Lilliane's thought through pretty much every scenario she could. Even while watching the unfolding chaos in front of her, she couldn't figure out the specifics of what was going on. Like her, they all seemed to have special abilities. She couldn't exactly plan for it. They weren't just warm bodies anymore. Who exactly did her majesty send over the pond to deliver a single pallet? No, that wasn't right. It must have been something else. The pallet must have just been a "might as well" part of a general's plan. Not like she had any issue with that. If their objectives aligned, they were welcome.

The explosions were no help to her thoughts. Landmines? Tripwires and grenades? She could deal with them with her ability.

She had to choose between the pallet and the lives of people. If a stray mortar came to hit the pallet, there would be no form of protection for it. She just had to get this to end before that happened, eh?

In just a brief few seconds, her outfit completely changed. The raggedy coat and pants she wore to blend in had been taken off. What was revealed was a deep red dress shirt, snow-white pants and vest. Like some sort of magician, those crappy clothes that she held in her hand dropped onto the pallet. Still clutched in her hand was a large, fur-trimmed vanilla jacket. She threw it on, getting up from the palette that she had thought on.

She had a plan. Though, a plan was only good until the first arrow was fired. She'd work with what she had.

What she had was someone who got shot and nearly detonated but still had the will to shoot someone in the face, an apparent healer who escaped some seriously fucked up trap (seriously—rope would have sufficed), and a woman with a tank. She could work with that.

Rushing forward to the cover of the tank, she would make her advance. Marvels of war, tanks were really. Somehow, the poorly named Englishwoman had the ability to fit one in her pocket for just such an occasion. She would be shocked but these days, everything was going up shit's creek. Plus, the existence of such abilities weren't new to her. So long as she could protect the tank from explosives, she and the rest of her sudden comrades could reach the fort safely. Maybe the Russian a little less so unless he wanted to carry that steel plate in front of his head. He seemed to be good at carrying things.

Kiara expected the next bullets coming her direction, and expertly dodged them. As soon as she stepped forward, Miss Murder leapt into action, crossing in front of her and jumping backwards, pushing her away from the mine she had just tripped. She grit her teeth, bracing against both the explosion and the flare of pain from her wound as she regained her balance.

Now, she really doubted that this person only placed a single mine, so she formulated a plan. From Miss Murder’s body emerged two long gun barrels, which riddled the ground in front of them with her own special kind of bullets until they stopped setting off explosions.

Kiara continued her advance, confident that any mines not set off by her barrage would have been rendered fully inoperable.

Oh for crying out loud, you have got to be kidding! Not a single one of them died to the last shots or traps that had caught and ensnared them! Amstein snarled in anger as she continued to observe the Nazi scum in telescopic mode. The woman in the minefield used a stand that seemed to have limitless gun barrels and blasted her minefield, which seemed to… Turn them all to stone? That was one she absolutely couldn’t allow to get within firing range whatsoever. The smokescreen woman had somehow created a freaking tank so of course the tripwires and grenades didn’t mean anything to her anymore. But that didn’t mean there was no hope. She had freed the large man from his skin-net, forcing Amstein’s bullet to miss, but in doing so Shoot to Thrill analyzed and caught sight of how that stand worked.

Moreover, the large man definitely had a stand of his own, and Amstein almost missed it. Some sort of insect sized robotic stand, easy to see how she had missed it before now, but thanks to the field of view being clear enough for her to use the zoom mode it was now revealed. A bullet couldn’t do a damn thing to it she knew, only a stand could defeat a stand and hers had no offensive capability to it. But a bullet could easily kill the user. The main problem there was the tank and the other stand users that could defend the user of the little bug machine. Easily solved, she smirked.

Naturally, despite the sheer amount of bullets that petrification stand could put out, it wasn’t going to hit every mine, and she planted more than just that field. The timing on this needed to be just right… The tank rolled up into a mine, which went off and destroyed its bottom, rendering the tank useless. Now was the time to strike, when the stand user would play that recording again! The shot was lined up and she pulled the trigger! A bullet left the chamber, heading straight for the vinyl disc as the stand was about to slot it into its built in gramophone. Then it continued on its way, striking off the surface of a tree and rebounding to hit another mine in the ground near the petrification stand user, setting off another explosion.

With that done, she narrowed her eyes on the large man with the bug stand. His stand was long gone, probably having invaded her fortress by now. There was nothing to do about it but take out the user before it had a chance to ruin her. BANG. BANG. BANG.

The assault that would become the Austrian sniper’s final act was truly a terrifying one. With each pull of the trigger the woman demonstrated the tremendous skill she had in her lethal craft, each bullet hitting it’s mark and then some. Pinging off of trees at just the right angles to send the rounds in different directions, yet exactly where she intended them to go - at least, that was the impression Taras got; that their yet unseen assailant was completely in control of the situation even now as the agents were on the cusp of breaching the fort. The tank that he and Yonaka took refuge behind offered little cover given the gunman’s impeccable aim and supernatural sight. Worse yet, it seemed she was gunning for him.

They spotted「Bad Case」, the Russian decided. That was the only possible option, given that both Yonaka and Oscuro had much bigger prescenes on the battlefield despite being physically smaller than himself. Dodging bullets was a hard enough feat on its own, but coupled with the enemy’s ability it was virtually impossible. The projectiles tore through Taras’ flesh, narrowly missing vital points due to the man’s great effort to put the war machine between him and the woman gunning for his life.

”Ah, eto pizdets,” Taras growled under his breath as he willed his stand up through the old fortress. The stand was relaying it’s vision back to its user. The inside of the fort was mostly unremarkable. With its low field of vision, tripwires were seen on the stairwells but posed no threat to「Bad Case」 itself. The metallic insect climbed up three levels before it made it to the roof top where the shooter, a woman in furs, was stationed.

What resulted after the brief confrontation was a short lived chase through the fort’s interior. Understandably, the female that had served as the group’s enemy didn’t want to die. She was smart and though「Bad Case」 was small, she took it seriously. Fast too - and when she escaped past the bug-like stand down into the body of the fort, it gave the agents outside a reprieve from being fired upon.

Taras notably untensed as the gunfire stopped, seeing as he had a direct visual inside and knew exactly what was going on. "She is on the run," he informed the group, his words a bit pained as he kept pressure on his bullet wounds. The sooner his stand found its target, the sooner he could patch himself up. He really needed a nap after this, and a drink or three. Or four.

Eventually,「Bad Case」found its mark, stabbing the woman with its proboscis as soon as it had an opening. She didn't go down without a fight, but it was futile - only a stand could affect another stand, and if the wicked eye piece she wore was hers then it wasn't well suited for stand-to-stand combat... no matter how effective it was to help its user combat humans. After「Bad Case」connected itself via needle, the stand managed to stay attached and force the trick shot's inner body to cooperate with Taras' whims. One by one blood vessels were closed off, tied in knots, and clotted themselves. In her heart, her lungs, her brain. It wasn't a quick process, but as soon as she was dead the small stand extracted itself and hurried back outside to its master. It climbed up Taras' leg and moved to inject him but he stopped it by holding up a hand. "Wait," he commanded, and it waited. Of course,「Bad Case」had not personality of it's own, but that didn't stop the Russian from speaking to it at times. With practiced movements Taras wiped the proboscis before nodding and letting the stand go to work, using his own skin to patch up his wounds.

"I suppose it is over."

Yonaka smiled weakly up at Taras. With a wince she giggled quietly. "All thanks to you, mate. Be dead as without your help." She returned the compliment, not nearly as eager to maintain the alleged pride that Taras did. Tupolev did her a great servie. Saved her life. Even if she had survived that gunshot she would still be out of the war, which was unacceptable. Chloe couldn't go home, not yet. But now, she was back, and a little dazed, but back in the fight.

Chloe flinched as the tank exploded. She had to restart it, quick. The song of the tank came to an end and was quickly started from scratch, but during that short time frame Tupolev had taken some hits. The wreckage of the tank vanished and reappared in full working order as the record began to play again.

Tupolev was on the move, his stand moving into the fortress. "Little bugger's quick, eh?" She commented, watching it scurry within the fortress.

After a moment of waiting, Tupolev reported it was over.

Chloe breathed a sigh of relief, placing both her hands on her knees. The tank vanished, the recording stopped before it could crush into the fortress gates.

"Some hidden fuckin' rendezvous, eh? Some crazy bird, was it? Fuckin' 'ell." Chloe wiped the sweat off her forehead.

"Let's get someonewhere safe. Oi! Lillaine! You got a real safe spot for us to get too, or what?" The lumbering, feminine, ghostly automaton raised her voice in Chloe's stead to get the alleged Frenchwoman's attention.

With the cacaphony of explosions and gunshots finally stopping, it was over. While unwounded, she certainly wasn't unrattled. Standing meters away from an explosion had a tendency to throw people for a loop. She was at least thankful that the medicine hauling Russian was a great fighter too. Without him, it was likely that they'd have to eat a few more bullets and explosives before getting out of dodge.

With a noticeable cringe from having been blasted from less than ten meters with Cakebread's empowered voice, Lilliane gave a curt nod.

"Yes," she said shaking the dirt off her jacket, "with the exception of this little stroke of bad luck, we should have a clear path to sneak to Orleans. Actual French wilderness away from any roads known to the Germans. Only thing to look out for are the wild boars."

Really, she didn't want to use the resistance's paths. While much of the resistance of overt and hidden in plain sight, the use of such labyrinthine paths to carry supplies was a necessity. A single stick of dynamite could easily be hidden in a bread basket, but a bread basket of dynamite had to be kept a little more hidden. For that reason, a long path with a handful of spots to rest had been stealthily carved into the french countryside. Though, it never saw much use. It was used more by the boars to get from farm to farm than the resistance themselves.

"I suppose I do owe you all a nice meal and place to rest. I know a nice place in Orléans. If we get the medicine there, you'll have all you can eat."

So it was, that after the unpleasantness had subsided, that the original plan could proceed. The small band of foreign agents would troupe through the woods, dark, imposing, and utterly alien to German patrols. The group would trudge through mud and over roots, until at last they found a disused and partially destroyed barnyard just as the sun began to poke its way up across the countryside. With the abandoned farmlands illuminated by rosy-fingered dawn, the group could settle down and catch some rest. Food had been left by the resisistance fighters- basic yet hearty fair, although the acorn-made black bread was definitely an acquired taste.

A day later, with the sun rising anew so as to avoid Germans prowling about looking for those out and about past curfew, and the party would set out again, towards Liliane's promised Orléans restaurant. The medicine would be left at a dead-drop location, and then the pair would proceed, into town. Certainly odd looks were sent their way- healthy, burly men like Taras were a rarity nowadays, but they would be unmolested as they arrived in Orléans' most fancy resistance cafe- la Route de Miel.

A mention of a 'Monsieur Lavande' would earn the group a magnificent seat and complimentary coffee, piping hot. The bakeries had just opened and so bread- fresh, wheat, bread, was avaliable; a truly wonderful spread considering the time. Despite it still being early in the morning, a pair of performers would emerge onto the stage, a tall, slender man with a pair of dark sunglasses, and next to him a beautiful looking blonde woman wearing an airy dress designed for show, more than practicality.

The man would start up a jaunty tune on the piano, the woman would dance, and for a moment the horrors of what they had experienced shortly after landing faded away.

Chloe was happily munching down on a piece of french bread, her cheeks full and round. Her leather jacket was placed on the chair she was sitting on. That chair was on it's two back legs, rocking precariously back and forth. Chloe's booted feet were on the table, grounding herself so she didn't fall backwards. Next to her boots was the half-empty cup of coffee. She was looking much better after her nasty wound and was just thankful to be in the fight at all.

Chloe looked over and smiled, lips still closed to keep in the bread she was chewing, at the couple of performers on stage who began to dance to a piano. She wondered if there were a violin or a fiddle nearby. The piano man was pretty decent, actually, so she wouldn't need to take his place. But a piano by itself always felt a little lonely. Most instruments did.

Swallowing her breakfast Chloe looked over at the others. "What a welcome to ol' Paree, eh? Couldn't ask for a better reception. Who needs butter, anyway?" Chloe exclaimed. The 'tt' in butter was implied more than spoken, the word coming out as 'bu-uh'.

Chloe moved the back two legs of the chair and back and forth with the heels on the table. One hand held the bread, the other dangled loosely to the side, occasionally snapping to the beat of the piano tune.

Civilization felt like a massive breath of fresh air for Lilliane's mind. Even though the country was crushed underfoot, they were—at this moment—literally out of the woods. That drop that felt like it took an eternity was no more than a vivid memory. For now, they were at peace.

Despite not really having enough time to change or get new clothes, Lilliane's outfit for the morning cafe was different. This time around, she wore a herringbone tweed suit. Much more well-loved than the one before, the cuffs and edges had been frayed from use. Though, for the time being, the jacket had been placed on the chair's back where Lilliane had sat.

Out of some sort of obligation as a guide, she corrected Chloe. "No, we're still in Orleans. Paris is still a hundred and a half kilometres. My apologies for the butter, though. War rationing and whatnot." She replied, different from the day prior. The stress of meeting some people she didn't trust in the middle of the forest was no longer there. But, you know, being shot at and subsequently protected by people who could flip around flesh and summon tanks tended to give at least a modicum of trust.

The black coffee in front of her was a welcome reprieve from the previous day of dry bread and suffering without much to drink.

"Also, feet off the table. We just trudged through hours of dirt and you didn't change your shoes."

Compared to the previous night's meal, the freshly baked goods laid on the table before the group were practically heavenly. Not that Taras was one to complain about the quality of food, especially in this day and age... well, publicly complain. He was convinced whatever they'd left for them at the old barn barely qualified as bread. He'd eaten worse, but given the choice again he might have opted to chase down a rabbit or something instead.

"Another," the large man instructed, catching a server's eyes and gesturing to the pot of coffee. It was rapidly disappearing, but all the agents needed it after the scuffle in the woods. Now that they'd made it into town, Taras gladly ate his fill, ignoring the rest of the world outside the confines of their shared table. He ignored it, but wasn't unaware of it - even in broad daylight surrounded by fancy sights, sounds and smells, it would be dangerous and downright unprofessional not to take stock of the restaurant. It wasn't the only thing Taras was keeping an eye on either.

During their battle, three out of four agents' abilities were revealed. Yonaka, despite her devil may care attitude, had an incredibly powerful and versatile stand. Oscuro, small and fiesty, had a stand with a just as impressive ability. They were both a great deal larger than Taras' own stand, and better suited for battle too. Which left one among them who remained a mystery...

Lilliane - who somehow had procured a new coat from somewhere? - most definitely had a stand of some kind. It was only logical, given that the rest of them did. It was the reason they'd come together to investigate in the first place. While the women seemed to be getting along better overnight, Taras couldn't feel at ease when someone knew something about him and he couldn't say the same. To ask upfront would be embarrassing and weak-minded, but his heavy gaze wasn't at all subtle and likely betrayed his thoughts easily to those in the business of people watching.

Speaking of people watching, Taras turned his attention to the stage, though he snorted at Yonaka's comment about "Paree." He was really beginning to find her more humorous than annoying, but that was a thought for another time. For now, the music and dance. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a show. It was kind of nice. Though the woman wasn't really his type.

"We should begin thinking about our next move," Taras eventually said to the group at large. What a buzzkill.

The pianist's tune faded out, and he would stand, opening up the grand piano and peering inside. Tuning? Something else? Who could tell. The dancer would finish her final twirl and take a deep bow, letting the polite applause roll across her, until, at last, she would clear her throat, reaching for a hitherto untouched microphone. A few taps to make sure it was on, and she would give her lips a quick lick before beginning.

And when she spoke, just for a second, the crowd stopped everything.

"It is a real pleasure to be here," spoke the woman, her German accent heavy. In the silence of the room, you could hear boots falling outside, shouting on the street. "I came here all the way from Spandau, in Berlin, would you believe?" The woman continued, her smile bright and sunny. "But this country, much like its people, is so beautiful! It is such a shame there is all this nastiness about the war and the fighting, but, I do so sinceirely hope that once it is done, it will spark a new era of enlightenment between our peoples."

She continued talking, the crowd's tension easing away slightly. "My friend here, the pianist? He came from Poland, but look at him! Good aryan blood in those veins." She let out an airy laugh. "Of course, with all that being said, I must admit that when I heard of those that would subvert the German government's wishes, I was just... Horrified. So horrified in fact that I had to come here immediately." She put her arms to her side, expression blank.

From outside the sound of boots on cobblestone stopped. Heads turned, and hearts sunk. A squad of German soldiers, blank-faced and carrying MP40s had all stopped outside, the barrels aimed firmly into the cafe. The pianist, from where he had been examining the inner workings of the piano, would finally stand up straight, tossing a luger across to the dancer and racking the slide back on a broomhandled C96.

"Auf Wiedersein," was the last word that could be heard before the world exploded into gunfire.

When the one stage performance ended Taras joined in with the other patrons in clapping quietly. Regardless if he enjoyed the show or not, they were doing their job. Maybe they were doing a bit more than their job too - as the woman stepped up to the microphone Taras thought she might inquire about song requests, though it became immediately apparent that that wasn't the case. The Russian agent couldn't say he was surprised, giving the explosive start to their mission.

He leaned over towards Lilliane in the middle of the dancer's speech with a raised a brow. "They are quite fond of you, hm?" Although Taras still had his misgivings about her, the attack on both the route to the barn and the cafe didn't make him think she was a double agent - at least, not yet. Instead he thought that perhaps she wasn't as good a spy as he initially gave her credit for. That, or German intelligence had improved a frightening amount in a very short period of time. Obviously he preferred the former to be true.

His eyes shifted to the windows where soldiers were beginning to line up. The outlook wasn't good, but like hell was some sub-par stage act going to be the last thing Taras Tupolev ever saw.

<Excuse me>. As soon as the woman at the mic said her farewell, Taras sighed the words out heavily, giving Yonaka barely a moment's notice to re-position before he slammed his large fist the table. The remains of the group's food and cutlery went flying as the table was upended, landing on it's side and making a shoddy barrier between the agents and the stage. Almost calmly Taras found himself grateful the server had been slow with that coffee refill. They'd been placed closer to the stage than the door - top-notch seats on the house - so there were quite a few tables and fixtures between them and the shooters outside. Soon enough though, they would become shooters inside.

"Well," Taras spoke over the gunfire to his fellow agents, ducking low to avoid the random spray of bullets, "Now we should definitely think about our next move."

"Bad luck, mostly. C'est la vie."

Bad luck indeed, considering the fact that this was the second time she was attacked in two days. Either something big was going on or there was a complete failing in the safeties that the resistance once had. With the recognizable noise of goosestepping outside, Lilliane was at the ready. She pulled out a large kit from the front of her suit jacket. More specifically, a folded length of a thick, plastic-like fabric.

With the singer saying goodbye, Lilliane was the first to hit the deck. By the time Taras said excuse me, she had already unraveled the kit across the ground. With the table miraculously not colliding with her neck as she hunched over the kit, her brain was already formulating a plan. Unlike before, she could actually think. Wide open fields were not somewhere a spy did well in. No, she knew of close, urban environments. In front of her was a sewing kit filled with dozens of needles of varying sizes, tubes of glue, and thread. At this moment, she only cared about two things: the needles and the glue.

"So. American sports. You all know the game of baseball, right? Something the Yanks invented almost ninety years ago." Her hands were quickly at work, applying the quick-drying glue to the large sewing needles and smaller pins. "Well, MP40s have about 32 shots so as soon as that volley's done, we'll have about five seconds of safety. The point is," she squeezed the glued needles together which formed some sort of rod of needles together, "I'm not too fond of—or skilled at—American sports myself, so someone else toss this at them when they reload."

She held out the cluster of needles in front of her.

Chloe had been corrected by Lillaine twice in a matter of seconds. Feet off the table, and this is Orleans. She smiled and cheekily wobbled her head side to side as she placed her boots on the floor. Clapping as the performers finished, she was the last member of the group to realise something was wrong as the performer began to talk real...well, Nazi-like.

Yonaka's eyes widened and she stuffed the rest of her bread into her mouth as suddenly bullets were wizzing everywhere. Immediately her heart rate kicked into overdrive. For a moment she chewed, keeping her head down as Taras and Lilliane spoke calmly of their situation. Swallowing her interrupted breakfast, that nervous smile creeped onto her face again.

"Bloody hell! Say la vee!? Ritz!" A light yellow aura surrounded her body and the porcelain and wood automaton materialized at her back. It immediately took a defensive position and aimed to bat away and protect the group behind the table from any stray bullets. Hot lead would be stopped and collide with an invisible force in mid air to non Stand users. In the chaos of the gunfire it would be hard to notice.

She couldn't believe it! Betrayed by musicians! Her own kind! And to think she had liked their music! Well, in retrospect, that piano had fascist undertones, or something. Either way it didn't sound very good in her memory now that she knew the truth. Lilly seemed to be cooking up a scheme, and Chloe was happy to oblige. Maybe those needles were a weapon, or something. She could only imagine that Lilliane was a Stand user, too.

From what she had seen thus far, her Stand was the bruiser of the bunch. The others were lethal scalpels and razors, but Ritz was a big fuck-off hammer. So if any thing could chuck that ball o' needles out the pub, it'd be Chloe's sexy doll soul.

Ritz loomed over Lilliane, looking apprehensive but determined, and plucked the ball of needles with it's oversized but delicate fingers. When the moment was right, and the bullets seemed to slow as the krauts prepared their next volley, the Stand, much like the baseball players she had seen on the telly, raised it's front knee up, closed it's hands into it's chest, and fastballed the needleball out the front door with tremendous force and speed that would make even the best baseball player blush.

The smell of freshly-baked bread did… something to Kiara. Something like nostalgia from a past life. No matter what it could be called, she wasn’t sure she particularly liked it. It made her feel… soft, which was something that by all means could not happen.

She mostly ignored the dancer’s speech, until she caught the phrase “good aryan blood,” which made her quietly scoff and roll her eyes. As the woman kept talking, however, she was struck with nostalgia of another kind. No, not exactly nostalgia. Familiar anticipation, maybe. Her apprehension was proven right when a crowd of gunmen stormed the restaurant. This wasn't a new situation to her; she had actually been on the other side of it a few times before.

Tupolev flipped the table to create a barrier. Good. She would have done the same if he hadn’t. She ducked behind the table, keeping a close eye for any hostiles that might try to approach them from behind.

She waited out the first hail of bullets, then made her move by summoning Miss Murder. Her stand thrust out an arm, which transformed into a gun similar to the ones the soldiers were carrying. She let out her own barrage, sweeping across their formation in a single line before retreating back behind the barrier.

The German soldiers did something that should have been impossible. As the ball of needles was hurled out and Miss Murder's bullets began to rattle through the air, the soldiers ducked for cover. Rising to their feet as one, the lull in shooting would let the pianist's words be heard. "My oh my! I knew we had at least one stand user, but to see so many all clustered onto these fair lands? Why, it almost makes me WISH I HADN'T ASKED FOR BACKUP." The last words were spoken not by the man himself, but instead by a figure looming behind him. Hunched over, emaciated, and slightly bestial, its hands a bloody crimson, the stand would let out a scraping cackle.

"WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE THEN? MORE FOR ME TO RIP INTO?" The stand would continue to talk, and as it did so it stalked forwards, providing cover for its user as the pianist reloaded his submachine gun. It would reach the table that Tupolev had flipped before bringing its hand down, the appendage cleaving through the wood and splintering it like a boy done with a stick he'd found. "COME THEN LITTLE STANDS. WHO IS BRAVE ENOUGH TO STAND UP TO「THE REAPER」?"

The soldiers, having picked themselves up, would slowly, in perfect unison, stand shoulder to shoulder. A heavy, jackbooted thud would come from the front of the restaurant, and then, as if to declare that this had been a stand-exterminating mission from the start, their forms seemed to part, and from each and every soldier rose out an identically, construct-like visage.

With blocky, wooden looking joints and a blank face, it was a horrifying thing. They moved jerkily, nothing like the predatory precision of 「The Reaper」, and from beneath the sleeves and cuffs of their uniforms dangled strings, sliced off and left to trail on the ground or in the air.

"What my rather... unchained colleague here is trying to say, meine Freunde, is that you are all deeply, truly, and utterly fucked. The might of the Reich will crash down upon you. Wheras the icy winds of the North created the almighty Aryan race, our chilly gusts shall eradicate you insects."

Chloe frowned, and she and her Stand turned around in unison to see the imposing Reaper loom over the crouched down group. Cocky and evil son of a bitch, wasn't he? She wasn't about to let him walk all over her allies. Him and his weird little toy soldiers. These arrogant bastards always got on her nerves with their posturing and talks of Aryan superiority. All they do is stomp on people beneath them in their self-made social structures. Fascism, Chloe knew, was a snake. A snake that devoured everything and everyone, and then ate itself, leaving nobody with anything. It was poisonous, cancerous, toxic. It was something that needed to be squashed.

So when this loudmouth announced it's presence and oozed arrogance, well, young Yonaka wasn't about to let him get away with it. She would bash him over the head with her fists and pummel his sickly brains out all over the floor.

"Yeah, sure, I'll have a pop." Chloe announced with a smirk, crouching and staring up at the nazi and his Stand defiantly. With that, her Stand moved into position between her and the enemy Stand. They made quite the complementary pair. The Reaper was all crimson shadow, and Ritz was a glimmering doll of porcelain and gold.

Puttin' on the Ritz ground it's teeth together between it's red lips surged forth, unleashing a wild barrage of powerful fists. "CODADAAA!" Ritz shouted harshly, a personal moniker that had little meaning to anyone other than the british musician. Ritz' shout sounded like someone was blasting a furious record player at full volume.

The makeshift wooden barrier wouldn't have lasted long against the hail of bullets, but the sudden appearance of what could only be the enemy's stand ended it's usefulness pretty quickly. It bought them a moment of safety, but looked like the soldiers were already gearing up for round two. The agents were surrounded and even worse: subjected to the very annoying, tiresome speech of the enemy. Those Germans' heads were so far up their own asses it was a wonder they could still talk.

...but the fact was, the Allied stand users were in quite the predicament and no amount of internal insults would get them out of it. It was time for action. Unlike before in the forest, Taras' own stand would be much less helpful on the offensive front. It was small, weak, and vulnerable to attacks from other stands - which there were a lot of. Even though they seemed simplistic and identical, any wound they could land on「Bad Case」itself would severely limit Taras himself. So, he didn't summon it. Instead, the Russian happily let Yonaka take on「The Reaper」, getting out of her way and diving behind another patron's table. While he moved, he drew his own gun from his coat - a proud pistol of Russian make. As soon as he switched the safety off Taras took aim at the pianist and fired. If the man was that gangly stand's user, then hopefully his focus would be split between Yonaka and himself, leaving either stand or user open for an attack.

With the elegant song-stand hurling the needle ball through the window, Lilliane realized something important. She didn't actually use her power on it. That certainly was a setback. Then again, combat was always a setback to her. She wasn't exactly a soldier. She was intel first and foremost. Requisitions secondly. In fact, the last time held a gun was... her training in Britain? How many years ago was that? About... No, it wasn't the time to think about the small things. Small error. That was it. She just needed to figure something else out. That meant plan B: escape. That was always a good plan.

With Cakebread attacking their sudden predator, the jackbooted thugs outside revealing their true form, and a little cover fire from the others, Lilliane quickly went to work.

For most, plaster and wood were weaker alternatives to brick and stone. A wall, but one someone could breach with an axe. Not for the Lilliane, however. No, for her small frame, plaster and wood was a hardy object. Inversely, her ability was made to dismantle the other.

She made a mad dash to the wall. As fast as her legs could carry her and as low to the ground as to not attract suspicion. When she got close enough, her stand finally emerged. With a chaotic shimmer from the shaking lights above, Future History's bizarre, almost random form came into sight. Skeletal, armour, angular, and segmented. It wasn't a beautiful sight. No, it was inelegant, noisy, and strange. The way it moved didn't help. It moved unlike a man. It's head jittered and shook, only to turn perfectly still and it floated like an motionless marionette.

With another alien motion, the stand's arms swung upwards, clawing at the brick wall with its gangling fingers. Initially, nothing happened. A momentary silence came from the stand. Again, its head shook at a violent speed, a chittering noise coming out as its jaw shivered. A similar noise came from the wall, but it was slightly different. Rather than the sound of upper and lower jaw, it was the creaking of mortar that had spent decades drying. Bricks vibrated as they became loose, refusing the mortar. The dried paste began to turn to dust as the brick struggled to break free. Then, just as sudden as the stand's swipe, the brick exploded outwards. The mortar turned to shrapnel and dust as the bricks violently erupted.

In the end, a man-size hole was made. One that she prayed led to an alleyway to run into.

Oh, this was getting interesting, wasn’t it? Not just gunmen, but a stand as well, and an ugly motherfucker at that. Kiara backed up slightly from the broken table, her eyes lighting up in excitement.

She responded to the stand’s boast with one of her own, starting with an amicable, casual tone, but turning more intense and unhinged with every word, “I dunno, Reaper. You think you can give me a good fight? I’ve been just dying to see some Nazi blood!”

She sent out another hail of bullets at the puppet-like soldiers, aiming first at the stands and then at the men themselves. Best to get them out of the way first, avoid any surprises that might come up as a result of overlooking them.

“C’mon, let’s see how almighty the ‘Aryan race’ really is.”