Logfile from M3
Yes, wings of fire and eyes of melted snow. Except the Angel isn't really descending from heaven so much as a rooftop. Stumbling along, bleeding from a chest wound of some kind, the lady apparently hasn't recovered from encountering the state known as Anarchy quite yet. Her form dissolves into static for a moment before she appears several feet above a small alley near said building and plummets several feet into the ground. Splot. Good thing she tied up Miss Doppler beforehand so she could go about fixing her wounds. Now if only she could stop making more.
The valiant (kinda-sorta) Fool is once again taking his usual route to get to his usual haunt, a rather ill-named pub called the Plague Rat. Nothing out of the ordinary here -- not even the guitar strapped to the Fool's back. He's providing the live entertainment there tonight.
Of course, the Fool's usual route is anything but normal.
It takes advantage of Feste's knowledge of
o/` "My love grows deeper every day... and takes a little piece of me... my love grows deeper every d--" *THWUMP*
Feste stops in his tracks, eyes widening. What in the nine hells was that? Sounded like someone falling off a building, it did. And not too far off, either. "Bloody hell," Feste murmurs, nearly-shot nerves already once more shaken. He'd better figure out what that was, though, and so he continues walking along the alleyway, slowly, checking to see if whatever fell is somewhere around...
Gabriel, it has been said, is quite like Gabriel. And if that is so, she lurves on the creativity. However, she's a bit cut up from the broken beer bottle glass that are usually in the alleys these days. She pushes herself up to her hands and knees, "Hrr....", she groans as she looks up a bit... And when she sees who it is, smiles and says, "Oh, I am very lucky, aren't I?", she doesn't seem to notice all the bleeding and such, "It's good to see you, Dear Friend. My aim must be off for a reason.", a poor nearby drunk watches The Shrouded Form lazily, and makes no move to help. What a jerk!
Feste's reaction upon seeing the battered Gabriel is immediate and...well... dramatic. Like everything else he does, really.
He stops where he stands once again, shocked. Holy smokes! It's Gabriel! ......holy smokes! She's injured!
"Bevare meg vel!" Feste exclaims -- good heavens! -- while rushing forward to assist this, the second of his two 'patrons'. "Are you alright, my lady?" He does his best to help Gabriel to her feet, calming all the while. Must retain composure. Yes. "Ah. Yes, though I would ask for better circumstances..."
Lucky indeed, the Fool thinks, grimly, to himself. What with all the *Mavericks* that are supposed to be heading this way.
Gabriel likes drama too! Protoman even accused her of stealing his schtick once, and to be polite to the original random teleporter, she held off, but being so bloody bloody was just too much of an excuse! She lets Feste help her up, which isn't too hard, she doesn't weigh all that much, she places one of her hands on her 'wound', "Thank you.", she manages, since Feste -isn't- the one with the stomach wound, "I'll be fine, thank you, I'm looking for a someone who can do a small patchup, however..", she pats her sides a bit with her free hand, "Trumpet.", she mumbles vaguely. The trumpet she is referring to has clattered alongside by the drunk.
Well. Feste knows better (or at least he thinks he does) then to ask what happened, so for now he just assists. What a great guy, that Feste.
He looks on, visibly worried, and at the mention of the trumpet he goes looking for it. Here trumpet trumpet! Oh look, there's a drunk, too. How pleasant. Feste musters up a glower at his fellow fool, and goes to pick it up.
"Ah, here, m'lady... one second..." Just has to reach down and get it is all. Hope that drunk doesn't interfere. Unlike some Londoners, kicking drunks is not a sport Feste enjoys. Much. Yeah.
The Lower Class Fool looks up to the Higher Class Fool and says, "That your trumpet, wanker? Less 'ere a tune." And while one would expect the drunk to be saying this to the trumpet's owner, (which is Gabriel in case you weren't paying attention), he appears to be saying this to Feste of all people. Which could be a bad thing, since it will probably shatter all the windows of the building they are next to if it is played, and people don't like that happening to their buildings.
Gabriel, however, concentrates on standing, a sport which is wholeheartedly entertaining for at least one individual at a time. She turns slightly to watch Feste, smiling at him because he truly does appear to be a great guy and all, helping falling mysterious patrons and such. At least she isn't trying to stab him like the other patron. It is, however, a nice looking trumpet.
[Radio] Transmission detected: ... female ... voice* ... DWN #050 ... Junk ... has ... ... E-Ringed. Thank ... for ... the E-Ring ... once again serving ... stupid and ... since ... ... a nice ... ...
Feste is...unimpressed. He looks right back down at the drunken sot, eyes flaring a brighter red. (got to love that! it's so great for looking all big and scary and intimidating!) "Well," Feste responds coolly, "ever hear of the Plague Rat? Drop by sometime and maybe I'll oblige."
Smirking, Feste makes a grab for the trumpet. Don't make him -take- it. He will, dagnabbit! He's had a rough week!
The drunk mumbles, "Y'should watch yer liquor. Eyes are glowy.", vaguely. The drunk lets him take the trumpet, however, rubbing his nose against his sleeve.
Gabriel tries not to look amused, and succeeds, though only just and partially due to the bleedingness.
"Don't worry about it, my friend," Feste mutters, securing the trumpet. Now that he's got it, he hurries back over to Gabriel, holding it out with a bow. Flourish? Him? Never! Still smirking, too.
"Your trumpet, m'lady."
Gabriel smiles pleasantly, despite her wounds, and says, "Did anybody...ever tell you...That you are such a gentleman?", she rubs the side of the trumpet, as if adjusting a dial, though it doesn't seem like there is a dial at all on it. She plays a jazz solo version of Layla, or at least the first few notes before she removes it from her lips and says, "And how -are- you, Feste?"
The gentleman in question offers a warm smile in return. Aw. Somebody noticed. "Thank you, madonna."
He steps back a bit, respectfully, as Gabriel tests to see if her trumpet's still good. Ah, sounds right, at least to his ears. And then the critical question.
"I've had better days, madonna, but then, haven't we all?"
Gabriel says, "You are most welcome.", and at least it wasn't like the time she was teaching the trumpet to kids and forgot to lower the frequency and accidently shattered all the glass in the room. She lowers it and adds, "Well, from the looks of it, I have to agree."
Stiletto
Stiletto
Stiletto
Standing at about six feet and one inch in height, the slender, sleek form of this anthromorphic anole is an animal-form, its head the shape of the tiny lizard's, including tapering snout and sidelong eyes. A rather humanoid body build is present, save for the digigrade legs that span out into clawed feet and the slender length of a whiplike tail that runs down from the spinal area. In addition to this, a pair of streamline fins run back from the shoulders, seeming to accent for speed. The arms are a bit bulky along the forearms, frosted silver base with chrome stars splaying out from where the wrist joint moves on back. These can be converted into laser blasters. The majority of the body armor is a mixture of ornately accenting frosted silver and chrome coloring, quite a shiny display.
Bardic Wolf arrives from the
Bardic Wolf has arrived.
[OOC] Gabriel says, "<Bardic Wolf> Hey! It's that girl who kidnapped Lord Doppler's mommy! <Gabriel> As a gentleman, it is your duty to protect-...hey where are you going? <Feste> *running away&"
Feste shrugs helplessly. "What can you do, heh? A lady I met the other day told me that circumstances make themselves." A wink from the Fool. "If that is so, then... again I must ask, what can you do?" Flgh. He's been more eloquent than this, surely. (surely.)
Shrugging once more, Feste idly looks Gabriel up and down. Man. Just what /has/ she been through? "M'lady," he begins, carefully, "do you require medical assistance? I'm sure I could find someone..."
Heading along out of the commercial and business districts of London, the rather... shiny form of Stiletto strolls along, the anole-based reploid looking along the streetways at the interesting architecture of the buildings, eyes scanning over them idly, enjoying a bit of free time after a day of helping coordinate the clearing of rubble and the like... Clean-up will take a long time on the ruined Monolith.
Among the many museums and historical buildings in the area is the Royal Literary Archives, housing the country's most prized manuscripts and first editions. Although there is sufficient security to keep out most ordinary thieves, it's not considered a high-priority target and is therefore mostly staffed by some older security guards and an outdated alarm system. Earlier, a well-dressed lupine Reploid had walked in, like any other patron. Now, the Archives are quiet as a tomb.
Inside, there's a crash of shattering glass and an alarm suddenly goes off, breaking the stillness of the street and nearby area.
It appears that Gabriel was simply smashed repeatedly in the chest and dragged against the ground over the wound, which is more or less what happened. Gabriel says, "What can you do...", in a musing, 'I'm thinking', general sort of manner. "That was what I was looking for, for a quick patchup of sorts, but it appears...", and she frowns as she hears the glass shattering and the alarm going off, "That it won't be a pleasant time to be out and about for much longer, I wonder which brand of terrorist it is this time."
She raises the trumpet to her lips again and starts to play a mellow, soft-yet-carrying jazz melody.
A soft curse plays at Stiletto's lips upon hearing the alarm go off. Here he was, just trying to have a nice relaxing stroll in the scenic and even educational part of London when lo and behold, someone decides to pull something skullduggerous (prove it isn't a word!!!). Moving swiftly, the Hunter heads towards the sound, looking sidelong to see if any of the officiaries are acting as well... This is just the sort of thing that he and the other Hunters work against, terrorists and the like, not all of them hard-core loner bounty-hunters.
Bardic Wolf is, fortunately or not, indeed the only one really moving, and he's making his way not quite hastily towards the outer door and is thereby quite noticable. As another form appears in the doorway, his golden optics narrow. Apparently luck is not altogether with him today. "Drat," is all he mutters for the moment, putting aside the harp and summoning into existence his halberd.
Inside the Archives, a tall figure (compared to the humans, at least), slips around a corner and continued to quietly strum a hand-held harp and sing. The harmonics produce continue to keep the security guards, staff, and other patrons in a trance-like stupor as the Maverick makes his way through the corridors and, hopefully, freedom. Sticking half out of a leather satchel is a time-worn and slightly tattered roll of parchment. One of the original copies of Paradise Lost by John Milton, the classic about Lucifer's fall from grace and his story to Adam and Eve denouncing Heaven and its injustices. Fitting material to present to Sigma.
Somewhat distracted by his find and the ease of the theft, Bardic Wolf, garbed in an elegant but simple grey suit, approaches the slumbering lobby.
Pushing in past the doors of the museum's foyer lobby, the Hunter strategist quickly scans over the area, his eyes looking about...
'What the....?' he mentally comments to himself as he notices that, indeed, many who'd been in there are now... quite entranced. Openning his comms, be begins to send out a message, eyes continueing to scan for the source... which'll likely be the only thing still moving.
Oh, well, -great-. Feste, with his inhumanly keen hearing, can of course hear such things as shattering glass and loud alarms. And it's a right awful din, it is.
Wincing slightly, Feste looks to Gabriel. Haha. /You're/ the angel, you can deal with all the unpleasantness. Yes. "Dreadfully sorry, m'lady. Should I try to ring up a mechanic anyway, or...?"
Never mind the fact that inwardly, he's on the verge of shrieking. ARGH TERRORISTS. GET OUT OF MY CITY.
Eyes locking onto the semi-solitary form of Bardic Wolf, few questions would need to be asked with the reploid drawing out a weapon on seeing Stiletto's entrance.
Folding his arms in over his chest, Stiletto takes a defensive stance, leading forwards a bit with his left foot to provide less view... and hopefully, therefore, less targetage. "Well, now, looks like you've been a bad, bad doggie." Sure, lupines are canine...ish... yeah.
The angel considers matters as she plays, as angels are wont to do, and considers the breaking glass and such, looks in the general direction, through building, through people, eyes narrowing as her gaze falls on the Royal Literary Archives, "Unfortunately, it appears we brave citizens of London must take up the call to arms once more.", she doesn't appreciate having to do this while bleeding, but some random thief has given her no choice, "Can you escort me to the Royal Literary Archive? I believe that is where the commotion is, and stealing is a crime and all.", ahh, the poor Fool, being asked for many and possibly life-threatening things.
Bardic Wolf smirks, more a snarling of his muzzled mouth than a twisting of the lips. His fingers move restlessly over the haft of the long-poled axe like he prefer his harp. "A churl telling a cur he's been foolish, hmm? I have no argument with you, sirrah, kindly step aside and I will leave you be." Which might be a more serious-seeming threat were he not incongruously wearing the grey suit complete with watch chain dangling from pocket.
Iris arrives from the
Iris has arrived.
"At least you admit to being a cur, though calling me churl does not make my opinion any higher of you... Best lay down your arms, now, lest I am forced to stop you, for it appears you are the instigator here." His crossed arms remain so, though his wrist swivels, so that his palms would be facing each other if they were touching. A very altruistic stance, overall, his optics gazing sidelong towards the lupine reploid. The pair of them are currently in the lobby of the *cough mutter some museum place that I'd have to scroll up to remember*.
"But of course, m'lady," Feste answers, doing his best not to let his voice waver. Must. retain. composure, dammit!
The Fool silently curses his luck and prays that Gabriel, banged up as she is, will still be able to defend him should he saunter back into harm's way. (because who knows where abernathy is *now*, and... dying is not one of feste's go-- hey wait, did she say the Royal Literary Archive? Holy crimes against one's country, Batman! (er, yes.) He certainly /does/ have to do something about this, doesn't he?
Iris comes walking around the corner, unwittingly walking
right toward the gathering up ahead. Since she finds it difficult to shop in
her beloved
Gabriel smiles, "There is nothing to worry about, Feste.", as if she read Feste's mind, but she didn't, her player did, but not her. She is just assuming that a normal human would be a wee bit afraid of painful sounds, "If you stay close to me, I will raise a field that should keep us safe from careless debris.", and if he does deem to be under Gabriel's protection, a barrier of rapid winds will rise up around them, and Gabriel will pleasantly make her way to the Royal Literary Archives.
Bardic Wolf faces Stiletto, silent for a few moments as if considering. "I would gladly lay down my arms in a sea of enemies if it meant an end to battle. But alas, I fear you shall not let me pass with that for which I came here. And then it shall be 'Arms on armour clashing brayd Horrible discord, and the madding wheels Of brazen chariots ragd: dire was the noise of conflict.'" He shakes his head sadly, but does not put down the weapon or make any move to relinquish the priceless copy in his bag.
Well. That's not a difficult decision to make, now is it?
Feste slips behind his guardian angel (as it were), idly reaching into his jacket. Just checking to see if he's still got the only firearm he owns. It's not that usual long, pseudo-trenchcoat, either, but rather some sort of sporty, stylish jacket. Not like that's too important, of course.
"Right. Shall we?" He must avenge the great English poets. Yes. Grr.
Gabriel projects a forcefield around herself.
Iris approaches cautiously, not hiding but moving in very quietly to a closer vantage point while everyone is preoccupied.
"Then is seems I've no-" He doesn't even finish the phrase, as one might expect, a bright swell of energy coursing into one of his palms, reflecting it in a rather severely bright light off the shiny surface of his armoring, having taken the moments spent to prepare the diversion, attempting to at least distract, if not temporarily blind, the thief.
Stiletto
Bardic Wolf is temporarily disoriented by Stiletto Sterling's Gleam attack.
Bardic Wolf is not quite battle-savvy and doesn't expect this (under-) handed trick. He gropes at his sensitive optics as the flash of light startles and temporarily blinds him, "Rotten knave!"
Pey, or Zen Eeh should I say is ICly in the library, amidst chaos, or tranquility. She's not reading or anything, she's just looking around. Fear her! No, really. Go on - it could be fun. Anyway she's here, damnit. And nobody can question /that/!
[Radio] Transmission detected: ... ... ...
[Radio] Transmission detected: ...
[Radio] Transmission detected: It's Hiryu. I have information on Xiang.
[Radio] Transmission detected: About time. ... tidbits did ... ... to find out?
[Radio] Transmission detected: Oh good.
In the blink of an eye, or rather the blink of a system (heheh, death to puns!), Stiletto closes the distance between himself and the star-crossed thief and his loot, the rather nicely clawed bottom of his foot striking upwards for a nicely full strike for the lupine's jaw. Hey, it works on TV! Hoping that the stun will provide the decisive opportunity for him to finish this quickly and efficiently without any damage to the building or the loot itself, Shiny boi's going for the direct, close-contact solution, it seems.
[Radio] Transmission detected: ... ... ... Radio. ... ... ... ... ...
[Radio] Transmission detected: I'll come ... you.
Stiletto
[Radio] Transmission detected: ... ... ... ... ... other ... Xiang ... care ... this ... being ...
It's a good thing Gabriel has very special eyes, it helps keep her from teleporting into walls and such, which wouldn't be pleasant. She stops by the Royal Literary Library and says, "It appears...the commotion is right...", she points towards a section of wall, "Right about there, I think, from the weapons discharges and such.", despite bleeding from a dreadful looking wound, she is quite cheerful about this.
[Radio] Transmission detected: ...
[Radio] Transmission detected: Possibly the Red Dragons. Matic does not seem ... like ... ... ... even a temporary ...
Righty-o! Feste simply nods -- what else is he supposed to do, other than ready himself to shoot something? "I trust your judgement, lady." But...hey. If she's got a smile on, why can't he? Yes, that's the right idea. I won't worry my life away... o/`
[Radio] Transmission detected: Blue Base.
[Radio] Transmission detected: ... ... aware ... ... ... ... ... our transmissions ... ... ... I ... be ... So wherever you care to ... ...
Iris enters the
Iris has left.
[Radio] Transmission detected: ... Blue Dragons ... ... the ... We have ... ... ... ...
Bardic Wolf
A lupine Reploid, wearing a stylish grey suit, which compliments his grey-white fur. A golden watch chain dangles from one pocket, reflecting the golden yellow of his eyes. A leather gentleman's purse is slung around his shoulder and rests against his hip.