scuffed up, as if somebody had just been standing on it moments earlier.
“Is everything okay?” Helen gently grabbed the door handle, and pushed it open.
Inside, there was a pair of nightmares. A woman, barely older than Helen, was dangling from the large, rustic rafters, strung up with bloody ropes. Her expression was blank, the slackening of a corpse's face. A profusion of slashes left her body mutilated and to look too long invited her lunch to attempt an encore performance. It called to mind the slaughter that had occurred before her eyes on Saturday night, and furthermore, an unfortunate incident in Celadon, the very reason she was with the Summoners today. And speaking of which, the other nightmare...
Sylvia Natalie Ulima was standing in the middle of a pool of blood, her clothes and blade totally clean except a spattering of crimson on her shoes. That didn't mean anything. When she had stabbed Miko, it had only taken a flicker to wipe herself totally clean. Granted, a lean girl with a fancy ponytail and a fancier sword was not the typical person's darkest fear, but Helen knew her. Something that the Summoners had done had soured her against them, badly. It could have been the Slateport Incident. It could have been the time they stole a powerful artifact from her. It could have been when they killed Ender, even if the psion had gotten better afterwards.
It could just be said that she had a lot of reasons to hate them. It could also be said that she expressed it at every moment she had the chance. Right after Helen had met Miko, she'd observed him dueling with the girl, and almost losing. A month ago, she'd found Tsubota, and had beaten him half to death before he could escape. And today-
“What the hell are you doing?” Helen stepped into the room, azure sparks flickering around her right hand.
“What the hell am I doing?” Natalie spun, raising her blade, “I'm taking a look at the corpse that I'm guessing you-” She paused, and her shocked expression wrenched itself into a sneer of recognition.
She lunged, thrusting her blade directly at the magician. Helen sidestepped as quickly as she could, swatting the weapon to the side. It embedded itself in the sheetrock of the wall, and kept going.
Nat threw an elbow into Helen's gut, knocking her back against the door. It slammed shut, and she collapsed to her knees a moment later.
“Helen Mercury, one of the Summoners' known associates. About to be brought in for murder, from the looks of it,” The warrior disappeared, and instantly reappeared. Her sword was now free of the wall, and was raised directly above Helen's neck.
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Post by Tout-Perd on Oct 21, 2010 17:39:17 GMT -5
I… I need to get out of this. Helen looked up towards Natalie, her blue eyes full of desperation and pleading.
“You give up?” The warrior looked down at the new arrival, a smoldering fury in her eyes. She shifted slightly, her blade clicking.
It’s not much of a shot, but I’ve got to take it. Helen rocked forwards, at first making the motion look like a cough. Once she had her feet under her, she lunged. Her head crashed into Natalie’s stomach, knocking the wind out of her with a startled grunt.
The shapeshifter stepped back after the impact, using her free hand to grab Helen by the back of the head and slam her into the floor. The performer landed in the pool of blood. Upon realizing what the wetness on her face was, she scrabbled quickly to her knees.
“Y- you Summoners,” Natalie clenched at her side, gasping for breath. Helen was busy wiping at her face, trying to get a reddish smear to come off her cheek. Her heart was fluttering, and the nausea from earlier had only been getting worse.
“It’s not worth trus- trusting you for anything!” She flickered, reappearing just long enough to backhand Helen across the face. Her head snapped back, into her enemy’s waiting grasp. Natalie seized her by the neck, and brought her blade to a position inches above the magician’s throat. With a quick sidestep, she positioned herself behind Helen. The weapon remained poised, ready to tear into Helen’s neck with a single twitch.
“Nobody in their right mind would consider surrendering to somebody that’s sworn to kill them,” Dexterous fingers grabbed at the sword, attempting the pull it further from where her lifeblood flowed. After a probing touch, they slipped into the hinges between the blades, giving her a better grip on the weapon.
“I was giving you a chance to come clean, so that the police could give you a fair punishment. It’s fucking bad enough as is for Powers in Winstone, we don’t need any more reasons for them to be breathing down our necks,” Natalie’s grip was iron. Even though the magician was pulling with all her strength, the blade didn’t budge.
“For what?”
“You-“ The shapeshifter’s voice was rough with anger. Her hand on Helen’s hair jerked, eliciting a yelp of pain, “You killed that woman!”
“I… Let me explain myself,” Helen tried to straighten her posture, even though it brought her neck closer to the razor-edge.
“I’m innocent. If you ask anybody, I’ve not even set-“
“Bullshit!”
Helen sighed slightly, though it came out ragged and got halfway caught in her throat. The girl wouldn’t listen to reason, it seemed. Of course, had she a moment to think on things before the violence began, she probably would have expected the murderer not to be willing to hear a counterpoint.
“You have at my word-“ She loosened her grip on the weapon, placing both of her hands on its segmented spine.
“What good is your word, you deceitful-“ Nat paused, as if a word was too distasteful for her to use. Her hand that was on Helen’s neck was trembling with barely contained fury, shaking enough to rattle her captive.
“That isn’t… your sword,” The blade dissolved into pink motes of light, leaving them both holding air for a moment. The particles shifted and solidified, taking the form of a perfectly shaped longsword in Helen’s grasp. An amethyst gem in the handle glimmered in the dim lighting of the room. She twisted her grip and jabbed behind her, missing as Natalie vanished into thin air once more.
The magician turned, letting a kick skim her ribs. She responded by waving the blade towards her enemy, only to have Natalie punch the flat of the blade with a swift uppercut. The impact knocked it towards the ceiling, high enough for the warrior to lunge in beneath.
Helen brought her elbow to bear, throwing an offhand blow at the other girl’s face. At that instant, Natalie disappeared, replaced by a stocky, ursine beast. As the blow glanced its snout, it bared a nasty set of fangs. It slashed across the elbow with a feral twist, rending through the fabric of her shirt.
She recoiled in pain, stepping back and almost dropping her weapon to the floor. Her arm had a long slash marring it, the blood dripping to mingle on the tainted carpet. The wolverine, for indeed that was what Natalie had become, circled for a better angle of attack with a speed that seemed impossible for its bulky frame. It leaped for Helen, shouldering her wounded arm aside. It bore her to the floor, paws on her shoulders and its face inches from hers. It lunged in for another bite, only to be pulled aside and miss by a hand’s breadth.
Helen rolled, kicking off the floor to rise back to her feet again. Her hand was held in an odd gesture, thumb and forefinger outstretched with a line of green light between them. A vine that she had conjured was wrapped around the beast’s leg, keeping it leashed to the floor.
“Jade magic. The only bit of it I’ve managed to pick up, since my specialty is verbal, but it comes in handy,” She stepped back, getting well clear of the frothing beast’s frenzy. After a few seconds of futile growling, the predator vanished. It returned in the shape of Natalie, her sneering visage doing an even poorer job of concealing her overwhelming fury.
“It’s just like everything else! Even when you’re fighting on your own, you all just follow in that monster’s footsteps!” She brought her hand down, a fresh blade appearing in mid-swing. It took the vine apart, slicing through it without pause.
“Miko is not a monster,” Helen put her left hand below her right, now steadying her grip on the sword.
“Tell that to everybody who died in Slateport!” Natalie kicked off the floor, the bloody plush squelching beneath her feet. The whiplike blade arced around, almost touching Helen’s face despite a successful parry.
“Or how about Celadon? I think there was a couple hundred killed in that fight,” Natalie slammed her knee into Helen’s thigh, striking a nerve cluster. Her free hand grabbed the magician by her wounded arm, fingers digging into the gash, and then slammed her into the wall, “Of course, that’s a pretty low tally for you guys, isn’t it? I mean, between Slateport and that resort island that you guys wrecked a few years back, you’re probably averaging a couple hundred thousand innocent civilians every time you go to get your fucking mail.”
“You can’t pin everything on people like that,” Helen tried to stand up, but her right leg refused to cooperate. It was still brightly throbbing with an intense ache from Natalie’s strike, the rest of it seemingly have gone numb in comparison. Her sword lay discarded on the floor, mere feet away, but still beyond her grasp.
“You bastards nuked a fucking city!” Natalie planted a shoe on Helen’s face, and shoved her over. She followed through with the motion, landing heel first on the mage’s cheek and then grinding the sneaker’s tread into the skin.
“It’s not that simple. I wasn’t- ugh… I wasn’t one of them then, but-“ Helen paused, and choked down a gasp of pain, “They destroyed it while they were trying to fight you.”
“So you’re trying to pin this on us, the people that tried to stop you?” Natalie forgot to keep the pressure on her captive for a moment, and then reapplied it liberally.
“Not at all, but-“ Helen paused to let out a yelp, “Okay, this is getting old.”
Her hand went to Natalie’s ankle, taking a firm hold of the fabric. Her fingertips glowed, and a scent reminiscent of ironing filled the room.
“Calmus!” With a whoosh, orange flames climbed the warrior’s leg. The two broke away from eachother. Helen rolled clumsily to her feet while her enemy batted at her burning jeans.
“I can see reason’s not going to work with you,” Helen muttered, jammed her right hand into her pocket. She felt some wadded up, waxy paper with her fingertips. It’d do.
“The gum wrapper I save, Blast with a shock wave!”
There was a deafening boom, and Helen found herself slammed back against the wall once more. The air in the center of the room roiled outwards, the pressure of the burst making the air visible for a moment. The cadaver wrenched back at a bizarre angle, turned almost horizontal by the shockwave before swinging down like a pendulum. End table, lamps, and other affectations were hurled around the room as if swept up in a hurricane. Natalie was caught an instant later, and then swept against the far wall. The impact crushed her through the wallpaper and into the sheetrock. A cloud of grey dust errupted around her, and was instantly plastered against the wall by the remnants of the burst.
After the echoing explosion, Helen found herself astounded by the silence. It seemed that the universe had been struck dumb, except for the hammering of her heart in her ears, and a quiet, barely audible ticking. Wait… A ticking? That would mean-
Natalie pulled herself out of the wall slowly, moving with evident discomfort. Her right arm seemed to be twisted in a painful direction, and her left had a large slash across the shoulder from a nail that had stuck out of one of the wooden studs in the wall. A trickle of blood was steadily dripping from her nose, staining her lips and chin.
“That really fucking hurt, witch.”
She flickered, and reappeared once more. He right arm had straightened itself, the left had stopped bleeding, and the gore and dust from the fight thusfar had vanished entirely. She raised her blade again, her eyes meeting Helen’s.
“Listen up. I’m not fucking through with you, Summoner. And I won’t be until I either bring you to the freakin’ police, or I leave you just as dead as your victim here. Capiche?”
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Post by Tout-Perd on Feb 22, 2011 12:57:31 GMT -5
“I’m afraid I don’t get what you’re saying, Natalie. You’re ignoring the possibility that I could win… And considering who I am and what I’m capable of, that’s all I need,” Helen slipped her foot under her sword, and then kicked it into the air. She caught it in one hand, keeping the left free.
“And that’s where you’re wrong. You assume that I’m EVER going to stop. That isn’t freakin’ happening, no matter what,” Natalie began stalking toward the mage, letting her weapon go slack. It dragged along the carpet, accompanied by a quiet ripping noise.
Helen only responded with a loud sigh.
The warrior rushed in, turning the blade in her hand. With a flick of her wrist, she snapped it up towards Helen’s gut. She faded back, the weapon tearing a red line across the center of her torso.
Too close… Another inch, and she’d have gutted me. Helen slapped her enemy’s blade aside with her free hand. With her right, she backhanded Natalie across the face with the pommel of her sword.
“Good try, witch,” Natalie spun with the impact, landing a snap kick to Helen’s hip. As the magician staggered, Natalie jumped past her. She kicked off the door, closing it with a loud slam, and hit Helen knees first.
Okay, then… Helen pitched forwards, and planted both hands on the floor. Just like a frontflip… She brought her legs up, wrapping her knees around Natalie’s shoulders.
WHAM! The duo hit the floor hard, skidding across the gory carpet. Helen threw a punch into the back of Natalie’s head, hoping the blow would knock her out.
The shapeshifter disappeared, reappearing in a crouch behind the mage. She lunged with her blade extended, missing by scant inches as Helen twirled back to her feet.
“You could’ve killed me right then and there, you know,” Natalie growled, stepping back to give herself some room.
“I know. All it would’ve taken was using my right hand instead of my left.”
“You’re hoping that I’ll find this some big proof of character, some sign that going after you people is wrong,” Natalie lowered her weapon, and looked Helen in the eye.
“You are completely and utterly dead f*cking wrong. There isn’t a f*cking way on earth that I could care less about how good of a person you are, about how you could go around helping the sick and needy and poor and even the freakin’ abandoned kittens. You could be more of a goody-two shoes pansy than even f*ckin’ Zebedee, and I’d still want you dead.”
“What?”
“It isn’t about you, or Tsubota, or any of the other flunkies. This is about Miko and the rest of the Summoner leaders. That man has murdered millions of people. And every single one of you is just another obstruction to bringing that monster the justice he deserves. Until I stop him, and all of the Summoners pushing for this retarded ‘take over the world’ bit, tragedies like Slateport are going to just keep on happening,” Natalie glanced aside, her sodden ponytail rustling.
“But that’s not…”
“You probably didn’t kill this woman, all things considered. It doesn’t line up with your M.O., or the Summoner M.O.. You all do horrible, horrible things. But you don’t ever stick around afterwards. You’ll blow up a whole damn city, but you wouldn’t be caught dead sticking around it afterwards,” Natalie turned back towards Helen.
“So, I want you to understand… This isn’t out of malice or anything… It’s just because you’d protect Miko otherwise… That’s why I have to kill you,” Natalie seized Helen’s duffel bag from the floor, and with a grunt, hefted it. She lobbed it towards the mage, and then flickered out once more.
She reappeared, seizing it by its strap and diving behind Helen. The bag slammed into the magician’s face, and knocked her to the floor.
Natalie disappeared one more time, and reappeared beside Helen on her knees. She kept the bag pressed over her face with one hand. Her blade was coiled around her other arm, the tip extending just past her fist. She raised it over the center of Helen’s chest. The door creaked behind them.
“I could almost say that I’m sorry for this…” Natalie’s arm plunged downwards.
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SV
Friendliest Member of ALL TIME
The Friendliest Member Of ALL TIME
Posts: 2,250
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Post by SV on Feb 25, 2011 2:49:00 GMT -5
Rhys took the stairs two at a time, footsteps echoing dully in the narrow stairwell. The first floor turned up nothing, though his search could barely be called exhaustive. Few of the rooms had open doors; fewer were unlocked. Alpha could be anywhere. A physical search for the copy seemed more and more pointless with every stair climbed. Alpha, if anything like his progenitor, was probably not as much of a pushover as he appeared; it was far more sensible to wait until Terrian's telepathic two-way radio came back in – was that a thud? Rhys froze for a moment, listening. Half a flight of stairs behind him was a small landing and a door. A placard declared it an entrance to the second floor. He pulled it open slowly and peered down the corridor. There was another, smaller thud that he would have easily missed in the stairwell...and voices. Female, by the sound. Rhys pulled the door closed behind him. What was going on in this hotel today? The hall he stood in ran perpendicular to two shorter alcoves, a few rooms to each of them. The noise either came from one of them or from the far end of the hall. He set off at a pace somewhere between a walk and a jog, his ear trained on any sign of a scuffle. As he came to the first alcove, he turned, and – From the other end of the main hallway came a roaring boom that he mistook for an explosion for a split second. He jerked out of the alcove and turned in a full-out sprint toward the blast. Room numbers passed in a blur, the odd shouted word growing steadily louder and louder. He grasped a door handle – Room 216 – and twisted. Locked. But it had to be close, he reasoned. He spun on his heel and a glitter of light caught his eye. Rhys glanced over his shoulder. Three or so rooms further down the hallway, outside Room 210; there was something metallic on the floor. He strode toward them and knelt. Coins. Someone's spare change...He tried the door. It swung open to an empty room. Then, a thud. He turned. The room behind him. He sprang toward it, flung the door open – Time slowed as he tried to take the room in. A salty, copper smell hit him in a wave; blood, lots of it, puddled dark on the plush carpet, splattered brown-crimson on the scored wallpaper. A mangled woman dangled from the ceiling. Glass and debris scattered around the perimeter of the room as though it had been blown there. Afternoon sunlight slashed the room, doing sick things where it fell on the sodden carpet. The glint of steel as a pony-tailed woman raised a sword over her prone victim. And lavender. Not the room. Hair, tangled, peeking out from beneath the duffel bag held over the prone woman's head. Rhys reacted before he processed it completely. The band of shade that lay over the pony-tailed woman darkened, solidified. He hoped he'd stopped her in time. Somewhere there was a ticking sound. The lacerated woman spun languidly on her rope. Fix'd D:
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SV
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Post by SV on Feb 28, 2011 1:19:25 GMT -5
OH GOD.
I just realized that I live in a Room 207 ;-; ;-; ;-;
(Sorry for the double-post.)
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Post by Tout-Perd on Jul 19, 2011 7:57:21 GMT -5
Natalie found herself jerking to hault, as if the shadow across her arm had suddenly become a band of iron. Of course there'd be somebody else bursting into the room at the worst possible time. Really, she had to start being more savvy about such things.
A quick glance gauged the intruder. Good shape, with considerable tone but not much bulk in his muscles. Judging by the worried expression on his face, either he knew the girl, wasn't exactly familiar with the less pleasant aspects of combat, or both. And, most importantly, going on the fact that he had his hand raised, he was obviously the Power responsible for preventing her from accomplishing her mission.
That wasn't all bad. It kept things interesting.
Natalie disappeared, and rematerialized a good foot above her prior position. She kicked off the bindings of solidified shadow, flinging herself into a backflip. She aimed a kick at the newcomer's face, and landed in a crouch without even thinking about if it had hit. Her hand shot back, her once-more whiplike blade sweeping for his legs.
"Nothing personal, buddy, but you're kinda getting in my way," Natalie rode the momentum from the sweep, spinning to her feet and bringing her blade to bear, "And I'd really prefer if you stayed the fuck out of it."
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SV
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Post by SV on Jul 21, 2011 2:36:45 GMT -5
The pony-tailed girl balked, having found her arms unmovable. Her eyes snapped toward the door and found him, standing there with an outstretched arm and wide eyes. The expression on her face flickered from annoyance to amusement as she sized him up and then suddenly blinked out of sight.
In the time it took for her to reappear and launch herself at him foot-first from mid-air, Rhys had concluded that he was dealing with another Power, one who was probably unstable, definitely dangerous, and by all appearances the perpetrator of the monstrosity in the suite.
The kick was sloppy, and Rhys was able to duck away from it easily.
Her sword, less so. The girl was fast, and the weapon she swept at him moved strangely, almost too spring-like for steel. He barely managed to swing the door in the way of the blade, its edge leaving a deep gouge in the lacquered wood. And in one fluid motion she was back on her feet and poised to attack.
"Nothing personal, buddy, but you're kinda getting in my way," she was saying, "And I'd really prefer if you stayed the fuck out of it."
Rhys weighed his options and, unarmed in half-lit room with a prone magician and a gore-spattered madwoman, found them severely lacking. It was far from dark enough to use his abilities effectively.
"Getting in the way of what, exactly?" he said, waving a hand at her blood-stained clothing. "From the looks of it, you've done more than enough."
He spared a glance at Helen, who was recovering her equilibrium.
There was a moment of quiet, underscored by the whispered ticking.
And then Rhys lunged at the pony-tailed girl's wrist, hoping to knock the sword from her hand.
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Post by Tout-Perd on Sept 26, 2011 21:17:38 GMT -5
Natalie twisted her hand slightly, appearing to wrest her blade aside to avoid Rhys’ grasp. With another slightly more violent motion, she flicked the blade upwards. It wrapped backwards around the man’s wrist, the cold metal hinges pinching at his skin.
She used the leverage to twist him to the side, planting her elbow against his shoulder blade. With a brutal shove, she slammed him facefirst into the wall. Maintaining her grasp, she planted her hip against his back, and flipped him over her. Before he could hit the floor, Natalie disappeared, and re-formed with her blade locked and raised.
However, unlike any victim that courteously obeyed the laws of physics, Rhys did not actually land, but instead sunk into the shadowed carpet as if it were water. He tumbled out of the ceiling above Natalie, and grasped the tapering shadow the doorway cast. He swung it downwards, solidifying it into a solid cleaver of a blade with his weight behind it.
Natalie twisted and parried the blow. Half of the blade snapped off and bounced into the hall, whereas Rhys’ blow barely hit her shoulder. As he was thrown off balance by the landing, she kicked him in the chest. The sciomancer stumbled back a few paces, giving her some breathing room again.
“You’re tricky. It’s interesting to see somebody who can almost keep pace with me, though,” She seemed totally unconcerned with the damage to her blade, or for that matter, the danger posed by the one Rhys had just formed.
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SV
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Post by SV on Aug 14, 2012 6:39:00 GMT -5
Rhys steadied himself against the wall with one hand, winded from Nat's kick but maintaining his feet. The tip of the cleaver rested on the floor between them, poised to deflect an oncoming attack.
The weight of the weapon in his hand was a small comfort ; but the effort of hefting it around had torn open the wound from Terrian's basement. A line of crimson blossomed through his shift sleeve. His opposite wrist was a mess of nicks from that damnable blade of hers. He rotated it slowly. It felt strained.
Natalie, on the other hand, appeared unaffected. Glancing blow or not, the cleaver strike was a heavy one. But her grip on her broken weapon never slackened. She brandished it almost impudently, its jagged edge underscoring the fervid glint in her eye in a way that set the fine hairs on the back of Rhys's neck on edge. It struck him, briefly, that Nat was possibly one of the most heedlessly dangerous individuals he'd ever encountered, destructive in the way that only zeal can breed. Misplaced zeal, too, as far as he could tell, because he couldn't imagine a situation involving the semi-incapacitated magician that could lead to the bloodbath in this room.
It also struck him that it was a poor idea to remain on the defensive.
He shoved off the wall and took a wide, swift swing at the pony-tailed woman with his cleaver. She parried it easily, but not without taking a step back.
The cleaver, where Natalie caught it with her own blade, wavered for a heartbeat before winding itself around the hilt and the woman's hand.
At the same time, something dark moved just outside of Nat's vision -- shadow limbs, stretching from the mangled body hanging in the center of the room.
"Almost?" Rhys challenged, as he shoved her full-force by her trapped hand toward the grasping tendrils.
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Post by Tout-Perd on Sept 27, 2012 18:59:08 GMT -5
Natalie didn’t resist the shove, the limbs taking an uncomfortably firm hold on her. She didn’t worry, though. The man had yet to honestly attempt a lethal attack on her, and she doubted he’d be starting up with that now. Even his sword swing, his best chance at taking her out, had been aimed to disarm, not to mortally wound. With his ladyfriend not poised for execution at the moment, he would be losing the edge that panic gave. The limbs began drawing away from eachother, the hands unsettlingly strong despite their small size. Natalie felt the burning sensation of her skin stretching where the fingertips dug into her. Though she didn’t have to worry about a lethal attack, it seemed this trap was meant to eventually dislocate every one of her limbs. That, she had to admit, would be an excellent way to deal with most anybody. Except her. The umbral arms flailed wildly, like saplings in a windstorm. They’d lost their grip on her, and what’s more, she’d disappeared completely. There was a ringing thud as her weapon hit the floor, and bounced once. Rhys felt a slight breeze as she reappeared, displacing the air around her. She rushed at him, unarmed. He raised his blade to ward her off. Natalie vanished again, this time only for the scantest of moments, and reappeared practically on top of the reporter. She grabbed him by his shirt collar, bringing her elbow up against the inside of his sword arm. She brought up her free hand, and delivered a jarring palm thrust directly to his forehead. After the blow, she did not draw her hand away, however. She turned her hand, bracing her wrist against his brow. Her chain bracelet dug into his skin, the jagged metal charms drawing blood. In another quick, serpentine motion, she swiped it across his face, tearing open a bloody wound above both of his eyes. That one had to hurt. She shoved him back a step, the man reflexively clutching at his face. Natalie jumped up, and then planted her sneaker squarely in the middle of his chest. She put her full weight into the flying kick, knocking Rhys backwards. He fell into, then through, the door with a crash. The man landed in the well-lit hallway atop the shattered remains of the door, the splintered wood digging into his back. An instant later, Natalie landed on top of him, footfirst. This guy controls shadows… which means he can probably see in the dark. Natalie leaped off of him, making sure to dig her heel into his solar plexus. She landed with superhuman lightness, a fresh sword appearing in her grasp. He’s probably never had to fight blind. And now that cut is bleeding directly into his eyes...“Yeah, almost. I’ve spent the past five years hunting the Summoners, the most dangerous Powers on earth,” Natalie strode up to him. She threw a glare at her opponent, though she doubted he was paying much attention to her eyes at this point. “Compared to that, small fry like you are nothing but annoyances. Now, if you don’t mind, I have an actual threat to take care of,” Natalie stepped over him, and turned to head back into the room. Her blade made a metallic click as she locked it into position. OOC: Sorry about the autoing. The direction says to take this fight out into the hall, so I figured I’d use something fairly dramatic to get us out here.
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Post by Tout-Perd on Dec 3, 2015 10:49:38 GMT -5
"Damn straight you've got an actual threat to deal with!" A chunk splintered wood, swung like a club, caught Nat across the head, driving her back and staggering her.
"Broke piece of door, Let's take down that whore!"
Natalie only had a moment to register Helen leveling a shattered piece of wood at her like a shotgun, before it exploded forth in a frenzy of lavender motes. The burst caught her in the side, and sent her flying across the hallway. She crashed into the wall behind her, managing to twist around so that she hit feetfirst. She sprung off of the cratered wall, taking care to land on Rhys' chest as she did so.
"So you've resorted to namecalling now?" The shapeshifter darted towards Helen, taking a slash at her side.
"You know-" Helen drew her broadsword from where she'd tucked it, under the crook of her arm, and blocked Natalie's attack with a reversed-grip. She planted her foot on the younger woman's collar bone, and booted her away. Nat cartwheeled with the impact, skidding along the carpet as she landed, "I don't usually work blue, but I figured trying to kill my friend justified a little profanity."
"Acceptable collateral damage," Natalie flickered, her blade falling into a loose coil again. She jammed it into the floor, and twisted, snapping off the tip. Dropping to a crouch, she lunged for Helen's leg, whipping a strike at her Achilles' tendon.
Helen parried, the amethyst in the pommel of her blade shining as she turned her grip. Natalie sneered, and flung her free hand upwards. The mage just barely saw the gleam steel in her opponent's hand, and jerked away as Natalie attempted to shank her in the throat with the piece of her sword she'd broken off. Dropping her own weapon, Helen grabbed Natalie by her wrist. Using all her might, she threw herself backwards, moving with the shapeshifter's momentum. They arced over Rhys' prone form, doing a full flip. Helen landed straddling the frenzied warrior, and immediately rose to her feet, yanking the girl with her. She twisted, flinging Natalie away.
“Hey, you’re okay, right?” She offered her hand to Rhys. She took him by his wrist, and helped the staggered sciomancer to his feet. Though he was still fumbling for words, he reached towards Helen’s blade. Its shadow became solid and tipped upwards, offering the weapon hiltfirst to the mage.
“Glad to hear it,” Helen lifted her sword gratefully, using her sleeve to wipe the blood from Rhys’ eyes, “Okay, let’s do this right.”
Natalie threw herself at them with a frenzied battlecry.
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