Blackfridayrule

Thick as Thieves

"Money says he moves across the country if you ever show up at his place," Rohaan laughed, shaking his head. Tom would be fine. A concussion would be the worst of his injuries, unlike the unfortunate souls who went down trying to capture him. Rohaan did not go down easily, and their many stitches and broken bones would attest to that. Good, that was less work he'd have to do building his reputation. Rohaan wielded the rumors about him like a sword, and cultivated them like rare plants. Like Alexa, he knew better than most that appearances were everything, and if he made people believe he would destroy them, then perhaps he wouldn't even have to.

Rohaan didn't exactly delight in bloodshed--he wasn't a psychopath. But he wasn't shy about it either, and he would not hesitate to put his own freedom and survival over someone else's. Especially when they embodied the very system that made him a criminal to begin with. Pity, after all, was only for those who deserved it.

"The roof, of course! We'll blow this joint in style." Rohaan took her hand, and his skin tingled a little as her magic flooded over him, cloaking his body and warping the sounds around them. It was a devious trick, one Berlin would be jealous of. Rohaan loved it. The chaos sewn by her addition of his roar was a delightful treat, too, as he got to see which of these agents had steel in their bones, and which ones valued their lives too much to stay. The pair moved swiftly and softly through the hallways of the building up until they were met with the rear guard. It was everything Rohaan could do to keep from striking fist, as was his way, but Alexa's veil held true, and before long, they were out on the roof breathing free night air.

"Nicely done in there. Now then, take this. You'll need it." Rohaan took off his worn leather jacket and handed it over to her. "It gets cold up there, and you'll need something to block the wind. There's not a lot of air up there, either, so if you start to feel faint, pound your fist twice and I'll go a bit lower. And whatever you do, don't let go." Rohaan squatted down so she could wrap her arms around his neck and cling to his back, and once she was secure, his shape shifted quickly and abruptly underneath her. Once more, he was a cyradan, though this time his ArMaR had manifested a basic harness she could hold onto. His velvety black wings spread, he crouched, and then launched upward with enough force to press Alexa into the smooth ridge of his scaled spine. His wings pumped, surprisingly silent for their relative size, and the dragon and rider ascended into the night sky, becoming merely a patch of deeper shadow. His body was utterly fluid as he moved, as flexible and controlled as a snake.

It was cold up at the height he finally leveled off at. He hadn't yet passed the clouds, but what wisps there were that night lay not far above him. It was an effort to carry a human on his back like this, but on a still night like this one, Rohaan could travel fast regardless. He did not have to go far, though. He wanted to get far enough away that any immediate pursuit would give up and resort to more wide-reaching search tactics, but not far enough that any of their estimates of distance traveled would be correct. He touched down on the roof of a dark building without any lights on; So dark and quiet was his form that no one saw him and raised an alarm. Good.

Rohaan let Alexa slide off, then shifted back to his natural shape. "I'd say that went pretty well, I think. Wish I couldda seen the look on Valdez' face when he realized we were gone, and so was his career." Rohaan barked a laugh. Serves the man right for meddling in his affairs. "But I was serious about that pizza. Or anything, honestly, I'm just starving. Takes a lot of calories to keep a shifter on his feet. Wanna come? I've got a place I'm staying at nearby, you could crash there for the night if you wanted. It's not a nice place--it's an old tweaker house, except I scared all the tweakers away. Kinda dirty in there but it does have a couple couches. Unless you've got a nicer place nearby." It was hard to imagine a highly successful thief like Rohaan Ja'aisen living in a dingy trap house instead of bouncing between five star hotels, but that was more often than not the way he lived. Most hotel staff got very uncomfortable about having a shifter in their midst, no matter what he said his identity was. Occasionally he could get people to look the other way with a bit of cash, but most panicked and shooed him away. But Rohaan had an eye for the kinds of establishments and people that would take a bribe.

The Tree of Astra (LadyAnnaLee and Blackfridayrule)

Ridahne watched her go with a small pang of worry. It wasn't that she felt there was any particular threat here in the palace, it was more that she'd spent so long stressing and worrying over Darin's safety. And each time they brushed with the Red Hand, the more that feeling intensified. Ajoran did not need to see the details of her face to read this in her pensive silence.
"She'll be just fine."
"I know." But...
"You're a good guardian, Ridahne Torzinei. Astra is lucky to have you. And so is she." Ridahne's throat closed and she could hardly breathe, much less speak. But once again, Ajoran could read her like footprints in wet sand. "Don't be so modest about it, I mean it. I know your da would be proud of you, and I don't think I ever met your mother, but she would be too, I'll bet."
Ridahne burst suddenly into tears, which she tried desperately to contain. She was still in public after all. "Oh Ajoran, don't start on that, I'm in public...you'll ruin my reputation." Both of them laughed at that.
"You know, I never told you this. But that day you came to my da's smithy to choose the weapon you wanted to train with when you became an apprentice, Jaisih pulled me aside when you were out watering your horse before you left. He pulled me aside and asked me, "Boy, answer me honest, now. You've been staring at my daughter this whole time, haven't you?" and your da, he was such an intimating man so I told him yes and I've never been more embarrassed in my life. But then you know what he said? He winked at me and said, "She's a lot to handle. I don't know if you can keep up with her, lad. But I hope you do.""

Ridahne barked a laugh. "He did not!"
"Oh, but he did...and my da laughed and laughed and laughed and teased me about it relentlessly for a long time. Still does, sometimes." Ridahne didn't need to see him to know he was smiling.
"You had eyes for me even then?" Ridahne asked softly.
"Oh, and you didn't?"
"I thought you were handsome, but I didn't know you. I'm not so easily won."
Ajoran chuckled. "Ouch, I'm hurt! When, then? I bet I could guess..."
"You'd probably be right. It was that night under the full moon, right after you showed up at the palace. It was so different there than home, and I was so different than everyone else. I felt so alone. And I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk on the outskirts of town. I think I missed the openness of the Dust Sea, in a way. And you saw me go and followed me, and offered to teach me a few things about bladed combat. That was the first time we sparred. You had me then, Teleisun. Snared like a rabbit in a trap."
"Except you aren't much of a rabbit. You're an urala cat. A deadly huntress..."

Ridahne giggled, but the moment was quickly ruined by an approaching figure standing over her. As the shadow of the person fell over her, she sighed, expecting some angry former colleague of hers come to stir up trouble. But as she turned and looked up, her expression turned to outright surprise. "Sota-Sol?"
Amaiera-Sol was standing above her, toting one taja who was dutifully looking at the back of his Sol's head instead of the nude women in the room. No one seemed to find his presence on this half of the baths bothersome, though. "A word, Torzinei."
An unexpected anger flared up in Ridahne. "I am no longer yours to beckon and call like a dog to heel." On the other side of the barrier, Ajoran sucked in a tense breath.
Amaiera-Sol sighed slowly. "No. I suppose you are not. Astra-Sol is your keeper, now. Then I beseech you to come and speak with me. Privately. There is much I wish to say to you that cannot be said among so many ears."
Ridahne softened a little too, as Amaiera-Sol did. "Ajoran, I'll find you later. Sota-Sol, I will speak with you."
The elderly elf nodded once, slowly. "I will await you in the gardens."
Ridahne clenched a little. She hadn't seen the gardens since she'd lured Takhun out there that fateful night, and watered the plants with his blood. She had no guilt about killing Khaltira, but Takhun was her friend. Her partner. And for killing him, she did feel like a traitor, if only to their friendship. "Aye, Sol."
Amaiera-Sol glanced around. "Darin is not here? Did she not find my baths to her liking?"
"It is not the human custom to bathe communally," Ridahne explained. "But your staff has seen to her needs. They have been most hospitable." Ridahne knew that praise of her household servants would lead to rewards for the staff in the long run for their excellent work, so she was free with her praise.
The Sota-Sol nodded once. "I will await you outside, then." She departed.

Ridahne said goodbye to Ajoran and went to get dried off and dressed, though not without using some of the perfumed oils in her hair and on her skin. She would not be cheated of the full experience of the baths just to speak with the Sota-Sol. When she met Amaiera-Sol in the gardens, Ridahne was dressed richly in a charcoal gray uri trimmed with silver and bone beads on the fringes, and a deep, blood red half shirt that draped over one shoulder and flowed down her back to her waist like a slim, one sided cloak. Fastening the silk fabric at the shoulder was a simple silver pin set with a sparkling garnet. A silk, steely-gray sash fastened the uri in place and was pinned with her old sigil pin. Her hair, still damp, was in a half bun fastened with a polished silver band. They had given her very fine clothes indeed, and Ridahne looked very fine in them. Stately, and yet dangerously polished like a honed blade edge. She smelled faintly of juniper.

To Ridahne's surprise, Amaiera-Sol was alone in the central courtyard, with not even a single taja stationed beside her. Ridahne knew they were lurking nearby, but had been ordered to give her some space. The elderly elf beckoned for Ridahne to sit on the stone bench beside her, which was still warm from the heat of the day, though the ambient air had cooled with the sunset. For a few hours before deep night fell, and it actually got a little chilly (by Azurei standards), there was a space of time where it was neither hot nor cold, but some pleasant halfway point where the stones offered residual warmth, but the sun did not beat down on the inhabitants of the desert. They called it Tsaedin'ja, which might loosely and colloquially be translated as 'golden hour', and during that time, Azurei was alive.

"You are angry with me." It was not a question. The Sota Sol often spoke this way, stating things instead of asking them.
Ridahne sighed. "Yes and no. No, because I know why you did what you did, and you had to. I would have, too. You do not need to explain yourself to me, Sol. And it brought me to Darin..." If she was quiet, she could hear the faint and lofty sounds of a fiddle from somewhere on high--probably the roof. Ridahne smiled to herself. "Yes because...because it was the demand of authority for unquestioning obedience from her subjects that got me here in the first place."
"You resent the hierarchy of Court."
"No, Sol. Every last member of this court is necessary for the health and well being of Azurei. I resent being owned." The specific Azurei word she used for 'owned' was not the same one generally used when talking about 'belonging to' a Sol, which spoke more of loyalty and responsibility and fealty in both directions than any real ownership. The word she used was instead one of possession, of owning ships or tools or weapons. Objects.
Amaiera-Sol tilted her head and studied the younger elf, visibly surprised. "How long have you felt this way?"
Ridahne involuntarily became defensive and guarded. Except for with a few people like Darin or Ajoran or Hadian, it was her default. "I don't know." Her tone was clipped. "Sol, why did you bring me here?"
"No more than this. I wanted to speak with you openly and candidly about what happened."
"Why?" Ridahne found herself snapping. She never meant to, and actually covered her mouth with her slim fingers as her eyes widened in horror at her own behavior.
Amaiera-Sol sighed softly, and reached one slightly wrinkled hand to wrap around Ridahne's free one. "Because never in the history of my rule have I ever wronged one of my own so deeply and profoundly. And I owe you my honesty and vulnerability, which I cannot give to everyone. And my sincere apology. I am sorry, Ridahne. For Khaltira," she notably did not add the 'sol' suffix, "for what she made you do, and for not understanding all of this sooner. I do blame myself for her."

Ridahne's hand never left her mouth, and she was absolutely rigid. She couldn't breathe. If she took in even one breath, or let any of what she already had out, she would explode into sobs. And it did not matter how long she'd been away, or how far removed she now was from her former status and position in the court, Ridahne could not, COULD NOT cry in front of Azurei's Sota-Sol.

"I cannot help but think..." Amaiera-Sol continued, sounding for once more grandmotherly than the supreme ruler of a nation. "If you had felt less owned, as you say, would you have come to me with your concerns? Would you have challenged her openly? I have spent many nights grieving over the fact that you felt you had no other course of action than to kill her and destroy your own life."
Ridahne did find her voice, then, though it was soft and still a little breathless. "I was taught to speak the language of blood and of death. Khaltira presented a question, and I answered in the only way I knew how." A pause, and then with a rising sharpness Ridahne added, "And I was punished for speaking the language I was taught to speak. For doing what I'd been trained to do. Extensively trained." She grit her teeth. "Alright, yes, so maybe I am angry. Part of me knows I shouldn't be, not wholly, but I am. And it means a great deal to hear your candid apology, Sol, it really does. But when a dog is both kicked and praised, she will have complicated feelings towards her master. As do I."
Amaiera-Sol nodded slowly. "I understand. I take my leave, then, and leave you to retire at last. I have yet to speak to your Astra-Sol and give her the kind of candid answers she deserves. But I thought it best to speak to you, first. If there's ought you would ask of me, speak. It will be yours. Peace, Guardian." She departed, leaving Ridahe alone in the now dark gardens.

The young elf sat still for a while, until she was very certain no one was nearby. And then she put her head in her hands and cried. Cried for the simple release of a pent-up tension. Cried for the weight of the apology she'd been given and for how much it meant to her. Cried for her still simmering anger she wasn't sure what to do with anymore. And she cried because she was not far from the very spot she killed Takhun. When she had no more tears to give, she went back inside the palace to find Ajoran, though instead of heading off to the barracks with him, she took his hand and led him up to the roof of the palace where Darin played her fiddle. Ridahne, still holding Ajoran's hand, silently came to sit beside her sister. She said nothing to either of them, but instead gazed out over the flickering lights of Tasen, content merely to listen to the sound of Darin's fiddle. She just needed her family with her at the moment.

Thick as Thieves

((much better, thank you!))

The agents spent what felt like a long time behind the cover of the corner, just out of reach of the flames on the landing. There were a lot of hushed, muttering voices conferring, trying to decide how to handle this. They weren't prepared for this. They'd done all their planning to get Ja'aisen and they thought that they had an idea of how to keep him. They'd been briefed on what to expect but...evidently the information they received was lacking in detail or was severely outdated. One agent had a mirror in his vest pocket and he slowly, carefully extended it around the brick wall that seemed all that was between them and the demon Ja'aisen. The moment he caught a glimpse of the slinking black creature crouched at the top of the stairs, tail swishing dangerously like a cat's, he yanked his hand back with a gasped exclamation of, "Oh shit...oh damn..."
"Out of my way," a gruff man muttered, and there was the sound of jostling. "Ja'aisen? I'm captain Valdez. I run this operation. I'm authorized to bargain with you, if you're willing."
Rohaan shifted back to his natural shape and laughed. "Oh are you now? Okay mate, try me. What could you possibly have that I want?"
The captain cleared his throat. "The woman. She's your partner, isn't she?"
"Sort of, yeah. Hurry it up, I'm already bored of this conversation..."
"I'll let her walk if you stand down." He figured she would be easier to track and contain than this monster he was speaking to, and if it would save lives of his crew, he'd take the chance.
Rohaan outright snorted. "Oh I see, she gets to walk and I go back in a box? Quietly? Nah, I don't think so. Besides, what makes you think she needs any help from you getting out of here?"

As if on cue, Alexa shouted from down the hall something about C4, and Rohaan grinned. "I've got a counter offer, Valdez. I walk. She walks. Nobody comes after us. I go down to Sergio's Pizzeria and get me some damn pepperoni, and none of your crew has to die today. Or you can try to bring me down and mark my words, every last one of you will burn."
That was a credible threat, coming from him. Valdez had heard the stories, though admittedly he hadn't believed half of them until now. His job would be on the line if he didn't do everything he could to keep this criminal contained, but if he made the first move, there was every chance he'd have to write letters home to husbands, wives and children expressing his condolences for their losses...

Valdez chanced a look around the corner; the heat of the pool of flames on the landing made it difficult to advance further. He'd hoped to get a glance at his foe, to size him up and weigh his options a little better, but it didn't matter. The shapeshifter was gone.

Rohaan had bought time for Alexa and successfully reminded these idiots how foolish they'd been (maybe next time they'd leave him alone) and didn't actually need to engage any further. He almost felt bad for how unprepared they were. Almost. Rohaan chose the form of a dog and bolted swiftly through the hall to where Alexa had gone. A young rookie had his weapon sort of half drawn, fearful of her and yet not ready to fully consider her an immediate threat. Dog-Rohaan's blue eyes met hers momentarily, and then locked on his target as he slowly and silently padded forward until he was right behind the poor sap. Rohaan shifted forms again, back to his natural shape, and blew a little puff of air into the man's ear. Tom jumped and fumbled with his gun as he turned, but Rohaan's calloused fist was waiting for him, and down he went, just like Bjornson.

Rohaan shook his hand a little with a small grimace, then tilted his head at Alexa. "You...you thought he was cute, didn't you?" He clucked his tongue in disappointment as he shook his head. He studied Tom. "Eh, you can do better. You ready? I'm dying for some pizza." He said this as if he were leaving a party, not fleeing a jailbreak. This was just how things were, and it no longer surprised him.

Thick as Thieves

((oh man, that blue color is very difficult for me to read, can you use a different one in the future?))

"Do I need to track someone down and kill them?" The cavalier way in which he said this was often alarming. People said this sort of thing as hyperbole often enough, though with Rohaan, it was often hard to tell if it was a joke or a dead serious and very literal offer. He wasn't quite sure, himself. Part of him meant it, and if she asked him quite seriously to kill someone who had harmed her, he would very much consider it, though he wasn't sure he was so convinced he'd do it just yet. He didn't know Alexa terribly well, but there was something about her he could relate to, or at least, a younger part of him could. And he'd set the world on fire before he let one of his crew get hurt.

"I expect you'll want that back...tell you what. When we get out of here, stay behind me and wait until I start shifting before you follow me out. I'll create a diversion for you, and you can sneak around and get that purse of yours. Shouldn't be too far from this room. Might have to go down to the end of the hall, I think." Some things were worth retrieving. Thankfully, they hadn't noticed his gear, which did not appear to be anything more special than a pair of albeit unique wristbands. Kirra sort of jokingly referred to them as 'ArMaR bands' because 'arcane matter redistributors' was far longer. And she'd kill him if he lost them to Suits. She'd developed the tech just for him, though it had uses far beyond just catering to the needs of a shapeshifter. For Rohaan, it gathered and reordered the matter in his clothing (which also had to by synced up to the devices with special tags) and gave him the ability to not only change what sort of clothing it was, but but to change it into something entirely different, like a saddle, if needed. They were going to come in handy on this little adventure, and someday he would need to properly thank his favorite artificer for her marvelous work.

Rohaan took a deep breath to settle his stomach, which was grumbling and roiling and unsure if it wanted to empty its contents, or needed food. Maybe both, and in that order. Alexa worked her magic on the field and Rohaan pressed himself against the shield so that the moment it flickered and stuttered, he slipped through. Not without a curse or two, though. Rohaan had a few piercings that smarted horribly when they got suddenly heated by the shorted field. He shook his head as though trying to shake off the pain and rolled his shoulders. "Alright, let's do this."

Rohaan helped her up. Despite his rough appearance and his penchant for violence, he was always exceptionally gentle with Alexa. It was a big-brother sort of vibe, despite the fact that Rohaan was only a couple years older than her. He took another, steadying breath through his nostrils as if savoring the scent in the air like it was a soundtrack and this was a performance. In many ways, it was. This was his element, after all, and he enjoyed the thrill.

Where some might have cut the power to the room to get the guard's attention or lure him into the room, Rohaan simply threw open the door and threw a right-hook into Bjornson's temple. The poor idiot barely had any time to react before the fist connected and he dropped like a stone. That took care of him, but there would undoubtedly be someone watching the security cams, and they'd put down their scalding coffee and press the alarm in three...two...

Lights flashed and a wailing siren howled its mournful call. "Alright, here we go..." Rohaan laughed and jogged down the hall to the stairwell, where he'd have his face-off. "Find your things, Alexa!" he called. "I'll find you in a moment." Footsteps and barked orders began to echo through the stairwell. Rohaan changed forms--a quick, effortless transition--into a cyradan, crouched low and with tail poised as if to strike whiplike at anyone foolish enough to get in its range. Just a few more seconds... His lithe body blocked the stairway as he peered over the edge of the top level with his sights set on the landing below him. He opened his mouth, showing a neat assembly of dark, graphite colored teeth, and took in a slow, silent breath. He held the breath right up until the moment he heard an agent reaching the top of the flight of stairs just below his, and then he spat, releasing a flaming glob of viscous liquid that hit the wall with an audible splash and a burst of flame. The leading agent had no time to backtrack and his arm was caught in the splash; he retreated with a panicked howl as he slapped fruitlessly at his arm to try and extinguish the flames. That made the whole crew of agents stop dead.

Rohaan roared in challenge, and the cry was deep and resonant with a faint harmony of a shrill, piercing keen as if two voices sounded out in perfect unison. But then he changed back to his natural shape and laughed. "I am Rheoaan Rohaan Rio Ja'aisen! Did you think you could cage me? Did you think you could subdue me? Come closer, and I'll show you what you're really dealing with. Come closer...if you can make it through the fire." He changed back to a cyradan and let the low rumble of his growl shake the stairwell. The landing was a little pocket of inferno, though it had no other fuel to ignite in the concrete and cinder block stairwell. They'd have to cross through that to get to him, and they'd have to think hard about alternatives if they wanted to avoid burning. Good. Thinking would buy Alexa time.

Thick as Thieves

The door opened again, not long after the guard--he thought the name on the vest said Bjornson?--Bjornson had left him in a barely concealed panic, and he could hear the shuffling footsteps of people burdened with a heavy weight. A person, no doubt. He sat back against one wall, legs crossed at the ankles in front of him like he was enjoying a coffee on a sunny pier somewhere, not in a local high-security holding cell. Local high-security, that was the kicker. There were highly specialized prisons sprinkled around the world, and those would have given Rohaan concern. But not these low-ball small-timers who thought they could contain him. Somewhere in an office nearby, a captain was probably opening his bottom desk drawer to reveal a secret stash of a mid-shelf bourbon and two kitchy rocks glasses that looked like they came from a thrift store, or grandma's cabinet. He was likely pouring one for himself and his lieutenant, chuckling and congratulating himself on the successful capture of Rohaan Ja'aisen, global criminal.

But he was wrong. Dead wrong. There was a reason Rohaan had never seen death row, and there was a reason it was such an accomplishment to have him in custody. The shapeshifter was elusive, hard to track, viciously violent, and wildly unpredictable. And if anyone did manage to capture him...well...he was about to show these schmucks how terribly out of their league they really were.

The fellow prisoner spoke and he looked up. He knew that voice. Sure enough, Alexa was unceremoniously tossed inside the cell next to his. He didn't know the girl terribly well--they'd crossed paths a few times and teamed up briefly. She was an ally, though he didn't know all that much about her or where she came from, or what she was really capable of. Berlin would like her. The big man would sit her down with a hot cup of mint tea and ask after her story and her abilities with fervent earnestness, if he ever met her.

"Ah, Alexa. They got you too?" He smiled. Rohaan had a very rough, verging into 'vagabond' kind of appearance, but his smile could be charming if he didn't pour any menace into it. He was not especially tall or large for a man his age, though he was certainly quite lean and evidently lived a very active lifestyle. His hair, which he usually kept tied back in a disaster of a bun, was a straw blonde and couldn't decide if it wanted to lie in corkscrews or loose waves, or perhaps somewhere in between, though his skin tone was just a little darker than one might expect for a blonde man. He nearly exuded a 'Californian surfer' vibe with the combination, except his faint and unidentifiable accent proved he wasn't from anywhere near California, or even the States. His beard was short but always a little scraggly, like he needed to trim it but hadn't yet gotten the time. Still, his eyes were always his most striking feature.

The shifter sighed. "This team was a little more prepared than most, I'll admit. But they're still amateurs. They have absolutely no idea what they're dealing with...especially if they let you keep your shoes..." He shook his head. "Well, I'll be straight with you, I'm not firing on all cylinders here, they got me pretty good. I got beat, shocked, and dosed this evening. Hope they treated you a little better. But I could pull it together, especially if it means I could get myself an actual bed and a hot meal. Moon and stars, what I wouldn't give for a hot bowl of pho right now..." He sighed wistfully.

"Think you can get these fields down? That seems like your kind of specialty. If you can get them down, then I can deal with Bjornson at the door, over there." He hooked a thumb towards the door. "I don't know if you've done this before, but as soon as our mate out there goes down, sirens are gonna start blaring and agents are gonna start pouring in. I'll deal with them if you can get a nearby window--a large one, if possible--open by any means necessary. And then uh...you aren't afraid of heights, are you? How uh, how do you feel about flying?"

Rohaan was capable of many forms, both humanoid and animal, but his favorite was the cyradan. It was a small species of dragon that, when found in the wild, was often seen nesting on seaside cliffs. Unlike the much larger mountain dragons, cyradan were not heavily armored and their scales were smooth and snakelike, and matte black like anodized aluminum. It made them vulnerable to attack, but they were lithe and light as a result. They were a nocturnal species that hunted by stealth, speed, and maneuverability. In the sky, it seemed only a swallow could outmatch a cyradan. They were capable of breathing fire, but not in drawn out gusts of inferno like their larger cousins, and instead spat an incendiary gel that splattered and was difficult to remove. The shape suited Rohaan for its balance of power and sleek maneuverability and grace, and despite its relative size, it was the easiest form for him to hold. All shifters had a form that seemed almost natural to hold and yet was not their own; his people called it a talys, or 'true alternate'.

Urban Fantasy something or other? (1x1)

roleplayerguild.com/topics/183913-thi…

Here we are. Got a corny title but whatever, it was all I could think of at the moment.

Thick as Thieves

“Show me the way to go home…” The prone man inside the little cell slapped his hand against the concrete floor twice in rhythm, then continued to howl, “I’m tired and I wanna go to bed!” There was a guard posted just outside the door to the little cell block, and Rheoaan Rohaan Rio Ja’aisen was going to personally make sure he had the worst shift of his career. If these Suits had the audacity to try and keep him locked up, then he was going to repay the favor in kind and make them regret ever bothering. Maybe next time they’d just let him sleep… "Had a little drink about an hour agooo, and it went right to my head!" He slapped both hands on the floor with staccato smacks in time with his, "BADUM DUM DUM!" and then he began to sing again, only faster and louder. "SHOW ME THE WAY TO GO HOME..."

Truthfully, Rohaan felt awful, though he wasn't about to let that show while any agents were watching. Rule number one of survival was to appear stronger and scarier than the other guy, and never to show a weakness that might be exploited. In another situation, he might have favored the 'wounded animal' gambit and led them to believe he was less physically capable than he really was. But he wanted these guys nervous, and that meant making them believe they were fighting a losing battle. They were--Rohaan would find a way out eventually, he always did. But for the moment, he was content to think through his options and recover from his injuries a little.

What had started out as a simple gig retrieving some obscure tech Rohaan neither understood nor cared about for a rather desperate customer who paid handsomely, turned quickly into a very bumpy ride into a holding cell at a local law enforcement agency. His performance had been flawless, but they must have gotten some tip that he'd be there. In fact, now that he thought about it, the guy who hired him in some seedy back alley was probably an agent undercover, or was hired by one. He'd best sleep with one eye open, or before he knows it, his house will be burning down around him... In any case a team was waiting for him, and they were prepared to deal with him. More than most local agents were, anyway. They wanted him alive, because they didn't immediately start with their guns, and instead favored a quick deployment of a disruptor shield that prevented him from changing forms. They hemmed him in so he couldn't move out of its sphere of influence, though they did not count on his ability to engage in hand-to-hand combat. His guess was that he hospitalized two agents, and he definitely bit another one until he tasted blood. But there were too many of them, and one had a damn cattle prod. That, combined with the steel-toed boot of another agent, left him in bad shape. Nothing was broken (but only barely) and he could walk alright, but it was a miserable chore to move much, and whatever they dosed him with in the van left him feeling nauseous.

The door to the hall opened and the very irritated guard stepped in, marching straight back to Rohaan's cell. "Ja'aisen! If you don't shut your damn mouth, I'll come in there and kick out every last one of your teeth..."
Rohaan, who was lying casually on the floor as if his boredom tired him, turned his head so he could look at the uniformed officer directly. The guard flinched just a little. Rohaan's eyes were blue, but they were not the ordinary denim blue or even gray of most folks. They were a lapis lazuli azure, deep and yet unnaturally bright and saturated. A vibrant hue nature only gave to toxic, poisonous things. Amidst his unkempt and uneven blonde curls and his suntanned face, they seemed inhuman and out of place. Rohaan smiled slowly, flashing teeth. "Just you open that containment field, mate, and you'll get to see those buddies of yours I put in the hospital...If I don't decide to just eat you instead..."

In a moment, there was a man lying on the cell floor, and in the next, there was a black jaguar. He lunged at the guard with an animal yowl, though his paws met the containment field and held him at bay. These cells did not have doors or bars, just containment fields that stopped both physical momentum and magical projectiles. Visually, all that separated this officer from the pearly white fangs of the blue-eyed jaguar was a thin greenish-tinted membrane of light, and the officer's self preservation instincts were evidently stronger than his pride, because he jumped and took several steps back. Rohaan reverted to his natural shape and laughed darkly. It was painful and costly for him to pull a shift like that in his current state, but it was worth every last calorie and muscle ache to see the guard bolt out of the room to the safety of the hallway door.

If he was going to be stuck here for a little bit, then he was going to have some fun with it.

Urban Fantasy something or other? (1x1)

Oh that would be fun, because Rohaan is aalllll action LOL. He can do stealth, but he is also very much not afraid to fight anyone haha. Cool. We’ll say that some lower level agency has them and is holding them while higher level teams are on their way to deal with them, as a shapeshifter and a mage would be formidable and difficult to manage. Then at least we can say there’s some element of containment that gets overlooked, or their tech is old, or some sort of something that will allow them to get out with a bit of cleverness and what have you.

I can start us off if you like, or if you’re itching to go, you can start. Either way I won’t get to it till tomorrow.

Urban Fantasy something or other? (1x1)

My thoughts exactly. So how should these two meet? And what’s their goal? I’m cool with something basic that might flower into something more complex, or we can come up with something more concrete now. Do they bump into each other on a hit? Brought together by some clandestine organization to solve a problem? Have they been caught and help each other escape?

Urban Fantasy something or other? (1x1)

Fair enough, I haven’t been terribly specific.

Well, I feel like having Magic’s efficacy be based in perception takes the fun out a little. I’d rather see more hard counters (for Rohaan, magical cuffs are an excellent idea) plus with him in particular (and likely in general with other magic users) his shape shifting is very dependent on his physical condition. Shock him, stab him, etc, and he’s probably gonna lose the form. Same goes for just being super exhausted, malnourished, or sick/poisoned. Plus maybe things like magical wards that physically prevent magic (or magic users) from passing through them, or block spells, or something.

How do we feel about technomancy, or the general combining of tech and magic? More specifically, devices that work with a user’s magic. I’m thinking simple stuff. Like I had an idea for Rohaan to have a device that is worn that integrates with his inherent magic so that if he changes into, say, a dragon, he could use it to manifest a harness someone could hold on to if he had a passenger, or likewise a horse with a saddle, hawk with a hood, etc.