RE: Incident [TEXT]
05-05-2013, 10:50 PM
The urge to just give yourself up and get out of this place is almost too much to resist. But you've been pushed around enough tonight. Time to exercise what little power you have.
Taking care to remain as silent as possible, you slide open the window and climb up onto the sill, bracing yourself against the frame. The sounds of the city night stream in. A warm breeze brushes against your face, and you take a deep breath.
The drop to the ground looks even more intimidating from here. You're fairly sure your previous estimate was accurate, though. You'd probably survive, even if it was at the expense of your legs' integrity.
But broken limbs or not, that's still a perimeter breach by an unknown person, right? Maybe that's all the leverage you need.
Maybe not.
You slide the smoke bomb cigarette between your teeth and slip out a matchbook from your wallet. After a moment's thought you ease your handgun out its holster and hold that loosely in your other hand. Give them something to think about. It might slow you down if you want to light the cigarette, but you can probably make it look natural enough.
Maybe.
Taking the bomb out from between your lips, you suck in another breath of night air and whistle as loudly as you can.
You wait a moment, and are rewarded with a burst of dialogue from the two people in the doorway. A figure darts out from the doorway, a long coat swooshing after them, a flash of red at their throat. You catch the faintest of glow of crimson at their fingertips before they suddenly become very, very still. You guess the gun you're pointing at them has something to do with that.
“Good evening. I'd like to talk.”
You smile amiably.
“Preferably with your hands where I can see them, and your friend over there in a similar position.”
As they slowly raised their hands, you take a moment to look over the person in front of you. There's a bright red scarf pulled up around the lower half of his face, but you can tell that he's young. Maybe seventeen, eighteen. His coat looks thick and heavy. Out of place on a night this warm. Thick, dark hair, unshined shoes, chewed nails. You reckon you'd recognise him if you saw him again, scarf or not.
But then the second speaker appears behind him, and you lose interest. It's the white sparks crackling around her raised fingertips that inherit it.
“How's this?” She's wearing the same style of coat as the kid, gently swinging around her legs as she walks towards you, and also has some kind of red fabric covering her nose and mouth. The major differences between them are that her sleeves are rolled up, she stinks of ozone and she's clearly the senior member of the partnership. This is the one you need to keep your eye on.
“I could name a few improvements.”
Your gun drifts towards her, and she takes the opportunity to whisper something to the teenager. As he starts to slide away you switch target again.
“No, I don't think so. Let's just keep this between the three of us. I get nervous talking in front of crowds.”
There's a moment when you think he might make a run for it, back to the door and into the lit room. He runs his tongue over his lips and stares down the barrel of that gun, thinking that he might just make it. But it's the fear that wins in the end, and he sidles back into full view and raises his hands. You nod approvingly and turn to the woman.
“Your turn. I'd like to keep this civil.”
She glares at you for a few solid seconds, the white sparks illuminating those steely eyes. And then in a moment the light is gone, and her face is wreathed in shadow once more.
“Who are you?” she asks flatly.
A good question. How do you respond?
Taking care to remain as silent as possible, you slide open the window and climb up onto the sill, bracing yourself against the frame. The sounds of the city night stream in. A warm breeze brushes against your face, and you take a deep breath.
The drop to the ground looks even more intimidating from here. You're fairly sure your previous estimate was accurate, though. You'd probably survive, even if it was at the expense of your legs' integrity.
But broken limbs or not, that's still a perimeter breach by an unknown person, right? Maybe that's all the leverage you need.
Maybe not.
You slide the smoke bomb cigarette between your teeth and slip out a matchbook from your wallet. After a moment's thought you ease your handgun out its holster and hold that loosely in your other hand. Give them something to think about. It might slow you down if you want to light the cigarette, but you can probably make it look natural enough.
Maybe.
Taking the bomb out from between your lips, you suck in another breath of night air and whistle as loudly as you can.
You wait a moment, and are rewarded with a burst of dialogue from the two people in the doorway. A figure darts out from the doorway, a long coat swooshing after them, a flash of red at their throat. You catch the faintest of glow of crimson at their fingertips before they suddenly become very, very still. You guess the gun you're pointing at them has something to do with that.
“Good evening. I'd like to talk.”
You smile amiably.
“Preferably with your hands where I can see them, and your friend over there in a similar position.”
As they slowly raised their hands, you take a moment to look over the person in front of you. There's a bright red scarf pulled up around the lower half of his face, but you can tell that he's young. Maybe seventeen, eighteen. His coat looks thick and heavy. Out of place on a night this warm. Thick, dark hair, unshined shoes, chewed nails. You reckon you'd recognise him if you saw him again, scarf or not.
But then the second speaker appears behind him, and you lose interest. It's the white sparks crackling around her raised fingertips that inherit it.
“How's this?” She's wearing the same style of coat as the kid, gently swinging around her legs as she walks towards you, and also has some kind of red fabric covering her nose and mouth. The major differences between them are that her sleeves are rolled up, she stinks of ozone and she's clearly the senior member of the partnership. This is the one you need to keep your eye on.
“I could name a few improvements.”
Your gun drifts towards her, and she takes the opportunity to whisper something to the teenager. As he starts to slide away you switch target again.
“No, I don't think so. Let's just keep this between the three of us. I get nervous talking in front of crowds.”
There's a moment when you think he might make a run for it, back to the door and into the lit room. He runs his tongue over his lips and stares down the barrel of that gun, thinking that he might just make it. But it's the fear that wins in the end, and he sidles back into full view and raises his hands. You nod approvingly and turn to the woman.
“Your turn. I'd like to keep this civil.”
She glares at you for a few solid seconds, the white sparks illuminating those steely eyes. And then in a moment the light is gone, and her face is wreathed in shadow once more.
“Who are you?” she asks flatly.
A good question. How do you respond?