Relaxation OR Egonomic
 

"Man, I can't seem to catch a break. I guess I'll take what I can get."

With freedom returned to him, albeit temporarily, Rick, stood from his corner and made his way to the door. He strode purposefully, a man with a mission.

"I suppose preparation is in order. I should get to scribing and etching. Harm, I'll have to delay the sparring, at least till the evening."

So many new sigils, so little time.

***

Midnight, December Second.

Ricky returned for a last visit to his makeshift training ground. The night was clear and bitterly cold, traces of snow littered various locations. It was silent for a change, serene. The visual aspect did not compliment the silence. Gone was the pleasant meadow, replaced with rough rocks and scorched earth. He had removed the rope from the tree, but it had left a distinct mark. There was no longer any grass there. I guess I'm partly to blame, but there is no other way to test things of this nature. He shook his head, then wandered in.

He relaxed in the center of the clearing, a location he had grown quite accustom to over the month. A very quick month, and very productive. He lay there absorbing the night sky. It was the least amount of energy he had exerted all month. He smiled to himself when his thoughts turned to the recent past, a subject he nearly abandoned over the month. Wishful, hopeful thoughts ran through his head. I'm sure he made it. He had to. He wouldn't have let himself get taken out that easily.

Rick sat up, and stared at the blade of his sword. New sigils were etched in the blade, others in the handle. With the help he received hanging out with the protectors, he now had knowledge he had discounted before. With that knowledge, his control granted by the amulet, and his renewed and enhanced strength, he wondered if he could finally destroy something as powerful as a what he had been facing. I can only hope this helps me in our next mission.

His thoughts went to the future, and the insanity of what he was to attempt. We are going to open the gates. Open Them! Isn't that what hell wants? And whats to stop them from flooding through once it's open? He was concerned about the what could happen, the possibilities. He replaced his katana within it's sheath, and removed his knife. He held it in his scarred hands, most of the symbols once carved in his palms had healed over. He stared at the blade, reflecting the moonlight around the clearing. If the worst happens, I have to be ready to end it. But can I?

He grasped the blade tightly. I have to. But we wont need to, right? This will work and we'll seal the gate for good. Then I'm off to the next mission...

...where do I go after this?

A noise returned him to reality. Slightly jumpier then usual, he sprung to his feet. He flipped the knife, removing the blade from his hand and returning the handle.

"Hey, what's up?"

((OOC: Alright, here we go.))

Three days after Martin and Duncan left to contact the forces of the Council, Jeeves finds each person at the mountain retreat and relays a message sent from Duncan:

“Meet at Al’s the day after tomorrow, at noon.”


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As the group arrived at Al’s, Martin was sitting outside, looking as inconspicuous as he could, sitting out on the patio in front of a firepit to help fight off the cold of early December. He smiled and gestured for everyone to go inside. The diner was empty, save for Duncan, who was at a table, talking on his cell phone, and Al, in his usual spot at the bar.

“…yes, things are all ready to go here. No, I agree with you, the less people know about this, the better…less chance of us being discovered. Alright, I’ll see you shortly.” Duncan flipped his cellphone closed as the group settled in. “Sorry it took us so long,” Duncan said, “but we wanted to make sure everything was on the level before we got everyone together. I’ve been in contact with Tessa, and the forces within the Citadel who aren’t with the Council one hundred percent. I’ve got good news and bad news. The bad news is that, after a month of being who knows where, the Fallen is on the move, and seems to be in the process of building up his forces. The good news is that, this means that the Fallen is local, and that we can lure him our little trap. But we’ve got to move fast. The plan is that we’ll meet up with Tessa’s people here, and they’ll sneak us into the Citadel. From there, we-“

Martin ran inside the diner, closing the door behind him. He unslung the duffle bag he had on his shoulders, and pulled out his automatic shotgun. “I think we have trouble. There’s a bunch of vehicles coming up the road…more than enough to ‘pick us up’ in.”

Duncan gave Martin a dismissing wave. “Easy, Martin. That’s part of the plan, remember?”

Martin shot the other man a look. “No, the plan was to pick us up and take us to the Citadel. In no way shape or form did that plan require what is coming this way!”

Through the window, everyone could see a veritable fleet of vehicles close in on the diner. What looked like cop cars and SWAT vans skidded to halt in the parking lot, blocking the exits, and groups of people in SWAT-style body armor poured out of the vans and started to move, obviously to take up positions covering the building.

Over a megaphone, voice thundered: “[i]This the police! Come out with your hands up!”

As the man with the megaphone continued, Martin gave a harsh, forced laugh. “Police my eye, these guys are S.E.C.A. Ten to one they have a few mages worked in with the rest of their people, too. We’ve been double crossed.”

Duncan was on his feet, cursing under his breath. “I don’t believe this…okay. We’ve got to get out of here. Let’s get out the back before they get into posit-“

From the supposedly secure back, three armored figured burst in through the wooden walls. All, behind the counter, pulled an old, pump action shotgun from behind the bar. Before he even had a chance to pull the trigger, the lead Death Book struck, the metal book smashing Al through the counter and to the floor.

“Sonofa-“ Martin shouted, as he charged from his crouch. However, the door was knocked in as soon as he moved. Martin turned, and pulled the trigger. The first man through door fell. However, the two behind opened fire with their weapons. Six bloody holes exploded in Martin’s chest, and he went down.

Duncan pulled a throwing knife from his sleeve, and threw it at in the incoming S.E.C.A. troopers. The blade erupted into flame, and caught two of the men as they poured through the door. Both men were engulfed in flames, and ran screaming back outside. Before he had a chance to strike again, one of the men in SWAT armor pulled a sigil of his own. Throwing it, the sigil became a powerful wave of air, which picked up Duncan and slammed him into the far wall.

While this was happening, one of the Death Books had sprung across the room, and threw his book. Before anyone had a chance to react, the book circled Laurella several times. It never actually touched her, but the chain now surrounded Laurella like a coiled snake…and one look at the chain made it clear that it had been sharpened to a razor’s edge.

“Surrender or the girl dies now!” the Death Book yelled. All the while, more S.E.C.A. and Society agents came through the door. There were even a number of Shepherd exorcists, they’re bladed staffs giving them away despite their body armor. The group was rather outnumbered already, not counting all the people outside.

The Death Book commander looked at Laurella, and whispered so only that she could her, “Trust us.”

((OOC: Surrender or fight…technically it’s your choice, but if you choose fight, you’re going to give me a headache >_<. Everyone is pretty well covered, so if you do fight, you’re going to get wiped out pretty cleanly...but hey, that could be an ending too. >_>;;

But just play nice and give up, please?))

Task and Troy walked out of the men's bathroom at that odd moment, Troy looking angry and Task blushing.

"Is it too much to ask for you to just stay in your own stall?"

"I couldn't help it! It wasn't my doing! Honest! It'll never happen again! EVER! EVER!!!!"

It was at that moment that Troy and Task noticed the current situation.

Troy pulled out a knife instinctively, while Task's changed priorities lead him to suck on his pinky. "Oh, what's the problem, officer?"

"Martin!" Trish gasped, watching the man fall. She grabbed a sigil crane, took aim--

And froze as a Death Book captured Laurella.

Was this how it was going to end? All this death, all this trouble to protect her, just to fail when they were this close to having half a chance at survival?!

“Surrender or the girl dies now!” snarled the Death Book.

Trish's fist clenched around the crane, and then let go. The bird fluttered harmlessly to the ground. Damn. Damn, damn, dammity frickkin' damn. Yes, this was how it was going to be. Go figure. But she didn't want anyone else to die. As long as the Mother was still alive, there was a chance they could still pull off this crazy stunt.

There was only one thing she could say to all this, but it wasn't PG rated. So she said the next best thing.

"Task," she said, deciding to turn her attention elsewhere. "You've become about sixty different definitions of wrong over the past month, you know that?"

"Don't I know it. And if you only knew what was going on in my pants. It's the stuff of cthulian nightmares, I tell you!" Task whined. "Unless of course, you DO want to know whats-OH SHUT UP Makowho-Re!"

As Task spoke, three of the troopers with Shepherd staffs turned and faced him. Oddly enough, it seems that the exorcists could tell that there was a some sort of demonic presence in him.

Exorcists sensing demons…go figure.

And apparently rather skilled exorcists. Pointing their staffs at Task, they all went into the same chant at once. They didn’t really know what kind of demon it was…they’d just barely noticed it, after all…so they didn’t attempt a full-blown exorcism. Rather, they used a binding chant, that would prevent the possessing demon from controlling the host body.

That was how it worked with most demons, at least. Task was kind of a special case, so it wasn’t certain if it would have the fully desired effect or not. But, at the very least, it promised not to be pleasant for whatever was sharing his body.

Upon pulling the knife, Troy found a wide variety of weapons pointed at him. Ninja or no, it was an impressive amount of bullets to avoid if he decided to do anything stupid. The odds of him avoiding them all was so bad that even not a junky in Vegas would take the bet.

((OOC: Pyros, I leave the effect of the binding chant to you. Technically, it should at least weaken your demons somewhat...but since it’s your thing, I (against my better judgement >_>;;) leave it in your hands what the overall effect is.))

"Put it down, Troy," Trish said quietly. "Not even plushies can block that many bullets."

"Not even giant armadillo plushies?" Troy asked hopefully. Trish shook her head, and the ninja boy sighed and dropped the blade to the ground.

"I never get to summon the giant armadillo plushies," he grumbled.

Task fell to the ground in a heap. The wards that Makowho-Re put up to keep too much energy flowing into Task from the behemoth had fallen, and the energy would have surged into him and killed him had the weakened wards been strengthened by the temporary wards put up by the Exorcists.

How long Makowho-Re would let these get in her way was up to her, but for now Task and Co. were lucky. Had Task not been in the good state he had been in, the splitsecond flood of energy he felt before collapse could have broken every ward, and everyone in a 2 mile radius would be dead.

However lucky this was, there was the matter of the horrors down in Task's pants, but such things are best left unsaid.

"What the fuck is your problem, asshole?!" Laurella cried, giving the Death Book commander her most frightening evil eye ever. "Why does all our fucking exchanges have to end in casualties?! You guys have clearly gone off the deep end with this 'end of the world' bullshit!"

But she didn't move from her spot, and she didn't resist. She just tried to turn the commander to stone with her cold gaze.

A few days during the break

Alicia panted as she slowed to a stop, bending over and propping her body up by her arms on her knees as she paused to catch her breath. The chilly December morning had invigorated her, and she was feeling better after the run through the snow. Her feet protested otherwise, but she found ignoring the cold was easy after jogging around the mansion a dozen times as her own body heat generated more than enough to cover her losses.

If she wasn't so wrapped up, she'd be steaming, but as of now, Alicia's breath was the only thing that fogged up the air in front of her.

Alicia straightened and pushed her hair from her eyes, trying, as well, to push the nightmares preying on her mind.

They'd come now in increasingly intensity and frequency, plaguing her sometimes bland and peaceful nights. On most occasions, she'd wake up gasping and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Most other times, she'd stay awake, studying texts on sigil-crafting, but not really taking it in, before falling asleep into a dreamless slumber out of sheer exhaustion.

But on the day when Jeeves contacts her outside just finishing her morning run, Alicia had come to a conclusion.

Half-listening to what Jeeves had to say, half musing to her own churning thoughts, Alicia nodded to Jeeves, murmured something close to assent, before turning in her tracks and jogging in the other direction. Not wishing to disturb the young, glassy-eyed woman any further, and having accomplished his task, Jeeves went inside to find the others.

Alicia jogged. And jogged.

I don't have much longer, do I?



~~

"Oh god--!!!"

Alicia had instantly reacted when people busted in the doors, drawing both crossbows, but had jerked to an instant halt when Martin went down, crossbows falling from her numb fingers as the other ex-hunter fell in a bloody mess on the ground.

"... fuck this shit!" and Alicia burst into tears.