MISSION: World War III: Peace and the Pestilence of RIOTE {2}

[Guest]

Creta Invasion: RIOTE- Vanity, Lust, Nyx, Daemon, King: April XX, 2012: 5:30 p.m Central Time

“Alena, Alena, you must do as I tell you. Quick, take this and become the embodiment of my last true desire, Vainglory. I will be remembered forever through your eyes my dear.” Were Fathers last spoken words to her before his death.

The plans were clear and very straightforward on her part. Ivanaka was a decoy, distracting Briggs and the rest of Central while Vanity and her team made a way through Creta to get into Central the back way. However, Vanity had a personal vendetta to take care of first, Lord Dietrich.

Her eyes were narrow and thin, like a wolf hunting its prey as she was enclosing in towards the White House. The Cretan Royal Task force was strong and their leader was among the strongest in this world. Lord Dietrich, the grand master of all of Creta was about to meet his doom by the poison from the most beautiful creature to grace the surface of this planet. They had arranged a dinner party, but it just so happen that this dinner was falling on the same night as the master attack upon Central. Coincident? No, not in the least.

A thick fog drapes over the city as the feasting was about to begin. Rain drizzles down on her car as it makes it way towards her destination. Aphrodite pulls out her cell phone from her purse and dials a private number. Thankfully, Aurel had shown the homunculus how to have a conversation without the worry of being tracked.

“Nyx, please get ready into position. You and Daemon have to be ready to attack the military personnel in the middle of the City. Prepare the explosives and when you receive the call, detonate them. Oh and darling, have some ‘fun’ while you’re waiting patiently for my call. Just don’t be too noticeable. After all, I can’t be stressed during my dinner date with Lord Dietrich.” The vain one snickers to herself as she hangs up the phone with Nyx and stares across the seat at the other deadly creature accompanying her. “Adrastei, I must say, this will be quite the dinner party we’re attending.” The fog grew thicker and thicker the closer to the white house they drew and it was only a matter of minutes before they arrived. “Now, Dietrich doesn’t have any clue to what we are, only who we are. He’s about to get a rude awakening to the powers we’re gifted with after the meal is all said and done.” Lady Vanity was wearing a beautiful sleek, form fitting, strapless red dress with a slight up the middle for her legs to peak through.

This was her time, her time to really shine and show the world how much of a threat Vanity really could be. It was time to stop being pushed aside and seem like a pawn. Vainglory was about to prove to the world how much they had to fear her and everything that embodied her elegant form.

King, the man whom she had the most loyal in aside from Aurel, was sitting right next to her in the car. His body was warm, which help keep her body as easy as she thought about the latter events. If anything went wrong at all, she knew he'd protect her through thick and thin. She slowly raises up and grabs hold of his bicep and bites her lower lip. "No matter what, I'll need you with me King." A bit of hesitation was in her voice, but she turns her glance out the window at the drizzling rain. "I can't help but feel threaten by Dietrich and his power, but, but I know that I can kill him." Killing was the only option at this point. She needed to rid him of his power, and use Envy as the decoy in his spot.

Lord Dietrich was expecting them soon and it was almost time for the plans to unfold. The V8 Audi slowly comes to a halt at the main entrance to the White House and the driver exchanges a few words with the security guard before driving through to the main doors. Vanity let out a breath of air and looks back over to Lust.

“Here we go.” She smiles once before stepping out of the door that one of the White House guards had open. “Thank you.” She sincerely speaks to the attractive military man before giving him a wink he’d die to lay his hands on. The stairs were grand and unlike anything else, at least the White House had some style and flavor unlike Central. Dietrich was waiting and she knew this night would be one to remember. Her pouty lips were lush and red, while the rest of her features were all natural as she stares at her prey. Let the hunger games begin.

Her dress:

Spoiler:

[Reila Tsukino]

RULES:

• The typical stuff applies. In every post, note where you are, and which PC's your post pertains to. 'Throne Room - Balthazar, Ogihci, Hei, Ace', etc.
  
• There'll be an initial posting order as dictated below, which then will become relative, meaning obviously you're not going to post five times before the person your fighting can retaliate. Use your brain.
  
• You must exit the thread before the end or your character will die.
  
• Adhere to the beginning posting order - that means don't post out of turn. Do this, you'll lose 5 points, piss me off, and have to delete and rewrite your post appropriately. You've been warned.

START ORDER:

All of these people - it's imperative you post in this order if you're specified by name.

• Vani
  
• King
  
• Lust
  
• Relative free-for-all.
  

[Guest]

For the majority of the journey, King had been seated comfortably enough aside Vanity. Creta's relative warmth was a welcome change from the hellish Moscovian colds he was unfortunately used to courtesy of his employer; his shotgun sat, safety engaged, not three inches from the homunculus' left leg.

Vanity saw it fit to engage in conversation with another of their would-be 'siblings'; Lust. Tanandra. King knew her well enough, and had conversed with her briefly once or twice, but had always dealt with her whilst Vanity was present. Her presence almost set him at unease; her provocative manners and her seductive way of performing even the simplest of actions was... bound to end up being dangerous. He tried to shy his glance away from her, successfully, entrancing himself with the blur of cars speeding past his window.

King was garbed in the best Cerisian silks he'd been able to find in Vanity's vast repertoire of clothing prepared for him; almost worrying were the extents she'd gone to ensure that her bodyguard even looked his best. With a grey jacket over a waitcoat, white shirt, and black tie, partnered then with grey slacks and black dress shoes, he looked more than presentable. The kevlar vest beneath his shirt gave his chest a more prominent appearance, and the Automag pistol tucked into a shoulder-holster gave him the intimidation powers he'd need. To complete the image, he wore a pair of aviators, propped expertly upon the bridge of his nose.

A cold grasp on a clothed bicep brought him back to the world of the living. "No matter what, I'll need you with me King." King nodded, smiling warmly as he saw Alena bite her lip. This was going to get very complicated, very fast. There was no doubt about it. "I can't help but feel threaten by Dietrich and his power, but, but I know that I can kill him."

King responded almost immediately, removing his sunglasses. "Da," He said slowly, nodding his head to match the rhythm of his speech. "I'll be with you, Miss V," A grin as he pulled open his jacket to reveal the high-caliber pistol hanging in his holster. "And if you can't kill the bastard, I sure as hell can."

Ascending up, and sweeping on his sunglasses, King stepped out of the door second, shooting each of the men a stern look through tinted lenses to make sure they both knew the protocols: look, but don't touch. That was always the way it was with Vanity. Any man she didn't want laying her hands on her, and King wouldn't even have to act. She was more than capable of taking care of herself.

Moving around to the side and buttoning up his jacket, King gestured for the driver of the limousine to wind the window down. Doing so, he muttered a few words in Drachman. "Stay in sight of the building. Keep your transponder on, and make sure you don't lose my gun." He'd need the Defender if things went south. The man nodded quickly, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead, and King turned around, ascending the stairs behind Vanity, moving into a brisker walk to catch up with her.

"Miss V," A tone of urgency upon his voice. "The man you're dealing with is no idiot. You'll have to be careful, here. First sign of trouble and I start shooting, da?" King wasn't joking. The only things more important to him at the moment than Vanity were his brother and his car. In that order.

[Lust]

The nice thing about being Tanandra, she supposed, were the perks that came with it. The privelage. Unlike many of the members of RIOTE and even several of the other homunculi, Tanandra was a VIP and legal to traverse through various countries using her name like a passport. Even if she didn't speak the same language, even in Drachma, they had known her body and face as intimately as the magazines, movies and billboards made people feel they could know a person they'd never met. Seeing her then with their beloved leader only seemed to spark that much more interest in the green-haired beauty. The ride back into Creta had been more than easy, the sleek and classy car driving smoothly through the country without question. Sometimes there really were perks to being her.

Her darling Alonso was quietly beside her, obedient, and would be at her side as they met personally with Lord Dietrich himself. While Lust rather doubtedshe'd need much help for her part in things, it was nice to know there would be her faithful bodyguard through all of it. The thought of what immortality truly brought was still a concept Tanda wasn't quite at home with, still much too comfortable in the life she'd built for herself as a star; Tanda knew she'd do anything for her darling Aurel, but part of her did wory that all of this would cost her what she'd spent so many years on her own cultivating and perfecting. She was as the poisoned pearl dropped into the goblet of wine; beautiful, perfect, and very dangerous, and if Lust wasn't careful she'd just as easily ingest her own poisons.

The light refracted delicately from the beadwork that covered Tanandra's bust light stardust, a shining crystal stuck to the base of her throat where her clavicles met and dipped in gracefully. The deep green of the dress seemed that much darker by the hues of brown of her skin. It wrapped snugly around her waist and hips beneath a black band, and flared out at her thighs. Green over black, and a brilliant star pinning a pleated ruffle that cascaded down the side. This dinner party would be equisite and a night to die for, and Tanandra did have a reputation to keep up with her appearance. If this was the night that might ruin her career, she at least wanted to look her best for it.

Sweet strawberry flavour melted away into remnants clinging to the paper stick of her small lollipo that Tanda had been sucking on lightly for the last few minutes. She wasn't particularly hungry, but it gave her something to occupy herself with and think ahead, much like twiddling thumbs but more attractive. Casually, Tanandra glanced over to Alonso as the limo pulled up. Gently, a manicured finger brushed down Alonso's cheek, the actress letting out a gentle purr. "Alonso, stay close to me. But, if Vanity needs further assistance, do not hesitate to aid her. No matter what, we must complete and carry out our objective." Her hand moved to smooth a bit of hair on the side of Alonso's head, giving him one last look-over as the door was opened for them to slide out. He looked just as delicious as her... What did she see them as, anyway? Peers? Coworkers? Friends? Vanity wasa sibling of sorts, and fun to ship with, but Tanandra wasn't fond of the idea of family. Hell, she'd killed her own, so that proved it. And Reaver she had too many unyeilding desires for to think of him as any kind of family. She pushed away the thought, saving it for another day as she took Alonso's arm, walking with everyone up the stairs of the White House for a dinner Creta wouldn't soon forget.

Spoiler:

[Guest]

”Looks like we weren’t lied to,” Dietrich mutters, leaning over his desk as several workers work tirelessly to destroy documents and computers alike. The fighting retreat had been working well thus far, but the numbers were… slightly greater than anticipated. Much of the mainland had either been evacuated, or was in the process of such. Overall, a lot of work to coordinate while purging the White House of any physical copies of his actions. Not enough time to do much else.

Miss Alena was scheduled to see him today, but he doubted she’d come into an active warzone. Perhaps coincidence, or maybe she wasn’t at the reigns of Drachma, as he had previously thought. Perhaps she was little more than a puppet, a figurehead playing with her toys while RIOTE pulled the strings from behind the scenes. While she didn’t strike him as a woman who preferred to get her hands dirty from their previous encounter, he had also seen ambition in her eyes. To settle for such a demeaning position…

”Lord Dietrich, sir,” Sullivan hails over the radio. ”It would appear that your guest has arrived.” Wait, what? Well, stranger things have happened before, but…

”Round up the Honor Guard, Sullivan. I need everything lined up and ready in time, do you understand?”

”Understood, m’lord.”

Rubbing his eyes for a moment, he sighs heavily. Today just wasn’t going to be his day…

~~~~~~~~

Descending the stairs, he forgoes his usual smile and formal greeting. ”Miss Alena,” he says, obviously irritated, ”a wonderful surprise to find you on my doorstep, considering the gift’s you’ve been rolling across the border.” Glancing at her companions, his eyebrow twitches slightly. ”I’m afraid we won’t be serving a meal today, nor were we prepared for an extra three guests.” Motioning for them to follow him, he strolls down a hallway, leading into the grand ballroom.

”Now, I’m confident we can find a solution to our problems,” Dietrich says after they all enter. The guards posted outside close the doors, and Dietrich motions for Alena to take a seat at a small table, before sitting opposite of her. ”Now, Miss Alena, I’d like to first commend you for taking out Czar Loki. He was a pathetic excuse for a leader, and I was pleased to learn that someone more capable was taking his seat. Quite honestly, if it weren’t for your associations with RIOTE, I’d likely be supporting your efforts behind the scenes, if not outright accompanying you into battle.” Rapping his fingers on the table, he smirks. ”Now, we’re obviously in a serious predicament. You’re little more than a puppet leader of Drachma, while Hild and Aurel run the show with their hypocritical organization, right? So, I see this as a complicated problem with a deviously simple solution. We stop this silly conflict, end RIOTE for good, and establish you as the rightful leader of Drachma. Lives and money are saved in the process, damage is minimized, and we make the world a better place. A fair win-win situation, considering we could turn around and carve Amestris out amongst ourselves.”

Glaring at Alena, he pauses. Sure, he was blunt, but it saving his people meant rushing negotiations and giving her far more than she deserved… then so be it.

[Nyx]

"Mmmhm. Low profile, disguise on, keep relative distance from Daemon, set the stuff, and go when you say go... Got it! See you after all this stuff~"

Right-ho! Nyx was most definitely not going to get in the way of Alena's planning for dinner. Certainly, that was rude. Who would interfere with a dinner date between two world powers, especially if one was trying to assassinate the other, and ESPECIALLY if interfering involved getting caught by Cretan forces and possibly ending in a failure, a fiasco, a screw-up of ultimate proportions. Plus Aurly liked Alena, so Nyx was going to try her hardest to ensure nothing bad befell the Drachman sovereign. Be it fire, ice, wind, or rain, be it getting caught, Dietrich catching on, or anything else happening to potentially harm her, in any way, Nyx wasn't too far away. Relatively close even. Or rather, if she had to, she could find a decent perch and protect Alena from afar, should she need any protection. Of course, for now, her goals were simpler, easier, and less could go wrong. I mean, what if she took a bullet like before, in the arm? That would spell failure, no way around it. But those thoughts were not the thoughts of action, but of endless hypotheticals. Never good for pre-combative thinking.

Of course, Nyx doubted anybody would figure her out. Dressed in a brown trench coat over her black dress, her wings were concealed. Violet eyes were covered by pink-rimmed 80s sunglasses, her hair covered by a blonde wig, that wig covered by a nice sun hat. To anybody around her, she wouldn't look too conspicuous; a little girl trying to be like a popstar or something. Not only that, but she knew where to go and what to do without being revealed; she'd been in Creta for the past week or two, both enjoying herself, and scouting the land for RIOTE's plans. She knew exactly where the charges were to be placed, as she assumed Daemon did also, and if not, she remembered the whole plan. Indeed, Nyx was generally the one who liked to ensure that everything went according to plan. Thankfully, Aurel's plan was easily adaptable; she needn't panic when the plan fails, because no matter what, Aurel would work failure into a bigger success. That's why he's a genius, of course. Speaking of RIOTE's leaders, where was Hild? Nyx hadn't seen her in a while... Ah well, perhaps she'd ask Aurel later.

Clicking on the ON feed of her small, hardly noticeable com-set, she set the frequency to her's and Daemon's. "Hey Dae-Dae~ We've got the go from Miss Alena. Just be sure to stay hidden and place the stuff around here by the time she calls back, m'kay? Good luck~ And if you get hurt doing this mission, I promise I'll have to come beat you up!" Giving him time to react, she hoped he interpreted that last bit as playful joking, but it was a bit more than just joking; she was sincerely worried! What about last time, when he got stuck in the fire-cage? But no matter, if he detected that bit of worry, he could take it as being a sincere threat, however adorable.

Anyways, as he finished saying whatever it was he said, she clicked off the com-set, and prepared the charges. Keeping quietly in her disguise, even fitting the role, skipping cheerfully around, saying hi to a few people, essentially BEING that little girl she wanted to pretend to be for the mission, she went throughout the area she'd been assigned to take care of, setting explosives with relative ease and remaining hidden as she did so. And what neat explosives they had... Operated remotely, all of them could be- and were meant to be- detonated from a distance, leaving their targets in chaos, allowing them to cover Alena and fend off anyone who tried to get between her and Dietrich; as stated, it was rude to crash a private dinner party. So when her side of the blasts were set, she rang up Daemon again. "All clear on my end, Dae-Dae~ You?" As she spoke, she settled into the lovely leaves of spring, in a large, mighty oak, far from the explosives, and towering high enough that she could see the White House from her perch. And of course, her bow was drawn and she'd set a telescope on the branch with her, just watching, waiting for a target that she'd have to take care of. She didn't like it, but when it was needed, killing was justifiable. And when Aurel says for her to do the killing, there would be no question; she'd do it.

And to kill in the name of RIOTE, she was prepared to do. But first, she was prepared to wait; a bird of prey, soaring circles around its prey until it came time to swoop down and strike...

(~(I'm assuming it's relative free-for-all time? owo)~)

[Guest]

A bike roared through the evening streets of the capital city of Creta, appearing almost like something out of Tron what with the lights that were attached to it and the sleek design. The figure perched upon it was wearing a black body suit with a matching black helmet, the figure being the only sign that it was indeed a woman. Rebecca Wong, also known as Tali Zorah vas Normandy was driving through the night through a city she may as well have called a second home, utterly focused upon the task that was at hand. The task that she deemed to be of the utmost importance. She was a Spectre, and as such, she was tasked with watching out for World Peace and Stability. Right now, that was in jeopardy in more ways than just one.

While on one of her usual data dives across numerous networks, Rebecca had begun to notice some very concerning connections and reports flying all around Drachma involving Creta and Briggs. Unfortunately much of the communication remained in physical hard copies and so had been harder to trace, but what encrypted files she and Edi could dig up pointed to nothing good. RIOTE was on the move again. And if Drachma was involved, she could only imagine there was a want for revenge. Now there were two factions, one at Briggs, and one at Creta. Creta was closer, and... well... even though the Spectre's didn't answer to Lord Dietrich, she still felt like he was a sort of boss for her especially given the last war they had found themselves in. Besides, it was Fort Briggs, they could handle themselves.... couldn't they? She bit her lip inside her helmet as the streetlights whizzed by, slowing at a traffic light with a heavy sigh and slight adjustment.

If only she could locate the other Spectre's, then she could have asked them to go abroad to the other locations of concern. Unfortunately, as it were, she could not find them and so she was on her own to deal with one problem at a time. Her priority? The country and city she was currently driving through. She could not let Creta lose its king no matter how much of a jerk many viewed him to be. No country was perfect, no leader was perfect. So they did what they could. And right now, Rebecca knew he was meeting with Sekretar Alena for dinner with some.. bodyguards. Pfft, bodyguards my ass. It was surprisingly difficult to find information on Drachma's leader and her new friends, even moreso from RIOTE. They ran a tight ship, and not even Rebecca or Edi's hacking skills could crack it that easily. "Reports indicate there is an increase in traffic about the White House. Are you sure what you have on your persons is adequate for this mission?" Edi spoke into the earring that Rebecca had fashion with a transmitter located inside. "Continue monitoring and notify me immediately of any figures of concern, artillery, all of that. Also keep me appraised of the situation inside the White House since I doubt I'd be allowed in on a whim like this." The king certainly wouldn't appreciate it either.

"Very well Morgana." Heh... excellent. Edi had remembered to refer to her by one of her other codenames, one that was certainly less used and less well-known. "Thanks Miranda." May as well call Edi by one of her codenames hm? Some would wonder at the need for an AI to have such a thing, but you'd be surprised. Turning down a street, the White House loomed into view on the horizon, Rebecca revving her bike and speeding even faster towards her overall goal. Turning down one of the side streets, she continued onward at a slower pace so as not to create too much of a ruckus, coming to a stop beside a building about a block from the White House. Sliding off of her bike, she flicked a couple of buttons and locked it up, her helmet remaining on as she turned towards the capital building. A car had pulled up, figures getting out and heading up the steps inside, her helmet flickering as it zoomed in upon them. Aye, her helmet was of her fashioning too, built in with a computer and a connection to Edi. Alena and her entourage had arrived. Now it was time to be on her highest guard.

Opening up a compartment on the back of her bike, Rebecca set up a couple of surveillance gadgets of her invention, running through the alleys so she could get different views with the itty bitty camera's she had that blended in so well with their backgrounds. Climbing up a fire escape, she made it up to the roof with a bag slung across her back, its contents quite secure inside as they made no noise despite her motions. Slowing to a stop at the top, she set up a couple more things and crouched down behind the brick wall, removing the rifle that was wrapped inside. It was on its own little backpack that she slipped an arm through, jumping from roof to roof until she was across the street from the White House, crouching behind that wall as she activated the devices she had just set up. Edi connected her to the camera's inside the White house and so she listened to the conversation that was happening in the dining room, readying her rifle just in case she would need to act. She truly hoped that she wouldn't, but you could never tell when it came to such a tedious time as now.

[Guest]

The human like android rode beside his master. Not really participating with the others conversation. Why would he need to anyway? Its not like his opinion was needed or even asked for. Not that he had much of an opinion with the leash tied around his brain. Every once in a while he felt something but, that soon fell away as the leash asserted itself much like a choke collar to a dog. But that's what he was right? A simple dog meant to take orders? But, with everything that has happened, ending up serving Tanandra wasn't all that bad in his opinion. Then again... could that be the leash? He looked upon her form. There was a warm sensation in his chest... what could it be? But, soon it disappeared. Probably just needed maintenance, he would get himself looked at after this.

He turned back to facing forward. He was sure it wasn't any malfunction that needed to be worried about. At least... not now anyway. As they pulled up however the elegant touch of her manicured hand grazed his face and the warm feeling returned and vanished again. He would definitely have to have it looked at after this. "Alonso, stay close to me. But, if Vanity needs further assistance, do not hesitate to aid her. No matter what, we must complete and carry out our objective." He glanced over to her listening to her rather easy orders. Not like he would argue them, not that he could. Could he? Not even he knew the extent of his programming. "Understood my mistress." He stated in his monotone voice.

He followed his mistress out of the car. Alonso looked dressed to impress, though maybe not as much as everyone else. He wore a jet black tux with a black tie and white undershirt. His suit was perfect, no wrinkles could be seen in the fabric he wore. His duel pistols and extra magazines weren't even visible to the eye. Tanandra took his arm and the warm feeling returned and then dissipated. Maybe it was his sense of feeling that had been replicated and it was messing with something inside. That would make sense right? Just in cause he began running a diagnostic on himself as they began to make there way inside. There it would seem they would meet their host.

Taking into the account the guards they passed and the presumed security, whatever their plan was tonight it would be certainly difficult to escape the building. As they walked through the mansion to their host he planned out extra escape routes that they may have to use later. Of course this was only precautionary and though his mistress had told him otherwise he was programmed to see her safety before the mission first. By the way their host greeted them he was obviously surprised and by the rate his heart was beating and the increase in body temperature he was obviously also bothered or maybe irritated. Only time would tell. Just in case, Alonso kept a good eye on there host and the guards alike... something could be up.

[Guest]

London, Creta. It was a place that Daemon never thought he'd return to, for the simple fact that this was the place where his first job started. Even then, it couldn't be considered much of a job when he was nothing more than the dog of the king himself, Dietrich Von Vermont. It wasn't that he harbored any ill feelings, since he had locked away his feelings long before working for Dietrich, but he would likely be considered a traitor and thus have a bounty on his head. Logically, they would either try to capture him, or kill him. Neither of those would be of any benefit, so the tall chimera would do his best to avoid said situations at all costs.

Speaking of locked up feelings, there seemed to be numerous locks and chains placed on his heart - metaphorically speaking, of course - and two people that each held some part of the puzzle where none other than Nyx and Aurel, it seemed. Aurel had made the first, albeit small, step, and then Nyx had made another. Slowly but surely, Daemon's cyborg-like state was being "cured", but most of the time he was his usual self. Every now and then, some fleeting emotions would slip through, such as when he felt the need to protect Nyx, though he could tell that she didn't need it. He could almost compare it to the obligation that an older sibling feels to help his or her younger sibling, except in this case, they hardly knew each other.

In this particular scenario, Daemon had changed his attire just a bit to ensure that he wouldn't be immediately recognizable. Of course he hadn't taken it upon himself to choose the clothing, since he was blind, but from what he could gather these were normal, everyday clothes that people wore in London. Casual, and non-restrictive as far as movement went. A pair of dark blue jeans with a faded look, as was the more common style found in any store, covered his long legs. They were a tad large around his waist, so he made sure to wear a belt - dark brown, made of leather, with an oval metal buckle. His torso was dressed in a simple white t-shirt with a black vest. The most important part was the set of black sunglasses perched on his nose to hide his lack of eyes - his most defining and recognizable feature. Last, but not least, his hair had been pulled back into a low, messy ponytail.

He stood beneath a tree, leaning casually against it. He had been here many times before, and his memory had served him well - there had not been many changes to the structural layout of this place - so navigating would be a rather simple task. Waiting for any sort of signal from Nyx (or any other RIOTE member, for that matter), Daemon turned his head in the direction of nearby civilians, whose attention was thankfully not drawn to him very much. He had picked up the occasional comment about him, but none jeopardized his mission here.

"Hey Dae-Dae~ We've got the go from Miss Alena. Just be sure to stay hidden and place the stuff around here by the time she calls back, m'kay? Good luck~ And if you get hurt doing this mission, I promise I'll have to come beat you up!"

The tall man placed a hand on his chin. His memory may have been great, but there was still no way for him to place the explosives in their exact locations without any sort of guidance. While his senses were over the top, his lack of vision would prove an obstacle for this particular part of the plan.

"Nyxie," He slowly muttered into the communication device, "I can't exactly see what I'm doing over here, so it would be best if you could give me some assistance. If I mess this up, then everything will have been for naught." He ignored her little joke, lacking the proper sense of humor to enjoy it and not really caring. It must have been some reference to what happened in Drachma, but Daemon refused to let that obstruct his thought processes. What happened back then was, well, in the past, and if he were to stay stuck on that forever, why, he wouldn't get anything done.

Realizing that his loitering would likely start to attract attention, he feigned a look at his wrist watch and pulled a phone out of his pocket, pressing keys in a manner that seemed as though he had some purpose. To the untrained eye, it would seem as though he was simply waiting to meet someone under this tree - perhaps for a date? He would continue this act at random intervals while waiting for a response from Nyx on his request for help, as it seemed she was now finished with everything on her end.

[Guest]

A day as any other. It was Deity's break and she had not much to really do. She hated when she wasn't at work. Simply due to the fact she had no real life outside of her job. For example she was by herself at the coffee shop, buying a latte when she would realize the room was covered with couples. An annoyed look on her face. Public displays of affection were gross and she would take her drink hastily. Slipping the payment to the cashier, she would move her legs to bring her through the glass doors and outside beneath the cloudy sky. Wonderful.

Her hair was washed with a spray of some of the rain and swiftly she would run into a shop. Buying an umbrella and walking out again. Luckily she had found a few shops open as he hands moved and quickly pushed up the lever. The shield from the rain keeping her from being entirely drenched. She had noting to do really, so she would march herself to a park bench and sit down upon it. She had to wait for her ride now. Yet it seemed there was a bit of traffic. The woman in her normal garb looked rather higher class than most civilians. With her sand colored hair that reached the middle of her back with ease. Her black dress trimmed with golden lines.

For the moment, she would just sit upon the bench. A soft sigh while she rested the pole on her shoulder and stared off into the nothingness of the dark sky. The clouds moving and filling her mind. Truly it was just another day for her. She hated days like this, where she had nothing to do. A soft sip of her latte with her free hand and she would then cross her ankles. Blue eyes simply gazing off while she daydreamed of simply going back to work.

[Elastor Ito]

Light pitter-patter under a black umbrella, clear drops rolling off, dodging ferocious growls of mechanical beasts streaming past, strapped with valuables. Evacuation. It was unfathomable for a country so self-assured to quickly throw ego to the wind, but it was happening; it was happening right before his very eyes. Tense, muscles clenched; he couldn't relax even an inch as he milled carefully down the sidewalk in front of the White House. Glacial blue eyes drew ahead, further into the crowds, moving to rid themselves from proposed danger. RIOTE. Tatatori was gone; there was nothing left but this life--this life he fell into in order to survive and keep what was left of his family from being murdered by...the Men in White. The Men in White: a branch of...RIOTE. He hissed under his breath, the humidity clinging fruitfully to his skin and moistening even those very thoughts. It wasn't over. His hand twitched against the hilt of his brand new sword, craving the attention thwarted from it the past few days. Labrose alloy, a cold luster of silver ribbon, sharpened under the wrath of a expert-worthy sword smith. Elastor could hardly breathe, the air trapped there in the tight expanse of his lungs as the images of what this new sword could do warped through all tactics ever crafted.

Leather boots and silenced squeaky rubber came to a stop almost automatically. A familiar face in the shadows of people. Wavy auburn hair splayed across his cheeks, eyes lowering to confirm that yes, it was who he thought it was. She was clearly lost in thought, for she hadn't noticed his presence at all, staring mindfully off into the distance. He followed her gaze, but found nothing worthy of note. Spacing out? Ela blinked and shifted his weight. This was awkward now. He contemplated turning back to surveillance the side street once more, but opted to voice his thoughts lest they drive him crazy. "Where you sat down, aren't you getting wet?" He inquired simply, basking in the rays of water droplets, however bothersome they may be. Rain was something that comforted him. Yet, before the woman known to him as Deity could get a reply in, he felt not just his phone go off, but also heard hers as well. Urgently, he focused on the words in the text message from Sullivan, but found it was a message pertaining only to the Royal Guards. An eyebrow raised as if to question the man not present, but soon fell when he frowned. Pocketing the phone, he glanced back to Deity and made to move towards the White House. "Let's go," Ela said coolly, turning around and heading straight in the direction he came.

As he passed the White House, he headed for one of the side entrances, seeing if Deity followed or not out of sheer curiosity. Dodging the golden-framed elevators, he chose the stairs and ascended many velvet-adorned flights before reaching his destination. "...and money are saved in the process, damage is minimized, and we make the world a better place. A fair win-win situation, considering we could turn around and carve Amestris out amongst ourselves.” The Royal Guard blinked, casually scanning the four...guests. One frequented billboards, one looked like a transformer, one was a body guard, and finally, Vanity. Ela's blood boiled, steaming on high until he took a long breath and let out slowly, flicking his eye contact to Lord Dietrich.

"I have arrived as requested."

[Guest]

Stubbing out the cigarette on the curb and watching the car draw up, Zen Howler scowled as the well-dressed Sekretar of their opposition pulled herself out of her car, looking as mind-bogglingly beautiful as possible. He'd heard the rumours of this woman's looks, and how she entranced men with it, but never truly indulged in them; he'd heard of her nicknames, 'the Queen Bitch', 'the Ice Queen of Drachma', 'Frozen Vanity'... well, two of those, he'd made up, but they still sounded pretty badass.

And, to be fair, without any shame whatsoever, straight off the bat, Zen would admit... she was as hot as southern Creta on a summer day, and then some. Scorching, even. That dressed, and her well-dressed companions, all three of them, pulled themselves out of a car. Zen puffed out the last of his smoke, scowling still, his eyes curled into that eternal, neverending expression of his, as he felt a large amount of the blood drain from his upper body. Shameless.

Scurrying along with what was left of his dignity, trying to pretend he was unfettered as the second attractive and scantily-clad woman, one Tanandra Collier - a 'night-time movie starlet' favourite of his - stepped out from the limousine as well, Zen cursed. He was working, dammit. Whatever deity, god, or supreme being up there obviously wanted to sexually frustrate him as much as was possible before finally bringing his miserable little existence to an end. God, what he'd do for ten minutes of spare time and a fistful of napkins right now.

Clapping his cold hands together and grinning weakly, Zen returned to the foyer, stepping through a good ten metres ahead of the advanced party, and drawing up to Dietrich at his side, slumping down into the seat. Why was he here? Simple, really. To assess and analyse, to respond as quickly as he could if he thought the Drachmans had an informant, a mole, someone on the inside... the Prime Minister's paranoia knew no bounds, and he was here to make money off of it; however, today... today, his job wasn't just one of killing time and investigating bullshit leads. "Today," Zen thought to himself. "I might just have something half-decent to concentrate on..."

A yawn, and Zen's hands gripped the armrests of the ornate chair, his jaw almost unhinging as he released the monstrous sound. To accompany Lord Paranoid, sooner than Zen would have hoped, Prince Stick-Up-His-Ass arrived, too, a little late to the party. Zen smirked as he spoke. "I have arrived as requested."

"Little late, ain't we, Ela?" Zen murmured, reaching forwards and grabbing a case file from a nearby desk, filled to the brim with paperclipped bundles and small Polaroid pictures; possible Drachman informants, or so he'd been told. Like he'd mentioned before in his thought processes, Dietrich's paranoia was truly infinite, so, he'd assembled a little crock of shit and picked up those most likely to be turning over state secrets, just to give himself a little substance to work with. On the off-chance that the Drachmans DID have snitches in their ranks, Zen knew, from his majestic powers of deduction and analysis (read: his hunch) that the men and women in the files would definitely be likely candidates.

And it definitely wasn't because he'd just picked all of the commissioned officers with Drachman-sounding last names.

With a yawn, as the last of the group of arrivals filed in, a weird priest dude with apparently a bigger stick up his ass than Elastor - and that was a challenge - and some guns he kept on his person that were most probably making up for inadequacies elsewhere. Jesus Christ, the guy looked like he'd had a road crash with a truck filled with habiliments of various nuns. What the hell was he playing at?

Either way, Zen sighed, ran a hand through his hedge-hair, and snapped the file shut, setting it aside and scowling grumpily back up towards undoubtedly four of the most powerful people ever to grace Drachma. But it wasn't because he didn't care, or even because his ego was the size of a grapefruit, but more because he just couldn't comprehend.

Zenith Howler... investigator extraordinaire.

[Envy]

Seeing that the city was, indeed, London, it was only natural for there to be immense amounts of people. Although it wasn't too crowded. It wasn't still summer, so the weather wasn't all too sunny either. This was slight annoyance to this one man, who had seemingly decided to go walking without a definite direction in his mind. You could tell from his outfit that he had prepared for a windy weather. He was wearing a long trench coat. A grey one, actually. And as if to prove that he truly was clothed underneath it, his business suit could be seen quite clearly from the upper part of it. Had the person had any kind of protection for his short and dark hair, he could have been prepared for rain as well.

This man was no other than the shape-shifting homunculus, who was also known as Envy. He had been in London a week or so, to make sure that his planned preparations would pay off. Finding a way to make those things to have even some kind of coordinating abilities wasn't that easy. Nor was finding a place to storage them. Luckily enough, whoever was in charge to place the buildings in that down had decided to place few warehouses near the White House. Envy wasn't complaining. Why would he? It was immensely useful for his current task. He checked his phone on regular interwalls. "It shouldn't be too long from now".

[Guest]

The grand stairs up towards the White House felt like eternity. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock minutes seem to fly by.

"The man you're dealing with is no idiot. You'll have to be careful, here. First sign of trouble and I start shooting, da?" Kings voice was quite serious as he begged for her ears to listen to him. It was just too hard to concentrate on his voice when the man whom she was destined to kill was feet away from her.

“My love, don’t you worry. No man on this planet can resist my lips.” Her voice was confident and strong as she winks at her personal bodyguard. The guards quickly open the front doors and invited the guest in. This was her first time actually stepping into the White House and it certainly was breathtaking. Marble pillars and the finest wood polishing on the West Coast. Within seconds, his voice sent shivers down her spine as he descended upon them.

”Miss Alena, a wonderful surprise to find you on my doorstep, considering the gift’s you’ve been rolling across the border.” His eyes shifted from person to person that was standing inches behind her. ”I’m afraid we won’t be serving a meal today, nor were we prepared for an extra three guests.” His sleepless nights were noticeable upon his scruffy features. After a few years of serving a country in this position, it can definitely wear on a man. Luckily for her, she couldn’t age and her elegances would reign forever.

“Well, a girl can’t travel lightly. You should know that by now Dietrich.” Her voice was flirty as she looks the man up and down several times. There was something about him that was attractive, natural beauty for a man. Even the way he walked had style and a edginess that couldn’t be compared with other men. She followed a few paces behind the Lord as they head down the main hallway into the master ballroom. This was all too easy, she knew the others would protect her back and look for suspects to ‘play’ with while she spent her time with Creta’s finest.

”Now, Miss Alena, I’d like to first commend you for taking out Czar Loki. He was a pathetic excuse for a leader, and I was pleased to learn that someone more capable was taking his seat. Quite honestly, if it weren’t for your associations with RIOTE, I’d likely be supporting your efforts behind the scenes, if not outright accompanying you into battle.” His voice was cocky, as if he was controlling the pieces on the chessboard, but in reality it was her that was going to cause the checkmate. ”Now, we’re obviously in a serious predicament. You’re little more than a puppet leader of Drachma, while Hild and Aurel run the show with their hypocritical organization, right? So, I see this as a complicated problem with a deviously simple solution. We stop this silly conflict, end RIOTE for good, and establish you as the rightful leader of Drachma. Lives and money are saved in the process, damage is minimized, and we make the world a better place. A fair win-win situation, considering we could turn around and carve Amestris out amongst ourselves.” He stops and turns to face her once they were in the room and motions for her to sit down across the table from him.

The woman releases a small chuckle to herself as she casually looks around the room before making brief eye contact with King. She gave a simple head nod, hoping he knew exactly what to do. “Dietrich, do you know what the most powerful piece in chess is? The Queen.” She pauses briefly to show calmness as she straightens up in her chair and stares into his deep, dark, sleep deprived eyes. “So little you know my friend. I mean, out of all the world leaders, I expected you to at least understand that you can’t always believe what you hear. You think I’m just a pawn in this little game RIOTE is playing, however, what you don’t know is that the Queen in staring right at you. Hild, well, don’t worry about her. It’s saddening, but her life is no longer of any use and therefore she was taken from this planet.” Her voice narrows as she leans in closer towards her foe, resting both elbows on the desk. “It’s sad honestly, the world doesn’t know the truth about RIOTE. In fact, I’ll give you a little secret myself. Half the members are pawns, except for a few that are here with me now. Their disposable and you’ll see that soon enough. The rise of Drachma will come without them, after Amestris is destroyed. Now Dietrich, I have never had a problem with you, or anything you’ve done. I’m not sure why exactly you wish to bother with my plans of getting into Central through your borders.” Her eyes were sharp like a wolf staring at the prey, and they never broke contact with his. “I don’t care about money or disposable lives, let alone your flattering comments to try and sway my opinion. So, if this is all you wish to try and talk about, I’m sorry, but I will not agree. All I want is to get through that border into Central.” With that she leans back in her chair and smiles at the man with the word BITCH written on her forehead. It was his move now.

[Guest]

The Automag pistol hung heavy in King's jacket as they ascended the stairs, Vanity muttering quickly to her bodyguard. “My love, don’t you worry. No man on this planet can resist my lips.” King nodded, and complied, reluctantly following her as she continued up, but took a quick look over his shoulder to watch the limousine trail off and park down the road. That was... good, at least.

"Da, but it's not them resisting you I'm so worried about, Miss V," Gluttony muttered to himself, and tried to suppress his fears, but they wouldn't budge, refusing flat-out to be alleviated. With a sigh, King propped his sunglasses further up, and drew up to Alena, mentally replaying everything he'd ever heard about Dietrich, and pulling up a simple, four-word analysis: the man was a snake.

The smile and the man's voice affected Alena; King felt it, standing next to her, as they ground to a halt in front of the Cretan Prime Minister. Some would feel like basking in his awe, or worshipping the ground he walked on - King knew far better. ”I’m afraid we won’t be serving a meal today, nor were we prepared for an extra three guests.” The homunculus grunted in response.

"We are not going to stay for dinner, Prime Minister." He spoke dryly, the heavy Drachman accent and his irritable tones hanging heavy upon the man's voice. As Tanandra, Alonso, and a few of his Cretan workdogs, including a man who shot Vanity daggers as soon as he appeared - certainly one to look out for - drew up, King felt the room's tension rise visibly, and the levels of strain in the air bubble at the top of the bucket. There was so much undue, unspoken hostility here... King could feel it, smell it, taste it in his spit. It... suffice it to say, bore them no good will.

He let Dietrich speak, a bitter look upon his pallor from the moment he began to the moment he finished. Words... such a pitiful art to find a speciality in. King had always found himself to despise those who hid behind words, such as the Cretan monarch did; Vanity, however, was different, in some way; it was almost inexplicable. She didn't restrict or compress herself through words, no slithering around like the serpent opposite them... she used words to simply accentuate her illustrious beauty, her power, to enthral others; that, in itself, was far better than the Cretan man's doings.

She was blunt, pure and simple. Straight to the point, carving through every defense he'd set up in the conversation like butter. King's fears finally dipped; the room's tension had exploded, and the inferno continued to rage with every word that left her cherry-red lips, fuelling the flames as Dietrich would desperately try to fan them out. She was forceful as she spoke, making her motive clear, as simple as that: “I don’t care about money or disposable lives, let alone your flattering comments to try and sway my opinion. So, if this is all you wish to try and talk about, I’m sorry, but I will not agree. All I want is to get through that border into Central.” King smirked as she finished, raising a hand to his head and removing his sunglasses eagerly, folding the arms back into the frame of them proper, and aligning his deep green irises so they locked on the face of the auburn-haired guardsman.

It appeared King had found his match. A confident smile hit his face as he held his two pale hands crested in front of his jacket, fingers interlocked as his heavy-set frame filled the room, his presence speaking for itself. When this tension exploded, not only figuratively, but literally, also, Gluttony knew just who he'd be taking the first shot at. With every moment, King felt he'd need that shotgun sooner and sooner, and felt that he'd need it more and more. The Automag simply wouldn't be enough for him to pose a good enough amount of resistance; not here, not now, and certainly not when shit hit the fan. King was a good man, just a loyal man; one could have called Vanity the parasite that corrupted him, but he would've branded that an untruth. She was simply the woman that had taken him in for his skills when she needed them the most.

And, now, he'd protect her - whatever the cost.

[Lust]

There was a certain air of elegance that the White House offered in its highly-polished floors, and that elegant dignity was carried through the floors and walls and into the man that greeted them. She'd seen Lord Dietrich before, but never in person; news didn't do much justice to that pretty face of his. Nice facial features, good shoulders.... Too bad their objective was to kill him. It was always a shame to kill beauty in the world. And tehre were others in this foyer, also not too bad to look at... one needed to smile, and one just looked decidedly uncomfortable as he glanced her way. Ah, that was a look Tanandra knew well! ”I’m afraid we won’t be serving a meal today, nor were we prepared for an extra three guests.” Oh well. She wasn't really here for a meal, anyway.

Lord Dietrich turned to walk down the hall, motioning for them to folow him. A delicate hand reached up, Tanandra twirling the small Tootsie Pop in her mouth lightly as her eyes moved over from Alastor to Zen. Honey-coloured eyes lingered as she toyed with the hard candy, a playful smirk teasing at the corners of her mouth before she turned her gaze away to follow Vanity and Dietrich to the grand ballroom. Guards were posted outside, and Tanandra looked around the vast room as Vanity took a seat at a tiny table with Lord Dietrich.Such a wide, open room... During lavish parites this room must have been exquisite, but right now the emptiness felt almost foreboding. Yes, they were three immortals and special toy against a man for the moment, but Tanda knew better than to underestimate anyone based on presentation alone. Lord Dietrich would not be in is position if he were weak or a fool, and this much open space seemed like a good place to try and pen one's enemies in a disadvantage.

Standing, Lust's eyes drifted back to Dietrich, listening carefully as he began a delicate dance of flattering a person as powerful as he and then stating his perspective on things. And to be fair, Dietrich had a good eye for observation, and were it in the cards for Vanity to make such a move, it would have been most interesting; Creta and Drachma were both incredibly powerful countries. The two of them uniting would have given the world a pretty hard shake. The citizens of Drachma all adored Vanity (as far as Tanda could tell or cared to know) and would easily be swayed to anything that came out of the pretty little princess' mouth. She watched as Vanity shifted slightly, letting out a soft chuckle. Like watching a cobra curl back before rising to fan her hood and try and scare her prey.

Tanandra remained silent, listening. Vanity was right that the Queen had the most powerful moves of the chess board, but it was funny almost that she fancied herself as the queen and most powerful. True, the Queen was most powerful strategically, but the game was not won by the capture or kills of the Queen; it was all down to the King. In the end, all pieces were at the King's disposal for his victory, not the Queen's. A king and rook would switch places in a castling strategy and could easily catch a striking queen off-guard, especially if the queen was too sure of herself. In truth? The way they were here now, facing the White King head-on was more the tactic used in the Poisoned Pawn strategy; offering a piece in a powerful position only to be sacrificed and leave the line of sight to a checkmate entirely open for the other king. It was a good move, and hard to counter at that point. But that's all this and Vanity seemed to be to the actress: a beautiful, poisoned pawn by the world's most ambitious King who would have all, regardless of which pieces were sacrificed.

[Guest]

Dietrich couldn’t help but crack a smile during her rebuttal, chucking softly to himself. Ah, the young were so stupid. ”A shame that Hild’s gone,” he says, rapping his fingers against the table. ”I was hoping for the opportunity to kill her myself. But, I believe congratulations are in order. You have reached the other side of the board, and been promoted to Queen, a peasant that has risen to the higher ranks. But, you’re still a pawn, and, as such, you fail to see the big picture. You’ve crossed into Creta with little resistance because of my goodwill, and because I value my pieces. Unlike you, I see their inherent value in the grand scheme of things. Amestris is but a step to me, but an end for you. So, while you imply I’m a frail, weak king hiding behind a row of pawns, I’m afraid you’ve got your analogy wrong a bit: I’m the player, Alena, and an experienced one at that. A queen is something to be used sparingly, not brought on the frontline. It’s high-priority, high-threat, but a resourceful player knows that, if they’re smart, they can simply get another one. If Hild was thrown aside so quickly, what makes you think you’ll last? Whereas me? If I lose here today, it’ll be a calculated decision, a gambit hindering on more than one factor, not this… Drachman Roulette you’re playing right now.”

He winces, his hand slipping under his coat. ”Sorry, still a bit sore from my last trip into Drachma.” He smirks slightly, taking in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. ”So, you have no problems with me or my country, but you invade my territory? Not that it was subtle, considering the troop buildup, but not so much as a call? Now, if you truly are a queen, you would have taken initiative, plotted. If RIOTE is of no concern, then shirk them, wipe them out. Rid this world of them, and I would’ve helped you into Amestris. But this, what we’re doing right now… Not so friendly. Not exactly a good place to start. Crossing my border, destroying my property, killing my people… No, you’re a rookie, Vanity. Unlike you, and the other world leaders, I grew up to be in this role. I was taught and trained how to use a country, how to run it. I was, quite literally, born to be King. Not a false king, not an ‘el presidente’ or ‘Chancellor’ or whatever your title is, but King, meaning I was born with the right to rule. Prime Minister is but icing on the cake.”

Taking another deep breath, he sighs, his face scowling at Alena. ”If you make it into Amestris, it’s only because I value my country over Amestris. But, rest assured, if you do, I’ll make sure your people aren’t getting back out through Creta. The Hand of God itself will come down and wipe your forces off the face of the earth. I will bombard your ports until rubble and dust is all that’s left, from far beyond the horizon. What allies do you have?

“Now, you shared a secret, so I’ll share one as well: I control the seas, where the Esparian privateers and Gelemorte fisherman operate because of my good will. That also means I control ninety percent of all trading, Alena. Xing, though it claims to be neutral, has established many times that it will side with Amestris, for what little that poor excuse for a country can offer. Still, that’s your only alternative scratched out right there. Aerugo is but a negotiation away from working with me. Carraig likes to pretend it operates on its own, but relies on Creta for money and food. Esparia? One political movement away from siding with a pro-Republic government. And Amestris? One word and we’ll drive you back to your pathetic little country, or I can have all trade with it ceased immediately and watch the country rot from the inside, with or without your help in carving it up. Face it, Alena. If you want Amestris, you need Creta. If Carraig can’t maintain their population, I doubt the barren wastes of your Motherland can. That means your people will begin to starve, and eventually dissent. I’ll sink every trade ship daring enough to enter your waters, Alena, whether they’re Cretan or from any other nation. So don’t walk in here and act like you’re holding all the cards, because you can’t make a damn thing happen without me backing you up. I have the money and manpower to deal with whatever you can do to my country, and while you have a sizeable army, might I remind you that only a few task forces held back the counter-offensive posed by Amestris’ combined districts?”

He chuckles, wincing slightly. ”And Alena, the queen is the most mobile piece on the board, sans the Knight’s ability to jump over other pieces. But, the more skilled the player gets, the more he or she realizes it’s a worthless piece. Once mobilized, you go on the offensive, and you get greedy. Lusting for victory, you zip across the board, hungry to take your opponent’s pieces. Whether pride or vanity, you go too far, you get in far too deep. Suddenly, you’re not in control of the situation, but your opponent is." In a swift movement, Dietrich draws Order from under his jacket, three rounds from the pistol letting loose into the woman sitting before him, two in the chest and one in the head. "And that's when a skilled player strikes, gentlemen," he says with a smirk.

The doors to the ballroom burst pen, his guards armed and armored, rifles raised. Standing up calmly, he motions to Thum and Cravetz, both standing behind him, to come forward. "I trust you can handle things from here, Sir Ito?" he asks, beginning to walk away. "I shouldn't keep Sullivan waiting any longer."

[Aurelius Schwartz]

Ah, misinformed miscreants lingering about his method, speaking self-indulgently of him as if he were a black King without misanthropic ways. What folly, straying so avidly from the board that the pieces and players have become black and white chess. Have they forgotten about the grey? Have they ventured so far from the truth as to constrict themselves with the rules of a simple game? To manipulate and control pawns--to scavenge the board for another player's pieces was child's play. Why not raise one's eyes from scrounging the board and see what behold's the other player's gaze? Win--to simply win holds no meaning, but the process of it. This process determines a personality: offense, defense, sacrifice, gain, pawning, reigning is all the same strategy, leading to a single vantage point. Victory is for the selfish, a place where a King, Queenless or not, can swing a velvet robe over his shoulders and hold his hands out before an empty world filled with buried coffins. He then laughs throatily, boasting his skill to the sky because there is no longer anyone left to listen. That is chess: a useless vial creation, suggesting that two halves sit and talk silently over a conflict that cannot be solved.

Chess is limited to the board--limited to four points drawn together in what geometry calls a square. A square suggests a box; a box has boundaries, unbreachable by rules pulled taught for the precise purpose of making one think harder to overcome the other. It is a useless scheme used to over think, forcing one's hand to do what one would never do otherwise. Armies are disposal men, yes, but they are men all the same. Men are not wooden painted pieces--plastic sculpted symbols of royalty, they are flesh and blood, consciousness, and the ability...to play their own game of chess if they so chose. Real life and such a game--such a daring insensitively--is incomparable to reality. Those partaking in the comparison of such have lost touch with the weight of every action, every pinprick of decision--have fallen out of the grace of seeing every detail of the puppet, the string, the puppeteer, and the stage as just that: a stage. There comes a time when the game ends--when the audience leaves the hall and ventures back out into the world accomplished or unaccomplished. That--that is when the victor is truly determined.

Hild was never the Queen. He was never the King. RIOTE never breathed as pawns, but died as heroes. In essence, he hated chess and all its counterparts, yet there are those around him who incessantly insist to use it as an analogy all too often that it becomes habit. However, that too, is an advantage over those under its vied hypnotism. He appeared today to bring reality with him--to extort truth out of the printed lines between the black and white. And flip the board over to a blank slate, folding it back into whilst it came: a box--a box much like a single coffin in the expanse of freshly turned soil under the mislead gaze of a King obsessed with falsity. He appeared before them all through another door behind congregated Cretans, his carrier, an incognito 94' Accord, discarded along the street. Footsteps traced up the main stairway, face lost behind the hat of a poor surveying soldier who happened to first venture his path. As the door creaked open, the hat fell away, the stolen uniform unbuttoned down unto his feet to show the figure of a man so many feared--so many hated.

Aurelius--black tie loosely hung around his neck, a white undershirt laced with a man's blood, a trench coat, also black, billowing out in human breeze, white boots laced up to his knees against leather still black... A smile all too amused piercing through wisps of wind-whipped raven hair hanging along cheeks down to the middle of his back while bangs obscured litigious mismatched eyes, leering a haze of red and blue just as dual as black and white. They spoke, voices adrift through the walls before he even reached the room, waiting for the familiar sound of a guess--waiting to witness the shock and the breakdown of an empire of confidence so erectly built. “Do you know what the most powerful piece in chess is? The Queen,” Vanity had said, challenged in the next exchange by a man obsessed with confidence. His needless words scurried like mice across her reddened lips if only with his blood. The Queen: the most mobile, the offensive, the greedy that lusts for victory from the removal of the opponent's pieces, going too deep into the fray to exert anymore control...

A gunshot: the epilogue of a sad ending, brought about by presumed miscalculations and underhanded quick action. It echoed so suddenly, so expectantly, that when Aurel came through the door, he paused ever so slightly in crossing the short distance to Dietrich in the room. His Queen had died, her blood spilling viciously from three holes. Head lolling across the tablecloth, she stained everything around her in crimson tears of what would be loss. Was this a vague feeling of what she witnessed upon his own taking of lead? His own stumble too close to reality made him nearly revere those like Dietrich who lost themselves in games. The metal now producing headaches in his skull was a constant reminder of his own past words "I care about you"--the cold caress of the barrel--Vanity's sweet countenance remaining evermore in the sound of any single gunshot.

Blood dried against the strands of splayed blue hair, wounds healing quicker than one can blink, pushing out repugnance of having ever once died. Aurel raised a hand slowly, the air vibrating with an intense void where one's very gaze surrendered to the depths of something where nothing--absolutely nothing remained. Checkmate. His lips parted with sound, voice embracing that very velvet robe across Dietrich's shoulders enough to tear it into shreds. "But my Queen, even when sacrificed, does not die."

[Guest]

"And that's when a skilled player strikes, gentlemen," The gunshots resounded and emerald orbs widened. The rounds tore through her flesh, jettisoning blood and hewn sinews with three sequential sprays. He turned, an in an instant, the Automag was at hand, cocked, loaded, and raised.

"ALENA!" He screamed, the roar resounding through the ballroom and wreaking it with the simple volume. He had turned, but he didn't crouch; the blood was already drying, and footsteps upon the halls behind them heralded a new presence. She was fine; but he had failed. In a game of reflexes, a game of waiting, the bodyguard had hesitated and another life had been chalked up against the board, another one of the homunculus' many souls exhausted with three rounds.

Aurelius rose. He'd heard of him only before in passing, but the presence spoke worlds of him before the man arrived. Uneven, miscoloured eyes; the leader of RIOTE in all his glory, Chaos incarnate. Vanity had told him of Hild, too, and the unfortunate end she'd had to meet; but as her sinews sewed themselves back together around the empty bullet wounds, the copper rounds from the SIG pistol regurgitated, it seemed that this Queen wouldn't accept death.

"But my Queen, even when sacrificed, does not die." A truth in all its finality. King smirked in response, his stomach growling, a gurgling for revenge, admonishment for the attempted murder of his quarry, as he turned fully to Dietrich's back, and raised the pistol in both hands. The round was primed, locked and loaded into the chamber, barely inches before the barrel with cordite and propellants ready to detonate in a dazzling display to deny the dainty damsel's death; a rebuttal in kind for the sin he'd attempted to reflect onto the homunculus, vanquishing Vainglory a true impossibility.

"And the King ain't gonna get put down, either," Calloused fingers tightened on the trigger and squeezed, once, twice, and thrice. Three rounds meant for the leader, three rounds payback, ideal punishment, reparations that had been paid. Two for the posterior of the chest; and one for the head, the base of the cranium. If he executed Dietrich von Vermont here, truly, he'd receive a hero's welcome in Moscow; but in his mind, King doubted things would be as simple.

Cartridge casings expelled themselves from the gun's chamber in sequence, touching the floor with a light ting as they did so, smoke rising from the receiver as his Queen, his employer, his quarry rose from beyond once more, ascending through death as a matter of simplicity, the triumvirate of rounds ready to vanquish her would-be slayer. Glory, for the Sekretar. Glory, for Drachma. Glory... Glory, for RIOTE.

The gun swayed afterwards to the auburn-haired guard, Elastor, finger a millimetre from tightening as the hand switched from Creta's to theirs. He'd failed his leader; but had it been intentional? She'd died on his watch, because he'd done exactly what Dietrich was talking about, being a 'skilled player'. She'd died on his watch because he'd needed an excuse, a trigger - she'd lost one of innumerable lives, and he got to pull a pistol on a very human, very mortal Prime Minister.

And, now? The Cretans were faced with three immortals and a man whose reputation preceded him so much that despite his human blood, he was heralded as unkillable, invulnerable. The announcement had been made: the field set. The gambit had been played, and, suddenly, the truth spoken. In Drachma stood three homunculi, and their leader. The glutton of souls, the vainglorious leader, the lustrous lover, and, finally, the man born of darkness, he who idolised Death, he who wished to clutch the Reaper's scythe...

A smirk lined the grey-haired homunculus' lips as he prepared to fire upon the redhead Royal Guard once more.

[Guest]

For many, the worst part of battle is getting to it. The taking of positions, the bark of commanders, the rumble of feet marching in step, occasional whisper of plans unknown, fear taking over. What if the battle plan fails? What if our division is sacrificed for another? What if more enemies than expected show up? What will happen to the families? So many what ifs and unknowns and maybes create an atmosphere of dread and tension.

For Pancake, it was the worst part of the battle for completely different reasons.

"Booooooooooooooooooooooored!" He shouted in line as he was marched towards the White House to defend it from the oncoming Drachma forces. "Bored bored bored bored bored bored booooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooored!" The other soldiers in line kept up discipline but were all alarmed at just how eager Pancake was for a fight. His skin itched in anticipation and his tentacles sat on his back, folded back so they weren't noticeable but desperate to burst out and wreck havoc. The rain spat across his helmet, though whenever he thought no one was looking he took it off to feel the wetness in his hair. The commanding officer had decided that, seeing as he needed the most room to fight in, that he should go at the very corner of the formation, but this gave him the prefect spot to hear two corporals judging a plan of defense and discussing what was happening within.

"Sir," one said, unaware of their eavesdropper listening intently, "- should we not form a much more defensive line on our front and leave the Drachmans already inside to the Royal Guards?"

"Negative. The Drachmans already in the White House are an unknown strength, but they are more formidable in strength than in numbers. His Majesty will keep them at bay for only so long, and we must be prepared for the eventuality of the Royal Guard submitting. We keep a tight battleline at both front and rear, and reserves in the middle to fill any breaks in the line."

Pancake didn't think twice about the implications of what was being said, other than that the fight was already starting inside the White House. His infamous grin, all tooth and no softness, spread across his face as he fell backwards, disappearing from the formation into the confusion of marching soldiers. From there, it was merely a matter of getting in. He slipped to a side of the White House that was abandoned; too difficult to attack, too unimportant to defend, but for a lone soldier Pancake only had to use his automail arms to clamber to a glass window, punching it open and forcing his way into the White House. He discarded his armour like a bad habit, for it made it far too difficult to use his tentacles effectively, but finally he was prepared for battle. He gingerly walked into the ballroom, overlooking the precedings as if he had arrived from the king's own chambers, ready to strike like lightning and found Dietrich, king of Creta, and the Drachman Sekretar, Vanity, the enemies of the day, face to face...

... talking...

"... stop this silly conflict, end RIOTE for good, and establish you as the rightful leader of Drachma... ... think I’m just a pawn in this little game RIOTE is playing, however, what you don’t know is that the Queen in staring right at... the queen is the most mobile piece on the board, sans the Knight’s ability to jump over other pieces. But, the more skilled the player gets, the more he or she realizes it’s a worthless..."

Pancake's teeth gritted the more he heard, his fingers curling like talons before forming fists of unbridled rage. War wasn't about friendliness. It wasn't about talking! This wasn't a tea party sitting around Netherfield House with Mr Bingley and the Bennets, this was a battle! His rage didn't subside until finally people started to shoot at each other, Dietrich shooting at the Sekretar and beginning the ensuing chaos.

"OH FUCKING FINALLY!" Pancake screamed, rage burning across his face as he leapt down to the ground. The tiles shattered under his tentacles as they caught him, leaving him midair as if he stood on air. He glanced across his potential opponents for a split second before his eyes locked straight onto a Drachman of hair most pale to be a stony grey, tall and muscular, having let loose three bullets from his gun and ready to fire a fourth. Pancake landed his feet onto the ground and pointed right at him. "YOU! YOU'RE GETTING FUCKED UP! RIGHT NOW!" He barked, before charging to him like a banshee was on his tail, driving a fist into his cheek, then another and another. Each punch was brought with the force of a bomb, with full intent on pulverising him until there was nothing but a quivering pile of giblets. Upon the third second of beating, two of Pancake's tendrils punctured the man's stomach, raising him off the ground in a wide arc as Pancake roared enthusiastically, the adrenaline pumping through him like petrol in a car, before tossing his quarry with enough force to hit and collapse a wall, which fell like it was made up of nothing more than paper mache.

A moment of silence as Pancake caught his breath.

"OH MY FUCKING SHIT!" He yelled triumphantly, raising both his hands in the air. "DID ANYONE SEE THAT?! I FUCKED THAT GUY HARDER THAN A PRISONER DROPPING THE SOAP! I'M A MONSTER TRUCK THAT WALKS LIKE A MAN!" He grinned wildly, giggling like a schoolgirl and beginning to jump up and down excitedly, before his jumping became a constant thumping stomp. "I'M THE FUCKING BEST AT EVERY SINGLE FUCKING THING I SAY AND DO!"

[Guest]

"Where you sat down, aren't you getting wet?" Deity woke up from her daze. Her eyes soon found to be in place on a man. He seemed lost as well, but lost in a different way. He knew where he was going, Deity was lost. She was without real knowing of what she wanted or where she was going. A soul so whimsical upon this chaotic and confusing world. Her eyes were soft and yet so.. confused. He.. offered a hand to her? Someone he didn't know? It seemed... so illogical. Yet she couldn't help but feel her mind overwhelm with a brief blissful happiness. This man... he was willing to reach out to her though she could just ignore him. "Let's go."

She didn't argue. Her own phone was probably going off, but she didn't bother to check. Shifting, under the umbrella, she would straighten herself and stand up straight. Her eyes watching him, then the focused on the world before them. There was an emergency, too bad she didn't grab Zen's coffee like he had asked. That was her revenge.. for the other night. Was she cruel to take revenge on an unwary man? Perhaps, but it wasn't something too bad. With latte in one hand, she used the other to share the umbrella. Steps so close she could almost touch Elastor, yet she made sure not to. She wasn't someone who liked being touched in any way, even if it WAS just shoulders. Nothing provocative, but irritating nonetheless.

They had arrived to the White House. The walk was foreboding and silent. A silent paranoia and panic slept over her. Quiet, before the storm. Her heart lurched. Something bad was going to happen. Was today.. The day she would die? It gave her a sort of tingle of excitement; a thrill. Ice shook down her spine. Was that..fear? No. She simply felt, all over odd. Today was so much different than she imagined, and actions were about to get worse.

The negotiations were starting as soon as she walked into the room. She looked at Zen, as per usual, she looked pissed off, but in actuality, she was satisfied. No coffee for you, haha! She snickered inwardly, but her face was more serious instantly. Something.. wasn't.. right. Her eyes looked at the guests, albeit most beautiful, they were... different. She'd never seen them before, ah it seemed she never read the memos. Looking towards Zen, she had given him a brief salute. He was her commanding officer and then she turned to look at the table. This seemed rather, a bore. She wasn't one to sit and listen to others, but this was a time where she was needed. Though she didn't know why, truly, she still stood there.

For a while, she stood by Elastor. Her eyes watching the games before her. A brief moment, she looked to Zen, as if waiting. Did he have orders for her? He seemed to completely ignore she was even there. That was okay, she was fine with being invisible. She'd spent her life surrounded by suffocating wants, now was a time to relax. How ironic, she was relaxing in a time of tension and yet.. This was not true relaxation. This was a pitiful excuse for her to take her mind off of her annoying life. Her heart skipped a beat.

Realizing she had zoned out, Deity decided to pay more attention. An ominous feeling would float on the air. ”And Alena, the queen is the most mobile piece on the board, sans the Knight’s ability to jump over other pieces. But, the more skilled the player gets, the more he or she realizes it’s a worthless piece. Once mobilized, you go on the offensive, and you get greedy. Lusting for victory, you zip across the board, hungry to take your opponent’s pieces. Whether pride or vanity, you go too far, you get in far too deep. Suddenly, you’re not in control of the situation, but your opponent is." Wait. What was going on? A loud three gunshots shot through the air and Deity stared with wide eyes. What-Her eyes turned to see one guest bleeding profusely. The ballroom, had become a war-room.

Expecting retaliation, Deity straightened her back, her hand pulling out a gun from her purse, as indiscreetly as she could. Closing her umbrella, she paused to see a man. Chills. THAT was what fear was. Something about this man.. was giving her the chills. He almost seemed like a devil. It was tight in her palm. Was she willing to kill? Her finger itched and she looked at the new man whom had come in. She had a choice now. Her latte had fallen from her hands and the following action, was a bit disorienting. Her hand clenched the umbrella. With a great force, she unclicked it and from her hands it would fly onto the table, between the guests. The thing skidded, then it would burst open, 'popping' into place. It would work long enough, as a distraction, she hoped.

The next action, she had no idea why she even did it. Pure instinct. Her hand rose and with no inkling of knowing where or when she had moved, her trigger finger twitched. Bang. From beside Elastor, her own gun went off, and towards the unwelcome guest. The bullet had a mark for his chest. In terms of Chess as they were playing, she supposed she was only bishop. Yet bishops, covered half the board in movements. She was unfeeling of emotion on her face. KILL IT! Her mind screamed and then she could hear it silenced. She was going to die tonight, she could feel it. However, her actions, would they help the king in any way? She prayed that someone could do something.

The frontlines.. like she always wanted. Her eyes found that odd voice yelling in her head. The man she hated was here? However, internally that flame was nothing compared to the pure instinct and thoughtless adrenaline that pumped through her. It was as if her heart knew she would be dying, here soon. Try and kill the devil.. Well, perhaps, he wouldn't notice it was HER who fired the shot? After all, there were a lot of people in the room. However, she was the one with the gun that still steamed. All of this in a second, before she turned the gun and pointed towards the table, as if that was intimidating in some way.

Fear me. Yes, it was possible to fear a woman as fragile as Deity in looks. The tattoos that covered her wrists were no longer visible to her. It was all faded, as if everything was slowed down. B-Bmp...... B-Bmp.. the long pause between heartbeats... panic. She didn't even pause to see if the man had been affected by the bullet, instead she from her position, quickly darting to Dietrich's side. Where was the king? "LORD DIETRICH!" She had bellowed, as if that would help locate him. Someone.. save us.. From somewhere inside of Deity, she could feel tears well up. She could swallow them back, completely apathetic as always.

[Guest]

There was so much more to a person that what meets the eye. Everyone has a hidden story about them that they don’t want to reveal, the truth is locked away like a caged bird begging to get out and flap their wings. Vanity sat there calm and collected as Lord Dietrich rebutted her statements, filled with hot air and actions of a trapped cat against the wall. His claws were coming out because he thought he was in control.

Bang, a silver bullet hit her chest causing blood to splatter across the desk. Bang, another silver bullet pierced the other side of her chest. Bang, the last and final bullet shot directly at the center of her eyes. The crimson tears spewed in every direction as her body went limp and fell forwards. Her long locks soaking in the blood tears of so many people she killed before her. Drops fell down her arms, dripping off the tips of her fingers. It was easy for Dietrich, all he had to do was strike at the prime moment and the symbol of beauty would be defeated, laying in her own pool blood.

Or so he thought.

Alena, the grand Sekretar of Drachma was not an easy piece to figure out. Only a few selected individuals aside from the homunculi knew the truth. While there were originally only seven deadly sins, and eighth was created to bask in all the vainglory. The poisonous beauty graced this earth and took form in the body of Alena. This was the first time she ever felt a bullet against her body and instantly she felt fear but remembered the essences of who she was.

"But my Queen, even when sacrificed, does not die." His voice was strong and dominated the ballroom. So he did end up following her and would proved he would be there at her side through the thick and the thin. Aurelius, the man so many feared was standing behind her, symbolically raising her from the dead.

One by one the bullets dropped out of her body, in the order that they entered. A blazing, electrical, red light streaks around her body as a psychotic laugh fills the ballroom. Both palms grip the table as she stands to her feet, flipping her hair over her shoulder and staring at the back of the man who just killed her. All three bullets fell to the ground and the holes were now regenerating, thanks to her philosopher's stone in the heart of her lips. She couldn’t help but laugh, laugh at the fool who thought he was in control. He didn’t know jack and that was obvious and the look on his face had to be of sheer terror. Dietrich was left with little options, but this battle was just the beginning and now it was time to unleash the power of Vanity.

“I hate losing, and there is no way I’m going to die by the hands of a man like you.” Her voice breaks the silence as she stands there with both hands gripping the desk in the pools of her own blood. She knew King and Lust both knew their duties, take out those around while her lips were thirsty for Dietrich, now more than ever. With Aurelius by her side, she had no doubts that Dietrichs head would find itself lost in a dream for eternity.

Alena pushes forward, leaping up and over the desk. Her body was agile and quick as she uses the seconds after King's happy trigger pull towards Dietrich to her advantage. At the moment she leaps over the desk and plants her feet on the ground, she releases an invisible poisonous gas from her mouth, known as the kiss of death that was directly spot on towards the grand Lord. She lunges forward after the release of the kiss in an attempt to tackle Dietrich to the ground with her.

[Nyx]

Sitting upon her perch, Nyx watched in dedicated silence, protecting Alena from afar. And for a while, it was working well, she had her bow trained on the guard of Dietrich's that looked most fidgety, most likely to shoot first. Should any pull a gun at all, whether to shoot Alena or not, they would recieve an arrow to the eye, and nobody would be any the wiser as to who fired the arrows. So all she had to do was-

Bang.

What? She hadn't... but... No, that wasn't... What? Dietrich and... And, Alena, and... Blood? And he shot her and... And... It wasn't a guard? But... But... Whaaa?

"BULLCRAP!" She didn't care anymore if she was seen, heard, what of it. Screw that. She'd FAILED her ONE MAIN ASSIGNMENT. Screw orders, screw Creta, screw everyone, she was going to avenge the queen. Chaos ad broken out in the ballroom, as she leapt from the tree to the ground, moving with grace and speed until...

Aurel?

Aurel was there. Oh, okay. That was reassuring. He would avenge Alena. She didn't have a thing to do but take out those guards. Aurel had everything under con-

Bang.

Wait... What? That came from... Glancing to the source of the bullet, she saw a woman aiming at where Nyx had last seen Aurel. She... She shot Aurel? No, Nyx looked back at him. He was okay. But her feet were still moving. As she moved she let fly the arrow already cocked to her bow, taking out the guard she'd targeted earlier, through the window. Her job had changed. Daemon could handle the bombs. her new job, assigned by herself, was to protect Aurel from anyone not in the ballroom. So she yelled at the shooter, "DON'T. ATTACK. AUREL! Kings inside, pawns outside, understahnd? Ballroom for important payapal, and victims. Outside for everyone else." Gah, the Cretan language. Ah well, she'd gotten her point across. And that meant two things; while she spoke, she had drawn Mortis, and was already stabbing and swinging at this intruder. And in her screw-all mentality, she'd even invoked her alchemy; With the most strength she could employ without tiring too quickly, she'd enveloped herself in a thin, nearly invisible field of flames. Bullets would melt at her beck and call. No distractions from her slaying of this pesky mosquito. Aurel shouldn't have to worry about fools with guns that have no business being near him, let alone standing rather than kneelig before him.

Now, however, was not a time of worrying over repercussions of future; alchemy shortening her years, being reprmianded by Alena or Aurel for breaking direct orders to wait for a signal, leaving a blind man to detonate bombs around Creta- none of these mattered to her. All that mattered at the moment was that she fight this woman who had made the ultimate mistake and was about to make the ultimate sacrifice, a life for a life, though the catch was that she'd failed to take that life. So come hail, sleet, or snow, fire, wind, or water, of Nyx and Deity, Nyx planned that one should not leave the palace's outskirts alive; specifically, not Deity.

[Elastor Ito]

"Little late, ain't we, Ela?" ...Why was he here? After almost getting them killed... over doughnuts?! No response. Elastor would not reply to that uncalled for rhetorical question. He rolled his eyes and moved somewhat nearer to Lord Dietrich in order to thwart his undying desire to harm that man in some mild shape or form. Being late suggested there was a specified time of meeting, in which there wasn't. Being late suggested that he had not immediately come from his surveillance duty the moment the text was received, which he had. Being late was something Ela never was, so being called out incorrectly by a man he'd rather see dead in a gutter than work with was unacceptable. Despite that, he said not a word, letting the unwanted emotion simmer out under his boots. WAIT. Had he...had he just called him Ela? Ela?! It was a name--a nickname no one else dared to use for threat of being maimed. He allowed only one person to call him that without experiencing the death glare now leveled at Officer Howler. And he was not about to mention who that person was, too distracted with recklessly burning holes in the distance between where he stood and where that man did. The man with moldy cotton candy hair immediately changed his object of attention, going for a file on the table that did not concern the auburn-haired royal guard in the slightest. His own attention shifted as well, letting go the initial reaction to demand he never call him Ela again. Icy blue eyes filled with hatred raised to focus precariously on RIOTE. The word even in his mind oozed like poison, coursing through every nerve trained on the hilt of his sword or the gun strapped around his leg. They were talking, and he was listening to every minuscule word, tearing them apart for just a simple hint of hostility.

He was unsure of his opinion on chess, listening half-blindly to the names of pieces he didn't much care for or bother to understand. People who played such games had a lot of time on their hands, but Ela, Ela worked to ensure that Lord Dietrich had that time to indulge in chess. The man beside Alena moved, alerting Ela immediately of a possible threat, but he only casually was removing his sunglasses. He scoffed silently under breath, adjusting his position to nearly brush shoulders with his King out of paranoia or out of caution, either was fine. That man's aura heralded hostility, green eyes coming to train on his own. Ela didn't meet them directly, lingering on the confident smile that suggested that no, this was not a meeting--this was not a ballroom, but a war room: that which was never intended to give rise to passage. His hand moved a couple inches towards his gun, foot positioned under the long, thick cherry wood table just in case. Just...in case the tension broke. The speech escalated, Dietrich's words aching on into boasts of power before returning again to the game. "Suddenly, you’re not in control of the situation, but your opponent is." His King's Order was drawn quickly, barely registering in his head before the trigger was squeezed once, twice, thrice...and the blue-haired woman of Drachma--of RIOTE fell forward in a pool that matched her lipstick. Ela at first did not move, only eyed Dietrich as he finished his speech with a slurry of pride, turning for the door out. "I trust you can handle things from here, Sir Ito?" Of course. However, in the time it took for his King's smirk to fade away with his last words, a man appeared in disguise. Elastor had turned his head to watch Lord Dietrich leave before handling the rest, but found a pair of red and blue eyes taking control of the scene instead, blocking the King's exit. Aurel's voice came out like the moans of a million, holding spotlight to the grave where a zombie was born. No, not a zombie, but the life of a homunculus. She could not die. Alena wasn't human. Ela witnessed her heal, saw the bullets push out and red electricity dance upon her skin until she rose again to her feet, flipping a spill of blue stained red around her shoulder in defiance of death. ...What?

He didn't have time to think--didn't allot himself it as his eyes immediately flicked back onto the man whom he suspected. "ALENA!" The silver-haired man screamed, jarring Elastor out of the stupor that came with seeing something that should only be allowed in fairy tales. He slid his position again closer to Dietrich, blatantly ignoring the man who had just entered, trusting Deity had him in her sights instead. They backed each other up, and strange trust was in place for his teammates regardless of how he felt about them personally (coughZencough). Suddenly, but as expected, a hand cannon was raised by that man beside Alena. "And the King ain't gonna get put down, either." Three shots were fired, but before the trigger finger was anywhere near its destination, Ela kicked up the table, foot already tangled in the legs, hands positioned to fling it. Bang, bang, bang the bullets lodged themselves into the deep cherry wood, thick with years of polishing. The table slammed back down sideways, a man Ela knew as Pancake bursting into the room like a wild animal, and throwing himself over it at the man who had fired the gun.

"LORD DIETRICH!" Deity shrieked through the blaring sound of splitting wood.

"YOU! YOU'RE GETTING FUCKED UP! RIGHT NOW!" The lumbering man screeched in Cretan, Elastor barely picking himself up in time to see the first fist slam home. Another gunshot went off, but he didn't have time to turn and see where it had been intended, only that it was from Deity's gun. Alena approached the table, leaping over it like a skilled catapult at Dietrich, but the Royal Guard was already in her path, Zen scattered just to the side of him, but not in close enough range to stop her. That left it up to him. She seemed to not have noticed Ela behind the table, distracted only by the kill, focus only on Dietrich. He unsheathed his sword, thrusting his leg out to trip her while going for her neck. Regardless of immortality or not, he would kill her for ever having attempted taking the life of his King.

[Guest]

The death glare locked, Zen unwittingly unaware of it, blissful in his own ignorance. Then, the first shots resounded, and Zen sat there amidst the chaos as it unfolded about him. Files spilt open on his lap, Polaroid photographs dropped to the floor. The pistol at his waist hung as a heavy, useless weight; Vanity fell, and just like that, the Sekretar of Drachma herself had been executed. "ALENA!" Her grey-haired bodyguard lashed back out, unsheathing what appeared to be, veritably enough, a cannon appeared in his hand, trained on no-one other than Dietrich himself.

Violence continued to explode around Zen, spiralling and cycling about his head, intermingling with the cacophony of... well, loud noises. The rounds drilled into the desk, and, luckily, came to a stop - one, barely an inch from continuing onwards and shearing through Zen's head itself, with the last-minute 'trajectory alterations' that Ela had made, kicking the desk up into the air, to impressively catch all three.

The table fell back down horizontally, and unclipping Calamity from his holster, shuffling back conveniently into cover and flashing a mad grin back towards Elastor. To Zen, it was just like old times. To Ela, it was probably the absolute epitome of 'unbearable'. Infact, Ela's personal glossary probably held a rather large, graffiti-smeared picture of Zen at one of his most inopportune moments, grinning like a moron, as the actual definition of 'unbearable'.

His subordinate launched another shot off into the near-distance, and Zen rolled his eyes as the echo faded, the room crackling with sparks of near-explosive tension. The pistol sat firmly in his clammy hand as beads of sweat formed on his brow, hazel eyes interlocking with lavender as he grinned that moronic grin of his, except, now, an element of competition interwoven. "Nice move," He said casually, cocking the pistol. It was good, at least, that they'd sorted out that little terrorist hiccup before today. "Actually wanna try killin' somethin', instead a' just playin' the defensive?" Zen eased the hammer back with a click. "I don't really like the waitin' game."

With that, he threw himself over the table, out of cover, and launched three rounds. Two more spun towards Vanity, and, as his training stated, he moved immediately then, cycling onto a new target. But... it was Tanandra. His night-time movie favourite. He paused, and hovered with the sights lined with her chest, that warm, luscious brown skin... ah, fuck it. She was probably a bitch, anyway. Most porn-stars were. All semblance of conscience had left the room long-since, anyway, and the 9mm round exploded from the barrel, leaving the cartridge casing to hit the floor as the detective sunk back into cover, smirking at Elastor.

"Yer' turn now, Ela," He grinned, the light flashing against his teeth again, still entirely unaware of the seething hatred the auburn-haired guardsmen bore for him, checking the pistol and blowing away a light tendril of white-grey smoke from the barrel with a grin. Zen flashed a quick look towards Dietrich, then Deity, and then the weird new guy. Then the reality hit him... wait a second... he'd just fired at Vanity...! No, he'd just fired at Vanity? Was this some false apparition?

Hazel irises and white sclera widened in unison as he threw another anxious look over the makeshift-barrier-table-thing Elastor had set up. Zen wasn't entirely sure it'd block bullets, especially if the hefty priest fucker started up, but it was better than nothing. However, what was really on his mind was the blood patch on the floor, the puddle where seeping crimson and hewn bone had been not a moment ago. Where the corpse of Drachma's leader should have been gushing, losing life-fluid by the second. And she stood above it. Intact.

What.

Zen had to keep himself from passing out as he threw his body back into cover. Okay, well, regeneration... that was something new for the books. Something to just take in and deal with, despite it surpassing all ANATOMICAL LAWS. People got shot. They died. They CERTAINLY didn't heal from fatal bullet wounds, and an exit cavity like that. HOW WAS SHE STILL ALIVE?! Zen felt his brain snap into hyperdrive, and a synapse somewhere detonate and explode, turning part of his cerebellum into mulch as he started to break down. What, would the grey-haired bodyguard recover from his goring, next!? Or the porn star just take that bullet and regurgitate it like it was no big deal!?

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