ιѕαвєℓα (rivaini) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-04-06 18:46:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, garrett hawke, isabela |
Who: Hawke & Isabela
What: Lights Out, Ladies - or actually, a brief bounty hunting excursion to pick up the leader of the Invisible Sisters
When: Tonight
Where: Boardwalk, in a cheesy tourist shoppe
Rating/Warnings: Medium for violence and Isabela, because she gets her own warning
Status: Complete
Oh, Maker’s cock, it was like these people just gave up on being discreet. Well, technically, Isabela supposed that not everyone was as attuned to the inner workings of the criminal underworld as she happened to be - a chintzy souvenir shop along the boardwalk, right by the beach, would look like only that to the untrained eye. But this particular mecca for keychains, magnets, shot glasses, mugs, and cheaply made towels and flip flops was a front for a prime money laundering operation - dirty money comes in, it goes out cleanly to whichever cartel is owed, the whole ‘business’ run by a group called The Invisible Sisters, lady thugs who didn’t appreciate threats to their territory. Bela had heard of them - they made nuisances of themselves in Kirkwall as well, their hideaway tucked all snugly up in the Red Light District. But alright, Hawke and his crew of misfits had taken care of them once, it could very well be a two-person job now. Besides, if Bela was going to run a shady business (and she sort of still did, oops! That was more treasure hunting for preferred clients, alright, and Constantine even got a house out of it), she’d certainly want to do it right on the beach. It was so lovely, with the soft sky above, the clouds reflecting light, the lacy foam that was like a blanket over the blue water. Now it was nighttime, but the sea still held a special sort of beauty. And the smell, mmm, it was bloody delicious. Of course, she may smell fudge and corn dogs too - good old American treats. “Should have eaten before we came,” she sighed from their stakeout point in the car, her stomach grumbling quietly. “Tell me we can stop for boardwalk pizza after this or something.” Her and Hawke had mostly eased out of the bounty hunting life - their tavern kept them plenty busy - but sometimes it was nice to get back into it. For old times sake. It was nice to get back into it when the money was needed, at least for him - he had picked up several contracts in the very beginning to help sustain his family (advice from his bestest mate when they reconnected), and the extra income had been nice, and lately they had been living so comfortably that the extracurricular was fairly unnecessary, but. But. That was before he had decided to drop thousands of bloody dollars on a bloody boat. The very one she didn’t know about quite yet. Money bought happiness sometimes, you know. “Try not to kill them out of hunger, love,” Hawke mumbled almost absently, briefly checking his phone (reading up on boat maintenance, he wanted to be educated) before slipping it into his pocket. “Remember, there’s no cash if this goes south and you accidentally decapitate the ringleader all because you were craving pizza.” Casualties were frowned upon but overall, sometimes to be expected. He’d left the staff home for this ordeal anyway - that was overkill, and it was really more of a conduit of amplification. His hands alone would do nicely. Hawke’s hands would do nicely, and so did Isabela’s - she curled one into a fist and punched her adorable spouse on the shoulder. Hard. Mawwiage! It was so beautiful. “I don’t do anything on accident,” she reminded, checking her utterly perfect (and recently sharpened) daggers in their leather holsters - secure and ready, the Backstabber and the Dagger of the Four Winds; the Heartbreaker was in a separate holder on her back. Magic was magic, and that wasn’t her - but the Invisible Sisters had been rogues, and Bela knew the tricks of her own slippery kind. At least she had on a short motorcycle jacket, thrown over the skimpy top, so she wasn’t spilling out everywhere (unlike in Kirkwall, oh, and trousers, those were a thing tonight too). “If someone’s dead it’s because I wanted them to be. If they live, it’s because I wanted that. Now let’s go.” Those better not be Killian’s dick pictures, on Hawke’s mobile. Because it’d be rude for him not to share, you see. Up to the front door of the shoppe she went, pushing it open to the sounds of bells jingling. The completely drugged out (meth? Nose candy? Snow? Or that was the same thing, wasn’t it, the girl was kind of twitchy either way) employee attempted to usher the customers out though. “Sorry, we’re closed.” “Oh, this will only take a minute!” Bela insisted. “My husband burnt his balls on the beach today, have you got any aloe?” “Ow!” came his quiet hiss, magic-spewing palm covering that now very tender spot. “I’ll take pictures of the bruises you give me and report you for abuse, don’t think I won’t.” Save the strength for the ladies, please? Marriage was beautiful. And love hurt a lot sometimes. Case in point. Hawke’s ensemble wasn’t as fashionable (or revealing, for that matter) - it was a flannel over a muscle-shirt hugging all that brawn and classic blue jeans. Very normal overall, no one would really suspect anything strange from him, and he really didn’t think decking out in specialized mage armor was necessary. Nor a gun for that matter. It wasn’t a practice he did often but worst case scenario, he really could use the blood in their veins as puppet strings for meat sacks. He entered from behind Bela, scoffing. “My balls? You should see how scorched her nipples are,” he insisted. “Someone likes to sunbathe topless a little too much and she won’t listen. Women, right? Stubborn, the lot of them. Now -” That poor, poor whacked out bird, where the hell was her mother to deliver her a proper disciplinary spanking? Hawke grabbed her by the arm, pushing her along towards the register. “Would you just be so kind to let us speak to your manager so we can personally tell her our needs?” Alright, in the name of Andraste’s scorched nipples, that was enough about Bela’s own - they looked and felt fine, though if the Champion didn’t watch it he wouldn’t get to see them anytime soon. “Yes, go on and get your manager, we promise we won’t be long - oooh, look at the seashells!” They were cheap and not authentic, any idiot knew that (the ‘made in China’ sticker on the bottom perhaps the biggest clue that they didn’t come right from the sand outside), but Isabela could feign interest. She did sound like a tourist from across the pond - the English accent meant she wasn’t from around these parts. “I said we’re closed - “ And there she went, twitchtwitchtwitch, with eyes that were permanently unblinking and pupils the size of train tunnels. “...oh.” That oh came about because Isabela whipped a dagger into one of the awful plushies (a teddy bear with a pair of plastic sunglasses on it, maybe she’d take this as a souvenir for funsies). “Well, obviously you’re not closed because we’re here, so just do as we say, hmm?” “Gillian,” the lady up front barked, trying to wiggle free from where she was trapped in between Hawke and the register. Ah, yes, ‘Gracious’ Gillian - now it was all coming back to Isabela. Such fond memories. Gillian was really just a terrible, terrible name, wasn’t it? Hawke feigned a dramatic sigh as he shook his head. “And you - you’re high as a kite,” he stated, obviously. Shit decisions led her to this shit scenario, but he wasn’t interested in too many casualties - so he forced her to look at him, a ripple in the air as magic twisted and turned, his eyes flashed a haunting lavender. “Better sleep it off.” The moment he let her arm go, there was a thud. Out like a light on the floor. He wasn’t precisely gentle with the way he rolled her to the side with his foot. Better than her getting trampled when the altercations occurred, he thought. See? He was a gentleman. An unconscious body meant that Isabela had to resist the urge to loot it, but no matter - she’d get her chance at plundering soon enough, and took it upon herself to lock the door so no one else would come in here (like tourists, looking for directions or awful memorabilia for relatives they didn’t even know). The high as a kite one went down, and then Bela barely had time to use those stellar reflexes and duck before a bolt that had been shot from a crossbow whizzed by and thwack - lodged itself in the wall right by her head. Rude. Gracious had been an archer, though - she remembered that. “Watch that one, love, she’s tricky,” Bela said to Hawke, yanking the bolt free. Then that was when the other sisters emerged, seemingly from the shadows - they lived up to their name, all but invisible before this altercation. Which was about to get messy. “Who are they, cops??” one asked, and that made Bela laugh. “Nope, just disgruntled tourists.” Vigilantes? Do-gooders? Maker, no. Never file her under that category, if it could be helped. “Also, your ringleader’s got quite the bounty on her and I happen to like money. Come here, Gill, let’s be friends.” This one was all Bela’s. Claimed! Crossbows. It felt utterly vintage. But then again, the more roguish types throughout their Thedosian experiences dabbled in sharp objects - blades or projectiles, whichever tickled their fancy. Better that than an actual firearm. Bullets shooting at them under this roof would be bloody terrible. “And we’re here to complain about the shit service,” he snarked, yanking a pair of leopard printed sunglasses (tags still hanging) to put over his eyes. “Considering you just tried to shoot my wife, expect an exceedingly derogatory online review.” Not like it mattered anyway, considering this place was about to go to hell. Say goodbye to this operational front, ladies. Hawke already detected the hostile interest Bela had to the leader, and who was he to deny her desires? These others one, he’d handle - and the best part was that he didn’t need to lay a finger on them. His wrists crossed, a sickly gangrene aura dotted with darkness crossed the veil separating this world from the next. Then he pulled apart, spraying them with the spell - infecting them with nothing but horror, stunning them still and inflicting their fragile little minds with nightmares. Awful, horrifying terrors that caused them to shout and cry, perhaps even a little bit of pissing. Blood magic was so gross sometimes, wasn’t it? And yet Isabela was oddly captivated, since the Hawke she had seen in her dreams had actually not been a blood mage - the exposure was what she saw him do here, and with all the talk of how this particular craft could corrupt you forever and ever and horrible things, she was naturally more drawn to the danger. But he always handled himself well. Didn’t get too out of hand with things, save for that time with his mum’s killer - but Bela could hardly blame him for that. She wanted to do what Hawke did, and worse to that fucker anyway. For Gracious, she wouldn’t cut off body parts and make her eat them or anything, oh no. That was a bit too harsh - and ideally, getting the woman into custody with most her health intact was the goal. Didn’t mean there wasn’t a scuffle, however, trading blows - with Gracious firing bolts at Isabela (they were both very quick, spry, moves of a jungle cat) until the pirate queen finally lobbed a dagger at the woman’s arm, slicing it open and causing her to drop her weapon. Blood pooled, dripped onto the floor, but it wasn’t a fatal wound. It just meant that they began grappling in closer range now. “See if they’ve got anything on them!” Bela was so excited that Hawke had stunned so many into a state of paralysis in one go. “Loot the bodies!” Of course, how could he forget that step of this whole thing - Hawke did need the extra cash as it was, so he supposed robbing them of any valuable belongings would help build that necessary cushion. They were babbling among themselves like they were utterly mad, dribbling drool from fright, but he whistled a lovely tune as he slipped the rings off some and retrieved wallets off others. He’d put them all to sleep after they carted off the ringleader, too. Let the authorities round up the minions in the morning. They really couldn’t fit all of them in the trunk of the car. “Ohhhh, this one’s got a Dave and Buster’s gift card!” he called out, quickly going through their cards and cash before tossing the wallets onto the floor. He’d gathered a couple twenty dollar bills, some singles, even scrounged the change (every cent counts) and then just shoved it all into his trouser pockets. “Bodies looted, except for hers.” Hers, of course, being Miss Gracious there. “How’re you holding up there, Gillian? Looks like you’ve got a nasty, nasty cut there.” “Fuck you,” Gracious spat, literally, and was spitting blood as well after being clocked in the nose - Bela had used the butt of her dagger, and it was aurum which was kind of heavy. Or at least, it didn’t feel great after you were bashed with it in the skull. Then she had the ringleader in a likely illegal pro wrestling move, conveniently cutting off circulation to her brain - what little of it left there was. Didn’t seem like much was functioning anyway. But relax, love, Isabela would let up once she was sure that Gill was unconscious and not dead. “Dave and Buster’s, now that’s a good find,” she sounded absolutely delighted. “Their chips are great, aren’t they!” All Gracious could do was make choking sounds, then she went limp. Still had a pulse though, not to fear. The sleeper hold worked wonders, was all. “There we go.” Bela let the unconscious lump slide to the floor. Thump, and goodnight. “I kind of want her crossbow. Should be fun to learn to use one, yeah?” “Take it,” Hawke shrugged. Loot the bodies, no? It’s not like good ol’ Gracious was going to need it where she was going. He went to proceed on putting the ladies in a slumber themselves - a wave over their teary eyes (still seeing things that weren’t there, their deepest and most tortuous fears) to grant them some peace. They fell like dominos, one by one. “Sweet dreams to you all.” Well. After what he had inflicted he highly doubted their dreams would be everything but that, so. He was just being polite. Since that all was taken care of, he lifted the tacky sunglasses over his head. “Some had jewelry on them but I doubt anything valuable - check your favorite, will you? You’re taking her crossbow. Might as well rummage through her pockets or see if she’s got anything valuable to sell tucked into her bra.” Cash, perhaps? A bag of heroine? They could sell the latter. Both things, actually! Well, the bag of white powder Isabela found definitely looked like a bit of pricey nose candy. “How much does a kilogram go for?” she asked, holding the plastic between her thumb and index finger. “Your arse-grabbing friends seems to know. We could sell it!” Of course she’d be thinking that too. And really, Bela wasn’t what she’d consider a drug dealer, not by any stretch of the imagination - but twenty grand was twenty grand, and better for it to go into her pocket than some Mexican cartel, right? But cash, there was cash too. She pocketed a few Benjamin’s (Gracious was rolling in dough compared to her sisters here), stuffing the folded bills into her own bra along with la cocaína. What delightful finds. “Mine, mine, mine - “ She realised she sounded like a seagull as she filled a tote bag with some things, but a souvenir (no matter how cheap it was) called to her greedy pirate soul. There went a plushie and some seashells that hadn’t been soaked in blood. Yay! “That was fun, love. I’ll bring her to the car if you want to pop the trunk for me?” Isabela didn’t forget the crossbow either. That was her baby now. “Bela - what - that fridge magnet’s ugly, put that back,” were what his protests sounded like, but it all fell on deaf pirate ears and whatever Bela wanted, she’d have, no budging there. All he could do was sigh, patiently wait until she snatched up whatever shiny caught her interest. He’d stick with the atrocious leopard sunglasses, he supposed. Stubborn as she was to carry the body herself, he at least did the gentlemanly thing and held the door wide open for her and Miss Gracious, then pop went the trunk, and he helped his beloved stuff all those dangly limbs in there. He had laid out a towel there already, expecting blood - he didn’t want it to stain the interior, alright? Bethany would ask questions he did not want to answer. But, success. “Still hungry?” He pushed onto the top with some extra weight to make sure it’d lock Gillian in there well. “What husband would I be if I didn’t dine you romantically with boardwalk eats?” Isabela didn’t mind carrying the load to the car - she had some impressive guns (one good thing about her particular dreams was that she bulked up on muscle a bit - must be the physical labour of a pirate’s life) and really, Gracious didn’t weigh that much. It was easy enough to haul her out like she was just drunk off her arse or something. But now she was in the trunk, and Bela loaded all her booty into the backseat as well - success! “Of course I’m still hungry, that was quite a workout,” she grinned, flinging herself at her husband and smooshing her tits up against his chest when she wrapped her arms around him. Miiiiiiiiine. This was the most important part of the seagull’s collection. “She should be alright for a few hours, right? We can get something really quick.” Fixing the mussed up hair and perhaps changing her jacket would happen too - Isabela didn’t want to walk into any place looking like she’d just come from a tussle, but then again, maybe that would get them a discount. It was late, but their options were still vast - things were open for the last minute stragglers. Not like there were many, otherwise they would have had an uncomfortable audience as they shoved an unconscious body in their trunk. That’d raise a couple questions. “Hmmmmmmmmmmm,” Hawke thought, a bulky arm around his thief as he pulled something out of his pocket. That shiny, shiny Dave & Buster’s gift card. “Either beach tourist food, or entertaining tourist food. They close late, if we speed enough we could still make it.” Gracious Gilly wasn’t getting up anytime soon, he gathered. If she somehow stirred herself back to the land of the awake he’d put her to sleep. Either magically, or by hitting her over the head. Both were effective methods. Hitting her over the head, go with that! A tried and true method indeed. But how could Isabela resist the siren’s song of Dave & Buster’s? “Ooh, let’s go get burgers and play some skeeball,” she decided. Or maybe something with zombies! Either way, she’d earn herself a load of shiny coins by cheating, most likely. “This is date night for us - “ Bringing in a bounty, looting the bodies, taking all the treasure - yes, that sounded right up their alley, “...so we ought to enjoy it.” Into the car she went - don’t worry, Hawke, she’d drive safely. Mostly. Okay, not really, but if the task was speeding, who else could you trust to get the job done? Thank the Maker’s arsecrack he was used to Isabela’s driving. Or perhaps it was a grand time to have not eaten anything beforehand, otherwise there was a distinct possibility he’d have to roll the windows down and vomit into the winds. “Just make sure we get there alive,” Hawke reminded, climbing into the front passenger’s seat and - Well. He tightened the seat belt a little extra, just in case. |