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Flies and Honey
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Flies and Honey
by Guest Sat Jan 14, 2012 11:32 pm
Birds chirping. An idyllic, picturesque spot. The man set there, sipping from a mug of coffee, tinted sunglasses sitting just upon the ridge of his nose. Aviators, the type of glasses renowned for their use by off-duty Cretan Air Force personnel, popularised in 60s and 70s archetypical movie-making flicks, recognised in milestones amongst the action genre, typical cheesy storyline. Male model protagonist shoots the bad guy in the chest and makes a corny one-liner before getting the girl and flying away.
To Ayden, the charm they represented was irresistible. He found them oh-so-cool, so sleek, so ridiculously stupidly deserving of appreciation. It's the reason that his slack imitation of posture, as he sat, arm draped over the arm of the chair, staring off into the horizon, was acceptable for even a moment. He'd picked up a pair on his way towards the meeting arranged between himself and the good General, and ever-flowing source of contracts, cash, and canvas. Stuka. Brigadier General, renowned combatant, Head Chief of Central Security, Nikolaus Stuka.
Undeniably almost as insane and maniacal as the silver-haired cerulean-eyed man seated upon the wooden chair himself, the pair were both vying for one thing in this world, above all else, it would seem: power. Nikolaus had often appeared as an authoritarian figure to Ayden, one who took no prisoners, and, as such, the assassin presumed him to have some sort of lust over power, one who wouldn't stop trying until he reached the top, and maintain this desire somehow even then. He was a tyrant, above all else; the control measures he exerted as effectively the head of the Amestrian military police was almost laughable. To Ayden, anyway; the man who only wanted power to further sate his hunger, to constantly train and reforge himself, striving to become the best and transcend that mortal barrier and his own human capabilities. A ravenous urge sitting within him to learn and kill, yearning for the both intertwined in glorious, gory, bloody unison.
A pale wrist was exposed to the January sunlight as the man, alone on a chair with two tables, stretched his arm to grasp a mug of coffee. The hand was clad with a signature black leather glove; the arm with both Ayden's coat and jacket above his fairly simple vest. The man permitted himself no further defense measures, despite his menagerie of scars. To him, everything had to be a flawless victory. A single bullet striking him was failure. What was the punishment for failure? Further striving for completion in success.
It was a nice day. That much was odd; no snow drifted upon the freshly rebuilt city of Central, stacked once more atop what had been simply rubble beforehand. The city was still recovering; its infrastructure and defense had been crippled in a single strike. He wasn't the only man sitting at the back of the café by the waterfront of one of Central's great rivers; waiters and customers were bustling, a clear blue sky overhead, with no signs of the weather becoming overcast - not for hours, anyway. Everything was as perfect as it could be for such a meeting between two perfectly macabre individuals.
Ayden sipped at the coffee. Short, black, espresso. No fucking around. Just how he liked it. The sharp, bitter taste, combined with the heat of the liquid - he obviously hadn't left it long enough to cool to the desire of his mouth - scorched across his tongue, and the man almost recoiled in a combination of mild ache and appreciation of flavour. Ah, just how he liked it. Mildly painful. His mouth quickly adjusted and cooled the liquid, working for a quick compromise; the roof of his mouth was somewhat scorched, and throbbing from the fresh introduction of a substance foreign for today's taste. It didn't matter, though. The throbbing alerted him; kept him awake, that pounding of idle soreness. Kept him from falling asleep amongst the dumb facade maintained over Central and possibly all of Amestris; the icing on the cake, a layer of bullshit so thick Ayden found himself drowning, spluttering for breath within it, as the other idiots lapsed into slumber and accepted their fate.
The assassin was one of few who could see clearly. Stuka, much to his appreciation, was another. They never called each other by first names or ranks; it was always surnames. Formal yet informal. Close, short, simple, brief, sweet. Stuka and Derocha. Together, they had carved a bloody swath through the chain of people Amestris' Chief of Security couldn't regularly touch. Ayden was the sharpened nail atop a dark hand - an enforcer, an executioner of will, so long as his material requirements were sated.
The silver-haired man had completed a long string of contracts over a comparatively short amount of time, and yet they appeared to keep coming. Smiling to himself, Ayden mused on whether it was paranoia and power finally combining and getting to the man, or a jaded elitist view of the world coming full circle with the means to finally reach an end. Perhaps he was doing some good, spreading justice. But Ayden knew one thing; so long as there were two people with opposing views, no matter how decrepit or demolished a world of post-apocalyptia there was around them...
...then there would always be a want for murder.
To Ayden, the charm they represented was irresistible. He found them oh-so-cool, so sleek, so ridiculously stupidly deserving of appreciation. It's the reason that his slack imitation of posture, as he sat, arm draped over the arm of the chair, staring off into the horizon, was acceptable for even a moment. He'd picked up a pair on his way towards the meeting arranged between himself and the good General, and ever-flowing source of contracts, cash, and canvas. Stuka. Brigadier General, renowned combatant, Head Chief of Central Security, Nikolaus Stuka.
Undeniably almost as insane and maniacal as the silver-haired cerulean-eyed man seated upon the wooden chair himself, the pair were both vying for one thing in this world, above all else, it would seem: power. Nikolaus had often appeared as an authoritarian figure to Ayden, one who took no prisoners, and, as such, the assassin presumed him to have some sort of lust over power, one who wouldn't stop trying until he reached the top, and maintain this desire somehow even then. He was a tyrant, above all else; the control measures he exerted as effectively the head of the Amestrian military police was almost laughable. To Ayden, anyway; the man who only wanted power to further sate his hunger, to constantly train and reforge himself, striving to become the best and transcend that mortal barrier and his own human capabilities. A ravenous urge sitting within him to learn and kill, yearning for the both intertwined in glorious, gory, bloody unison.
A pale wrist was exposed to the January sunlight as the man, alone on a chair with two tables, stretched his arm to grasp a mug of coffee. The hand was clad with a signature black leather glove; the arm with both Ayden's coat and jacket above his fairly simple vest. The man permitted himself no further defense measures, despite his menagerie of scars. To him, everything had to be a flawless victory. A single bullet striking him was failure. What was the punishment for failure? Further striving for completion in success.
It was a nice day. That much was odd; no snow drifted upon the freshly rebuilt city of Central, stacked once more atop what had been simply rubble beforehand. The city was still recovering; its infrastructure and defense had been crippled in a single strike. He wasn't the only man sitting at the back of the café by the waterfront of one of Central's great rivers; waiters and customers were bustling, a clear blue sky overhead, with no signs of the weather becoming overcast - not for hours, anyway. Everything was as perfect as it could be for such a meeting between two perfectly macabre individuals.
Ayden sipped at the coffee. Short, black, espresso. No fucking around. Just how he liked it. The sharp, bitter taste, combined with the heat of the liquid - he obviously hadn't left it long enough to cool to the desire of his mouth - scorched across his tongue, and the man almost recoiled in a combination of mild ache and appreciation of flavour. Ah, just how he liked it. Mildly painful. His mouth quickly adjusted and cooled the liquid, working for a quick compromise; the roof of his mouth was somewhat scorched, and throbbing from the fresh introduction of a substance foreign for today's taste. It didn't matter, though. The throbbing alerted him; kept him awake, that pounding of idle soreness. Kept him from falling asleep amongst the dumb facade maintained over Central and possibly all of Amestris; the icing on the cake, a layer of bullshit so thick Ayden found himself drowning, spluttering for breath within it, as the other idiots lapsed into slumber and accepted their fate.
The assassin was one of few who could see clearly. Stuka, much to his appreciation, was another. They never called each other by first names or ranks; it was always surnames. Formal yet informal. Close, short, simple, brief, sweet. Stuka and Derocha. Together, they had carved a bloody swath through the chain of people Amestris' Chief of Security couldn't regularly touch. Ayden was the sharpened nail atop a dark hand - an enforcer, an executioner of will, so long as his material requirements were sated.
The silver-haired man had completed a long string of contracts over a comparatively short amount of time, and yet they appeared to keep coming. Smiling to himself, Ayden mused on whether it was paranoia and power finally combining and getting to the man, or a jaded elitist view of the world coming full circle with the means to finally reach an end. Perhaps he was doing some good, spreading justice. But Ayden knew one thing; so long as there were two people with opposing views, no matter how decrepit or demolished a world of post-apocalyptia there was around them...
...then there would always be a want for murder.
Guest- Guest
Re: Flies and Honey
by Guest Thu Jan 19, 2012 2:03 am
There was large snoring from inside Stuka's office as his cap was messily perked downwards to conceal his eyes. He had a nice dream about eating waffles, with his legs set upon the desk of his office. Slouching back on his office chair as beams of sunlight pierce through the closed shutters. Eventually angling up to poke his eyes much to his annoyance. His snoring was interrupted with wakefulness. He set himself off the chair, scratching his stubbly chin as he realized it was daylight, that, and his Phantasma Magazine translated into Amestrian, an older edition with Tanandra Collier posing as the poster girl, having browsed it to pass the time. Crap. He drank too much tequila last time, getting very pent up over investigations over Homunculi and whatnot. Which so far is not his favorite past time, AND a pain in the ass.
He buttoned up his half-open tunic, and set his cap right. Straightening whatever junk he had on his desk as he looked up through a terribly written notepad. Right. Things to do in his day. Wiping his drool from the edge of his mouth with the sleeve of shirt as he scans over the list methodically.
"Let's see..."
His eyes turn up and down to read the list as it follows.
1. Brush teeth, don't forget.
2. Eat, also important.
3. Kick a few subordinates around, make examples.
4. Look at list, this list.
5. Meet Ayden Derocha in **:** o' clock.
6. Arrest some random hooligan and subject him to interrogation. Pin blame at him as RIOTE agent.
Hrn... what was he exactly missing? He looked at each of the list, so he can take care of brushing teeth. Yeah. He had one in the car and some tooth paste. So that's a check. Eating can be done on the way. So also that's a check. Kicking a few subordinates around can be easily accomplished on the way out, so definitely a check without a doubt. Meeting Ayden Derocha... Derocha... where did he hear that name before? Where oh where... then he realized. That was the guy he was supposed to meet at some run of the mill café. CRAP. He looked at the time all strained-like. Realizing the time was indeed five minutes per the time he'd have to meet Derocha at that café. FIVE DAMN MINUTES. And usually given traffic, he'd take 20 minutes getting there... UNLESS.
He had a stroke of GENIUS. So, what Nikolaus does is opened the door, as it should have been. Points to the pilot for a helicopter as it goes and demands of him to man the aircraft with a simple order. The man had no choice but to comply, despite the fact the helicopter isn't used for any purpose but to transport special police units across swiftly in Central. So Nikolaus sets off to the roof with the pilot, after fetching his assortments of things he couldn't risk leaving behind in his office, fastening his equipment and whatnot as he steps into the aerial vehicle's passenger seat at the back where it opposes the pilot's seating. The pilot himself boarded the aircraft, putting on his typical pilot helmet and flips the engine on. The rotors spun slowly... slowly... then spun faster and faster until it was a blur.
The helicopter flew over many lesser people when it took to the skies. Bypassing lots of cars that were made alchemically, skipping so many buildings all the way to the café. Landing right in the biggest clearing on the street in a righteous timing, whence cars hadn't come and steered clear of the aerial vehicle. Touching the ground with a Nikolaus Stuka hopping out of the chopper. Waving behind himself with his gaze at Ayden, with the helicopter taking this as the signal to go. Lifting off and off it flew away, the strong gusts of wind produced from such a fine flying machine scattered whatever papers and flung off any tea or whatever beverages and light food people had. Throwing them away. Such an absence filled in the void of traffic jams and let them flow in as normally as they did.
Nikolaus himself seated across the voluptuous were-turtle called Ayden Derocha, whose paleness equals a pasty white ass typically seen in vampires. Adjusting his loosened collar, and straightening the trench coat he wore on the way as scabbards part aside on his persona, Nikolaus looked at Ayden and looked back at his black gloves. Pulling it on. Goodness, helicopters tend to make a messy affair out of everything that needs to be delicate. But it wouldn't have gotten him here slower tha a car, at least he came punctually in exactly five minutes. Much to his own delight when he looked at his watch, before once again looking at Ayden. The star of this grand comedy consisting of putting down the highest profligates in Amestris into the ground, all the organized crime, all the corrupt powerholders that may compromise the Society, destroyed and snuffed out. Poetic to say... a taste of their own medicine. Paying evil unto evil, for what better way to destroy fire but with another fire?
"Lovely day, isn't it, eh Major?" Nikolaus greets Derocha finally, "All thanks to you, crime is at an all time low, and whatever filth society had was properly... purified."
He tilted his body to his right, scooping up a spilled plastic cup empty of any coffee content from the ground as he raised it up for the assassin to behold, "Cheers." He flings the cup over his shoulder, pouring into a big brute of a man's head, whose almost-aggressive behavior was dimmed down to see he was JUST about to get into a fight with a Security Officer. Soldiers notorious for their brutality in exacting justice. Along with a creepy man sitting opposite of him.
He buttoned up his half-open tunic, and set his cap right. Straightening whatever junk he had on his desk as he looked up through a terribly written notepad. Right. Things to do in his day. Wiping his drool from the edge of his mouth with the sleeve of shirt as he scans over the list methodically.
"Let's see..."
His eyes turn up and down to read the list as it follows.
1. Brush teeth, don't forget.
2. Eat, also important.
3. Kick a few subordinates around, make examples.
4. Look at list, this list.
5. Meet Ayden Derocha in **:** o' clock.
6. Arrest some random hooligan and subject him to interrogation. Pin blame at him as RIOTE agent.
Hrn... what was he exactly missing? He looked at each of the list, so he can take care of brushing teeth. Yeah. He had one in the car and some tooth paste. So that's a check. Eating can be done on the way. So also that's a check. Kicking a few subordinates around can be easily accomplished on the way out, so definitely a check without a doubt. Meeting Ayden Derocha... Derocha... where did he hear that name before? Where oh where... then he realized. That was the guy he was supposed to meet at some run of the mill café. CRAP. He looked at the time all strained-like. Realizing the time was indeed five minutes per the time he'd have to meet Derocha at that café. FIVE DAMN MINUTES. And usually given traffic, he'd take 20 minutes getting there... UNLESS.
He had a stroke of GENIUS. So, what Nikolaus does is opened the door, as it should have been. Points to the pilot for a helicopter as it goes and demands of him to man the aircraft with a simple order. The man had no choice but to comply, despite the fact the helicopter isn't used for any purpose but to transport special police units across swiftly in Central. So Nikolaus sets off to the roof with the pilot, after fetching his assortments of things he couldn't risk leaving behind in his office, fastening his equipment and whatnot as he steps into the aerial vehicle's passenger seat at the back where it opposes the pilot's seating. The pilot himself boarded the aircraft, putting on his typical pilot helmet and flips the engine on. The rotors spun slowly... slowly... then spun faster and faster until it was a blur.
The helicopter flew over many lesser people when it took to the skies. Bypassing lots of cars that were made alchemically, skipping so many buildings all the way to the café. Landing right in the biggest clearing on the street in a righteous timing, whence cars hadn't come and steered clear of the aerial vehicle. Touching the ground with a Nikolaus Stuka hopping out of the chopper. Waving behind himself with his gaze at Ayden, with the helicopter taking this as the signal to go. Lifting off and off it flew away, the strong gusts of wind produced from such a fine flying machine scattered whatever papers and flung off any tea or whatever beverages and light food people had. Throwing them away. Such an absence filled in the void of traffic jams and let them flow in as normally as they did.
Nikolaus himself seated across the voluptuous were-turtle called Ayden Derocha, whose paleness equals a pasty white ass typically seen in vampires. Adjusting his loosened collar, and straightening the trench coat he wore on the way as scabbards part aside on his persona, Nikolaus looked at Ayden and looked back at his black gloves. Pulling it on. Goodness, helicopters tend to make a messy affair out of everything that needs to be delicate. But it wouldn't have gotten him here slower tha a car, at least he came punctually in exactly five minutes. Much to his own delight when he looked at his watch, before once again looking at Ayden. The star of this grand comedy consisting of putting down the highest profligates in Amestris into the ground, all the organized crime, all the corrupt powerholders that may compromise the Society, destroyed and snuffed out. Poetic to say... a taste of their own medicine. Paying evil unto evil, for what better way to destroy fire but with another fire?
"Lovely day, isn't it, eh Major?" Nikolaus greets Derocha finally, "All thanks to you, crime is at an all time low, and whatever filth society had was properly... purified."
He tilted his body to his right, scooping up a spilled plastic cup empty of any coffee content from the ground as he raised it up for the assassin to behold, "Cheers." He flings the cup over his shoulder, pouring into a big brute of a man's head, whose almost-aggressive behavior was dimmed down to see he was JUST about to get into a fight with a Security Officer. Soldiers notorious for their brutality in exacting justice. Along with a creepy man sitting opposite of him.
Guest- Guest
Re: Flies and Honey
by Guest Thu Jan 19, 2012 8:55 pm
Silver hair flowing in the wind; tail-rotors far too familiar echoing, slicing the very oxygen molecules apart from their bonded hydrogen brethren with the strength and power the simple mechanism possessed. Footsteps, a wave of an arm, and the wind parted once more - agape faces surrounded him, but Ayden knew that Stuka's steed was as fleeting as Death itself.
The man took a seat by him, straightening his trenchcoat; gloved hands touched the table, opposite each other, and for the first time in minutes, the silver-haired businessman blinked. This, he followed up by raising the white cup of coffee to his mouth, and taking a sip, still admiring the unsettled ambience of the ravens settling on a nearby railing, cawing softly yet sharply in the background. Ayden shot a quick look at his superior's watch as he did so, smirking and stifling a light chuckle. Dead on ten o' clock, fresh in the morning.
The Chief Director of Amestris' security spoke; Ayden's attention was still fastened on the regimental ranks of assorted avian lifeforms in the distance, having now taken to the skies. He still listened, recorded the messages, the facades, the innumerable twists and turns in his voice, oh-so-signature to naught but Nikolaus Stuka himself. Unique in every way; and almost as twisted as the assassin himself. Truly, a man worthy of his time... and respect.
"Lovely day, isn't it, eh Major? All thanks to you, crime is at an all time low, and whatever filth society had was properly... purified. Cheers." He watched the cooled contents of the spilt coffee cup splash against the back of the almost comically large man's head, who turned around, aggravated and ready to fight, eyes locking with the visages of the pair, especially the man in the aviator sunglasses, staring off into the middle-distance.
It was indeed a lovely day; but Ayden wouldn't acknowledge the statement. His concentration broke like an off-note in the latest and greatest of Monteverdi's symphonies; his left hand flicked to his face and grasped the ridge of the sunglasses whilst the other drummed fingers against the tables. Going from passive to almost hyperactive in a split-second, the silver-haired, cerulean-eyed, pasty-faced man whipped the sunglasses from his head, and locked those azure orbs with Stuka's, similarly-coloured; a man almost fittingly Aryan in appearance. The master race... Ayden scoffed, shaking his head. Such a misconstrued idea. There were no master races; simply individuals born with the power to hold dominion over the common rabble. These two were such men - together, pooling their resources, they were anything and everything at the same time.
"General Stuka," The man murmured, trailing off, knocking back the last of the coffee and setting down the mug with a crisp click against the glass-covered worktop. The lukewarm liquid slipped down his throat, strong and bitter, with little-to-no resistance; and he spoke once more, his voice coarse. He looked as if he'd just been woken from the dead. "A man once said to me that good is simply the absence of evil in a man's heart, and evil simply the absence of good." A pause.
The pursed lips continued on their swift-paced verbal conquest. "These statements are oxymoronic, and totally contradictory, proving that each relies on the other, yet neither should exist. Not until a moment ago, a fine moment of clarity, did I truly understand..." Once more... silence for a split-second bar the ravens' united cawing once more. A single bird of the murder of crows in a v-shape up above landed atop the café, causing crumbled slate to shift and roll down the sloped, paved roof before clattering onto the floor. "Good and evil do not exist. They are words, labels, for two sides of an undefined variable that cannot be described, let alone split into two. Two extremes. My realisation also lead to the belief that those who claim to 'understand' morality, and brand people with these marks, these scars, upon their soul, tarnishing their reputation with connotations of meaningless terms..."
A sigh; once more, gloved fingers drummed an endless beat against the table. "...are not yet free, such as we are. We choose to make our own way, regardless of the public image or eye, and where are we?" Ayden clapped and released a short chuckle, pointing his fingers to the sky, as if the wispy clouds and harsh sun would answer his question for him. "The answer? On top of the world, my friend. As you said, together, we purified a destroyed city of scum and algae - just the pair of us, free and clear from those marks and brands of morality..."
He trailed off, before releasing another laugh, and shaking his head gently, silver fringe swaying from side to side. He thrust his hand forwards, hoping the good general would let the brisk shake connect, and allow Ayden the pleasure of a gesture meant to seal so many deals, a binding pact. A symbol which meant more than the ink and parchment upholding a nation. "It's good to see you, General Stuka. A pleasure; as it is always. And as for what you've said of crime, I guess my payment may speak volumes of my nature... but..."
"You draw more flies with honey, eh?"
The man took a seat by him, straightening his trenchcoat; gloved hands touched the table, opposite each other, and for the first time in minutes, the silver-haired businessman blinked. This, he followed up by raising the white cup of coffee to his mouth, and taking a sip, still admiring the unsettled ambience of the ravens settling on a nearby railing, cawing softly yet sharply in the background. Ayden shot a quick look at his superior's watch as he did so, smirking and stifling a light chuckle. Dead on ten o' clock, fresh in the morning.
The Chief Director of Amestris' security spoke; Ayden's attention was still fastened on the regimental ranks of assorted avian lifeforms in the distance, having now taken to the skies. He still listened, recorded the messages, the facades, the innumerable twists and turns in his voice, oh-so-signature to naught but Nikolaus Stuka himself. Unique in every way; and almost as twisted as the assassin himself. Truly, a man worthy of his time... and respect.
"Lovely day, isn't it, eh Major? All thanks to you, crime is at an all time low, and whatever filth society had was properly... purified. Cheers." He watched the cooled contents of the spilt coffee cup splash against the back of the almost comically large man's head, who turned around, aggravated and ready to fight, eyes locking with the visages of the pair, especially the man in the aviator sunglasses, staring off into the middle-distance.
It was indeed a lovely day; but Ayden wouldn't acknowledge the statement. His concentration broke like an off-note in the latest and greatest of Monteverdi's symphonies; his left hand flicked to his face and grasped the ridge of the sunglasses whilst the other drummed fingers against the tables. Going from passive to almost hyperactive in a split-second, the silver-haired, cerulean-eyed, pasty-faced man whipped the sunglasses from his head, and locked those azure orbs with Stuka's, similarly-coloured; a man almost fittingly Aryan in appearance. The master race... Ayden scoffed, shaking his head. Such a misconstrued idea. There were no master races; simply individuals born with the power to hold dominion over the common rabble. These two were such men - together, pooling their resources, they were anything and everything at the same time.
"General Stuka," The man murmured, trailing off, knocking back the last of the coffee and setting down the mug with a crisp click against the glass-covered worktop. The lukewarm liquid slipped down his throat, strong and bitter, with little-to-no resistance; and he spoke once more, his voice coarse. He looked as if he'd just been woken from the dead. "A man once said to me that good is simply the absence of evil in a man's heart, and evil simply the absence of good." A pause.
The pursed lips continued on their swift-paced verbal conquest. "These statements are oxymoronic, and totally contradictory, proving that each relies on the other, yet neither should exist. Not until a moment ago, a fine moment of clarity, did I truly understand..." Once more... silence for a split-second bar the ravens' united cawing once more. A single bird of the murder of crows in a v-shape up above landed atop the café, causing crumbled slate to shift and roll down the sloped, paved roof before clattering onto the floor. "Good and evil do not exist. They are words, labels, for two sides of an undefined variable that cannot be described, let alone split into two. Two extremes. My realisation also lead to the belief that those who claim to 'understand' morality, and brand people with these marks, these scars, upon their soul, tarnishing their reputation with connotations of meaningless terms..."
A sigh; once more, gloved fingers drummed an endless beat against the table. "...are not yet free, such as we are. We choose to make our own way, regardless of the public image or eye, and where are we?" Ayden clapped and released a short chuckle, pointing his fingers to the sky, as if the wispy clouds and harsh sun would answer his question for him. "The answer? On top of the world, my friend. As you said, together, we purified a destroyed city of scum and algae - just the pair of us, free and clear from those marks and brands of morality..."
He trailed off, before releasing another laugh, and shaking his head gently, silver fringe swaying from side to side. He thrust his hand forwards, hoping the good general would let the brisk shake connect, and allow Ayden the pleasure of a gesture meant to seal so many deals, a binding pact. A symbol which meant more than the ink and parchment upholding a nation. "It's good to see you, General Stuka. A pleasure; as it is always. And as for what you've said of crime, I guess my payment may speak volumes of my nature... but..."
"You draw more flies with honey, eh?"
Guest- Guest
Re: Flies and Honey
by Guest Tue Jan 24, 2012 6:45 pm
An eyebrow rose from the stare of the opposing assassin that seated before him. In ways, someone that reminded Nikolaus of himself, albeit given how they assassinate is vastly different from one another in modus operandi, back when the General actually had to get active. Whereas Stuka refrains from going out into the daylights and eradicates opposition from the shadows, only to disappear from whence he came, credits are shirked and the intended target's personnel are none the wiser who has done it. Whereas Ayden... he'd call him a grandiose if not an overly flamboyant assassin whose manner of killing is characterized in a lack of stealth, and more with butchery, a lack of witnesses, and a total destruction of the target. In better expressed terms, he found humor at how he lived despite how aggressively he pursued targets. Better off referring to this younger man before him as a butcher.
So why was he shaking his head? Probably a nuance of his, or maybe he was thinking to himself. Whichever the case, it was strange. Disagreeing with his statement perhaps? Most likely the reason. Another surprising thing was that he didn't stink of death, seems like the assassin took well to maintain the basic necessities of hygiene, which was the fruit of being presentable to the public, and being quite well dressed when bashing a man's head out. Who wouldn't want to look their Sunday's best when terminating another's life?
"General Stuka," Yes, that was his rank and surname. He actually got it right, among so many other people. How very splendid, an accomplishment for the ages, alongside grasping a cup correctly and performing the most basic functions of life. "A man once said to me that good is simply the absence of evil in a man's heart, and evil simply the absence of good."
Oh? Good and evil, semantics nonsense not worth dabbling into. Only for philosophers with a lot of time, or rather morally simplistic people with no idea how the real world works partake in such . A lot like Justice, that freak with a mask whom seemed fond of obstructing an officer from performing his duty. But one irritating thing were those inferior avian creatures were breaking his concentration with their incessant cawing. Perching about and peeking around as if they were eavesdropping on the conversation at hand.
So Nikolaus took the liberty of taking up a plastic knife with the digits of his right hand from the ground in a quick slouch, and hurled it lazily at the area where the ravens perched, it wasn't dexterous or a true testament of his skill as much as wanting those bird bastards leaving. Sending them scattering and flapping their wings with feathers gliding downwards in their panicking haste. The birds scattered and flew by and away from the scenery. The General returned his attention to the were-butcher once more, the pause was quite a helpful interlude in taking venture towards silencing any of those flying menace of the skies.
"These statements are oxymoronic, and totally contradictory, proving that each relies on the other, yet neither should exist. Not until a moment ago, a fine moment of clarity, did I truly understand..."
CAW!
CAW!
CAW!
FUCKING BIRDS! WHY THE FUCK DID THEY RETURN?! Nikolaus calmly smiled at Ayden pleasantly, unfitting of his face as it was too angelic, feigning interest in his philosophies of whomever killed who on God knows what clarity the Cretan had attained, as the birds irritated the Hell out of him. That'd be fine if they were talking, sure attention would've been going to him, but. The. Birds. Must. DIE. Right after tendering towards a Major explaining the finer points of futility and whatnot.
"Good and evil do not exist. They are words, labels, for two sides of an undefined variable that cannot be described, let alone split into two. Two extremes. My realisation also lead to the belief that those who claim to 'understand' morality, and brand people with these marks, these scars, upon their soul, tarnishing their reputation with connotations of meaningless terms..."
He nods, his fingers twitching under the table, threatening to kill those cawing mofos that seem to enjoy themselves in the General's annoyance. Just perching there, having already dispersed one flock, they come back to return perhaps for a vengeance attained at his own expense. Little douches. Okay, patience is the key towards understanding the points of the Major's, about understanding morality, and the meaningless of such things. Not that he cared about those, he is too amoral to give a crap about what labels people use.
"...are not yet free, such as we are. We choose to make our own way, regardless of the public image or eye, and where are we?" So he claps, and points up with a hearty chuckle, chuckling heartily much to his content happiness. Or whatever delight the assassin feels in his black heart, or a lack of heart that is there. Nikolaus doesn't follow his fingers, still looking at Derocha silently.
He muttered under his breath in an incomprehensible tone, "Ilios..." Referencing to the one that blinded the sun and seized the greatest power in the world. Hah! How coincidental the younger male saw fit to point at the sun, a realm that holds more significance than many know.
"The answer? On top of the world, my friend. As you said, together, we purified a destroyed city of scum and algae - just the pair of us, free and clear from those marks and brands of morality..."
He drew his saber, unloosening the binds that kept it close to his belt, as the man reached out to shake his hands. A saber still attached to its scabbard. A fine sword made for an officer, often made for ceremonial purposes of standing rank and file in a display of uniformity, but in the General's case, it is just as much ceremonial as it was lethal a weapon. Holding such a weapon from a scabbard closer to the guard, he lets Ayden instead clutch to his sword's grip extended out to him.
"It's good to see you, General Stuka. A pleasure; as it is always. And as for what you've said of crime, I guess my payment may speak volumes of my nature... but... You draw more flies with honey, eh?"
"Filthy pests find honey alluring and desired, only when they reach out for the sweet nectar, they are trapped in a hold no salvation is begotten." He says, letting go of the weapon he had. He still had others with him, but nonetheless it was a symbolic moment that portrays handing down responsibility from one to another, a means of death to be made with a sharp pointy slab of steel, which no doubt tends to make more a mess than a bullet, "The Officer Issue twenty five, a weapon made from a grateful nation, bestowing it unto the hero of justice."
He couldn't help but grin jovially, whether his rehearsed lines were reeking of hypocrisy that amuses him so, or the fact justice and hero are in the same lines in address to the butcher. Whatever the case, he founded humor in this whole charade the world runs on, as comedians were still left on a stage. And as all know, comedy and tragedy are very close in a Xerxian theater, and are indistinguishable from one another.
"Let that sword be the weapon to purify all that insult Amestris's name, that cuts down any restraints or bindings which hold you back." He pauses, and shrugs as this wasn't exactly an Excalibur or whatever mythical blade of legends, "Of course, you can opt to cut a person down instead, it does that job quite well in my experience."
So why was he shaking his head? Probably a nuance of his, or maybe he was thinking to himself. Whichever the case, it was strange. Disagreeing with his statement perhaps? Most likely the reason. Another surprising thing was that he didn't stink of death, seems like the assassin took well to maintain the basic necessities of hygiene, which was the fruit of being presentable to the public, and being quite well dressed when bashing a man's head out. Who wouldn't want to look their Sunday's best when terminating another's life?
"General Stuka," Yes, that was his rank and surname. He actually got it right, among so many other people. How very splendid, an accomplishment for the ages, alongside grasping a cup correctly and performing the most basic functions of life. "A man once said to me that good is simply the absence of evil in a man's heart, and evil simply the absence of good."
Oh? Good and evil, semantics nonsense not worth dabbling into. Only for philosophers with a lot of time, or rather morally simplistic people with no idea how the real world works partake in such . A lot like Justice, that freak with a mask whom seemed fond of obstructing an officer from performing his duty. But one irritating thing were those inferior avian creatures were breaking his concentration with their incessant cawing. Perching about and peeking around as if they were eavesdropping on the conversation at hand.
So Nikolaus took the liberty of taking up a plastic knife with the digits of his right hand from the ground in a quick slouch, and hurled it lazily at the area where the ravens perched, it wasn't dexterous or a true testament of his skill as much as wanting those bird bastards leaving. Sending them scattering and flapping their wings with feathers gliding downwards in their panicking haste. The birds scattered and flew by and away from the scenery. The General returned his attention to the were-butcher once more, the pause was quite a helpful interlude in taking venture towards silencing any of those flying menace of the skies.
"These statements are oxymoronic, and totally contradictory, proving that each relies on the other, yet neither should exist. Not until a moment ago, a fine moment of clarity, did I truly understand..."
CAW!
CAW!
CAW!
FUCKING BIRDS! WHY THE FUCK DID THEY RETURN?! Nikolaus calmly smiled at Ayden pleasantly, unfitting of his face as it was too angelic, feigning interest in his philosophies of whomever killed who on God knows what clarity the Cretan had attained, as the birds irritated the Hell out of him. That'd be fine if they were talking, sure attention would've been going to him, but. The. Birds. Must. DIE. Right after tendering towards a Major explaining the finer points of futility and whatnot.
"Good and evil do not exist. They are words, labels, for two sides of an undefined variable that cannot be described, let alone split into two. Two extremes. My realisation also lead to the belief that those who claim to 'understand' morality, and brand people with these marks, these scars, upon their soul, tarnishing their reputation with connotations of meaningless terms..."
He nods, his fingers twitching under the table, threatening to kill those cawing mofos that seem to enjoy themselves in the General's annoyance. Just perching there, having already dispersed one flock, they come back to return perhaps for a vengeance attained at his own expense. Little douches. Okay, patience is the key towards understanding the points of the Major's, about understanding morality, and the meaningless of such things. Not that he cared about those, he is too amoral to give a crap about what labels people use.
"...are not yet free, such as we are. We choose to make our own way, regardless of the public image or eye, and where are we?" So he claps, and points up with a hearty chuckle, chuckling heartily much to his content happiness. Or whatever delight the assassin feels in his black heart, or a lack of heart that is there. Nikolaus doesn't follow his fingers, still looking at Derocha silently.
He muttered under his breath in an incomprehensible tone, "Ilios..." Referencing to the one that blinded the sun and seized the greatest power in the world. Hah! How coincidental the younger male saw fit to point at the sun, a realm that holds more significance than many know.
"The answer? On top of the world, my friend. As you said, together, we purified a destroyed city of scum and algae - just the pair of us, free and clear from those marks and brands of morality..."
He drew his saber, unloosening the binds that kept it close to his belt, as the man reached out to shake his hands. A saber still attached to its scabbard. A fine sword made for an officer, often made for ceremonial purposes of standing rank and file in a display of uniformity, but in the General's case, it is just as much ceremonial as it was lethal a weapon. Holding such a weapon from a scabbard closer to the guard, he lets Ayden instead clutch to his sword's grip extended out to him.
"It's good to see you, General Stuka. A pleasure; as it is always. And as for what you've said of crime, I guess my payment may speak volumes of my nature... but... You draw more flies with honey, eh?"
"Filthy pests find honey alluring and desired, only when they reach out for the sweet nectar, they are trapped in a hold no salvation is begotten." He says, letting go of the weapon he had. He still had others with him, but nonetheless it was a symbolic moment that portrays handing down responsibility from one to another, a means of death to be made with a sharp pointy slab of steel, which no doubt tends to make more a mess than a bullet, "The Officer Issue twenty five, a weapon made from a grateful nation, bestowing it unto the hero of justice."
He couldn't help but grin jovially, whether his rehearsed lines were reeking of hypocrisy that amuses him so, or the fact justice and hero are in the same lines in address to the butcher. Whatever the case, he founded humor in this whole charade the world runs on, as comedians were still left on a stage. And as all know, comedy and tragedy are very close in a Xerxian theater, and are indistinguishable from one another.
"Let that sword be the weapon to purify all that insult Amestris's name, that cuts down any restraints or bindings which hold you back." He pauses, and shrugs as this wasn't exactly an Excalibur or whatever mythical blade of legends, "Of course, you can opt to cut a person down instead, it does that job quite well in my experience."
Guest- Guest
Re: Flies and Honey
by Guest Wed Jan 25, 2012 5:08 pm
As Nikolaus drew his blade, scabbard and all, Ayden's mind quickly reacted; calculations were processed and analysed, and it took all but the greatest of willpower to deny the man's reflexes and raise his pistol. His hands were even shuffling behind him, coming down and closer to his body ever so slowly, ready to grasp Interceptor - but the assassin, newfound techniques and all for calming himself and alleviating his fears, just managed to stop himself.
He arched an eyebrow as Nikolaus began his own, equally colourful spiel. "Filthy pests find honey alluring and desired, only when they reach out for the sweet nectar, they are trapped in a hold no salvation is begotten." A smirk, and a gentle nod of agreement. The assassin remained in that static position, still seated upon the simple wooden stool, letting the smile quickly form to a grin, before he responded with a quick jab; something to finish up what the good General had already stated.
"And, alas, they scrabble, try to escape, desperately release themselves and claw free of this hold's clutches, they quickly find it is fruitless; and all too soon, they know naught save for fright, despair, and darkness," Beginning as a grandiose statement, the line fluctuated in pitch, timbre, dynamics, very much multi-faceted and double-edged - he was just as much a criminal as a petty thief 'liberating' a loaf of bread from a convenience store, even one who had justifications. This applied for him... but under Stuka's command, he was... acceptable, justifiable... a means to an end, but Ayden had always known that he would need to be ready when - if - the end came. Nikolaus was an odd man - and one that the azure-eyed assassin knew, when their blue orbs locked, that he wasn't afraid to cut all ties when their necessities had faded. A purist; Ayden was important yet unimportant, the silver-haired assassin a tool, a gear, a cog, making up a tiny role in the big picture yet making all the difference in the machine that was change.
Nikolaus continued, somewhat unfazed by Ayden's remarks, offering the blade out to him. "The Officer Issue twenty five, a weapon made from a grateful nation, bestowing it unto the hero of justice." Off the crossguard, shimmers of light and contorted reflections danced. A saber of magnificence and might - what did Nikolaus have in mind? Was he simply to weigh the blade in his hands, test it, compliment the General, then hand it back? That much, he had no problem with whatsoever. Was he to strike? The orders were so ambiguous... a niggling thought in the back of the silver-haired man's head told him that he would have to play his cards right, define his own meaning that the General would agree with. "A fine tool befitting a conveyor of justice such as yourself, General." Ugh... compliments. How Ayden despised the art of speech sometimes - although the General did more than deserve it for his ethos when it came to the clearing of crime.
For starters, Ayden simply grasped the blade, and Nikolaus quickly released his grip. It was light in the palm of his hand, and gave his trained, flexing wrist little strain. It was aerodynamic, even with what one would presume to be a hefty scabbard still layered over the blade. The January sun cast its rays down ever stronger through the cold, gentle, unorthodox breeze; once more, glimmers danced, however, this time, across the gold embossing of the scabbard.
Ayden lowered it slowly to his lap, bringing the saber horizontal. He let his fingers slip through the guard, and gently yet firmly grip the inner pole, the true purpose of the fitting itself. His second hand simply cradled the central golden plate set upon the scabbard, light still flashing across it. Truly, a marvel of blacksmithing; a fitting yet unusual weapon amidst the grimy military-issue assault rifles of today. So hefty... the assassin grimaced. Anything that required two hands to operate effectively and didn't clear a room in under five seconds flat was just dead weight to him... although the man was confident that with this new gift from his superior officer and commandant both, he would further be able to carve a few more bloody trails through Amestris - and its crime, just for the good General. "Let that sword be the weapon to purify all that insult Amestris's name, that cuts down any restraints or bindings which hold you back."
Crows continued to caw loudly and harshly in the background. The assassin twitched, having seen the affect the noises had on the General but moments ago. Ayden had been right in his mental assumptions then... the blade was indeed intended as a gift, the latest addition to his arsenal... hm. Perhaps it would be ceremonial? A blade meant for symbolism and little else, something to hang alongside his coat at the end of the day? It wasn't really concealable - the man looked unusual even with his bulky 'padding' beneath the overcoat, as it were, but the saber would just be excess weight for the stealthier missions... ah, well. The ability to mix and match tools, devices, tricks and techniques alike was one of the assassin's favourite aspects of the job - of any job, really. Any that he was given free roam on the 'method' of 'dispatch', anyway.
Ayden shot a quick look at the General; he could see five more sheathed, one on either side. It was obvious they were fairly easy to come by for him... however, the gesture itself spoke worlds of Nikolaus' thoughts; truly, now, he had been inducted into this sadistic imitation of a friendship... the silver-haired assassin licked his lips. Oh, he liked this.
Slash.
The blade had been unsheathed, brandished, and brought forwards in a small arc. The General was raised and far away enough that the blade didn't touch him, although almost came dangerously close, a few inches from his chest. Expert speed and precision... Ayden had drawn it with enough power that an opening strike had carried the potential to be devastating. Truly, a worthwhile addition to his arsenal; he had almost felt the air part due to the blade itself. Light now shimmered off chrome and gold alike; the café had been silenced as all had stared at the man, who had not only struck outwards with a blade, but twisted his entire body into a ready stance, gone from idle to aggressive in but an instant.
He mulled over thoughts like expensive red wine; slowly, he apparently came to a conclusion. Another slash, the scraping of metal gently against a scabbard, and the blade was sheathed and carefully laid upon the table - he didn't want to damage his new toy, after all. "Well-weighted. Powerful, precise, flexible... an excellent specimen and definitely a worthwhile addition to any aichmophile..." He stopped, and allowed the good General to finish off.
"Of course, you can opt to cut a person down instead, it does that job quite well in my experience." Ayden nodded once more, letting a dry chuckle release, and gesturing for the General to take his seat again - common courtesy and nothing else. The man held superiority over him by military pecking order and most likely in skill... General Stuka was a force to be reckoned with if poked and prodded enough - the assassin was thankful of their alliance.
"Indeed, indeed..." The assassin spoke idly whilst letting his fingertips gently trail along the scabbard's patterned metal... ridges and smooth areas interlocking in a crisscross of design, it was fine, fine work. Definitely not the best he'd seen, but very much far from the worst. He finished his trailing, retracted his head, and his eyes snapped back towards the General's. "I appreciate the gesture, General Stuka. I shall make sure to carve a bloody swath through one of the few remaining criminal hideouts in Amestris in my purification of the city, let it come full circle with a gift of yours... utterly poetic, aye?"
A thought struck the man's cortex and he snapped his fingers almost immediately after finishing the last statement. He was hesitant to continue, but Nikolaus' sharp glare would not let this realisation, this reflex go unnoticed. Inside, Ayden grimaced. The silver-haired assassin didn't know how tentative the relationship of Mr. Jin and the General was, and he certainly knew where his loyalties lied... but if he revealed the message to Nikolaus, he wasn't sure whether the man would be angered and their alliance shattered simply from his consorting with 'an enemy'. He'd heard the Drachman accent in his voice, after all. "I have a message for you, good General. From a man who told me to give his identity as 'the Sixth',"
Time and time again, Ayden had queried along many avenues of thought of the Xingese's ambiguity: he obviously knew the General, and had most likely truthfully stated his allegiance with him - despite the assassin's being able to see that the man was definitely not always as truthful. Deceit was most likely in his nature - Jin had seemed shifty enough already. However... a message was a message, and Ayden was, after all, being paid to do this, alongside many things - he hoped the General would catch onto that. "He asked me to say... well..." Latin. Excellent... just excellent. "In Drachmam Terra, Omnia Vanitas." He hoped Nikolaus would know what it meant; he was educated enough to, but... functioning as a translator would only further aggravate the situation's awkwardness, Ayden felt.
He wanted to move on. Quickly.
He arched an eyebrow as Nikolaus began his own, equally colourful spiel. "Filthy pests find honey alluring and desired, only when they reach out for the sweet nectar, they are trapped in a hold no salvation is begotten." A smirk, and a gentle nod of agreement. The assassin remained in that static position, still seated upon the simple wooden stool, letting the smile quickly form to a grin, before he responded with a quick jab; something to finish up what the good General had already stated.
"And, alas, they scrabble, try to escape, desperately release themselves and claw free of this hold's clutches, they quickly find it is fruitless; and all too soon, they know naught save for fright, despair, and darkness," Beginning as a grandiose statement, the line fluctuated in pitch, timbre, dynamics, very much multi-faceted and double-edged - he was just as much a criminal as a petty thief 'liberating' a loaf of bread from a convenience store, even one who had justifications. This applied for him... but under Stuka's command, he was... acceptable, justifiable... a means to an end, but Ayden had always known that he would need to be ready when - if - the end came. Nikolaus was an odd man - and one that the azure-eyed assassin knew, when their blue orbs locked, that he wasn't afraid to cut all ties when their necessities had faded. A purist; Ayden was important yet unimportant, the silver-haired assassin a tool, a gear, a cog, making up a tiny role in the big picture yet making all the difference in the machine that was change.
Nikolaus continued, somewhat unfazed by Ayden's remarks, offering the blade out to him. "The Officer Issue twenty five, a weapon made from a grateful nation, bestowing it unto the hero of justice." Off the crossguard, shimmers of light and contorted reflections danced. A saber of magnificence and might - what did Nikolaus have in mind? Was he simply to weigh the blade in his hands, test it, compliment the General, then hand it back? That much, he had no problem with whatsoever. Was he to strike? The orders were so ambiguous... a niggling thought in the back of the silver-haired man's head told him that he would have to play his cards right, define his own meaning that the General would agree with. "A fine tool befitting a conveyor of justice such as yourself, General." Ugh... compliments. How Ayden despised the art of speech sometimes - although the General did more than deserve it for his ethos when it came to the clearing of crime.
For starters, Ayden simply grasped the blade, and Nikolaus quickly released his grip. It was light in the palm of his hand, and gave his trained, flexing wrist little strain. It was aerodynamic, even with what one would presume to be a hefty scabbard still layered over the blade. The January sun cast its rays down ever stronger through the cold, gentle, unorthodox breeze; once more, glimmers danced, however, this time, across the gold embossing of the scabbard.
Ayden lowered it slowly to his lap, bringing the saber horizontal. He let his fingers slip through the guard, and gently yet firmly grip the inner pole, the true purpose of the fitting itself. His second hand simply cradled the central golden plate set upon the scabbard, light still flashing across it. Truly, a marvel of blacksmithing; a fitting yet unusual weapon amidst the grimy military-issue assault rifles of today. So hefty... the assassin grimaced. Anything that required two hands to operate effectively and didn't clear a room in under five seconds flat was just dead weight to him... although the man was confident that with this new gift from his superior officer and commandant both, he would further be able to carve a few more bloody trails through Amestris - and its crime, just for the good General. "Let that sword be the weapon to purify all that insult Amestris's name, that cuts down any restraints or bindings which hold you back."
Crows continued to caw loudly and harshly in the background. The assassin twitched, having seen the affect the noises had on the General but moments ago. Ayden had been right in his mental assumptions then... the blade was indeed intended as a gift, the latest addition to his arsenal... hm. Perhaps it would be ceremonial? A blade meant for symbolism and little else, something to hang alongside his coat at the end of the day? It wasn't really concealable - the man looked unusual even with his bulky 'padding' beneath the overcoat, as it were, but the saber would just be excess weight for the stealthier missions... ah, well. The ability to mix and match tools, devices, tricks and techniques alike was one of the assassin's favourite aspects of the job - of any job, really. Any that he was given free roam on the 'method' of 'dispatch', anyway.
Ayden shot a quick look at the General; he could see five more sheathed, one on either side. It was obvious they were fairly easy to come by for him... however, the gesture itself spoke worlds of Nikolaus' thoughts; truly, now, he had been inducted into this sadistic imitation of a friendship... the silver-haired assassin licked his lips. Oh, he liked this.
Slash.
The blade had been unsheathed, brandished, and brought forwards in a small arc. The General was raised and far away enough that the blade didn't touch him, although almost came dangerously close, a few inches from his chest. Expert speed and precision... Ayden had drawn it with enough power that an opening strike had carried the potential to be devastating. Truly, a worthwhile addition to his arsenal; he had almost felt the air part due to the blade itself. Light now shimmered off chrome and gold alike; the café had been silenced as all had stared at the man, who had not only struck outwards with a blade, but twisted his entire body into a ready stance, gone from idle to aggressive in but an instant.
He mulled over thoughts like expensive red wine; slowly, he apparently came to a conclusion. Another slash, the scraping of metal gently against a scabbard, and the blade was sheathed and carefully laid upon the table - he didn't want to damage his new toy, after all. "Well-weighted. Powerful, precise, flexible... an excellent specimen and definitely a worthwhile addition to any aichmophile..." He stopped, and allowed the good General to finish off.
"Of course, you can opt to cut a person down instead, it does that job quite well in my experience." Ayden nodded once more, letting a dry chuckle release, and gesturing for the General to take his seat again - common courtesy and nothing else. The man held superiority over him by military pecking order and most likely in skill... General Stuka was a force to be reckoned with if poked and prodded enough - the assassin was thankful of their alliance.
"Indeed, indeed..." The assassin spoke idly whilst letting his fingertips gently trail along the scabbard's patterned metal... ridges and smooth areas interlocking in a crisscross of design, it was fine, fine work. Definitely not the best he'd seen, but very much far from the worst. He finished his trailing, retracted his head, and his eyes snapped back towards the General's. "I appreciate the gesture, General Stuka. I shall make sure to carve a bloody swath through one of the few remaining criminal hideouts in Amestris in my purification of the city, let it come full circle with a gift of yours... utterly poetic, aye?"
A thought struck the man's cortex and he snapped his fingers almost immediately after finishing the last statement. He was hesitant to continue, but Nikolaus' sharp glare would not let this realisation, this reflex go unnoticed. Inside, Ayden grimaced. The silver-haired assassin didn't know how tentative the relationship of Mr. Jin and the General was, and he certainly knew where his loyalties lied... but if he revealed the message to Nikolaus, he wasn't sure whether the man would be angered and their alliance shattered simply from his consorting with 'an enemy'. He'd heard the Drachman accent in his voice, after all. "I have a message for you, good General. From a man who told me to give his identity as 'the Sixth',"
Time and time again, Ayden had queried along many avenues of thought of the Xingese's ambiguity: he obviously knew the General, and had most likely truthfully stated his allegiance with him - despite the assassin's being able to see that the man was definitely not always as truthful. Deceit was most likely in his nature - Jin had seemed shifty enough already. However... a message was a message, and Ayden was, after all, being paid to do this, alongside many things - he hoped the General would catch onto that. "He asked me to say... well..." Latin. Excellent... just excellent. "In Drachmam Terra, Omnia Vanitas." He hoped Nikolaus would know what it meant; he was educated enough to, but... functioning as a translator would only further aggravate the situation's awkwardness, Ayden felt.
He wanted to move on. Quickly.
Guest- Guest
Re: Flies and Honey
by Guest Sat Jan 28, 2012 12:16 am
Hrm? From what he glimpsed of, the whole body signal sent a mixed message of hostility mingling with some sort of confusion over him handing out the saber of his to the star-spangled butcher that is Ayden Derocha. He could recognize this very well, despite such a glance otherwise an inattentive person tends to overlook to be nothing more than nervousness. This was not true, but a deception that flies about, a nuance a trained killer can recognize in another, the dance of death in the symphony of despair that plays... constantly. Beating, beating without an end, an endless charade that spirals and spins like the Ouroboros devouring its tail. There is never an end in this world, even in death it is but a continuation.
"And, alas, they scrabble, try to escape, desperately release themselves and claw free of this hold's clutches, they quickly find it is fruitless; and all too soon, they know naught save for fright, despair, and darkness,"
Very wise words, for someone otherwise wrong in the head. Insanity is but the unrestrained result of no longer conceding towards the level headed mind. Rather letting thoughts flow freely without pattern or sense. Going everywhere, chaotic, a state of entropy that his counterpart seemed to indulge in to the very core and essence. He seems to understand quite well the human psyche, for what better way to know than to let loose completely? It was the meeting of two predators in the end, surrounded by prey. Those that took to sit at the café's surrounding. They fit his description of uncertain louts to the T.
"A fine tool befitting a conveyor of justice such as yourself, General."
That comment made him frown, was he just like all the others that come before him? Sucking up to him in the same way as those politicians did? This was not his title, for Stuka is but another person with differences. It was a disappointment, but hopefully one remedied by future impressions best cast aside as a lack of consistency anyways.
Looks like the Major fondled the saber sensually, like an object of carnality and a phallic symbol of authority and power. Such is the allure of the sword to whomever gazes upon it, it was caressed and felt from the smooth scabbardy surface that stretches out in a couple of centimeters. Black ebony shielding the glorious shimmering splendor underneath. That which cuts people into a thousand ribbons glorious of course, otherwise it makes for a pretty nice ornament to wear in ceremonial meetings otherwise.
When it was unleashed fully from what tamed the blade from death itself, Nikolaus noted to actually lean backwards as it missed him in such a small swing of an arc, not that the aim was in fact directed towards him to induce harm in the first place. It was a decent swing, but nothing he could fathom in another's skills just from one single swing. Nonetheless it gave him the impression this assassin actually knew how to use a sword besides just imitating what was seen on TV.
"Well-weighted. Powerful, precise, flexible... an excellent specimen and definitely a worthwhile addition to any aichmophile..."
Another remark of obviousness from the lean figure once again. He should be made Captain that Derocha, and his surname be renamed into Obvious. Hence Captain Obvious. A very valuable trait many others tend to have in abundance, hence nullifying it into nothing more than a... cheapskate loaf that's left for fifty years and rotted beyond that otherwise. In other words, all is good in love and war, except, who is to say love and war cannot be the same? Love for war. War for love. Food for thought.
So at a gesture, all Nikolaus did was stood up, holding unto the edge of the seat by the apparatus known as his right gloved palms. Reaching out for his coat to pull out a flask of red wine, popping open the lid and taking a quick swig out of the steel canteen. Sliding the redness down his throat, closing it afterwards with a simple flick of the thumb and back into his coat it goes back. Clearing up his throat in delight his body warmed up to alcohol, in this bloody Winter.
"Indeed, indeed..." That guy says, the Major, once again letting loose his admiration of the symbol, only like a possessed demon-spawn child whom needs to be exorcised, snapped to look at Nikolaus once again... just what was with those exaggerated looks that keep telling the General there may be a spot on his face? Not that there was any last he checked, "I appreciate the gesture, General Stuka. I shall make sure to carve a bloody swath through one of the few remaining criminal hideouts in Amestris in my purification of the city, let it come full circle with a gift of yours... utterly poetic, aye?"
Hrm... poetry. Last poetry Nikolaus indulged into was a Haiku. Simple, short, and tends to be pretty spiffy if given at the right moments in combat. Just how bored he often finds himself to be.
"I have a message for you, good General. From a man who told me to give his identity as 'the Sixth'," His fingers tightened on the chair as cracks started forming on the wood, he turned that frown into a smile, eyeing Ayden intensely with a further enthusiasm or more likely better translated into the interest of what he has to say about the Sixth. "He asked me to say... well... In Drachmam Terra, Omnia Vanitas." So that was it, that was the true intent, the true understanding, precipice of change at a crossroad. A revelation that dawned before him.
"How very delightful of you to bring this message to me!" He leased his grips from the crumbling edge, clapping his hands together once, "So, Ayden," An unusual referral he starts off with, "Forget this message, never again dwell on it, there ARE greater forces at work here for you not to dabble into. It will destroy more than your insanity should you realize, Major, and frankly, your life is better off existent than lacking in this department."
He reaches for his trench coat, throwing a folder to the table. A set of envelopes with profiles and whatnot, "These are your new assignments, and they will require more stealth on your part. Ballzini was a lucky hit for no witnesses to come out, alive. All survivors were shot dead, and the mansion was burnt to the ground, he was officially killed from a gas leak explosion along with many top brass of the military and politicians. The biggest tragedy in the making! All because of a faulty gas line according to the obituaries."
He chuckled, his hands were shaking from an immense rage inside him boiling up subtly, "Our tax dollars are being allocated to make a memorial of marble to all those dead whom unfortunately got killed in an accident, as it goes. Quite convenient isn't it?"
"And, alas, they scrabble, try to escape, desperately release themselves and claw free of this hold's clutches, they quickly find it is fruitless; and all too soon, they know naught save for fright, despair, and darkness,"
Very wise words, for someone otherwise wrong in the head. Insanity is but the unrestrained result of no longer conceding towards the level headed mind. Rather letting thoughts flow freely without pattern or sense. Going everywhere, chaotic, a state of entropy that his counterpart seemed to indulge in to the very core and essence. He seems to understand quite well the human psyche, for what better way to know than to let loose completely? It was the meeting of two predators in the end, surrounded by prey. Those that took to sit at the café's surrounding. They fit his description of uncertain louts to the T.
"A fine tool befitting a conveyor of justice such as yourself, General."
That comment made him frown, was he just like all the others that come before him? Sucking up to him in the same way as those politicians did? This was not his title, for Stuka is but another person with differences. It was a disappointment, but hopefully one remedied by future impressions best cast aside as a lack of consistency anyways.
Looks like the Major fondled the saber sensually, like an object of carnality and a phallic symbol of authority and power. Such is the allure of the sword to whomever gazes upon it, it was caressed and felt from the smooth scabbardy surface that stretches out in a couple of centimeters. Black ebony shielding the glorious shimmering splendor underneath. That which cuts people into a thousand ribbons glorious of course, otherwise it makes for a pretty nice ornament to wear in ceremonial meetings otherwise.
When it was unleashed fully from what tamed the blade from death itself, Nikolaus noted to actually lean backwards as it missed him in such a small swing of an arc, not that the aim was in fact directed towards him to induce harm in the first place. It was a decent swing, but nothing he could fathom in another's skills just from one single swing. Nonetheless it gave him the impression this assassin actually knew how to use a sword besides just imitating what was seen on TV.
"Well-weighted. Powerful, precise, flexible... an excellent specimen and definitely a worthwhile addition to any aichmophile..."
Another remark of obviousness from the lean figure once again. He should be made Captain that Derocha, and his surname be renamed into Obvious. Hence Captain Obvious. A very valuable trait many others tend to have in abundance, hence nullifying it into nothing more than a... cheapskate loaf that's left for fifty years and rotted beyond that otherwise. In other words, all is good in love and war, except, who is to say love and war cannot be the same? Love for war. War for love. Food for thought.
So at a gesture, all Nikolaus did was stood up, holding unto the edge of the seat by the apparatus known as his right gloved palms. Reaching out for his coat to pull out a flask of red wine, popping open the lid and taking a quick swig out of the steel canteen. Sliding the redness down his throat, closing it afterwards with a simple flick of the thumb and back into his coat it goes back. Clearing up his throat in delight his body warmed up to alcohol, in this bloody Winter.
"Indeed, indeed..." That guy says, the Major, once again letting loose his admiration of the symbol, only like a possessed demon-spawn child whom needs to be exorcised, snapped to look at Nikolaus once again... just what was with those exaggerated looks that keep telling the General there may be a spot on his face? Not that there was any last he checked, "I appreciate the gesture, General Stuka. I shall make sure to carve a bloody swath through one of the few remaining criminal hideouts in Amestris in my purification of the city, let it come full circle with a gift of yours... utterly poetic, aye?"
Hrm... poetry. Last poetry Nikolaus indulged into was a Haiku. Simple, short, and tends to be pretty spiffy if given at the right moments in combat. Just how bored he often finds himself to be.
"I have a message for you, good General. From a man who told me to give his identity as 'the Sixth'," His fingers tightened on the chair as cracks started forming on the wood, he turned that frown into a smile, eyeing Ayden intensely with a further enthusiasm or more likely better translated into the interest of what he has to say about the Sixth. "He asked me to say... well... In Drachmam Terra, Omnia Vanitas." So that was it, that was the true intent, the true understanding, precipice of change at a crossroad. A revelation that dawned before him.
"How very delightful of you to bring this message to me!" He leased his grips from the crumbling edge, clapping his hands together once, "So, Ayden," An unusual referral he starts off with, "Forget this message, never again dwell on it, there ARE greater forces at work here for you not to dabble into. It will destroy more than your insanity should you realize, Major, and frankly, your life is better off existent than lacking in this department."
He reaches for his trench coat, throwing a folder to the table. A set of envelopes with profiles and whatnot, "These are your new assignments, and they will require more stealth on your part. Ballzini was a lucky hit for no witnesses to come out, alive. All survivors were shot dead, and the mansion was burnt to the ground, he was officially killed from a gas leak explosion along with many top brass of the military and politicians. The biggest tragedy in the making! All because of a faulty gas line according to the obituaries."
He chuckled, his hands were shaking from an immense rage inside him boiling up subtly, "Our tax dollars are being allocated to make a memorial of marble to all those dead whom unfortunately got killed in an accident, as it goes. Quite convenient isn't it?"
Guest- Guest
Re: Flies and Honey
by Guest Sun Jan 29, 2012 6:29 pm
"How very delightful of you to bring this message to me! So, Ayden, forget this message, never again dwell on it, there ARE greater forces at work here for you not to dabble into. It will destroy more than your insanity should you realize, Major, and frankly, your life is better off existent than lacking in this department."
Ayden shrugged, not the slightest bit phased by the good General's 'warning'. He was being paid a lot of money by a very rich person to deliver that message - and it had been delivered. A little supposed intimidation here and there did him no harm; the silver-haired man's pale skin was a lot thicker and hardier than it initially looked.
His face, however, did light up at the mention of insanity; though not with rage, but instead euphoric happiness. The saber clattered to the table as did the assassin's aviators as he let them fall from his hand, and he leapt to his feet, giddy laughter escaping, emanating forth from the canals and deepest bowels of his throat until it became hoarse and sore. "Thank you!" He offered, spluttering through the incessant, manic chuckling. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
Just what had the General set off. "Finally, General Stuka, someone who realises, understands, appreciates the extent of my madness!" Another sharp giggle; the seemingly-neverending chain of them began to slowly ramp down and fade. The cascades of laughter were gone as soon as they'd been there, with naught but echoes, the absence of otherwise-cawing crows, and a restaurant full of people staring at the gaunt, lean, pale form as evidence. "Thank you~! Gyahaha!" He reiterated one last time, before letting another giggle escape, and seating himself once more; his laughter quota had been filled for the day. And then some.
He went to tip the mug back once more, but was drearily unsatisfied as he remembered, along with the common, dry sensation over his lips, that he'd drunk all of the coffee so far. Slam. The cup found its way back to the wood of the table once more; a tap atop its edge and a sharp whistle, and a mortified waitress hurried over with a fresh pot. It appeared the assassin had made an intimidating impression - along with the company he kept - on the others. People were quickly finishing up their lunch - mid-way through their meals - and leaving as they began to fear for their safety. Probably a rational decision with the assassin around.
She filled the mug up with more of the steaming hot deep-brown-black liquid, and hurried off with the metal pot. Ayden paid her no heed or thanks; and simply raised the mug once more and took a sip, gasping in impersonation of a child-like entity or being as it scalded his lips. In reality... his pain threshold far succeeded and transcended a simple burnt lip. He just enjoyed playing the actor; after all, what was he, but the Bogart of assassinations? The Hepburn of bloody murder? The Brando of carrying out Death's very will?
Either way, the Major made a mental note not to mention Mr. Jin or his message again around the General. He was a dangerous man; with a fluid personality. As soon as Ayden outlived his usefulness, he had no doubt, as he had before stated, that his being expendable or not would come into the equation. Which is why the man minded his p's and q's around the Aryan security chief; should he slip up, each individual became two of the most dangerous men in the country, if not the world.
Admittedly, Ayden had many-a-time thought of fighting Stuka, in sparring and live combat. He knew, however, that his brain's many simulations paid the commander no credit; partially because of his egotistical 'supremacy', and partially simply because no memory can compare to the real thing.
He let the General continue. "These are your new assignments, and they will require more stealth on your part. Ballzini was a lucky hit for no witnesses to come out, alive. All survivors were shot dead, and the mansion was burnt to the ground, he was officially killed from a gas leak explosion along with many top brass of the military and politicians. The biggest tragedy in the making! All because of a faulty gas line according to the obituaries."
Ayden smirked, and let another giggle loose, raising his cup and sipping eagerly from it; the coffee had cooled, but was still warm. It slid pleasantly down his throat and sat as a beacon of warmth in his stomach, sending a caffeinated surge through his blood as the man tilted his head from side to side; as if the assassin needed more energy.
Graciously, Ayden nodded, and accepted the dossiers with a look of strong determination on his face. Nodding, he flicked through the first couple, before packing them quickly into the folder, sealing it, and letting the saber and his glasses rest gently atop it. Azure eyes locked with azure eyes; the blue of the two military men's irises were fastened to each other, and the pale-faced assassin spoke again for the first time since his silence. "I'll get on those immediately. See if you can't clear up Aeries' backlog of work for me, pull a few strings and whatnot..." He grumbled quietly, shaking his head. What with this network of loyalties and disloyalties, work quickly became overwhelming, and the real meat of what the silver-haired assassin was meant for became a luxury as opposed to an occupation. Sure, being in the military had its benefits - but just as much, it had its shortfalls and drawbacks.
Regardless, Stuka continued on the subject of Ballzini. Ayden finished off his coffee. "Our tax dollars are being allocated to make a memorial of marble to all those dead whom unfortunately got killed in an accident, as it goes. Quite convenient isn't it?"
Nodding and chuckling, grandeur in his voice, the assassin set the empty cup down and responded. "Aye, truly a milestone of our conjoined specialties and handiwork, General Stuka," A sharp smile; almost giddy in euphoria. "You run containment and organisation whilst I, your finger of justice and murder, do exactly what I do best..."
Ayden's eyes lit up with an inhuman orange glint; naught would be able to tell if it was just the sun's rays refracting from iridescent irises, or maybe something much, much deeper... either way, the expression that held that pale face for a moment was something no man had brushed with before, only those who were steeled, hardened, weathered murderers could even find something barely comparable to the man's pallor. Fires flickered, devoured, burned and raged within the bright crevices of his cerulean orbs; something... something lay locked away, gently tugging at its binds, forces getting stronger and stronger, chains fraying slowly like threads...
...it was all just a matter of time.
Ayden, however, seemed to snap himself out of his entranced state after a few minutes. The thought of murder was almost orgasmic; to kill again... to sate his hunger, his addiction... but this meeting had a triumvirate of meanings and purposes. Two had been eliminated; new marks and targets, and Mr. Jin's message... however, there was still... his transferral. "General Stuka, I have a matter, however, of the utmost importance, to discuss with you... if you will..." Some rumours had sprouted and been spread around - he'd already discussed the matter with Spade, but needed to... well, just check that he had an old acquaintance and contractor's blessing. Along with the assurance that their 'purification' work would continue, if just a little further north...
Ayden shrugged, not the slightest bit phased by the good General's 'warning'. He was being paid a lot of money by a very rich person to deliver that message - and it had been delivered. A little supposed intimidation here and there did him no harm; the silver-haired man's pale skin was a lot thicker and hardier than it initially looked.
His face, however, did light up at the mention of insanity; though not with rage, but instead euphoric happiness. The saber clattered to the table as did the assassin's aviators as he let them fall from his hand, and he leapt to his feet, giddy laughter escaping, emanating forth from the canals and deepest bowels of his throat until it became hoarse and sore. "Thank you!" He offered, spluttering through the incessant, manic chuckling. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
Just what had the General set off. "Finally, General Stuka, someone who realises, understands, appreciates the extent of my madness!" Another sharp giggle; the seemingly-neverending chain of them began to slowly ramp down and fade. The cascades of laughter were gone as soon as they'd been there, with naught but echoes, the absence of otherwise-cawing crows, and a restaurant full of people staring at the gaunt, lean, pale form as evidence. "Thank you~! Gyahaha!" He reiterated one last time, before letting another giggle escape, and seating himself once more; his laughter quota had been filled for the day. And then some.
He went to tip the mug back once more, but was drearily unsatisfied as he remembered, along with the common, dry sensation over his lips, that he'd drunk all of the coffee so far. Slam. The cup found its way back to the wood of the table once more; a tap atop its edge and a sharp whistle, and a mortified waitress hurried over with a fresh pot. It appeared the assassin had made an intimidating impression - along with the company he kept - on the others. People were quickly finishing up their lunch - mid-way through their meals - and leaving as they began to fear for their safety. Probably a rational decision with the assassin around.
She filled the mug up with more of the steaming hot deep-brown-black liquid, and hurried off with the metal pot. Ayden paid her no heed or thanks; and simply raised the mug once more and took a sip, gasping in impersonation of a child-like entity or being as it scalded his lips. In reality... his pain threshold far succeeded and transcended a simple burnt lip. He just enjoyed playing the actor; after all, what was he, but the Bogart of assassinations? The Hepburn of bloody murder? The Brando of carrying out Death's very will?
Either way, the Major made a mental note not to mention Mr. Jin or his message again around the General. He was a dangerous man; with a fluid personality. As soon as Ayden outlived his usefulness, he had no doubt, as he had before stated, that his being expendable or not would come into the equation. Which is why the man minded his p's and q's around the Aryan security chief; should he slip up, each individual became two of the most dangerous men in the country, if not the world.
Admittedly, Ayden had many-a-time thought of fighting Stuka, in sparring and live combat. He knew, however, that his brain's many simulations paid the commander no credit; partially because of his egotistical 'supremacy', and partially simply because no memory can compare to the real thing.
He let the General continue. "These are your new assignments, and they will require more stealth on your part. Ballzini was a lucky hit for no witnesses to come out, alive. All survivors were shot dead, and the mansion was burnt to the ground, he was officially killed from a gas leak explosion along with many top brass of the military and politicians. The biggest tragedy in the making! All because of a faulty gas line according to the obituaries."
Ayden smirked, and let another giggle loose, raising his cup and sipping eagerly from it; the coffee had cooled, but was still warm. It slid pleasantly down his throat and sat as a beacon of warmth in his stomach, sending a caffeinated surge through his blood as the man tilted his head from side to side; as if the assassin needed more energy.
Graciously, Ayden nodded, and accepted the dossiers with a look of strong determination on his face. Nodding, he flicked through the first couple, before packing them quickly into the folder, sealing it, and letting the saber and his glasses rest gently atop it. Azure eyes locked with azure eyes; the blue of the two military men's irises were fastened to each other, and the pale-faced assassin spoke again for the first time since his silence. "I'll get on those immediately. See if you can't clear up Aeries' backlog of work for me, pull a few strings and whatnot..." He grumbled quietly, shaking his head. What with this network of loyalties and disloyalties, work quickly became overwhelming, and the real meat of what the silver-haired assassin was meant for became a luxury as opposed to an occupation. Sure, being in the military had its benefits - but just as much, it had its shortfalls and drawbacks.
Regardless, Stuka continued on the subject of Ballzini. Ayden finished off his coffee. "Our tax dollars are being allocated to make a memorial of marble to all those dead whom unfortunately got killed in an accident, as it goes. Quite convenient isn't it?"
Nodding and chuckling, grandeur in his voice, the assassin set the empty cup down and responded. "Aye, truly a milestone of our conjoined specialties and handiwork, General Stuka," A sharp smile; almost giddy in euphoria. "You run containment and organisation whilst I, your finger of justice and murder, do exactly what I do best..."
Ayden's eyes lit up with an inhuman orange glint; naught would be able to tell if it was just the sun's rays refracting from iridescent irises, or maybe something much, much deeper... either way, the expression that held that pale face for a moment was something no man had brushed with before, only those who were steeled, hardened, weathered murderers could even find something barely comparable to the man's pallor. Fires flickered, devoured, burned and raged within the bright crevices of his cerulean orbs; something... something lay locked away, gently tugging at its binds, forces getting stronger and stronger, chains fraying slowly like threads...
...it was all just a matter of time.
Ayden, however, seemed to snap himself out of his entranced state after a few minutes. The thought of murder was almost orgasmic; to kill again... to sate his hunger, his addiction... but this meeting had a triumvirate of meanings and purposes. Two had been eliminated; new marks and targets, and Mr. Jin's message... however, there was still... his transferral. "General Stuka, I have a matter, however, of the utmost importance, to discuss with you... if you will..." Some rumours had sprouted and been spread around - he'd already discussed the matter with Spade, but needed to... well, just check that he had an old acquaintance and contractor's blessing. Along with the assurance that their 'purification' work would continue, if just a little further north...
Guest- Guest
Re: Flies and Honey
by Reila Tsukino Sat Feb 11, 2012 5:05 pm
Archiving (Shu it's been two weeks; you don't bump)
Reila Tsukino- Posts : 2269
Points : 1089
Location : Fort Briggs
-Case File-
Level: ∞
Rank:
Writer:
Re: Flies and Honey
by Guest Sun Feb 19, 2012 12:26 am
Nikolaus vacantly looked to see his saber, which isn't really prized as opposed to being hard to come by in the middle of the streets dropped on the table. He rose an eyebrow, peeling to see why the heck his saber was dropped, and just why in the heck he leaped up like a monkey, which oddly reminds Nikolaus of the Xingese. Them and their leaping around everywhere like monkeys, running around in high speeds, and just using uneconomic Kung Fu or whatever it is martial arts they knew to attack. Most of them fell dead after that. Not that Nikolaus had the intention to blow out Ayden's brains into beef stroganof.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you! Finally, General Stuka, someone who realises, understands, appreciates the extent of my madness! Thank you~! Gyahaha!" He tilts his head at that statement, what was there to thank for when all he did was outline his concern for his well being? And from minute glimpses, he noticed the crowd around are generally creeped out by the Major's laugh of despair, horror, or whichever it was he seemed to be so fond of portraying.
But he continued otherwise with his lines, assignments, and the delicious irony of how Ballzini and co became such martyrs. Apparently their crimes were forgiven posthumously, and everyone would remember him as a saint from La Ciligia whom wanted to revolutionize business or some bullshit of some sort. It was really choking from the amount of bullshit presence involved in how media portrays him. Free press be damned, if this were a military run state, rather than one devolved by the civilian leader, and if it were up to Nikolaus, this wouldn't even be on the newspaper. Or perhaps it would be... and he'd just link this attack to RIOTE.
Ah RIOTE, such great scapegoats for every major attacks or destruction in Amestrian soil, despite most of them, an odd assortment of them, are self-inflicted. A destroyed mansion? RIOTE did it. Someone attacked another military officer? RIOTE did that too. Hoho, so much delicious blame game that in the end, benefits the military and makes them the trusted protectors as security would become the most highly prized trait among all, and the most desired in a world where life and death are as easy as a separation by a stroke of a sword.
"I'll get on those immediately. See if you can't clear up Aeries' backlog of work for me, pull a few strings and whatnot..." Stuka nods at the statement, not out of necessary agreement but merely acknowledging it. It would be easy pulling a few strings around, though he wondered why it had to involve Aeries when this kind of work Ayden is doing is a micromanaged thing, whereas Commander Spade himself handles macromanagement, the whole affair of Central on a vague and general whole.
"Aye, truly a milestone of our conjoined specialties and handiwork, General Stuka, you run containment and organisation whilst I, your finger of justice and murder, do exactly what I do best..."
He chuckles lightly, shaking his head, ah, how his role is reversed. Almost breaking out into a laughter, containing such hilarity he found at the absurdity of this situation. Was it now that he is the scientist behind the one way glass giving orders, and Derocha was within his shoes? Seemed a lot like it. Not that it was a promotion, as much as a prison. Either ways, there is always a string, but somehow he had not a heart to tell the Major of this prison, pre-ordained by old men from an old regime. War dogs as it goes, the very breathing of theirs is composed with the lives of others, so many of them, that life itself holds no value but to be taken. It is death that holds the greatest meaning of all.
"Perhaps, we both know how this game truly works, Major. You're an alchemist. If we pile a mountain of bodies in the millions, it would be a fitting Equivalent Exchange for order. Chaos is a fitting albeit ironic means to result it." He says in a matter-of-fact tone, insensitive to such prospect of butchery.
"General Stuka, I have a matter, however, of the utmost importance, to discuss with you... if you will..."
He opened up his gloved hand, unveiling his palm before promptly seating himself opposite of Derocha once more, looking at him sternly, contradicting his smile, "Then Major, speak."
"Thank you, thank you, thank you! Finally, General Stuka, someone who realises, understands, appreciates the extent of my madness! Thank you~! Gyahaha!" He tilts his head at that statement, what was there to thank for when all he did was outline his concern for his well being? And from minute glimpses, he noticed the crowd around are generally creeped out by the Major's laugh of despair, horror, or whichever it was he seemed to be so fond of portraying.
But he continued otherwise with his lines, assignments, and the delicious irony of how Ballzini and co became such martyrs. Apparently their crimes were forgiven posthumously, and everyone would remember him as a saint from La Ciligia whom wanted to revolutionize business or some bullshit of some sort. It was really choking from the amount of bullshit presence involved in how media portrays him. Free press be damned, if this were a military run state, rather than one devolved by the civilian leader, and if it were up to Nikolaus, this wouldn't even be on the newspaper. Or perhaps it would be... and he'd just link this attack to RIOTE.
Ah RIOTE, such great scapegoats for every major attacks or destruction in Amestrian soil, despite most of them, an odd assortment of them, are self-inflicted. A destroyed mansion? RIOTE did it. Someone attacked another military officer? RIOTE did that too. Hoho, so much delicious blame game that in the end, benefits the military and makes them the trusted protectors as security would become the most highly prized trait among all, and the most desired in a world where life and death are as easy as a separation by a stroke of a sword.
"I'll get on those immediately. See if you can't clear up Aeries' backlog of work for me, pull a few strings and whatnot..." Stuka nods at the statement, not out of necessary agreement but merely acknowledging it. It would be easy pulling a few strings around, though he wondered why it had to involve Aeries when this kind of work Ayden is doing is a micromanaged thing, whereas Commander Spade himself handles macromanagement, the whole affair of Central on a vague and general whole.
"Aye, truly a milestone of our conjoined specialties and handiwork, General Stuka, you run containment and organisation whilst I, your finger of justice and murder, do exactly what I do best..."
He chuckles lightly, shaking his head, ah, how his role is reversed. Almost breaking out into a laughter, containing such hilarity he found at the absurdity of this situation. Was it now that he is the scientist behind the one way glass giving orders, and Derocha was within his shoes? Seemed a lot like it. Not that it was a promotion, as much as a prison. Either ways, there is always a string, but somehow he had not a heart to tell the Major of this prison, pre-ordained by old men from an old regime. War dogs as it goes, the very breathing of theirs is composed with the lives of others, so many of them, that life itself holds no value but to be taken. It is death that holds the greatest meaning of all.
"Perhaps, we both know how this game truly works, Major. You're an alchemist. If we pile a mountain of bodies in the millions, it would be a fitting Equivalent Exchange for order. Chaos is a fitting albeit ironic means to result it." He says in a matter-of-fact tone, insensitive to such prospect of butchery.
"General Stuka, I have a matter, however, of the utmost importance, to discuss with you... if you will..."
He opened up his gloved hand, unveiling his palm before promptly seating himself opposite of Derocha once more, looking at him sternly, contradicting his smile, "Then Major, speak."
Guest- Guest
Re: Flies and Honey
by Guest Sun Feb 19, 2012 6:17 pm
"Perhaps, we both know how this game truly works, Major. You're an alchemist. If we pile a mountain of bodies in the millions, it would be a fitting Equivalent Exchange for order. Chaos is a fitting albeit ironic means to result it." Ayden nodded, slowly, a grin creeping across his face. How right his contractor was, how right indeed... irony was a cruel mistress and even more so when it came to order.
Stuka had quietened as Ayden had begun to become more exuberant with his words and phrases. The metaphors were all but over. His reply to Ayden's leading into a matter of 'great importance' was brief, and paved the way into further discussion. Excellent. This would be... a subject that he had to ease into. Be careful with. Be gentle; although as a master of words, this would undoubtedly be more than easy for him to pull off flawlessly. He just had to present it as opportunity as opposed to loss to his soon-to-be former direct commander, contractor, and superior. "Then Major, speak."
A crow cawed in the background, pecked at nearby breadcrumbs, then fluttered away. As was the life of the scavenger. To survive and thrive on others' waste and mess. It was upsetting to watch to the master of the grandiose; sad, even. He let silence settle around the pair before continuing in a soft, gentle murmur. "As you're no doubt aware, I've filed for promotion and transfer to the North, under General Tsukino's command," Quiet. Oh so quiet. As if he had something to be ashamed of; as if he 'knew' that he would have Nikolaus' unhappiness to deal with. Losing such a useful tool and a promising prospect would either be the way of the world for the General, or something that he would become rather irritated at. An irritated man in Stuka's position is not something you want to put yourself close to with a career and endless fruitful opportunities on the line.
"But," And therein lied his redemption. One word. Strong-spoken; Ayden flicked two azure orbs up to establish contact between the pair. A word to make or break a deal, a single conjunction, one syllable, three letters - and within it, absolution. "I've been looking into North City's organised crime rings..." A smirk appeared on his face. A smirk that turned quickly to a grin. One of triumph. One of camaraderie. One true as it could be in this situation that he knew Nikolaus would appreciate; less deception than usual. The Major was simply staying in character.
"And I believe if we stretch our resources over two cities we shall be more than able to launch a two-pronged assault into our attempts of purging this world of those unfit to reside within, aye?" He rose a leather-clad hand to brush through thin silver locks of hair; cold in the fresh January breeze. Immediately, impulsively, spontaneously, he leapt to his feet and kicked back the chair. The table shook, positively thrumming and vibrating, as Ayden grasped the saber on the table and rose it up, scabbard and all, into the air, pointing into the very sky. "Good General, I promise you that my services, though they may take more effort to come into contact with, will never be unavailable to you!" Not a shout. No proclamation. Just a gallant, twisted message.
"We will purge this world of heathens and those who would reject our will... gyahahahahahah!" He trailed off into maniacal laughter, slowly lowering the sword, before flicking his wrist and holding it straight at his side. Hm. Weighted well. A worthwhile addition to any arsenal... or trophy hall. "For our work, though it may be finished in Central..." Calm, quiet; people around had focused their attention on the insane silver-haired assassin as he reseated himself and laid the saber back down carefully as if nothing had happened. As if no scene had been made...
"...is only just beginning." He needed to kill. Nikolaus was as invaluable to him as he was to the General. Ayden knew this. A fresh supply of canvas, an ever-flowing torrent of contracts, blood, temporary fixes to sate this hunger which would otherwise tear him apart; Nikolaus was the key to keeping himself in check. Military-sanctioned assassinations. Plausible deniability. As much as these things would be viewed with stigma in any 'honourable' society, they were beyond necessary. Just denied. Aerugo's ninja. Drachma's Kuvalda. Even the very head of Covert Operations here in Central City... who would soon be leaving his post for greener, freezing Northern pastures.
Nikolaus and Ayden just cut aside the bullshit and made things far more concise and to-the-point.
Stuka had quietened as Ayden had begun to become more exuberant with his words and phrases. The metaphors were all but over. His reply to Ayden's leading into a matter of 'great importance' was brief, and paved the way into further discussion. Excellent. This would be... a subject that he had to ease into. Be careful with. Be gentle; although as a master of words, this would undoubtedly be more than easy for him to pull off flawlessly. He just had to present it as opportunity as opposed to loss to his soon-to-be former direct commander, contractor, and superior. "Then Major, speak."
A crow cawed in the background, pecked at nearby breadcrumbs, then fluttered away. As was the life of the scavenger. To survive and thrive on others' waste and mess. It was upsetting to watch to the master of the grandiose; sad, even. He let silence settle around the pair before continuing in a soft, gentle murmur. "As you're no doubt aware, I've filed for promotion and transfer to the North, under General Tsukino's command," Quiet. Oh so quiet. As if he had something to be ashamed of; as if he 'knew' that he would have Nikolaus' unhappiness to deal with. Losing such a useful tool and a promising prospect would either be the way of the world for the General, or something that he would become rather irritated at. An irritated man in Stuka's position is not something you want to put yourself close to with a career and endless fruitful opportunities on the line.
"But," And therein lied his redemption. One word. Strong-spoken; Ayden flicked two azure orbs up to establish contact between the pair. A word to make or break a deal, a single conjunction, one syllable, three letters - and within it, absolution. "I've been looking into North City's organised crime rings..." A smirk appeared on his face. A smirk that turned quickly to a grin. One of triumph. One of camaraderie. One true as it could be in this situation that he knew Nikolaus would appreciate; less deception than usual. The Major was simply staying in character.
"And I believe if we stretch our resources over two cities we shall be more than able to launch a two-pronged assault into our attempts of purging this world of those unfit to reside within, aye?" He rose a leather-clad hand to brush through thin silver locks of hair; cold in the fresh January breeze. Immediately, impulsively, spontaneously, he leapt to his feet and kicked back the chair. The table shook, positively thrumming and vibrating, as Ayden grasped the saber on the table and rose it up, scabbard and all, into the air, pointing into the very sky. "Good General, I promise you that my services, though they may take more effort to come into contact with, will never be unavailable to you!" Not a shout. No proclamation. Just a gallant, twisted message.
"We will purge this world of heathens and those who would reject our will... gyahahahahahah!" He trailed off into maniacal laughter, slowly lowering the sword, before flicking his wrist and holding it straight at his side. Hm. Weighted well. A worthwhile addition to any arsenal... or trophy hall. "For our work, though it may be finished in Central..." Calm, quiet; people around had focused their attention on the insane silver-haired assassin as he reseated himself and laid the saber back down carefully as if nothing had happened. As if no scene had been made...
"...is only just beginning." He needed to kill. Nikolaus was as invaluable to him as he was to the General. Ayden knew this. A fresh supply of canvas, an ever-flowing torrent of contracts, blood, temporary fixes to sate this hunger which would otherwise tear him apart; Nikolaus was the key to keeping himself in check. Military-sanctioned assassinations. Plausible deniability. As much as these things would be viewed with stigma in any 'honourable' society, they were beyond necessary. Just denied. Aerugo's ninja. Drachma's Kuvalda. Even the very head of Covert Operations here in Central City... who would soon be leaving his post for greener, freezing Northern pastures.
Nikolaus and Ayden just cut aside the bullshit and made things far more concise and to-the-point.
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