FourtyTwo

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Interlude: The Bones Of What You Believe

Adam Stanislaw Kajtanowicz

Athena Anna Kanataario

Purna Chai Gurung

Antti Järvinen

Camp Hannula, Pöyrisjärvi National Park, Finland

0500 Local Time

The A400M landed down, the slushy and gravelly runway making do for the large aircraft, inbound and coming to a fast stop on its Antarctic-reinforced tyres, coming quickly to a halt. The other vehicle, a Land Rover on site, drove across the slushy snow, coming to a stop. A platoon of armed men stood there also, around various vehicles, fuel supply and other equipment. The dawn was beautiful- the aurora dying out slowly as the light came in, and would replace the yellow glow in the sky with an orange one in due course, the woodland surrounding the airstrip and the base covered still in snow, melting as it might.

As the plane came in, there stood Athena, wrapped up tight in her red puffy jacket dominating the main group, her thermal tights on as part of her full designer yellow and gray body thermals that just about took the modesty out of her, and a necessity in even the thawing snow, flanked by Antti, in his own parka and traditional Finnish huntsman garb, Purna, in a gray puffy and wearing a hat and his mountaineering trousers, and Adam, in a military WZ.93 Panthera camouflage jacket and trousers, perhaps the most tactical of the bunch, and it sort of represented the four nicely. As the plane came to a halt, they looked back across to the Land Rover behind them, as well as the two Unimogs and a HEMTT truck to help offload materials from inside the A400.

As the door opened to the Land Rover, out he stepped.
"You're all keen." Imran said, Oracle himself on hand to witness this. He walked with a certain passion, a limp, but still going strong.
"Leave her to me. Don't do anything dumb, any of you. I have had enough." Imran called back at them, Adam giving a nod, even Athena giving a nod. They didn't dare talk back to him.

As the ramp opened to the plane, the five stood there, almost in anticipation, the other Blue Sword mercs holding back for a moment. They would be headed out of the back of the plane and into the lights of the cars, the scene a rather tense one yet. As the plane engines died down, one by one, Imran looked around, commanding in his presence, not wanting to beat around the bush. There was only one person he stared at, and it would be the first time Sam would have dealt with him. She would recognise the voice, the one she couldn't exactly get a response from over the pole on radio silence en-route to the base.
"I seem to notice you're lacking Queen, the missing Skye Rosalind Lyons." Imran said, with a certain levity to his voice, looking specifically, dead at Samantha Dalton.

"Care to explain?" He asked, a little more questioning this time, Tahlia looking across to Sam, moving first. She felt strongly on this, in agreement, and while it was out of place, well, she felt like helping her friend.

"She's got her reasons. Hardly like we'd let her rot in a cell." Tahlia interrupted, standing right by her side, and between her and Imran.

"I didn't ask you, Miss Harris. I was asking the now former Team Leader. Whom I trusted." Imran once again said, walking forwards, heading straight towards Sam, barely a glint in his eye, Adam following, Athena lurking.

"I'd like to hear a single reason why I shouldn't put you in a brig right now. Not just the fact you let her go, but everything back at New Zealand. How much are you keeping from us? Right or wrong....you think we don't know?" Imran added, as Adam walked across, putting a hand up to stop Tahlia coming in too close.

"Not worth your fight." Adam simply said, as Tahlia looked scornful.

"Not worth the fight? Fuck you, we did our jobs, we did what we did and if not for Skye, we'd all be fucking dead right now. We all nearly go down and this is how you treat us? How about you, where were you?" Tahlia replied, knowing it was escalating things, but no, she wasn't bearing bullshit. With that, Athena looked over, walking into the fray, Sophie and Raph, and likely, the others out now.

"Skye went and turned Raven inside out, years of what Blue Sword, you, everyone in fact, is gone to hell. So we picked up your pieces. And my sister is hurt. So yeah, it's how we treat you. You're in no position to talk, any of you. I want to talk to her before maybe I reconsider before Oracle does." Athena added with a cold glare back at Tahlia, the giantess likely countered by Chuck, as Freya would still be sitting inside. She wanted to go past them, right now, and charge inside, and look at her. But right now, she was needed here.
"So now what? You think we're done? We're complicit? She's gone. And Skye wouldn't listen to us. We tried to stop her, no avail. Sam couldn't." Tahlia replied, as Imran shook his head, looking to them all.

"I don't think you're all really understanding the gravity of the situation. Chaos theory or not, or whether you're lying or not, Sam, we will need to kill anything that looks like her. Blue Sword, and anyone who we work with, will treat her the same. You have attachment to your old Team Lead, I understand how it is. I managed a team like you once. But the rules are the rules. We had a chance to keep her alive. Now, she is a threat on any SIGINT hit, any Echelon call, anything that can even vaguely connect her, or her doppelganger, to anywhere. Perhaps even a chance to kill Rose with what she had. Now, we have to trust your blind faith will pay off, even if she made an almighty racket doing it and made it very clear she's the real one, to anyone that was watching. And in experience, that is not a good thing." Imran said to them all, walking up and down, sighing.

"It's a complication we do not need. However, we are running out of time. You were compromised under no fault of your own and you fought well, got out of there and did what was needed. And your combat reports read well. So you will stay as you are, but will be led by Captain Kajtanowicz, until I say so. Athena Kanataario here, will deal with Blue Sword's element, which will be working in support. We are guests of hers and Antti's here in Camp Hannula, and only because we are here to stop the end of days." Imran called to the others, as Imran looked to Adam, who stepped forwards.

"We will debrief the details later. But I want to sit with each of you. I want full details of your role, equipment, tasking, and speciality, including any changes since the log I have in front of me. I want all of this, and we start in an hour's time, as I trust you are all rested now. I will ping each of you on your personal communication devices. I run a tight ship. And we cannot afford now for any of that to change, because I will not be accepting any changes you make behind your team leader's back, any longer. Are we understood?" Adam called, the last part a bark, a howl from Wilk, the Wolf, himself. This was like bad cop, bad cop, bad cop. Adam didn't really give a shit that they were probably battered after everything- he just wanted to get to the point, and get on with this. He felt frustrated, and whilst he gave a shit about her, end of the day, there was work, protocol and a task to follow."

The scene felt tense, until in that moment, Antti stepped into the side of the frame, sighing.
"We are all cold here. So either we shoot each other now, or go and get a warm cup of coffee. I think we all need coffee, because it is minus ten, perkele." Antti added, sighing, disappointed, if anything, looking around. Stating the obvious really, given the formality of it was done.

There's this air of almost completely lacking fucks for one's own safety, in a moment like this. Anyone, literally anyone, could have told Antti to get fucked. But yet they didn't. They just didn't somehow, the older man just somehow respected for saying what felt like something that had to be said.

"I will fire up the Unimog. Tahlia, with me. They tell me you can work. I will need help for this many of us. Hilmar, Athena, help out Sophie to get Freya into the back of the truck. We shall get her healed up." Antti added, the base liaison clear in the way he spoke as he called to two more people, Athena following, now just going through anyone to run up and up to Freya, wincing over.
"Fuck, sis. They did a number on you. We're here to help. And your boobs are showing.....that's sorta my department for the mercs, Freya." Athena called out, seeing her, but saying the rather obvious thing, even despite the blanket it being clear as day with her half out of her armour- a light chuckle and reprieve of sisterly love. And with that, they were to help Freya get back out, in her partly-disassembled suit, and back out to the vehicle, and then onwards for proper treatment.

---

It's Boreal

0600 Local Time

Evergreen- Duke Boara

The Pöyrisjärvi Wilderness in itself feels like a very weird world. Finland was something most would associate with big, dense boreal woods and lakes and literally nothing else, but this place, this lied at the northern frontier of a wild, untamed wilderness only a place like northern Scandinavia could accomodate, stretching from Karelia through to Norway, Finland and Sweden. A land of Sami reindeer herders, and you could see the packs of cute reindeer jaunting across the snow-bank ridden road, out of the way of the rolling trucks and Unimogs, that crawling their way towards the distant base itself.

Dawn was golden with a tinge of pink on the landscape, a beautiful reflection of snow-covered trees and mossy wilderness, and beyond it all, the lake. Jarvi translates to Lake in Finnish, and well, Pöyrisjärvi was one of the tens of thousands of lakes that dotted the Finnish landscape, just about melted with chunks of ice in it. The far shore was barren, revealing snow covered mountains, and wild hills and tundra-like land, with occasional trees and shrubs breaking the landscape up. Here on the nearshore, was a large boreal conifer and deciduous forest that was thick, and the drive was barely a minute until they went past a checkpoint, manned this time, with a guard in a heated cabin, the encampment fenced off completely. The radio played away, playing some Finnish 80s music, of some poor description on the AM radio.

Through the base itself that could be seen through the just about defrosted windows three concrete barracks existed, old ones yet modernised heavily on the inside, with lodgings for Blue Sword troops, as well as a concrete bunker-like structure that seemed to contain heavier storage and a more general store for the base. A wooden and metal framed shed, almost like a warehouse joined with a lumber mill in appearance was on the lakeshore, and a dotted set of cabins joined it, some small, some larger. The other vehicle parted off, taking the support crew to a barrack, whilst the core of Raven headed on. Freya would be taken to the medical bay, and Athena was with her all of the way, whilst Sam, Chuck, Ebrima, Adam and Purna were headed up to the base proper. Oracle, or Imran had disappeared again, likely on the phone once more and dealing with the next play.

And the final piece, on the far side of the base. A converted wooden storehouse built into the side of the hill, perched on a steep hillside by the lake, facing across the shore with a window looking into the base. It seemed modernised, in particular, modern glass adorning it, looking like a storeroom that had been modernised and made much nicer. A side door existed at the side, as did a garage up a small drive, left open and containing what appeared to be an older British Army Jackal, an-all terrain assault vehicle and a large garage for Javi to work with. Not a bad shout really, but what was interesting was through the next door. This was an odd school of architecture, but it was built for insulation in the ground, and to blend with the landscape. Clearly, Blue Sword had wanted this to be a rather extravagant base, but it was not so.

Their own little lair, not bad at all.

"That is your home." Antti remarked, and with it, the team disembarked as they parked up, the clack of Tahlia's legs following Adam, Athena and Purna, the Gurkha remaining silent.

He looked across the team, taking it in. He saw Boaro's Kukri pretty quickly. Noted. Nothing needed to be asked, yet, but he'd ask. Why. Why did he have that? Sharp eyes on him picked that up.

Heading inside, Antti stayed in front. The room was a large common area, albeit a little less modernist and instead, having a large fireplace in the corner not currently burning logs, a glass front, and some sofas with no less, a singular less fridge that didn't hurl cans of beer. That would be missed from Kaitiaki, no doubt.
"Okay. So that way are your quarters. Adam, Purna, you have your rooms. The rest of you, take a room each. I would suggest you figure it out among yourselves which is which, but the heavies have their own rooms marked with red paint. Top floor is Adam's office, and the briefing room, below is the armoury and Heavies armoury, and the gym, for both heavies and all is down that corridor there at the end. I am over in that hut down there. I am sure you will have questions, but I have few answers for now. I will let you figure it out for now. I will let Adam make arrangements." Antti spoke, the hardy Finn not using long sentences, not because he couldn't speak, but more because well, little else needed saying.

He left silently, almost mystifyingly, and everyone was no doubt confused. Adam stepped into that void, looking around, getting an eye of the remaining team. Not many, but enough.

"I'll ping you all when we need to chat. Dismissed." Adam said, and with it, the team broke. Purna headed down the corridor and looked across to Sam and Ebrima.

"Don't worry. He calms down." Purna said to Sam and to Ebrima, the small Nepali walking alongside the American's side and the Cameroonian, looking across to Sam first.
"Purna Gurung, infiltrator. Adam is a bit of a bastard. But you get used to him." He said, having little to say in his plain Nepalese accented English, walking alongside, then looking at them Sam, then Ebrima.
"Look, irrespective of what happened. You worked with Skye Lyons, and she liked you. That is rare. You must be rather good. Ebrima, I know you joined recently, but I read up on you too. I know your score. And the blade too. I will not talk of it yet, but you should have a good story to tell, yes? Just.....make sure it is good." Purna commented, knowing Sam wouldn't think much of good news now, and was likely pretty fucking broken after all of it. Ebrima would be freaked out by it, but he just put it there for now, wanting to make no scene yet.
"So just let him say what he says. After that, he'll calm down. And we'll be back out again. Your drone tech, I would like to also know more for my own reasons too, Sam. But I'll leave that to later. I'll be around if you need me." Purna added to Sam, on that note, leaving Sam to it, curt and to the point, the smaller Nepali infiltrator making his own way off.

----

With it, the team had the chance to settle in, Purna returning to his room, the glass window pulling in the dawn light and revealing the bedroom, en-suite, and general quarters that were here. He kept little, a singular small suitcase, and with it, had the chance to at least get in a quick shave and a wash. He was off thankfully from the debrief, considering that Adam ran a ship tighter.

So much so, it was basically not describing in this context what it was like or really playing this out- imagine what it's like to get a performance review at work, and well, it was basically that. No fucks thrown, professional, and sombre. Adam drilled Sam, annoyed, pissed off more than anything. Adam wasn't happy, and well, hearing her version of events, the events that everyone had seen on that plane in plenty vision, were just taken as that- end of the day, it was what it was and now, consequences were borne. He wanted no trouble from her, and more to the point, accepted that Skye was held responsible for all that happened- he accepted that fact now, from earlier and right now, but was still unhappy about it. With Chuck, less to say, given he'd just arrived, but more mutual an understanding. Ebrima? Again, same thing. Dude just got here, no point going too hard. They were dismissed, and told to rest up, recover from jet lag, and get used to the base for the brief moment they had to share.

The team had the chance to decompress, Tahlia following on Antti, and helping unload supplies from the plane, getting things rolling, and it was being shipped in. Raph was off with the small remnants of the support team to the Signals Post, one of the huts by the lake, and with it, some basic kit was rolling in like fatigues, weaposn and a few other bits picked up on in Japan. In the meantime, the team were able to do their own thing afterwards, given the morning off, a rare benefit to heal up, rest and recover themselves. A chance to at least enjoy the Finnish morning, considering the insanity. Set up their gear in the armoury that had come in on the A400, and the limited weapons pool already available. Adam had paperwork to catch up on in his office, Purna was sharpening his knives and going through team data in the common room whilst cooking up brekafast, and Athena....well, she was with the one person she wanted to be with for the time being.

------

In the medbay, Sophie had joined Doctor Hilmar Ori Palssson as his badge identified, a handsome looking Swede, from what Athena could read his accent to be. Hot, but nah, there were way better guys out there. And anyway, priorities. She had her sister to look after, who was now in an oversized bed, upright and getting her stitches looked at.

"I can't fucking believe it. You're so clever sis, but not worth that. Please, please don't do that to me, JamJam or our parents again." Athena added, her tone sorrowful, yet stern, cutting in.

"They were so proud of you. Would not ever stop talking about you. I would squeeze you so tight if I could avoid hurting your arm. And ribs. You know, I actually worked out a lot more while you were away. Thought you might need some extra help so perhaps it was worth it." Athena added, smiling, chatting away. She wouldn't shut up, wanting to talk, and well, slide herself in, the coat removed and just her full body tights on, without the coat, less compressive and revealing her own tree-trunk like bronzed forearms. It really was rather a bit Pata-gucci, a high end make that wasn't military but more luxury, effective sure yet.....well, not anyone else's choice.

"It's weird you're here. But you're here, you know? And we will get things okay. You get to rest up, Jamie will take the slack, and I'll be there to help them. Shit, I'll even sit on Skye's head and crush her like a bug when I see her. Right?" Athena asked, the look on Freya's face likely to paint another story, as Sophie and Hilmar got to work, immediately containing the job Sophie had done to get her through, and getting to work on at least setting her shoulder straight, painfully. She was hasty to blame Skye, but then again, couldn't really find the emotion or maturity to blame you know....actually Skye, to be fair, but the other version of Skye. See, this was confusing for someone that wasn't a PhD holder.

"Right......you don't seem to think that's a good idea. Please don't tell me Skye has nothing to do with this. That will be really awkward." She added, her usual charm cracking a little, only a little, in front of Freya in that moment.

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Skye Rosalind Lyons

Last Tango at 1600 Hours (Prior to Haneda)

Skye nodded, looking back across to Ebrima, the white-skinned Cameroonian making sense, yet beneath it, knowing he spoke from a place of wisdom. Weirdly, speaking to someone with white skin from a black background felt a little not unlike her conundrum, except, well, Ebrima’s circumstances cast him out significantly worse. Not something she cared for, in a positive way. Ability trumped any view, and he was effective, proving so today.

"Feels significantly less Scots. Though I'll make it so in time. Not my first rodeo, lad." Skye replied to Boaro, chuckling on his response, knowing it was a serious thing, yet at this point, he was right. This was pretty unprecedented.

“Aye, that is a point. My double will think that way, so it means I need to tap into something else, throw some issues their way. I suppose you're right too, means I have the way into her as well. Alright. I think I might write that handbook then, I might have a method. Just whatever comes, I hope you trust me. You seem a good operative to work with.” Skye nodded back to Ebrima, letting him chat to Tahlia, as the two engaged over the water bottle.

Tahlia replied to Boaro as Chuck made his way over, the spoon wave absolutely fair.
“It’s Maori, and one of the tribes of New Zealand. Sorry, I sometimes get a little too ahead of myself. It’s something that explains all the weird names you’ve seen, homely and all. It’s a lot, but don’t worry, I’m happy to explain. How about you? I won't ask the obvious. It's...well, something I can't say I know but something I can relate to.” Tahlia mused, knowing she was probably a bit cranky from being awake so long, nodding as she saw him reflect on it, and the other bits. What would she do about it? Well…..

“I guess there’s opportunities in Finland. I’ll miss Aotearoa, but whatever we go towards, I’ll adapt to that. See if I can get my legs sorted. Maybe even join you lot in the field. No fun out there but when the stakes are the way they are, I suppose we have little choice. I just hope they have good woodworking facilities. Or at least, somewhere to keep the rest of the minatures. You'd be happy to know there's still a lot of your stuff sitting in a shipping container in Wellington we need to relocate. So, that may not be the end of the world. I'll concern myself with that, perhaps.” Tahlia replied, pulling the prosthetics off as she sat, heaping them next to her and relieving the strain a little, Chuck towering over and then taking the chat onwards.

------------------------

Shibuya, Tokyo

Making an Entrance, 1800 Hours

Skye sat under the grey canopy above the darkening sky of Shibuya, the night advertising and neon pounding, the massive crowd at the Shibuya Scramble Crossing being obedient in line with traffic regulations, and yet....Skye was not going to be. The canopy fluttering, the adrenaline pumping hard and her blood cold in her exposed skin, Skye had little time to really think about the view, and more time to try and focus on landing. Pulling the toggle, she swooped around a tower, and headed on finals. She was hoping for a park really, but then again, when you were in a situation like this, in as dense an urban area as this, choices were limited. It was here and now, and right into the crossing she went, knowing it was as good of a chance as she had to not clatter a lamp-post or a traffic signal.

Rolling her feet across the tarmac as she flared, Skye barely missed a couple of cars, pulling hard on the risers and toggles to pull the parachute and herself over a cab, rolling off the roof as it honked and clattering into the floor past it on the other side, hard but enough to percuss the fall. Detatching the rig through a simple pull of a her straps and letting the container fall away, Skye broke into a run, and with it, to an absolute blaze of horns. She had to keep moving. The crowds could see her parachute drop behind, and she dived down, nearby police trying to go after, albeit probably beyond any shock to what the fuck just happened. Skye ran faster. She wouldn't stop. Like the animal inside had taken over, all the parts of her pulling in one way to keep going. She wasn't gonna give in. And in the crowds of people she ran towards, while they parted, they weren't exactly easy moving. Like treacle, she found a way in to the shopping street, and at this time of evening, found it heaving- the Shibuya Sakura complex glowing with purple and vivid light, clean and almost a spotless virage yet giving Skye the ability to break from crowds and out from the police that would likely be onto her.

From here, Skye was into her element. Urban survival required doing exceptionally immoral things, fast, and in a method unpredictable. Even with Japan's heightened culture of security, control and policing, polite to the hilt, Skye could survive. Get distance far enough away and clothing enough to make her into someone else. If you followed, maybe you could see the trail, but bit by bit, it would go colder until no logical tracks were left. Skye would go from the redhead that had dropped into Shibuya, into having a different garb altogether. A little money too. You did bad things for good, but sometimes, well, it was better than killing people. It sent a message clear as day to anyone where she was, without saying exactly what spot she sat in next.

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Collab with @BigPapaBelial

Skye Rosalind Lyons

Ban Kingo

Amagi District, Kiyose City, Tokyo

Kitsune’s Tails, 2000 Hours

Kiyose was bathed in a pool of neon and puddles from rain much much earlier in the day, the tight city streets further out of Tokyo proper bathed in shops open late, close in power cables and medium-density buildings, impeccably clean yet only like one place on planet earth. Japan was unique, and for a foreigner who had dropped by, took some time to adjust. Skye had been here once, but well, she knew roughly the instruction, roughly the address and how to work it out. She had a good memory like that, and well, never forgot any promises she had made to her.

The gambling den was quite the spot, and plenty filthier than Skye remembered him describing it- it was Yakuza run after all and beyond the pachinko, had its grime, even if the streets were litter-less. In a baseball cap with a stolen hoodie, the night was coming in fast and thin, cold too. Skye’s hair had been tucked into a bun she’d made from an elastic band, the prescription sunglasses she’d shoplifted from a small store coming in handy, and the other part of her being able to run also coming into it. No transit, no dramas since the most loud, spectacular crash into Shibuya had happened of her arrival, and now, it was her alone. With just her pistol, knife, and her wits. There’s something so dark about it, but in a black hoodie, Skye was no longer the Queen of her own destiny, but instead, the Kitsune, changing the shape of her tail as she walked in. A red fox that was the lady of the night, but rather than scraping through garbage, was actually going for a gem in the rough.

And here she would be. To meet Ban Kingo, of all people. She had a favour to call in, a serious one. She hated to do these things, she wanted to let him live in peace, but well, extraordinary measures meant that had to be done. Past the pachinko machines, the horse racing, and the civilian bit. No, she was here for the other side of this parlour. And a pair of them stood right where she could guess the Japanese writing said she needed to go. The guard huffed at Skye at the front, yet her tall presence and confidence looked back. She spoke no Japanese, yet with a convincing look, Skye looked across to them, knowing they would see her as any other white tourist dweeb in the wrong city, wrong part of town. Skye spoke with an air of authority, and in crystal English.
“I am here to see a friend. Kingo-san. Tell him the Queen is here.” Skye said, with a certain level of confidence, hoped he was here tonight. Her clothing concealed any look of her being any threat, instead, making her seem rather innocent. A good disguise had to hold- they could call the police for being that redhead that fell out of the sky this evening after all, and while she’d kept a low profile, part of disguise meant changing everything. Becoming someone else. Not the special forces t-shirt wearing lioness she was, but instead, a tourist in the wrong place.

The bigger of the pair of young-ish Yakuza at the door looked the woman over. His eyes narrowed, his purple nylon jacket covering his upper body. He leaned on the wall on Skye’s left, giving her the stink eye the whole time. He grunts and motions his head to the smaller, but clearly in charge of the pair. The man is short, slicked back hair, mirrored sunglasses with golden rims. He steps forth and looks her over, giving her the classic Yakuza go over, even leaning into her personal space. He sniffs and snorts, “Nan darou?” Clear Japanese, “And what’s this?” basically. The man snorts then in passable English, “And who do you think there’s anyone like that here huh chicky? This is just a storage closet that the boss told us to watch over. Why don’t you turn around and play some games huh? Mind your own business.” He makes a shooing gesture to Skye as he leans back and away.

At the same time the other fella reaches back behind a nearby pachinko cabinet and almost casually pulls an iron kanabo from its hiding place, setting it with a clink on the floor. The pair turned to just staring at Skye.

To most a pair of Yakuza staring them down would probably be intimidating.

Skye shook her head, exhaling out, letting him come close. She could feel his breath, and it smelled of cigarettes and rice wine, a distinctive combo.
“I know he’s here. And I know he would be very upset with you both if he couldn’t talk to Queen. So please, let’s be reasonable before something happens. Just let him know I’m down here. And while I wait, I might go play on one of those machines. How about that?” Skye reasoned, knowing the thug wouldn’t exactly process the Scot’s wit, given her accent was trying to be neutered as much as possible- yet she wasn’t exactly ailing it down. It would be firm though, and enough of a point.

The bigger of the two narrows his eyes and seems to sense some kind of…thing…yeah lets go with thing. He looks over at the slimmer smaller man and motions with his head. The smaller man looks at the bigger fella, and it’s like an unspoken conversation passes between them at high speeds. After abit though the smaller what mutters, “Nanda? Ahhhh.” Pushing off the wall, reaching over and pulling open one of the pair of doors and disappearing into whatever is beyond them.

Meanwhile the bigger of the pair looks at Skye and looks to be about to say something before he pushes off the wall and bows, “Ah! Elder!”

A soft older voice, a voice very similar to the man Skye is hoping to see whispers, “Ah Kintaro-kun. Doing your job I’m glad to see. Where is Jin-tan?” Kintaro the big guard straightens up, “He went into the back to see if he can get Aniki sir. This lady, says her name is Queen-san, wants to see Aniki.” The older gentleman blinks then smiles, stepping forward and bowing, “Yosh! Ahhh the great Queen-san! Skye Lyons!” He grins and offers his hand to her, “I am Hataro Kingo, one of the wakagashira of the Amagi Clan. Come come. Please.” The elder Kingo gently guiding Skye into the back hall past the guarded doors. All while Kintaro the big guard starts to babble and try to stop them, failing miserably.

Hataro walking with Skye at his side smiles, into the back hall, well appointed, and decorated, statues and paintings, wooden paneling, all the culture and finery of Japanese style on display here. Hataro smiles, “You know, my son has said many things about his time in Raven. Many things. The good, and the bad. His teammates, his experiences. They brought great honor on the Kingo name, and the Amagi Clan.” He guided the woman along the hall, and into a large open area, where people gambled heartily. Down the middle aisle past cho-han and dice games, past a rowdy horse racing kiosk where several people watched a Spanish horse race, cheering on their chosen bet.

The older man guided her forth into the back reaches of the gambling den, “My son, has had nothing but good things to say about you, though young Lyons. He said that out of everything his exile brought him, your friendship and determination helped him the most.”

Skye felt a little in shock at Hataro’s presence, but of course, masked it as best as she could. Loud, but well, bringing her in. the gambling, the rice games, the horse racing, and the wooden paneling, the ornate nature of this place rather beautiful.
“I am glad he did well. He served with distinction. I never forget the people that serve, I serve them the same, Hataro-san.” Skye replied, her tone of voice neutral, perhaps almost to live up to expectations, albeit, knowing it was an event that had gotten him out that she had pulled many a finger to make happen. But it had happened. She’d held her end of the deal. Now she was here, and no doubt, Hataro respected Skye’s decisions in that moment to do right.

Culturally Appropriate perhaps

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JOkf-wYnHOw&ab_channel=LunarTunez

As the pair near a double pair of large wooden doors, with dragon, tiger and kirin carvings and reliefs the door booms open, and Ban comes out, growling over his shoulder at the slim man, having been named as Jin earlier. Ban, holding his sword in his right hand, snarls, “You didn’t think to tell me sooner that…” He turns around to watch where he’s going and almost runs into Skye, “Ah…” He takes a step back then with a shake in his tone whispers, “Qu…Queen-san…” He gulps then coughs a laugh, “Skye-san.” He bows, a low deep bow, a bow meant for old and good friends. And he holds that bow for a good few moments before straightening up.

Skye returned the gesture, bowing back, seeing the sword in his hands. With a smile, Skye walked up and hugged him, wrapping her cold arms around him, not reaching up due to her height, avoiding getting shanked by accident.
“You have put on a few pounds since we’ve been in work. But, you’re still keeping well. And those pieces of you, those are new.” Skye replied, whispering into his ear on the last with regards to the implants, looking back, and around at the two, son and father.
“I suppose I owe you a bit of an explanation. Safe to say, I am grateful beyond return for the work that Ban has done with Raven. But I am now in my hour of need. An hour of grave personal need. And I am afraid to say this, but I have nowhere else to turn, and the stakes could not be higher.” Skye added, knowing it would likely be sinking into Ban that indeed, if she was here alone, looking like this, then something had to be up. Skye took off her hat, revealing the various cuts and marks from the fighting, and her tired eyes, from being up, out of a plane, shoplifting and generally shenanigans through western Tokyo and now here, in this gambling den of an old comrade.

Ban smiled, then wrapped his free arm around her, squeezing her in the hug briefly, “Yosh, ah it doesn’t show too much does it?” He chuckles, letting her go, and looking down at himself, “I have tried to keep fit, but running things isn’t as physically demanding as running into high amounts of bullets. And my own cooking is still very good.” He looks around as if to remember where they are. Then looks at Jin, “Get back up to the front, watch the door with Kintaro-kun.” He looks to his father, “Otosan, if you would come with us?” He then gestures at the well carved and decorated doors, “Come, this is no place to be discussing important things. Too many ears and eyes.” Hataro Kingo nods, and leads the way into the back. Ban gently guiding Skye through the doors, closing them behind the trio, all while Jin runs back up to the front.

Soon the three are in an office, just big enough to fit the low steel desk with a marble top, the walls decorated by several layers of weapons and samurai armor sets. Hataro goes to mix up a few drinks from a drink stand by the desk, while Ban sits on the top of the desk, motioning for Skye to join him beside him, “So what’s this about grave personal need? The stakes as you say must be higher than the sky, even the stars themselves if you’re being this dour Skye-chan.”

Hataro coughing into the glass of sake he just poured himself hearing that cute familiar style of talk.

And Skye sat down beside, nodding with a certain kind of remorse, it all sinking in she was going to have to explain this utter insanity.
“I’ll try and start like this. The Artemis you put some dents into, we did some work against. They were nearly defeated, until, it turns out, they were being undercut by my doppelganger. Who used me to turn them inside out for her. They betrayed us, and destroyed Kaitiaki, and nearly all of us in the process..” Skye started, knowing the conversation went from zero, to a hundred, instantly.

“That is by my literal clone. A woman by the name of Rosalind, who as it turns out, can jump from body to body, dying and awaking in another. She has a small biomechanical node wired into the spinal column of each one of her bodies that she has, and I could go on for hours about how it occurred, why, and what. I don’t understand all of it, but as such, I am compromised. I left the team over Tokyo, and they’re en route to another facility, to continue working. I am her, yet she is many, and with it, we are deeply in the shit because it means there’s no way to ensure I have any operational security in charge of a team. Don’t worry, check my spine and you’ll see there’s nothing there. It’s the only difference between us.” Skye added, pausing for breath, knowing they would want to cut to the chase.

“But what this means is, she has stolen all Raven data, recovered a critical HVT from us that we captured on a mission, and worse, she has access to a partially compromised satellite network and a drug that I think could be potentially lethal in her hands. Ban, she’s fucking genocidal.” She took a breather, taking the glass of sake on the table poured, and giving it a sip, knowing she had the attention fully on her right here, right now.

“And she doesn’t want to just nuke a few countries, she wants to fucking eradicate people, systematically, from the top to the bottom. And there is no way to kill her. In fact, she’s using it to get better, and better. She wants me off the table so she can be the only version of what I am. Where I am. And with it….means the choice of putting a stop to it in a way that even Rose can’t imagine I would do.” Skye said, exhaling a hard breath, knowing that one would stick.

“So politely, I need help to get back to things…and it’s why I am here. Because the only way I think I can turn the tables, is to go against Artemis as me, throwing a spanner in the works by making sure two of us are always on the table. They think Skye Lyons is rogue, soon to be arrested. I will be hunted, pursued in the next eight hours by teams wanting to know maybe where I went. Yet by being alive, I make Rose unable to act, or at least, unsure. There are people on the inside who can help, but Raven proper will not want me around on the streets. Not unless I bring something valuable back to the table to deliver. I know this is a lot, Ban. I know you left this behind. And I know you would struggle to want to go back. But you are all I have. And the best man I know can help.” Skye added, sipping more back, looking dead into his eyes, knowing full well the weight and depth of what she was saying would take him aback- and probably be a lot to carry on.
“I suppose in your folklore, that would make me the Kitsune. And she is one of those tails, many, many tails, over and over.”

Ban and Hataro Kingo are silent through the whole explanation. Making quiet sounds of understanding and wonder as the story goes. Hataro having sat in the large leather chair behind the bar part way through the story. Hataro smiling as it goes realizing the mythological points. Ban leaning his head back as things go, crossing his arms across his chest, and tapping the Tsuka of his sword on his chin, “Emmm this is worrying indeed. I swear we had cut down Artemis in cold blood back during my time of service didn’t we? I know I had cut one of their captains down myself. How does a weed survive having it’s roots cut clean?”

The younger Yakuza grumbles. Then the elder Kingo asks, “Kitsune, I like that.” He chuckles sipping his drink, “Then while my son mulls this over, tell this old man, Kitsune-chan, what can we do to help? The Kingo Family I think would put everything we have behind you, but to truly do anything, you would need to go before the Amagi Oyabun. And bring your case to him. Takashiro-san would hear you out. You can be sure that though Yakuza are gangsters, we are against the spilling of needless blood, and this Rosalind sounds like an Oni of the worst kind.”

Ban hraumphs, and nods, “Let Shimura walk again. I’ll cut out her heart for you Kitsune-chan. Tell me what I can help you with. And if we’re lucky the Oyabun will offer the Amagi’s help as well. Yes, we should go see him immediately.”

Skye nodded in return, a smile forming on her face. Well, it was a replacement. The Queen may be dead, but perhaps, in a cosmic way, the Kitsune was alive. Fitting, all things considered.
“That sounds like a plan. There is a lot to explain, a lot of ground to cover and I will tell you all I can. But we need to be careful. As few people as possible need to know who, what, and where this is going. I think there may be one method to get back at her, at least, stall things outside of any control or command. It may even be a way back in to Raven itself, to clear things completely. But I cannot do this alone. And it is why I am here, Ban. You’re the only operative I know that can hold their own that I trust.” Skye replied, looking across to him, upon his question of what to help with.
“And when the time is right, we shall part her gaze. And put this to an end.” Skye added, nodding, sipping more sake down. This felt surreal. None of it did. But then, rolling with the punches was part of the game.

There was much not yet said about why Skye specifically had picked Ban to go to here- the opportunism sure, but there was another aspect. Skye had let him go from Raven upon short notice- a John Wick-esque task almost, considering she had to pull an almighty effort to get him released. But it wasn’t a task force requirement, releasing from the roster prior to the end- it was a personal commitment she had made happen. A promise to do right by him, and in exchange, she’d memorized, kept it in detail where he was, what was going on and what it meant. And one day to perhaps call a favor like that in, albeit, in a way she knew she wouldn’t take the piss with. Skye had caught her own crap, but well, Ban had disappeared and into the Yakuza again, allowed his growth, allowed his honour, allowed his strength to carve his own. Spies always needed an out, after all. Much like Sam had her own, and Boaro had made his own as a merc, Freya the family and the other operatives had carved niches, Skye had to keep her own reserve.

Hataro watches, looking at his son and the woman beside him. His eyes widening. As he can see the difference between his son the Yakuza soldier, a man prepared to defend his family and friends from those who would do them wrong. And another side, a side he had only heard stories of.

Ban had called himself Shimura, after a Great Clan from the Sengoku era. The Shimura had been a hard riding, hard hitting southern island clan. And there, swapping back and forth between his son Ban and Shimura he watches it, and can only smile.

Ban gets to his feet and steps to the door, shouting down a side hall outside, “Wataro! Go and bring the car around! We need a ride to the Amagi compound. And send Yotsuyu-tan ahead to ask the Oyabun’s secretary for an emergency meeting, tell him it’s me and my father asking. That should get him moving.” There’s a bunch of cries of, “Yes sir!” And “You got it boss!” And people are running. Ban turns from the door, “I swear here and now Skye-chan, I’ll turn over heaven and hell to help you.” He steps forward and holds out the well decorated Katana in isn’t saya towards her, “I offer my sword, until such time as you release me from this service. You got me out, and now I will return that favor. Let us cut down these foes together.”

Skye stood up, a wry smile returning, an old friend helping out. It was good to have, and well, a favor repaid. It felt bad to call such a thing in, but with old friends, it was never such a thing. Honour was an exceptionally highly placed thing in Japanese society, and Skye knew she’d ruffled a few feathers with what she had returned to him to make such a movement. Perhaps it had gone even further, given she only expected Ban, and nobody else.
“That we will. Let’s get to work, Shimura.” The Scottish accented redhead replied back, standing right by Ban’s side, her stern and stoic look turning to one of trust, belief and for a brief second, a willingness to get to finishing this stupid shit off. End of days? Rose may have had her control, but Skye had her friends, and well, right here and now, she could be grateful for such a thing.

—----------------

Athena Anna Kanataario

Adam Stanislaw Kajtanowicz

Purna Chai Gurung

Somewhere above the Gulf of Bothnia, Finland, Headed North

Aurora's Glimmer / Chaos Theory

The vivid colour of the hazy yellow and red echoed outside the window, the night sky of the aurora kicking in with a flickering brilliance, at altitude and this close where they were headed. The three occupants on fast track were not exactly brimming with confidence, considering the news had trickled out. It had to, because the news of a redhead in Shibuya Square falling out of the fucking sky was something. There would have been a delay, enough to let Skye do her own thing, but it would be found out by the time they were over the Arctic Ocean, and on the other side. Her in the middle of Shibuya narrowed it down to a single city, but that city around it had 18 million people, and in that city, it was a maze, a place you would struggle to find someone making effort to lay low and vanish. The authorities could be contacted, but what was the reason for their manhunt? It felt like Skye had called Oracle's bluff. The occupants knew that, the private Gulfstream 400 a relatively lavish space for a small team to move north on fast notice.

"So why and how did she end up bailing out, into Shibuya....and what does she think she's avoiding? What, does she think Oracle's going to kill her?" Purna enquired, looking across from the seat he sat in, bemused yet in an old-school parka and cargo pants, casual for the time being. The private jet was a bit of a different arrangement, but then again, fast movement meant executive transport. For Purna and Adam, it felt odd- strange even, being flown on something like this. They were being taken to Enontekiö Airport, a civilian airport to the south-west of the remote base in the Poysjarvi National Park, close to the Norwegian border. There was a small airstrip physically on site, but bringing unneeded attention to that specific point wasn't on anyone's radar.

"We have no idea. She's capable of being a ghost, Purna. The stories are all true. If she's as good as I think she is, she will go to ground and disappear. Even if she doesn't speak the language, she'll learn it, and she'll move faster than we can. Maybe have contacts. Fuck, she might have just been playing us all along. Maybe if the report is correct, then she listened to her copy, and has gone off grid for that reason. Kurwa. I don't understand it. There will be two of her....fucking idiot." Adam replied, shaking his head, it fully in his hands, trying to finish his sentence. The bearded man was wearing his woolen jumper still, and similar to Purna, a set of older cargo trousers, perhaps the one unifying thing between old heads and Gurkhas in the game. Adam's Polish accent may have dragged, but it was no less cutting when he swore.
"Oracle is livid. And...." Adam replied, but couldn't completely say it due to the floor itself feeling like it felt presence from the other occupant.

Walking out from the front, Athena had to duck, as she leaned out, into the chair opposite, enlarged for her size. Not the first time she'd travelled with this particular executive manner, her legs long, in thermal tights and her top now more in modesty with a grey t-shirt and bra combo that barely contained the cleavage of her bust, a large puffy jacket that must have taken a dozen ducks to make on her shoulder, the Pata-gucci look in full swing. She had no makeup on, yet even without it, still seemed to have that blonde golden look going.

"I told you. First my sister, now this. Perhaps she knew what she would be in for if she met me. Her team are on all in on it, too." Athena retorted with a blunt brutality, clicking her large neck, rolling her head, as she leaned in.

"You keep forgetting what she's capable of, Athena. She's killed a giant before. And don't blame the team. Skye is too stubborn to let them tell her what to do. They aren't going say no to her." Adam replied, the Pole and the giantess not seeing eye to eye, but well, business had to be beaten past for this sort of work.

"Yeah, but has she met me?" Athena chuckled, Adam shrugging his shoulders. God, she was a bitch. But, he had to eat his words, Purna giving that glare as if to say, "Don't fuck this up", at least, to say something more productive.

"What doesn't add up is that Skye doesn't break protocol. Not at least, any to Oracle or Raven. She may be fluid but not disobedient. Her team helped her, and I know they're all sound enough of mind to not go completely mad. So....the only alternative is, she's doing this to confuse everyone. Including Rose. Skye can work alone, she's trained to do so....but why? If she wants to help her, she would have killed everyone on that plane. That I don't understand." Adam asked, as Purna leaned in, the Nepali not an expert on strategy such as this, but smart enough from working as a mercenary to get it.

"She's probably not willing to deal with security from Oracle when they get back. Probably figured out that Athena there, or Oracle are going to lock her up. And, if she has her contacts, maybe she knows something even we don't. Rose is a threat, but what Adam said is right, it's confusing. If Rose knows Skye's on the loose, she can't exactly go after both her and us at the same time. After all, Skye said that it seemed like Rose was using Artemis for her own ends. It's chaos theory. We have no idea. Rose doesn't either. And we're now picking up pieces. Nothing we can do, except our jobs. And perhaps hope she is on the right track." The Nepali replied, the look of the shorter infiltrator contrasting against Athena's. It was strange, the three almost as opposite as you could make people in three different directions, and three different ways.

"Well, now every Skye we end up seeing is a kill-threat. How's that for clarity." Athena interrupted both, the giantess speaking with a certain authority, in spite of the other two's. Adam and Purna nodded, the conversation breaking from that for a second as Adam poured a Coke, sipping it down whilst Purna leaned in, looking across to Adam.

"What's our operational remit?" Purna asked, his many questions continuing, given he had little else to add in small talk. He sipped down a cup of tea, Chai, ironically.

"The rest of the team joins me and Purna. Athena, how about you? You with us?" Adam replied, with the giantess leaning forward in her chair, that resting bitch face just holding true, just more than anything, frustrated that Raven couldn't hold itself together.

"I'm eye candy to you, apparently. I'll twerk my way out of problems. And run Blue Sword's operation behind what you're doing. My parents and my brother are on the way, but Victor and Natalie will likely have other matters to attend to whilst I run this show behind the scene. Just for your stubborn fucking ass, Jamie is rolling with you, Adam. But I will be managing Blue Sword support teams on the ground, personally. From this point onwards, we cannot afford any fuck ups. I have spoken with Oracle already about this at length. We put resource behind this and get the job done, with as few heads in the game as possible. We have some recovered intel, and enough to go on so we can figure out what this Rose is doing and the remains of Artemis with her, but from here, every second counts. Where Raven fails, the world collapses." Athena's voice carried, knowing she had to make that point clear, that well, she had her weight to throw around and her husky yet sauced international accent had that levity. Which didn't so much stick on Adam.

"They don't get to buy calendars of you then." Adam replied, no fucks given. Screw it. If she caved his head in now, well, he had a witness at least.

"Shut the fuck up." Athena's response was initially cold, before the three chuckled, the rare break in the ice. As much as Adam didn't like her, shit, she had a response worth enough. Athena felt the same, her extraverted self buoyed against someone like Adam, whose strict and structured nature irritated the shit out of her, but his dark humour still bounded back. Perhaps they shared that, at least, they had something in common there. They would be on the ground soon, and meeting what was left of Raven's New Zealand operation, and more importantly, trying to get some answers.

High Table Stories [30 Red Days]

@Sho Minazuki

Fixed! I wasn't sure on backstory so I added a bit more in. There is a bit of work I think still want to do, so there may be some touch ups around the side, and I need to add a few more pieces like equipment detail and references. I tend to leave it as a rolling process but I usually get my characters done when I'm in the mood and want to really focus in on a certain bit.

@Izurich

I'm rather curious how our two Vellum members will play- I get the feeling of Wick crossed with Bond, which can only be a delightful thing!

High Table Stories [30 Red Days]

Han Hee-Song

Han Hee-Song

Alias: Pale Tiger
Faction: Xuanlong
Gender: Male
Age: 29
Nationality: South Korean

Appearance:



Well manicured, Han is the product for the face of a slick Triad. With a pretty face you'd think he never got his hands dirty- but he has plenty of that to bother. Brown eyes, 6"0, ruffled hair, he looks every bit the boyband gritty product you could imagine. Except, a few scars and cuts across his chest, shoulders and arms mark that he's been fighting before. He has been there, done that, experienced it. A small plate of ink extends on his shoulder across his upper back and to the bottom of his neck, covering it in a variety of Korean Triad ink, demonstrative of his loyalty. This whole killing lark is aging him, yet in another way, he is yet to find himself. Well dressed, he'll usually wear a shirt and formal trousers to most thing with a suit jacket to boot, described further below.

Voice Claim: N/A

Personality:
Han has changed from the wildchild that held an angry grudge into a formal, cold, cynical killer. He does it because he's good. And he is pointed at that, pointed at the right people long enough to understand what he really wants. He isn't there for fun loving, he is there for professionalism, getting the job done, and being on time, on place. Something he never understood in the army or outside of this, he now gets inside. There is the code, there is discipline, and there are people that die. He is hard to entertain, but he'll let his guard down around those he trusts closest, and he'll let them in close.

Backstory:

Han was born in Sokcho, South Korea, and not being in the big steam of Seoul, got instead to grow up outside of where the money was. Living near the North Korean border in a sleepy environment in comparison, his father worked in a steel mill, and his mother moved out separately from the age of ten, following a family feud. With nobody really to bring him up properly bouncing between the two.....well, the inevitable happened.

His youth was spent in misdemeanours as a result due to his parents not exactly being very stable and his lack of commitment to the school system, in and out of gangs, and the hope that Military Service would straighten him did nothing- even the ROK Marines couldn't truly break him, well, not all the way to reform him on return. He was a rascal, and put to work what he learned to work in small time street gangs to earn his bread. When you're

Then all his friends got killed. And it left a mark. A chasm deeper than he thought would be fillable, but he'd try. So he killed the people that did it, knowing where to go, what to do, and how to make a carbomb and spray the place up. When they tried it on them, well, he'd go out fighting. And well, it kinda led to nothing happening. Turns out, he'd been extremely lucky to get on the right side of a Kkangpae boss who equally hated the shits for ripping off his business. He was offered a way out. Join, or get his head added to a mantelpiece.

Deals like that are nice. He worked honourably and did work for the the guy not just in South Korea, but in America, China, Thailand, Indonesia, even as far out as Dubai to help Chaebol interests. He Westernised a little, but well, the small-city Korean always lasted. But things got slippy, and bit by bit, the Kkangpae felt like they were using him, fucking him over- it was the same old shit, a stupid street gang one more time, just a little brainier with some Chaebol contacts getting paid nothing for slaving over the work they did. It was leaving a toll on him, and whilst honour and loyalty are the highest thing the gang would desire, it is worth nothing much when the gang itself has a corrupt, broken structure, squabbling and fighting within. A slight squeeze however, and along came the Xualong. They nudged him to ask for help with getting to know the locals. Most of his contacts in the Xualong Triad were Korean too, and....well, a better job offer was not one to sneer at, considering the warning was stark. Han wasn't stupid. Die, or maybe survive to tell the tale working for the real bosses of Eastern Asia. They would pay. Give him independence, if he wanted it, after a job well done. Or something more. That was an honourable, and fair offer.

And then, it all kicked off. Shit hit the fan. The Xualong went from a distant faraway Triad in China, to an expansive, invasive force. Han was caught in the middle of it, and able to speak a bit of Mandarin, held his own with leadership. What was useful was then, he was let loose on the rival gangs. Cleaning house came quick when you knew the locals in Seoul, and he got to work on the non-locals. He was told it would be a statement. And well, Han does statements. Car bombs, cafes littered with bodies, he went in and applied military grade oppression to people. No torture, just a gun, a sword and a direction to do what was needed. And while it got him a few scars, the purge cleared Seoul clean of Yakuza, 'Ndrangheta, Filipino and Mafiya influences, and any other remaining Korean syndicates- making it clear what the message was. His old boss was told to run, and to never, ever look back because he'd never allow him the mercy of it again, and well, message received. He was rewarded with a little more prestige, and in with the leadership of the Triad. Men like Han are of course, rare to find. Animals, that you can put a leash on. Give them enough luxury and money, and they'll do what they need to, and they won't betray you because they know better than to die. They know when to retreat, and when to fight.

Whilst hating some of hte Triads overlords, Han will do what is needed to make sure the Xuanlong's place at the table is secure and make sure a Korean at least his hand on the table's influence. A place at the table is a position to do more good than bad. And Han has no qualms killing whoever steps in his way.

COMBAT STYLE
Overview: Han approaches work with a surgical, yet precise method. He will go in through the front door if he has to, but more often than not, he'll hit a flank and bring the power to it. Ex-Army means discipline, and Han is surgical- he works to fight another day and balances risk and reward. Han is a jack of all trades, gun-fu, weapons, swords, from both Army and street-wise training. As adept with his sword as he is his FiveSeven, Han brings a typical assassin's method to fighting, knowing when to switch it up when required like the great Mister Wick himself. Whilst perhaps some distance to that, it's a fighting style that never goes out of trait.

Skills:

Han has training from his time in the ROK's Marine Corps, and that makes him an adept shooter and fighter, much more willing than say, Elise in a firefight to deal with pressure. He'll shoot his marks, and do well, using Taekwondo and adapted Krav Maga to inflict hurt in hand to hand hand combat, or use his taught swordsmanship to bring metal to close bear. He knows how to command, and he knows how to sow fear. Like the brutality of the Triad, Han enforces and makes a point. He knows how to make statements. He knows how to leave a mark. He sends messages through action, not words. He doesn't talk, he'll cut off ears, heads, whatever it takes. It's a lot of scaring, but he knows this is how you control people truly.

Adept with tools, Han is no stranger to making his own devices when he needs it. Trained in explosives, Han has built carbombs, IEDs and the frag rounds he can equip for his USAS12. He's no engineer, but he can make shit blow up, if given the right tools.

Special Trait: Motorcycling is a talent carried by Han, and well, he can't not be riding a Yamaha R1 when there is an opportunity. Even if it is the Yakuza's prefered mode, he can pull that off too.

COMBAT SLOTS
Preferred Equipment:

Han loves to cook, and like with fresh cuts of tender Beef Bulgogi grilled over a traditional Korean barbecue, it's East meets West.

You dress for an occasion like a Korean barbecue, it's something more respected than a Western counterpart given it's communal and a little more valued- and Han keeps it western business, with a full navy blue suit and plum red shirt, Oxfords and a contrasting plum red tie. An Eastern colour for a Western dress. Lined with silicon carbide, Han is every part your salaryman, but being able to carry a fucking sword or K7 in one coat jacket and a pistol in the other works nicely for party occasions.

You start simple. A FN FiveSeven does the trick like his palate-clensing Sujebi soup, Sam Fisher's tool of choice and also his, the 5.7mm round punching nicely through armour when needed, even scaring silicon carbide plating, at the cost of flesh damage. Great in crowds but awful for just wack-a-mole without aiming for the head. A lightweight, compact, cutting edge polymer pistol, with a 20-round magazine, an integrated silencer and night sights, the weapon is light, effective, and smooth at warming you up, and it keeps going with the rounds inside.

Then the sticky rice, the pickled vegetables and cabbage, it's a lot but a classic to any Korean dish, traditional, modern, export, it works. A compact
Daewoo K7 does the trick, a submachine gun built with an internal silencer, a 30 round mag with 9mm rounds, a foldable stock, and more importantly, is never not going to go down a treat. It's the MP5SD6's more compact Korean cousin, and reliable, smaller and sprayable.

Okay, the main treat. You came for barbecue. So you get it. A Unggeom, a Korean-sculpted, single-sided sword that comes with a titanium forged edge, a composite kevlar and steel cuff, and an ornate standoff, and whilst short, means it can be moved without revealing it. This is as Korean as it gets, and with a smoked wooden pommel, it's stunning.

And, well, okay, spices. Gojuchang Sauce is on the table. So is a Daewoo USAS-12. They'll both tear you a new asshole. Not always needed and certainly not always carried, but well, appreciated in moderation. The shotgun then, it is exactly as tasty, and loaded with a 12-round, 12-gauge magazine, it will blow your socks off in the right dose. Add fragmentation rounds instead of buckshot, and this is the perfect anti-anyone tool you need this Christmas, because it pulps armour. Given how hard it is to get explosive buckshot, Han makes his own. Although, it is a ballache.

Desert? Admittedly, Korean food here lacks from a comparatively western palate, but fruit and rice cakes, coupled to what you just had usually do the trick. But if you need, a pack of steel-forged Korean knives, one pommelled for use in hand to hand and general murder, three for throwing in the direction of people you don't like.

Special Slot: Han is an owner of Maxwell, a large Czechslovakian Wolfdog adopted from a friend. A bit of a Western touch, but like him, he doesn't really play well with anyone, unless they are in close. Maxwell is well behaved even for a big wolfie, and seems to have an innate bark to him when he wants to talk. He also owns a Yamaha R1- and whilst not always able to get it to his Continental of choice, he'll try.

MISC
Theme Song: Radiohead - Bodysnatchers

Likes:
Cooking
Hot Springs
Beer and Cherry Wine
K-Dramas (Crash Landing onto You is a standout)
Travel
Craftsmanship
Western Rock and Indie

Dislikes:
People who talk too much
Torture
People mistaking him for being Chinese
Cider and Vodka

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Elise Annabelle Vogel

Elise Annabelle Vogel

Alias: La Rose Blanc / La Blanca Roja (The White Rose)
Faction: Vellum Society
Gender: Female
Age: 28
Nationality: Andorran / Swiss
Appearance:



Elise is quite the stunner, and she may stick out in a room with her dress on, or choose to ghost you completely if she decides not to be seen. 5"3 in heels makes her short and compact, petite, yet able to make any impression due to the rest of her. A gentle hourglass shape toned from her physical time as an full time elite assassin and part time pole dancer, skiier and skydiver makes her stronger than most and well, she's not exactly shy in the departments that men will look at. Not that they spend long there, anyway. Elise has pale blonde locks, a definitively Germanic thing if you really couldn't tell, blended with Andorran and Catalan influences certainly making for a varied type of assassin. When she needs it, it'll turn heads, or when not needed, the hair otherwise tucked into a bun behind a cowl. If you're really lucky, she'll bleach it a crimson red or black, for when she feels like well, a change of pace is needed, or a new crowd need to see a different her. Dark pink lips, a little mascara, a teeny touch of skin softener, with a necklace and a few of signet rings that add a little to punches, she's looking like someone that completes the package of a Velum Society's spy, pour femme.

Often times you'll see her in a lightly red dress, but more likely than not on a job, she's an infiltrator and spy for hire wanting to avoid parties altogether. She'll be wrapped up in a tight black wetsuit-like getup lined with silicon carbide and a few ballistic plates, carrying little in the way of anything, but make no mistake. She's a vixen that knows how to use military kit, and even if she may not be one for long firefights, she'll still have the ability and talent to make it work and put herself out there without getting battered.

Voice Claim: Ana de Armas

Personality:

Fiery on the outside, cold on the inside, hungry always. Elise is greedy, and wants it all, and has been kicked in the face enough times to learn that sometimes that the path to victory isn't a clean one. But if you want it more, then you'll just have to take it off them. She's solitary, with a pretentious face to pay lip service to some of her friends and manipulate and twist whatever she can. She prioritises the job and while she'll enjoy herself at that party, don't ever think she won't turn that switch. Anyone who's dealt with her will know that she'll be pretty, but like any siren, you watch yourself because she'll come to you in the night, or there and then. You don't know. Fearless, and driven by a pure desire to be the best at what she does and to indulge in secrecy, she loves the feel, and well, wants to advance the society that has now accepted her and she feels obliged to just put her talent to use for because.....it is kinda entertaining. And she is stubborn to that avail. The high life is what she loves and you couldn't take it away from her. She'll let in a select few, but well, if she does, she'll only then tell you how honestly, you should be careful.

Backstory:

Born to a Swiss banker and his Andorran ski instructor wife, Elise was born in Geneva, Switzerland, but spent most of her time growing up in the other mountain village of Ordino in Andorra, living in a mansion whilst her father dodged the shit out of taxes. She went to private school, and well, learned a few seedy secrets, but spent it in the mountains, doing gymnastics, skiing, paragliding and all sorts of things a little princess like her would do. Her father was hustling money out for terrorist organisations, and her mother was only so happy to be happy with this. Aged 15, Elise called him out on it. And wanted in. It sounded cool. And she wanted not to sit there like a spoilt brat, but be stubborn and do something. Like James Bond? Sure.

And she got it. With contacts that Elise's father had, she joined the Swiss Army and was told to toughen up, and after getting the living shit kicked out of her and given the treatment of being wrong (something Elise's stubborn nature of course, wouldn't live down), again, because her father wants best for Elise, she carried on and persevered. That turned into a life of suddenly merging that with a degree in International Relations, whilst connecting with members of the Swiss Intelligence Services through third-hand contacts of her father.

At this point, Elise was a little socialite. Getting all the secrets from her skiing friends, the high society of Europe, and she got to know so, so much. A broker of information, but well, she had to find out more. So, working in intelligence, she learned how to be a bit more. Put it all together, and killing people isn't as far away a step as you think it is. She worked in embassies at first, but bit by bit, she was asked to get closer to people. And then, when no backup was there, do damage. Elise is of course, able to turn off that part of her brain that tells her this is wrong, because well.....the strong must step on the weak. And she is not wrong. In a game like this, that was how it went.

And she was very good at it. For the first time, daddy's little queen was out murdering, and getting seriously juicy intel and blackmail. Of course, you didn't fucking use it, no, you sold it to someone who DID want that, and patted down your gloves and went back skiing again. It was an awesome little gig. It was something she did gracefully, until well, one day, she killed a man spilling the juiciest of them all.

Vellum Society isn't exactly a private Soho Club, even if it might have people in them, you wouldn't exactly find it easy. But she had some dirt on one of their members from a friend of a friend, a rumor that well, sounded too good to miss out on.

Now, that doesn't happen often that you outdo the very society trading in secrets, but when one of them's facilitating deals they shouldn't be making with the 'ndrangheta because they think they can get away with it, sometimes an outsider likes to take a risk. So she used him to force an invite to meet some more, making it clear what she knew.

And when she was in, she then outed him, killed him in what looks like a Murder-Suicide that nobody wants to get even close to because of how bloody it is, and well, everyone very quickly forgot that Elise had been recommended by this man because well, look at her. She's hot, works for the literal people who are the best at silence, was of the Swiss Intelligence Bureau, and supplies a good pipeline of secrets, and would be just perfect as a replacement. Like the fact he was dead, hell, success- nobody would miss that sack of shit. Two years of working in the Society has got her into a very nice position, and whilst she has more to climb, she's right where she wants to be at the start of the 30 days.

And now? Elise is the pretty face that will kill her way to the top. Who knows, how far she may go....

COMBAT STYLE
Overview:
Elise has two modes.

Quiet, or loud. If she's quiet, then you'll never see her. She'll stay in the shadows, using her gymnastic ability and skills to find you, hunt you, kill you, staying in the shadows and working as covertly as possible. The Red Rose hides, dances and moves smoothly.

When things are loud, she's got gun-kata like any men, and while not having the straight up power, she does have the gymnastic ability to almost dance, hop and leap around, like it's a ballet to her, yoinking, turning, and running, even if she isn't the fastest, she still gets it out. Ballet doesn't excuse getting hit in the fucking face, but still, it works when it works and she can maneuverer around slick and smoothly.

Skills:

Elise is a masterful seductress, assassin, and general menace. She may look hot but she is a siren, and her targets who don't know her yet will know in time. She'll eat men alive, well, apart from the really scary ones. She doesn't come swinging for them in public, at least, she prefers not to.

Experience with weapons, sport, generally being fearless, Elise is stubborn and will wear that hard on her sleeve. She knows what she wants, she is focussed, and she'll manipulate anyone in her way to get it. She doesn't really have many real friends. Just people she needs, and doesn't. So it ties all up for a master assassin like her to be what she is when she's fighting in the shadows or on the ballroom floor.

A stealth expert, she blends into the background, working in the shadows and using her agility as a gymnast, pole fitness and her other adrenaline hobbies to get around to places most can't reach. She is a ghost at work, and has very little in the way of remorse when she's at work. When things go hot, she may not be the best firefighter, but she can do her gun-fu in her fashion, swerving and moving fast, using Krav Maga and other moves to flip the script on enemies bigger than her, through wits rather than strength. She has no preference to close or long range firepower- she's a jack of all trades. Imagine your Sam Fisher type character- a teeny bit of hacking here and there, and a little bit of spycraft, and well, she makes it click.

Lastly, she's a social manipulator. She's very good at what Velum Society adore- secrets, trading them and fucking people over. She would blend in perfectly at a casino in Monaco, and she can talk for hours, convince you she's your friend, and screw you over. She is almost beyond natural at this, and the story, everything about her, you'd buy. And if you knew the stories, well, you know to not fall for it.

Special Trait:
Fearless. Elise is not one to shy away from an interesting insertion, or exit strategy. Part of her work as an assassin means she has learned how to deal with verticality, or difficulty in access- especially in mountains, well, you may as well be fucked then. With the right equipment, be it a wingsuit or skis, she'll get there. Extravagant or not, she'll find a way to a target.

COMBAT SLOTS
Preferred Equipment:

Elise, being a lady of high society, likes her gourmet food and Switzerland has so much to offer, yet her Andorran side can't help but like a bit of Tapas, with a side of the best wine from Catalonia. They say money doesn't affect wine. People haven't tried what she has in her wine cellar. And also, fusion cooking comes to mind. Like the minx she is, she mixes and it will leave her guests stunned with a meal to die for.

An old classic tune comes on, and the armoury isn't so much a dark room, but a clean, modern worktop in a ultra-modern kitchen with a mountain view, Pyrenees or Alps, you decide.

Backing Music

For a hor d'oeuvres, it has to be Swiss. The Sig Sauer P320, chambered in .357 SIG. Like the fine artistry of gently melted goopy Swiss cheese paired with crackers, the caliber and hollow point ammunition sort of has the same effect on people too when it hits. 11 rounds, but she makes them work, with the Osprey silencer on the end and the gun-metal grey pistol having a flared magwell, ergonomic grip and a small laser under the barrel for precision shooting, and a mini Aimpoint red dot optic clasped on the slide for precision shooting.

Cheese and crackers, well, that is nothing without Wine. There's a beautiful, crisp and sparkling Cava Penedès, a Catalan white vintage that never, ever gets old and shouldn't dare be compared to Champagne or Prosecco. Neither does the feel of the various throwing knives, six in total, that Elise carries. Petite, but sharp, and thrown with precision and venom, leave you feeling just balanced.

A main course? Well, tapas leaves much to be desired, but you need a meat course, because....you wanted to go to Spain and you seriously thought you'd not eat meat? Well. Do you go for the Albóndigas meatballs, a classic, like a SIG Sauer MPX with a foldable stock chambered in .357 SIG, integrally suppressed to special forces perfection?

Or maybe, the Paella, spicy yet mixed, like the kick of a highly customised SIG MCX VIRTUS with a compact stock, integrally suppressed, 14" barrel, firing .300 BLK mil with a EOTech Holographic and Magnifier combo?

Or, do you go for Pincho Moruno, the Moorish Spike of pork and lamb because you're an experienced little rascal, rather like the MacMillan CS5, internally suppressed, 10 round magazine firing .300 subsonic ammunition with a Schmitt and Bender variable zoom optic. Not a sniper for distance, but it can be fit into a suitcase with ease and cycles fast.

Then Patatas Bravas. Of course. You didn't come to Tapas without eating this. A forged steel dagger, it's almost like a short sword, except exceptionally double edged and the sort of thing that catches some people who try off guard. She's not a master with it, but it gets the job done, just like everyone's favourite potatoes.

Lastly, desert. Sugary, sweet. Churros. Like carrying two flashbangs and a smoke grenade, you may not always want them, but you sure as shit need them when you have them to hand.

Special Slot:

And last but not least, an aperitif. The cocktails. Like, an Aperol Spritz. Bright, and you can't imagine anything but the Alps with that sort of drink. It'll make you fly.

Elise is not one to much around the bush. She'll bring along whatever tool she needs for a fast extract, or insertion, so she will keep this handy over anything else when the time's right. Her favourite? She's got a red wingsuit and parachute, and whilst not so stealthy, she doesn't see the waste in keeping another set of equipment when she's usually leaving a party with it on.

MISC
Theme Song: ROSALÍA - LA FAMA

Likes:
House, Dance and Electronic Music
Cooking
Gossip
Skiing
Skydiving
Adrenaline (generally)
The Thrill of the Chase
Extraversion

Dislikes:
Shy People
Excessive firefights
Lack of Adventure
Desk Work
Anything involving a meeting

Other Information:

Her very European background makes her capable of speaking English, Catalan Spanish, French, German and even a tiny bit of Italian. She has seduced men in all four languages so far. She's Duolingoing her way to five.

High Table Stories [30 Red Days]

@Sho Minazuki

I think that may change soon if Papa is joining!

High Table Stories [30 Red Days]

@Sho Minazuki

Will do. I'll update this tomorrow and fix those bits- I wasn't so sure on Han with the structure of the Triad so it's good to know the pace. There are bits requiring polish and so far I feel like it's a base needing actual IC to see how he feels.

Glad you're happy with Elise! It's a character I developed years ago in another guise, so she's a soft reboot- I almost feel inspired by Wanted and Splinter Cell in her type, contrasted by a power hungry socialite who's going to be just plain awful at moments!

They're the only two I'll play, as they give me two windows into the RP.

High Table Stories [30 Red Days]

And finished! Happy to have them reviewed. Han is much more a typical Wick-esque character with a little Korean flair, Elise is a wildcard and they are diametrically opposite.

I really, really milked a classic Parabellum scene, but my god, without AI it was a challenge to dream this up!

High Table Stories [30 Red Days]

Han Hee-Song

Han Hee-Song

Alias: Pale Tiger
Faction: Xuanlong
Gender: Male
Age: 29
Nationality: South Korean

Appearance:



Well manicured, Han is the product for the face of a slick Triad. With a pretty face you'd think he never got his hands dirty- but he has plenty of that to bother. Brown eyes, 6"0, ruffled hair, he looks every bit the boyband gritty product you could imagine. Except, a few scars and cuts across his chest, shoulders and arms mark that he's been fighting before. He has been there, done that, experienced it. A small plate of ink extends on his shoulder across his upper back and to the bottom of his neck, covering it in a variety of Korean Triad ink, demonstrative of his loyalty. This whole killing lark is aging him, yet in another way, he is yet to find himself. Well dressed, he'll usually wear a shirt and formal trousers to most thing with a suit jacket to boot, described further below.

Voice Claim: N/A

Personality:
Han has changed from the wildchild that held an angry grudge into a formal, cold, cynical killer. He does it because he's good. And he is pointed at that, pointed at the right people long enough to understand what he really wants. He isn't there for fun loving, he is there for professionalism, getting the job done, and being on time, on place. Something he never understood in the army or outside of this, he now gets inside. There is the code, there is discipline, and there are people that die. He is hard to entertain, but he'll let his guard down around those he trusts closest, and he'll let them in close.

Backstory:

Han was born in Sokcho, South Korea, and not being in the big steam of Seoul, got instead to grow up outside of where the money was and near the North Korean border in a sleepy environment in comparison. His youth was spent in misdemeanours as a result due to his parents not exactly being very stable and his lack of commitment to the school system, in and out of gangs, and the hope that Military Service would straighten him did nothing- even the ROK Marines couldn't truly break him, well, not all the way to reform him on return. He was a rascal, and put to work what he learned to work in small time street gangs to earn his bread.

Then all his friends got killed. And it left a mark. A chasm deeper than he thought would be fillable, but he'd try. So he killed the people that did it, knowing where to go, what to do, and how to make a carbomb and spray the place up. When they tried it on them, well, he'd go out fighting. And well, it kinda led to nothing happening. Turns out, he'd been extremely lucky to get on the right side of a Xualong Triad, who equally hated the shits for ripping off his business. He was offered a way out. Join, or get his head added to a mantelpiece.

Deals like that are nice. He worked honourably and did work for the Triad not just in South Korea, but in America, China, Thailand, Indonesia, even as far out as Dubai to help Chaebol interests that the Xualong nudged along to help with, looking the part of an executive officer. He Westernised a little, but well, the small-city Korean always lasted.

Whilst hating the Triads overlords together, Han will do what is needed to make sure the Xuanlong's place at the table is secure and make sure a Korean at least his hand on the table's influence. A place at the table is a position to do more good than bad. And Han has no qualms killing whoever steps in his way.

COMBAT STYLE
Overview: Han approaches work with a surgical, yet precise method. He will go in through the front door if he has to, but more often than not, he'll hit a flank and bring the power to it. Ex-Army means discipline, and Han is surgical- he works to fight another day and balances risk and reward. Han is a jack of all trades, gun-fu, weapons, swords, from both Army and street-wise training. As adept with his sword as he is his FiveSeven, Han brings a typical assassin's method to fighting, knowing when to switch it up when required like the great Mister Wick himself. Whilst perhaps some distance to that, it's a fighting style that never goes out of trait.

Skills:

Han has training from his time in the ROK's Marine Corps, and that makes him an adept shooter and fighter, much more willing than say, Elise in a firefight to deal with pressure. He'll shoot his marks, and do well, using Taekwondo and adapted Krav Maga to inflict hurt in hand to hand hand combat, or use his taught swordsmanship to bring metal to close bear.

Adept with tools, Han is no stranger to making his own devices when he needs it. Trained in explosives, Han has built carbombs, IEDs and the frag rounds he can equip for his USAS12. He's no engineer, but he can make shit blow up, if given the right tools.

Special Trait: Motorcycling is a talent carried by Han, and well, he can't not be riding a Yamaha R1. Even if it is the Yakuza's prefered mode, well, he can pull that off.

COMBAT SLOTS
Preferred Equipment:

Han loves to cook, and like with fresh cuts of tender Beef Bulgogi grilled over a traditional Korean barbecue, it's East meets West.

You dress for an occasion like a Korean barbecue, it's something more respected than a Western counterpart given it's communal and a little more valued- and Han keeps it western business, with a full navy blue suit and plum red shirt, Oxfords and a contrasting plum red tie. An Eastern colour for a Western dress. Lined with silicon carbide, Han is every part your salaryman, but being able to carry a fucking sword or K7 in one coat jacket and a pistol in the other works nicely for party occasions.

You start simple. A FN FiveSeven does the trick like his palate-clensing Sujebi soup, Sam Fisher's tool of choice and also his, the 5.7mm round punching nicely through armour when needed, even scaring silicon carbide plating, at the cost of flesh damage. A lightweight, compact, cutting edge polymer pistol, with a 20-round magazine, an integrated silencer and night sights, the weapon is light, effective, and smooth at warming you up.

Then the sticky rice, the pickled vegetables and cabbage, it's a lot but a classic to any Korean dish, traditional, modern, export, it works. A compact Daewoo K7 does the trick, a submachine gun built with an internal silencer, a 30 round mag with 9mm rounds, a foldable stock, and more importantly, is never not going to go down a treat.

Okay, the main treat. You came for barbecue. So you get it. A Unggeom, a Korean-sculpted, single-sided sword that comes with a titanium forged edge, a composite kevlar and steel cuff, and an ornate standoff, and whilst short, means it can be moved without revealing it. This is as Korean as it gets, and with a smoked wooden pommel, it's stunning.

And, well, okay, spices. Gojuchang Sauce is on the table. So is a USAS-12. They'll both tear you a new asshole. Not always needed and certainly not always carried, but well, appreciated in moderation. The shotgun then, it is exactly as tasty, and loaded with a 12-round, 12-gauge magazine, it will blow your socks off in the right dose. Add fragmentation rounds instead of buckshot, and this is the perfect anti-anyone tool you need this Christmas, because it pulps armour. Given how hard it is to get explosive buckshot, Han makes his own. Although, it is a ballache.

Desert? Admittedly, Korean food here lacks from a comparatively western palate, but fruit and rice cakes, coupled to what you just had usually do the trick. But if you need, a pack of steel-forged Korean knives, one pommelled for use in hand to hand and general murder, three for throwing in the direction of people you don't like.

Special Slot: Han is an owner of Maxwell, a large Czechslovakian Wolfdog adopted from a friend. A bit of a Western touch, but like him, he doesn't really play well with anyone, unless they are in close. Maxwell is well behaved even for a big wolfie, and seems to have an innate bark to him when he wants to talk. He also owns a Yamaha R1- and whilst not always able to get it to his Continental of choice, he'll try.

MISC
Theme Song: Radiohead - Bodysnatchers

Likes:
Cooking
Hot Springs
Beer and Cherry Wine
K-Dramas (Crash Landing onto You is a standout)
Travel
Craftsmanship
Western Rock and Indie

Dislikes:
People who talk too much
Torture
People mistaking him for being Chinese
Cider and Vodka

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Elise Annabelle Vogel

Elise Annabelle Vogel

Alias: La Rose Blanc / La Blanca Roja (The White Rose)
Faction: Vellum Society
Gender: Female
Age: 28
Nationality: Andorran / Swiss
Appearance:



Elise is quite the stunner, and she may stick out in a room with her dress on, or choose to ghost you completely if she decides not to be seen. 5"3 in heels makes her short and compact, petite, yet able to make any impression due to the rest of her. A gentle hourglass shape toned from her physical time as an full time elite assassin and part time pole dancer, skiier and skydiver makes her stronger than most and well, she's not exactly shy in the departments that men will look at. Not that they spend long there, anyway. Elise has pale blonde locks, a definitively Germanic thing if you really couldn't tell, blended with Andorran and Catalan influences certainly making for a varied type of assassin. When she needs it, it'll turn heads, or when not needed, the hair otherwise tucked into a bun behind a cowl. If you're really lucky, she'll bleach it cherry red, a dark crimson for when she feels like well, a change of pace is needed, or a new crowd need to see a different her. Cherry red lips, a little mascara, a teeny touch of skin softener, with a necklace and a couple of rings, she's looking like someone that completes the package of a Velum Society's spy, pour femme.

Often times you'll see her in a cherry red dress, but more likely than not on a job, she's an infiltrator and spy for hire wanting to avoid parties altogether. She'll be wrapped up in a tight black wetsuit-like getup lined with silicon carbide and a few ballistic plates, carrying little in the way of anything, but make no mistake. She's a vixen that knows how to use military kit, and even if she may not be one for long firefights, she'll still have the ability and talent to make it work and put herself out there without getting battered.

Voice Claim: Ana de Armas

Personality:

Fiery on the outside, cold on the inside, hungry always. Elise is greedy, and wants it all, and has been kicked in the face enough times to learn that sometimes that the path to victory isn't a clean one. But if you want it more, then you'll just have to take it off them. She's solitary, with a pretentious face to pay lip service to some of her friends and manipulate and twist whatever she can. She prioritises the job and while she'll enjoy herself at that party, don't ever think she won't turn that switch. Anyone who's dealt with her will know that she'll be pretty, but like any siren, you watch yourself because she'll come to you in the night, or there and then. You don't know. Fearless, and driven by a pure desire to be the best at what she does and to indulge in secrecy, she loves the feel, and well, wants to advance the society that has now accepted her and she feels obliged to just put her talent to use for because.....it is kinda entertaining. And she is stubborn to that avail. The high life is what she loves and you couldn't take it away from her. She'll let in a select few, but well, if she does, she'll only then tell you how honestly, you should be careful.

Backstory:

Born to a Swiss banker and his Andorran ski instructor wife, Elise was born in Geneva, Switzerland, but spent most of her time growing up in the other mountain village of Ordino in Andorra, living in a mansion whilst her father dodged the shit out of taxes. She went to private school, and well, learned a few seedy secrets, but spent it in the mountains, doing gymnastics, skiing, paragliding and all sorts of things a little princess like her would do. Her father was hustling money out for terrorist organisations, and her mother was only so happy to be happy with this. Aged 15, Elise called him out on it. And wanted in. It sounded cool. And she wanted not to sit there like a spoilt brat, but be stubborn and do something. Like James Bond? Sure.

And she got it. With contacts that Elise's father had, she joined the Swiss Army and was told to toughen up, and after getting the living shit kicked out of her and given the treatment of being wrong (something Elise's stubborn nature of course, wouldn't live down), again, because her father wants best for Elise, she carried on and persevered. That turned into a life of suddenly merging that with a degree in International Relations, whilst connecting with members of the Swiss Intelligence Services through third-hand contacts of her father.

At this point, Elise was a little socialite. Getting all the secrets from her skiing friends, the high society of Europe, and she got to know so, so much. A broker of information, but well, she had to find out more. So, working in intelligence, she learned how to be a bit more. Put it all together, and killing people isn't as far away a step as you think it is. She worked in embassies at first, but bit by bit, she was asked to get closer to people. And then, when no backup was there, do damage. Elise is of course, able to turn off that part of her brain that tells her this is wrong, because well.....the strong must step on the weak. And she is not wrong. In a game like this, that was how it went.

And she was very good at it. For the first time, daddy's little queen was out murdering, and getting seriously juicy intel and blackmail. Of course, you didn't fucking use it, no, you sold it to someone who DID want that, and patted down your gloves and went back skiing again. It was an awesome little gig. It was something she did gracefully, until well, one day, she killed a man spilling the juiciest of them all.

Vellum Society isn't exactly a private Soho Club, even if it might have people in them, you wouldn't exactly find it easy. But she had some dirt on one of their members from a friend of a friend, a rumor that well, sounded too good to miss out on.

Now, that doesn't happen often that you outdo the very society trading in secrets, but when one of them's facilitating deals they shouldn't be making with the 'ndrangheta because they think they can get away with it, sometimes an outsider likes to take a risk. So she used him to force an invite to meet some more, making it clear what she knew.

And when she was in, she then outed him, killed him in what looks like a Murder-Suicide that nobody wants to get even close to because of how bloody it is, and well, everyone very quickly forgot that Elise had been recommended by this man because well, look at her. She's hot, works for the literal people who are the best at silence, was of the Swiss Intelligence Bureau, and supplies a good pipeline of secrets, and would be just perfect as a replacement. Like the fact he was dead, hell, success- nobody would miss that sack of shit. Two years of working in the Society has got her into a very nice position, and whilst she has more to climb, she's right where she wants to be at the start of the 30 days.

And now? Elise is the pretty face that will kill her way to the top. Who knows, how far she may go....

COMBAT STYLE
Overview:
Elise has two modes.

Quiet, or loud. If she's quiet, then you'll never see her. She'll stay in the shadows, using her gymnastic ability and skills to find you, hunt you, kill you, staying in the shadows and working as covertly as possible. The Red Rose hides, dances and moves smoothly.

When things are loud, she's got gun-kata like any men, and while not having the straight up power, she does have the gymnastic ability to almost dance, hop and leap around, like it's a ballet to her, yoinking, turning, and running, even if she isn't the fastest, she still gets it out. Ballet doesn't excuse getting hit in the fucking face, but still, it works when it works and she can maneuverer around slick and smoothly.

Skills:

Elise is a masterful seductress, assassin, and general menace. She may look hot but she is a siren, and her targets who don't know her yet will know in time. She'll eat men alive, well, apart from the really scary ones. She doesn't come swinging for them in public, at least, she prefers not to.

Experience with weapons, sport, generally being fearless, Elise is stubborn and will wear that hard on her sleeve. She knows what she wants, she is focussed, and she'll manipulate anyone in her way to get it. She doesn't really have many real friends. Just people she needs, and doesn't. So it ties all up for a master assassin like her to be what she is when she's fighting in the shadows or on the ballroom floor.

A stealth expert, she blends into the background, working in the shadows and using her agility as a gymnast, pole fitness and her other adrenaline hobbies to get around to places most can't reach. She is a ghost at work, and has very little in the way of remorse when she's at work. When things go hot, she may not be the best firefighter, but she can do her gun-fu in her fashion, swerving and moving fast, using Krav Maga and other moves to flip the script on enemies bigger than her, through wits rather than strength. She has no preference to close or long range firepower- she's a jack of all trades. Imagine your Sam Fisher type character- a teeny bit of hacking here and there, and a little bit of spycraft, and well, she makes it click.

Lastly, she's a social manipulator. She's very good at what Velum Society adore- secrets, trading them and fucking people over. She would blend in perfectly at a casino in Monaco, and she can talk for hours, convince you she's your friend, and screw you over. She is almost beyond natural at this, and the story, everything about her, you'd buy. And if you knew the stories, well, you know to not fall for it.

Her very European background makes her capable of speaking English, Catalan Spanish, French, German and even a tiny bit of Italian. She has seduced men in all four languages so far. She's Duolingoing her way to five.

Special Trait:
Fearless. Elise is not one to shy away from an interesting insertion, or exit strategy. Part of her work as an assassin means she has learned how to deal with verticality, or difficulty in access- especially in mountains, well, you may as well be fucked then. With the right equipment, be it a wingsuit or skis, she'll get there. Extravagant or not, she'll find a way to a target.

COMBAT SLOTS
Preferred Equipment:

Elise, being a lady of high society, likes her gourmet food and Switzerland has so much to offer, yet her Andorran side can't help but like a bit of Tapas, with a side of the best wine from Catalonia. They say money doesn't affect wine. People haven't tried what she has in her wine cellar. And also, fusion cooking comes to mind. Like the minx she is, she mixes and it will leave her guests stunned with a meal to die for.

An old classic tune comes on, and the armoury isn't so much a dark room, but a clean, modern worktop in a ultra-modern kitchen with a mountain view, Pyrenees or Alps, you decide.

Backing Music

For a hor d'oeuvres, it has to be Swiss. The Sig Sauer P320, chambered in .357 SIG. Like the fine artistry of gently melted goopy Swiss cheese paired with crackers, the caliber and hollow point ammunition sort of has the same effect on people too when it hits. 11 rounds, but she makes them work, with the Osprey silencer on the end and the gun-metal grey pistol having a flared magwell, ergonomic grip and a small laser under the barrel for precision shooting, and a mini Aimpoint red dot optic clasped on the slide for precision shooting.

Cheese and crackers, well, that is nothing without Wine. There's a beautiful, crisp and sparkling Cava Penedès, a Catalan white vintage that never, ever gets old and shouldn't dare be compared to Champagne or Prosecco. Neither does the feel of the various throwing knives, six in total, that Elise carries. Petite, but sharp, and thrown with precision and venom, leave you feeling just balanced.

A main course? Well, tapas leaves much to be desired, but you need a meat course, because....you wanted to go to Spain and you seriously thought you'd not eat meat? Well. Do you go for the Albóndigas meatballs, a classic, like an Heckler and Koch MP5SD6 with a foldable stock, the classic nine millimetre integrally suppressed to special forces perfection?

Or maybe, the Paella, spicy yet mixed, like the kick of a highly customised SIG MCX VIRTUS with a compact folding stock, intergrally suppressed, 14" barrel, firing 6.8 mil caseless ammunition with a EOTech Holographic and Magnifier combo?

Or, do you go for Pincho Moruno, the Moorish Spike of pork and lamb because you're an experienced little rascal, rather like the MacMillan CS5, internally suppressed, 10 round magazine firing .300 ammunition with a Schmitt and Bender variable zoom optic.

Then Patatas Bravas. Of course. You didn't come to Tapas without eating this. A forged steel dagger, it's almost like a short sword, except exceptionally double edged and the sort of thing that catches some people who try off guard. She's not a master with it, but it gets the job done, just like everyone's favourite potatoes.

Lastly, desert. Sugary, sweet. Churros. Like carrying two flashbangs and a smoke grenade, you may not always want them, but you sure as shit need them when you have them to hand.

Special Slot:

And last but not least, an aperitif. The cocktails. Like, an Aperol Spritz. Bright, and you can't imagine anything but the Alps with that sort of drink. It'll make you fly.

Elise is not one to much around the bush. She'll bring along whatever tool she needs for a fast extract, or insertion, so she will keep this handy over anything else when the time's right. Her favourite? She's got a red wingsuit and parachute, and whilst not so stealthy, she doesn't see the waste in keeping another set of equipment when she's usually leaving a party with it on.

MISC
Theme Song: ROSALÍA - LA FAMA

Likes:
House, Dance and Electronic Music
Cooking
Gossip
Skiing
Skydiving
Adrenaline (generally)
The Thrill of the Chase
Extraversion

Dislikes:
Shy People
Excessive firefights
Lack of Adventure
Desk Work
Anything involving a meeting

Other Information:

High Table Stories [30 Red Days]

I'm cooking something. The literal term will make sense :D

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Skye Rosalind Lyons

Skye adjusted her headset, hearing Sam's voice chirp up.
"Yeah, she's hurt. Shoulder's a bit messed up, longer term injury. But she'll survive." Skye said, swallowing the lump in her throat, looking to Freya as she did, the blanketed heavy hurting painfully, on the phone to her family. She had that right, Skye wouldn't say a thing, and well, it was an encrypted line.

"Team's mostly okay. We're fine. And uhh...I guess I am too. Still somehow in one piece. Not sure how, but hey, we roll." Skye replied, a little calmer, easier even when talking to Sam.
"Thank you. I appreciate what you did. That was a lot of responsibility you shouldered. You did well. Look, it's a lot right now, the crown is heavy. But we'll talk properly when you land at Haneda." Skye added, adjusting the comms set, sipping down some water.

Eight Hours Later

Somewhere above Japan

Jet Lag

Soundtrack: More Scrapes- Arthur Beatrice

The flight had whimpered for hour after hour, minute for minute of slight white noise but they were coming closer, and closer. With the daylight long since broken, the aircraft was headed on the final half hour of its flight, inbound to Tokyo Haneda, the city airport of Tokyo. They'd get food, some supplies and fuel, and that was good enough for now. The hum of an old song played through her head, a niche. She liked her metal and rock, but it didn't leave, an ambience to an extent.

Skye had slept for most of it- no further work really, she'd just passed out as had everyone else. Yawning, Skye felt better after her transfusion- the toxin clearing out of her system much faster, and at least, deciding not to stick around. She'd feel weak now, but not from that at least and would recover better. Rations had been handed out, some very nasty stuff from the hab up front that had likely been sitting here for years, and even some warm water had been been boiled up. So eating rehydrated rice and beans were on the menu, and it was grim. But food. Food nonetheless. Heavies get triple portions of course, considering they'd basically need an entire sheep from the homestead's farm to eat, but there was about enough for everyone. A bit of a downgrade from the last meal, but hey, it was what it was.

With it, Skye looked to Ebrima, one seat over from where Sophie had been, giving him a quiet nod as she sipped down another cup of water.
"Morning. Afternoon even? I have literally no idea. Anyway, you good?" Skye asked the Cameroonian, looking at him on the floor, his quiet demeanour likely hiding the fact he'd been straight in a warzone after going out for a short training and prep exercise. He looked well though, all thing considered. Then again, maybe he wasn't as damaged as Skye was. She was holding well, considering she'd been hit with a neurotoxin, nearly died, nearly detonated all her friends, killed herself, twice, thrown herself off an electric motorcross bike into the back of a buggy during an avalanche on a mountain, jumped out of a skyscraper into an airbag, and taken a shitload of hit to the ribs.

Even by her standards, it was what you would call, fucking crazy.

Tahlia looked the same, nodding across as she wondered over, the click clack of her legs back on, loose.
"It is 4pm out there. Even I forgot." Tahlia replied, chuckling as she sat down.

"So what are you going to do, boss?" The Kiwi added, sitting down on the chair spare, where Sophie had been, looking across at the ginger haired Scot.

"I still have no idea." Skye's reply meekly came back, a genuine one, deep in thought, yet well, Tahlia taking none of it.

"Well, Sam really, really gives a shit about you. So do I. And Freya. And Ebrima probably will. Probably when he's not getting his minatures exploded. Trust me, bro. I know. That's two years of my fucking life gone too. Lots of woodwork my mum sent to me." Tahlia replied part to Skye and part to Ebrima, the Kiwi's stoic yet twanged nature coming through, a kinda comedy that sort of held.

"Orders are orders. Chances are, it's contingency. They'll want to limit damage but a bullet in me isn't going to help them. They know that much. It's not exactly good for morale, especially a a time like now. Does make it easy to them to get some safety though....nah. I don't see it." Skye mused, knowing it wasn't a fun discussion to make.

"Well, don't go dying on me. I mean that. I want the bastards that blew up our house dead, and all the sheep, and all the kiwis too, cos you sort of cared about them." Tahlia replied, Skye chuckling, shrugging.

"You make an argument." Skye nodded in return, as Tahlia took her own water bottle out, giving it a sip, before wiping the lid, offering a bit to Ebrima.
"I never properly introduced myself. Tahlia Harris. Yes, the tattoos are from Ngai Tahu. And no, there was no blood ritual for me to lose my legs to get them. I imagine you have some tales to tell too." Tahlia dryly joked, chuckling with a wry grin, the stark Kiwi breaking ice a little more, indulgent a little in that. The ink was visible on her frame up her neck and across her arms, considering the fact she'd evacuated the place in just a t-shirt and three-quarter length cargo pants.

"I used, to source equipment when we were in Kaitiaki. Considering that it just got blown up, I guess I'll need to find some new employment at the next place we go to. And that means I've got more time to actually make introductions rather than run around for this terror, constantly." Tahlia added, leaving Skye to dwell on her thoughts, and well, not be the focus.

She looked across, seeing Freya just laying there still splayed out, as before, and then Raph and Sophie having a chat further down, with Chuck left to his own devices- more likely than not, asleep after all of it, though Skye did peer over at him, saying almost invisibly, yep, glad you were there- even if you couldn't chat earlier.

It was a reprieve. Yet Skye couldn't help but think about all the anarchy that had started from another version existing. She knew there were procedures, protocols. Trained for it for years. Yet now, it was happening for real. And now, she wondered what the fuck was actually going on behind the scenes. The transfusion was done, and she'd napped off the fact that she'd been basically gurgling a few litres of blood, for safety's sake. It was nice to feel less dead.

---------------------

Purna Chai Gurung

Frankfurt, Germany

Point Forty Five Calibre

Soundtrack: El Cargo- Amon Tobin

Purna sprinted at pelt and swan dived through the now open window and into the wide open skyline of Frankfurt's afternoon, as he heard the lift open, firing the grapple and linking it against the skyscraper he'd just thrown himself out of, the titanium-pointed grapple pulling in as he used it to yank his way around the corner of it, swinging wildly, and then magnificently at the top of the pendulum using his specialised gloves to pin up against a glass window, inverted.

A pull of himself into a crevice and he swung and clasped the window, smashing it from the outside with a couple of rounds from his weighty USP.45, swinging inside and letting the line retract slow, then quick, clasping it back into his hands as he heard the sound of more guards running up nearby stairs into this office. Slapping his wrist, he suddenly turned into a blur and let the armoured security sweep out the area, their G36-equipped arms passing by as Purna stayed dead still, letting them slowly filter through past the concrete pillar in the office. One came within a meter, and still couldn't see the hazy outline using the pillar in the room.

And then the shadow moved. Purna clapped two in the head, dual wielding his USPs now at a split, directing them both into man three's SWAT-team grade helmets, and then using the same pillar to duck as the fourth man tried to turn. Purna rolled and fired his grapple straight at him, the retract not working as it should but doing enough to pin the man, as Purna reeled instead ONTO him, and slammed feet first into his chest, slicing with the Kukri straight through the eyeball in one swift move downwards before he could even get a reaction. Sighing, he dusted himself down, and reloaded each pistol in sequence, heading for the lift.

Purna just needed the cable. And with the lift going up and the doors wide open, he lept out and held the cable, using it as a makeshift rappel, his gloves and suit able to take the strain. Enough to the lift platform's stop below, where he lept onto the side, magnetic gloves active. The lift headed down right on cue as more guards poured out, and he followed it to ground floor, before dropping down with the cable adjacent, absolutely tactile. The way he moved, it looked like an easy Sunday morning.

That's because it was.

Anyway. Enough quipping. Down into the garage level, Purna checked the last time for cameras from the set he'd deactivated earlier, before yanking out his keys.

You could really say there's a gentleman spy somewhere inside of Purna. He came from dirt poor, poverty, and liked that humility, hated things, hated the idea of it, and really wanted just some peace and quiet, order, no drama and just getting the job done stoically. A bigger car would be better, maybe something else. Yet speed was on the back of his mind, and something that could roll out of this compound without looking too suspicious but could put foot to floor if he needed to disappear. A Ranger Rover? Nah, that screams needy young banker. A Lamborghini? Too loud, too much attention. A Tesla? No. A crappy shitbox? It should have never been there and let in with the first place.

The blip of the key being tapped revealing a stolen Aston Martin V12 Vantage's headlights, sitting right there, in the corner of the underground parking lot. An older classic. Purna's choice. An Aston never gets any questions asked. Even if it is the choice of a British fucking spy. Purna knew if he really had to choose, he'd choose this.

Clambering into the dark green car, the phone rang as he took his balaclava and night vision off, revealing his tanned skin and his cowl, Purna peeling it back entirely and dumping his obvious weaponry into a hidden compartment below the passenger seat footwell, grabbing a pair of Ray-Bans, and a white dress shirt. He hit the receive, as he did his thing, at least covering his top half in civilian clothing.
"Hi, weren't you supposed to call until this evening, Oracle? I thought we're on radio silence? What's going on?" Purna replied, genuinely a little curious, considering all that had just happened, instead of pinging on comms, he was getting a call. He wasn't rude, just if anything, a little wonderous about the change of plan. It was dark till home, unless a call came in.

"Things changed a bit quicker than expected." Purna put on a bluetooth headset hearing the call connect to the voice on the other end, and hitting the start, heard the V12 bark into life. A roaring, hearty thing, as he put it into first, and skidded out, driving around the parking garage's left open door, putting foot to floor. It made a noise that can only be described as a lion having its tail stepped on. A roar for the ages.

"How so?" Purna replied, the car sparking as it was sent up the ramp, and Purna slowed down, the barrier open, just the way he liked it, because he'd already had that tapped up. He kept the throttle pinned on, and pulled out of the underground car park up a level.

"Main team's in need of your services. Urgently. I have a team leader who is compromised, an injured operative, a light MIA and three operating sites completely compromised. So it's happening. We are in the shit." Oracle's voice seemed reassuring, yet concerned, worried even more than ever his demeanour would allow. Like the words coming out were very much him pissing his pants. Purna kept on the throttle and skidding around the bend, saw the cluster of G-Wagens coming his way. Fuck. Putting it into a harder turn, he took another ramp and drove straight out onto the street, skidding out, the Aston no longer incognito, but now, a car being driven.

"Why are you calling me then? I thought this is Wilk's territory if that's the case. Also, I'm in a car chase, the asset's recovered, I'm gonna be done in ten. Give me a second to pull out of here. I'm still in field." Purna's accent was an odd one- Nepalese for sure, but it had the odd trace of a British accent melded in, from so much time spent in the UK. It was clear, he had been around soldiers for a while- their mannerisms clasped onto him, even if he didn't say much at all. He seemed incredibly calm considering anything, not swearing, just direct in how he spoke and somewhat sensical.

"Sure. You do you. And he's aware. Get to the safehouse, and pack up shop. The asset you've recovered needs to come with, fry it first for any trackers. I'll get you more intel when I have it, and send details of where next on a secure metric. Wilk can fill you in on the details, I'm sure you two know the score." Oracle's voice was cool, knowing Purna didn't care too much for the overt detail, just the points, given after all he had relation and had heard such chats before, as he pulled the car around a tight corner, wheelspinning the entire way, ripping a long drift as he shifted back on throttle, the tail he had behind him close, but well, about to find out you can't track this type of thing.

"Affirmative." Purna replied, taking a tight turn past Alte Oper, Frankfurt's main city hall, and cutting through a pedestrian area, avoiding civilians and a Frankfurter stand in the process, skidding past some more bollards and putting on throttle. The G-Wagens didn't have the same versatility, and in the corner of his eye, the poor stand got smashed to bits, and the G-Wagen one of of three on its side jolting over as it hit a staircase, with an insanely angry German guy yelling at the crew inside that had smashed his wieners to bits.

Well, that could have gone better....but then again, who was he to complain, with a sly grin, now turning out of the city centre and finding a patch of clear space in front, blasting down Mainzer Landstrasse and through tunnels out of Frankfurt's packed CBD with the car roaring off and on throttle as he danced on the pedals, dodging traffic with a bop and weave and in time, finding the express roads, putting foot to floor and unleashing all the brutality of the Aston's engine. The tail was dropping away quick as Purna got to work on enjoying the speed, and his thoughts switched to his other need. Signs indicated Flughafen. Airport. That was where the safehouse was, and where he had work to do- as he pulled off a junction and kept the grip going all the way around, heel and toe to really make the most of this car's grip.

Coming out of that junction, Purna exhaled, and instead of putting foot to floor, dropped back to a reasonable speed, aware he'd taken a few junctions without seeing them and reasoned now was as good a time as any to maybe not attract any Politzei for this last stint. The bag on the passenger seat was secure, and well, he had what he had come for.

Another call to make now, as he drove for Frankfurt Flughafen. The small utilities hut past the private VIP entry, and well, the drop point for his short term stolen rental awaited, and from there, he was getting the fuck out of there on the next flight to wherever Oracle told him to go. The call connected on, as he heard the sound of birds tweeting in the background, and woodpeckers.

-------

Adam Stanislaw Kajtanowicz

Białowieża Forest, near Białystok, Poland

Polestar

The phone rung, and in a similar manner that Oracle had just called, the man in the cabin picked up. The olive jumper wearing Captain was not on duty, not at work, but enjoying his rare, opportune time off in a hunting lodge in the most beautiful forest in all of Poland. Bialowieza was full of Bison, Deer, Wolves, animals everywhere, mushrooms, fishing lakes, and it was heaven on earth. Green pasture that had been rewilded, it was beyond pretty, it was left untouched. The wooden hut was built by him and his father, and right now, Adam was on his own, whilst his dad had headed out into town- to grab some more supplies. Even in his old age, he had things to do. So, yeah. This was a place made for Adam, his gear stashed here as well as a woodworking bench beyond the shot of the remote cabin, the call an interruption.

Because not far enough out of range to avoid phone signals. He hit speaker, knowing nobody was going to hear. There were no bugs here.

"Kurwa, you too?" Adam replied, sighing, taking a moment as he stood up. The fatalistic Pole had plenty of time for Purna, someone he'd not spent much time training with, but saw eye to eye with. He was a bit more reasonable than Skye, he was just quiet, more than anything.

"How bad is it?" Purna asked, as Adam swallowed his lump in his throat, knowing yeah, there was no easy way of putting it. The two stoically bounced from each other, few words, just intermittent talk. It worked.

"Really bad. I imagine it might just be us. And they have us going to a Blue Sword site. Anything under Raven is currently burned." Adam replied, his heavily accented English trawling through his Polish accent, the baseball cap wearing Pole covering his baldness, albeit keeping his mountain-man beard.

"Blue Sword?"

"It means things are really, really fucked." Adam added, sighing. Yeah, this wasn't a great day off.

"Understood. Who else do you think you're getting?" Purna's voice stayed calm, albeit to a point. It was hard to place. He didn't talk a lot, but well, he did when he had something to add.

"Whoever is left. And.....Frigga's hurt too. Which means......"

"Meaning what?" Purna enquired, a little inquisitive here now. He wasn't THIS bitter. Not even this bad at the end of the world.

"We're working with her, aren't we......if Frigga is really out." Adam replied, Purna knowing EXACTLY who that was. Not like there were many people that could replace Frigga. He had to admit, he felt the same. But had to be reasonable.

"Wilk, she's.....she's good at what she does. She could be useful. Even if...."

"She's a fucking liability? Her brother is a better choice. I imagine she is somewhere getting photos of her lying spread out getting photos of her in lingerie. Again."

"Come on, you can't say that. We are professionals. I get it, you're a better man than any of us." Purna replied, as Adam shook his head. It was sinking in. As much as he was right, he did not want to work with her, but it would have to happen.

---

Athena Anna Kanataario

Port-Vendres, France

Golden Girl

Soundtrack: Parlais Vous Anglais?- Headie One

There's nothing like the sea, the Mediterranean sun, and oh yeah, Athena spread out wide like the absolute beauty she is in front of the pool, on the decking of the hillside designer house perched high above the renaissance castle framed, picture perfect French town that she'd made her weekend out of, the quiet drill music on the nearby radio putting Athena in the zone of feeling like a baddie. There's something about the hype of it, yet it making her feel like she wasn't giving any fucks.

She'd love it if she could fall asleep here, but when there's a guy with a camera lens clicking off shots as she leans over while lying on the strained deckchair and looks at him, aviators on, hair tucked back, a tight royal blue sports bra and sports underwear on with an outline of a seahorse logo on each garment, work is work. There's no denying it. Athena is the absolute figure here, and her towering presence occupies a great deal of it, in every dimension.

There's no hiding her skin, turning a gentle bronzer and bronzer, every curve, every piece sculped like it was out of a gooey pale caramalised marble with a thin layer of sweat, posing for every, single, photo. The muscle behind it is clear, but she's got more in the trunk than Freya does. There's no denying that Athena is sprawled on the deckchair like it didn't really exist, and with any tensing of her arm or legs, it looks like a hydraulic ram compressing. She's got marks from battle, but well, they're mostly caked over for this shoot. And well, she seems to occupy it all. Relative to the cameraman, her sheer size is just bewildering. Especially in the areas that your jaw would fall off at. Her head almost seems small in comparison.

Love it or hate it, this is an excess, vividly so. Most giants who get attention are too shy to know, but oh, Athena is making every single piece of it. She knows what they write. She was a freak no person could even aspire to be. A monster, even worse. A literal definition of capitalism at its worst. A slutty little princess who should know better. A whore, now that one hurt. For every single one of those people, a hundred more would want her business, both personal, and company, she reasoned. They want their logo on fabric barely covering the tight crack of her rear, because it's worth a million and more to anyone that thinks they can have it. Athena is not getting off on this, but damn, if it don't make her feel....special. She wants that. She thrives on it. She gets paid to do this. But they are not paying her just in money, that's a formality. They are paying in the opportunities that come next, and that well, mercenaries cannot look away, especially.... prospective ones.

Athena is quite possibly the greatest pin-up psy-op of a girl that ever served Blue Sword, and well, she had a bottomless list of thirsty men, and women no less, looking to join. That's why they got the best. That made the business rather easy. Freya was good, but well, Athena has it nailed down, like a surgical art, she is a temptress, and every powerful curve, every strand pointed and well, her rotund rear pointed made that so clear you'd be unable to look away when it rattles with her gentle shift, like a peach occupying everything, her chest compressed by the bra like it was hanging on for deer life to release what was there. Shit, you can convince a man's head with money, but the ape inside, that needs a touch that history has never beaten. And the youngest sibling, well, she is making the best case for that now. Her mother in her prime was a beauty, but Athena is straight up illegal for a man's mind in this form.

Athena sighed, as she looked across to the camera over her shoulder, blowing her long strands away, one last pose as she leaned on her elbows.
"Okay, and one more. Standing, and staring into distance." Athena only obliged, her bright white smile beaming back at him as she stood up, and leaned against the glass balcony, click, click, click, her aviator covered eyes covering her green-eyed visage.
"Thank you, Jean-Pierre. I appreciate a professional." Athena simply said, walking across the wooden flooring, hearing it as the phone buzzed on the table across from the pool. Athena sighed, looking across to the cameraman, shrugging her boulder-like shoulders. He was about to reply, as Athena merely kept going to the phone, replying first.

"Business. They never stop. You caught me at a very lucky twenty minutes. Please, if I could have a little room." Athena replied in turn with her beaming smile, continuing as the cameraman, almost diminutive in size, nodding as he headed in, knowing that she did not at all like to be interrupted. She took that aspect seriously. She hated structure, but life in 20 minute blocks- hers and theirs. Business had to happen between these things, and she was nearly continuously on the phone, a Teams call or something else. And well, he had to calm even his own breathing down. Mon dieu, there is nothing quite like her. It's like being in the presence of a sculpture come to life, the size of her barely fitting through doors of the house.

"What." Her reply was prompt, like she knew the voice on the other end, the smartphone tiny in her less claw-like palm, Athena dunking her feet into the pool, comically so, barely coming up to her hip at the very deepest end and letting her sit on the edge, sloshing water. She continued to listen, holding her tongue, wanting to talk. But this was serious. Very. Oracle wasn't messing about.
"The fuck?" The words carried, to a point where even JP could hear it through the glass of the hilltop designer house, Athena putting her glasses up with her spare hand.

"Really?" She continued to listen, a little puzzled as to why she was hearing this, but equal parts, annoyed.

"Oh, fantastic." Athena sighed, sarcasm implied. It was a deflated one, rare from her, but she knew what it meant. Her Mid-Atlantic voice had a stronger British twang to it, her cacophony of origins certainly making it a stranger accent all around. The voice on the other end continued, as Athena cut in again.
"I guess you already told them where to go. And I appreciate you calling...we can help her out, just focus on the rest of them. Right. I'll meet you there. You know, you could have called sooner, asked for my....no, I am not saying I told you so, or.....fine, fine. I'm on it. See you soon." Athena put the phone down, and with it, exhaled a hard breath. She had more phone calls to make also. To get there, then the one to Mama Natalia, then the next one to Hannula. She'd be on the phone joining in when Freya made that call. She wasn't missing that one.

-----

Antti Järvinen

Camp Hannula, Pöyrisjärvi National Park, Finland

Perkele, the Nokia's ringing!

The Finn's old smartphone phone rang with an iconic Nokia bleep, as he stood outside in the just-cleared snow outside one of the barracks in the quiet camp, the climactic opposite in fact, to where Athena was extending the tan on her wide load. Athena did not hold back her words.

"Antti. I'm coming over. Get Jamie there too....before I tear Skye Lyons's throat out and make that poxy bitch drown in her own blood. If Oracle doesn't do it first, I will." Athena spoke with not the kind of fire that Freya had, but more an assured, immature level of threat. Creative, still. Athena knew Skye, hell, half respected the woman. But right now, considering the news, she had half a thought to just see what happens if she just ran at the bitch and sent her through a brick wall.

"Yes, Miss Kaantario. And hello." Antti replied, in a monotoned, almost automatic manner.

"We are going to be busy. Raven have quite a team likely needing somewhere to stay, and I am told there are complications. My sister needs treatment." Athena exhaled, knowing the cold truth, and sticking to that. It was easier.

"It is done. Oracle has already called. And your mother. We have medical specialists, Jamie, and more reinforcements coming." Antti spoke, with a certain conviction, as if he'd always known. Camp Hannula was a quiet Blue Sword posting, a secondary camp that went through surges- and this was one more, albeit courtesy of the secret Raven Squad that he had heard murmurs of.

"Good. Then seems we're all square and they got to it first. I have words....not all of them good." Athena sloshed a bit of water, sighing as she looked out at the view. For a moment, the gigantic Golden Retriever was not pleased.

"I imagine you do. It is cold here, Athena, if you are moving fast. I recommend you bring something warm." Antti replied, making a reminder of it, white steam coming off his cold lungs.

"I am plenty fucking hot enough under the collar." Athena replied, crassly, and the Finn did not care for it much. Manners.

Antti was the rare person who could reply the way he did. But it said an awful lot about the silver-haired Finnish camp-keeper. And in a way that could only be said by a Finn.

"Yes, and the ice eventually forms on the sweat of boiled blood. See you soon, ok?" Antti replied, Athena absolutely awestruck.

It is rare. Nobody, not a single person. Athena may want to say something witty in response, but she has nothing. Their conversation is done, and Athena knows it. Antti disconnected the phone and exhaled.

It's rare to tell a Managing Director to basically go fuck themselves. Antti solidly couldn't give a shit. She had nice tits, paid well and looked after the place, but well, she could use a few more years of experience. Years Antti just exuded, and he knew when to push the button, and when not to. She had so many priorities she couldn't bother. Besides, flattening an old Finnish man, that was no worth to anyone. Antti was kinda irreplaceable, considering he just knew how to make the unique flow of this base work.

Antti looked around, and finished shovelling the last bit of snow outside of the wooden cabin, the melt coming in quicker this year, and the snowy forest around it mostly containing mossy green grass, the lake all thawed and a shimmering mirage of blue and green. The sawmill ardently standing as it always did. Home was beautiful. And he cracked a smile, knowing he got to enjoy it a little more before the flurry of people came.