The Aristocracy

[Rainfire]

Harper just barely let his gaze cross over to Nicia, looking her up and down just for a few seconds before he looked at what she dropped and then he looked down for a second. Harper raised his left hand up to his chin in thought, scratching his neatly trimmed goatee before he let it drop to his side and he pushed away from the wall, in the same motion really.

"Nice little frog. I'm assuming poison arrow just because of your certain... affinity for poison." He gently tapped the door beside him and it swung open without a sound. He walked over towards her and picked up some of the things she had dropped, before walking into her room to place them in a corner. He came back to her, and then looked outside to see the sun just coming up over the horizon. He thought for a moment, before he looked back at her, a sliver of compassion in his eyes.

"Actually... while I'd love to start... if you wish to wash up or get some rest, or something else, I'm fine with it. But we do have to be done by tonight, mind you. The choice is yours." He finished as he walked right up to her, looking right into her eyes, his face maybe an inch from hers, before he backed up a step and bowed graciously, and then politely awaited an answer from her.

 

[Morpheaus]

He’d just begun immersing himself in the ancient tale of England’s great king when a familiar female voice broke the library’s silence, filling the library with rich, silken Italian tones. After all the stress the previous two nights laid upon his shoulders, Maddox couldn’t help but smile at Amaia’s humor.

”And here I was operating under the impression that the yellow brought out the light in my dull brown eyes,” he answered back in his own unaccented Italian.

He scanned her form with a critical eye, appraising her from head to toe and back again, pausing to look directly into her confident brown eyes.

”You look quiet lovely, Amaia—I like the green. Perhaps, after this business is concluded, you’ll accompany me to the shops. Surely my fashion sensibilities could benefit from a feminine opinion.”

Heedless of Amaia’s potential reaction, Maddox flipped the wire framed glasses from his face, placing them on the bridge of her nose with a gentle flourish of the wrist. He smiled at her through the canary yellow lenses and blinked rapidly: doing so activated a pattern of lights to scroll across micro-fibers within the lenses of the glasses, projecting a series of small, unobtrusive displays for the wearer to survey.

Maddox grinned like a boy taking his first drive behind the wheel; he couldn’t help but enjoy the experience. ”The lenses are a new polymer-fiber optic blend designed by an associate of mine, it allows a small blue-tooth enabled micro processor built into the frame to link up with a designated server that can provide the wearer with a complete link to any data base. You can look up the latest news from the web or even scan the library of congress for various blue prints or legal information. Very useful for those moments when a laptop just won’t cut it. The glasses also provide a 360 degree view, which means that you should be able to see what’s happening behind you.”

He circled around her, making sure to wave while as he passed directly behind. The coming day would be a trial, so he savored the opportunity to be carefree, even for just a moment. Returning to face Amaia, he slipped the glasses off, replacing them on his own face and giving her a wry grin.

“Sadly, you’re not a fan of yellow, so you won’t want the extra pair I’ve tucked in my coat pocket. Now then, I’ve been sitting idling away the minutes brooding on what you would say to me, as well as trying to prepare myself for our little task. You’ll be surprised to learn that Selene and I have a shared history. It may complicate things...I’ve never killed anyone, you see...I’m not sure I can start by killing my ex-wife—despite the animosity which exists between her and I.”

 

[Obliviongirl13]

As she touched the coffee cup to her lips as she closed her eyes. She savored what she knew could be her last cup of coffee, because she couldn't trust Maddox 100% but she also couldn't trust the idea that Selene would give up easily. It would be hard for Maddox to see his ex-wife be killed, but hey, the bitch deserved it in Amaia's eyes. She heard about the incident years ago when Maddox and her seemed happily married. Then it took a turn for the worst. Selene was offered a higher ranking place in the Aristocracy, and she took it. But that would mean that she would have to give up what she had. So Selene left Maddox to move up in rank. Now most people would be happy, sort of, but these days, cold hearted society was all anyone ever knew.

"I never thought. No, maybe I never doubted you would do something like this. Judging by Edwards character, I would have never suspected him. Though thats the best thing about it. People you least expect."

Her eyes opened and she turned a glance towards Maddox's direction.

"What do you think of me?"

She watched him circle around her as she slid extremely close to him reaching into his pocket and taking out the other pair of the sun glasses.

"Yellow does sorta go with green..."

 

[Ulti]

Nicia watched curiously as Harper actually helped her move her items into her room. A nice gesture, which was strange coming from him. Something was amiss, but she couldn't figure it out. Better not make him wait any longer. An idea struck Nicia then. She wanted to test out her new froggy friend out. who better than one of the Ten?

"I can't sleep without at least one person I hate dead. Morpheus will just have to wait a bit longer to conquer me."

Hopefully Nicia could hold up. She went for days without sleep before. The results were not good. But for some reason, she did not want to wake up to Harper. Maybe it was the whole faces almost touching that sobered her up. The whole concept was strange, even frightful. Besides, death beats sleep.

"You have any ideas what to do first? Sneaky assault or head on attack?"

 

[Rainfire]

Harper smiled for a moment as he placed his fingertips together, standing up straight and leaning his head back for a moment to take in everything. His mind was busy calculating -- every odd and every detail. He knew where Vespacci would be today. His private jet had probably left last night after dinner. After all, it was time for his local check-up to the cost of Italy, to see the pretty little girls that he loved to have fun with. Somewhere East of Venice, but he could not be sure where exactly.

That would be taken care of, of course. On the plane there was a remote detector installed. All they would have to do would be to hack into the mainframe and find his location. He looked over at Nicia with a gracious smile.

"I think... I'll let you choose. You seem eager to kill... and that's the only thing that matters. Honestly, where he's at, we could walk up in broad daylight and slip him something and no one would be the wiser. He's at the private Estio Resort. So grab your things, and let's be off. I have a small jet waiting not far from here." He scratched his chin as he finished and walked away.

(Time skip for the sake of it)~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harper smiled as he left the private jet. He had a pair of expensive-looking designer sunglasses on and was dressed in a more casual attire. He had a pair of nice looking khakis with a smart olive-green button-up t-shirt. His pants, of course, had plenty of pockets. He wore a pair of brown shoes and had his hair combed back neatly. He stood there off the plane, looking over at the steel blue Enzo Ferrari that awaited him and Nicia. All that was left, was for her to get off the plane.

"You know, if it wasn't for the taste of the other life... I could get used to this" he called to her as he stood there patiently.

 

[Morpheaus]

“Hah.”

Voices whispered in Maddox’s thoughts, speaking caution and urging patience. Memories of a lithe, muscular body and a head of platinum blonde hair wafted through his head. Once again, Amaia’s directness gave him pause. What did he think of her? Truthfully, part of him yearned to believe that the two of them were forming a tentative form of emotional intimacy: a connection based on a shared need for someone to confide in. Hopes of that variety tended to leave a person vulnerable. Maddox knew the sting of having the rug pulled out from under you and landing flat on your face better than any one else, and he didn’t intend to be placed in such a position again.

“...I want to think that I can trust you, Amaia, but the sad fact is despite how hard you and I may try to trust another person, there’s still a little voice in the back of our heads filling us with doubt.”

Stepping close to her and leaning in to peer straight into her eyes, he reached up and pulled free one of the Chinese style sticks in her hair. He twirled it between nimble fingertips yet the playful gesture belied a well spring of emotions in his normally calm eyes: bitterness, exhaustion, resentment, and no small amount of pleading.

“I think you’re a rare treasure—a member of our society who hasn’t been twisted by vice. As many times as I’ve studied the files on you, I’ve never seen mention of any of the sociopathic or homicidal traits so obvious with Harper, Edward, and a thousand other men and women in the Aristocracy. You’re strong and skilled, and confident. Without meaning to; I find myself placing trust and hope in you. I’ve been stripped of dignity and genuine human contact by the Aristocracy for so long now that separating the nature of this life from the life that I want is becoming impossible.”

He looked away from her then, but continued to grip her hand in his—afraid to let go and risk being exposed to his allies as a man that only wanted to escape. These games of psychological chess and political intrigue took a toll on him; more often than not, all he could do was maintain a mask of jovial arrogance and cool intelligence. He didn't know if he could kill Selene or if he could indeed face Edward and Harper when their inevitable betrayals occured, nor if Amaia would be the one to slip a knife between his ribs. He just knew that he was tired.

"I think you're dangerous, Nightingale."

 

[Obliviongirl13]

Her expression was blank, and cold. Her eyes holding a simple emptiness inside of them. When he removed one of the chopsticks in her hair, she fell into her guarded state. She didn't know what he would do, she just knew that she should be careful. But in a second, Maddox took her hand. She seemed stunned by it and wasn't expecting it.

Her heart beat faster, and she didn't know why. Mostly the guys look at her but they never compliment her on her personality. Though she can't say she has much of personality, most assassins are either crazy or just shells of people that are seemingly dead. She chose to be the cold hearted one, better than being psychotic. Amaia leaned closer to him, her body finally touching his as she looked up at him. "You know," she started "Your quite the flatterer, and I thank you for that." She gave Maddox a half smile and then realized that her face was closer to his, and she made the move. Amaia's lips made contact with his as she closed her eyes. But in a quick second, it was over.

"I know, you can't kill your Ex. But your going to have to come to the terms that I have to then." She released herself from his grasp as she reached back over for her coffee cup, that somehow was placed on the table. None the less, she thought nothing of it and proceeded towards the door. In a flash, Eve was there.

"Your helicopter is waiting to take you to the airport mistress."

"Thank you Eve," she said coolly. "Make sure they have my coffee on there."

The young girl nodded and Amaia looked over her shoulder. "Aren't you coming Maddox...?" she asked sweetly as she forced another sly smile. She knew this would be a long mission.

 

[Ulti]

"I prefer being a sneak. Gives me an excuse to bring little Merc here along."

With that, Nicia went to gather her things and join Harper on his private jet. Finally. A decent way to travel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Merc seemed more excited than Nicia to be on a trip to Italy. The golden frog hopped about in its cage, crushing the shells of his lunch beneath his tiny feet. His master was also doing the same, except they were not the shells of insects. Peanuts soothed her raging stomach on the jet. She could never digest larger meals in the air. It was a rather sickening experience and one should not get a weak stomach before a messy encounter.

Today, Nicia was going for a fashionable look. A ruby red blouse with frills on the sleeves and neck and a pearl skirt seemed to suit the Italian scenery. A rare treat, she pulled her hair up in a bun. Even Merc was dressed for the occasion, as far as one can go to make a frog look glamorous. His cage was given a paint job by Nicia to make it look like it was made from precious gems. The pet must match the master afterall.

"Ahh, you can just smell my homeland from here. At least my mind will be at piece. Vespacci will concur, but his mind will be in many pieces."

Nicia was rather impressed by Harper's ride. The two looked like they were ready to hit the town, not kill a man. A good disguise. Hopefully Vespacci will be as stupid as the others claim him to be. She did not want to lose Merc over someone of low rank. She was getting along with the little frog. A silent companion who asked nothing but a few bugs here and there. That was a friend Nicia could really start to like.

 

[Nebula Zero]

5:30 AM.

Desmond decided it was time for the daily routine. He stood outside the castle, staring up the intricate walls, carved in a design worthy of its' time period. He wore a white undershirt with black army pants. He had the sheaths for his daggers, wrapped around his lower abs with a belt. Pacing the seconds in his mind, when zero shot through his brain, so did he. With a rush for a start, he started to scale the walls with relative ease. The targets were set, and ready. Nothing more than test dummies, for regular training.

"Now is the winter of your discontent!" he mumbled to himself, spotting the first dummy. With a graceful leap, a large gash went across the spine of the dummy, with another one beside it. His upper body spun, his arms a merry-go-round of misfortune. Daggers in each hand, one swiftly went up the diaphragm, and slipped out just as easily. Desmond raced along the outer parts of the castle, quietly dispatching the dummies. Each dummy was in a different area, and with the way it was placed, required a different way to kill them. This would simulate the many ways one could kill someone in a small variety of environments. It had been a long time since he had done anything remotely close to an assassination. But it left him with a dire need to complete his assignment even more.

The last dummy. On the other side of the castle. With one last leap, he brought down his daggers in an X shape, making that on the back of the dummy. With a twirl, the blade found its' way to the neck, the head dangling from what little of what was holding the head. He looked at his watch, and it read 5:36 AM. Desmond took a deep breath, and wiped the light sweat from his forehead and brows. He sheathed his daggers, and made his way back to the main foyer. Going back to his room, he had a brief shower and put on his business suit, which came in a light beige color with a red and black striped tie. He made sure it covered his black, kevlar body suit underneath it.

He pinned the gift he received from last night on the pocket inside his jacket. He made his way back to the foyer, and took out his blackberry. He put the headphone in his ear, which came with a microphone. He pressed '334' on his black berry, and pressed the Call button. Ray should be getting his message in form of a light ring tone.

"You up, Ray? If not, now's the time." he said in a loud, clear voice so his colleague could hear him. He looked at his watch once more.

6 AM.

 

[Rainfire]

Harper had a look of what could have easily been mistaken for amusement on his face as he looked down at the frog. He shook his head and regained his calm composure as he slid into the driver's side of the car. The door slowly came to a close automatically. It was funny, in America or somewhere of the like this would stand out worse than anything, but in Italy it was really little more than a very, very slightly uncommon occurrence, if that. After Nicia got into the car he started it up with the press button, of course not having to worry about fingerprints, because he seared his off when he joined the Aristocracy.

He slid a special steel case out of his pocket and laid it between his seat and the seat Nicia was situated in for the time being. He looked over at her and nodded for a moment before looking back at the narrow road ahead.

"In that case are two special knives carved from ice. If you want, feel free to use one for the poison, but I just love to bring a couple along just in case. Consider it.. a personal taste. As for such... what are yours? I mean, with as much as I know about you... you are one of the few people who seem to intrigue me. Your taste for vengeance almost borders mine really... particularly when it comes to certain issues." he gave a clever smile as he looked over at her again for a second before looking back to the road.

They finally came to a stop about 15 kilometers outside the city. He slowly slid from his car and looked at her as she got out, and called out in a decently thick upper-class american accent.

"Hun, don't forget to tip the valet. He seems like such a swell young boy." He said as he gave a small laugh and nodded to the valet to get in, sliding his little steel case back into its pocket. He walked over to her, to accompany her inside the resort as a small smile briefly flashed across his features again.

"Show time my dear Nicia..." It almost came out as a hiss -- a hiss of excitement.

 

[Ulti]

Nicia was proud of her idea for Merc's cage. No reason to laugh at her for it. But twas Harper. Never know exactly what could make that guy laugh. The ride was enjoyable for the most part. No bumps in the road unlike back home. She began to drift off due to her lack of sleep. Thankfully Harper's question woke her up.

"Right, me. As you probably know, I come from the Kamber bloodline. Ancient family of thieves who used to be servants to vicious families unlike we started out thief lifestyle. Since we basically hold The Aristocracy together, the Ten have a strong influence on the head of my family. They are crushing out power, extinguishing it even now. If they are not dethroned, we will become slaves to them. We are tired of that life."

Nicia never really understood it completely. She was told what was going on and what she had to do. She cared for the family and wanted to help them in anyway. She also knew how the life of a servant was as that was her previous life before she joined Maddox and Harper's group. It was not very pleasant considering who she was serving. Nicia clearly did not want to go back to that. Taking out the Ten was the only way of preventing it. Or so the heads of the family told her.

"The reason I love poisons is, well, a bit embarassing. I quiver at the sight of blood. I never had the stomach for bloodshed. Poisoning is so much easier. No mess. No clean up. A long and painful death I might add. And nothing they can do to prevent it."

The Greek's eyes drew offward. She didn't quite know why she told Harper of her disgust with blood. Even the others couldn't squirm that fact from her. She was not liking how this was going. Information can go either way for the person telling it. But before Nicia could act, the car stopped. Harper gave her the task of paying the valet. What was a valet? He was getting in the car. She could only guess he was to keep the car safe. Trying her best as an American woman, she rumaged through her purse as she rumaged through some lies.

"I hope this is enough, dearie. I am still not quite used to this money system of yours. Is it too much or too little?"

Nicia tried to go for the innocent approach. The valet was too busy stuttering to tell her an answer. He merely nodded and drove the car away. She joined Harper's side as they walked into the resort. She was also excited at the thought of taking down this member of the Ten. Which now was Nine. Which will be Eight.

 

[Morpheaus]

Her lips touched his for only a few brief moments, yet he still stood dumbly as she turned away, switching to all business-mode. Reaching a hand up to touch his lips, he quickly let it fall when Amaia turned and spoke, giving him a clever smile. She certainly knew how to keep a person guessing.

“Of course, I am,” he said, striding past her. “Can’t let you have all the fun, now can I?”

Eight hours and 15 minutes later, safe house in Paris:

Checking the slide of another pistol, this one a Glock 18C machine-pistol class firearm, Maddox glanced up from the equipment table at the display screen mounted in the wall of the safehouse: on screen were several satellite images of Selene Willis’s villa in Paris. It was a larger home sitting on a plot of land that filled nearly four square blocks. Typical of Selene, the woman’s tastes were ostentatious, and that was putting it lightly. Naturally for people in their line of work, it wasn’t difficult to attain expensive or rare items. One need only find the proper time and place to liberate such things from unappreciated owners. But Selene never did appreciate such a jewel or car owned by another man or woman. No, if she was meant to keep it, it must be purchased, fair and clean.

He remembered quite a few unpleasant disagreements over their ever dwindling expense accounts. Money shouldn’t have been an issue for two members of the Aristocracy, yet Selene found a way to complicate things to the extent that it took a small fortune to satisfy even her smallest requests.

Then again, he couldn’t hide his love of tailored clothing and fine fabrics, or the excessive amount of 1st edition books in his collection. Oh well, he shrugged to himself, loading a 33-round cartridge into the Glock and holstering it on his left hip. It was the last of Maddox standard mission compliment of four handguns,—a number which included two Jericho 941F’s and a SIG P229—and probably the one least likely to be used, due to its accuracy issues. Still, it helped to carry something light but with the reliability of good suppression fire.

Rising to his feet, he stretched and lifting both arms overhead, testing the range of motion of his Kevlar armor. The tactical armor was made to be light while offering maximum protection, it even included a segmented line of armor running down the spine to support and protect the user from potential injury without causing any awkwardness of motion. All and all, it was a well crafted piece of work, fitting almost like a second skin, and Maddox simply loved the way the fabric breathed.

“Hmm, black polyester and Kevlar aren’t traditionally suited to the Parisian nightlife, but I suppose we won’t have time to enjoy a visit to Avenue Montaigne or Opéra Bastille,” he intoned, winking at Amaia as he feigned a disappointed pout. “Perhaps you’ll treat me to a glass of French wine before we return home.”

Glancing up at the screen, his brow suddenly furrowed as he attempted to resolve various parts of their operation, one detail in particular kept nagging at him. At the risk of arousing her displeasure, he decided to attempt discussing some last minute adjustments.

“Amaia, I know that we agreed security measures were too severe for ground level entry, and you won’t even consider using the sewers...But is it absolutely necessary for you and me to attempt and I to attempt roof-top entry? I’m not exactly excited about scrambling over rooftops filled with armed guards. I traditionally prefer a more solitary approach...”

 

[The Big Lovin']

Ray finished racking the last of the 45 pound weights onto the tree before responding. "Yeah, I'm awake," he said, wiping the sweat beads off from his forehead with a towel. He too had been up quite early, getting a little work out before they day began, working off the anxiety for today's mission. "What's the game plan?" He headed himself out of the weight room and into his own room close by.

 

[Blackest Night]

4:37 am, and all was quiet on the western front. I had gotten my about-four-hours of sleep, and considered myself perfectly fit to kill a few people. Celi and Lede were up as well, and the three of us sat in my quarters, drinking whatever concoction we'd brewed up for ourselves. Lede's smelled of cinnamon and jasmine, Celia's of coffe (black of course), and mine was reminiscient of honey and death. Okay, maybe not death. I get a little exicted. The two femme fatales had already briefed me on the whereabouts, actions, and favore color nightgown of my first target. I wasn't concerned with Amuro. That was for my lovely ladies. Jack and I would take care of Rachel.

I had no doubt the two would succeed in their mission. They had never failed me before and I would hardly expect them to do so now. Over the years, Celia and Lede had become rather chummy with dear old Amoru, and it was quite entertaining to hear him pronounce their names. I digress. They could easily get close to him, what with their combined talents of feminine wiles and extremely clever minds. He would be dead by 6, I predicted.

They left, and it was time to see if Jake had lived up to his promise. Using many varieties of secret passages, i arrived at his door in no less than 5 minutes, a personal record might I add. I knocked upon it, and two thoughts floated lazily through my mind.

1. He was awake, he was out, about, and doing things I did not yet know of. Therefore, untrustworthy.

2. He was sleeping, had not lived up to his promise, and was therefore untrustworthy.

Oh yes, a third.

3. He had been kidnapped. Perfectly acceptable. I had forumalted a cozy plan in my head on what to do with Mrs. Rachel, and his presence was not required. Her son's was, however. I'm sure he'd get a kick out of it.

ooc: Hooray crap!

 

[Wallflower]

The Progeny's meeting adjourned with the three leading members recruiting everyone who was present in their group. As Jack walked out of the room, he felt a little like Winston from the epic Nineteen Eighty-four. He knew who to trust- it was obvious, really. He was on Maddox, Harper and Edward's side all the way. He just had a very small gut feeling that he wasn't hearing the entire truth, and perhaps they were assigned this to work for The Progeny's own ends. Jack shrugged the feeling off. He had never even met the "Ten", but these were the people he had worked with for most of his missions. They were among the best in the business, and that made them reliable to Jack... Didn't it? Perhaps the feeling wasn't being reciprocated by the others..?

Sighing, Jack stepped into his room, and looked at the clock. Two in the morning. He figured he could get in two hours of sleep, which equated to a good night's sleep for Jack, and get pumped up for his mission for the other two hours. Jack collapsed into his bed, and closed his eyes. After what seemed like a minute later, he opened them again, and looked at the clock. Four thirty. Jack stood up, and plugged his MP3 player into his speakers. He quickly selected his song, and turned the volume up to the point where the room itself shook. Jack moved the furniture out of the way, and proceeded to thrash around the room extremely violently. It was like a Thirteen year old on acid, fighting off a crowd of people.

This was how Jack got pumped: listening to his metal, and moshing along with it. He played all of the greats- Judas Priest, AC/DC, Slayer, Anthrax... It was how Jack got his heart beat pumping. It was a good while of this, and Jack felt sufficiently pumped. He was also sweating profusely, so he threw off his clothes and took a shower. This was how Jack got prepared for every assignment. If it wasn't done beforehand, the mission failed. Jack knew; he tried it once. An entire assignment, months of planning, and an enormous cover-up was done. Everyone knew about it, but nobody really minded. It happened to the best of 'em.

Jack stepped out of the shower to the immobilizing humidity in the bathroom. Jack hated it; he preferred the cold weather. Heat was... Bleh. Jack began getting dressed, in his normal fashion. First was his normal attire- White dress shirt, Black pants, black jacket, belt, red tie... It was normal. Everything was dark, to blend into the environment. Bright clothes attract attention, and attention wasn't something Jack wanted or needed. He also avoided wearing jewelery. The shine also attracts attention. At the end of his normal clothing, he began arming himself. Guns underneath his shirt, hidden knives... The whole nine yards. Jack was prepared for every occasion. Just as he finished brushing his hair, he heard a knock, and checked his clock. Six o' clock sharp. Jack opened the door, and looked at Edward. No matter how nicely Jack dressed- it could have been a suit, or a goddamn tuxedo- Edward somehow looked better. Edward was indeed arrogant, but he had a right to be. Jack looked Edward in the eye, and nodded. It was time to go.

"So, what's the plan, Edward?"

 

[Rainfire]

Harper looked over at Nicia and almost wanted to laugh. It was really kind of a fit reason this time -- it had to do with the fact that they were this rich American couple that was more or less adjourning to the stereotype. He shook his head as they made their way inside. He looked at the little picture on the wall that directed them to where they should go. He nudged Nicia slightly and nodded towards the Eastern Deck -- Emilio would be outside sunning more than likely.

He walked with her through the grand halls, picking back up on their conversation, though in a new direction. "I know... you must feel uncomfortable with me asking these questions and actually being anything other than 'homicidal'. Yeah, I know how you and the others view me -- and yes, I am quite set in that path but I am also human. I just figured maybe I should get to know the person I'm working with -- small talk as you guys would call it... maybe I'm just not that good at it. I guess I just won't talk anymore." he finished as he looked away from her, out of the grand hall windows that let in copious amounts of sun.

Soon they were outside and Harper smiled -- there was Emilio... all by himself. He had probably reserved the Deck or something but they could always play the "lost tourist" bit and just claim they didn't know which way to go. By the time he'd be any the wiser, he'd be dead. Harper just calmly walked across the main stone path of the deck, whispering quietly to Nicia.

"Choose your move."

 

[Nebula Zero]

Hearing his response, Desmond grinned a little. A few women from the Aristocracy passed him by, the thief eying their bodies for a brief moment. Shaking his head, he went back to business once more.

"Excellent. Well, first off, know thy enemy. We'll look for information as to who he is, what's his strengths, and his local hot spots where he hangs around. We'll go to those spots, find him, and do the job. Sound good? I'll be looking into the main archive in the castle, and you'll sneak into his office and see if you find anything of use. I'll give you a rendezvous point when I'm finished."

He took out the earphone and looked down the grand hall. He should be able to go into the main archive with DEN's help, if they didn't mind him just waltzing in and taking a gander at a few dossiers and files. With the goals in set, he moved towards the archive, with DEN as a guide.

 

[Ulti]

All of a sudden, Nicia felt ashamed of herself. All Harper wanted to do was prove he was more than a killer. And she only made it worse. Great. She couldn't tell if he was disappointed or whatever he felt these days. The least thing she could do was apologize.

"Harper..."

Too late. Harper had lead her to the target; Vespacci. He was pretty brave to be all alone on the Deck. Too high and mighty that he thought no one could touch him. Poor thing. Now, how to start this? They couldn't very well go up and slit his throat. If he makes the slightest sound, the people inside would be alerted. They could also just happen to walk by at the wrong time. No. Poisoning would be a lot easier. But how? Merc was her only poison she brought along. Vespacci wouldn't be soo foolish as to touch a strange frog. No. She would have to poison something he was consuming. Nicia strained to look at the table Vespacci's chair was next to. A bottle of liquor was present. The glass must be in his hand. They would need to get him up and distracted before Merc could do his work.

"Um, excuse me! Pardon me, sir?"

Emilio Vespacci turned his head toward her. Who was disturbing him now? Ah, tourists. Annoying, yet so easily fooled. Well, time to put the glove on the other hand. Or foot. Nicia didn't understand those ridiculous sayings. Putting on her best foolish face, Nicia played the part of a lost tourist for Vespacci.

"WE. ARE. LOST. WE. NEED. DI-RECT-IONS. CAN. YOU. HELP. US?"

Nicia waved her arms around, trying to do sign language as well as a poor rendention of English. As her arms flung everywhere, Merc's cage fell from her grip and crashed to the floor. The top popped off and Merc hopped away from his small home. Nicia faked a surprise gasp and started to try to catch the little frog.

"Dear, can you ask for directions? My little prince is just a handful!"

Nicia pointed to Merc, but then quickly pointed to the glass that Vespacci recently put down. She hoped he would get the message. A distraction was all she needed as well as a look out. She could not very well be seen dipping her frog into someone's glass. If anyone was quick with words, it was Harper. Nicia had no idea how long it would take for the poison to take affect. Hopefully they would have enough time to get as far as possible before Vespacci croaked. Nicia put both of her gloves on, fashioned to look like those fancy long gloves, and faked pathetic capturing. All she needed was a few seconds. Just a few...

 

[The Big Lovin']

"Gotcha." Desmond was right. We can't catch a fish if we don't know where to find it. Especially when that fish is a shark and their only buffer was a little cage with 1/2 inch bars. They needed more information. Ray stripped himself of his clothing and proceeded into the shower. A quick rinse and wash would do. About 10 minutes later he was dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans, fresh-out-of-the-box-black Nikes, and a tight fitting black wife-beater. After fixing the last of his armaments, a sleek silver .44 desert eagle, he grabbed his sunglasses and headed out. A little flashy, but he liked the look of the gun. It matched him perfectly. Big, strong, and pleasing to look at. An ego? Naw.

 

[Rainfire]

Harper had lost the value of a smile. Now it was mission time and all his emotion was partitioned into the back of his mind. A basic technique taught to most anyone whose occupation was... outside normal boundaries. He watched her trying to "communicate" with Vespacci and then watched as she "lost" Merc and attempted to try and recapture him. He didn't have to see where she pointed to get the idea that she was going to poison whatever it was that Emilio was drinking.

He stepped forward and put on a stupid smile. "Yes, sir! WE. ARE. LOOKING. FOR. THE. THIRD. FLOOR. IN. THE. WEST. PAVILLION." he shouted and recounted the same act that Nicia had displayed while trying to show Emilio a small piece of paper that had the layout of the Resort, just so where guests knew to went.

Emilio sat up and shook his head. You could tell what he was thinking: that he hated tourists. "I can speak English quite well thank you." He looked at the piece of paper, trying to explain to Harper where to go.

Harper's attention was in another place. He looked at Nicia out of the corner of his eyes, sending her the message that now was the time to do something if she was going to, otherwise they would probably just have to take him out the old fashioned way. Not that he minded... on the contrary, Harper would have enjoyed cutting the man to pieces while he screamed for mercy... but he really needed to get away from that mindset. Revenge though was the only thing that kept him alive all these years, so he had to keep thinking of it.

A moral dilemma indeed. He would have time later though to think about it -- for now he had to keep an eye on this situation.