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Post by Rook on Nov 27, 2008 1:27:03 GMT -5
Rook rarely went anywhere near the Table by choice, but he'd had someone send a message for him, (it was eerily easy because of his Overseer status, he'd had the damn badge stuffed in his drawer for years and he still wasn't used to communicating with the Seraphim). On a post-it no less, had been in untidy scrawl, he had looked everywhere for digital message pad but the only one he had found had been left uncharged (he'd have to talk to that secretary/analyst about that, Angel or not, lazy was lazy and she was constantly forgetting to schedule his appointments so he ended up showing up like a cheesy action movie).
His request had been to rearrange his observation schedules, the ram could wait until later, he was obviously an engineering buff. Rook knew it was childish to show more interest in one Fledgling than another, but he had observed Solta as he had passed ranks, one thought sticking in his mind as the hybrid passed. Arcangel.
It was rare than he found someone who showed potential for that particular advanced power, and even if they did, enough potential for him to actually approach them and ask...
Hey...can I please ruin your life so when I die the city won't burn down?
Rook always felt rather dishonest and seedy, but also exhilarated when he found someone who could be an ArcAngel.
Despite his second thoughts, refusing to act on these observations was begging the Gates to push him off a wall for misusing what they had allowed him to have, whether it was for good or ill.
All this monologue ran through his mind as he stood on the theatre balcony, just as the curtain was to go up. The mission was simple--protect all the scithy, snot nosed aristocrats from having the side of their heads blown off by an assassin.
To Rook it was almost disgusting, he couldn't imagine what his temporary partner was feeling as he entered.
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Post by zeru on Nov 27, 2008 1:54:16 GMT -5
Casual, casual. Uppercuts, stealth, and strangle-holds were easy, but sometimes being casual could be one of the hardest things in the world.
The hybrid accepted the playbill from a timid looking mouse girl as he entered, and gave her a curt little nod. He didn't even bother to give the bill a cursory glance before stuffing it in the inside pocket of his jacket; he already knew the act order. His large fur-collared outercoat was already checked, leaving him just a little bit more exposed. Aside from his strange fur-coloration and random placement of scales, Sol fit in with the rest of the crowd. He wore a sharp little number that was much different from his usual wardrobe of training clothes or street clothes. His jacket and pants were a clean black, the vest a similar black but in silk, an all black tie, and the button-up a subtle off-white. He fit in just fine with the crowd.
What the crowd didn't know, however, was that the sharply dressed hybrid had his working clothes under his suit. Being an angel, such a wardrobe meant only the best armor. He kept a few aces up his sleeve; gun, dagger, communications devices, and so on. The key was subtleness.
His initial target was not one that was hard to find. Picking out the surly grey hybrid in a room full of the upperclass was like looking for a giraffe in a cow field. It was almost laughable, but Solta Faris knew from his passing acquaintance with Rook not to express such a feeling around him, especially when starting a mission.
He made sure not to beeline to his superior, but rather took his time to get there, smiling and casually greeting the rich strangers he pretended to know.
Once he was beside the ranking officer, Sol made quick of his greeting. "Sir," The young hybrid kept his eyes on the curtain as it finished rising, "Have you received any more information?"
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Post by Rook on Nov 27, 2008 2:08:02 GMT -5
Rook had watched Solta ascend closely and his gray eyes moved up slowly until finally resting on the hybrid's face, and then his eyes. His hands were stretched in a peculiar manner, despite being so obviously out of place, his posture was as casual as those on the other balconies with their thick fur coats or expensively wired material, some curious disk like objects that they held to their ears (depending on where they had them), which was presumably to magnify the voices on stage.
He diddn't seemed too concerned with where his view was, but he did not hold out either of his hands for Sol to shake, rather offered him a small smile, which could have meant anything really, it was not unfriendly but it did not ...exactly speak out of energetic flair, to say the least.
His heavy brow was raised "No, they are usually vague with this sort of thing, I have a list of names, though I'm sure it's out of date based on the performance of certain secretaries. " he curled his lip sardonically.
"You can have a look if you wish, both are in my play bill, I advise spending more time observing, hell, even enjoy the show if your okay at multi-tasking"
On his seat sat folded thing, covered with bright orange and savannah colored decal.
Right now the chorus was just starting up, strange and wild to Rook, with it's blend of odd "shaking" instruments and percussion.
It all reminded him fo a jungle, though he had never truly seen one.
He remembered the old plays and movies as a student at the University, but he hadn't been to one for leisure since his daughter Jamie was a child, every movie that they had seen together seemed to blur in his mind, he only remembered how she had reacted, very seldom crying and usually sitting revertently at the no doubt animated feature on one of the screens.
It took a careful eye but occasionally a stray light would prick up, only perhaps visible within a few inches of Rook, the dull humming of his claws, a sight and sound almost (but not quite) imaginary.
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Post by zeru on Nov 27, 2008 2:30:49 GMT -5
Solta took the playbill, looking it over as if interested in what the play had to offer. "It's ok," He flipped the bill over, "I saw the animated version." He refrained from mentioning his younger sister, because he liked to keep his work separate from his family, so he wouldn't have to think of his own mortality. Regardless of if he had seen the movie, he would've kept his entire focus on this mission at hand. Pulling Sol away from an Angel task was like removing a big cat from its prey.
On top of that, Solta liked to fancy himself as not being an idiot. This was a tactical mission, which usually requires staying as far off of the enemy's radar as possible. Non-angels knew who Rook was, and enemies had an even stronger knowledge of him.
Sol quickly glanced over the the crucial information as he sat. He didn't want to linger too long on anything. He promptly returned the pamphlet to Rook.
"Act III," Sol quietly mumbled to himself, crossing his arms over his chest. That was the initial tip received. He figured there must be some sort of particular importance to this act, given the way the case was turning up. Any kind of public assassination was usually theatrical, and what better place for theatrics than a theatre?
Sol spent the following moments of his life carefully analyzing the play, the crowd, even the list of names. As Act I started to close, Sol started to get the sneaking suspicion that the gunman and his posse wouldn't be any of the people mentioned on the list.
Why did the lighting have to be so low? It was almost impossible to get any good looks at the play-goers who were moving to and from their seats. In spite of the light, Sol did his best to keep tabs on every movement down to the whisker.
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Post by Rook on Nov 27, 2008 2:40:39 GMT -5
Rook could feel swaths of energy draining back and then forth, like a cold, briny tide over his arms and into his nerves, well past the point of gooseflesh, his nose, his mouth, his mind. He wondered what Solta would have looked like, perhaps with some of his muzzle missing, replaced with something cold, hard and magnetic, like a constant toothache that kept you up at night with a dull pulsating pain.
He seemed to be enraptured in the show itself, but he could not pick up a damn thing anybody was saying over the voices of the crowd.
Snatches of conversations, feelings scents, hardwired directly into his mind. He had grown used to quiet chases, spoilt, he supposed. When was the last time he had had an excursion into a hot Plaza with a small child, shaking somewhere, with dead eyes and a bomb strapped to his chest?
Too long, he'd forgotten how crowds made him want to drink.
The effort it took to remain at ease, to control his own scent, was at least spared, he had gone into a state where his mind though in pictures, which was easy to mask as enjoying the show.
Despite keeping watch, he was withdrawn a bit, he did not rationalize or suspect, his goal was seeing Solta, this time, this was of upmost important to the Gates, even more than his Council Members, whom the Seraphim had assigned (and Rook was not quite sure the gates would have thrown the lot of the sniffling, simpering twits into the Taegan sea and be done with their wretched carcasses).
So careful, so quiet. No emotion.visible He's perfect. Like the model of what the Seraphim wants me to be. There's no fear scent yet. He's frustrated, ah I feel it boy, I can't see a damn thing, I can only feel around like a blind man in the air waves.
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Post by zeru on Nov 27, 2008 2:55:02 GMT -5
Act II was decidedly short, so Sol stayed on edge. He had temporarily removed his suit jacket, letting it slump behind him in his seat. He glanced over at Rook while the elder was looking elsewhere. He felt a little bad for not conversing with the hybrid any. Though, it was a mission, and he figured Rook was used to such things.
He didn't let his gaze lie on his superior for very long at all. He had returned to his observations as if the other observer wasn't there.
As he felt the time was right, the hooved hybrid returned his jacket to his back. He shuffled in his seat a bit before turning to Rook. "Ready, Sir?" His grey eyes were cold and his voice was low. There was no need to alarm anyone around them. He stood up, adjusting his jacket, and looked down at his temporary partner and supervisor.
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Post by Rook on Nov 30, 2008 16:54:47 GMT -5
"I want to ask you a question, Solta" said Rook, he diddn't acknowledge Sol's head's up, but his eyes had narrowed a bit at it, so that was something. His claws were still outstretched, but now he had turned his eyes on the audience as well, scanning silently, his facial expressions diddn't change, only his eyes.
Rook's face was rigid and easily visible in the broken light from a few feet away.
"What do you want in the organization"? He shrugged a little "Don't take this the wrong way, but it's usually that simple. Quid pro quo and all that".
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Post by zeru on Nov 30, 2008 17:17:50 GMT -5
"Eh?" Sol raised an eyebrow questioningly, still staring down at Rook. What did this old man think he was doing? There was no need to be hesitating like this; not during a mission where innocent civilian lives were at stake.
Faris narrowed his gaze, large ears turning back in the same motion as a deer's. "Right now, I want the organization to back me up in protecting these oblivious people's lives." The scaled hybrid did all he could to keep a snarl from forming on his face. He wanted to get going, his fur was standing on end despite it being perfectly warm in the theater.
He adjusted his jacket quickly, taking one last glance around the room. There hadn't been any outwardly suspicious behavior all night and it was starting to get to him. Whoever was planning this must've known exactly what they were doing.
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Post by Rook on Nov 30, 2008 17:24:56 GMT -5
"Calm down" Rook chided under his breathe, his voice was still soft, there was no sterness in it "Making yourself look nervous and anxious is the exact opposite of having a handle on the situation, stop adjusting your damn coat for christ's sakes".
He spoke like he was talking to a partner, and not to a student. Rook alienated himself from that position after the Angel passsed Fledgling-hood. It tended to piss them off when he scolded them so soon after having one of their body parts sawed off or giving up sex for the rest of their lives.
This was actually the reaction Rook had been hoping for, sure, a little bumpy and auspicious but that could easily be worked on once he spent some time with the others.
At least he was passionate and wanted to shut him up.
Rook smiled inwardly.
This guy is going to drive the bureaucrats insane
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Post by Rook on Nov 30, 2008 17:38:06 GMT -5
"Calm down" Rook chided under his breathe, his voice was still soft, there was no sterness in it "Making yourself look nervous and anxious is the exact opposite of having a handle on the situation, stop adjusting your damn coat for christ's sakes".
He spoke like he was talking to a partner, and not to a student. Rook alienated himself from that position after the Angel passsed Fledgling-hood. It tended to piss them off when he scolded them so soon after having one of their body parts sawed off or giving up sex for the rest of their lives.
This was actually the reaction Rook had been hoping for, sure, a little bumpy and auspicious but that could easily be worked on once he spent some time with the others.
At least he was passionate and wanted to shut him up.
Rook smiled inwardly.
This guy is going to drive the bureaucrats insane
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Post by zeru on Nov 30, 2008 17:39:02 GMT -5
For just a second, Faris like a scowl creep over his face. It was gone as fast as it came, and as it passed Sol's stance slumped just a bit and he placed his hands in his trouser pockets. For the first time since high school, the Ki Lin mix felt a sudden urge for the sweet relaxing properties of nicotine.
"Well, let's get on with it then," He insisted. Would this damn overseer ever come up from his chair? This time the fledgling didn't wait for a response, he took it upon his self to start the mission.
He had determined several possible sniping locations before the show started, and planned to visit them based on their plausibility. He moved out of the main room, heading towards the theater's entrance hall. There was a little "Employees Only" door that lead to a staircase. Solta had figured these stairs led up to the lighting level, as they were pointed in the direction of the stage.
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