Fiend: Thread Two, the Rethreading [Exalted/Worm]
- Thread starter logiccosmic
- Start date
NSMS
Probably evil, unfortunately.
- Location
- A rapidly widening tear in the fabric of reality
I think THotDT lets you do that, yeah. So you'd still have a drawback, just one that's more natural for you.Essex said:
Biigoh
Tanuki
- Location
- Tanukia
Perhaps the name wasn't the best of names... but is exalted/raksha.Ramenth said:
Indeed.Kelenas said:
Guesses on what type of apartment Damsel got?
I'm leaning towards either a really obvious scenic location on a high floor(To watch for trouble!), renting out an entire building(to help keep our activities a secret), or someplace underground with little light, especially with a lot of room & abandoned furniture she can practice blowing up.
I'm leaning towards either a really obvious scenic location on a high floor(To watch for trouble!), renting out an entire building(to help keep our activities a secret), or someplace underground with little light, especially with a lot of room & abandoned furniture she can practice blowing up.
Arthur Hansen
Author of no Authority.
- Location
- Utah, behind the Zion Curtain.
The dark basement is probably likely. I don't think she's got enough money to really get something nice.
Doesn't Taylor have millions of dollars now? I don't think cash is much of an issue.arthurh3535 said:
Arthur Hansen
Author of no Authority.
- Location
- Utah, behind the Zion Curtain.
It would also make waves.
I think you're correct. She's done millions of dollars in damage, but most of that she couldn't keep.Blade4 said:
I get the impression that whatever she chooses Damsel is going in big. Maybe a smart choice or a bad choice but I think she really wants to impress Taylor especially with trusting her with this kind of situation. Given how the writing in the story is playing out & she saw Taylor's shadow powers I tend to think she's going to go for a basement or underground place again probably somewhere with few nearby tenants & lots of empty space.
Angry Indian spirit shows up.Guile said:
Spirit: "Who are you to desecrate this place? BEGONE!"
Taylor: Godscorch Invective
Spirit: "AAAAAAAAARRRRRGHHH, I'm dead. How the fuck am I on fire?"
What about a building in the slums?Ramenth said:
Valuable for them since it keeps them close to where they'll patrol for crimes, little or not attention from police or other authorities so greater freedom to lay out tools or arms.
Arthur Hansen
Author of no Authority.
- Location
- Utah, behind the Zion Curtain.
Prices on renting a bad apartment in Manhattan... are pretty ludicrous. I think they start at $3-5k for a hole in the wall studio apartment.
Evillevi
A Pikachu for everything - Shadow Pikachu,2015
Potentially lower since Behemoth (?) had attacked it once if I recall correctlyarthurh3535 said:
Dimensionist
Grandmaster of Apologism, Keeper of the Faith
- Location
- Bangalore, India
How much to buy an apartment, not just rent one?
Dimensionist
Grandmaster of Apologism, Keeper of the Faith
- Location
- Bangalore, India
Hm, so they'll likely be renting an apartment, not buying one.
Sure hope they'll be able to maintain their money-making ...
Sure hope they'll be able to maintain their money-making ...
25
logiccosmic
the Prince of Word Crimes
- Location
- the Hague, formerly
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Operation Wyldhand 5.11
"Great. And I got costumes, or at least got them started," I answered, walking to some place to change. I certainly hadn't wanted to disguise myself in the club, and I couldn't travel with my own face. I looked over my shoulder, as Daphne replied.
"Really? How much did he charge for them? I got told it was usually over fifty thousand, but I don't know if they were lying to me."
"Two fifty," I said, slightly worried that I had been ripped off. If so, I was sure a demonstration of my displeasure with his intractability would suffice. Just not today - it wasn't easy being something I wasn't, and being a thug or bully wasn't what I wanted to be. But those sort of people only responded to likeminded individuals.
Up to the point that I was leaving horse heads in their bedrooms at least, at which point it was either mindless terror or berserker rage.
"You got something cool, because that sounds way too expensive. Wait, don't tell me! 59th and 6th Avenue, corner building. Tell the doorman you're my sister, Danielle. Hurry!"
And she hung up. A doorman? What kind of apartment building had a doorman? I checked around me, and seeing no one, pressed up against a car, the mid morning sun casting enough shadow. The familiar feeling of cool, ephemeral shadowy fingers passed over me, and I looked in the car's side mirror.
Subtle alterations to my face and body left me looking like Daphne's younger sister, only with black hair instead of white. And Weaver's sunglasses. I stood, and kept walking, quickly in the brisk wind. I saw a cab pass by ahead of me, at the cross street, and I whistled while waving my hand. And he drove right by, a passenger visible in the back. How irritating.
I waited, looking up and down both streets, until my eye caught a flash of yellow. I stepped off the curb between two parked cars, waving, and he, or rather, she, stopped in front of me. I opened the rear door and plopped in the seat, before shouting over the blasting music, "59th Street and 6th Avenue!"
Her reply was indistinguishable, but we drove off. I could only hope in the right direction, and I was certain I was going to have a headache from the noise.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
I was surprised, and very relieved, when the cab finally stopped. On my right there were buildings, but to my left was Central Park. Not quite what I had expected. I gave the cabbie exact fare, not wanting to tip after that impromptu personal concert. I walked up to the corner building, a stately building made of pale stone. A man, in a uniform and looking bored but trying to hide it, was standing in front of the door, right underneath the awning.
Really not what I had expected. I strode right to the doorman, and drew a blank. What was Daphne's last name? He would expect it, if I was to pass as her sister. Well, I could just go around the corner and call. Instead, the doorman removed the choice from me.
"Can I help you, miss?"
Damn. My options were limited, with no power usage if I didn't want to be identified as Defiler. I lied, looking slightly dazed and confused, "Well, my sister Daphne told me to come here, she said something about an apartment, but I don't know where she told me to go, and my cell phone is dead. I can't call her, and I've been trying to figure out what she said, and I had to pay the cabbie the rest of my money on hand, and now I-"
"Miss, you wouldn't happen to be Danielle Waldon, would you?" he interrupted, not unkindly.
"Yes," I said, not faking my relief in the least.
"5th Floor, unit D. She just got here. I'm sure she's waiting for you."
"Thank you so much!" I said, channeling Madison for maximum girliness. The nice warm air felt terrific inside, and I made a show of trying to find the elevators. The person behind the desk- there was a desk, complete with a young woman manning it, was it a hotel? - pointed to her right, and I gave a friendly wave. The far elevator opened, right as I hit the button, and I practically flew in. I pressed the 5, and waited. A few moments later, I stepped out into a carpeted hallway, and headed for the door with 5D on it. I knocked, and not five seconds later, Daphne yanked the door open and dragged me in.
"Taylor- Look!"
Pulled along by my arm into the what I assumed was the living room, I noted the lack of furnishings, the wood floors uncovered. I tried to ask Daphne, "How-"
"See! Two bedrooms, both with a view, and their own bathroom."
I dutifully looked, noting that Daphne had put her backpack in the smaller one, leaning up against a closet door, before I was again dragged further into the tour. She pulled into what was evidently my bedroom, from her luggage placement. A large window looked out to the building across the street, and in the far corner, Central Park was visible. We reached my bathroom after I took a quick glance at the multitude of closets. The bathroom had both a shower and a tub, and she stopped at the tub, which was full of water.
"Look! It makes bubbles without soap!"
Daphne pressed a button on its side, and the tub started gurgling, little bubbles floating up. She turned to me, smiling, and said "Nice, right?"
"Very nice," I replied, trying to figure out how to phrase my question in a way not to hurt her feelings. I had a teammate, who was trying to be my friend. I didn't want to scare her off. "How did you get this apartment so fast?"
"Oh, easy. I just called, and said I was moving my business to the city, and I needed a place for a young businesswoman and her sister."
"Business?" I echoed, confused.
"Business," she grinned perkily, before explaining, "A huge amount of cash just dropping in my account would be a super big red flag, and would end with cops at our door. So... right now I am the proud owner of a catering and food truck company. It's better than dancing, or bartending."
"You own a catering company," I repeated flatly.
"Well, you are looking at the entire staff," she said with a wink, "but yes, I own a catering company," she proudly declared.
"And that works?" I queried, incredulous.
"It's a seasonal thing, and I just hire temp workers to fill contracts. But I have all the licenses and my folks helped sign all the papers! Cash from unknown sources becomes cash from the cash bar, or just payment. Nice and easy," she finished, rubbing her fingers together in the universal sign for money.
"And ten thousand dollars just popping into your account, won't raise red flags?" I pointed out.
"Sure, if I put it in as one big pile. But I just make into four smaller ones, with no round numbers. A good sized wedding, with lots of nibblies and maybe a hundred people, will cost about twenty five hundred. I just slap the extra cash on top, and say I charged more. And even if I don't have a gig, I can just say I did. But I don't do that unless I really need the legal money. You just use the dirty cash to buy groceries, gas, and stuff to keep your legal nice and full."
I digested that, and added, "And you're how old?"
"Nineteen," she chirped, before startling me by pulling me into a hug, "A very motivated nineteen!"
I almost pushed her away - it had been a long time since anyone but my dad had hugged me, and I didn't know if he ever would again, after what I had done. I relaxed, and hugged back.
"No time for moping! We need beds!"
And with that, I was dragged out of the apartment.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"You're sure this is the right spot?" I asked Daphne. Damsel, now. She was in her costume, and I was in mine, she with her domino mask and me with my black mask on, respectively. We were hiding behind a dumpster, watching the back of a restaurant from thirty yards away. Harsh white light, from a fixture above, cut through the darkness to illuminate a set of stairs leading to the door. Several men had come out over the past hour, to smoke or chat, and then gone back in. All of them in what Daphne had identified as kitchen uniforms.
"Oh yeah!" she whispered, "Last time they paid me for doing some work, they had duffel bags full of money, and drugs, and then guns everywhere. The Mob has all sorts of goodies. Right in the basement, on the right side of the building."
"Any capes?" I checked, not wanting to be caught off guard.
"Just one, usually. She can listen in to TVs and cameras, but that's it. And the boss, but I've never seen her power, or know if she has one. I think she just shoots people a lot," Damsel said, pondering the last bit. "She was nice when I did that job, though. But we need more furniture!"
"And to destroy the drugs, and stop the associated criminal acts," I added to the list of objectives.
"That too."
I took a deep breath, and let it out. I was topped off, having taken a nap before this, while Damsel kept lookout. I wasn't keen on jumping back into a mess, but this was our first thing as a team, and we needed that. To cement our team, or however teams worked. I wasn't sure, and Damsel had never been on one. A learning experience for both of us.
"Here I go. Got the cell phone ready?" I confirmed.
"Ready to call if anyone shows up. And then I leave, since they know who I am. If we get separated, head back to the apartment, and don't let anyone follow. Otherwise, I wait till you get out, and then we leave together," Damsel dutifully repeated. I had said it several times to her over the course of the evening.
"Sorry," I apologized, contrite. I hadn't meant to be rude. I nearly kept apologizing, before she interrupted.
"Go! It's the dinner rush, so the kitchen will be busy. Now's the time!" she whispered, shooing me with her hands.
I left the concealment of our trashcan wall, and keeping away from any lights, as much as I could anyways, made my way to the door. I was careful where I placed my feet, as the ground was littered with trash, including metal cans. I could only imagine the racket they would cause if I stepped on one, or worse, slipped. A cartoonish cascade of cans pinging off each other, culminating with me landing on my face at the door.
"Left!" Damsel hissed at me, as I was halfway to the back door, causing me to turn around in surprise. "Left side, from this entrance!"
I made an ok sign with my right hand, and not wanting to make any more noise, made a quick back and forth movement in front of my mouth. Hopefully interpreted as 'stay quiet.'
"What?"
Right, darkness. I stepped into a lighted spot, maneuvering around a can, and repeated my gestures. A pair of thumbs up from Damsel confirmed receipt. Most of the people I had known before meeting Damsel had been hopelessly obtuse. Was it just them, or did having four years on me make her that much better at understanding? Or at least, understanding me? Whatever the case, it was a painfully welcome change of pace.
With a new spring in my step, I made it to the back door, undetected by alley cat or moth. Now came the moment of truth. Or, several minutes of fumbling as quietly as possible. I had to move through the kitchen, head to the stairs to the basement, take what I could, destroying what I couldn't, and escape.
The shadow-form was different from the disguise power. In the later, I merely cloaked myself, wrapping a new face around my own. With this, shadows pulsed out of my flesh, and it turned black, before becoming equally ephemeral as the shadows around me. Ready, I moved to the door, and slid right through the keyhole, into a cold storage room. Cardboard boxes, some with vegetables or jars poking out of them lined the walls, except for the two doors.
Not a very efficient layout, if everyone had to go through cold storage to get outside, or come into work. But still, this was better for me, with less people around. Plastic flaps were in place of an actual door infront of me, and I peered around the corner. Five men, each part of the staff were cooking, or in the last one's case, washing dishes. I took a moment to watch the smooth precision with which they worked, vaguely impressed. Not a single wasted movement. Just dish, dish, dish. A waiter came in, and scooped up the three dishes, and went right back out, only stopping to grab a piece of paper, from its hanging location above the food. I'd never seen a restaurant's innards before, but I didn't have time to lollygag.
I waited until all the cooks, or chefs, I didn't know, to be focused on the food, and not on the area near their feet. The moment their attention was fully consumed, I dashed through the kitchen, shooting in between the legs of a metal table, to the far left wall, hiding behind a sink. Not a foot away from me, two feet poked in, as the dishwasher continued washing dishes and stacking them.
No one saw anything, so I moved down the row of metal appliances, counters, and tables, peeking around a new corner. I could see the banister of the target staircase, surrounded by boxes, and next to a set of refrigerators. I looked into the kitchen, and with everyone still occupied, I made a break for the stairs.
Safe. I went down, keeping my eyes peeled, piercing the gloom. No cameras, and no people. Just boxes, chest freezers, and a solitary fridge. Disappointing. I lifted a few suspicious looking boxes, to feel their weight. All too light to be full of money, or have guns in them. The evening was turning out to be a bust then. I opened the freezers, checking them, but all I got for my trouble was a look at more ingredients. I closed the last one, and looked at the fridge. The fridge, taller then me. The fridge, back facing further into where there should be more basement. A lock on the door was disposed of with a quick jab from my knife, and a flicker of green flames. The shackle was cut cleanly through.
I opened the fridge, and instead of cold air, found a secret passageway. Or, more of a secret room. It didn't lead anywhere, but it still had enough in it to keep my interest. I reached into one of the crates, wondering how they got it in there, and pulled out a briefcase, struggling with its surprising weight before I compensated. I set it on the table in the middle of the room, and popped it open.
It was full of banded hundred dollar bills, 'ten k' scribbled across the binding paper. I could safely assume the rest of the briefcases were similarly filled. And that insane amount of money didn't cover the other items in the room. The weapons lining the right wall, easily several dozen rifles, or the other crates, or the box of grenades right next to the opened briefcase.
I unshouldered my backpack, and started shoveling money in. I pulled out another, and was able to top off with a few stacks from a third briefcase. I shouldered my now much heavier backpack, which now weighed an easy thirty pounds, if not much more. I was debating carrying out two more briefcases in my hands, and making a run for it, before my cell phone buzzed in my pocket.
'Capes 4 getout' my new text message read.
Shit.
I texted back, clumsily with one thumb, 'run, meet you there'
I flipped the phone closed, and dropped the briefcases to make a faster run for it. I didn't have enough time to pull out the lighter fluid and douse the money, but I did have enough time, at least five seconds, to improvise. The grenade box held ball-shaped explosives, easily recognizable to anyone who had watched a movie. But, further back in the box, a row of can shaped grenades sat. I didn't know them from their shape.
What I did notice though, was the word 'Incendiary' written across them. I grabbed two, and pushed open the false fridge door, and held it open with my body. I brought my occupied hands up, and put the grenades near my mouth. Opening my mouth, I gripped the pins with my teeth, ready to pull. I yanked hard, pulling the pins out, though feeling like I had nearly tore out my jaw doing it. Still, it worked. I tossed one into the money crate, and the other at grenades, and I ran, letting the door slam behind me. I sprinted up the stairs, drawing my pistol from my hip. I shot down the stairs twice, startling the cooks, even as I shouted on the heels of the gunshots, "Run!"
They didn't need telling twice, especially coming from a mass of shadows wielding a gun, and they scattered, three going into the restaurant, and two fleeing out the door I was planning on retreating to. I could hear people panicking in the main dining room, or whatever was on the other side of the swinging doors. I aimed the pistol back down stairs-
WHUMP.
And I ran away, as one or more of the regular grenades I had tossed the incendiary on exploded. The fridge door flapped open, and I didn't want the next one to spray me with shards of metal. I passed right through the flaps, another explosion behind me. I could hear the people in the dining room panicking quieter, or hopefully, further away.
I pressed the bar on the door, and jumped the stairs, not caring if I sounded like a canning factory with how much I was clinking on the stairs. I landed, sending cans scattering into each other. Beer cans, now that I had a better look at them.
Damsel was waiting at the end of the alleyway and I raced over, grabbing her arm, and pulling her away with me as shadows evaporated from around me. Behind us, I could hear the sound of something large landing amongst the cans, and moving faster than I could, right at us.
"Great. And I got costumes, or at least got them started," I answered, walking to some place to change. I certainly hadn't wanted to disguise myself in the club, and I couldn't travel with my own face. I looked over my shoulder, as Daphne replied.
"Really? How much did he charge for them? I got told it was usually over fifty thousand, but I don't know if they were lying to me."
"Two fifty," I said, slightly worried that I had been ripped off. If so, I was sure a demonstration of my displeasure with his intractability would suffice. Just not today - it wasn't easy being something I wasn't, and being a thug or bully wasn't what I wanted to be. But those sort of people only responded to likeminded individuals.
Up to the point that I was leaving horse heads in their bedrooms at least, at which point it was either mindless terror or berserker rage.
"You got something cool, because that sounds way too expensive. Wait, don't tell me! 59th and 6th Avenue, corner building. Tell the doorman you're my sister, Danielle. Hurry!"
And she hung up. A doorman? What kind of apartment building had a doorman? I checked around me, and seeing no one, pressed up against a car, the mid morning sun casting enough shadow. The familiar feeling of cool, ephemeral shadowy fingers passed over me, and I looked in the car's side mirror.
Subtle alterations to my face and body left me looking like Daphne's younger sister, only with black hair instead of white. And Weaver's sunglasses. I stood, and kept walking, quickly in the brisk wind. I saw a cab pass by ahead of me, at the cross street, and I whistled while waving my hand. And he drove right by, a passenger visible in the back. How irritating.
I waited, looking up and down both streets, until my eye caught a flash of yellow. I stepped off the curb between two parked cars, waving, and he, or rather, she, stopped in front of me. I opened the rear door and plopped in the seat, before shouting over the blasting music, "59th Street and 6th Avenue!"
Her reply was indistinguishable, but we drove off. I could only hope in the right direction, and I was certain I was going to have a headache from the noise.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
I was surprised, and very relieved, when the cab finally stopped. On my right there were buildings, but to my left was Central Park. Not quite what I had expected. I gave the cabbie exact fare, not wanting to tip after that impromptu personal concert. I walked up to the corner building, a stately building made of pale stone. A man, in a uniform and looking bored but trying to hide it, was standing in front of the door, right underneath the awning.
Really not what I had expected. I strode right to the doorman, and drew a blank. What was Daphne's last name? He would expect it, if I was to pass as her sister. Well, I could just go around the corner and call. Instead, the doorman removed the choice from me.
"Can I help you, miss?"
Damn. My options were limited, with no power usage if I didn't want to be identified as Defiler. I lied, looking slightly dazed and confused, "Well, my sister Daphne told me to come here, she said something about an apartment, but I don't know where she told me to go, and my cell phone is dead. I can't call her, and I've been trying to figure out what she said, and I had to pay the cabbie the rest of my money on hand, and now I-"
"Miss, you wouldn't happen to be Danielle Waldon, would you?" he interrupted, not unkindly.
"Yes," I said, not faking my relief in the least.
"5th Floor, unit D. She just got here. I'm sure she's waiting for you."
"Thank you so much!" I said, channeling Madison for maximum girliness. The nice warm air felt terrific inside, and I made a show of trying to find the elevators. The person behind the desk- there was a desk, complete with a young woman manning it, was it a hotel? - pointed to her right, and I gave a friendly wave. The far elevator opened, right as I hit the button, and I practically flew in. I pressed the 5, and waited. A few moments later, I stepped out into a carpeted hallway, and headed for the door with 5D on it. I knocked, and not five seconds later, Daphne yanked the door open and dragged me in.
"Taylor- Look!"
Pulled along by my arm into the what I assumed was the living room, I noted the lack of furnishings, the wood floors uncovered. I tried to ask Daphne, "How-"
"See! Two bedrooms, both with a view, and their own bathroom."
I dutifully looked, noting that Daphne had put her backpack in the smaller one, leaning up against a closet door, before I was again dragged further into the tour. She pulled into what was evidently my bedroom, from her luggage placement. A large window looked out to the building across the street, and in the far corner, Central Park was visible. We reached my bathroom after I took a quick glance at the multitude of closets. The bathroom had both a shower and a tub, and she stopped at the tub, which was full of water.
"Look! It makes bubbles without soap!"
Daphne pressed a button on its side, and the tub started gurgling, little bubbles floating up. She turned to me, smiling, and said "Nice, right?"
"Very nice," I replied, trying to figure out how to phrase my question in a way not to hurt her feelings. I had a teammate, who was trying to be my friend. I didn't want to scare her off. "How did you get this apartment so fast?"
"Oh, easy. I just called, and said I was moving my business to the city, and I needed a place for a young businesswoman and her sister."
"Business?" I echoed, confused.
"Business," she grinned perkily, before explaining, "A huge amount of cash just dropping in my account would be a super big red flag, and would end with cops at our door. So... right now I am the proud owner of a catering and food truck company. It's better than dancing, or bartending."
"You own a catering company," I repeated flatly.
"Well, you are looking at the entire staff," she said with a wink, "but yes, I own a catering company," she proudly declared.
"And that works?" I queried, incredulous.
"It's a seasonal thing, and I just hire temp workers to fill contracts. But I have all the licenses and my folks helped sign all the papers! Cash from unknown sources becomes cash from the cash bar, or just payment. Nice and easy," she finished, rubbing her fingers together in the universal sign for money.
"And ten thousand dollars just popping into your account, won't raise red flags?" I pointed out.
"Sure, if I put it in as one big pile. But I just make into four smaller ones, with no round numbers. A good sized wedding, with lots of nibblies and maybe a hundred people, will cost about twenty five hundred. I just slap the extra cash on top, and say I charged more. And even if I don't have a gig, I can just say I did. But I don't do that unless I really need the legal money. You just use the dirty cash to buy groceries, gas, and stuff to keep your legal nice and full."
I digested that, and added, "And you're how old?"
"Nineteen," she chirped, before startling me by pulling me into a hug, "A very motivated nineteen!"
I almost pushed her away - it had been a long time since anyone but my dad had hugged me, and I didn't know if he ever would again, after what I had done. I relaxed, and hugged back.
"No time for moping! We need beds!"
And with that, I was dragged out of the apartment.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"You're sure this is the right spot?" I asked Daphne. Damsel, now. She was in her costume, and I was in mine, she with her domino mask and me with my black mask on, respectively. We were hiding behind a dumpster, watching the back of a restaurant from thirty yards away. Harsh white light, from a fixture above, cut through the darkness to illuminate a set of stairs leading to the door. Several men had come out over the past hour, to smoke or chat, and then gone back in. All of them in what Daphne had identified as kitchen uniforms.
"Oh yeah!" she whispered, "Last time they paid me for doing some work, they had duffel bags full of money, and drugs, and then guns everywhere. The Mob has all sorts of goodies. Right in the basement, on the right side of the building."
"Any capes?" I checked, not wanting to be caught off guard.
"Just one, usually. She can listen in to TVs and cameras, but that's it. And the boss, but I've never seen her power, or know if she has one. I think she just shoots people a lot," Damsel said, pondering the last bit. "She was nice when I did that job, though. But we need more furniture!"
"And to destroy the drugs, and stop the associated criminal acts," I added to the list of objectives.
"That too."
I took a deep breath, and let it out. I was topped off, having taken a nap before this, while Damsel kept lookout. I wasn't keen on jumping back into a mess, but this was our first thing as a team, and we needed that. To cement our team, or however teams worked. I wasn't sure, and Damsel had never been on one. A learning experience for both of us.
"Here I go. Got the cell phone ready?" I confirmed.
"Ready to call if anyone shows up. And then I leave, since they know who I am. If we get separated, head back to the apartment, and don't let anyone follow. Otherwise, I wait till you get out, and then we leave together," Damsel dutifully repeated. I had said it several times to her over the course of the evening.
"Sorry," I apologized, contrite. I hadn't meant to be rude. I nearly kept apologizing, before she interrupted.
"Go! It's the dinner rush, so the kitchen will be busy. Now's the time!" she whispered, shooing me with her hands.
I left the concealment of our trashcan wall, and keeping away from any lights, as much as I could anyways, made my way to the door. I was careful where I placed my feet, as the ground was littered with trash, including metal cans. I could only imagine the racket they would cause if I stepped on one, or worse, slipped. A cartoonish cascade of cans pinging off each other, culminating with me landing on my face at the door.
"Left!" Damsel hissed at me, as I was halfway to the back door, causing me to turn around in surprise. "Left side, from this entrance!"
I made an ok sign with my right hand, and not wanting to make any more noise, made a quick back and forth movement in front of my mouth. Hopefully interpreted as 'stay quiet.'
"What?"
Right, darkness. I stepped into a lighted spot, maneuvering around a can, and repeated my gestures. A pair of thumbs up from Damsel confirmed receipt. Most of the people I had known before meeting Damsel had been hopelessly obtuse. Was it just them, or did having four years on me make her that much better at understanding? Or at least, understanding me? Whatever the case, it was a painfully welcome change of pace.
With a new spring in my step, I made it to the back door, undetected by alley cat or moth. Now came the moment of truth. Or, several minutes of fumbling as quietly as possible. I had to move through the kitchen, head to the stairs to the basement, take what I could, destroying what I couldn't, and escape.
The shadow-form was different from the disguise power. In the later, I merely cloaked myself, wrapping a new face around my own. With this, shadows pulsed out of my flesh, and it turned black, before becoming equally ephemeral as the shadows around me. Ready, I moved to the door, and slid right through the keyhole, into a cold storage room. Cardboard boxes, some with vegetables or jars poking out of them lined the walls, except for the two doors.
Not a very efficient layout, if everyone had to go through cold storage to get outside, or come into work. But still, this was better for me, with less people around. Plastic flaps were in place of an actual door infront of me, and I peered around the corner. Five men, each part of the staff were cooking, or in the last one's case, washing dishes. I took a moment to watch the smooth precision with which they worked, vaguely impressed. Not a single wasted movement. Just dish, dish, dish. A waiter came in, and scooped up the three dishes, and went right back out, only stopping to grab a piece of paper, from its hanging location above the food. I'd never seen a restaurant's innards before, but I didn't have time to lollygag.
I waited until all the cooks, or chefs, I didn't know, to be focused on the food, and not on the area near their feet. The moment their attention was fully consumed, I dashed through the kitchen, shooting in between the legs of a metal table, to the far left wall, hiding behind a sink. Not a foot away from me, two feet poked in, as the dishwasher continued washing dishes and stacking them.
No one saw anything, so I moved down the row of metal appliances, counters, and tables, peeking around a new corner. I could see the banister of the target staircase, surrounded by boxes, and next to a set of refrigerators. I looked into the kitchen, and with everyone still occupied, I made a break for the stairs.
Safe. I went down, keeping my eyes peeled, piercing the gloom. No cameras, and no people. Just boxes, chest freezers, and a solitary fridge. Disappointing. I lifted a few suspicious looking boxes, to feel their weight. All too light to be full of money, or have guns in them. The evening was turning out to be a bust then. I opened the freezers, checking them, but all I got for my trouble was a look at more ingredients. I closed the last one, and looked at the fridge. The fridge, taller then me. The fridge, back facing further into where there should be more basement. A lock on the door was disposed of with a quick jab from my knife, and a flicker of green flames. The shackle was cut cleanly through.
I opened the fridge, and instead of cold air, found a secret passageway. Or, more of a secret room. It didn't lead anywhere, but it still had enough in it to keep my interest. I reached into one of the crates, wondering how they got it in there, and pulled out a briefcase, struggling with its surprising weight before I compensated. I set it on the table in the middle of the room, and popped it open.
It was full of banded hundred dollar bills, 'ten k' scribbled across the binding paper. I could safely assume the rest of the briefcases were similarly filled. And that insane amount of money didn't cover the other items in the room. The weapons lining the right wall, easily several dozen rifles, or the other crates, or the box of grenades right next to the opened briefcase.
I unshouldered my backpack, and started shoveling money in. I pulled out another, and was able to top off with a few stacks from a third briefcase. I shouldered my now much heavier backpack, which now weighed an easy thirty pounds, if not much more. I was debating carrying out two more briefcases in my hands, and making a run for it, before my cell phone buzzed in my pocket.
'Capes 4 getout' my new text message read.
Shit.
I texted back, clumsily with one thumb, 'run, meet you there'
I flipped the phone closed, and dropped the briefcases to make a faster run for it. I didn't have enough time to pull out the lighter fluid and douse the money, but I did have enough time, at least five seconds, to improvise. The grenade box held ball-shaped explosives, easily recognizable to anyone who had watched a movie. But, further back in the box, a row of can shaped grenades sat. I didn't know them from their shape.
What I did notice though, was the word 'Incendiary' written across them. I grabbed two, and pushed open the false fridge door, and held it open with my body. I brought my occupied hands up, and put the grenades near my mouth. Opening my mouth, I gripped the pins with my teeth, ready to pull. I yanked hard, pulling the pins out, though feeling like I had nearly tore out my jaw doing it. Still, it worked. I tossed one into the money crate, and the other at grenades, and I ran, letting the door slam behind me. I sprinted up the stairs, drawing my pistol from my hip. I shot down the stairs twice, startling the cooks, even as I shouted on the heels of the gunshots, "Run!"
They didn't need telling twice, especially coming from a mass of shadows wielding a gun, and they scattered, three going into the restaurant, and two fleeing out the door I was planning on retreating to. I could hear people panicking in the main dining room, or whatever was on the other side of the swinging doors. I aimed the pistol back down stairs-
WHUMP.
And I ran away, as one or more of the regular grenades I had tossed the incendiary on exploded. The fridge door flapped open, and I didn't want the next one to spray me with shards of metal. I passed right through the flaps, another explosion behind me. I could hear the people in the dining room panicking quieter, or hopefully, further away.
I pressed the bar on the door, and jumped the stairs, not caring if I sounded like a canning factory with how much I was clinking on the stairs. I landed, sending cans scattering into each other. Beer cans, now that I had a better look at them.
Damsel was waiting at the end of the alleyway and I raced over, grabbing her arm, and pulling her away with me as shadows evaporated from around me. Behind us, I could hear the sound of something large landing amongst the cans, and moving faster than I could, right at us.
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
And that's why kids, you aren't supposed to pull 10 pound rings with your teeth.
And clever girl....
And clever girl....
Damsel was surprisingly competent here. She makes a good teammate for Taylor. Let's hope she doesn't die.
It looks like we're going to head straight into the mob throwdown. I wonder how many bodies will hit the floor by the end of this fight.
Also, if Punching Bag affects Damsel it might backfire on her, but then again, her power might force Damsel to punch her and not just attack her.
I'm betting that Defiler's anonymity is going to go away in any case.
Nah, she gets power back from acting cool. Action films are her best guides for how to act!gideon020 said:She should really stop relying on action films for how to use weaponry.
It looks like we're going to head straight into the mob throwdown. I wonder how many bodies will hit the floor by the end of this fight.
Also, if Punching Bag affects Damsel it might backfire on her, but then again, her power might force Damsel to punch her and not just attack her.
I'm betting that Defiler's anonymity is going to go away in any case.
Daphne: I'm a Villain Taylor and I have always been one.logiccosmic said:
Taylor: Your a Viking Daphne? That's cool, do you have one of this metal hats with horns on the sides?
I thought Taylor's Perception was 3 not 0. Must be her Socialize 1 dragging her down.
No, no, I think I got it.UberJJK said:
Taylor bought Trust Is Naive when no one was looking. Not that she needs it; she's shown some pretty heavy blinders through most of this fic and through most of canon. Her doublethink capability is impressive.
