D9 Riots: Warehouses

E L S P E T H   E O N

She skipped along the sidewalk, knife grinding against the metallic walls of the warehouse and she whistled from beneath her mask. She laughed: a maniacal thing, coming to a stop when she started to see other figures.

"Who here has a cigarette?" she asked, voice muffled by the mask covering her face. She placed her hands on her hips, tilted her head to one side. "Come on, don't be stingy." To be fair, she was sure she looked about as crazy as she felt: face obscured by a rabbit mask, large pink tutu hovering just above scraped knees, sneakers, bruised and bloody knuckles from a life of fighting for survival. She crossed her legs and leaned against the wall of the warehouse, pointing the tip of her knife at someone.

"You," she said, "You look like a smoker." She smiled, though it made little difference, so she chuckled instead. A high-pitched, off-putting sound, her laugh was: she only ever did during times of frenzy and chaos, like the moment when she knew a fight was hers, the moment when her fist was raised into the air and there was nothing her opponent could do to block it.

"Puh-Puh-Please?"

Working in teams has rarely been your first choice, and GG is no Arcadia, but she's not half-bad company, either. Not someone you'd say you know, but someone you trust at least as far as you could throw her and, more importantly, someone who knows what she's doing. Rumors of a District off-guard—rumors that, if the Peacekeepers all the way in Two are muttering, must have some weight to them—might well have caught your ear, but you doubt you would have come all this way into unfamiliar territory without another set of eyes at your back.

It's weird, feeling grateful to have someone else around again. You decide not to dwell on it.

You skirt around the Peacekeeper's barracks for the handful of days you spend scouting, because neither of you made it to adulthood by indulging a death wish. Looting should be almost as good in the warehouse district, anyway. Maybe not for weapons caches, but guns are as messy and more importantly unpredictable as they are powerful, and your knives have served you well enough over the years; better, at least as far as you're concerned, to focus on hard supplies—medicine more effective than the cheap shit you lift from apothecaries, armored clothes, anything from the factories that looks light enough to carry and valuable enough to pawn.

It's bad luck that you're making your move when the explosion shakes the buildings around you. Your lines hold steady and you still land on your feet as you sail through the window of your chosen warehouse, but you swear under your breath and a knife finds its way into your spare hand as you unclip your line and check to your side to make sure GG also landed safe.

"Here goes nothing, huh?" you mutter as screams and a series of smaller blasts start up in the distance.

Bad luck, but nothing you can't handle.



[small bit of scene-setting with GG/Shrimp here, but Lalik is absolutely going to come out swinging once setup's done, so feel free to attack her!]

E L S P E T H   E O N

"HELLO?!" she said, walking up to the boys. She was aware that she was a particularly reckless person; Umbria had always been the quiet to her chaos. But being ignored wasn't something that sat particularly well with her. They appeared to be flirting, which was great, super duper. Didn't give them a reason to ignore her though.

Rude.

"Stop trying to make out and answer me! Do either of you have a damn cigarette?" She liked how she must have looked to them, maniac wearing a rabbit mask and a tutu, knife clutched in her hand like it was a child's toy. She had meant to bring her tarot from home but she'd left in such a rush that she must have forgotten. Bother.

"And relax, 'less one of you has the last crystal ball in the district hidden under your shirt, I'm not here to fuck with you." She paused for a moment, peering down the street as if she could see anything not already illuminated by the streetlights.

"You don't do you? Have a crystal ball, I mean. If you have one I want it. And a cigarette. Please."

Zane Holbrook

The other boy does agree, if the smashing of lips on lips that follows is anything to go by. And for a moment, I lose myself, for this is what makes life worth living. This is why I do what I do, put myself in the line of fire to taste the sweet, sweet taste of victory on the other side.

Never mind that the chaos has only just begun, for I've already won the day.

When we part, I'm breathless, and the other boy is the most beautiful sight I've ever laid eyes upon. And when he directs me to place my hands on his hips, to grip so tightly that I couldn't possibly let go, well, I do so eagerly.

My gaze flits out into the darkness - towards where a girl saunters up, as unbothered by the chaos as any I've ever seen, towards where a trio of men and women in white move to interrupt our fun - but by the time the other boy has raised his weapon and accompanied its firing with a brazen laugh, I only have eyes for him.

If he is to be the last thing I gaze upon in this life, then I know I will die happy.