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In Fate's Shadow; Evacuating SureShot.
Topic Started: Jul 6 2012, 06:21 AM (1,424 Views)
vicroc4
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Dawn broke over Wadatsumi, shining in through the windows at the front of SureShot Firearms & Gunsmith. The team had been preparing to evacuate since early afternoon the day before, and they were still going at it. Even Ed was doing his part - mostly by staying out from underfoot.

Micah was exhausted, both physically and mentally. He had told his parents what was going on, and they were more than amenable to evacuating, so that was one less thing on his mind. But he'd never thought in a million years that he'd have to do any of this. Oh, he'd joked about it once in a while - "I still haven't figured out where I'm moving to when the Librarium openly declares it's takeover." That was still a far cry from being actually prepared.

They had most of the shop packed up now, save a few odds and ends and inventory they wouldn't be needing. Micah had put a sign on the door stating that they were closed for renovations, no date given for reopening. He'd also spent most of yesterday afternoon making arrangements to get customers their items back. Now that all of that was done, he had a bit of time to reflect. He was so wired on coffee and adrenaline that he wasn't in danger of falling asleep, so he sat in his office, looking at the barren walls where once invoices, notices, and pictures hung on bulletin boards. He sighed, memories bubbling up. This had been basically his home for two years - his real residence was in the apartment building across the lot behind the store, but he spent almost more time in the shop than at home.

A knock on the door drew his attention back to reality. Callie pushed the door open and, seeing the look on Micah's face, asked, "You alright, boss?"

Micah nodded. "Just woolgathering. What's up?

Callie gestured for him to follow her. "C'mon, we've almost got everything together. We're ready to start staging things."

"Right," Micah replied, "Alright. Time to go, I guess."

Taking one last look around, he sighs, then heads for the door. Quietly, Callie asked, "You're already missing this place, aren't you?"

He nodded in response, almost too choked up to reply. Voice hoarse, he said, "We all will, I think."

She shrugged and replied, "We will, but you're the one that built this place. You're the one that made it what it is. And you'll also be the one that will rebuild it when this whole thing blows over."

Surprised, he glanced at her as they crossed the almost-empty warehouse to where most of their things had been put after they were packed. "I wasn't even thinking of what happens afterward yet. I'm still focused on surviving now."

Chuckling, Callie replied, "I know you, Micah. You always are planning for the future. When we get through this - and that's 'when,' not 'if' - you'd better have a plan for reopening this place. We both know you won't be able to stay out of the business for long."

Shaking his head and laughing, Micah asked, "You really think we'll get through this, don't you?"

Callie stopped. Turning to face him, she frowned deeply. "And why wouldn't we? We're a helluva team ourselves, Micah, and we've got a bunch of well-trained, extremely professional people looking out for us as well. They do Lowlands security, for crying out loud! Practically the only thing worse than what they run into down there would be the Black Beast itself! They've gotta be tough just to survive."

He laughed again. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Alright, alright. Let's see how things are going when we get to where we're going, then I'll start planning."

She smirked at him as they reached the area where the others are gathered. "You got it, boss."

Smiling back, he nodded before getting to the problem at hand. Looking around at his team, he took a deep breath to steady himself, and then said, "Alright, people, let's get the last little bit staged and ready for when Monoc shows up. Do we have everything?"

The others began to pipe up one by one, informing him of the status of the equipment and supplies. As he listens, he looks around at the assorted boxes and bags lined up in the warehouse, wondering if he'd ever see it unpacked in its original home again...
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Smitejr
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Desmond ran, possibly faster than ever before. After seeing the report on the news, he had tried to infiltrate the remains of the NOL branch, trying to find details on what had happened. Rust had proved unresponsive, and attempts to locate him obviously failed. However, as he'd begun to peruse a still-functioning computer's contents, and seen the fantastic and terrifying creatures caught on security video, he'd been found out by chance, a patrolman seeing him. His cry, "It's the assassin!" felt oddly gratifying. The man knew who he was. However, it would have been more gratifying if he could have sunk a knife in him before he'd managed to shout.

He'd been running for what felt like hours. He'd used the Ghost shroud, but even invisibility could only hold up so long against ars-powered trackers, far more efficient and effective than bloodhounds. The patrol was much too large to take in a fight, he relied on surprise and stealth, two advantages that had been robbed from him, and they'd managed to back him into a corner. Trying to switch the game up, Desmond had taken to the rooftops, but they'd managed to follow. In but a few moments, they'd have Shebalves on his position, if any remained. Desmond did not want to take that chance.

A sign up on the rooftop advertised a gunsmith, known as Sureshot. Desmond figured it was as good a place as any to make his last stand, and turned to face him, back up against the wall. Grabbing two knives from shoulder holsters, he prepares a ready stance. This serves to intimidate the soldiers. However, Desmond drops his knives, and raises his hands in surrender.

And falls off the building, face looking towards them until it slips over the edge.

Desmond wastes no time. After he takes his leap of faith, he finishes the flip, and takes hold of a windowsill, breaking his fall with his legs as he spins around. then, jumping inside, he enters, his cloak muffling the sound of his fall. Seeing a beastkin and several other people arrayed in workmans attire, he sighs.

"I apologize for my entrance, and bringing trouble upon you. If you would hand me over to the NOL rather than harbor me, I will leave peaceably."

Desmond didn't like his chances, but it would be better than harming innocents.
Edited by Smitejr, Jul 6 2012, 06:53 AM.
Tune your ear to the frequency of despair, and cross-reference by the longitude and latitude of a heart in agony.
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vicroc4
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Startled, Micah looks up from the bag he's checking, suddenly wishing he'd remembered to keep Fornax with him. Stephen, however, is a bit more prepared. His revolver is in his hands, the safety off, and brought to ready in a flash. The muzzle of the big .50 S&W is pointed at the ground near Desmond's feet, but there's no doubt that it could be very easily flipped up to point at him in short order if he tries anything funny. Green eyes flash from a dark, rough face, challenging Desmond to do just that.

Slowly standing up, Micah wonders how he hadn't heard the assassin's approach - maybe he had spent too much time on the range lately. Noticing Steve's posture, he clears his throat to get his attention, then says, "Stand down, Rawlins. He's no threat."

Stephen looks back and forth between Micah and Desmond, then slowly lowers and decocks his gun, though he doesn't holster it yet. Micah takes a step forward, taking the attention off of Steve and putting it on himself. "My apologies, sir. We're a bit on-edge due to the recent... situation. You see, we've already brought a bit of trouble on ourselves. We weren't careful enough in, ah... screening, certain of our clients, and we fear reprisals now that the Librarium is moving here. I would assume that you are fleeing them for a similar reason?"

Callie shoots Micah a sharp glance, face questioning. She wasn't so sure that it was a good idea to reveal so much so quickly. Noticing her expression, Micah glances over briefly and shrugs as if to say, "It can't hurt at this point."
Edited by vicroc4, Jul 6 2012, 07:32 AM.
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Smitejr
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Yes. I don't believe they saw me, but as long as you continue to harbor me within your walls, you might be the subject for reprisal. However, judging by what you said, it shouldn't be much more than what you have now. At any rate, if they discover my presence, you can just disavow knowledge of my existence, or hand me over yourself, claiming you restrained me."

Desmond looks at the men. The one called Rawlins was obviously trigger-happy, he'd get himself killed if he doesn't shape up. That's some knowledge to file away. The other one, he was much more collected. He's the one he'll have to talk to. Still, it was hard to keep arrogance out of his voice as he continues.

"I believe they'd be more likely to believe the first."
Tune your ear to the frequency of despair, and cross-reference by the longitude and latitude of a heart in agony.
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vicroc4
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Micah snorts and shakes his head. "We're hoping not to have to make that choice. Our ride out of here should be arriving soon. You're welcome to come along, I suppose. I'll deal with Ms. MacClatchley if she complains."
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Smitejr
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Desmond's gaze sharpens through his cloak, and stands up, brushing himself off.

"MacClatchley...She's one of Jagd's men, is she not? Will he be present then?"

Pleasantly surprised by the thought of seeing the grizzled mercenary, he breathes a sigh of relief. If they work with Jagd, he has little to fear.

Edited by Smitejr, Jul 6 2012, 07:50 AM.
Tune your ear to the frequency of despair, and cross-reference by the longitude and latitude of a heart in agony.
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vicroc4
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A raised eyebrow and a twitch of the tail are Micah's only indicators of his surprise. "You know Mr. Metschulin? That explains why you would be on the run, then. I'm not currently aware of his disposition, but yes, Ms. MacClatchley is his supervisor. We were one of their munitions suppliers, which is how we got into this mess in the first place. Given our distinct lack of fondness for the Librarium, we decided we would throw our lot in with them."

Steve lets out a harsh laugh, and says, "'Lack of fondness?' Damn if that ain't the understatement of the century."

Callie shoots him a look, but says nothing. Micah shrugs in response, but decides to wait for Desmond to reply.
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"I tried to remain neutral with the NOL for as long as I could. While there is always work for one of my talents, it is usually not worth the effort unless it necessitates silence. Silence is what I provide, and silence is what the NOL desired."

Shaking his head, Desmond grins tightly, only his mouth revealed beneath his hood.

"However, the NOL has gotten very loud as of late. So loud it has hurt the ears of one of my associates. I am Desmond Lang. You may have heard of me on the television."

Extending a hand to Micah, Desmond asks. "Might I have your name, in return?"
Edited by Smitejr, Jul 6 2012, 08:06 AM.
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vicroc4
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His own ears flicking in amusement, Micah says, "We tried to do the same. A small but significant portion of our business came from the Librarium. But it was a disagreement over the NOL that brought us into this building, and it is apparently a disagreement that will bring us out."

Taking Desmond's hand and shaking it firmly, Micah says, "I am Micah Cholin, owner and proprietor of the store you're standing in, SureShot Firearms & Gunsmith."

He then lets go and gestures to each of his employees in turn. "And these are my employees. Callie McLister." The short, pudgy redheaded woman with grey eyes. "Stephen Rawlins." The tall, tanned blond man with green eyes that had drawn his gun on Desmond earlier. "John Franklin" A pale, skinny man in his early twenties, with brown hair and eyes. "And William Doritz." The youngest-looking of the bunch, gangly, freckled and almost as tall as Micah, with red hair and hazel eyes.
Edited by vicroc4, Jul 6 2012, 08:23 AM.
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Desmond appraises the small group, and frowns slightly. Though they'd been relatively quick to pull a gun on him, if they were really just gunsmiths, he'd have a hard time believing they'd be any help in a close-range fight. Still, he can't help but remember the last time he entered a simple hardware store, and look how that turned out. He resolved to reserve his judgment.

"A pleasure." He replies, and looks between the four of them. "Which of you are noncombatants? I'd like to know, so I know how many I can count on if the NOL breaks in here."
Tune your ear to the frequency of despair, and cross-reference by the longitude and latitude of a heart in agony.
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