A New Dawn, A New Day, A New Life... A New Job

[Guest]

For the past few months, things had been far too routine.

He hadn't been back to the Ebon Citadel much. His assassinations had taken him from place to place, leaving him little time to consort with Jeu-Hee; he'd had to forget about her, sad as it was, for the time being. Business had really caught up with him; and it was unfortunate, but for now, he was paying the bills.

However, in the last few days, Nikolaus Stuka - head of security, right here in Central - had crept back into his thoughts as the seemingly endless flood of contracts had hit a dry streak. And so, with an expression on his face similar to the one that he'd worn on his first days into the business, Ayden had grasped his few humble belongings and taken Spade Aeries up on an offer he'd been given long ago. He joined the Amestrian military.

There was something itching, yearning within... a fire burning that hadn't been sated in a long time. Sure, the work he'd been having still allowed him to play with entrails, blood, and experiment with new branches of alchemy, but he'd always liked being the bad seed amongst others in groups. Working alone was... lonely, and, finally, the normalcy had gotten to him.

He'd arrived a few hours ago, and, courtesy of Spade, even at an hour such as this, he'd been assigned a dormitory and office by a lethargic clerk. Fresh-faced and warm, he'd lit a fire, and gotten to work setting his belongings out; the two twin revolvers had found their way into perfectly-assigned clips in the drawer, alongside a mount for the Fangs, and a box for his Talons. That had only left the Hunter - of course, the Children were clipped to him at all times, extensions to his own body. Fingers of justice and deliverance, and his ultimate cash-makers.

The grenades and blood phials had been set in another drawer, and Ayden had hung most of his clothes up in the wardrobe; save for his jacket, which he'd left suspended on the back of the door. The trench-coat was seemingly always wrapped around him, even in months like this; as ice-blooded as the man had been accused of being by victims - usually moments before he uttered his 'creed' and took the final shot - the winter months still took their toll on the assassin sometimes.

Setting a Talon out on the desk next to a blood phial, Ayden quickly decided to release his crumpled, leather-bound research book between the two, before setting it open on a page that Ayden met with a quizzical expression - mainly thanks to how much sleep he'd had in the past few days - pen held between his fingers. Desperately trying to stop himself from slumping into the pages and smudging the freshly-drawn ink strokes, Ayden began to idly hum a song which he hoped would keep himself awake...

[Jay Furor]

Jay was walking amongst the headquarters of Central, and was on a questly quest, a most questiful quest of quests indeed. What was this quest of which can be described as rather questly? If I ever stopped describing how questly it was, I'd tell you. Anyways, Jay was abound in the offices of the officers, where she hoped to find a certain someone. Rumor had it that a rather talented assassin had entered the Amestrian military. Such talent at assassination would have granted him some lame sniping job eventually, if anyone else had discovered his skills. Fortunately for him, Jay was not at all one for lameness. And she'd outgrown sniping at eleven.

So along the halls she went, dressed not in her uniform, but in her casual clothes, accented by her uniform's jacket, on which gleamed the pretty silver star denoting her rank. Soon she approached the office of he whom she was seeking- a man of renown among the underworld of Amestris. A new guy, at that, to the military scene. Warrant Officer Ayden Derocha.

So into his room she stepped, as the door was a bit ajar, and as she did such, she saw the man sitting over a book, sleepily at work from the looks of it. With a slightly amused smile, Jay spoke up, arousing him from whateever trance the book had fixated upon him. "Hope you aren't too sleepy for a little job~ Brigadier General Jay Furor, at your beck and call~ And from what I was told, you sir, are a Mr. Derocha, and you have a knack for taking out the trash, if I may speak metaphorically? I happen to have a little job for you to do..." Smiling all bright and sunny, Jay passed him a little folder, containing the dossiers and criminal reocrds of a few mobsters, over in the east side of Central. "Security should be rather tight, and if we go in too crash and bang, they might run away, tails between their feet. That's why I need a guy of your reputation to help me out. And as a bonus, 600 cenz and a take in whatever crap they mght have, under the table. So... You in?"

[Guest]

A tapered, streamlined Talon hit the door as it inched open further from its ajar position, Ayden immediately moved into a trained, alert position, being awakened from his sleep courtesy of a mysterious woman's footsteps not moments before. He grumbled as he realised she possessed something vaguely reminiscent of Amestrian military garb; before announcing her position as his... superior officer. Ayden arched an eyebrow. This small thing...? A smile crept onto his face, slowly but surely asserting its position. My, this could be fun...

As questionable as her status - amongst other things - were, she appeared to be familiar with his line of work outside this particular job. Ayden scoffed as he realised what she wanted him to do, and slowly shook his head, rising to his feet, and snapping the book shut, tucking it into a drawer slowly, tugging at his vest as he did so. For a moment, he idly acted under the pretense of picking apart the details of the visible portion of the tattoo snaking down his arm; and then his hand flicked to the other mark his body had since sustained. The scar over his lip.

His fingertips stayed for but a minute, before he grasped the Talon jutting from the door with a sure hand, and pulled it out, the alchemical circle crackling with electrical discharge, small and unfulfilled; it was almost as if the transmutation itself had been greedy for the agony of another being.

In reality, the shot had been a warning. Something to instil fear. Yet this girl still attempted to cross the threshold. And he had still said nothing.

Pushing his chair back underneath the desk, he slid the dossier back across the table, talk of a rather generous amount of money - considering the slice he was getting from these criminals - still not enticing him. The smile twisted and contorted; his expression changed for once, and his normally cold and steeled eyes mirrored the bubbly young girl's, as the assassin felt an unusual rush of joy surge through him, goosebumps pricking up on his skin. He felt happy. Relieved. This was a welcome change of pace, if but for a few moments.

Dark crimson phial clutched between his fingers, however, the man stepped towards the window, and lifted it up, letting the cool night Amestrian breeze seep in. He set the knife and the phial down on the mantle, chewing his bottom lip, and wondering how to phrase his answer for a moment. Even he had... regulations; taking orders wasn't necessarily in his regular disposition, but this seemed more like a contract. Something far shadier.

And even then, he had to turn it down. This girl was young; Ayden presumed that, despite her rank, there was something more than money beneath the surface. He could see it in her. A wanton need to fight. She'd seen battle, and would see plenty more. Maybe, one day, she would develop into a creature like him.

And competition? Ayden couldn't have that.

"Ms. Furor, it's a pleasure to meet you," He said, a deathly charming tone upon his tongue. "But it's barely morning; and I'm talking not of the day's status, but of your life. What could you possibly have against these men - personally?"

[Jay Furor]

Jay noted that while she spoke, Derocha walked over to pull some thing from the door, which released a bit of a discharge as he did so. Didn't phase her, not a bit. Electricity was rather weak, considering over half of her body was non-conductive automail. Or at least, an arm and two legs. But indeed that was more automail than most could speak of. But of course, the tale of how she acquired such prosthetics was an interesting one, interesting indeed. The military was a dangerous job, but special ops? Suicidal. Of her eight man squad, three had been killed during combat, one suicide, and her squad leader died in his bunk, aged seventy-nine. Of the remaining three, Jay was the only one to leave the squad before it was officially disbanded, by recieving her honorable discharge after having three limbs blown off.

Her thoughts on that most momentous day, she heard him decline the offer, rather charismatically. But she caught a few hints of vanity in his statements. Her life was in the morning period? Ah, no matter. Giving one of her sweet, honey overdosed smiles, flooded with a bitter of indignancy from having her age questioned, even so subtly. He was in disbelief that someone her age could be a general and mercenary. "Well, it is a bit early in the day, but we don't have to go now. And as for my life? I like to think of it not as just the wee hours of the day that ends with death, but that it is mpore like one of those mornings where you wake up and cure cancer. Eventful. Filled. You aren't too much older than myself, you would understand what I mean, non?" Having spoken, Jay sort of shifted onto her left leg, and fiddled with her beheading knife, having drawn it from her pocket. Long it was since she'd hacked the head off of some poor sap... She missed the good days...

"Personal? Nothing personal. Business, actually. Or rather, I keep getting complaints of mob crime, and you see, I don't like organized crime. With the exception of my organized crime, that is. Plus, I must admit, I'm out of shape. Hadn't done any REAL assassination for oh, a year or two. Of course, back when I was at my prime, I had quite a reputation in certain circles. One of the few true headhunters, I was. Mission of vengeance, mainly, but you get it. Thrill of the kill and all. I'm sure you must be great at that." Ever smiling, Jay spoke with the grace of one speaking when they didn't wish to speak. A clever game it was, a battle of minds... Who would win such a war of arrogance?

[Guest]

Ayden smiled, slumping back into the chair and scanning her up and down once more, before brushing a stray lock of silver hair from his eyes, and locking them with hers. "You can't be more than 18, and even then, that's a push," He said, a low chuckle lying beneath his voice. "Your talent may well be enough to sate the needs of the Amestrian military, but I think you'll find that my taste is far more... refined..." He trailed off, tracing a finger along the bristles lying beneath his chin. He needed to shave.

"That's just it, though, Ms. Furor..." A glint. Something sparkled in his eyes, and he turned his head away from her. "These men are statistics to you. A paycheck." Ayden had been seeking to relieve his ennui, to soothe the boredom of the everyday lifestyle of an assassin, and, thus, he'd come here... only to be greeted with another reminder of what he was. It was dreadfully... stodgy. "They'll put the dinner on the table, aye?"

He moved up to full form, giggling childishly, the maniacal twinkle now ever so slightly more evident in his eyes. "This may be so. But for you, whilst it is but a job..." A pause. "For me, it is more than that. It is an art. A brush with death; a dance with the reaper himself. A chance to crush a man between your fingers and watch as he flails and dies."

Silence loomed over the room once more. "Every being has a weakness. Some have a lust for power beyond their reach. Others, a desire more worldly, such as food, sex, pointless material possessions..." And here, it was time for another bare-faced lie. "I have one singular flaw. A chink in my armour." Deathly lack of voice and conversation for another split-second that passed as a century.

This was untrue. He knew this weak, pitiful form bore another lust; he had allowed himself to develop something for that Xingese girl... some sense of warmth. Perhaps this was care? He knew not of it so far. But... it was as if all the ballads in the world were written for her, all the songs on the radio about the two of them; he couldn't stop thinking of her, and it was so desperately strange for him. It was a wild juxtaposition to his regular, routine lifestyle; she warmed his heart, and burnt away some of the ice hanging around it.

"Mine is death." Another spurt-like giggle, sounding almost forced. Ayden loved to talk and compare; he loved to show how his grandiose and his line of work oft went hand in hand. "It is my art, my music, and so much more... it is my one true vice."

Something flashed deep within him. A snarl. The flames licked forth, and the man leapt to his feet, fists clenching. His eyes narrowed, and for a split-second, his expression turned almost inhuman. He felt a line of blood trickle from his lip, and snapped his head away, letting his almost snake-like tongue snap downwards to catch the fall.

Nothing more for a few moments, before the assassin knocked his head back and sighed. "You are here for allegiance. To country, to friends, maybe even to violence..." A pause, perhaps the longest of Ayden Derocha's life. "And, that, fledgling, is why I will take up your offer - if it is executed under my command, and my conditions."

[Jay Furor]

Jay smiled as he noted her age, with a rather apropos estimate at that, and as she caught the faintest whiff of a flirt. So it seemed Derocha was a flirt, or at least, so it seemed. "Actually, seventeen. Eighteen in about a week." Jay deigned to casually lean against the desk as she spoke now, feeling rather bored by the passing banter. While she didn't mind a chat now and then, XJK spoke much louder than words. She watched then, as Ayden's eyes glimmered as he spoke, accusing Jay of being one of the mercenary masses, in it for cash. Sighing, she smiled a weak smile, intentionally weary to express what she was thinking. "Money? No, no, no... I got money now, don't need much anyways. I kill for my own reasons. Some for vendetta... Some for fun... Sometimes I kill people just to see them die. And to be honest, even if it wasn't work, I'd have done it anyways. I'm a fighter, always have been."

As Ayden explained his own reasons for thee endless, cannibalistic hunt that is the job of the assassin, Jay smiled ever so slightly. Here was a true killer before her, then. One of the few assassins in it for more than money, akin to her own reasons, though he was obligated by nothing to decide who should llive or who should die; for a killer who kills solely FOR the kill, it matters not who dies, only that it was he to kill them, and he alone. And as for his weakness? It was interesting, to say the least. A devotion to death, is what Jay gathered from it. A lust not for power, nor money, nor women, but a lust for slaughter. "Death.... Interesting..."

The next thing he said made Jay laugh. Not the low chuckle that he himself had made, but a light, slightly mad, wispy cackle. As if he'd told a funny joke, that was the best, most fitting description of her laugh. "Allegiance? You've got me pinned wrong. Dead wrong. I serve nobody. I joined the military because I missed the thrill of war; Amestris is merely the place I reside. Hehe, if anything, I hold 'allegiance' only to the act of defending what I like, and no more. If I decided I idn't like the military, I wouldn't be here. And the only person who has anything like my allegiance is my mentor, and as far as I know, she's been long dead. I serve myself and my goals. Be it selfish or arrogant to say such things or not, that is the truth." Giving a shimmering grin for a moment, Ayden could have seen quite easily the slight gleam in her own eyes. As she discussed her motives for what she did in life, cold steel was replaced by the lustrous sparkle of gray marble.

Such fun, talking to this guy was, thus far. And as he accepted the job, under his conditions, Jay could only smile in amusement. "Well, by military pecking order, Brig Gen owns Warrant Officer. But nobody ever said this was oh, I dunno... Military ordered?" Grinning just the slightest bit, Jay glanced over the things on his desk, interested, as he heard her response.

[Guest]

"Every kill is a canvas, Ms. Furor. Don't forget that," Ayden trailed off, before snapping his fingers and promptly realising he'd left something in his bag. Dipping his head beneath the desk to rifle through the remainder of his belongings, he chuckled - the sound reverberating across the wooden surfaces and creating a rather ominous echo - before continuing his little trading of verbal blows with the good General.

"Major," Ayden said, a glint in his eyes, as he idly rose the silver State Alchemist pocket watch, embossed with the Amestrian dragon on the front. He let the timepiece dangle in the air, a pendulum, for a few minutes, before letting it drop onto the table, gently, still looking through for something. "...where did you get to..."

A sudden, startling sound revealed that the good assassin had found what he was looking for. "Aha!" In a single, fluid movement, he retracted his head from its place beneath the table, a tan cloth-covered cuboid perhaps three-quarters of a foot in length, and half a foot in height. He set it down ever-so-gently aside the pocket watch, phial, and knife - still accompanied by various splinters of mahogany, from its embedding into the door a few moments ago - grinning and clapping his hands together as a series of chattering sounds, and the gnashing of tiny teeth emanated throughout the room; the source of which lay obscured beneath the cloth.

Ayden sat himself back down on the chair, and admired the palms of his hands, and the artwork of the tattooist who had given him his rite; his greatest weapon. The four ritual circles; the two Respiratory Alchemy arrays sat across the tip of each of his index fingers, the Pain Alchemy circle on the underside of his right palm, and the 'Bloodbomb' Alchemy circle engraved into the skin of his left. He remembered fondly of the soreness that followed in those days; yet the feeling as untold powers and tricks were added to his collection. Two fresh new weapons - and they were most useful tools, indeed.

Murmuring a retort as he traced the lines along his left palm, a deadly grin slipped onto his visage. "Military ordered?" A low chuckle. "Of course, that much I knew. My dear girl, why would I even consider it if superiority was not to be mine?" With that, he kicked the chair back, and jumped to his feet, snapping his fingers; the very epitome of showmanship. A gruesome, sickly smile on his face, he grasped the cloth, and pulled it away; to reveal a young guinea pig, barely past the stages of mammal adolescence, black and white furred, sitting behind the thin, black metal bars of a cage.

The grin of deeper intentions beneath all this, Ayden moved down to his knees, looking fondly from Jay to the guinea pig, his brow furrowing. The girl should know already what's to come... He mused, the smile widening, a horrific gleam twinkling along his irises as he bore his teeth, ready to set the little stratagem of his spectacle into motion.

Pulling the gate of the small animal's prison open, Ayden feigned sounds of attachment and care, the assassin really giddy about what his next actions would be. So many things... a fresh supply of blood, oxygen, explosives, entrails... ah, it was so excellent to experiment, freeform and with no restrictions of any sort. So... liberating.

A nurturing smile on his face, the man let the small, furred creature nuzzle against his fingers, and brush up against his extended knuckles, before he brushed his fingers over the mammal's coat, letting it squeak excitedly as it was calmed, lulled into a sense of security... albeit a false one.

The man's petting stopped mid-way through a single stroke, and his hand snapped forwards to flip; the underside of his palm now directly aligned with the little animal's spine.

A crackle. Ayden's palm glowed as he pressed his hand down, and began to squeeze, constricting; the blue alchemical discharge began to spark once more, sending off forks of electricity every which-way for a small period. The grin sharpened and curled; turning from falsely content to being wicked; curved. Showing much darker intent just inches beneath the surface.

"Three seconds or five?" The question was posed towards Jay; although, Ayden waited for no answer. The breeze whistled in through the office window; the cold air brushed over the assassin's bare skin, and he exhaled as the alchemic reaction reached its peak, and the glowing subsided. It had been complicated; convoluted, thanks to his tweaking. But his hand was still fastened solid around the little rodent... his left hand.

He'd chosen five seconds.

For the fuse.

Still lightly constricting the rat-like creature, without a second thought, Ayden walked calmly towards the window, giggled like a child playing with figurines... and tossed the guinea pig out, before slamming the window shut, and turning away as if nothing had happened.

A muffled squeal in mid-air, and then a sound not too dissimilar from popping a water-filled balloon. A series of splats later, and a lumpy, crimson liquid spattered against the window, small pink pieces of flesh, organs, bone shards and matted, wet fur pattering against the glass like little, bloody, solid raindrops.

Grasping his coat, and pulling it on over his vest, obscuring all but the last of his bare skin, Ayden quickly got to holstering and readying all his weaponry, moments after aligning it. The bandolier of throwing knives; the two revolvers, the twin tanto, and the harpoon pistol. The satchel of smoke and concussion grenades, coupled with home-collected - most probably, considering the assassin's nature - phials of blood.

He left his cloak hanging on the brass peg nailed into the door, and, smiling pleasantly as if nothing had happened, and his reddened window was infact, crystal clear and obscured by naught but the weather, he beamed at Jay and gestured to the hallway. "Shall we?"

Before either had time to react, the sound of the cage door swinging on its hinges filled the room, and Ayden slammed the door shut - with each of them on the other side.

[EXIT THREAD]

((I'm definitely going to hell.))

[Guest]

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