In one of the cities bustling coffee shops Deirdree sat at a table. Looking more than a little bored. Once of her pale hands was wrapped around a mug containing one of those Chai latte's. She had abandoned her typical order for tea, and decided to try something new. Boy was that a bad idea, as it sucked.
Her golden eyes roved over the room, not really a whole lot going on. Mostly couples, or people sitting in front of their lap top "writing a screen play" as they liked to brag.
[rather crappy start sorry ^.^']
Her golden eyes roved over the room, not really a whole lot going on. Mostly couples, or people sitting in front of their lap top "writing a screen play" as they liked to brag.
[rather crappy start sorry ^.^']
[hmm it appears tupla isn't joining. . .]
[May I join?]
[go for it, 
heh I think Tupla has forgotten ]
heh I think Tupla has forgotten ]
[Alrighty then. 
]
Michael swore softly as he sipped his coffee. His red, felt tip pen struck fear into the hearts of his senior, recent American history classes whenever he wanted papers written. Michael wielded it with all the skill and finesse of a professional violinist played their instrument. But the paper in front of him was bold, brash. It demanded respect,and Michael had to admit, the student that had written it deserved the respect their paper demanded. His iPod wasn't turned up loud enough to kill his eardrums, but then it also blocked out all the outside sound. Once he had paid for his coffee, he had told the waiter to leave him alone. So far it had worked. Shaking his head to the sound of Bach and his Cello Suite 1, Michael finished his coffee and replaced it with his own personal flask of whiskey. The whiskey's better, and it's only two years old. Not even whiskey, then. Burnt alcohol.
Running a hand through his light brown hair, nearly shoulder length, now that his contract with the Army was finished, Michael had grown it out. He had never had very long hair, and he wasn't sure if it was a nuisance or not. What he did know, however, was that someone had swept their eyes across him multiple times within the span of a few moments. That implied interest. Michael wasn't interested in being interesting. He simply wanted to teach high school history. He was done with the Army, and the federal government. The way his shoulder blades were itching, it was either someone overtly curious, someone meaning harm, or both. In his former line of work, which still held great sway over the history teacher, both options were very, very bad, for someone. Sighing, he turned his iPod off and placed it in his sporran, before removing his cell phone and checking his email. Nothing. Replacing the cell phone, Michael loosened the tiny knife in its sheath in his sock under cover of tying his shoe. A weapon, no matter how tiny, was better than no weapon. Hoping he was simply being paranoid and suspicious, Michael went back to the paper, and what might have happened if Lee Harvey Oswald had missed the shot that killed John F. Kennedy. Not the usual fare, for the writing assignment.
]Michael swore softly as he sipped his coffee. His red, felt tip pen struck fear into the hearts of his senior, recent American history classes whenever he wanted papers written. Michael wielded it with all the skill and finesse of a professional violinist played their instrument. But the paper in front of him was bold, brash. It demanded respect,and Michael had to admit, the student that had written it deserved the respect their paper demanded. His iPod wasn't turned up loud enough to kill his eardrums, but then it also blocked out all the outside sound. Once he had paid for his coffee, he had told the waiter to leave him alone. So far it had worked. Shaking his head to the sound of Bach and his Cello Suite 1, Michael finished his coffee and replaced it with his own personal flask of whiskey. The whiskey's better, and it's only two years old. Not even whiskey, then. Burnt alcohol.
Running a hand through his light brown hair, nearly shoulder length, now that his contract with the Army was finished, Michael had grown it out. He had never had very long hair, and he wasn't sure if it was a nuisance or not. What he did know, however, was that someone had swept their eyes across him multiple times within the span of a few moments. That implied interest. Michael wasn't interested in being interesting. He simply wanted to teach high school history. He was done with the Army, and the federal government. The way his shoulder blades were itching, it was either someone overtly curious, someone meaning harm, or both. In his former line of work, which still held great sway over the history teacher, both options were very, very bad, for someone. Sighing, he turned his iPod off and placed it in his sporran, before removing his cell phone and checking his email. Nothing. Replacing the cell phone, Michael loosened the tiny knife in its sheath in his sock under cover of tying his shoe. A weapon, no matter how tiny, was better than no weapon. Hoping he was simply being paranoid and suspicious, Michael went back to the paper, and what might have happened if Lee Harvey Oswald had missed the shot that killed John F. Kennedy. Not the usual fare, for the writing assignment.
took another sip of that god awful chai latte, and made a small blegh sound. Why would someone want to drink these? she asks herself. As soon as the waiter walked in her direction she would raise her bright golden eyes, which were flat in color, just one eerie solid color, to him he stopped as he went by.
"Need anything Miss?" he asked, he had been on the way to grab another customers order, but her gaze made him stop.
"Mhhh, yes please, something better than this." she gestures to the cup, "It's god awful. Could you bring me some peppermint tea please?" she would smile to him.
"Yes of course. I'll just grab their order as well." he gestured to the people he was on his way to.
"Yes of course." she would smile her eyes leaving him to roam the room once again. Her keen nose detected something, strong alcohol. It had to be fairly close, her eyes would begin to look to the people closer to her, her eyes settled on a man listening to one of those tiny music makers.
She watched him for a few moments, mostly because he was more interesting than the others in the coffee shop. she was surprised she didn't notice the kilt before. she found it interesting how mortals had such a dependency on those little electronics, that practically ruled their lives.
As the waiter returned with her tea, she toyed with telling him to get the man another coffee, slightly wondering how much booze was in that cup, and if the waiter would comment on it. However she let curiosity be as such acts like that were not nice, and she was trying to be a nicer person after all.
"Need anything Miss?" he asked, he had been on the way to grab another customers order, but her gaze made him stop.
"Mhhh, yes please, something better than this." she gestures to the cup, "It's god awful. Could you bring me some peppermint tea please?" she would smile to him.
"Yes of course. I'll just grab their order as well." he gestured to the people he was on his way to.
"Yes of course." she would smile her eyes leaving him to roam the room once again. Her keen nose detected something, strong alcohol. It had to be fairly close, her eyes would begin to look to the people closer to her, her eyes settled on a man listening to one of those tiny music makers.
She watched him for a few moments, mostly because he was more interesting than the others in the coffee shop. she was surprised she didn't notice the kilt before. she found it interesting how mortals had such a dependency on those little electronics, that practically ruled their lives.
As the waiter returned with her tea, she toyed with telling him to get the man another coffee, slightly wondering how much booze was in that cup, and if the waiter would comment on it. However she let curiosity be as such acts like that were not nice, and she was trying to be a nicer person after all.
Michael scratched out a misspelled word, wrote the correct spelling above it, set this paper aside, and moved on to a new one. He still felt eyes on him, but they were now not directly observing him. Somehow, he had dropped a hint that he knew he was being watched. Danger instincts were a fine tuned thing in soldiers, firefighters, and police officers. They knew when something was wrong, but often times they couldn't name what was wrong. So they subtly shifted what they usually did, and that often times saved their lives. For Michael, he had taken his iPod out of his ears, and that allowed him to hear the conversations going on around him. He couldn't directly check anyone's eyes for intentions, but when his waiter approached him, Michael knew when to look up.
"Ah, sir, I'm going to have to ask you to put away your alcohol. Nothing of that sort is allowed on the premises, sir."
"All right then. I guess could you bring me some Coke? I need caffeine, but not in that coffee. Your brewer needs to visit the Middle East. They make coffee right, there. Not as as here, and still good. It helped a lot, during the nights when we couldn't sleep."
"You're a veteran, sir?"
"Fortunately for the nation and my squad members, yes. Unfortunately for me. Now, about that Coke?" The waiter took Michael's coffee cup and came back with a glass of Coke, placing in front of Michael and watching as Michael took his whiskey flask and hid it in his sport coat's pocket. There were a lot of things you could do with a sport coat, Michael thought as he sipped the Coke. Like hide whiskey, hide a pistol, and hide scarring on the arms. Sport coats were useful.
"Ah, sir, I'm going to have to ask you to put away your alcohol. Nothing of that sort is allowed on the premises, sir."
"All right then. I guess could you bring me some Coke? I need caffeine, but not in that coffee. Your brewer needs to visit the Middle East. They make coffee right, there. Not as as here, and still good. It helped a lot, during the nights when we couldn't sleep."
"You're a veteran, sir?"
"Fortunately for the nation and my squad members, yes. Unfortunately for me. Now, about that Coke?" The waiter took Michael's coffee cup and came back with a glass of Coke, placing in front of Michael and watching as Michael took his whiskey flask and hid it in his sport coat's pocket. There were a lot of things you could do with a sport coat, Michael thought as he sipped the Coke. Like hide whiskey, hide a pistol, and hide scarring on the arms. Sport coats were useful.
She yawned rather bored like, her eyes remaining on him for a moment or two more, he knows he's being watched, she thought mildly to herself. She looked away sense unease in him from, so she let her eyes wander the room again.
Settling on a pasty looking youth in front of a computer, he looked a bit edgy. He'd type a bit then look up around the room, from his seat he could see everything, his back against two walls, as he sat in the corner. Dree perked a brow as the kid sweat and fidgeted, deciding he was either high and coming down, or he had done something very bad, and was hiding in plane view.
When the waiter approached the male she had been initially watching she glanced to the scene before her and smirked a bit wondering who else had smelled the booze. She had thought about ratting him out but didn't so that mean someone else knew it. Then the same waiter as before came to her with tea.
"Thank you." she smiles to him and nods, "That boy in the corner, he been here long?" she asks the waiter in a low tone."
The waiter looked up and nodded, "Uh yea, he was here this morning when I started at 8, one of the guys leaving said he showed up around 6." He shrugged, "Seems to be on edge. . .but hell he's had about 10 cups of coffee.:
Dree nodded, "Thank you." she wrapped her hands around the mug of tea, as the waiter took the old one away.
She watched the pasty boy for a little bit, debating on opening his mind and seeing why he was here. Could be many things, but by the way he was sweating it was likely bad.
[ OOC I added the pasty kid for something to liven it up. . .However I haven't quite decided who he is or what he did. if you got ideas take it and run
]
Settling on a pasty looking youth in front of a computer, he looked a bit edgy. He'd type a bit then look up around the room, from his seat he could see everything, his back against two walls, as he sat in the corner. Dree perked a brow as the kid sweat and fidgeted, deciding he was either high and coming down, or he had done something very bad, and was hiding in plane view.
When the waiter approached the male she had been initially watching she glanced to the scene before her and smirked a bit wondering who else had smelled the booze. She had thought about ratting him out but didn't so that mean someone else knew it. Then the same waiter as before came to her with tea.
"Thank you." she smiles to him and nods, "That boy in the corner, he been here long?" she asks the waiter in a low tone."
The waiter looked up and nodded, "Uh yea, he was here this morning when I started at 8, one of the guys leaving said he showed up around 6." He shrugged, "Seems to be on edge. . .but hell he's had about 10 cups of coffee.:
Dree nodded, "Thank you." she wrapped her hands around the mug of tea, as the waiter took the old one away.
She watched the pasty boy for a little bit, debating on opening his mind and seeing why he was here. Could be many things, but by the way he was sweating it was likely bad.
[ OOC I added the pasty kid for something to liven it up. . .However I haven't quite decided who he is or what he did. if you got ideas take it and run
]
Michael couldn't help but overhear the conversation between one of the waiters and a woman. Using his peripheral vision, he managed to get a look at her. Denim mini skirt, knee high leather boots, and a tank top. Unusual enough, but combined with her looks.... Michael shot that thought down before he let it get any father, instead standing to use the restroom. While in the Middle East, Michael had made enemies. He knew thins he probably shouldn't know. About the Saudi Royal family, the Taliban, Iran, and Pakistan. Secrets worth killing for.
Taking another sip of his Coke, Michael left his table and made his way to the restroom, slipping inside. It had multiple urinals, which meant Michael could do what needed done. He did need to take a leak. Flushing the urinal, he turned and began washing his hands. Pasty youth, multiple cups of coffee, been in once spot since six in the morning... It smelled like a trap. Michael had dodged traps laid by more intelligent men with more wiggle room than this one was giving him, but as long as he had some wiggle room, he could win. By the time the pasty youth came in after him, Michael had washed his hands six times. He was reaching for that brown paper used to dry one's hands, when he heard the flicking of a switch blade, illegal in all fifty states. Turning, Micheal flicked the water still on his hands in the youth's face, surprising him.
The youth lunged with the knife, still trying to clear his eyes of the water, but Michael batted the arm away, swept a foot across the youth's leg, breaking the knee cap and eliciting a scream. Trying to gather his wits, the youth lunged again. Michael grabbed the boy's arm, bent it in a way the human arm was never meant to bend, breaking another bone, and buried the knife in the drywall behind them. Wrapping an arm around the youth's neck, Michael lifted him up, causing the boy's feet to dangle a foot off the ground. Michael had been about to drive a fist into the youth's gut, knocking the breath out of him in addition to his sobs, but he was stopped by two waiters and the manager of the establishment came through the door, shouting.
"For the love of God, man, what have you done to him?" This was the manager; Michael didn't see anything wrong with exercising the necessary amount of force in defense of life and limb, but apparently he needed to explain that.
"He came at me with a knife. What else was I supposed to do? He's lucky I didn't send the knife into his eye ball. I'm perfectly capable of that, gentlemen."
[Assassination attempt? Why not. Who, and why? That remains to be seen.]
Taking another sip of his Coke, Michael left his table and made his way to the restroom, slipping inside. It had multiple urinals, which meant Michael could do what needed done. He did need to take a leak. Flushing the urinal, he turned and began washing his hands. Pasty youth, multiple cups of coffee, been in once spot since six in the morning... It smelled like a trap. Michael had dodged traps laid by more intelligent men with more wiggle room than this one was giving him, but as long as he had some wiggle room, he could win. By the time the pasty youth came in after him, Michael had washed his hands six times. He was reaching for that brown paper used to dry one's hands, when he heard the flicking of a switch blade, illegal in all fifty states. Turning, Micheal flicked the water still on his hands in the youth's face, surprising him.
The youth lunged with the knife, still trying to clear his eyes of the water, but Michael batted the arm away, swept a foot across the youth's leg, breaking the knee cap and eliciting a scream. Trying to gather his wits, the youth lunged again. Michael grabbed the boy's arm, bent it in a way the human arm was never meant to bend, breaking another bone, and buried the knife in the drywall behind them. Wrapping an arm around the youth's neck, Michael lifted him up, causing the boy's feet to dangle a foot off the ground. Michael had been about to drive a fist into the youth's gut, knocking the breath out of him in addition to his sobs, but he was stopped by two waiters and the manager of the establishment came through the door, shouting.
"For the love of God, man, what have you done to him?" This was the manager; Michael didn't see anything wrong with exercising the necessary amount of force in defense of life and limb, but apparently he needed to explain that.
"He came at me with a knife. What else was I supposed to do? He's lucky I didn't send the knife into his eye ball. I'm perfectly capable of that, gentlemen."
[Assassination attempt? Why not. Who, and why? That remains to be seen.]
Sipped the steaming hot tea, a bit of a contented sound coming from her. Much better, she thought, and remember to not try any of those odd drinks again. A bit of a grin sprang to her lips as the thought formed. Her eyes had been drifting around the room out of bordom once again. Soon they laid back upon the pasty youth, his eyes were fixed on something. She non-nonchalantly followed his gaze to the one she had been watching before.
She brows flared in slight interest, perhaps it was worth a peep in his mind after all. However before she began to do so something moved in her peripheral vision, her golden pools snapped to the movement. The man in the kilt headed for the restroom, and only moments after that the pasty kid got up to follow him. With an amused look Dree waited to hear and see what occurred.
A bit of yowling and struggling was heard and the manager and waiter were soon there, their voices louder than they should be. From where she was siting Dree heard every word, lifiting her cup she smiled into it before sipping it, she stifled a small giggle into her cup at the response given to the manager
She brows flared in slight interest, perhaps it was worth a peep in his mind after all. However before she began to do so something moved in her peripheral vision, her golden pools snapped to the movement. The man in the kilt headed for the restroom, and only moments after that the pasty kid got up to follow him. With an amused look Dree waited to hear and see what occurred.
A bit of yowling and struggling was heard and the manager and waiter were soon there, their voices louder than they should be. From where she was siting Dree heard every word, lifiting her cup she smiled into it before sipping it, she stifled a small giggle into her cup at the response given to the manager
"Sir, your capabilities aren't in doubt here. What's in doubt is whether or not I'm going to have a lawsuit slapped against me, the shop, or you, a patron. You quite clearly injured this boy, and whether or not he meant you harm, I don't really care. You harmed him in my establishment." Michael swore. He had turned boys into men. He knew how to swear. He had seen combat in several different nations, many times over. He knew how to swear well. Finally giving up on the swearing, he turned and ripped the knife out of the wall. Closing it, he shoved it into the manager's hand before forcing his way back to his seat and sitting back down.
Michael took another sip of his Coke, then tried to go back to grading the papers. It wasn't very easy. He had lost his thread, and so he set his pen down and rubbed his forehead.
Michael took another sip of his Coke, then tried to go back to grading the papers. It wasn't very easy. He had lost his thread, and so he set his pen down and rubbed his forehead.
Would set her cup down, her eyes idly wandering the room, however she was still listening to what went on. If something caught her attention she tended to focus on it, and since he had caught her attention earlier, he held it now. He was a big man, but she didn't initially think he was able to handle himself well. However grading papers she could tell wasn't his first job.
Hearing the string of curses, she would stifle a laugh in to her cup again. Her eyes going to the door of the mens room. Her bright golden pools followed him across the room to where he sat. She laughed with out covering it when he rubbed his fore head. She had a fair feeling that the police might show up eventually, so she figured she'd clear out before that happened.
Getting to her feet she would dig into her pocket and place the money plus a tip, then she would head to the door and step outside
Hearing the string of curses, she would stifle a laugh in to her cup again. Her eyes going to the door of the mens room. Her bright golden pools followed him across the room to where he sat. She laughed with out covering it when he rubbed his fore head. She had a fair feeling that the police might show up eventually, so she figured she'd clear out before that happened.
Getting to her feet she would dig into her pocket and place the money plus a tip, then she would head to the door and step outside
In police work, an officer working a case may have a hunch about something with the case. It could be a story doesn't match up. The date or time may be wrong. The color of the clothing changes from telling to telling of the alibi. They may get a feeling about a location, go eyeball it, and find something wrong. Police officers were taught to trust their instincts, as they were for the most part, very good instincts. A soldier trusts his instincts, too. Instincts are the difference between an ambush sprung on time, or an ambush sprung too early and rolled up by the good guys. Instincts, and some times simply getting tired of idiocy. For Michael, it was a combination of both. Something was tickling his shoulder blades, and this time it wasn't the fact that he was being watched subtly.
So Michael stood, studiously ignoring the fact that he was slightly behind the woman dressed like a cheap hooker, but looking like an expensive one, and paid what he owed. He opened his briefcase, brown leather, with gold metal clasps, and shoved the student papers into it, before turning for the door. Ignoring the angry looks from the no doubt extremely...sensitive young people in the building, Michael was about to turn left out of the door when he felt his shoulder blades itch even more. So he had taken a gamble, but placed his bet on the wrong outcome. Mentally sighing, Michael kept walking. What would come would come. But without the shadow of a doubt, he would fight back if he didn't like what was going on.
So Michael stood, studiously ignoring the fact that he was slightly behind the woman dressed like a cheap hooker, but looking like an expensive one, and paid what he owed. He opened his briefcase, brown leather, with gold metal clasps, and shoved the student papers into it, before turning for the door. Ignoring the angry looks from the no doubt extremely...sensitive young people in the building, Michael was about to turn left out of the door when he felt his shoulder blades itch even more. So he had taken a gamble, but placed his bet on the wrong outcome. Mentally sighing, Michael kept walking. What would come would come. But without the shadow of a doubt, he would fight back if he didn't like what was going on.
Wasn't overly fond of cops, but she usually encountered the cooked ones. Ones who liked to abuse their assumed authority, ones who planted evidence, so perhaps she was abit biased on that. She had a sense that tonight would get more interesting as the evening wore on.
Hearing something behind her she looked over her shoulder seeing the man pack up his gear, she would make a small noise like a snicker, she had figured he'd make himself scarce too. The people in the coffee shop were a bit edgy now, quite aware of what had happened, so most of them were keeping an eye on him.
Pushing the door open she headed outside, In the distance sirens could be heard. She scoffs, "Cities finest really on top of things." the words were murmured softly grinning a bit to herself. Now that she was outside her golden eyes seemed nearly luminous, perhaps it was the light of the full moon doing this. She started walking away from the shop at a lazy pace.
Hearing something behind her she looked over her shoulder seeing the man pack up his gear, she would make a small noise like a snicker, she had figured he'd make himself scarce too. The people in the coffee shop were a bit edgy now, quite aware of what had happened, so most of them were keeping an eye on him.
Pushing the door open she headed outside, In the distance sirens could be heard. She scoffs, "Cities finest really on top of things." the words were murmured softly grinning a bit to herself. Now that she was outside her golden eyes seemed nearly luminous, perhaps it was the light of the full moon doing this. She started walking away from the shop at a lazy pace.
It had the feel of something elaborate. Michael knew elaborate well, from both ends. Last year, during his second class of the day, someone had pulled a fire alarm. That same day, every single marijuana smoker that had taken his class that year had been absent. Michael hadn't thought anything of it. They were all probably out getting stoned, he reasoned. Nothing to do with him. When he got back to his classroom, and office, his office had been hotboxed. One of them had pulled the alarm, they had all hidden, and then they had hotboxed his office. Michael had congratulated each and every one on a well thought out prank, and then yelled at them. It had been elaborate, it had been intelligent, and it had been pulled off quickly and with skill. The fire alarm had been the diversion.
The youth with the knife was the diversion, this time. Michael wasn't important enough on his own to try and kill, and he knew that. But the city had crooked, straight, and everything in between police officers and politicians. It was election season. Which meant one of the politicians would be out trying to get votes. And in corrupt politics, assassination wasn't below the table. The rifle round cracked into the side of a building to Michael's left, surprising him. It was unexpected, even with his shoulder blades itching. So Michael dropped his briefcase, pivoted, and dived behind a car. Elsewhere, people were screaming and running. The target would be, too. Meaning several more shots were likely to be taken, and Michael could find out where they came from. They didn't teach that skill at Fort Benning. It was learned in the middle of war. One got good at figuring out where shots came from, fast.
The youth with the knife was the diversion, this time. Michael wasn't important enough on his own to try and kill, and he knew that. But the city had crooked, straight, and everything in between police officers and politicians. It was election season. Which meant one of the politicians would be out trying to get votes. And in corrupt politics, assassination wasn't below the table. The rifle round cracked into the side of a building to Michael's left, surprising him. It was unexpected, even with his shoulder blades itching. So Michael dropped his briefcase, pivoted, and dived behind a car. Elsewhere, people were screaming and running. The target would be, too. Meaning several more shots were likely to be taken, and Michael could find out where they came from. They didn't teach that skill at Fort Benning. It was learned in the middle of war. One got good at figuring out where shots came from, fast.
Hadn't been more than 15 paces from the shop when a man approached her. He wore a black pinstriped suit, his hair was cut and styled respectably, and his face wore a thoughtful and overly sincere smile. The smile was so obviously fake Deirdre faintly wondered how he got any votes at all. He started off with the normal overly rehearsed rant, who he what party he represented and what they would change and make better if elected
A slightly bemused smile crossed her face as the man introduced himself and took her hand to shake, he didn't offer his hand he took hers. As his hand closed around hers and lifted it up to shake she gave him a hard stare, that more or less said let go of my hand. She opened her mouth to tell him where to go, then the shot rang out. She ripped her hand from the politicians grasps and ducked behind a car uttering a curse loudly.
As the people began running about screaming. She vaguely wondered if the politician who approached her was the target, or one of the other ones who littered the streets. The man who had approached her had began running with a crowd of people.
A slightly bemused smile crossed her face as the man introduced himself and took her hand to shake, he didn't offer his hand he took hers. As his hand closed around hers and lifted it up to shake she gave him a hard stare, that more or less said let go of my hand. She opened her mouth to tell him where to go, then the shot rang out. She ripped her hand from the politicians grasps and ducked behind a car uttering a curse loudly.
As the people began running about screaming. She vaguely wondered if the politician who approached her was the target, or one of the other ones who littered the streets. The man who had approached her had began running with a crowd of people.
Michael was right. More shots were taken, and fast. They were coming from an elevated position, probably second story and across the street. That was all Michael needed. Standing, he vaulted the car and took off running, sliding across the hoods of stopped cars and taxis, dodging around trucks and vans. The flash off of a scope confirmed his hunch, and Michael pushed his way through a crowd trying to exit the building. Ignoring the open elevator, he pushed his way up the stairs, hand automatically reaching for the pistol that wasn't there. Cursing as his hand came up empty, he slammed into a wall once he reached the second floor and crouched, waiting for another shot to pinpoint the exact room.
It came thirty seconds later, and then Michael was going around the corner, knife drawn and face set like stone. If expressions could shatter concrete and destroy metal, Michael's certainly would have. The door was locked. Cursing, Michael placed his foot beside the door knob, composed himself, and kicked the door in. A man turned, rifle held in his hands, but Michael threw his knife, hitting the man in the shoulder. A shot, jerked wild by Michael's knife, grazed Michael's ribs, and then Michael was tackling the man, sending them both through the open window.
It came thirty seconds later, and then Michael was going around the corner, knife drawn and face set like stone. If expressions could shatter concrete and destroy metal, Michael's certainly would have. The door was locked. Cursing, Michael placed his foot beside the door knob, composed himself, and kicked the door in. A man turned, rifle held in his hands, but Michael threw his knife, hitting the man in the shoulder. A shot, jerked wild by Michael's knife, grazed Michael's ribs, and then Michael was tackling the man, sending them both through the open window.
[sorry about the delay. I'll be posting tonight. Life has been ridiculously busy but such is the holidays. I didn't forget just havent been online too much the last little while]
Dree cast her gaze about as more shots were fired. When it came to guns, she didn't know too much. She was the type who avoided fire arms, she wasn't a fan of their ability to kill from a far. Sure Magick could do that too, but it usually involved a bit more than a sniper's job. Her golden gaze found the the flash from the scope.
She was planning a course of action when she spotted the man from the coffee shop, sprinting towards the the building where the scope was. Her brows flared, his quick and sure movements confirmed her earlier suspicions in regards to his job. As she watched him dash into the building, she came out of her hiding spot and headed towards the building in a sprint. Under her breath she began to recite the words that had been drilled into her mind long ago. She was beginning to draw on her magick.
As she sprinted, a shot rang out. The Politician she had encountered only moments before cried out in pain, and fell. The shot hadn't been true enough to kill him, enough to incapacitate him though. She heard another shot as she reached the buildings shadows.
She was planning a course of action when she spotted the man from the coffee shop, sprinting towards the the building where the scope was. Her brows flared, his quick and sure movements confirmed her earlier suspicions in regards to his job. As she watched him dash into the building, she came out of her hiding spot and headed towards the building in a sprint. Under her breath she began to recite the words that had been drilled into her mind long ago. She was beginning to draw on her magick.
As she sprinted, a shot rang out. The Politician she had encountered only moments before cried out in pain, and fell. The shot hadn't been true enough to kill him, enough to incapacitate him though. She heard another shot as she reached the buildings shadows.
[Mhphm. Sorry I took so long. I had family and then getting back to school.]
The man under Michael tried to rotate them to where Michael would be the one on the bottom when they hit the concrete, but he was too slow. Michael was already twisting in his grasp to avoid it, and then kneeing him in the crotch.
They both landed hard amid tinkling glass, but Michael was the first to recover, pinning the man's arms and then punching him in the face, brutally savaging it. One of the man's hands came free and found a loose piece of glass. He threw his hand up against Michael's face, slicing it open, but then Michael grabbed the man's loose arm and broke it with a savage wrench, before letting it flop against the ground uselessly and punching him in the face again. Blood spattered the sidewalk as onlookers gasped at the brutality of the brawl before them, but Michael had done what hand to hand instructors the world over teach: Get them on the ground hard and fast, and then beat them until someone pulls you off. In Michael's case, it was two bulky asphalt layers who ripped him from the man, and Michael struggled forward, only to be stopped by the sight of the woman from the coffee shop. She looked like she was trying to do something that involved fierce concentration, and that stopped Michael. What could involve such concentration? His only experience with any kind of 'magic' had been when he found a couple of students using a Ouija board. He had confiscated it, taken it to an abandoned parking lot, and burned it. Cursing silently as the workers continued to detain him, Michael threw a plan to the wind and motioned at the woman with his head, and once he had caught her attention, he spoke to her.
"Hey lady! Hey, can I get some help over here? Will you tell these two knuckle heads that I'm with you, and that the jackwagon on the ground there was trying to ruin our date? They don't seem to believe me."
The man under Michael tried to rotate them to where Michael would be the one on the bottom when they hit the concrete, but he was too slow. Michael was already twisting in his grasp to avoid it, and then kneeing him in the crotch.
They both landed hard amid tinkling glass, but Michael was the first to recover, pinning the man's arms and then punching him in the face, brutally savaging it. One of the man's hands came free and found a loose piece of glass. He threw his hand up against Michael's face, slicing it open, but then Michael grabbed the man's loose arm and broke it with a savage wrench, before letting it flop against the ground uselessly and punching him in the face again. Blood spattered the sidewalk as onlookers gasped at the brutality of the brawl before them, but Michael had done what hand to hand instructors the world over teach: Get them on the ground hard and fast, and then beat them until someone pulls you off. In Michael's case, it was two bulky asphalt layers who ripped him from the man, and Michael struggled forward, only to be stopped by the sight of the woman from the coffee shop. She looked like she was trying to do something that involved fierce concentration, and that stopped Michael. What could involve such concentration? His only experience with any kind of 'magic' had been when he found a couple of students using a Ouija board. He had confiscated it, taken it to an abandoned parking lot, and burned it. Cursing silently as the workers continued to detain him, Michael threw a plan to the wind and motioned at the woman with his head, and once he had caught her attention, he spoke to her.
"Hey lady! Hey, can I get some help over here? Will you tell these two knuckle heads that I'm with you, and that the jackwagon on the ground there was trying to ruin our date? They don't seem to believe me."
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