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I'm Not Jesus
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I'm Not Jesus
by Guest Thu Apr 04, 2013 9:48 pm
Well, he certainly looked like the picture.
Crrrk. Ayden yanked the handbrake upwards and twisted the keys from the ignition with a gentle sigh. All sound faded from within the Audi's canopy, only dead silence left as the assassin's piercing cerulean gaze scanned the Polaroid. In thick black felt, one name was etched at the top - his handwriting, block capitals - and one at the bottom. "DIMTIRI IRLOV", read the top, a specifically and typically Drachman name. "ALIAS: JURGEN SCHMIDT", read the bottom, the polar opposite and an almost offensively stereotypical Amestrian moniker. It was textbook; the man had forged papers and all, but the contract had come through and the killer had highlighted it almost immediately for its ease and the mark's general proximity.
The near-distant figure crossing the road took a double-take before moving and the General took a momentary snapshot. Even from afar, his honed, acute vision picked up on signature features; hooked, beak-like nose. Wide brow. Receding hairline. Bad dress sense. Lighter skin than a usual Central resident. Raising the Polaroid up and moving it in time from behind the windscreen as the man crossed over, a smile curled up on Ayden's thin, elegant lips as his head inclined and his eyes narrowed with a dark, vindictive glare at his unknowing target, who had approached his side of the pavement and was now making his way, unwittingly, towards the assassin's car. "Bingo."
He strained the black leather of the gloves that clung to his hand as he clenched both fists and flexed his fingers once, to ensure that they'd have optimal maneuverability in the day's... 'coming events', so to speak. The smile on his face curved into a grin of sadistic foresight and malicious anticipation as he shook his head, reaching over towards the open carry-case sitting on his passenger seat. He felt the familiar weight of the Children at his ankles - a testament to the almost addictive nature of these old habits - and reached over for the glistening black framework of his bounty sitting within; the tool he so desperately sought. The compact, stockless, Amestrian beauty of a sub-machine gun, loaded, locked, and, with a momentary flick, safety guard removed. The Heckler and Koch MP5K nine-millimetre. And, for once, he hadn't bothered with the silencer.
The window's tint stopped the full brunt of the pale sunlight from refracting on the weapon's framework, but a gentle glow illuminated extravagant engravings and flowery patterns carved into its entirety, with a small cartouche-like oval on the edge of the hilt bearing two golden letters - similarly to how the rest of the frame was adorned with symmetrical lines of golden paint - that were truly a testament of, he hoped, his reputation and his capabilities. "A.D." Not quite the Tiberian anno domini, though perhaps of that same lasting nature - for a different reason. Ayden Derocha's underworld nature as being sly and yet resilient was something that the egotistical, haughty assassin was fully aware of.
His leather overcoat clung to his body and trailed behind him as he grasped the weapon and drew back its bolt one final time, before releasing it with a sliding click. It resounded through the front of the car, and Ayden took one, final, deep breath, before pushing open the door of the R8 with a hydraulic hiss, Irlov barely fifteen metres away. With two simultaneous, smooth claps, the soles of his boots touched against the sidewalk and the silver-haired warlord drew out the MP5K in a controlled swing, holding it in his left hand and hiding it behind the black-tinted glass of the car's window, still ajar. "Mr. Schmidt," The murderer asserted coolly and sternly from an audible distance.
The target ground to a halt, somewhat bemused, arching an eyebrow and nodding. "Y-yes?" What did this azure-eyed phantom seem to want with him, that ghostly white-silver hair hanging down over those two defining orbs, cutting through in spite of the strands of silken keratin providing a shimmering, opalescent curtain that would have become an irritation for some? "Who are you?" Apprehensive, Irlov's hand went to the inside of his coat, and rested upon the hilt of a battered, smuggled Drachman Makarov PMM sitting in a worn, tan leather shoulder-holster.
"Who I am?" Ayden let a short burst of crackling laughter forth, barely a giggle out upon the fresh, cold air of the morning afternoon, shaking his head. "That is... unimportant." A smile curved up onto his face as his grip tightened around the metal haft of the MP5K, still blocked from Irlov's sight by the open car door. "As for who sent me? Well..." In a single arc, he brought the sub-machine gun up with a grin, holding it forwards and letting that cracking smile widen, those pearl-white teeth very much on display, glimmering beneath the beating rays of the Amestrian sky. Over the frame of the gun came, rising high over the window of the car door, before it settled in place, the stub of the foregrip sidling smoothly into the black-clad grip of the General's hand.
"Ms. Havoc sends her regards."
Irlov's eyes widened and he dropped the brown bag of groceries he carried in the free hand, drawing as quickly as he could as soon as his pale, bloodshot gaze fell upon the black metal behemoth that Ayden now cradled, the cocked, locked, and loaded barrel aimed dead centre at his gut. He moved to draw the PMM, ease back the hammer, and shakily point it at the assassin's head all in one fluid motion, however, the General had... other plans.
With a burst of crackling gunfire, a hailstorm of sharp, heated lead rounds, the silence in the Central City street cracked and the crows began to part, cawing frantically as the sound sheared through the quiet they were so accustomed to. The rounds slammed into Irlov's stomach one after another, and in mid-draw, a muscle spasm caused him to drop the PMM, clattering against the floor, the squelching of tearing tissue and sheared sinew accompanied by a fair spattering of blood almost made a grand, symphonic melody, the drum-like beat of the rounds exiting the barrel with a firework display of separate muzzle flashes all in all making for a show that got the assassin... positively... ecstatic.
Finally, for a fount of blood later, and almost an eternity of contorted joy visible in the assassin's face, he exhaled and his leather-clad finger eased off the trigger. He'd only fired for maybe two seconds, but behind the gun, it held felt like far longer. Irlov's eyes rolled back into his head, and he tottered on his feet, struggling to regain balance. He threw his hand out to a nearby postbox, and spluttered, heaving over, a great stream of globules of blood splattering forth, barely inches from the murderer's shoes. Gunsmoke trailed up from the barrel of the MP5K and dissipated a moment later as the leader of the rogue RIOTE cell he'd been hired to dispatch finally slumped down dead, collapsing as a pool of his own blood welled around him.
And here came the best part; smiling to himself, Ayden lowered the gun and leaned back against his car with a sigh of release, as if this whole display had been some great game to him, like a burst that he'd needed to cleanse himself of had just pushed forward, a spear of murderous, ethereal force coming from his very core and leaving him almost spent, standing there, giddy, pale face and pale hair specked with the tiniest little glob of the Drachman's blood. He had cause, he had evidence, he had an armed suspect: best of all, this guy was a registered RIOTE agent. All he had to say? He approached him first, armed for his own protection, and saw the man going to draw.
With an automatic weapon and reflexes as renowned as the Major General's?
Well, that was all she wrote.
Crrrk. Ayden yanked the handbrake upwards and twisted the keys from the ignition with a gentle sigh. All sound faded from within the Audi's canopy, only dead silence left as the assassin's piercing cerulean gaze scanned the Polaroid. In thick black felt, one name was etched at the top - his handwriting, block capitals - and one at the bottom. "DIMTIRI IRLOV", read the top, a specifically and typically Drachman name. "ALIAS: JURGEN SCHMIDT", read the bottom, the polar opposite and an almost offensively stereotypical Amestrian moniker. It was textbook; the man had forged papers and all, but the contract had come through and the killer had highlighted it almost immediately for its ease and the mark's general proximity.
The near-distant figure crossing the road took a double-take before moving and the General took a momentary snapshot. Even from afar, his honed, acute vision picked up on signature features; hooked, beak-like nose. Wide brow. Receding hairline. Bad dress sense. Lighter skin than a usual Central resident. Raising the Polaroid up and moving it in time from behind the windscreen as the man crossed over, a smile curled up on Ayden's thin, elegant lips as his head inclined and his eyes narrowed with a dark, vindictive glare at his unknowing target, who had approached his side of the pavement and was now making his way, unwittingly, towards the assassin's car. "Bingo."
He strained the black leather of the gloves that clung to his hand as he clenched both fists and flexed his fingers once, to ensure that they'd have optimal maneuverability in the day's... 'coming events', so to speak. The smile on his face curved into a grin of sadistic foresight and malicious anticipation as he shook his head, reaching over towards the open carry-case sitting on his passenger seat. He felt the familiar weight of the Children at his ankles - a testament to the almost addictive nature of these old habits - and reached over for the glistening black framework of his bounty sitting within; the tool he so desperately sought. The compact, stockless, Amestrian beauty of a sub-machine gun, loaded, locked, and, with a momentary flick, safety guard removed. The Heckler and Koch MP5K nine-millimetre. And, for once, he hadn't bothered with the silencer.
The window's tint stopped the full brunt of the pale sunlight from refracting on the weapon's framework, but a gentle glow illuminated extravagant engravings and flowery patterns carved into its entirety, with a small cartouche-like oval on the edge of the hilt bearing two golden letters - similarly to how the rest of the frame was adorned with symmetrical lines of golden paint - that were truly a testament of, he hoped, his reputation and his capabilities. "A.D." Not quite the Tiberian anno domini, though perhaps of that same lasting nature - for a different reason. Ayden Derocha's underworld nature as being sly and yet resilient was something that the egotistical, haughty assassin was fully aware of.
His leather overcoat clung to his body and trailed behind him as he grasped the weapon and drew back its bolt one final time, before releasing it with a sliding click. It resounded through the front of the car, and Ayden took one, final, deep breath, before pushing open the door of the R8 with a hydraulic hiss, Irlov barely fifteen metres away. With two simultaneous, smooth claps, the soles of his boots touched against the sidewalk and the silver-haired warlord drew out the MP5K in a controlled swing, holding it in his left hand and hiding it behind the black-tinted glass of the car's window, still ajar. "Mr. Schmidt," The murderer asserted coolly and sternly from an audible distance.
The target ground to a halt, somewhat bemused, arching an eyebrow and nodding. "Y-yes?" What did this azure-eyed phantom seem to want with him, that ghostly white-silver hair hanging down over those two defining orbs, cutting through in spite of the strands of silken keratin providing a shimmering, opalescent curtain that would have become an irritation for some? "Who are you?" Apprehensive, Irlov's hand went to the inside of his coat, and rested upon the hilt of a battered, smuggled Drachman Makarov PMM sitting in a worn, tan leather shoulder-holster.
"Who I am?" Ayden let a short burst of crackling laughter forth, barely a giggle out upon the fresh, cold air of the morning afternoon, shaking his head. "That is... unimportant." A smile curved up onto his face as his grip tightened around the metal haft of the MP5K, still blocked from Irlov's sight by the open car door. "As for who sent me? Well..." In a single arc, he brought the sub-machine gun up with a grin, holding it forwards and letting that cracking smile widen, those pearl-white teeth very much on display, glimmering beneath the beating rays of the Amestrian sky. Over the frame of the gun came, rising high over the window of the car door, before it settled in place, the stub of the foregrip sidling smoothly into the black-clad grip of the General's hand.
"Ms. Havoc sends her regards."
Irlov's eyes widened and he dropped the brown bag of groceries he carried in the free hand, drawing as quickly as he could as soon as his pale, bloodshot gaze fell upon the black metal behemoth that Ayden now cradled, the cocked, locked, and loaded barrel aimed dead centre at his gut. He moved to draw the PMM, ease back the hammer, and shakily point it at the assassin's head all in one fluid motion, however, the General had... other plans.
With a burst of crackling gunfire, a hailstorm of sharp, heated lead rounds, the silence in the Central City street cracked and the crows began to part, cawing frantically as the sound sheared through the quiet they were so accustomed to. The rounds slammed into Irlov's stomach one after another, and in mid-draw, a muscle spasm caused him to drop the PMM, clattering against the floor, the squelching of tearing tissue and sheared sinew accompanied by a fair spattering of blood almost made a grand, symphonic melody, the drum-like beat of the rounds exiting the barrel with a firework display of separate muzzle flashes all in all making for a show that got the assassin... positively... ecstatic.
Finally, for a fount of blood later, and almost an eternity of contorted joy visible in the assassin's face, he exhaled and his leather-clad finger eased off the trigger. He'd only fired for maybe two seconds, but behind the gun, it held felt like far longer. Irlov's eyes rolled back into his head, and he tottered on his feet, struggling to regain balance. He threw his hand out to a nearby postbox, and spluttered, heaving over, a great stream of globules of blood splattering forth, barely inches from the murderer's shoes. Gunsmoke trailed up from the barrel of the MP5K and dissipated a moment later as the leader of the rogue RIOTE cell he'd been hired to dispatch finally slumped down dead, collapsing as a pool of his own blood welled around him.
And here came the best part; smiling to himself, Ayden lowered the gun and leaned back against his car with a sigh of release, as if this whole display had been some great game to him, like a burst that he'd needed to cleanse himself of had just pushed forward, a spear of murderous, ethereal force coming from his very core and leaving him almost spent, standing there, giddy, pale face and pale hair specked with the tiniest little glob of the Drachman's blood. He had cause, he had evidence, he had an armed suspect: best of all, this guy was a registered RIOTE agent. All he had to say? He approached him first, armed for his own protection, and saw the man going to draw.
With an automatic weapon and reflexes as renowned as the Major General's?
Well, that was all she wrote.
Last edited by Ayden Derocha on Fri Apr 05, 2013 7:36 am; edited 1 time in total
Guest- Guest
Re: I'm Not Jesus
by Alaina LeClair Thu Apr 04, 2013 10:32 pm
It was a normal day in Central. The sun was shining and it was a rather nice day. Alaina made her way down the sidewalk happily. A great time to be out on the town. What a lovely place Central Amestris was.
Or sort of anyways. Alaina was making her way along when she noticed a man get out of his car. He was holding something, possibly a gun? Alaina didn't know, but she didn't want to be nosy, so she continued onward. No need to get into his business.
The man addressed another man Alaina had not noticed. Alaina still tried not to get into such business, but it was hard not to steal glances and pretend not to be eavesdropping. So the man was hired by something. It was only a brief moment of wkndering before she figured it out.
The decorated metal gleamed in the rays of the sun. Alaina would have thought it to be quite pretty had she not witnessed the next scene. Alaina didn't want to witness this. She wanted to run, just turn tail and run. But the image of both men, one with gun raksed and the other in the process, rooted her to the spot.
The resounding gunshots split Alaina's ears. The sight. When one wants so badly to look away but their eyes refuse to give them the luxury. Alaina could only stand and shiver.
Blood. So much blood. The sounds. The horrible sounds that made Alaina wish she were deaf. The squelching sounds of bullets through guts, blood dripping to the ground, and the loud repetitive bangs as bullets exploded from the gun. Alaina was nearly hyperventilating by the time it ended. It hadn't lasted for a long time, barely a few seconds, but what Alaina witnessed seemed to drag through time. The gruesome ordeal playing in slow motion.
Run, just run. Thays what Alaina should have done. She should have walked away without looking back. It was not her business. She was not to have seen any of that. But instead she felt her feet move her towards the man. The man she had just seen kill another.
"Ah...H-hello. Um, are you alright, sir? I noticed the...I noticed...there's a body...and...you aren't hurt either, are you?" Alaina's voice shook as she waited for a response. That wasn't too wise, to walk up to a man and ask him questions with seemingly obvious answers. Alaina took a deep breath as she realized she probably should have walked away, as now she could be linked to whatever this was. Whether it be murder or self defense. Alaina only hoped it was the latter.
Or sort of anyways. Alaina was making her way along when she noticed a man get out of his car. He was holding something, possibly a gun? Alaina didn't know, but she didn't want to be nosy, so she continued onward. No need to get into his business.
The man addressed another man Alaina had not noticed. Alaina still tried not to get into such business, but it was hard not to steal glances and pretend not to be eavesdropping. So the man was hired by something. It was only a brief moment of wkndering before she figured it out.
The decorated metal gleamed in the rays of the sun. Alaina would have thought it to be quite pretty had she not witnessed the next scene. Alaina didn't want to witness this. She wanted to run, just turn tail and run. But the image of both men, one with gun raksed and the other in the process, rooted her to the spot.
The resounding gunshots split Alaina's ears. The sight. When one wants so badly to look away but their eyes refuse to give them the luxury. Alaina could only stand and shiver.
Blood. So much blood. The sounds. The horrible sounds that made Alaina wish she were deaf. The squelching sounds of bullets through guts, blood dripping to the ground, and the loud repetitive bangs as bullets exploded from the gun. Alaina was nearly hyperventilating by the time it ended. It hadn't lasted for a long time, barely a few seconds, but what Alaina witnessed seemed to drag through time. The gruesome ordeal playing in slow motion.
Run, just run. Thays what Alaina should have done. She should have walked away without looking back. It was not her business. She was not to have seen any of that. But instead she felt her feet move her towards the man. The man she had just seen kill another.
"Ah...H-hello. Um, are you alright, sir? I noticed the...I noticed...there's a body...and...you aren't hurt either, are you?" Alaina's voice shook as she waited for a response. That wasn't too wise, to walk up to a man and ask him questions with seemingly obvious answers. Alaina took a deep breath as she realized she probably should have walked away, as now she could be linked to whatever this was. Whether it be murder or self defense. Alaina only hoped it was the latter.
Alaina LeClair- LOVER OF SHEEP
- Posts : 49
Points : 100
-Case File-
Level: 1
Rank: Soldier
Writer: Kaitlyn
Re: I'm Not Jesus
by Guest Sat Apr 06, 2013 8:55 pm
The tuneful whistle of a melody Ayden was nonchalantly constructing was broken by the quivering voice of a far younger female. "Ah...H-hello." The silver-haired assassin froze mid-movement and turned his head towards her. Slowly, he tilted it to the side and ran her up and down in an analytical stare. "Um, are you alright, sir? I noticed the...I noticed...there's a body..." She was an astute one, it seemed. "...and...you aren't hurt either, are you?"
A grin stretched onto Ayden's face.
Well, now wasn't she just precious.
Shy, introverted, couldn't have been older than twenty at the most; average build and height, light hazelnut brown hair tied back into a ponytail; a slender, silvery eyebrow arched at the stars on her epaulette. She was... military? They were letting kids in nowadays? Well, this was going to be no fun; he'd expected a tad of a confrontation before he finally pulled the old "Major General" card and revealed it was - apparently - a RIOTE agent he'd been tracking, gun and all. Well, perhaps he could fuck with her a bit.
"I am in no pain, child..." He replied slowly, his voice lurching and dark. "But you may soon be have your reputation and status maimed." With that, he rose an accusatory finger in a slow, dreadful arc, and curled up all but the index, pointing it outright, clad in tight black leather, in a straight line of sight towards her shoulder. The golden stars of the Amestrian military. "You are a soldier. This is a body. I am carrying a gun. This is a public place." Four facts, simple, plain of day, and true.
"Where is your stern assertion, my dear?!" He shot himself at her, the gun still hanging in his hand as an extension of his arm as he pressed his face towards hers, shattering that comforting little precious bubble of silence. "Where is your weapon, and the cold, steady, iron-hard aim of the Amestrian military!? Where is your accusatory stance, your command that I should..." He raised the gun, waving the barrel of it, still warm, deadly close to the little soldier-girl's face. "'drop my gun'?"
He stopped speaking and looked from her to the barrel of the weapon, the grin falsely faltering. He left the tension in the air between them for a moment, his azure eyes thrumming with energy, before he strapped on a facade and stepped back, humbly bowing and lowering the weapon gently. "I do apologise. I hope the presence of my..." He looked to the beauty of a gun. "...equipment..." That was one way to put it. "...has not offset you."
Ayden sighed. "But the truth does remain. In your eyes, I am a potential criminal, and you are a woman..." He paused for a moment. Perhaps 'girl' was a more appropriate term. She showed few signs of maturity in that shy pout and the straying from the gun. "...of law, of rule, and of office." His grin twinkled in the pale sunlight. "My, if I was an internal affairs officer..." He darted forwards once more in a serpentine streak, before growling in her ear. "...I'd rip those stars right off your epaulette for such incompetence in my military." The use of a possessive was emphasised. Something... was at work here.
With that, he stepped back and paused, analysing her once more. It was clear she was not violent; that bemused him. Why did pacifists join the military? By all means, it was an occupation... that was of less consequence, though. The most significant part: she had approached him, and not simply darted off. It was clear she was not particularly keen of weaponry, bloodshed, combat... but that said, why did she not simply turn tail and run when she heard his gun go off and saw Irlov's body fall, torn to shreds by the fire of truly perfect design. In a subtle train of thought, he looked down to his hand: "Amestrians. We are architects of destruction." That rang true double for him.
He paused for a moment. And now, for the facade to come into play. Inside the eye of his mind, he grinned like a scholar and a schemer, sighing and shaking his head. "I'm... sorry," He wasn't. "I must have acted a tad out of line." In his books, he hadn't. "In truth, I'm just... not a fan of people..." How to put it... "...breaking protocol." That much was true. His grin stayed stalwart on that pale face of his, etched and carved into his skin almost with a sense of permanence, but now it was one of apology and sympathy rather than truly vindictive playfulness.
He flicked the safety from the gun, tore the magazine from its resting place and tossed it into the car, before sliding back the bolt of the clip-less weapon. A single, nine millimetre, unfired brass round pinged up into the air with the force of the springs inside, and Ayden caught it a moment later in an outstretched leather-clad hand snapping forward. The weapon was now completely harmless, for all intents and purposes - he set the engraved MP5K down on the passenger's seat, the side closest to him, and slammed the door shut, still holding the round clenched in the palm of his glove-clad hand, before stepping forwards.
"Where are my manners?" He extended the free hand for a shake, the other balled into a gentle fist with the cold metal of the bullet pressing into his palm. "Major General Ayden Derocha of Fort Briggs." He asserted sternly, following up with a murmuring addendum, one that was laden with false joy and a very slight undercurrent of sarcasm that only the most wary would pick up on when conversing with the assassin. The General was a man of niche humour. "Charmed. And you are...?"
A grin stretched onto Ayden's face.
Well, now wasn't she just precious.
Shy, introverted, couldn't have been older than twenty at the most; average build and height, light hazelnut brown hair tied back into a ponytail; a slender, silvery eyebrow arched at the stars on her epaulette. She was... military? They were letting kids in nowadays? Well, this was going to be no fun; he'd expected a tad of a confrontation before he finally pulled the old "Major General" card and revealed it was - apparently - a RIOTE agent he'd been tracking, gun and all. Well, perhaps he could fuck with her a bit.
"I am in no pain, child..." He replied slowly, his voice lurching and dark. "But you may soon be have your reputation and status maimed." With that, he rose an accusatory finger in a slow, dreadful arc, and curled up all but the index, pointing it outright, clad in tight black leather, in a straight line of sight towards her shoulder. The golden stars of the Amestrian military. "You are a soldier. This is a body. I am carrying a gun. This is a public place." Four facts, simple, plain of day, and true.
"Where is your stern assertion, my dear?!" He shot himself at her, the gun still hanging in his hand as an extension of his arm as he pressed his face towards hers, shattering that comforting little precious bubble of silence. "Where is your weapon, and the cold, steady, iron-hard aim of the Amestrian military!? Where is your accusatory stance, your command that I should..." He raised the gun, waving the barrel of it, still warm, deadly close to the little soldier-girl's face. "'drop my gun'?"
He stopped speaking and looked from her to the barrel of the weapon, the grin falsely faltering. He left the tension in the air between them for a moment, his azure eyes thrumming with energy, before he strapped on a facade and stepped back, humbly bowing and lowering the weapon gently. "I do apologise. I hope the presence of my..." He looked to the beauty of a gun. "...equipment..." That was one way to put it. "...has not offset you."
Ayden sighed. "But the truth does remain. In your eyes, I am a potential criminal, and you are a woman..." He paused for a moment. Perhaps 'girl' was a more appropriate term. She showed few signs of maturity in that shy pout and the straying from the gun. "...of law, of rule, and of office." His grin twinkled in the pale sunlight. "My, if I was an internal affairs officer..." He darted forwards once more in a serpentine streak, before growling in her ear. "...I'd rip those stars right off your epaulette for such incompetence in my military." The use of a possessive was emphasised. Something... was at work here.
With that, he stepped back and paused, analysing her once more. It was clear she was not violent; that bemused him. Why did pacifists join the military? By all means, it was an occupation... that was of less consequence, though. The most significant part: she had approached him, and not simply darted off. It was clear she was not particularly keen of weaponry, bloodshed, combat... but that said, why did she not simply turn tail and run when she heard his gun go off and saw Irlov's body fall, torn to shreds by the fire of truly perfect design. In a subtle train of thought, he looked down to his hand: "Amestrians. We are architects of destruction." That rang true double for him.
He paused for a moment. And now, for the facade to come into play. Inside the eye of his mind, he grinned like a scholar and a schemer, sighing and shaking his head. "I'm... sorry," He wasn't. "I must have acted a tad out of line." In his books, he hadn't. "In truth, I'm just... not a fan of people..." How to put it... "...breaking protocol." That much was true. His grin stayed stalwart on that pale face of his, etched and carved into his skin almost with a sense of permanence, but now it was one of apology and sympathy rather than truly vindictive playfulness.
He flicked the safety from the gun, tore the magazine from its resting place and tossed it into the car, before sliding back the bolt of the clip-less weapon. A single, nine millimetre, unfired brass round pinged up into the air with the force of the springs inside, and Ayden caught it a moment later in an outstretched leather-clad hand snapping forward. The weapon was now completely harmless, for all intents and purposes - he set the engraved MP5K down on the passenger's seat, the side closest to him, and slammed the door shut, still holding the round clenched in the palm of his glove-clad hand, before stepping forwards.
"Where are my manners?" He extended the free hand for a shake, the other balled into a gentle fist with the cold metal of the bullet pressing into his palm. "Major General Ayden Derocha of Fort Briggs." He asserted sternly, following up with a murmuring addendum, one that was laden with false joy and a very slight undercurrent of sarcasm that only the most wary would pick up on when conversing with the assassin. The General was a man of niche humour. "Charmed. And you are...?"
Guest- Guest
Re: I'm Not Jesus
by Alaina LeClair Sun Apr 07, 2013 5:47 pm
Alaina took a moment to study him before he spoke. His silvery hair and equally strange complextion was...strange. of course, Alaina had seen people in Amestris that were much weirder. Her thoughts were reeling as she stared wide eyed at him. She definitely hadn't been in the military long enough to be used to this kind of street side killing. In fact, she wasn't sure she would ever get used to it.
"I am in no pain, child..." Alaina internally shuddered at his voice. But of all the things about him that terrified her, the sound of his voice was yet to be in the top few. "But you may soon be have your reputation and status maimed." Last statenent revoked. This man's voice was intimidating, to say the least. Alaina went rigid as he held up his finger, encased within a leather glove, and pointed at her shoulder. In her fright, Alaina glanced down quickly at his finger as she was confused as to what the man was looking at. Ah, her stars. The stars of the Amestrian military. How she momentarily hated wearing the uniform. What would he have done to her if she were merely a civilian though?
"You are a soldier. This is a body. I am carrying a gun. This is a public place." Those simple statements echoedin Alaina's mind. Along with accusing questions aimed at herself. She was a militant. She should have been armed and she should have stopped him. As she could do at the moment though was tremble in front of the man.
"Where is your stern assertion, my dear?!" Alaina very nearly toppled over backwards as he lurched forward and pressed his face to hers. So much for "being in my bubble". "Where is your weapon, and the cold, steady, iron-hard aim of the Amestrian military!? Where is your accusatory stance, your command that I should..." Alaina opened her mouth slowly to reply, her breath catching. Her weapons...she'd been told to carry them at all times. Now was a wonderful day to leave them at home for a comforting stroll. She had let her kindness get the better of her when she asked him if he were alright. A bit late to realize the mistake.
"drop my gun'?" Oh God. If Alaina were stiff and unmoving before, that was nothing on what she was at the moment. Her blood stopped pumping and her eyes shot wide for a second before closing tightly, tears forming in the corners that she fought back. What if he shot her, right there? Who would stop him? Alaina was an Amestrian militant herself and she had already proved useless in times of importance.
Alaina opened one eye slowly as the silence stretched on. It could have been an hour or merely a minute that neither of them spoke. Alaina wouldn't have known the difference. Alaina pened both eyes and clasped her hands in front of her as the man stepped back and bowed. "I do apologise. I hope the presence of my..." As he trailed off, Alaina took the moment to follow his gaze. If she weren't about to piss herself, she would have thought the gun was quite nicely decorated. "...equipment..." Alaina he'll her breath, unintentionally, as he continued to speak. "Don't shoot me" running through her mind in an endless loop of horror. "...has not offset you." Alaina just nodded and let out the breath, still unsure if her voice would obey imher if she called upon it.
"But the truth does remain. In your eyes, I am a potential criminal, and you are a woman..." Alaina simply nodded when he paused. She was unsure if that were her cue to speak, or if he were only pausing to think before continuing. She chose to stand and stare, she was really good at that. "...of law, of rule, and of office." Alaina let her eyes travel up to his, noting the way they looked in the sunlight. Such an odd color, if she weren't positively petrified, she might have complimented him on their silvery appearance. "My, if I was an internal affairs officer..." Alaina was just beginning to relax just a teeny bit before the man was at her ear in an instant. Alaina gave a tiny yell of unbridled fright before he spoke, growled more like it. "...I'd rip those stars right off your epaulette for such incompetence in my military." The way he put emphasis on the word "my" made Alaina involuntarily jerk a bit. If her heart beat much faster, she was quite sure it would have literally leaped from her chest.
"I'm... sorry," Alaina had to believe him. "I must have acted a tad out of line." Alaina nodded the slightest. Her voice had abandoned her long ago. "In truth, I'm just... not a fan of people..." Well yeah, that seemed pretty obvious. "...breaking protocol." Alaina fidgeted and nodded quickly. She'd be very sure to remember that around this man. The grin that his lips formed might have been sincere, but they only served in freaking Alaina out even more.
Alaina very nearly melted to the sidewalk in a puddle of relief when he flicked on the safety and removed the magazine from the gun. She was safe now, unless of course he was going to reload. Alaina's eyes followed a bullet as it sprung upward until the man's hand darted out and grabbed it mid arc. Alaina continued following the man with her gaze as he put the gun away and closed the door. With the weapons out of sight, Alaina felt her breathing return to something close to normal.
"Where are my manners?" Alaina stared at his extended his hand for a moment before grabbing it. Shaking hands with a man that had just killed another, that was all Alaina could think as she tried not to let her hand tremble. "Major General Ayden Derocha of Fort Briggs." He may have said something after that, but Alaina could hardly hear herself even think over the blood rushing through her ears. Just because the guns were away didn't mean she was calm. "Charmed. And you are...?" Alaina's eyes widened a bit. Her name? Who was she? What? Right. Was her voice going to obey? "Ah...ahem." Alaina cleared her throat for a moment, it was still tight from her fright. "Alaina LeClair. It's a...pleasure to meet you."
"I am in no pain, child..." Alaina internally shuddered at his voice. But of all the things about him that terrified her, the sound of his voice was yet to be in the top few. "But you may soon be have your reputation and status maimed." Last statenent revoked. This man's voice was intimidating, to say the least. Alaina went rigid as he held up his finger, encased within a leather glove, and pointed at her shoulder. In her fright, Alaina glanced down quickly at his finger as she was confused as to what the man was looking at. Ah, her stars. The stars of the Amestrian military. How she momentarily hated wearing the uniform. What would he have done to her if she were merely a civilian though?
"You are a soldier. This is a body. I am carrying a gun. This is a public place." Those simple statements echoedin Alaina's mind. Along with accusing questions aimed at herself. She was a militant. She should have been armed and she should have stopped him. As she could do at the moment though was tremble in front of the man.
"Where is your stern assertion, my dear?!" Alaina very nearly toppled over backwards as he lurched forward and pressed his face to hers. So much for "being in my bubble". "Where is your weapon, and the cold, steady, iron-hard aim of the Amestrian military!? Where is your accusatory stance, your command that I should..." Alaina opened her mouth slowly to reply, her breath catching. Her weapons...she'd been told to carry them at all times. Now was a wonderful day to leave them at home for a comforting stroll. She had let her kindness get the better of her when she asked him if he were alright. A bit late to realize the mistake.
"drop my gun'?" Oh God. If Alaina were stiff and unmoving before, that was nothing on what she was at the moment. Her blood stopped pumping and her eyes shot wide for a second before closing tightly, tears forming in the corners that she fought back. What if he shot her, right there? Who would stop him? Alaina was an Amestrian militant herself and she had already proved useless in times of importance.
Alaina opened one eye slowly as the silence stretched on. It could have been an hour or merely a minute that neither of them spoke. Alaina wouldn't have known the difference. Alaina pened both eyes and clasped her hands in front of her as the man stepped back and bowed. "I do apologise. I hope the presence of my..." As he trailed off, Alaina took the moment to follow his gaze. If she weren't about to piss herself, she would have thought the gun was quite nicely decorated. "...equipment..." Alaina he'll her breath, unintentionally, as he continued to speak. "Don't shoot me" running through her mind in an endless loop of horror. "...has not offset you." Alaina just nodded and let out the breath, still unsure if her voice would obey imher if she called upon it.
"But the truth does remain. In your eyes, I am a potential criminal, and you are a woman..." Alaina simply nodded when he paused. She was unsure if that were her cue to speak, or if he were only pausing to think before continuing. She chose to stand and stare, she was really good at that. "...of law, of rule, and of office." Alaina let her eyes travel up to his, noting the way they looked in the sunlight. Such an odd color, if she weren't positively petrified, she might have complimented him on their silvery appearance. "My, if I was an internal affairs officer..." Alaina was just beginning to relax just a teeny bit before the man was at her ear in an instant. Alaina gave a tiny yell of unbridled fright before he spoke, growled more like it. "...I'd rip those stars right off your epaulette for such incompetence in my military." The way he put emphasis on the word "my" made Alaina involuntarily jerk a bit. If her heart beat much faster, she was quite sure it would have literally leaped from her chest.
"I'm... sorry," Alaina had to believe him. "I must have acted a tad out of line." Alaina nodded the slightest. Her voice had abandoned her long ago. "In truth, I'm just... not a fan of people..." Well yeah, that seemed pretty obvious. "...breaking protocol." Alaina fidgeted and nodded quickly. She'd be very sure to remember that around this man. The grin that his lips formed might have been sincere, but they only served in freaking Alaina out even more.
Alaina very nearly melted to the sidewalk in a puddle of relief when he flicked on the safety and removed the magazine from the gun. She was safe now, unless of course he was going to reload. Alaina's eyes followed a bullet as it sprung upward until the man's hand darted out and grabbed it mid arc. Alaina continued following the man with her gaze as he put the gun away and closed the door. With the weapons out of sight, Alaina felt her breathing return to something close to normal.
"Where are my manners?" Alaina stared at his extended his hand for a moment before grabbing it. Shaking hands with a man that had just killed another, that was all Alaina could think as she tried not to let her hand tremble. "Major General Ayden Derocha of Fort Briggs." He may have said something after that, but Alaina could hardly hear herself even think over the blood rushing through her ears. Just because the guns were away didn't mean she was calm. "Charmed. And you are...?" Alaina's eyes widened a bit. Her name? Who was she? What? Right. Was her voice going to obey? "Ah...ahem." Alaina cleared her throat for a moment, it was still tight from her fright. "Alaina LeClair. It's a...pleasure to meet you."
Alaina LeClair- LOVER OF SHEEP
- Posts : 49
Points : 100
-Case File-
Level: 1
Rank: Soldier
Writer: Kaitlyn
Re: I'm Not Jesus
by Guest Sun Apr 07, 2013 9:49 pm
As much as Alaina tried not to let her grip tremble, Ayden felt every quiver in her shake, as he had heard every muffled, retracted whimper and felt every shudder as he had danced around the little introverted teen militant. "Alaina LeClair. It's a...pleasure to meet you." Pleasure? She may have used that word, but her body language said otherwise - and the hesitation did her no favours.
The assassin could see that he was getting to her. And that, he liked.
"Why, of course it is!" He asserted, rather arrogantly. "For it is always an honour to be in the presence of a celebrity such as myself!" With a grin, he darted forwards towards Alaina once more. "Do you not know of me, child?!" He questioned her, with a look of mock surprise, his face pressed barely inches from her, before he blinked once with pale eyelids and shot backwards to begin a spiel.
"I am the king of killers, the sultan of slaughter, the emperor of all executioners~!" He pressed a hand to his chest and gasped, staring down into Alaina's eyes. "I am the unholy reaper of the Amestrian military, their chartered accountant when it comes to dealings with Death and delirium!" His mock surprise lasted but for a moment before his twirlings and gaspings ceased, and he walked closer to the shorter girl.
"I am..." Towering higher than her, almost a full foot, he bent his knees and knelt down onto one, the leather straining around his legs as he moved, looking dead-on into twin light violet orbs with his shimmering, quivering, piercing cerulean gaze. He breathed near-silently, his voice escaping in a silent wisp. "...the Blackskull Alchemist."
"I turn murder to music, and construct rhapsodies of blood and gunpowder," He stated, getting back up to his feet and brushing himself down, before revolving once more and throwing his hands out in false, murderous grandeur, like some sociopathic conductor. "I convert butchery to art, and paint a grand crimson trail behind me wherever I may go," His hands lowered, and he thrust them forwards through the air, aiming at Alaina, the third of a three-part speech taking a lower, more physical tone, less grandiose than the last two. "I switch slaying to literature, writing my own magnificent tale of shadow and flesh as I carve through my own book's pages."
With that, his hands fell to his sides. "My victims are my art." Continuing with tones slightly less full of vigour and giddiness, ramping down as the last of the previous three statements had, he turned away, staring up into a pale blue sky, off into the distance, his voice becoming detached. Disconnected. "My art is my occupation." Another connected statement. "My occupation is my business..." He begun to trail off, before simply pivoting his heel and pressing his face forward once more, his nose almost a centimetre from Alaina's, his face suspended in immortal image, barely quivering or trembling from the excitement of having a new plaything.
In that moment, something truly insane flashed in Ayden's eyes.
His pale, eerily giddy pallor was pressed so close to Alaina's she could smell the blood hanging off him and the cordite that clung to his clothes like a bad deodorant. He blinked; and his face held fast all aside from that, for a split-second, until his lips curled into a slow, lurching, low growl, and a finale to his great spiel. "...and business..." The corner of his lithe, slender lips turned up into a smirk. Then the smirk became a smile. The smile, a grin. And the grin widened and widened until it couldn't any further, and the skin around the silver-haired assassin's face was stretched so tight it almost looked like it was split, every last one of his perfectly-aligned opalescent teeth on full display.
The assassin could see that he was getting to her. And that, he liked.
"Why, of course it is!" He asserted, rather arrogantly. "For it is always an honour to be in the presence of a celebrity such as myself!" With a grin, he darted forwards towards Alaina once more. "Do you not know of me, child?!" He questioned her, with a look of mock surprise, his face pressed barely inches from her, before he blinked once with pale eyelids and shot backwards to begin a spiel.
"I am the king of killers, the sultan of slaughter, the emperor of all executioners~!" He pressed a hand to his chest and gasped, staring down into Alaina's eyes. "I am the unholy reaper of the Amestrian military, their chartered accountant when it comes to dealings with Death and delirium!" His mock surprise lasted but for a moment before his twirlings and gaspings ceased, and he walked closer to the shorter girl.
"I am..." Towering higher than her, almost a full foot, he bent his knees and knelt down onto one, the leather straining around his legs as he moved, looking dead-on into twin light violet orbs with his shimmering, quivering, piercing cerulean gaze. He breathed near-silently, his voice escaping in a silent wisp. "...the Blackskull Alchemist."
"I turn murder to music, and construct rhapsodies of blood and gunpowder," He stated, getting back up to his feet and brushing himself down, before revolving once more and throwing his hands out in false, murderous grandeur, like some sociopathic conductor. "I convert butchery to art, and paint a grand crimson trail behind me wherever I may go," His hands lowered, and he thrust them forwards through the air, aiming at Alaina, the third of a three-part speech taking a lower, more physical tone, less grandiose than the last two. "I switch slaying to literature, writing my own magnificent tale of shadow and flesh as I carve through my own book's pages."
With that, his hands fell to his sides. "My victims are my art." Continuing with tones slightly less full of vigour and giddiness, ramping down as the last of the previous three statements had, he turned away, staring up into a pale blue sky, off into the distance, his voice becoming detached. Disconnected. "My art is my occupation." Another connected statement. "My occupation is my business..." He begun to trail off, before simply pivoting his heel and pressing his face forward once more, his nose almost a centimetre from Alaina's, his face suspended in immortal image, barely quivering or trembling from the excitement of having a new plaything.
In that moment, something truly insane flashed in Ayden's eyes.
His pale, eerily giddy pallor was pressed so close to Alaina's she could smell the blood hanging off him and the cordite that clung to his clothes like a bad deodorant. He blinked; and his face held fast all aside from that, for a split-second, until his lips curled into a slow, lurching, low growl, and a finale to his great spiel. "...and business..." The corner of his lithe, slender lips turned up into a smirk. Then the smirk became a smile. The smile, a grin. And the grin widened and widened until it couldn't any further, and the skin around the silver-haired assassin's face was stretched so tight it almost looked like it was split, every last one of his perfectly-aligned opalescent teeth on full display.
Guest- Guest
Re: I'm Not Jesus
by Alaina LeClair Mon Apr 08, 2013 3:37 pm
"Why, of course it is! For it is always an honour to be in the presence of a celebrity such as myself!" Alaina blinked in confusion. Ayden was a celebrity? That wasn't something Alaina knew, or had even begun to guess. "Do you not know of me, child?!" Alaina gasped and flinched. As many times as Ayden had lunged towards her in the last few moments, she really should have been expecting it. "Ah...no." Alaina whispered, mostly to herself as Ayden stepped back and began.
"I am the king of killers, the sultan of slaughter, the emperor of all executioners~! I am the unholy reaper of the Amestrian military, their chartered accountant when it comes to dealings with Death and delirium!" As he spun and spoke, Alaina continued standing where she was. A statue frozen with fear and uncertainty.
"I am..." What a great moment to realize just how tall the man was. He loomed above her, at least by a good dozen inches. Alaina's eyes widened as he stepped ever closer to her. Alaina followed his eyes as he knelt down. She stared into his eyes, her own eyes darting just the tiniest bit, searching for some sign of what the man was going to do next. Alaina waited in pure silent agony for the rest of his sentence. "...the Blackskull Alchemist." Well, Alaina could only assume how he had gotten that name.
His next words sent shivers down Alaina's spine. "I turn murder to music, and construct rhapsodies of blood and gunpowder," Alaina trembled in fear as he continued. "I convert butchery to art, and paint a grand crimson trail behind me wherever I may go," Alaina could only watch as he moved and sliced the air with his hands, only adding more emphasis to his words. "I switch slaying to literature, writing my own magnificent tale of shadow and flesh as I carve through my own book's pages."
"My victims are my art." Alaina lalughed a bit in hysteria as he turned. "Well, I'm not very artistic, it would be no fun to kill me...." "My art is my occupation. My occupation is my business..." Alaina finally began to relax as his voice trailed off. Until of course he spun around and did that scary thing where he pressed his face oh so close to hers. But this time, something was noted within his eyes. Alaina was unsure if it were just her imagination, but she could have sworn she saw something scary flash through his eyes.
Alaina took a shaky breath as Ayden stood in front of her. Blood. The metallic, unmistakable smell of it hung in the air around Ayden. That combined with the smell of cordite made Alaina visibly shudder. "...and business..." If anything so far had frightened Alaina, she had to say it was the smile that began forming on Ayden's face. Her fear could only rise as his lips curved upward until all of his teeth were showing.
"...is good." Alaina nodded the slightest bit, so unsure of what to reply. She forced a teeny half smile onto her face and tried, and failed, to not sound scared when she replied. "That's good then..." A pause as Alaina contemplated saying something more intelligent. "I'm...glad." She wasn't, but there wasn't much else that she could think to say.
This man scared her, that was quite obvious to any bystander. His eyes, that odd grin, the way he felt such joy at killing; everything about him morphed into this form of terror. Trembling, stuttering, shaking - Alaina could hardly think around him. What she wouldn't have given to flash back into time and just run when she saw him. She'd be home right now enjoying a cup of hot coffee or something. Anything less nerve wracking than this.
"I am the king of killers, the sultan of slaughter, the emperor of all executioners~! I am the unholy reaper of the Amestrian military, their chartered accountant when it comes to dealings with Death and delirium!" As he spun and spoke, Alaina continued standing where she was. A statue frozen with fear and uncertainty.
"I am..." What a great moment to realize just how tall the man was. He loomed above her, at least by a good dozen inches. Alaina's eyes widened as he stepped ever closer to her. Alaina followed his eyes as he knelt down. She stared into his eyes, her own eyes darting just the tiniest bit, searching for some sign of what the man was going to do next. Alaina waited in pure silent agony for the rest of his sentence. "...the Blackskull Alchemist." Well, Alaina could only assume how he had gotten that name.
His next words sent shivers down Alaina's spine. "I turn murder to music, and construct rhapsodies of blood and gunpowder," Alaina trembled in fear as he continued. "I convert butchery to art, and paint a grand crimson trail behind me wherever I may go," Alaina could only watch as he moved and sliced the air with his hands, only adding more emphasis to his words. "I switch slaying to literature, writing my own magnificent tale of shadow and flesh as I carve through my own book's pages."
"My victims are my art." Alaina lalughed a bit in hysteria as he turned. "Well, I'm not very artistic, it would be no fun to kill me...." "My art is my occupation. My occupation is my business..." Alaina finally began to relax as his voice trailed off. Until of course he spun around and did that scary thing where he pressed his face oh so close to hers. But this time, something was noted within his eyes. Alaina was unsure if it were just her imagination, but she could have sworn she saw something scary flash through his eyes.
Alaina took a shaky breath as Ayden stood in front of her. Blood. The metallic, unmistakable smell of it hung in the air around Ayden. That combined with the smell of cordite made Alaina visibly shudder. "...and business..." If anything so far had frightened Alaina, she had to say it was the smile that began forming on Ayden's face. Her fear could only rise as his lips curved upward until all of his teeth were showing.
"...is good." Alaina nodded the slightest bit, so unsure of what to reply. She forced a teeny half smile onto her face and tried, and failed, to not sound scared when she replied. "That's good then..." A pause as Alaina contemplated saying something more intelligent. "I'm...glad." She wasn't, but there wasn't much else that she could think to say.
This man scared her, that was quite obvious to any bystander. His eyes, that odd grin, the way he felt such joy at killing; everything about him morphed into this form of terror. Trembling, stuttering, shaking - Alaina could hardly think around him. What she wouldn't have given to flash back into time and just run when she saw him. She'd be home right now enjoying a cup of hot coffee or something. Anything less nerve wracking than this.
Alaina LeClair- LOVER OF SHEEP
- Posts : 49
Points : 100
-Case File-
Level: 1
Rank: Soldier
Writer: Kaitlyn
Re: I'm Not Jesus
by Guest Mon Apr 08, 2013 8:41 pm
"Well, I'm not very artistic, it would be no fun to kill me...." Ayden mused on this, tapping his chin thoughtfully and drawing a pensive half-smile onto his face. She thought it true, but in actual fact... she was proving to be more artistic in her unwitting support than anything else. Truly an asset for his specific manner of art.
"Well, now," Ayden grinned, shrugging and throwing his hands up into the air. "I don't think you have a right to say that, in all honesty, Miss LeClair." He ducked his head in forwards, swooping over open turf and shaking his head to the side once more. "That conclusion would be mine to make, but since I have no basis to go on..." He mused for a moment more, drawing back and stroking the makings of a silvery-grey beard, before holding up a single leathery finger as if for some representation of mock enlightenment. "...we'll just have to experiment, and find out."
He was wondering what colour her brains were. Kind of, anyway. But he'd only gain a minimal amount of pleasure for killing someone with no challenge whatsoever when compared to the amount of satisfaction he'd get for messing with her and watching her stumble away, mentally and emotionally broken. He put a hand on her shoulder, and tried to offer the best sort of reassuring smile he could. Which was to say, a true failure. "I'm joking." Silence hung between them. "Probably."
"That's good then..." Ayden backed up and for once gave the girl a little silence and breathing room to herself, eyes full of scrutiny surveying her like the next target. "I'm...glad." It was pitiful just how much she was trying to play along with his little speech when the strain it was taking on her was easily visible. Break, goddamn it, break! A low snarl began to emanate from the pit of the assassin's stomach. It was time to ramp things up a notch. If she wanted to bluff along with him, that was all well and good. But she'd better be prepared to take things all the way.
Boredom hadn't yet struck him - she was intriguing still, just being too reclusive for his liking. "Isn't it just, though!?" He grinned, before putting on a look of mock, false consideration, and wagging his finger at her slowly. "You know, Miss LeClair, you're an astute type," He smiled wondrously at her, and moved in closely. "I have a feeling you may have an..." Hmm... how to word this. He spoke slowly, the words lurching forwards from his mouth laden in horrific suspense and tense foreboding. "...innate potential..." Perfect. "...for this line of work."
She didn't, obviously. She was far too cutesy and well-behaved for that. This was all just part of some grift, some major con, a great psychological blow that she had no voluntary choice in. Because if she was too fearful to take part, he'd just put her through it anyway. "Why don't we have a little test!?" With that, Ayden threw upon one side of his jacket, revealing - amongst a multitude of other weapons - a shimmering chrome hilt belonging to a handgun. Soulshredder. The primed, locked, and loaded .44 Magnum revolver, six shots, all freshly loaded. With his right hand, in a comparatively rapid movement, the assassin dove for the gun to draw it, and rose it almost instinctively in an arc.
The barrel settled for just a moment on Alaina's face - but only long enough to make her quiver in fear for a split-second, before the assassin's "reassuring" smile convinced her otherwise, and he spun the revolver in his hand. It was almost a gesture for the soldier to take it. Ayden, however, knew she wouldn't. "It's very simple, really, my dear," He knelt down to her, and picked up her right hand, taking it in his left, before planting it on the handgun. "You don't seem to have a weapon on you, so I thought I'd lend you one of my own..." The murderer murmured.
Without waiting for a physical response from Alaina - who herself was probably held in shock - he took her fingers, and one by one coiled them around the frame of the hefty revolver, even poking her index over the trigger as he rose the gun's frame. It was a heavy tool for such a petite body. "Don't drop it," He growled, forgetting his ploy for a moment. "That is a very expensive gun." He held his hands under hers, gloved and black, so as to provide adequate support for the cannon.
"Now," The alchemist announced, slowly taking his hands away, and letting Alaina adjust to the gun's weight. "I'll... presume that you don't have much experience with these sorts of affairs," That was a safe analysis. "But, really, it's not complicated at all." He grinned, switching positions; instead, this time, he moved behind her, and put one hand on her back, and the other on her shoulder, pivoting her around - no matter the resistance - to aim her hands, holding the gun, not off towards the building side of the pavement - but instead into the street.
People were conducting their business with such vigour and focus that they seemed to have forgotten the circumstances - the dead body, the black-clad assassin, and the small soldier now holding a gun over towards them. Darting up and down the sidewalk opposite to theirs were all manner of people, civilians, businessmen, blue-collar workers, your average Joe even up to the archetypical yuppie stereotype. "Now, all you have to do..." He grinned. Slowly, his head behind Alaina's, watching over her shoulder as she held the revolver. Ayden licked his lips. This was going to be... most delicious to observe. "...is choose your target..." His voice lowered to a seductive mutter of twisted, horrific temptation. As if she were Faust, and he were the Devil himself, in the former's Damnation. Those sorts of affairs always ended in tears.
In reality, he was doing nothing. All he'd given her were the tools and a little... push. Chaos would do the rest. Chaos and destiny. If their paths were inextricably woven, then perhaps Alaina would pull the trigger - oh, perhaps. But the thing about chaos was? As unpredictable as it could be... it was always fair. "...and..." Here it came, his head hovering over her shoulder, whispering serpentine lies into her ear. "...just give it..." The finale was approaching. Oh, what would she do, what would she do, what would she do!? Every fibre in his being quivered in eager anticipation, like a hopeless franchise fanboy waiting for the climax of the latest installment. "...a little..."
Then that trademark, devilish grin slipped onto his face. "...squeeze."
"Well, now," Ayden grinned, shrugging and throwing his hands up into the air. "I don't think you have a right to say that, in all honesty, Miss LeClair." He ducked his head in forwards, swooping over open turf and shaking his head to the side once more. "That conclusion would be mine to make, but since I have no basis to go on..." He mused for a moment more, drawing back and stroking the makings of a silvery-grey beard, before holding up a single leathery finger as if for some representation of mock enlightenment. "...we'll just have to experiment, and find out."
He was wondering what colour her brains were. Kind of, anyway. But he'd only gain a minimal amount of pleasure for killing someone with no challenge whatsoever when compared to the amount of satisfaction he'd get for messing with her and watching her stumble away, mentally and emotionally broken. He put a hand on her shoulder, and tried to offer the best sort of reassuring smile he could. Which was to say, a true failure. "I'm joking." Silence hung between them. "Probably."
"That's good then..." Ayden backed up and for once gave the girl a little silence and breathing room to herself, eyes full of scrutiny surveying her like the next target. "I'm...glad." It was pitiful just how much she was trying to play along with his little speech when the strain it was taking on her was easily visible. Break, goddamn it, break! A low snarl began to emanate from the pit of the assassin's stomach. It was time to ramp things up a notch. If she wanted to bluff along with him, that was all well and good. But she'd better be prepared to take things all the way.
Boredom hadn't yet struck him - she was intriguing still, just being too reclusive for his liking. "Isn't it just, though!?" He grinned, before putting on a look of mock, false consideration, and wagging his finger at her slowly. "You know, Miss LeClair, you're an astute type," He smiled wondrously at her, and moved in closely. "I have a feeling you may have an..." Hmm... how to word this. He spoke slowly, the words lurching forwards from his mouth laden in horrific suspense and tense foreboding. "...innate potential..." Perfect. "...for this line of work."
She didn't, obviously. She was far too cutesy and well-behaved for that. This was all just part of some grift, some major con, a great psychological blow that she had no voluntary choice in. Because if she was too fearful to take part, he'd just put her through it anyway. "Why don't we have a little test!?" With that, Ayden threw upon one side of his jacket, revealing - amongst a multitude of other weapons - a shimmering chrome hilt belonging to a handgun. Soulshredder. The primed, locked, and loaded .44 Magnum revolver, six shots, all freshly loaded. With his right hand, in a comparatively rapid movement, the assassin dove for the gun to draw it, and rose it almost instinctively in an arc.
The barrel settled for just a moment on Alaina's face - but only long enough to make her quiver in fear for a split-second, before the assassin's "reassuring" smile convinced her otherwise, and he spun the revolver in his hand. It was almost a gesture for the soldier to take it. Ayden, however, knew she wouldn't. "It's very simple, really, my dear," He knelt down to her, and picked up her right hand, taking it in his left, before planting it on the handgun. "You don't seem to have a weapon on you, so I thought I'd lend you one of my own..." The murderer murmured.
Without waiting for a physical response from Alaina - who herself was probably held in shock - he took her fingers, and one by one coiled them around the frame of the hefty revolver, even poking her index over the trigger as he rose the gun's frame. It was a heavy tool for such a petite body. "Don't drop it," He growled, forgetting his ploy for a moment. "That is a very expensive gun." He held his hands under hers, gloved and black, so as to provide adequate support for the cannon.
"Now," The alchemist announced, slowly taking his hands away, and letting Alaina adjust to the gun's weight. "I'll... presume that you don't have much experience with these sorts of affairs," That was a safe analysis. "But, really, it's not complicated at all." He grinned, switching positions; instead, this time, he moved behind her, and put one hand on her back, and the other on her shoulder, pivoting her around - no matter the resistance - to aim her hands, holding the gun, not off towards the building side of the pavement - but instead into the street.
People were conducting their business with such vigour and focus that they seemed to have forgotten the circumstances - the dead body, the black-clad assassin, and the small soldier now holding a gun over towards them. Darting up and down the sidewalk opposite to theirs were all manner of people, civilians, businessmen, blue-collar workers, your average Joe even up to the archetypical yuppie stereotype. "Now, all you have to do..." He grinned. Slowly, his head behind Alaina's, watching over her shoulder as she held the revolver. Ayden licked his lips. This was going to be... most delicious to observe. "...is choose your target..." His voice lowered to a seductive mutter of twisted, horrific temptation. As if she were Faust, and he were the Devil himself, in the former's Damnation. Those sorts of affairs always ended in tears.
In reality, he was doing nothing. All he'd given her were the tools and a little... push. Chaos would do the rest. Chaos and destiny. If their paths were inextricably woven, then perhaps Alaina would pull the trigger - oh, perhaps. But the thing about chaos was? As unpredictable as it could be... it was always fair. "...and..." Here it came, his head hovering over her shoulder, whispering serpentine lies into her ear. "...just give it..." The finale was approaching. Oh, what would she do, what would she do, what would she do!? Every fibre in his being quivered in eager anticipation, like a hopeless franchise fanboy waiting for the climax of the latest installment. "...a little..."
Then that trademark, devilish grin slipped onto his face. "...squeeze."
Guest- Guest
Re: I'm Not Jesus
by Alaina LeClair Mon Apr 08, 2013 10:48 pm
"Well, now, I don't think you have a right to say that, in all honesty, Miss LeClair." Alaina blinked, she really would care to differ but there was no way she was going to argue with Ayden. She valued her life too much. "That conclusion would be mine to make, but since I have no basis to go on..." Alaina watched as he stroked his chin. Certainly he didnt mean... "...we'll just have to experiment, and find out." Ah, Alaina was not a fan of that idea. In fact, she was VERY against that idea. She voiced her opinion on that statement with a small, involuntary whimper.
Alaina blinked, her violet eyes bright with fear. The smile he offered her as he put a hand on her shoulder might have been to reassure her, but all it did was make her feel worse. That crazy grin of his was like those of nightmares. "I'm joking." Alaina stood like a statue as the silence draped over them. This time a quietness of something akin to relief. Yes, Mr. Derocha had to be joking. "Probably." Oh dear...
Alaina backed away as she thought she heard the man growl. "Isn't it just, though!? You know, Miss LeClair, you're an astute type," Back in close to her. Alaina was beginning to get somewhat used to the way he would zoom in on her. She didn't even flinch, too badly, when he brought his face close to hers. "I have a feeling you may have an..." Alaina really didn't like that pause. His words left his mouth slowly, his speech dramatic and downright frightful.. "...innate potential..." Uh oh. Potential? For...? "...for this line of work."
Alaina was sure that whatever he meant by that was false. Given the style of this Mr Derocha, she was quite sure that she wasn't fit for anything of his sorts. "Why don't we have a little test!?" Alaina shook her head the tiniest bit, not realizing that she was. Why don't we not? Alaina watched the grandeur with with he flung open his jacket. It wasn't too much of a surprise as to what would be inside, but Alaina couldn't supress a tiny groan. Of course it would be guns.
A revolver it was. That's about all Alaina knew of the gun. For a militant, she wasn't very studied on the types of weapons. Alaina jerked in terror as the barrel found its way to her face. Alaina was just about to let out a stream of helpless "no"s before Ayden offered her a smile and spun the revolver around. "It's very simple, really, my dear," What? What was so simple? Surely he didn't want her to shoot at something. Alaina let her hand be picked up as she contemplated what it was that he wanted her to do. Confusion, with a dab (or two or three) of fear mixed upon her face to form a strange grimace. "You don't seem to have a weapon on you, so I thought I'd lend you one of my own..." Ah? What? No. Alaina didn't want this. Why was this man even doing this?
Alaina froze up in shock, unable to will her fingers to hold the gun. Ayden was there to curve her fingers around the revolver, and she let him without so much as a word - not as if she would have argued anyway. It wasn't exactly wise to voice out one's thoughts to a man holding a deadly weapon. Ayden growled at her just as she registered the weight of the weapon. "Don't drop it," For a small gun it was certainly heavy, that or Alaina just wasnt used to holding such weapons. "That is a very expensive gun." Alaina's arms shook just a bit as he held his hands under hers. Whether from fear or the weight of the weapon.
"Now," Alaina faltered a moment as Ayden toom his hands away. The weight of the gun was unexpected, but it only took her a moment to hold it steady. "I'll... presume that you don't have much experience with these sorts of affairs," Alaina shook her head as he continhed. "But, really, it's not complicated at all." Was he going to teach her to shoot? Here in public? Now that was odd. There weren't exactly any targets around to practice on. As Ayden moved around behind her and spun her towards the street full of peolle, she realized exactly what he had in mind.
People walked along, getting along with their lives. Everyone from the average middle-class worker to the upper fancy businessmen made their way across streets. Men with dogs, women with small children. Each being holding a different destination for a different reason. They seemed so oblivious to the scene on the sidewalk. Had no one noticed the dead body? Maybe, if Alaina hoped hard enough, this would turn ot to be nothing more than a mere nightmare. She'd be waking up any moment now.
"Now, all you have to do..." Alaina shivered as he brought his head over her shoulder. There was no way... "...is choose your target..." His voice took on a different one. One that not only scared Alaina, but it tempted her.
"...and..." His voice had become a whisper. A deadly whisler that sent a chill down Alaina's spine. "...justgiveit..." Alaina's heart sped up as she felt him quiver behind her. Or maybe that was her own body shaking. She wasn't really sure. "...alittle..."
"...squeeze."
Alaina stared off at the area before her. A person. He wanted her to shoot....a person? No. No, she couldn't. It was wrong. Those people. So innocent. They all had lives to live, families to raise, promises to fulfill. Alaina couldn't take that away from them.As much as she believed this, she couldn't stop trembling. The blood pounded in her ears, deafening her. The bustle of people, car horns, birds chirping, that child begging for a dollar to buy an ice cream cone; it all fell away. All Alaina could hear wasthe steady thrum of her heard. Thump, thump, thump.
She couldn't do this. It was wrong. But something in her wanted to. This inhuman fire within her sprung forth and consumed her. Her blood coursed through her veins, heart pumping quickly to dispatch the fire throughout her body. Just aim. Alaina's hands shook badly as she lined up the gun with a middleaged man standing at a crosswalk. Her mind went through terrible turmoil. She wasn't like this. She couldn't just kill a man! But at the same time, she was afraid. So afraid of herself that she had to do it. She couldn't even think. Her thoughts had long since left her. She had to bite her lip to force back a scream, her hands still shaking with indecision.
Without another thought, Alaina got it over with. Her finger squeezed around the trigger before she could even think about it. Alaina let out a short scream, drowned by the loud bang the gun emitted. Civilians raced about in fear, cars swerved and continued onward. A woman frabbed her child and raced for safety. A young man and his eldeerly father quickly shuffled across the street.
But him. The man Alaina had been aiming for was gone. She could see his figure disappear around the corner as he sprinted away. She had missed. The man was alive because she had missed. Everything rushed back to her. The birds cawing their warnings as they beat their wings against the air, flying away from the threat. Screams pierced the air and car horns blared. She didn't even realize she was crying until she felt warm tears roll down her cheeks.
Her arms shook as she turned and pressed the gun to Ayden's hands. She didn't even bother to wait for him to properly take it before she sunk to the ground. Her knees connected painfully with the ground as her limbs gave out, but she didn't feel it. Sobs wracked her body as she stared off at the corner the man had been on. "I cant-! I..." Alaina shook her head furiously and tried to wipe away the tears that streamed from her eyes. "I-I'm sorry. I c-can't...no...no...no..." Alaina wrapped her arms around her body and leaned forward, her bangs hiding her eyes as she continued to murmur "no"s between her broken sobs.
"No...Don't make me...please..."
Alaina blinked, her violet eyes bright with fear. The smile he offered her as he put a hand on her shoulder might have been to reassure her, but all it did was make her feel worse. That crazy grin of his was like those of nightmares. "I'm joking." Alaina stood like a statue as the silence draped over them. This time a quietness of something akin to relief. Yes, Mr. Derocha had to be joking. "Probably." Oh dear...
Alaina backed away as she thought she heard the man growl. "Isn't it just, though!? You know, Miss LeClair, you're an astute type," Back in close to her. Alaina was beginning to get somewhat used to the way he would zoom in on her. She didn't even flinch, too badly, when he brought his face close to hers. "I have a feeling you may have an..." Alaina really didn't like that pause. His words left his mouth slowly, his speech dramatic and downright frightful.. "...innate potential..." Uh oh. Potential? For...? "...for this line of work."
Alaina was sure that whatever he meant by that was false. Given the style of this Mr Derocha, she was quite sure that she wasn't fit for anything of his sorts. "Why don't we have a little test!?" Alaina shook her head the tiniest bit, not realizing that she was. Why don't we not? Alaina watched the grandeur with with he flung open his jacket. It wasn't too much of a surprise as to what would be inside, but Alaina couldn't supress a tiny groan. Of course it would be guns.
A revolver it was. That's about all Alaina knew of the gun. For a militant, she wasn't very studied on the types of weapons. Alaina jerked in terror as the barrel found its way to her face. Alaina was just about to let out a stream of helpless "no"s before Ayden offered her a smile and spun the revolver around. "It's very simple, really, my dear," What? What was so simple? Surely he didn't want her to shoot at something. Alaina let her hand be picked up as she contemplated what it was that he wanted her to do. Confusion, with a dab (or two or three) of fear mixed upon her face to form a strange grimace. "You don't seem to have a weapon on you, so I thought I'd lend you one of my own..." Ah? What? No. Alaina didn't want this. Why was this man even doing this?
Alaina froze up in shock, unable to will her fingers to hold the gun. Ayden was there to curve her fingers around the revolver, and she let him without so much as a word - not as if she would have argued anyway. It wasn't exactly wise to voice out one's thoughts to a man holding a deadly weapon. Ayden growled at her just as she registered the weight of the weapon. "Don't drop it," For a small gun it was certainly heavy, that or Alaina just wasnt used to holding such weapons. "That is a very expensive gun." Alaina's arms shook just a bit as he held his hands under hers. Whether from fear or the weight of the weapon.
"Now," Alaina faltered a moment as Ayden toom his hands away. The weight of the gun was unexpected, but it only took her a moment to hold it steady. "I'll... presume that you don't have much experience with these sorts of affairs," Alaina shook her head as he continhed. "But, really, it's not complicated at all." Was he going to teach her to shoot? Here in public? Now that was odd. There weren't exactly any targets around to practice on. As Ayden moved around behind her and spun her towards the street full of peolle, she realized exactly what he had in mind.
People walked along, getting along with their lives. Everyone from the average middle-class worker to the upper fancy businessmen made their way across streets. Men with dogs, women with small children. Each being holding a different destination for a different reason. They seemed so oblivious to the scene on the sidewalk. Had no one noticed the dead body? Maybe, if Alaina hoped hard enough, this would turn ot to be nothing more than a mere nightmare. She'd be waking up any moment now.
"Now, all you have to do..." Alaina shivered as he brought his head over her shoulder. There was no way... "...is choose your target..." His voice took on a different one. One that not only scared Alaina, but it tempted her.
"...and..." His voice had become a whisper. A deadly whisler that sent a chill down Alaina's spine. "...justgiveit..." Alaina's heart sped up as she felt him quiver behind her. Or maybe that was her own body shaking. She wasn't really sure. "...alittle..."
"...squeeze."
Alaina stared off at the area before her. A person. He wanted her to shoot....a person? No. No, she couldn't. It was wrong. Those people. So innocent. They all had lives to live, families to raise, promises to fulfill. Alaina couldn't take that away from them.As much as she believed this, she couldn't stop trembling. The blood pounded in her ears, deafening her. The bustle of people, car horns, birds chirping, that child begging for a dollar to buy an ice cream cone; it all fell away. All Alaina could hear wasthe steady thrum of her heard. Thump, thump, thump.
She couldn't do this. It was wrong. But something in her wanted to. This inhuman fire within her sprung forth and consumed her. Her blood coursed through her veins, heart pumping quickly to dispatch the fire throughout her body. Just aim. Alaina's hands shook badly as she lined up the gun with a middleaged man standing at a crosswalk. Her mind went through terrible turmoil. She wasn't like this. She couldn't just kill a man! But at the same time, she was afraid. So afraid of herself that she had to do it. She couldn't even think. Her thoughts had long since left her. She had to bite her lip to force back a scream, her hands still shaking with indecision.
Without another thought, Alaina got it over with. Her finger squeezed around the trigger before she could even think about it. Alaina let out a short scream, drowned by the loud bang the gun emitted. Civilians raced about in fear, cars swerved and continued onward. A woman frabbed her child and raced for safety. A young man and his eldeerly father quickly shuffled across the street.
But him. The man Alaina had been aiming for was gone. She could see his figure disappear around the corner as he sprinted away. She had missed. The man was alive because she had missed. Everything rushed back to her. The birds cawing their warnings as they beat their wings against the air, flying away from the threat. Screams pierced the air and car horns blared. She didn't even realize she was crying until she felt warm tears roll down her cheeks.
Her arms shook as she turned and pressed the gun to Ayden's hands. She didn't even bother to wait for him to properly take it before she sunk to the ground. Her knees connected painfully with the ground as her limbs gave out, but she didn't feel it. Sobs wracked her body as she stared off at the corner the man had been on. "I cant-! I..." Alaina shook her head furiously and tried to wipe away the tears that streamed from her eyes. "I-I'm sorry. I c-can't...no...no...no..." Alaina wrapped her arms around her body and leaned forward, her bangs hiding her eyes as she continued to murmur "no"s between her broken sobs.
"No...Don't make me...please..."
Alaina LeClair- LOVER OF SHEEP
- Posts : 49
Points : 100
-Case File-
Level: 1
Rank: Soldier
Writer: Kaitlyn
Re: I'm Not Jesus
by Guest Tue Apr 09, 2013 4:28 pm
CRACK. Well. "I cant-! I..." That much had been made clear, Ayden observed. She'd actually pulled the trigger. Though whilst maybe his words and his actions had gone a way towards contributing, her aim was still somewhat off, so all Alaina had done was give a few people the frights. She pushed away and planted the revolver back into his hand, quivering and trembling as streams of tears begun to flow from her eyes.
Smoke trailed up in small, thin wisps from the barrel of the engraved Colt revolver, as Ayden eased the hammer back down and smiled to himself, rolling the cylinder out and looking for the single empty shell contained within - it was easy enough, all of the others had unmarked, fresh, glimmering casings, but a single jacket was pressed with a small black indent from where the firing pin had struck and ignited the propellant within. Having pocketed the spare nine-millimetre round from the sub-machine gun, he played with the cylinder for a bit, before tipping all of the bullets - five unspent and one spent - out into his hand, snapping the cylinder back into the frame with a flick of his wrist, and holstered the unloaded revolver at his belt with a smile. "I-I'm sorry. I c-can't...no...no...no..."
Well, now, that was all mindset. A touch of training down the shooting range and a little more belief in herself was what this girl needed; and that would set the ball rolling, add a little momentum to these hypothetical events. With here, she could be reborn in her ashes, rise a great, blood-drenched, murderous phoenix, whose origin the one-and-only silver-haired assassin would have had a leading part within. Smiling in an unsettling manner at the girl as she had dropped to the floor, her knees buckling as she held herself tight and rocked back and forth. Ayden yanked open his car door, and made straight for the glove compartment on the opposite side, pulling it open, and reaching for an item he instinctively knew to be within, amongst other spare clips and nondescript jars. A forty-two round box of .44 magnum bullets.
Within, the brass casings and copper tips rattled within their foam placements as Ayden pulled the box itself out from the car with a small groan of exertion. "No...Don't make me...please..." The assassin half-sighed and half-growled, regarding the girl on the ground with a look of contempt and disappointment, shaking his head. For once, that gleeful, eerie smile had faltered into an expression. One that was - for him - unusually... neutral.
The assassin spoke next with truth and confidence in his voice. "I never made you, and I never would, nor could, have done." Rays of brilliance twinkled in that cerulean gaze. He popped the thick cardboard lid from the top of the box, revealing a corner where there were six empty slots. Slowly, one by one, he begun to take the full rounds from the revolver, slotting them back into their places. "You had all the choice you needed in this matter, Miss LeClair. I simply gave you the tools, presented you with the opportunity." He shrugged. "It was nothing to do with me."
"What you did..." He paused for a pensive moment and a minor addendum. He pushed closer for but a moment, before rearing backwards. ...what you could have done..." The assassin slotted the top of the box back on, having left a single empty hole within. "...was of your own free will." And that was what made it all the scarier for her, Ayden thought to himself. For it represented that whilst it was not an active part of her personality as such, Alaina had the capacity to pull that trigger, the hidden potential. To be a killer. And for most people, that was what broke him. The choice they made - in any of the circumstances this shimmering-haired chessmaster presented them with.
In one hand, he held the box of bullets, bar one, and the other, he held the single, spent cartridge casing. He knelt down by Alaina, and laid a leather-clad hand on her wrist, tearing it forwards from her insecure self-embrace, and planted the box into hers. "War is coming, and it will come for all of us, Miss LeClair. You, I am afraid, are no exception to that." He let her register the fact that she had the bullets there, before taking her other hand, and, holding between thumb and forefinger the single spent casing that she had fired, a touch of the initial warmth from priming and ignition there. "Now..." And in a single split-second, he cocked his head, and that smile returned in full.
"Is it better that you learn from me, on the right end of a gun..." Ayden drummed the top of the box of bullets with an air of arrogance around him. In embossed, raised, white, capital print, read: ".44 MAGNUM - BLANK ROUNDS" "...or from RIOTE, on the wrong one?" With that, the assassin made a gesture at the top of his head not dissimilar from the tipping of a non-existent hat, beaming at the girl. He'd leave her with that sentiment - twisted, broken, mentality crushed... and the potential to be reborn if she so chose.
"Unfortunately, Miss LeClair, I'd positively love to stay for a spot of lunch or something along those lines..." Kicking the limp, bloody torso of Mr. Irlov aside absentmindedly, he stepped down from the sidewalk and made as if he were about to get into the car. "...but, I'm a busy man, and, as you can see from our dearly departed Drachman comrade, duty very much does call, for me," A little snide, chiding insult lay underneath his tones, subliminally, but, as one could gather from observation, that was the least of Alaina's worries. Something brilliantly insane twinkled in that azure gaze. "You know how it is. Things to do, places to see," He continued on with a little choral chant beneath the tones of his voice, pausing for but a moment, before: "...people to kill."
"But, this really has been fun~!" Ayden stated, almost surprised to find himself saying that. "We should do it again sometime." The assassin mused to himself, before sidling into the driver's seat and twisting the key in the ignition. The Audi quietly and smoothly hummed into life, the engine emitting a consistent, high-pitched grumble. "Well, best wishes, my condolences, all the best to the family, and so on, and so forth, et cetera, you know the rest." He murmured quickly, before yanking the door shut, rolling down the window, and driving off into the sunset with a final phrase before that haunting laugh filled every inch of the freshly-vacant portion of the streets, a twisted, proud, dark grin on his face, almost an engraving into his flesh for its semi-permanent nature.
Smoke trailed up in small, thin wisps from the barrel of the engraved Colt revolver, as Ayden eased the hammer back down and smiled to himself, rolling the cylinder out and looking for the single empty shell contained within - it was easy enough, all of the others had unmarked, fresh, glimmering casings, but a single jacket was pressed with a small black indent from where the firing pin had struck and ignited the propellant within. Having pocketed the spare nine-millimetre round from the sub-machine gun, he played with the cylinder for a bit, before tipping all of the bullets - five unspent and one spent - out into his hand, snapping the cylinder back into the frame with a flick of his wrist, and holstered the unloaded revolver at his belt with a smile. "I-I'm sorry. I c-can't...no...no...no..."
Well, now, that was all mindset. A touch of training down the shooting range and a little more belief in herself was what this girl needed; and that would set the ball rolling, add a little momentum to these hypothetical events. With here, she could be reborn in her ashes, rise a great, blood-drenched, murderous phoenix, whose origin the one-and-only silver-haired assassin would have had a leading part within. Smiling in an unsettling manner at the girl as she had dropped to the floor, her knees buckling as she held herself tight and rocked back and forth. Ayden yanked open his car door, and made straight for the glove compartment on the opposite side, pulling it open, and reaching for an item he instinctively knew to be within, amongst other spare clips and nondescript jars. A forty-two round box of .44 magnum bullets.
Within, the brass casings and copper tips rattled within their foam placements as Ayden pulled the box itself out from the car with a small groan of exertion. "No...Don't make me...please..." The assassin half-sighed and half-growled, regarding the girl on the ground with a look of contempt and disappointment, shaking his head. For once, that gleeful, eerie smile had faltered into an expression. One that was - for him - unusually... neutral.
The assassin spoke next with truth and confidence in his voice. "I never made you, and I never would, nor could, have done." Rays of brilliance twinkled in that cerulean gaze. He popped the thick cardboard lid from the top of the box, revealing a corner where there were six empty slots. Slowly, one by one, he begun to take the full rounds from the revolver, slotting them back into their places. "You had all the choice you needed in this matter, Miss LeClair. I simply gave you the tools, presented you with the opportunity." He shrugged. "It was nothing to do with me."
"What you did..." He paused for a pensive moment and a minor addendum. He pushed closer for but a moment, before rearing backwards. ...what you could have done..." The assassin slotted the top of the box back on, having left a single empty hole within. "...was of your own free will." And that was what made it all the scarier for her, Ayden thought to himself. For it represented that whilst it was not an active part of her personality as such, Alaina had the capacity to pull that trigger, the hidden potential. To be a killer. And for most people, that was what broke him. The choice they made - in any of the circumstances this shimmering-haired chessmaster presented them with.
In one hand, he held the box of bullets, bar one, and the other, he held the single, spent cartridge casing. He knelt down by Alaina, and laid a leather-clad hand on her wrist, tearing it forwards from her insecure self-embrace, and planted the box into hers. "War is coming, and it will come for all of us, Miss LeClair. You, I am afraid, are no exception to that." He let her register the fact that she had the bullets there, before taking her other hand, and, holding between thumb and forefinger the single spent casing that she had fired, a touch of the initial warmth from priming and ignition there. "Now..." And in a single split-second, he cocked his head, and that smile returned in full.
"Is it better that you learn from me, on the right end of a gun..." Ayden drummed the top of the box of bullets with an air of arrogance around him. In embossed, raised, white, capital print, read: ".44 MAGNUM - BLANK ROUNDS" "...or from RIOTE, on the wrong one?" With that, the assassin made a gesture at the top of his head not dissimilar from the tipping of a non-existent hat, beaming at the girl. He'd leave her with that sentiment - twisted, broken, mentality crushed... and the potential to be reborn if she so chose.
"Unfortunately, Miss LeClair, I'd positively love to stay for a spot of lunch or something along those lines..." Kicking the limp, bloody torso of Mr. Irlov aside absentmindedly, he stepped down from the sidewalk and made as if he were about to get into the car. "...but, I'm a busy man, and, as you can see from our dearly departed Drachman comrade, duty very much does call, for me," A little snide, chiding insult lay underneath his tones, subliminally, but, as one could gather from observation, that was the least of Alaina's worries. Something brilliantly insane twinkled in that azure gaze. "You know how it is. Things to do, places to see," He continued on with a little choral chant beneath the tones of his voice, pausing for but a moment, before: "...people to kill."
"But, this really has been fun~!" Ayden stated, almost surprised to find himself saying that. "We should do it again sometime." The assassin mused to himself, before sidling into the driver's seat and twisting the key in the ignition. The Audi quietly and smoothly hummed into life, the engine emitting a consistent, high-pitched grumble. "Well, best wishes, my condolences, all the best to the family, and so on, and so forth, et cetera, you know the rest." He murmured quickly, before yanking the door shut, rolling down the window, and driving off into the sunset with a final phrase before that haunting laugh filled every inch of the freshly-vacant portion of the streets, a twisted, proud, dark grin on his face, almost an engraving into his flesh for its semi-permanent nature.
"GOODBYE, NOW~! GYAHAHAHAHAHAAAAH!"
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