runmakitarun | Into the storm

As the last of the team files through the door Makita closes it firmly behind herself and leads the way over to the window. Down in the square below twelve people move purposefully through the snow.

The six women are mostly unremarkable. One stands out as being exceptionally tall, one is short enough to almost look like a child, and hair of various colors and lenghts and styles can be seen escaping from their warm hats. The six men, however, stand out. The smallest is six and a half feet tall and looks to weigh at least 270 pounds. All twelve of them move with the smooth grace of practiced killers.

Makita doesn't bother whispering as she points them out, "See how they move in pairs? Each sorceress has her Guardsman a few paces behind her. You can see that even in a group they're thinking in twos. When we hit them, I want us to concentrate on splitting as many pairs as we can. They operate much less efficiently when their teams are broken up."

"There's another square like this a few blocks down. If they're headed of our HQ, then they'll have to go through it. If we move fast we can get there first and set up." She shoulders her rifle and looks at her team again, "Let's keep it fast and quiet."

So saying, Makita leads the way out the door, heading toward the rear fire escape for the building.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The sorceress' eyes close, unable to watch her own death. But as the silence stretches out, they open to show something like disbelief. Her brown eyes stare upward at Mel, silently demanding some sort of explanation.

Well. This was unexpected.

"Jesu," Mel mutters, and glances over her shoulders through the inpenetrable blizzard.

If she lets her go, she'll almost certainly complete the mission. Or die out here alone. Or... any number of things. But still, she can't do it. For all the things, and all the people Mel's killed, it turns out the Slayer isn't quite a murderer yet.

"Jesu," she repeats, and lowers the scythe. Then she takes out her purple switchblade and without bothering to flick it open, rams the blunt intrument into the witch's throat, aimed deliberately to disable the voicebox.

The sorceress' eyes widen with a sudden sense of betrayal as Mel's blow collapses her throat. Her mouth gasps open, unable to draw breath with her larynx closed in on itself. Her entire body shudders once in panic at the idea of suffocating, but then a thin trickle of air slips through her ruined throat.

She coughs violently twice as she manages to slowly get her breathing under control. She tries to speak, but the only sound that can be heard is a quiet moaning hiss of air as she stares wide-eyed at Mel.

Mel glares at her, then stands, sliding her switchblade home into her wrist sheath.

"You're human," she offers by way of sulky explanation.

This isn't much of an explanation, at least judging by the look on the sorceress' face. She's not even sure whether she should stand up, or just keep lying on the ground where she is. The snow is still falling, and she's beginning to shiver.

For that, Mel doesn't care. She has her back to the sorceress now, heading over to the remains of her jacket, on the way to her skate rug.

Someone with lesser reflexes would be vulnerable.

Nearly a decade in the fleet has hardened the young woman on the ground, so when an enemy turns her back, the sorceress responds automatically. She reaches for her sidearm and carefully aims at Mel's back.

But her finger hesitates on the trigger as if she's not really sure she wants the other woman dead.

Mel glances over her shoulder as she picks up her jacket, and shakes her head.

"I could knock you out, but you'd die in the cold."

Nevertheless, her jacket-free hand rests on her ray gun.

This statement is considered, and the sorceress lowers her pistol. Mel did, after all, just kill her guardsman and disable her in less than five minutes. She stands up, holsters the pistol, and begins trudging toward Mel, eyes curious.

Mel shrugs her jacket on, because even with the gaping hole, she needs the warmth. The skaterug is her next target, but she glances at the sorceress like one might regard a dog that won't stop following. Then she jerks her head north, away from both the Red's initial target and the rendezvous point for her own party.

"What? You think the Gorkas are taking prisoners now?"

She has no use for a disabled witch.

Since she can't speak, the sorceress can't really tell Mel that as far as she knows this situation hasn't ever come up. Neither side takes prisoners, really. She keeps walking toward Mel, looking half-angry and half-hopeful. She needs somewhere to go, the Reds won't have much use for her either.

"Oh, for..."

Mel's backpack managed to get tangled up in her jacket, but she shrugs it off on its own now, reaching in and pulling out a round of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (with the crusts cut off) and a thermos painted with animated series Catwoman.

These get thrown to the witch.

"You're on your own. Prove you're worth it."

The woman catches the sandwiches, but shakes her head again and continues walking toward Mel, clearly intent on figuring out where she's going. Maybe the sorceress will try to kill her again, maybe not. She doesn't look as if she really knows.

Mel shakes her head again, and fishes out her skaterug from the snow. It's shaken out, laid flatm and she hops on to it.

Now she actually draws her gun, pointing it down, but watching the witch.

She stops about three meters away and watches back. Eyes flicking down to the gun, but then back to Mel's face.

Mel shifts her weight on the board, which rises a few feet, showing its responsiveness.

The look she gives the witch is almost apologetic.

Then she shoots upwards, and back towards the west.

There's no way the sorceress can follow now, but her eyes stare at the spot in the sky where Mel disappeared. After long, cold, silent minutes they harden. Sergei had been her guardsman for over a decade, since the Academy. Sorceress-Major Reyvenne made a silent vow: one day she was going to find the woman with the dyed hair, and kill her.

The comm-link crackles slightly as Makita's voice comes through, "Makita here, everybody check in (http://runmakitarun.livejournal.com/7766.html)."

Into the storm

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject