Buzzkill

Ultralight

T-t-t-tag me for edits if I took too many liberties with anything! Hope y'all feel better and stuff

Ultralight

Flared nostrils. Heavy breathing. D-d-d-dempsey’s back pressed tight against the cool window as the door opened, exposing a view of the rod-cutting machine frozen in mid-movement. Just like a rod-cutting machine, Dempsey was also frozen. Waiting. On standby, a sniper rifle with a finger on the trigger. Just a weapon, just a product, just a function. Beads of sweat trickled down the sides of his face like a windowpane in humid weather. In the darkness, wires sparking high above them, the sniper had only his scope to see by, nightvision in gray-green hues at the end of a crosshair tunnel. Too risky. Can’t just look through the scope. Gotta be careful. Gotta be careful! At least they could hear the scraping. Even in the dark, Dempsey would rather try to see it coming with his own eyes. He had rabbit eyes. Hunted eyes.

The shriek of metal on cement floor was second to Dempsey’s shriek as the abomination attacked, springing clumsily towards them. The metal flashing from its forearm was a blessing in disguise, a point his eyes could focus on. Ambrosine’s words caught up to him in a delayed rush. “Get your body back to base?! Whaddaya mean? GET DOWN!” the redhead squawked, his weapon bearing around on reflex like an extension of his own arm. He was too focused on pink limbs and the sheen of skin and that flashing blade, no face, just get back—

Dempsey’s body was curiously still as he pulled the trigger and felt the impact from his shoulder as he fired. The rifle was loaded with the AP rounds Smoker had requested—their plan had been to go for its head, but at this sort of melee range he just wanted to blast it back. Back, back! His hair rose another half inch on end as the stress built within him. “E-e-e-e-e—“ his stammer hit the radio comms like machine gun fire before the rain of syllables finally hit home: “Engaging hostile!”

He scurried from the window, long-range rifle swinging back up over his left shoulder in its modified holster. “D-does not match description! Knife-hand-hook-man-no-face!” What. What. Hopefully he’d blasted it back, but what then?! Surely that wouldn’t stop it for long, not when he hadn’t had time to aim for vital points! Pistols appeared in the stringy man’s hands like a close-up magic trick as he scuttled for the door. Where’s my lightsticks?! Though they didn’t have the range of a real flare gun, shooting one of his tinkered flares might be enough to shed some light on the ground floor. “Backbackback!” He jammed one of the modified cartridges in, aimed high, and fired the flare.

Altera: Of Departures and Deliverance

Matteo certainly did seem to be the most talkative among the group of new trainees. As a general rule of thumb, he liked to put more effort into talking than anything else because it was under the implicit expectation that when it came to doing actual work, he would have already done his part and wouldn't have to participate. During the awkward silence, he considered commenting on the girls' new outfits-- Muu had gained a long red scarf, Ash had some authentic-looking hunting equipment, and the blonde girl had a pointy hat straight out of Hogwarts.

Altogether, they looked ready for... well, something.

And nobody bothered complimenting his new tight-fitting blue robes. My feelings aren't too hurt by that. With his physique as it was, he was sure the form-flattering casual wear wasn't exactly the most appealing. Matteo sighed. At least they wouldn't hinder his movements if he got into a fight the way his jacket had with Old Bear. As some compensation perhaps for the general torture and exorbitant entrance fee, the Thief's Guild had also given him a leather breastplate, a set of more durable clothing, and some soft, flexible boots. All much less colorful.

"Striking out without any idea where we're going seems dangerous," the wavy-haired youth commented, rubbing his chin. "I suppose I could ask someone. Maybe we should look at the postings on the wall first, though. There might be something promising for beginners listed there." Since most people's attention in the Silver Moon plaza was directed at the wall, Matteo had steered clear of it when he'd first arrived. The fact that it was such a focal point was promising, though. That meant reading through it would at least give them an idea where to begin, right?

Besides, if they could figure it out on their own, he wouldn't have to approach any of the well-armed strangers in the square to ask for their advice. With his vision as poor as it was from a distance, it was hard to tell who looked nonthreatening until he was too close to back down.

Altera: Of Departures and Deliverance

The murmur of voices, the raucous laughter, the clatter of boots on cobblestones and whetstones on weapons. It was morning in Andeave, and it was as if nothing had changed. The sight which awaited Matteo at the plaza near the Silver Moon office was no different than what had greeted them seven days ago when they’d first descended from the Order walls. The adventurers, the wild men, the warriors-- there were not too many when Matteo first arrived, slipping cautiously around a building and scanning the other early risers for a familiar face. Ash. Aoi. Muu. Maybe even Old Bear.

It’s strange to be out in the open again, the curly-haired boy thought, unconsciously hugging tight to the wall as he stopped to take his bearings. It had been a vague hope that he might meet the others here, that they would all be unconsciously drawn back to the place they’d first gathered. Without anything so fortuitous, Matteo would have to regroup. Or should I be calling myself ‘Mop’ now? he thought, recalling his good-humored acceptance of the Thief name on the last day of his training. It was no more glamorous than Bat, or Seaweed, or any of the other shifty monikers he’d come to know.

'Seaweed' had been his mentor. Thinking about the last seven days spent with the merciless Thief, Matteo’s opinion was still wildly polarized. It has to be some kind of Stockholm Syndrome, he thought wryly--she’d simultaneously been his worst enemy and his only friend down in the tunnels; the only person who treated him with kindness and the one who caused him the most pain. He felt his fists tighten reflexively-- the systematic daily torture had been brutal, but necessary. Thieves had to work through pain and under pressure. They had to be agile. They had to be flexible.

With his eyesight like it was, Matteo couldn’t always react to a threat as fast as he needed to-- at least not until it was so close that it was too late. It was better to avoid trouble to begin with. That was why they’d taught him Cat Walk. More than stealing, more than poisons (one incident had left him vomiting for a full day) more than throwing knives and lethal close combat, Matteo had learned how to wiggle out of a bad situation. Whether that was escaping and hiding from Seaweed during their demented games of cat-and-mouse in the tunnels, or slipping his bindings in a tank of water, or popping his shoulders out of their sockets in order to squeeze through a space no human should ever fit through… Well, let’s just say if I ever get caught in a mob like what happened with Old Bear again, I’ll find a way out.

Resting in the shadow of the low wall, Matteo rocked back on his heels and sniffed the air longingly. His stomach growled. It was still too early for the marketplace to be selling roast meat or other street food-- even if they’d been open, Matteo had no money to spare. His diet of alternately cold and warm porridge over the last week would just have to be enough to keep him going for now. I wonder if any of the others have funds left over, he thought. The Thief’s Guild had the lowest entrance fee of all the guilds (after his punishing experience, Matteo now knew why) but it had still taken everything the dark-haired trainee had.

Eventually, unlikely as it was, fortuitous circumstances united them once again. Each acquaintance he’d made before his guild training eventually showed up, drawn to the increasingly crowded plaza in search of familiar faces. Matteo’s eyes were drawn to the ‘bounty’ board, little more than a rectangular blur in his vision, and made up his mind to ask about it once the last of them had gathered. “It’s good to see everyone again,” he said mildly, reflecting on the subtle differences in each of them since last time they’d met. Some had new weapons. Some had new injuries. Some had new lines on their face, or a new mark on their palm. Matteo let out his breath, giving a sheepish smile. “I hope everything went well.”

Ultralight

Nghh. No high ground. No vantage point with a straight shot, or at least nothing obvious. That meant closer quarters. Windows, fire escapes. Probably crossing paths with EPOL, since they were there trying to control the situation already. Fine. That was fine. Was it fine? I don’t know if that’s fine! I don’t know if that’s fine at all! He couldn’t think about that now, or he’d come undone into a disorganized mess like a bunch of tangled yarn. Or maybe that would just make the tangle worse. Was that better? H-heh! Dempsey didn’t know!

When the car door opened, the breath of “fresh” air (as fresh as the hot city air could be, even at night) felt like a hand of grace, and the redhead exploded from the cab like he’d been squeezed from a wet tube. Thankfully, nothing happened. “Down we go, huh?!” The sniper tried to speak casually, neck jerking a little as he jogged a few steps around the manhole to warm up his nerves before his carrot top disappeared from view.

His boots clicked on the ladder as they ascended. Dempsey climbed one-handed, the other frequently reaching back to touch his rifle. He pulled it forward from where it had been strapped across his back and jiggled it a little as he peered out the tiny window, calculating just how close the target might have to be. “This could work, this could work,” he muttered. His hands were working like birds released from a cage, fluttering around the barrel of his weapon as he changed out the current ammunition for what Smoker had suggested. “Could get a good shot, maybe. Probably. Ngh.” He bit back a whimper and the words what was that? as the echoing of dragging metal reached them in the little office. He knew what it was. It was what they were here to take care of. “D’you—"

Dempsey trailed off as he turned and saw the guy who’d been calling the shots ‘disappear’ into smoke. Considering everything, he reacted surprisingly normally. It wasn’t the strangest thing he’d seen since becoming a contractor. Losing sight of their leader-figure did seem to up his anxiety, however, and he suddenly took a knee at the window, jamming the barrel of his gun up against the bars. His trigger finger cocked, pupils dilating, heart rate increasing. “H-heh! That’s perfect, just perfect… guess I’ll wait… I can do that, yeah, just wait. That’s what he said. You guys can go through the door, and I’ll wait.” The jumble of words was basically nonsense. At least the comms were working—he hoped he’d get a heads-up before it was too late.

Still, Dempsey kept one eye on the opening exit, a muscle in his shoulder jumping as he braced himself to swing around if anything nasty came through. Who knew what might happen?! What if there were more of them? His frizzy hair stood on end as if filled with static, fanning out slightly from his head like some Studio Ghibli character. Sneak attack?! Nope! Wouldn’t get him!

Altera: Of Departures and Deliverance

It was late into the evening that Matteo finally manage to find the silver-haired Etono. Though the youth had visited Roselia’s earlier that day, it was immediately clear that almost all adventurers had vacated the town to do their monster-slaying work. After inquiring a twin-tailed waitress, Matteo was directed to come back at sundown to the tavern. It wasn’t too hard to waste away an entire day, but it wasn’t too pleasurable either, and when the great clocktower chimed nineteen times underneath the shine of the twin moons, the shortsighted youth finally found his quarry.

The interior of Roselia’s was cozier than other taverns, baskets of bright, hardy flowers hanging from the rafters while detailed timberwork made the ceiling look more spacious than it actually was. Waitresses ranged from young girls to mature women, while the bar was attended to by a mountain of a man dressed in a suit that looked one size too small. The adventurers here were of a more subdued sort; parties of five or six sipping quietly away at their mead as they dined. There were a few loudmouths here or there, but unlike the raucous folk outside, they were outliers for an otherwise relaxed after-work group.

It was at the corner of the bar counter that Matteo caught a glimpse of that familiar silver ponytail. In those tight-fitting blue robes, Etono cut a rather handsome figure as he sipped a beautifully encrusted silver goblet, alone at the moment.

But clearly not for long, if the eyes of other women within the room were indicative of anything.

To Roselia’s Matteo was directed, and (being a dutiful boy who did what he was told by thieves and pigtailed waitresses) to Roselia’s he went. It was a pleasant place, he thought as he approached the figure at the corner of the bar, blurry silhouette like a patch of blue sky left over after sunset. The thief’s features sharpened as Matteo drew near and he cleared his throat in greeting.

“Ah—hello, nice to see you again.” His tone was pleasant as he stood politely to the side. “It’s Matteo, we met last night. Do you have a moment?”

“Oh, Matt,” Etono turned, friendly smile and a half-raised mug, “How’s it going? Got into the business yet?” Then, there was a blink. “Lost your glasses?”

Matteo raised his hand automatically as if to adjust them, self-conscious, and stopped just short of poking himself between the eyes. “Ah, no—they broke. Got into a late-night scuffle after we parted,” he admitted. He seemed more thoughtful than sheepish as he took an empty seat beside the ponytailed rogue. “And not yet. I was hoping you could help me with that, actually—you say the Thieves’ Guild is still recruiting?”

“Haha, well, that’s how it is when most of the population are the adventurous type,” Etono said, waving down the barkeep to fill a mug for the curly haired foreigner. “Thieves’ Guild is always recruiting. Though I suppose it’s closer to always ‘accepting’ rather than actively searching, yeah?”

As he spoke, the suited beefcake strode over, sliding down a dark, wooden mug containing a pale yellow beverage, bubbling softly as it sat before Matteo.

He hadn’t been going to order anything—he didn’t have the funds to afford such leisure—but as the drink was served it occurred to Matteo he was extremely thirsty. Hours of waiting for this opportunity had made him tense, and at the end of the day, Etono’s gesture was much appreciated. “Thank you,” he said and decided to make the mug his first priority before he turned back to the other man. “I’d like to join, if that’s acceptable, but I’m a silver short of the guild fee. What do you recommend I do?”

“A silver short? Geez, what happened, you got robbed as well?”

Matteo chuckled. “That would be ironic, wouldn’t it?” Rather than admitting he’d probably been scalped by the Silver Moon recruiter into spending half his money on a tourist pamphlet, he took another drink and let the liquid settle in his stomach before continuing. “I don’t suppose I could take out a guild loan…” He sighed.

Etono shook his head, chastising Matteo. “Gotta be careful with your money, kid. It’s not too much for me now, but back when I was starting out, we could hardly scrap together enough money to pay for rent. Playing with single digit coppers is hella hard. Think it took, what, a good three weeks before we could make more than a silver each a day?”

The word ‘we’ was oddly reassuring, for it reinforced the assumption Matteo had made until now: save for their individual guild fees, the group of outsiders was a team. At least for now, they’d have to work together—pool cash, split rent. What that meant was that, assuming he contributed in some way and that everyone else did their part, Matteo could coast.

“Of course, I’m starting to realize that now. You’re right,” he said, sipping his summery drink and wondering what kind of berry that was he could taste. “I suppose I’ll have to start learning quickly.” For it not having been 24 hours since he’d arrived, the youth already been enormously reckless.

“Mhmm,” Etono nodded, before tapping a finger on Matteo’s drink. A silvery object splashed into the clear liquid, and the blue-robed thief eased back. “That’ll be another future favor then, Matteo. Here’s to hoping you can make a silver a day by three weeks too, eh?”

His brows raised in surprise as he stared down at the gleaming shape, which drifted for a moment before settling at the bottom of his glass. “Are you sure? Thank you.” Of course, the other male had just said one silver was no big deal to him now—but the gift was sudden, and unexpected. “I—well, yes. I’ll certainly owe you that favor. I’ll get started at the guild right away.” What he could possibly offer was beyond him, but perhaps in three weeks… well, who knew?

Matteo lifted his mug to toast that possibility and sipped carefully, conscious of the prize at the bottom. Once he’d finished, he thanked Etono again and left the ponytailed thief to the hungry eyes of his female fans.

~~~

With just enough silver to pay off the humble registration fee, Matteo strode off to the unassuming building that was described in the guild census. Slipping southwards into the more seedy parts of Andeave, the curly haired boy did his best to avoid the baser temptations of the raucous southwestern quarters, from the rattling of dice and the shuffling of cards in the gambling dens to the many barely dressed ladies who occasionally cooed in the direction of the cute new face around town.

Thankfully, no mobsters caught him and he didn’t encounter Old Bear at all, and the shortsighted youth stood before an unmarked building. The address and the directions looked about right, but it still seemed more like someone’s house than the headquarters of the Thieves’ Guild. But perhaps that’s the intention? A wooden knocked laid against the door. It was simply a matter of striking it.

Assuming this wasn’t a test with some kind of trick answer, Matteo hesitated for only a moment, squinting around the doorframe to make sure he hadn’t missed some hidden instructions, before knocking. He stood on the step, Silver Moon tags arranged to be plainly visible on top of his foreign (and slightly bloodstained) shirt.

A raspy, unidentifiable voice sounded from behind the door. “What’s inside the turtle’s shell?”

Matteo squinted. “A turtle?” he guessed aloud. He probably should have studied the guild directory a little harder. “I’m sorry, is this a riddle or a passcode?” If it was an intellectual challenge he might have a chance, but trying to land on some predefined entry phrase was going to be near impossible.

There was silence, and then, a small compartment extended outwards beneath the knocker, like a cabinet without any grips.

Peering into the little compartment (empty) Matteo sighed. It seemed something was expected of him. A bribe, or the registration fee? He didn’t have silver to spare for the former, and Etono had told him to be careful. Without a face to talk to, he could only address the closed door, feeling a little foolish. “Ah--am I meant to put the seven silver in there?”

“Yes.”

A little startled at having actually received an answer, Matteo raised his brows, hesitated, and then deposited the seven silver coins inside the little drawer. “There you go,” he said, making a feeble attempt to push the compartment back in.

It snapped shut instantly and the door creaked open moments afterwards, leading into an entrance way as pitch black as spent coals.

With little other choice, Matteo stepped forward into the ominously dark entrance.

The moment Matteo entered, a heavy kick swept his legs, before a sack was tossed over his head. Another set of hands restrained his arms as he slammed into the wooden floorboards, before the bite of rope made itself known over his wrists. Without being given time to breathe, the thin youth was promptly lifted off the ground and carried a distance, his stomach banging painfully against the sharp shoulder of whoever lifted him, before he was tossed into another room, bouncing once against the floor and sliding into a wall. The sounds of a door slamming shut and a latching locking it down was heard clearly through the sack, before the neighing of two horses resounded clearly.

Within moments, Matteo was bouncing up and down within a carriage, speeding over unknown streets to somewhere.

Now, Matteo wasn’t sure what to think about all this. Alarming as it was to be suddenly ambushed, roughed up, and subsequently kidnapped, he supposed he had asked for it. Paid for it, even. So in some ways he was already a willing accomplice in his own abduction, and that fact behooved him not to worry too much about it. He tried to accept that this was just some form of hazing, some introductory ritual that all Thieves’ Guild members had to endure before they became proper members.

He believed this because it was a hope that was easier than the second possibility: that things had gone horribly wrong, some misunderstanding had occurred, and that he was headed for a very bad end where a defenseless Matteo turned out dead at worst, lost and penniless at best. There was no proof this was the case.

He lay still where he’d been thrown in the bumping carriage, arms still twisted painfully behind him, heart hammering in his chest. He was already regretting this.

After an indeterminate amount of time bouncing along uncomfortably on the unknown road, he rolled over and managed to get himself to a kneeling position, smacking his face in the process. He was briefly grateful his glasses were already broken before he began unsteadily searching for something else in the darkness; a window or something else besides his own aching body in the back of the vehicle.

What he actually found was a nail, which stabbed him enough to pierce the skin (much to Matteo’s displeasure). Once the muffled cursing from inside the sack was over, he felt gingerly for the sharp piece of metal and tried to hook the ropes binding his wrists around it. If he could cut through his bonds, he could free up his hands and take this damned hood off his head.

He’d underestimated how damn sharp that nail was, and how rough the ride in the carriage would be. Trying to do anything with finesse (like saw through ropes with a moving nail) turned out to be quite the punishing endeavor. Fifteen minutes or so later, a Matteo with sticky, throbbing wrists covered in accidental puncture-wounds (still bound) had to retreat. He collapsed again in the other corner, wondering how much more he could bear being stabbed just to probably get tied up and blindfolded all over again once they got where they were going.

Time passed as Matteo’s wounds throbbed until finally, after an eternity of suffering, the rocking of the wagon stopped. Outside, he could hear murmurs, before the latch was turned and the door was opened up.

“Phew,” a woman said, “Sounds ‘bout right from the starting bit, huh, Bat?”

The raspy voice replied indifferently, “Good ideas, but no conviction.”

“Wouldn’t call this little thing an idea anyways, but hey, at least he tried, right?”

“You want him then? He’s all yours, Seaweed.”

“Thank you, Batty~ <3” A wet kiss sounded, followed by a displeased grunt. “Now, let’s take a look at ‘im…”

With that, the sack was yanked off Matteo’s head, the bright lit of a dozen burning torches causing him to twitch momentarily. As his blurry sight adjusted, however, he could just barely catch the trailing of a dark cloak as it drifted out of a hole in the wall. The bright smile of a comely young woman drew his attention away easily enough, however, her face leaning in to get a better look at him. With full lips, vividly red eyes, and shoulder length brown hair cut into blunt bangs, she looked every part the sort of ‘modern day woman’ that seemed at odds with this fantastical setting of monsters and thieves.

“Hey there, boy,” she winked, “How you feeling?”

Matteo struggled to find his tongue and came up with “Hello.” His mouth felt dry. His wrists stung. “Well. Could be… better…” He felt like his life hadn’t prepared him for normal conversation after such a painful and semi-traumatic event. The youth took a deep breath, wincing. “It’s a relief to see who I’m talking to, at least. My name’s Matteo.”

“Seaweed,” she replied, holding out a hand before giggling when she realized he was still tied up. “Sorry, sorry, gimme a bit.” With that, she leaned over, draping her arms over his shoulders as she pressed up against him. For a moment, Matteo was able to feel an extraordinary warmth and softness, before just as quickly, the woman slipped back, holding the bloodied, mangled length of thin rope in her hands.

“Bit better now, yeah?”

Matteo let out his breath, having bit back a cry on reflex when the rope was removed. Seaweed was astonishingly quick, however. He gazed at the twine in surprise before pulling his hands forward, wincing again at the sight of the messy punctures. “How did you do that? And yes, much better, thank you.” She hadn’t even used a knife.

Feeling a little lightheaded (whether at the sight of the blood or merely from the brief body contact with the young woman) Matteo wiped a shaking hand on the hem of his shirt before accepting the handshake from before. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Mhmm! Surprised you didn’t cry during the whole thing. Very promising, really. Anyways, hope you told your buddies you’d be gone for a week, cause once we start, we’re not gonna get back to town till it’s over!”

...Why would he tell anyone anything like that? Matteo held back a sigh, thinking again that he should have looked over the guild directory more carefully. Oh well. He’d let the blonde girl or Muu borrow it, so they could probably look up the information if they really got concerned. He suspected they’d be busy with their own guild training though. “Thank you, I suppose. And that’s fine, I appreciate you letting me know.”

“Cool cool,” she nodded, head bobbing up and down energetically, “Let’s get you patched up and started then. Welcome to the Thieves’ Guild and all that jazz, Matteo. I know we’ll have a great time together!”

With an energetic welcome after a harrowing carriage ride, his guild training began. What did it actually mean to become a Thief?

He supposed he’d find out.

The White Lotus Prophecy - An Avatar (TV series) based RP

I apologize for inactivity, still traveling abroad until next week. Thanks for your patience!

Altera: Of Departures and Deliverance

Matteo was used to being tested (he wasn’t sure why he was, but he was) and two tests now stood before him. Or perhaps “complications” were a better way of putting them. As tobacco smoke filled his lungs with each breath and his strained eyes were drawn to the “guild directory” on the counter, temptation reared its head. For a price- a hefty one, half of what they’d been given- here was a book with everything they needed to know to get them started in guild life. Here was a solution.

Here was a shortcut.

As Matteo was handing over the silver pieces without another word, his only hesitation was that now, with directory in hand, his efforts the night before to get information from Etono had been for nothing. A wasted gesture, and one he’d been physically punished for (as opposed to simply waiting at the office for the others to return.)

Someone else who’d just spent exactly half of their savings might have been distressed, but Matteo was already thinking. Five silver pieces wouldn’t win him admission into even the cheapest guild— the Thieves’ guild, he noticed, which made sense— but perhaps a verbal recommendation would. A recommendation that Etono, casual acquaintance though the other male might have been, had promised. You know, it doesn’t have to be a waste after all...

He had no proof that he’d be suited to a studious (or expensive) discipline, and it was clear from his fight with Old Bear that he was not suited for a warrior’s lifestyle. Surely any guild would be profitable, and what could earn more money than a literal Thief?

Collecting the directory with a succinct ”Ah, yes, thank you,” Matteo retreated and cleared his throat. ”Apologies for disturbing you, we’ll be going now.” With the coin from Ash he’d receive later on or another pity donation from another group member, perhaps he could talk his way into a deal with the guild of sky-blue robes.

Ultralight

He was listening. Honestly, he was. It was just that he was thinking physics and hypotenuse and wind speed breathe deeply hold breath trigger trigger— “Yep! Uhuh?”

Dempsey snapped to and flinched like he’d been slapped by the man instead of being given an anxiety recommendation. “Fireball! Twitchy! That’s good, h-heh, that’s... really good...” His gaze flicked away again. “No... nonono... gotta stay sharp. Gotta be alert, think on my feet. Can’t l-lose focus! Heh!” Besides, who knew who might sneak up on him while his head was fuzzy?! He needed his wits about him, or he’d be a sitting duck. Mellow Dempsey was useless in a sortie. He thought he would be, anyway.

The group was coming together and the redhead twitched in recognition that he was the topic of discussion, making another jerky motion that might have been a nod of agreement to Cassian and Ambrosine. “Y-yes ma’am!” He stammered to Cider. His pupils dilated as the implication of keeping a monster in the safehouse sunk in and a shudder ran through his body.

Dempsey gave another hiccup and turned back to Asche, already deflating in relief that someone was stepping up to a more leaderly role. “M-me? Nailgun. They call me that.” He hitched a nervous laugh and his fingers tightened on his sniper rifle til the knuckles turned white. “O-oh boy, you can count on me for the shot,” he assured the other contractors, jiggling the weapon. “Face is protected though. Right? I heard that?! Mask, or something.” At the mention of AP rounds, Dempsey threw a hesitant glance at Cider for permission and gave a quick nod. “Got it. Gotitgotit. I know a place—overlooks Ninth Ward, will stake out.” He threw a thumbs-up.

Ultralight

Just letting you all know I’m going out of country for a little over a week and will only be able to post from mobile (if I can.) see ya when I get back!