|Siana Banes (honestumgladius) wrote in emillion,|
@ 2014-01-26 00:26:00
|Entry tags:||!complete, !log, cian wilde, siana banes|
Who: Siana & Cian
What: A deadly patrol
Where: The sewers
When: Late night/early morning
Rating: R for character death
|It was perhaps foolhardy to venture into the sewers alone, but with the recent bomb attack, once again, personnel were stretched thin, and Siana was not one to question orders, either. Still, she kept her eyes peeled and her ears alert for anything out of the ordinary. Being alone meant that she had to be particularly cautious, and fortunately, doing so was completely instinctual at this point in her training.|
She kept her hand on the hilt of her grandmother’s sword when she heard quieted murmurings echo through the sewer chambers. With narrowed eyes, she quietly moved towards the sound, removing her katana from its sheath, though she would not attack, of course, until she fully assessed the situation. People with legitimate business in the sewers were rare, but more, she did not wish to find herself in a situation she could not handle alone.
Siana stopped short of a passageway unfamiliar to her, and in disbelief she took stock of the men gathered and the cargo they had in their possession. Smugglers or thieves, it was clear, and she bit back a swear as she met eyes with the ringleader, a man she knew too well: Cian Wilde.
This unfortunate happenstance was something he probably should have expected. He’d felt something off since the morning; that happened sometimes --the feeling that Lady Luck was feeling capricious. There hadn’t been any opportunity this week to obtain updated patrol schedules, but there was no choice, either -- the merchandise had to be moved tonight, or never.
His solution: go along.
And it seemed he had been both right and wrong to do so, because there she was, hand on sword, and he knew they had only moments before things got ugly, bloody, and messy.
In business, he preferred things tidy.
“Mathis,” he barked, but the mage was seemingly already engaged; where he had failed at fully silencing their steps, he seemed more capable in this, at least: moments later, the peacekeeper froze in place, disabled.
Cian approached her with unhurried steps, watching her face. “Five on one, officer lady,” he said. “Were you going to try it? Why am I asking,” he answered himself with a shake off his head, “of course you would’ve; you’re that kind. Well, you’re welcome; I'll save you a world of hurt.”
The gun was easier than the cards, for executions. She wouldn’t have let them go without examining the crates, of course, or turned a blind eye, and he was in the habit of snipping loose ends. “Too bad; guess today wasn’t your lucky day.” He raised the gun, placed it against her temple, his face impassive.
With no backup, Siana knew that there would be no happy ending the moment she was paralyzed, not unless Faram graced her with a miracle, and what a miracle it would have needed to be; she had been the only peacekeeper within at least a mile, and thieves and other vagabonds who might stumble upon this scene, she knew, would only see it as an opportunity to rid Emillion of one more peacekeeper.
And so, when Wilde held up his gun, she had only a moment of dread, her thoughts racing of all she had yet to accomplish in her life still, and of her sister and nephew and parents. Then, when he pulled the trigger, her final thought was a prayer that she had, perhaps, done enough to please Faram and that if her grandmother greeted her in the afterlife, she, too, would be proud.
Then she thought of nothing at all.
He felt the recoil, watching dispassionately as her eyes went glassy and she toppled.
Minimum mess, minimum fuss. He turned back to his men, who were standing silently, watching. “Clean it up,” he said simply. Everyone in this operation knew how to dispose of a body -- and once it had been incinerated, it would be pretty fucking impossible to find evidence of the crime, except perhaps a few specks of blood and gray matter on already slimy, filthy sewer tunnel walls.
Peacekeeper Siana Banes would disappear, permanently.
“Move it, assholes, we don’t have all night.” They were seasoned enough to obey at once, knowing better than to argue or dawdle. “Mathis, Aeron, with me.” The three of them would have to manage the merchandise on their own, leaving two behind for clean-up.
Back to business as usual.