Bussamove

The Namespace of the Rose

Ramona couldn't help but chuff out a raspy laugh at the offered canteen, holding up a hand as she moved closer to decline the no doubt borderline lethal concoction to a mere mortal.

"When we're done here, lad. I've a feeling whatever you have in there will put me right on my arse." As Eunicornus spoke, Ramona reached into the inner pocket of her overcoat, producing a smoking pipe that looked like it had been cobbled together decades ago from scrap metal, along with a small drawstring pouch. Pipe clenched in her teeth, she took a moment to remove her gloves-- easier done without them-- shoving them into a pocket and beginning to pack the bitter-smelling herb into the pipe. Out of the gloves, Ramona's hands told a story; the right was covered almost entirely, wrist to fingertips, in old fading ink, a criss-cross of interconnected tattoos that disappeared past the cuff of her coat. The left, meanwhile, was brushed steel and servos, well-made and well-maintained. To those with a knack for tech, it was obvious that both hand and eye were crafted and set by the same artisan.

"Given the environs, my bet's on sabotage. However one might manage that." Ramona mused as she worked at her small ritual, the much-repeated activity centering her again... pushing out the flare of anger that still smoldered at the Electromancer's desperate attempt to shift blame. Seemingly satisfied, and pipe clenched in her teeth again, metal thumb scraped against forefinger to make a spark and set it alight. "But I'm getting ahead of myself."

As she took a deep breath, she bowed her head to the Dark Angel.

"Ramona of Sarringrad, representing the Armitage Dynasty in this unfortunate matter." Smoke escaped from between her teeth as she straightened, forced to look up at two bloody huge hulks now. Her gaze flicked to Vigrid briefly, looking for his unspoken opinion on the other astartes and their potential role in all of this. Though the very fact they were speaking at all about matters said a lot. "... Not to interrupt your training, but would you honor us with a tour of the dojo? It's a fascinatin' place."

And there's so much of it away from the eyes and ears of ZBD_ZEN.

The Namespace of the Rose

"With all due respect, councilwoman, grief is what separates us from the beasts n' the bastards." And now a blatant offer to buy her verdict on the murder of one of the most influential people on the planet-- putting aside the fact that Lord Armitage would take her other eye for such crude laziness, there was the sheer matter of pride to consider! She didn't get to where she was by short-sighted greed. If the entire council was as scared shiteless as ZBD_ZEN was, this was going to be a bigger mess than feared. "... The Dynasty will gladly lend its aid to the Factory-Cathedral in whatever capacity I am able, once this mess has been sorted. I have as much disdain for half-measures as my Lord does, efficiency or not."

In much nicer words: I see what you did there, and neither I nor the Rogue Trader are for sale.

"Now, by your leave." Credit where it was due, Ramona managed a respectful bow to the tech-priest she had very little respect remaining for. "My... associate and I are nowhere near finished, I fear."

She turned, moving to stand a respectful distance from the two Astartes as they conversed, hands back in her coat pockets as she watched and listened. Associate seemed as good a word as any; she had to roll with the punches as they came, and a tech-marine could get her results she was incapable of herself. And the lad seemed affable enough, now that they weren't poring over a steaming corpse together.

This damned old tech seemed the crux of the entire matter. Ramona had connections in the Factory-Cathedral, gearheads that thrived on this sort of thing, it was time to come calling on old favors...

The Namespace of the Rose

Spend: 1 Negotiation

"..." It was hard to hide the sudden disdain Ramona felt for ZBD_ZEN-- hedging your bets and covering your ass was one thing, but to so readily throw your mates to the wolves like that? Despicable. Spineless. Sloppy. You looked out for those close to you, especially if you were calling the shots. Treating them like aquilas to be spent... feh. She'd be of use, but any respect that might have been garnered was dashed against the steps they stood on.

"Not just yet." Ramona's scrutinizing gaze flashed away again, to the two Astartes as they stared each other down-- seemed Vigrid had conceded in whatever posturing they were doing. Now that blows weren't raining almost faster than she could track, she knew a Hiver Handshake when she saw it. Scratch one immediate problem off the list, anyway. "No sense deepening the Council's grief with needless haste. Surely you all mourn for the loss of the Archmagos."

One last probe. Get more of a feel for just how desperate the Electromancer was right now.

"Apologies for the interruption." Ramona again bowed respectfully to the tech-priest, biting back the bile and barbed comments she wanted to throw right now. Spineless. "I'll... keep your words in mind."

The Namespace of the Rose

"A sh--" The shots had left Ramona unfazed, she had seen plenty of friendly brawls turn into shootouts, but the sound of hundreds of kilos of Astartes wearing hundreds of additional kilos of armor being sent tumbling down a stairway was, unsurprisingly, quite the hellish cacophony. For a moment her blade flicked back into her hand, and she fell back into a defensive stance... for all the good that would do if this suddenly took a turn for the worse. A moment later, she straightened, hand empty again as she determined that it was more or less under control by Vigrid. Deep breath, Ramona. "... A shame. Without an alibi, the evidence is damning. A marine bolter fired the shot, paint matching their armor is practically caked on the bootprint that kicked open the door. It'd be easy enough for your fellow council members to pin the blame on them."

Her organic eye narrowed ever so slightly as she studied the blank mask of ZEN. The master of the electro-priests, so disciplined and supposedly unflappable, was afraid. Of what?

But it wouldn't do to come out and say that outright, not with how stubbornly committed to their cryptic nonsense cogs could be. One chance to let her save face.

"Imagine that'd cast quite the shadow over your esteemed dojo. Not t'mention the Astartes themselves reacting in kind, proud as they are. Even the smallest crumb might help avoid throwing a match into the promethium."

The Namespace of the Rose

Ramona had seen a lot of things-- gang wars that raged across entire hab blocks, the blazing brilliance of a voidship's ordnance streaking through the deep black, the walls of that same voidship bleeding horrors as its Geller Field began to fail-- but this? Two space marines giving their all against one another, strike and parry and riposte nearly faster than the eye could track and close enough to practically reach out and touch? Well, that was something else entirely. It was a primal feeling, a humbling one, like watching a storm and hoping it didn't turn in your direction.

She took a deep breath, her blade slipping away again. ZBD_ZEN descending to greet her was a welcome diversion. Cogs she could deal with.

"Given the state of things, I feel it's more mutual assistance." She turned away from the clash of transhuman might, bowing respectfully to the electro-priest. As she straightened, she took a moment to regard the woman; frustratingly hard to read thanks to the mask, but even a synthesized voice had tells. "... Your student is implicated in some very dangerous matters concerning the Archmagos. In the interest of continued relations between my Lord and the Factory-Cathedral, I'm here t'sort truth from lies. For all our sakes."

She looked towards the ongoing duel, letting the statement hang in the air for a moment. With prosperity finally coming to Houndclaw again, the last thing the sector needed was a major manufacturing hub to descend into disarray.

"Can you testify to their whereabouts? As far back as possible, and ideally with some kind've proof."

The Namespace of the Rose

Ramona took a step back as the Dark Angel began their descent, the glint of a hidden blade appearing in her hand with a flick of the wrist. This was starting poorly.

Base of the neck; slice the throat, sever the artery, drown them in their own blood. No good-- between that damned collar and the bulk of their helmet, there was barely room to wedge a blade in there. And that left you practically in the sweet embrace of an eight foot tall killing machine.

She preferred words to violence. Words gave you more opportunities, and left fewer dead ends.

Under the arm; find a gap, pierce a lung. Just as bad-- Those pauldrons came down too far, and there was no guarantee she'd make it through all that muscle to anything vital.

But sometimes words weren't an option, or would just give your opponent an opportunity. She didn't shy away from violence, make no mistake. There was a killer buried in there.

Inner thigh; nice juicy arteries in each leg, and tendons to clip to cripple them. The best option out of a bad lot-- she'd need precision to not make it messier and slower than she needed it to be.

Throne, but no one should be able to move that easily in that much armor, carrying a sword like that. The last option was living to fight another day, make a break for the exit and hope she could outrun one of the Emperor's Chosen. But they were supposed to be fast, and even if they didn't have a firearm on them who knows if they'd learned how to throw damned lightning like the rest of these monks.

Her eye flicked to Vigrid, loathe as she was to tear her gaze from the obvious threat. He seemed remarkably calm, given the circumstances.

The Namespace of the Rose

Much like the Archmagos' office, the first thing Ramona did as they entered the dojo was sweep her gaze over it for anything of interest. New territory, unknown variables, best to get the lay of the land as quickly as possible and assess what you can. Her gaze lingered, however briefly, on the miniature trees that dotted the area-- life in the underhive had left greenery strange to her, and even decades later she wasn't quite used to it.

"Hm." She took a deep breath as the smell of ozone joined the other myriad stenches in the air as the monks practiced their strange devotion to their strange god, even compared to the rest of the Factory-Cathedral, the air tingling with pent-up energy. Finally, her gaze went to the surely superfluous amount of stairs leading to the innermost part of the dojo, then to the figures visible atop the pagoda. Much as with Vigrid, there was little mistaking the massive Kim for anything but what she was.

"What do you know about Eunicornius?" She glanced towards Vigrid as they began the climb, looking for whatever insight either of them could muster. Sloppiness of the murder scene aside, the Dark Angel wasn't entirely ruled out as the killer just yet, and any edge was welcome in matters such as this.

The Namespace of the Rose

"... Heap of groxshite." Ramona reiterated her earlier assessment, chewing on her bottom lip in thought as she sifted through the details. It was all too damned convenient. Who would go through the trouble of painstakingly disabling the guards and preventing alarm just to leave a damned bootprint on the door, clear as day? "None of this feels right. Someone somewhere was sloppy."

A dead archmagos. Cogs in the trash. Shots apparently blessed by the Emperor himself with their accuracy. Bootprints and broken windows pointing at one thing while every instinct screamed about another. And no blasted motive for any of it, beyond the normal mountain of enemies powerful people accumulated over time.

"Need more to go on." With a sweep of her hand, Ramona gathered up the shards of bolter, tucking them away into one of the pouches on her belt. "Someone wants us to think one of your brethren did this, and there's one other on-planet that I know of. Could be he did it, but..."

Another grunt of disdain as she scoffed at her own theory. Weak and flimsy. It wouldn't do.

"Best to find him and pin down his whereabouts before someone does something stupid."

The Namespace of the Rose

"Easy enough way to get them someplace to filch later." Ramona nodded as Vigrid made his statement, options running through her mind. Could be the cogitators were important, could be they were kruft meant to throw anyone snooping off the trail. Unfortunately, it was impossible to know without seeing what secrets Toros had ferreted away into them. "If they haven't already made their way to the incinerators, anyway."

As she assessed the room, and the ivory tower it had been carved out of like a rotted spot in a tooth, she quickly discarded the idea of some secret exit the killer had somehow know about. There was little enough room for the chamber itself, any other space would be taken up with ventilation, power cables, and air scrubbers for the most part. So that left the window, or the hall, and one seemed much more of a death sentence than the other. She was sure-- mostly, anyway-- that a fall that far would kill even an Astartes. Mostly.

"... What do you make of this?" Ramona tilted her head at the neat pile of bolter fragments the servo-skull had gathered, assembled as closely as it could manage into what it had looked like before its potential for violence had been realized. "Why blue?"

The Namespace of the Rose

"That window--" Ramona gestured to the shattered glass around her with her blade, before it slipped away into her sleeve again. "Is either the sloppiest excuse for an escape I've seen in some time, or bait. Entry was blunt but methodical, who takes time to webber guards and rig a timed grenade, then leaps out the window? Doesn't sit right."

She gingerly reached down to pick up the unexploded bolt-round amidst the debris with her left hand, carefully handling it so as to not lose yet more parts. Standing, she moved to the fallen body of the Archmagos, where her servo-skull was still hard at work piecing together the recovered fragments of the bolt round that had ended her life.

"I know one took the Archmagos from there to here." Ramona vaguely gestured at where the body had began, and where it had ended up, with a slight shrug. "Beyond that, nothing. Might be able to reach out to folks who would."

She surveyed the scene again, taking what she had determined, distilling it, and trying to see if it gave her any other insight into what she might have missed the first time around. The marine's musing sparked something in her mind; if not out the window, then how did their killer and thief escape without notice? The Cult of Mars-- Or Draupnir, depending on your preference-- loved their secrets. Maybe there was another, more hidden exit.