Lights, Camera, Fire
12th of January 2007 A.D.
Taking a breath to center yourself you fix the eyes of your Crown upon whatever 'Final Dusk' is, keeping the tarot card in mind, essence, burning all the while.
Only a third left.
Lost 2 Essence -> Now at 5/15 (Question/Excellency)
Thoughts of pacing and resource management fly from your mind like leaves on the wings of a hurricane. Vegas festooned in neon lights unfolds below as though from a low flying plane, or the wings of a hawk flying into the setting sun. For a moment it looks like a cloud bank is rising to bring rare, precious rain over the city of sin, but there is something wrong with the edge of the shadow, too regular, the passage of light and dark too abrupt. Rain begins to fall and at first it seems black, but where the light reaches it you see that it is red, frothing blood swirling down the city, washing away saints and sinners both. The earth shakes with the travails of Its birth as first a few eyes turn upwards, widened in dread: Arlene and Mayeda among them, but also others you do not recognize, a a dark eyed woman under a glittering dome, a nimble dancer with bleached hair, an ebony skinned man who had not been a man more than a hundred years, then more and more, unwillingly raising cries of horror to the Thing Above, sweet praise to its ears. Only in one quarter are there on cries of anguish, a glass pyramid filled with green and gold, inside
something moves, of marble and jet, of gold and lapis lazuli, larger than a man yet somehow smaller than it
should be.
Recovered 2 Essence -> Now at 7/15
You come back to yourself with a shiver, like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on your face, shrouded by the light of countless eyes, and filled with the utter conviction that that someone is trying to kill you.
A pair of men in stripped suits with padded shoulders raise not guns, but tubes with a bulbous head. You saw those on a documentary Daniel had on once, RPG, rocket-propelled... "Grenade!" you shout at Harry. He swerves in a screech of tortured rubber on asphalt as all of you slam against the door, Tiffany slams it open and you all spill out. You see the streak of pyrotechnic white coming and raise your sword, your soul in answer, in one clean slice bisecting the explosive head as Lydia just punches the other into the sky spinning head over tail. before Mutt and Mayeda had even found their bearings.
The one good thing about being hit with military grade munitions is that there is no mistaking what direction that came from, the bad part of course is that you are in the middle on the darned
Las Vegas Strip. God and his Saints only know how many cameras have a good view of all of you right now.
"There's... someone, fuck get off! Three's someone under a veil around, but I can't pin them down!" Lash calls out as Lydia presses a hand to the asphalt, fingers wet with fuel leaking from the tank —OK so maybe Harry did not make a five point stop— "There on the roof!" You just barely catch sight of a feminine figure whose proportions are familiar enough under that poncho to make you see red.
Sandra. Of course she would be on the rooftop terrace during some kind of party, nothing like using large numbers of innocents as human shields. Not even meeting your eyes she ducks back among the patty-goers who are for their part rushing to the edge to get a better view. Even in Vegas you to not get to see scenes straight out of urban combat everyday.
What do you do?
[] Capture the pair with the RPGs
-[] Write in how
[] Go after Sandra somehow
-[] Write in how
[] Get out of here before the cops show up and start asking questions you would rather not answer
[] Write in
OOC: Welll here we are, a bit of a short one again, but I figured someone trying to kill you with RPGs was a good enough reason to pause and take stock. 
