Darkrider
Recruit
The bridge of sighs.
Posts: 69
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Post by Darkrider on Jun 13, 2012 15:25:27 GMT -5
He knew not what to think of the present times.
The years passed him by and took him with surprise. It seemed as he grew older that the world progressively grew grayer with each passing year. His years spent as an assassin probably hadn't helped any. He had yet to take on a contract that risked public awareness of the consequences, and he had little intention of undertaking one, primarily because of his skill level, but also because of the ramifications of such an operation.
For the time being, he found himself in a hotel room with granted shore leave for a small amount of time, and adequate pay for his work to relax. He found no solace on the port.
The city was alive in the day, and the constant noise and activity could only be blocked by time spent in the quiet, white walls of the room, and in the soft carpet and fluffly beds. That, and partially within the books he had decided to check out from the library. He found both realities stunningly ignorant of the expasnionist war, or at least of the questionable ethics in raising them. He held little faith in humanistic paternalism, as he had yet to find a man who held all the answers, and the capacity to bring about a universally acknowledged utopia. Universal, objective reality similarly felt impossible.
Such thoughts caused fatigue, weariness in his movements. He found himself with a lack of solace indeed. Perhaps a stroll outside would do him good. Reclusion was not often a healthy answer to the weight of the world.
He stepped out amongst a small crowd of people in an arterial, a few cars drifting by. As a stranger in his native land, he began to walk with blended noise in the populace.
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Post by Steinerman on Jun 14, 2012 16:23:34 GMT -5
Martin Tiogar stumbled through the crowd, a dark glare silencing anyone who protested against his meandering path. Why had he been so stupid? He was supposed to be in Kallagulia to meet up with his next job. But no . . . he'd decided to stop off and visit a friend of his.
His mind flashed back to last night. It had been . . . a good time, he thought with a touch of consternation. When he and Ann got together, they always had a good night. But then the morning came and he left, almost always before she woke. It was a cycle that had repeated for years, now. They were drawn together. He the damaged weretiger, her the whore with a good heart and a sad smile. They'd spend a night together, and then would part for another year.
The entire thing made him furious. Other people formed connections so easily. Got married, had kids, blah blah blah. It seemed the best he could do was give Ann a good night in bed and leave her in the morning.
He angrily shoved a particularly feisty sailor out of the way. The man drew a knife and swore violence. Martin put a stop to that with a simple look that promised murder on a grand scale should the knife come any closer. The sailor backed away, not wishing to tussle with such crazed eyes.
And Martin continued on through the crowd. For having such a good night last night, he now felt miserable.
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Darkrider
Recruit
The bridge of sighs.
Posts: 69
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Post by Darkrider on Jun 15, 2012 12:13:40 GMT -5
His ears picked up the commotions, the disturbance of the peace, though he himself gave no public acknowledgement to the issue. His eyes continued to remain focused on the sheets of paper and the words before him, but his awareness was directed towards otherwise to the aggressor who had offed a sailor of no greater patience than his offender.
The Silver Star agent felt no concern. His minipistol laid snug within the confines of the shoulder holster hidden underneath his jacket, and one clip, he supposed, would be sufficient to drop a significant portion of the crowd should a riot break out, and hopefully taking care of it's triggering participants as well.
At present, he glanced up from his book to get a bearing of his surroundings, should his preoccupation with his attempts at relaxation allow for a breach in his perception of potential threats. Such was the extent of his paranoia. However, his glance only caught the offender of the newcomer once more. Though positioned in such a way that the daylight obscured with shadow his upper facial features, Kent's withdrawn, but glinted gaze was met with hostility. He said nothing, but continued to keep tabs on the man in the instants that they were passing each other.
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Post by Steinerman on Jun 15, 2012 12:30:05 GMT -5
Martin finally came to a stop in the crowd, his breathing fast. Self-loathing was doing him no good. Part of his brain said he could easily go back to Ann and take her away from all of it, live a quiet life out in the countryside with her until the end of their days. She'd come, he knew she would.
But no, the colder, analytical part of his mind told him. He couldn't do that. He was a weretiger, accustomed to violence. He was drawn to it, violence and excitement. Another curse of his heritage. So that left . . . Kallagulia. He nodded his head slowly and looked up, finally noticing that he'd stopped directly next to a slim, dark-haired man who was reading some sort of book.
His mind told him something was off about the book-reader, but he had very little time to contemplate what it was, exactly, that seemed off. As his thoughts were interrupted by a shout from behind and a stinging pain on his back as a knife sliced into his skin. Apparently the sailor he'd shoved had decided that vengeance was, in fact, the better choice.
Martin spun and growled, dodging another swing from the big man and dancing back a few steps. His mind had kept him preoccupied, and now he was bleeding. Good job, brain. He thought with annoyance.
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Darkrider
Recruit
The bridge of sighs.
Posts: 69
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Post by Darkrider on Jun 15, 2012 12:50:12 GMT -5
Kent saw the blade embed itself within the man's back, a fascinating turn of events that he considered to do well to stay out of, primarily for his own safely and incognito status, and to also assess the combat potential of the aggressor. Either he was just an angry man with a penchant for getting beat up, or an adept figther that could hold his own even while wounded.
For the moment, the agent eyed with feigned shock and concern the events unfolding before him. Should it last long enough, local law enforcement, he reasoned, would arrive on scene to take control of the situation and restore the peace. Nevertheless, the hard presence of his minipistol lay apparent in his senses now more than ever.
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Post by Steinerman on Jun 15, 2012 13:18:40 GMT -5
"Push me, will 'ya?" The Sailor shouted angrily. "I've killed bigger men than you, boy. No one pushes me!"
Martin wanted to scoff, or come back with a snarky remark. But the wound in his back was really quite painful. Besides, he had a habit of over-doing his retorts into sentences so complex that it usually left his opponents with a dazed expression. While somewhat amusing, it would take too much time.
No doubt some worried housewife was already calling the authorities to report that a sailor had stabbed a crazy drunk who, "oh dear goodness, must have just come from a whorehouse and smelled of liquor." Or at least, that's how the calls usually went, in his experience.
The sailor attacked again, and for such a big man, he moved surprisingly quickly. Martin was almost tempted to reach down to his holsters . . . but then recalled that he wasn't actually carrying any guns, at the moment, as that would have caused undue attention. So he sidestepped the man's outstretched arm and slammed an elbow into the sailor's craggy face, causing a howl of pain.
Just as quickly, he danced back out of the big man's reach. "Listen, moron. The cops are on the way and you just stabbed me. Do yourself a favor and walk away before I hurt you." He hissed angrily.
"You browke mai knose!" The sailor shouted, blood running from his nose. "You'll pawy."
"Pawy?" Martin questioned curiously.
The Sailor rolled his eyes, "Pawy, money."
"Oh . . . you mean 'pay', don't you." Martin replied with a smirk. "Really, man, I can't understand you, it looks like some chap broke your nose."
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Darkrider
Recruit
The bridge of sighs.
Posts: 69
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Post by Darkrider on Jun 15, 2012 13:44:11 GMT -5
Kent took in the details with knife-like precision. The slimmer individual lacked the initiative to attack the sailor during his brief monologue. Both seemed quick, but the dark haired person seemed a bit clearer of mind.
At present, the wails of distant sirens reached within earshot over the commotion. He would rather avoid witness testifying over the whole ordeal, and with a final glance at the pair of people, started to shift away from the crowd and away from the area. His movements slipped him into a local alleyway that he would use to get across a few street blocks until the commotion died down.
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Post by Steinerman on Jun 15, 2012 16:42:27 GMT -5
Ah, sirens. Lovely. Martin grimaced, he couldn't talk to the police. Any sort of background check was dangerous. The Korin's forgeries of his papers were good, but he wasn't about to put his life on the line with them.
So he stuck out his tongue in a childish manner at the sailor. And exactly as expected, the man roared in anger and charged once more. There was a blur and a moment later the man was lying on the ground screaming about his suddenly-broken arm. "Be lucky I don't feel like killing you," Martin hissed into the man's ear, leaning down close and giving the sailor a full view of his crazed eyes. "That'd cause more paperwork than it'd be worth."
And with that, Martin stepped swiftly to the side and headed for the nearest exit, an alley, rather than the main street. He didn't want to bump into any law enforcement.
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Darkrider
Recruit
The bridge of sighs.
Posts: 69
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Post by Darkrider on Jun 15, 2012 17:01:08 GMT -5
Aeos heard the loud echos of hasty footsteps behind him, as opposed to his careful paces that he made sure to generate as little noise as possible if any. His slow pace grinded to a halt with a one-two step, and his figure did not bother to turn, though his voice addressed the man behind him. He spoke with certainty that the only person that bothered to take the same alley as he did was the disturbance-causer.
"Not the most subtle of persons, are you?"
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Post by Steinerman on Jun 15, 2012 18:09:57 GMT -5
"On the contrary, sir, I'm almost remarked for my subtlety." Martin responded easily. He hadn't realized he was taking the same route as the book-reader until it was too late. Already the sirens were behind him on the street, there was no going back.
"I just happened to be having a bad morning." He added defensively.
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Darkrider
Recruit
The bridge of sighs.
Posts: 69
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Post by Darkrider on Jun 15, 2012 18:58:49 GMT -5
"That tends to happen with stab wounds..." Kent remarked with an inward chuckle. The overconfidence of this person, he reasoned, would be enough for an easy assassination should he be given a contract. But in this present moment, he was off-duty. The last thing on his mind was spreading further violence.
The human leaned his head back in a slight, if not offensive chuckle. "Known for subtlety. An oxymoron if I ever heard one." And a good basis for doing some research... Morgan thought to himself. He presently realized that his musings put a gap in time in what would normally carry on a conversation, one that could alleviate any initial paranoia. "So what brings you to this city, all pissed off and angry?"
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Post by Steinerman on Jun 16, 2012 0:10:39 GMT -5
Oh yes . . . he'd been stabbed, hadn't he? As usual, his mind had blocked out the pain once the altercation had gotten underway. Now that the man mentioned it, though . . . his back hurt, a lot.
With a slight effort of concentration he blocked it out again, it wasn't deep, and would heal quickly, given his nature. He ignored the man's silence, content to walk along in it for a few more moments. And then the question was asked, and he had to decide whether or not to answer.
Carrying on a conversation with this stranger could be dangerous. His senses told him the man was no common civilian. He had an odd smell to him, and Martin trusted his senses. But then . . .what's life without a little crazy? (Or a lot, in his case).
"What brought me to this city? A whore. What's got me all pissed off and grouchy? Myself." He answered with a light-hearted laugh.
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Darkrider
Recruit
The bridge of sighs.
Posts: 69
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Post by Darkrider on Jun 16, 2012 3:21:40 GMT -5
Kent found the man's resilience to pain and injury remarkable, definitely an abnormality compared to most humans. Even his battlefield conditioning did not allow him that level of pain resistance. Based on personal experience, the only deduction the Silver Star member could conclude was that he was not facing a human. Not entirely human, anyway. His thoughts on the matter, however, remained unspoken.
His facial features received the man's answer with little more than a a shift that indicated only a trace of amusment. "Your blunt answer to the question is...more than I expected."
Personality-wise, Morgan found little interest in the man, predictably shallow, brash, and all the things that he had learned to distance himself from as an assassin. Perhaps it was a mask, or perhaps it was the man's way of letting off steam. Even if he preferred subtlely, Kent kept honesty about him, transparancy. He could function well as a ghost, as silence was golden, and he held the better part of valor, discretion. But when the truth needed to come out, he would not flinch at saying it. Or revealing it through a corpse and leaked documents.
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Post by Steinerman on Jun 16, 2012 3:43:07 GMT -5
"It's a habit of mine, being more than people expect." Martin responded with another smirk. He picked up his pace a little. "So, answer me a question." He stated with interest. "Why do you smell like death? I've been trying to figure it out for the last few moments. And it's puzzling me. You don't look like a soldier. But you smell like one."
Even as he asked it, he prepared himself for a fight. Whoever his temporary traveling companion was, the man was clearly more than he appeared.
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Darkrider
Recruit
The bridge of sighs.
Posts: 69
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Post by Darkrider on Jun 16, 2012 13:40:25 GMT -5
Kent gave a puzzled glance as his response, partly in feigned ignorance, the other in confirmed suspicion. The man was obviously inhuman. No normal entity would pick up something that, especially after a man who followed good hygiene regularly. His reply was nonchalant, almost inappropriate given the current accusation.
"I haven't been conjuring up dead things, if that's what you're asking. I'm not a necromancer."
In a black jacket, red t-shirt, and combat pants and tennis shoes, he looked lardly the part of killer, but that was partially the point in his line of work to start with. "I'm surprised you haven't considered the possibility of me being retired, or off duty. Truth be told, I'm not a soldier at all, and for a human, you have a weird sense of smell..."
A technicality, Kent was aware of his lie using a shift of perspectives. He was a mercenary, technically, not a soldier.
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