Mag Paget, Shotgun Knight (clippedwing) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-04-16 02:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !group thread, !log, bram thornton, jareth monaco, magnolia paget, peony min |
but sure as god made black and white, what's done in the dark will be brought to the light.
Who: Bram, Jareth, Mag, Peony + NPCs!
What: Following up on a lead (and closing the case)
Where: A warehouse near the docks
When: Today, in the evening.
Rating: R for violence and references to NPC death (not in the actual scene)
Status: Complete!
A missing victim was one thing. A missing suspect was another entirely. Jareth had turned over numerous stones and couldn’t find the mysterious Mr. Ruck Fallon; it seemed the man had gone to ground, and couldn’t be rooted up in any of his usual haunts for questioning… which was, in and of itself, suspicious enough to send up red flags. Thankfully, they’d obtained a list of properties belonging to Fallon, and drummed up vague testimonies that his associates might have spotted him at one of his warehouses. The conclusion was obvious: send the Knight of the Peace to investigate the lead, see if they could pull in the man for that well-needed questioning. But Bram would be damned if one of his officers went in alone again. And it seemed he wasn’t the only one raring to go. “It might be nothing,” he said to Mag, his jaw and voice hard. Bringing a civilian into the affair wasn’t ideal, but the woman was planted in front of him with her typical stubbornness, and Bram wearily suspected he recognised the tone of voice that meant he wasn’t going to win this one. And Mag was professional enough, he knew, to stay out of the way and not blunder the investigation. Still, he had to show token resistance. “If it’s nothing, you’ll be bored witless. If it’s something, I don’t want you at risk.” They were suiting up, donning coats and surreptitiously grabbing weapons. The detective inspector strode back out into the main room of the EKP offices, where Jareth and Peony were similarly getting ready. Mag followed at his heels, still arguing for inclusion or, more accurately, to let Bram know she was already included. "I know the warehouse you're heading to. Meaning we can go together, or I can pretend to give up and then go there by myself." They both knew those were the two options, short of him putting her under arrest--and he had no justification and no time for it. "If it's something, I want to help combat the risk." There was little time for arguing, and they were all ready and armed. Reassuring, that her concerns about the son of a bitch were being taken into account (or perhaps the shadow cast by a loss too fresh in their minds), but not nearly reassuring enough. Wouldn't be, until everything was over. Jareth had sent the message to Peony as soon as he’d gotten word that Fallon had been spotted at the warehouse and informed Thornton that they were planning on heading over. Between the two of them, he figured it would be simple enough, but Thornton had made it clear that he wasn’t going anywhere without backup, and it was Finch’s day off - no need to call in the other berserker when the Detective Inspector insisted on coming along. Maybe that was reason enough. Seeing Paget at Thornton’s side was another. This night was just getting better and better. Jareth nodded and led the way out of the building towards the waiting hovercar - taking crystals were out; it took too long dashing between them to get where you wanted to go. The hovercar would make more noise, possibly tip their suspect off, but he could just park it a block away, keep the lights killed. Less a risk than missing Fallon entirely because they were crystal hopping. It was uncomfortably cramped - between the two larger men, plus theirs and Paget’s weapons, there barely seemed room to breathe; there’d be no way to toss the suspect into the car with them. Fortunate that Lindwyrm wasn’t far from where they were going. Peony did not comment on the comfort of the situation -- nor, indeed, did she consider it. Her mind was elsewhere entirely. She knew that the others were likely concerned primarily with apprehending a murderer. She did not forget about this part of the task, certainly, but her thoughts were on what she considered a far greater danger: the scroll had been missing since the New Year, nearly a month now. It was time enough for a determined and skilled mage to have learned it; though no one had reported signs that would point to someone playing with the Dark, that meant little. She thought of what they had found in the sewers -- so much corruption that the air was almost too thick to breathe, all under their feet as the city’s citizens went on with their lives. She was glad they had called her; going into this operation without a mage, if her worries were well-founded, would not have ended well. The car stopped, engine silenced and headlights off; she blinked to become accustomed to the darkness as they piled out of the car. She was not skilled in stealth, but in her soft shoes she could walk softly enough that, when the direction was given via hand gesture, she fell into step with only a rustle of cloth, finding herself alongside Mag between the two Knights of the Peace at the front and rear of the makeshift party. She knew when they approached their destination, however, even before a hand was raised to call a halt; she placed her hand on Bram’s shoulder, which was closest, and murmured softly, “The scroll has been here.” Whether it -- or the suspect -- was present now she didn’t know, but she felt the tendrils of residue stretching out from the warehouse, evidence of a spell cast many times, one casting layered upon the other. “I am afraid we are too late to prevent the spell from being learned.” Now, it seemed, they would have to endeavor to neutralize the threat instead. The woman’s warning was a shock, and Bram felt his gut sinking as he looked back over his shoulder to Peony. The scroll they desperately needed to avoid being cast at all… already had been. They were too late. The dragoon couldn’t sense anything; this warehouse seemed the same as any other to him, still and suspiciously quiet, and he had zero indication whether magic had been cast here or not. But this was why they had a mage consultant on staff. He nodded. “Seems like we’ll be encountering a bit more than nothing, then,” Bram said dryly. Playing by the law had its downsides, and they hadn’t had time to run through the red tape with a judge: “Since we don’t have a search warrant, we’ll have to announce ourselves. Do it the right way. For now, it’s still technically just questions.” He tried not to give Jareth a significant look at that (a slight warning). They could react, but shouldn’t instigate. The side entrance to the warehouse waited ahead of them, a dark leering shadow in the darkness—the closer they drew, the better they could could hear muffled voices beyond. With a deep breath, Bram knocked on the door, a few booming thuds ringing on the metal. As though the knock were the final touch in a magician's trick, silence fell on the other side of the door. Nothing to see here. Instinctively, Mag's hand went to rest on the butt of her shotgun. After the clumsy veil of silence, there were footsteps. More than one set. The door swung inward a crack, and Fallon appeared in the gap. With a low whistle, he said, "Well, I'll be damned. All these times I invited you to a sleepover at my place, Maggie, and you finally show up. And you've even brought friends." But he had recognised Bram; the slight widening of his eyes as he'd opened the door told the truth of the tale. She repressed her initial response and glanced at Bram, giving him the slightest nod. It was not her place to start this conversation, and she was content to let the officers talk while she watched for any signs of the machinations no doubt already taking shape behind Fallon's smirk. Jareth’s own affinity for magic was little - he couldn’t even cast the basics - but he recognized the dark. The remnants of the spell hung thick on the air and slithered over his skin, reminding him of the Guard and Aspel and Li. But one had nothing to do with the other, and he brought his focus back to the task at hand - the guy who was addressing Paget and looking at Thornton like he knew who he was. “You Ruck Fallon?” Jareth asked, eyeing the guy. “Maggie already nodded to your superior, so I suppose I must be.” Fallon glanced at him and crossed his arms. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” “We just have some questions about some of your recent business transactions,” Bram said. “Mind if we come in? It sounded like you have company.” The detective inspector’s voice was so inoffensively bland that it hardly seemed threatening—but he flashed his badge regardless, and it was clear that their inviting themselves in was a demand, not a request. Fallon glanced at each of them in turn, as though hoping they might turn around and leave; when they showed no sign of it, he stepped back and opened the door wider to let them in, into the dimly-lit warehouse beyond. “I’d offer you a drink, but I only have whiskey and you’re on the clock.” He seemed to be trying for casual, but falling short; his arms were still firmly crossed and he stood between the officers and whatever lurked in the warehouse, like a shepherd trying to herd sheep away. “So what was it you wanted to ask?” Jareth, who’d been standing behind Thornton, answered. “Wanted to know about your relationship with Kamon Leradine.” While waiting for Fallon to reply, he stepped forward, trying to get a better look at the inside of the warehouse. If Thornton, Peony and Paget hadn’t been there, he’d have just barged in. This guy was dirty - he knew that much. Proof was in that warehouse. Behind him, Peony stood, face still placid as she attempted to peer into the darkness. She could feel it more strongly with the door open, but that was not her primary concern. There was something building, just out of sight -- She was not the sort to speak up during an interrogation, but here, it seemed inevitable; tone still placid and soft, she suggested, “I believe everyone would be more comfortable if you asked your friend to stop casting.” Her hand was on her rod, however, ready to draw it if necessary; if the mages could not be reasoned with, at the very least they would not ambush an unsuspecting party. That catch was enough to make Bram stiffen, his own hand drifting towards the staff of his halberd, face hardening into stern lines. If he seemed businesslike before, the man was carved out of rock now. Fallon froze, eyes instantly flickering to the weapons. The half-light in the warehouse took pity on him, making his reaction less obvious. He scrambled to recover as a figure stepped out from the shadows and came to stand beside him. “He’s not my friend,” Fallon said, with a ghost of his earlier devil-may-care attitude. “His manners leave a lot to be desired.” "He is simply unaccustomed to the joy of surprise night-time visits," the man corrected. The hood of his robes shielded his face from what meager light shone inside the warehouse, but Mag heard the smile in his voice--a smile like a snake slithering through the underbrush, ready to strike. From the darkness, she heard the faintest of footsteps--perhaps an echo of what she expected to hear, an expectation honored by the adrenaline that had started to run through her veins. Her hand closed around the butt of her shotgun as she peered into the dark, trying to glimpse Fallon's metaphorical knives before they stabbed them in the back. "Go ahead and answer the officer's question," said the robed man. "I'm sure he'll leave as soon as his curiosity is sated." "Business partners," Fallon said, gaze flickering to Mag. "Haven't seen him in a while, so if you're looking for him, you might wanna look elsewhere." “We’re a little uncertain of that. Any of your friends here know him too?” Bram asked. “There’s some evidence he tangled with some mages recently.” The EKP contingent were standing inside the warehouse now, but the place was dim—too dim to see the full features of the others lurking in the background, the conversation they’d evidently interrupted. His senses were on full alert now, peeled and ready. Though he couldn’t sense the magic in the air, he could practically smell the tension, reeking off the shadowy figures in waves. The man next to Fallon withdrew a book from his robes (followed by the unholstering of weapons, the officers sensing danger) and Fallon put his hands up. “Let’s all calm down. They’re officers of the law. We can be civil.” “You calm down. You talk too much.” The man hit his ally on the head with the tome, too quick for Fallon to avoid the blow. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious. “You can use Mystic spellbooks for this, too,” the man said to the officers, almost conversationally. But now the conversation was over, and Mag shouted, “Look out!” as she felt the warmth of a Fire spell being cast behind her and dodged (an instinct hard to shake, for one who had once been a Dragon Rider). Peony had suspected upon entering the warehouse that it would come to this. She had hoped to be wrong, but such situations usually went the way of violence. This was why she had already considered several possibilities, and a spell was on her lips only moments later. A Thundara cast out into the darkness revealed one more man to contend with; although the lightning crackled around him, he was already holding his staff and instants after Peony’s spell connected she found herself buffeted by a violent wind, barely managing to keep her footing. There was one more behind them, it seemed; the Fire spell from that caster just missed her sleeve. She managed to get off a Stun, temporarily freezing the Mystic in place. They needed to disable the mages one by one to turn the tide -- That was when the first wave of Darkness hit. Jareth, recognizing the energy, stepped into the spell, blocking it from hitting anyone else. He wasn’t sure how much experience any of the rest of them had with it, but he could deal with it. Even though the feeling of the Dark closing around him, seeping into him, brought back memories, made him crave it. He was going to regret it later, when the last of the Dark had dissipated from his skin, when the withdrawal set in. The spell had come from behind them, and so he headed off in that direction. If only one mage could cast it, good. That meant only one mage to take down. While Jareth forged onward into the flickering darkness ahead of them (berserkers, Bram thought, a grumble in the back of his mind), the dragoon stepped forward and lunged for the Mystic which Peony had stunned. His halberd rose, the broad side of the axe smashing into the man’s back. A non-lethal attack for now, striving to incapacitate rather than kill (they had questions, the mages had answers). But the spells writhed in the air, Jareth catching the brunt of it like a man struggling through a fierce undertow, and the cold, clammy magic buffeted Bram as well. It made him slow, just in time for the Mystic to tear himself free from the stun: a mist then seemed to ooze out at the group, blurring their mind, a mental fog. The tendrils of magic wrapped around Mag, but not before she could fire off a shot. The answering grunt told her it had hit home, but there was no time to rejoice; the Mystic’s spell was sapping away her focus, leaving her wide open for the next wave of Darkness that washed over the group. Where before it had been only a ghost, this time without Jareth to take one for the team she felt the clammy cold of it seeping through her skin, could only imagine the damage it was wreaking on the inside, where she could not feel it. She remembered Aspel, half-conscious, sending forth wave after wave of Dark, crumbling to the ground after. They had to finish this, and fast. The mages seemed to be of the same mind; after the Dark, a strong wind slammed into her from the side, and she gritted her teeth, let the impact shake her out of her stupor. She raised her shotgun again and shot in the direction the last Dark spell had come from, hearing another scream in reply. Running over there, she saw another robed man, on the ground, his leg bleeding profusely, clinging to a scroll of parchment as though it were the only thing keeping him alive. “Hand it over,” Mag told him, making the connection at once. The man began to chant, and she aimed her shotgun at his chest. “Now, or I shoot you.” The chanting continued. She had no time to waste, and did not want to shoot; in one quick movement, she knocked the man upside the head with the butt of her shotgun, hoped it was enough to keep him out of the game for now, but not permanently. As she was reaching down to take the scroll, a burst of Fire hit her from behind. She did not dodge this one in time, but she was not the only affected party. Before her eyes, the scroll caught flame and started to burn. Peony struggled for concentration through the haze over her mind. If only she could… Her first and second spell attempts faded like wisps of fog before she could properly form them, and the darkness pressed in on her lungs, making it hard to breathe. Perhaps it was her determination that kept her from falling to the onslaught, or perhaps only luck, but as her mind began to clear, her vision narrowed on the man who had cast the spell. Who would surely cast it again if something wasn’t done -- Through gritted teeth, she completed the incantation for Scourge. Around her, she heard the screams -- one, two, three -- as the spell took hold. They would surrender or they would fall, sapped of strength. Paget had zeroed in on the mage with the Dark spell, and so Jareth had moved on to the surrounding mages. While the rest of the rag tag team slowed with each successful cast of Dark, he kept moving as normal. He knew Thornton would notice, knew there would be questions later - questions he didn’t want to answer - but there was still time to think of some story. Or fuck, maybe he’d tell a version of the truth. Who the fuck knew. All he knew at the moment was that they needed to neutralize the rest of the mages - quickly. He used the butt of his ax to knock out a mage - incapacitate, don’t kill - and dodged a Fira spell aimed at his head. The spell flew past him and collided with the older dragoon instead; the pain was blistering, the heat hot against Bram’s skin, but he pushed through it. Peony’s spell had weakened all of the mages—Fallon, stirring from where the mage’s tome had dazed him and now seeing how the cards were falling, finally rejoined the fight. But he turned on the mage with a punch to the jaw. He then looked up at the officers with a shifting, melding expression: hope, eagerness, the sly self-preservation of a rat; look, wasn’t I helpful? The last mage surged back to his feet, but then staggered. His face was pale and wan, sickly and pallid; the rest of his energy sapped by Peony’s spell, he was easy pickings for Bram and another swing of his halberd, bringing the last of the mages down. He hit the ground with a thud. Bram stood staring at the ruins of the scene. Fallon had flopped on them, instantly turning on his associates. Mag leaned over a burning fire. “The scroll?” he asked, instinctively moving to stand between Fallon and the exit. Peony had always made the danger clear regarding that scroll, making it their new objective to contain. “It appears to have been hit,” Peony said, her voice a bit tight with pain as she finally succumbed to the internal injuries she knew she had sustained. The ornate edging of the parchment was recognizable from the memstone. “Let it burn.” It would be better if it were no longer in existence. “You need only find the ring.” She swayed on her feet, then moved slowly, painfully to lean against the nearest wall. She was likely nearly as pale as the mages lying senseless on the floor. “The prisoners,” she said, “will require urgent medical attention, else they will die. I thought it best to contain them quickly, before they could attempt to weaken us further.” Seeing the way Peony stood, as though willpower were the only thing keeping her upright (how many times had Mag seen that look, albeit on another woman's face?) made the scroll seem irrelevant. "You look like you need medical attention," Mag pointed out. And for all she knew, she did as well--she was still functional, but she had no way of knowing how long it would be until she wasn't. Healing wasn't her forte, but she didn't need to fix her allies completely. A Dragonmend would be enough to keep them standing until more competent help became available. As her healing wrapped around the four visitors, Fallon clapped his hands once and said, "Well, there's that. Sure your prisoners will appreciate the medical help. As for the ring, my not-a-friend with the book was wearing one." He indicated the unconscious Mystic with a flourish of his hand. Jareth stalked over to the Mystic and removed the ring, looking at it curiously before pocketing it. Whatever it was, he didn’t care. And it was ugly as fuck, too. Mages clearly didn’t understand understated. Before Fallon could slither off somewhere, though, Jareth grabbed the man by the collar and grinned. “Yeah, and you can help us out some more, too.” It took a while to get all of the damn mages to Lyndwyrm - Thornton had called for some back up while Jareth was hauling the first load over - but eventually, they were all situated in cells. Peony and Paget were with the mages, and Jareth handed the ring over to Thornton, who looked fucking chipper for someone who’d caught a Fira to the shoulder. Still, the mood was infectious, and even Jareth was grinning. He’d thought this would turn up cold, too, but it hadn’t. For once, he could go home and sleep without the nagging uncertainty. Maybe they all could. |