wrong account
(AGToO) Dawn
39777
THREADID
149
POSTS
141 - 149
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wrong account
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Striking Looks
Presence
New Identity(Steven Chojun Trueheart)
Kaze opens his satchel to reveal an elaborate medical kit, and administers First Aid to Shodan.
Total rolls: copy didn't carry the code so here is the text from the die roller page.
3 successes
"Come on." Kaze says, when he's done. "Now, lets get you to the car and get out of here."
"Fucking gladly" Shodan utters through gritted teeth "But you drive. I think half my ribs turned to jell-o"
The Prime Mover takes the passenger seat. His phone may be toast, but the laptop is still intact, and that means there's work to do - not to mention Campanella's car, which is in a shape almost as bad as Shodan's.
But that's for later. Now let's just make sure to not fall apart at the seams.
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The Arrow offers what little assistance he could provide, working minutely to stymie the bleeding. But it's only thanks to the finely woven threads of mana, that the wounds are enclosed. It's enough to halt the copious hemorrhage, but the Libertine will need assistance and at least a few days of rest. For now, the only wise destination will be the safety of the Circle or their Sanctum. For neither their car nor the Libertine could endure anything more.
"Drop me off at the Masonic Temple it's at [address] Downtown" He instructs the other Mage "I'll need a couple of days to get my bearings, but hopefully I'll be able to whip the car back into shape, too. And decrypt what we got from that bank heist" He smiles weakly. Everything beats focusing on the pain.
"Oh, and if the Hierarch gets mad or something, just tell him it was all my idea. Which is not that far from the truth, actually" Shodan rests his head on the window.
I think we are done here?
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Striking Looks
Presence
New Identity(Steven Chojun Trueheart)
"Okay." Kaze agrees. He texts the address to First Talon Alastor,
<<Dropping off partner at [address]. He's hurt but walking and talking. Then heading to rendezvous.>> while Shodan gingerly buckles into the passenger seat.
Then he heads out, obeying all traffic laws and doing his best not to draw attention.
"Are you up to monitoring the police and emergency bands while we go?" Kaze asks Shodan.
Good to end if you all are. Thanks! Fun and excitement!
He scoffs "Tis but a scratch!" A laugh escapes his lips. He isn't the greatest art historian in existence, but this is just basic course "By which I mean of course I am"
And with that, he turns to foucus on the radio activity around them, swapping frequencies and looking for alarmed chatter.
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Inside the black Mercedes SUV, a lanky man stares at the screen of his laptop with an over-sized grin plastered all over his face. He has dropped his iPhone somewhere hovering over the passenger's seat, but his attention is currently engaged by the fireworks display broadcasted over the LED monitor.
The face of a young nerd, followed by a thunderous crash and a vortex of white. Life at the speed of radio-waves, and then the color of television tuned to a dead channel. All is the hallmark of a job well done, no wonder he works for Hollywood, he tells himself.
There were some loose ends left to tie up, he thinks, looking at the still open tabs in his browser, but they had the luxury of time. "Hasta Luego", he says aloud as he turns the ignition key.
The rear door of the car flips open with a mute sound, and a blonde woman, seemingly left immaculate by the rain, slips comfortably in the ample seat.
"What's eating you, chief?", he mouths off in a cheerful tone, his hands busy adjusting the rear-view mirror. It's that deadpan look on her face that alerts him that NOW it's not the time to joke around. Did she smell it? How could she? He'd been careful to cover the smell of gunpowder and kush.
"We've encountered a few setbacks", a booming voice announces through the now flung open door of the front passenger's seat. The giant offers him a fist bump, and for a second - as he leans from his seat - it's like the car wants to capsize. "Opposition too, Pentacle perhaps. We didn't ask", he takes a deep breath, and a smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, his augmented senses caught a few molecules, recognizing the familiar scent of dope.
Can't fool a Shaman, the lanky guy thinks. "Everything alright on your side? Did you followup on those records we sent?", he asks jutting his chin at him.
"Nothing really, just a bit of collateral I had to deal with... messily. Likely they were on the same team, asking a lot of questions too. Took me a while to check, you know? You weren't answering, so I had to improvise. Neutralized, probably dead. Won't try this again.", he chuckles, "Bank accounts by the way. Our guy has a side hustle, quite the sweet gig if you ask me. It leads to that freight company, couldn't find anything online, but money talks. It's a wrap, warehouse down in..."
"Had", the woman corrects, her expression stone cold, her slender fingers trailing through a lock of her hair.
"A few hours too early", the man adds cheerful, his tone couldn't be more distant from the woman's, "Probably?", he says cocking his brow.
"Well, shit! You telling me...", the man sneers, "You know, dead people tell tales. That's my kind of gig", he looks in the mirror again. The woman's eyes have rolled into their sockets, it means more business coming their way. "Where to?", with a slick flip of his blackened fingers, the laptop is shut close.
"Drive. Oakland, avoid I80", she commands.
"Wait, how?", he asks biting his lips, "fucking spiders, meng". The car will cut through the raising curtain of the night, soon will be dawn.
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