hermes (polytropos) wrote in mythologs, @ 2011-12-29 04:20:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !event #016, hector, hermes |
[closed/complete]
Characters: Hermes (xpolytropos) and Hector (armystrong)
Date/Time: December 21st
Location: 6th floor
Rating: PG
Warnings: Insanity, French swear words
Summary: In which two of Ancient Greece's most tactical men meet. And both are named Vincent.
Half an hour ago, Hermes had been pulling off one of the most important heists of his life. Okay, no, not really - robbing the Met was something he'd already done quite a few times. Nonetheless, it was an important heist, one he'd been meticulous in planning and executing. Naturally, just as he was at the crux of his plan - boom! He'd somehow been transported to an apartment. It had been a long time since he last teleported, and while teleportation had once been something he enjoyed immensely, it was entirely unwelcome now. Not to mention, entirely outside his volition.
As professional criminals are wont to do, Hermes adapted to the situation and took to exploring the place. What at first glance looked like an apartment building was a veritable fortress. All entrances and exits were barred. Even when he'd successfully managed to pick a lock, the door had remained firmly shut. The windows and vents were the same. While his laptop and phone had somehow made the jump, none of his equipment had. So he couldn't test whether or not the walls would hold. But he was sure the effort would be fruitless, anyway. Whatever it was that was powerful enough to teleport him and secure the building wouldn't have missed out on the walls.
Plain and simple, he was stuck. But he'd survive, he was sure. He just had to go through the motions of whatever this entity wanted.
Sighing, Hermes made his way back to his room. It wasn't an awful place, at least. He was settling onto the bed when the side table gave him pause - had that sprig of mistletoe been there before? Well, he thought, a grin in place. That deserves to go higher up, doesn't it? Delighted by whatever holiday mischief he was about to cause, he reached for the mistletoe sprig.
Hector, on the other hand, had already encountered his share of mistletoe, however without noticing. Upon suddenly waking up in a room that wasn't his (quel surprise), he'd patted himself down to ensure that all parts were accounted for, and that he hadn't turned into, say, a horse. Following a quick once-over of the room, the once crown prince set to roam the hallway to locate others rather than resorting to his laptop, completely missing the mistletoe hanging above his door.
A couple things happened following that. Such as an urge to quick return to his room in the event of impending danger, which he was sure would fall upon him soon. His journey through the hallway was limited to about three minutes before he returned and immediately began salvaging for some useful materials.
Ten minutes later, a fort composed of the mattress, all of the blankets, and the pillows stood near the back wall.
The only reason Hector felt to leave his room was to hunt down more materials to defend himself. Pillow in hand (one could never know what dangers awaited, particularly after that haunted hotel), he edged down the corridor once again, this time entirely prepared to pillow someone or something in the face should it have presented a threat. One particular door was kept slightly ajar, and pillow gripped tightly against his chest, he pressed his back into the wall to listen for any noises indicating a presence inside.
As soon as his fingers brushed across the leaves, Hermes understood his reasons for being brought here. This territory he'd been given - he had to defend it. There was no other option - he could not allow his tiny kingdom to fall prey to siege. Setting the mistletoe back to its original perch on the side table, he rose. With unparalleled urgency, he set about fortifying his territory.
A haphazard mountain of mattress, pillows, and blankets found its way to the bathroom. It was the farthest and most defensible place from the room's door - perfect for the capital of his new kingdom. Pleased with his work, Hermes investigated the cabinets for more pillows. His search bearing fruit, the messenger god eagerly set up a trap: he placed two pillows on top of the door. Beautifully simple, but to the god's addled mind it was the most intricate of battle strategies.
Hermes pulled off the last pillow's pillowcase and ripped two holes in it before wearing the linen proudly over his head. Without any regard for how stupid he might've looked, he stood up against the wall next to the main door, posture tense and militant. The armies will soon arrive like plagues, he thought, adjusting his crudely fashioned helmet to let his eyes peer through. But I will be ready.
Movement. Human, non-human? Animal? Hector assumed the former, but understood nothing was to be underestimated. Nothing was to be taken for granted. This was war, after all. And in war, you had to enforce some tact in order to outsmart or out-fight the enemy. This human enemy could be taken. But slowly, and with caution at first.
He'd remained very still when the presence came to the door, and was careful to hold his breath. A trap, of what he couldn't be sure until he spied those pillows. Minutes later, when all was quiet, he pushed the door open very slowly with his heel, keeping his eyes between the pillow trap and the space between door and frame.
The door was opening slowly. Hermes watched its progress from the corner of his eye. It was moving, but there was no one pushing it forward? Non, non, that could not be. He eyed the door up and down. Aha! A foot at the bottom of the door. His opponent was careful; Hermes would have to be doubly attentive if he wanted to guarantee his kingdom's safety.
Crouching down so as not to be seen immediately, Hermes bided his time. That foot was attached to a body, and as soon as that body made itself known, there would be no mercy. It would take around three more seconds until the intruder had crossed the threshold. Since Hermes was up against the wall, there would be a delay ranging anywhere from five seconds to two minutes before he was recognized. If he was smart about it and kept away from his opponent's line of vision, that could go up to five. If he stayed crouched and quiet, there was an additional thirty seconds. So at the very least, he had eight seconds, and at most, three hundred thirty three.
Even at best, not very good odds to set up another trap. Damn it - he knew he should've used one of the blankets as a trip trap. No matter, five seconds would be adequate for a solid blow, and improvisation was possible from there. From behind the linen of the helmet, Hermes' eyes narrowed. His kingdom would not fall to ruins.
As predicted, there was no immediate attack on Hector's person, but that didn't relieve him in the slightest. It could mean a variety of things: that his enemy hadn't seen his move, that his enemy could be in close-range or far off. That his enemy might've been just as cautious as he and therefore was waiting for the first move. So many things could go horribly wrong with a badly-timed preemptive attack.
And so the Trojan kicked the door open the rest of the way without removing himself from his post, opting instead to wait on the one on the other side to make that first move. The first few steps in battle could often be the most important. On occasion, they could tell the ending of a battle.
Once his leg was withdrawn, a handful of memories assailed him: of his time in Kandahar, of his life in Troy. Some in which he was equipped with a semi-automatic, some wielding a great sword. They were so vivid, so close to being real that he could almost feel warm wind on his face, taste dust at the back of his throat. He closed his eyes. But they weren't real. They were only memories of times long gone.
Ready now not only in mind but also in heart, Hector re-opened his eyes and took some quiet steps back, pillow at the ready.
Merde. A withdrawal. Was it a feint or an act of cowardice? Likely the former - there was no way his opponent had come so far only to withdraw quickly. The message was clear: it's your move now. Hermes considered the situation as quickly as possible. As it stood, Hermes had the upper ground in terms of territory. Did he actually need to engage his opponent in combat when the door was so easily shut and locked?
It was the best way to defend his kingdom, surely. But - wait, no - the pillows from the trap had fallen from their initial perch, blocking the door's path back to the frame. His mind racing to calculate time, Hermes knew he wouldn't be fast enough to run out and remove them before the opponent launched a counteroffensive. He could kick them out and consequently have sufficient time, but those were his pillows. They came with the territory he had to protect. He could not doom them to the opponent's cruelty. Perhaps he could pull them back into the room? But if he did so, the opponent would be alerted to Hermes' position.
He had to sacrifice himself, Hermes realized. He could run out, move the pillows back into the room, and lock the door behind him. The opponent would launch a strike, yes, but the only available target would be Hermes. His kingdom would be safe. And it was not sequestered away forever. Were Hermes to survive the encounter with the intruder, he could easily pick the lock back open.
The way forward was clear. From his crouched position, Hermes hurled the nearest pillow back to the empty bed frame. Sprinting out into the line of the doorway, he picked up the last pillow and threw it toward the bed frame as well. Twisting the lock and pulling the door shut behind him, Hermes found himself with nothing save his bare pillow and linen helmet in the open space of the corridor.
There was some strange movement from within the apartment, and before Hector could figure out just what was going on, the door was opening. Instinctively, he back up some paces, clutching his own pillow tight in a fist. And so the first move was made. The pawn had advanced on the chessboard, and now it was up to him to made the second move so as not to be at a disadvantage.
His eyes narrowed a little as he did a quick once-over of the man to assess his weapons, pausing for a few seconds on that ridiculous thing on the guy's face. Was he taking this seriously at all? It didn't seem it. If he was looking to disguise himself, it wouldn't matter.
Violence wouldn't be his answer yet. For now, words could suffice.
"I'm not looking for trouble. Are you?"
"No," he said slowly, at first spreading the pillow out in both hands as a shield. "I only seek to defend my territory."
His eyes darted quickly and worriedly over the other doors. If the intruder was an ally, perhaps they could seek to subdue the others? Focus, Hermes. His eyes returned to the man before him. The man hardly looked impressed. Good - in instances like these it was an advantage to be underestimated.
Hector was tempted to relax, then, but refrained from doing so. Appearing as such in front of someone who could be either enemy or ally was never a tactful move without knowing. He exhaled deeply out of his nose, lowering his makeshift weapon just slightly. Invading someone else's territory wouldn't be right, no matter how desperately he required more linen-type materials.
"I'm not here to take it from you." But why is that thing on your face, he almost ended up asking.
"Then what is it you seek?" Hermes prodded, grip tight on his pillow.
The man before him held his pillow in the familiar Grecian warrior stance, and that gave Hermes reason to worry about the possible outcome of an impromptu brawl. While Hermes could hold his own in one on one combat, it wasn't his preferred method. He may have invented the art of fighting, but it was boring compared to intellectual strategy. Also, wait - Grecian warrior stance. Perhaps someone he knew? Even a brother? Curious but wary, Hermes waited for the man's response.
"Your name, at the very least," the Trojan prompted, still not lowering his own people. Even in the face of someone who appeared to be non-hostile, it was always better to be on one's guard, lest something unexpected occurred. Something like getting whacked with a projectile pillow.
"I'm--" Hector "--Vincent. And you?"
Hermes paused. Was this a joke? "Vincent GĂ©roux."
He was sure 'Vincent' was not the man's true identity, as 'Vincent' was not his own as well. But it seemed the man's true name was something he'd have to earn in time. There were more important things to sort through. Though the two were at a standstill, the tide of war could shift at any given moment. "So... Vincent, what brought you to my territory?"
And in return, Hector paused as well. The likelihood of meeting another person who shared his name was usually rather slim, even in a city as big as New York. Not that this was New York. He wasn't quite caught off guard by the reveal, but he did manage the slightest of frowns. Unless the man was lying. Who would ever doubt that the enemy could lie to another's face? Regardless of being lied to time and time again, however, he couldn't tell if this man was being truthful.
The fingers clenching the pillow tightened in the fabric. "I was scavenging for materials," he admitted, not seeing the harm in telling the truth. "I wasn't aware your territory was occupied, but I had to be sure."
He needed materials; Hermes needed safety. Complementary goals. Would the coincidence prove itself fortuitous? "There are others here, Vincent. Perhaps... an alliance would suit both our objectives? I only seek to protect what is mine."
"As do I," the other man murmured, thinking back to his own abandoned fortress. There was little to protect it, and he'd really only meant to leave the room for less than ten minutes, assuming that the place would be empty. Alas, it hadn't been so. But what sort of joke was this to meet someone with his name?
Hector sucked in a deep breath and stepped forward about two steps. Not too close -- still far enough away to dodge an attack if one came. "I'll agree to an alliance. .. Vincent." One hand was offered.
Their goals matched up, Hermes still had his master lockpick tucked in his right sock, and there was no indication of hostility on either end. All looked well.
Firmly, Hermes gripped Hector's hand in a solid shake. "Deal."