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Author Topic: The Ghosts of Our Actions Linger On [Lion!]  (Read 1068 times)

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Offline nephero

The Ghosts of Our Actions Linger On [Lion!]
« on: June 20, 2017, 06:55:02 pm »
One might actually begin to believe that one Pilot Noble Isabel Kiers, Commander of the Haviah Harpies, and resident Scary Lady, kept her apartments frigid for ulterior motives. And one might be entirely correct, because Isabel Kiers did in fact, keep her quarters very well-cooled for a variety of reasons, and thus, on purpose. For one, stress often led to increased body temperatures, wherein a cooler environment might help keep a place comfortable.

For another, when the oven is on nearly 24 hours out of the day, increased air conditioning also assisted in preventing the entire place becoming utterly unbearable.

And for a third, the most important one if Isabel herself were to be asked, was that a cold living room better facilitated Cuddles. Which was exactly what Izzy was doing at that moment. She let out a soft, content breath, and pulled up the edge of the blanket that had fallen off her shoulder, before nuzzling closer to one Pilot Royal Banning Lockhart and trying not to grin herself stupid.

She was failing in that regard.

Izzy couldn't help herself. There was just something about the warmth of that shoulder, the way she fit against him, the way she could feel him breathing and understand the steady thrum of a powerful heart, it was all just so...

Terribly heavenly. The tea that she had poured for herself lay entirely ignored, the steam long gone and barely a few sips taken. Doing so would have required she separate from the other Pilot for but a moment, and they had such rare opportunities like this that she was just utterly unwilling to give a damn about tea. It had been ages since they had a mutual day off, a fact that had set her on edge without her ever realizing just how tense she had become for it.

Like how a frog would slowly boil to death without knowing any better, if you only increased the temperature miniscule amounts at a time. The moment she saw him, felt him, heard him, that all eased away in an instant, entire knots of tension released that she hadn't even been aware were there. Izzy turned her head, just so, and buried her nose against Banning's collarbone while still trying to pay attention to the movie they'd decided upon for that evening-- a movie and takeout, an opportunity to relax together and simply enjoy.

She was also failing in that regard. She could barely recall what the title had been, the only thing sticking being a vague outline of events and a few choice moments. It didn't matter. Nothing else really mattered. It was kind of amazing just how quickly Izzy had gone from "seduce with cake" to... what appeared to be an acute case of "utterly fucking smitten". But she wasn't about to question it. Not even for a moment.

Both their phones lay on the coffee table, there but for the constant necessity to be available at any given time-- be it for some crisis or question or whatever it may have been. Not that they really necessarily needed to have bothered, especially at the faint pressure that built up behind Izzy's eyes, subtle but commanding all at once.

The telltale signature of Menhit, her voice spilling over against Izzy's mind, taking complete hold of her such that Izzy couldn't even conceptualize her own senses. There was suddenly nothing but the dragon, her presence, her connection. The effect was dizzying, and Izzy went just this side of slack for the sheer overwhelming nature of it all.

'Isabel,' she intoned, level and melodic and yet so firmly cold, ever conscious of where she was and what she was doing so where nothing else could possibly escape her exact control, 'We have work to do.'

As if on cue, Izzy regained her awareness of her own ability to see, just in time to register that both hers and Banning's phones had lit up, bright and insistent even in the afternoon windowlight.

"Understood," Izzy said, both internally and ex-, slowly returning to herself and looking up at Banning. "Duty calls."

Offline Lion

Re: The Ghosts of Our Actions Linger On [Lion!]
« Reply #1 on: June 21, 2017, 02:55:07 am »
Lazy lounging was the soup of the day.

And if Banning had any say in it, he'd make it the flavor of the goddamn month. And nothing was better than lounging with a warm, firm body on top of him.  What more could he ask for? If Banning wasn't sleeping, he was mentoring, training, or making sure that his new Wasteland friend wasn't getting his head kicked in by some asshole with a chip on their shoulder. Hyperion had decided long ago that Biscuits was better off staying with him. And Banning agreed.

Anyone else, and that'd just be asking for trouble.

Trouble that very well stayed on the other side of the door in that cold crisp apartment. The air conditioning was enough to raise arrays of gooseflesh pimpling all over his skin. Banning was stretched out on Isabel Kier's couch, laying against the crook of the arm rest with his arm hanging out off to the side. Somewhere there was a bowl of noodles that needed devouring, and tea that needed drinking.

But all that Banning could really focus on was that wonderful weight of Izzy spread over him like butter, trapping the heat underneath that thick woolly blanket. Forget the noodles. He made some idle chatter about what was going on in "The Wicked and the Damned" - a low budget horror flick of a crazy woman stuck in a cabin, trying to keep her demon boyfriend outside and his army of undead.

Just then another survivor was yanked outside from the shattered slats of a boarded up window. Their screams were heard and thankfully the gore wasn't shown or Banning would be at risk of losing what orange chicken he'd eaten only moments earlier. HIs hand came up to pull the blanket back over Izzy's shoulder, just as she turned her face into his neck, his pulse quickening at the contact.

Odd how such a subtle touch was enough to bring him shivers, and make warmth blossom in the midst of his belly. She tucked herself nicely against him, using him as a cushion on top of the cushions, because why the hell not? When were they going to get a chance to enjoy another moment like this?  His closed his eyes, just for a moment and rested his arm over her back, hooking it around the back of her head.

"Banning..."

"Go away, Hyperion," Banning sighed to the niggling pressure Hyperion had made in his skull. The needles would soon follow. They always did. Hyperion clearly wasn't in any mood for playful banter.

"It's time." And he met Izzy's gaze with an exhausted stare, when the pressure ceased, the needles easing from behind his eyes and he blinked away the bulbs of moisture that pooled in the creases of his eyes.

"Well, all right then. I guess I'll take a rain check on those noodles. They were looking a bit too much like brains anyway," he purred, leaning up enough to press lips to her cheek. They were up and dressed, and Banning zipped his uniform jacket up, as they headed down to Mission Control.

Within the confines of the Citadel, and the urgency by which Hyperion invaded his mind, Banning's alarm went from 0 to about an 85 in that admittedly short walk. Too damn short to give him any time to steel himself for being shipped out. Again. He'd just got back! Clearly he needed to submit some kind of vacation notice because this was getting out. of. hand.

Decked out in his uniform, and gaining proper clearance to the debriefing room, and from the corner of his eye he winked at Isabel because... Yeah, might be a good idea to save that thought as an after-mission, hmm, celebration. Another Kiers at his back, but hopefully this time, this one would came back not so worse for wear.

"Geeze, this is so out of the blue. I hope nobody fucking died," Banning griped, walking into that cold room. A circular table projected holograms and data flickering, scrolling upward. And Pilot Royal Danmir Alesku was leaning over the table, blue hands gripping the steel, leaving fogged imprints on it. Or what was little more than the cold touch of frost left behind from his cryokinesis.

"Good day, Pilot Royal Lockhart. Pilot Noble Kiers," he addressed, his long black hair draping over his shoulder, and his blue ears flicking off a fly that buzzed by him. The bug landed on the table, and in a quick slam of his hand squashed it between palm and steel. Banning flinched at the sound - because it sounded like a damn gun went off in that tiny room.

With a wrist flick, Alesku tossed two tempered glass tablets sliding across the hologram table with the necessary dossiers preloaded onto the screens.

"I trust both of you are rested. Because this one is going to be one goddamned doozy."
« Last Edit: December 12, 2017, 04:46:10 pm by Lion »

Offline nephero

Re: The Ghosts of Our Actions Linger On [Lion!]
« Reply #2 on: June 24, 2017, 03:26:46 pm »
Despite an outer display of calm, Izzy was... less than pleased. It seemed like every spare moment she had was eaten up by this, that, or another thing, and while that was to be expected in certain regards, it was more than a little annoying that it seemed to happen every single time she had tried to spend some quality time with Banning.

First it was the assault course incident, then it was the surprise substitute lecture, and now this. But duty was duty, and so Isabel zipped up her uniform all the same, and strode with Banning down to Mission Control, boots snapping smartly against the Citadel's floors as they went.

The one true perk of this, though, was that Banning looked amazingly handsome in his uniform. Which, being suddenly on duty as they were, Isabel was just a step behind him, and thus had plenty of time to admire just how well he wore it. Mm-mm-mm. But that train of thought was for later. Which, with any sort of luck, would not also summarily be interrupted by a mission or a crisis or any number of other, more bureaucratic duties. It had been quite a bit of time since she'd taken official time off. Perhaps that was in order. It'd been some time since she had gotten a chance to visit her grandmother. That might be pleasant.

But, of course, work first.

Izzy took a breath as they entered Mission Control, the doors sliding shut behind them and locking into place. The room was frigid, and it was hard to tell if that was because of any actual air conditioning or if that was entirely the fault of Pilot Alesku. It was one of those mysteries that would never be solved, and Isabel picked up the glass tablet, flicking through the dossier and frowning more heavily the further she read.

About that "someone dying" thing...

A broader version of the information came up over the table, mostly just photographs of key players, specifically in this case the deceased in question. Along with several, several others, though they were of far less importance.

"At 0340 we received word that key military personnel had been... engaging in extracurricular activities in the lower levels. Extracurricular, highly illegal activities. Apparently someone didn't agree with these activities, though, and along with that report we received notice that one Major General Aviett been murdered."

Isabel's eyebrow quirked up at that. This seemed rather... a bit of something to do with Inquiry, or MP, or literally anyone who was far more qualified to investigate such matters. Which Alesku seemed to pick up on, because he rolled his eyes and scowled at her before she could even voice any particular concerns.

"If you'd be so kind to switch to photograph 16b," he said with a low rumble, bringing up several crime scene photographs to go along with that particular one, "this is not at all your ordinary murder. And as luck would so have it, it's the same MO as several other, far less reported incidents that have been occuring with increased frequency over the past several weeks."

Izzy flicked through several photos, before finally landing on 16b. Even she had trouble controlling her facial expression, eyes widening at the sheer carnage of it, eyebrows shooting up and threatening to disappear straight into her hairline. It was... grotesque was the only word that seemed to do it any justice. Someone wanted this man to suffer, and badly, because there was nothing even close to "clean" about the kill.

"...How many others?" she inquired, finally beginning to realize why they were specifically being tapped. Sometimes you had to bring a anti-tank rifle to a... what appeared to be a chainsaw fight.

"At least a dozen scummy heavy-hitters," Alesku said with a shrug, as if he were far less concerned with the fates of underworld bosses, "but our dearly departed Major General here has family, and that family would be ever so grateful for some measure of justice. We assured them that we would be sending in the best. Congratulations."

Offline Lion

Re: The Ghosts of Our Actions Linger On [Lion!]
« Reply #3 on: June 30, 2017, 12:49:27 am »
There were ways to kill something quickly and efficiently and by the looks of these pictures the one that was perpetrating this savagery just...didn't want to do that. Not to condone any sense of barbaric ideology, but it said a lot about an individual in how they took to a kill. Banning was no stranger to taking life, but even he wouldn't subject anyone to something like this. Not unless he had a particularly good reason too.

And from the information on the dossier, it seemed this guy had a little bit more than just a problem with the activities Major General Aviett was involved in. Nobody was innocent. It wasn't completely unbelievable that there was no reliable surveillance footage of the perp, even in Aedolis where everything was recorded, everything monitored. You couldn't take a breath without someone knowing about it and couldn't take a crap without another calculating how much water you used with the flush.

Those that were trying to fly under the radar, just long enough to get a shipment through, make sure their operations were in working order and those that were watching were distracted enough by the amount of credits that were rolling into their accounts. It was the same kind of shit everywhere. Even on shit rocks with sprawling Aedolian colonies.

Banning felt bile rise up in his throat, and a clearing of his throat pushed it down. "Okay then. That was short and not so sweet. I can deal with that," he snorted only to receive a dark glower from Alesku, The cold radiating off of him gave Banning another chill and not in a good way. He stood staighter, setting the tablet back on the table that the other Pilot quickly collected, tapping them together as if they were pieces of paper.

"I'm happy you feel that way Pilot Royal Lockhart because I feel the best way we can properly infiltrate the pair of you into the slimy undercurrent that our wonderful and wholesome city has, is through a rather convincing disguise," Alesku sighed, although the amusement was hard-pressed to leave his voice. "Because after that shit out in the Wastelands, Lockhart, sending you in anywhere - guns blazing - seems a little bit too risky."

That...shit in the Wastelands...  This bastard couldn't be serious right now. Banning narrowed his eyes at that odd patchy skin with protruding bone ridges along his brow and cheekbones, delineating the finer points of his skull in a way where it stuck through the skin. Even after just seeing gruesome photographs, just staring blankly into this alien's face was unsettling. He had to get over it of course. Far be it from Banning to get xenophobic any anyone. But the guy was creepy, it had to be said.

He was this close to saying it too, when Alesku beat him to the punch.

"Behold your code names," he cleared his throat, personally tired of staring at Banning's clueless expression. Nothing new there. Lockhart wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. His fingers tapped onto both tablets again, bringing up another file and spreading them both before Isabel and Banning. "Pilot Noble Kiers, you're going in as Arizona St. Clair. An up and coming gunrunner looking to expand your business. You're...eugh...Edani, but couldn't standing those stuck up assholes in Tynova, so you left that rock and knew you'd make better connections here. You didn't need much to get off the ground, but you make a pretty damn hard point of making sure people don't cross you. You heard Aviett was the man to go to to get your product through. And well, you're surprise at learning about what happened to him should at least seem genuine."

"Arizona St. Clair?" Banning snorted.

"Don't. Talk," Alesku growled. "Ahem. Luckily for you Pilot Royal Lockhart, you have a nonspeaking role. You're St. Clair's muscle. More brawn than brains. Her hound if you will. So nothing too difficult for you. Your name is Kitters. I got to choose this one especially for you, Lockhart."  Alesku smiled, exposing rows and rows of pointy triangles that might be excused as teeth. Still, flossing must be a bitch.

"This is unofficial business, remember that, Pilots. So going as yourselves isn't an option here. I've prepared stations for you to get properly set up. You'll have to lose that beard, Lockhart. It'll be an improvement I'm sure.  So make your way downstairs and they'll get the pair of you set up. As ever Pilot Noble Kiers, it's been a pleasure. Hmmph, Lockhart."  Alesku gave the pair of them a bow of his head, although it clear he leaned closer to Izzy than Banning.

Banning had to do a double-take, staring at the page on the tablet, and his face was shocked, brows raised to his goddamn hairline. "KITTERS?!?"

Offline nephero

Re: The Ghosts of Our Actions Linger On [Lion!]
« Reply #4 on: July 05, 2017, 12:00:43 pm »
At least a dozen heavy hitters, besides the Major General, all with the same modus operandi. None so terribly connected as the latter individual, but all torn to pieces via power tool from the looks of things. Which said quite a bit-- weapons, of course, were forbidden to any but law enforcement and military personnel.

Of course, criminals had access to any number of things they shouldn't. It kind of went with the title of "criminal". So why not use an actual weapon versus something that was no doubt loud and hard to conceal and just generally... Izzy wasn't sure how to put it. Unwieldy? That seemed a good enough adjective. Sure, the carnage wouldn't be nearly so impressive with something like a gun or a regular knife, but with the right impetus and a little imagination, it could come close.

Gramma had told her, when she had visited the twins in the ATC, about this one soldier-- an infantryman and a corporal-- who had gotten pinned behind enemy lines and had ended up taking an entire platoon's scalps home with him, all with just a standard issue combat knife.

So why a chainsaw? Did this person just want something big and scary? Or were they just that desperate to separate themselves from the criminals they were hunting?

Izzy didn't have much time to consider either option, because her eyes shot up and focused back on Alesku when the other Pilot commented about 'that shit in the Wastelands'. Her pulse spiked, and a wave of heat ran over her skin despite the chill of the room, and it took sincere effort to keep the capillaries in her face from opening up and turning her into a furious tomato. That shit in the Wastelands. Banning being there was the reason her brother was even still alive, Chance had said as much himelf, and the mere implication otherwise--

Tamping down on her temper, not that any part of it showed beyond the distinct chill in her gaze, Izzy looked down at what was apparently to be her own profile for the following 'x' amount of time. Arizona St. Clair, Edani, part time sadist and fulltime gunrunner out to find out why the hell her initial setup in new territory had gone so south so quickly. Yeah, Izzy could work with that.

She quirked her eyebrow upwards at Banning, and her mouth almost curled into something of a smile despite her earlier anger. Whatever amusement the Pilot Royal had felt about her codename, that was immediately lost upon learning his own, and it was a well and true fight for Isabel to not start snickering. Kitters! Oh, she was going to remember that one for a long time, though as of presently she made a bit of a show turning her face away and coughing into her shoulder. Totally nonchalantly, of course.

Wasting no further time being in the same room as Alesku-- the comment about the Wastes didn't warrant anything beyond a nod and a 'sir'-- Izzy tapped at Banning's elbow to urge him to do much the same. The indignity of the name and the indignity of his treatment wasn't exactly something they could really afford to get into at that precise moment, though Izzy was considering it. Considering it very hard.

They made their way downstairs as directed, and were pulled to their stations, Izzy's full of all manner of bottles and things that she genuinely had no idea the purpose of was. Luckily there were other personnel there to help her, and she was able to strip down as directed. There could be nothing that they took with them that could even hope to be recognized, and while that was to be expected, the practice of which she had some difficulty with regardless.

The charm pinned to the inside of her uniform jacket, for instance. She chewed at her lip as everything on her person was crisply folded and put into a locked storage chest, with the very real assurances that it would be transported back to her quarters where it would be safe and sound. Okay. Okay, she could handle that. She didn't like not being able to do that herself, but she could handle it.

The rest of the "transformation" was easier. New clothes, of course, though "new" seemed to be a bit of a misnomer here. Either they purposely aged certain things or-- ugh, Izzy didn't even want to know. It wasn't too terribly much, just what you might expect from someone who only was recently cutting it onto the scene. And from a backwater planet. As Izzy dressed, she practiced with one of the personnel, a pale, fair woman who helped her navigate the accent, what words were telltale and what weren't.

The last bit to deal with was her face, and the application of cream and a blue-white light soon reduced her telltale freckles to a nonentity. A quick and purposely faded dye job later-- ugh, duckling-blonde, why-- even Izzy had a hard time recognizing herself, especially when she dropped the military stance that had been drilled into her since she could stand. Gods all, slouching like this must be murder on folks' backs, how did they stand doing it?

"You doin' all right in there, Kitters?" she teased from across the way, touching at her fingers where there were just suddenly far too many rings, and made her way across to check on the Pilot Royal's "progress".
« Last Edit: July 05, 2017, 12:02:05 pm by nephero »

Offline Lion

Re: The Ghosts of Our Actions Linger On [Lion!]
« Reply #5 on: July 06, 2017, 05:33:51 pm »
Alesku wasn't worth any energy whining or griping. Banning - in the end - didn't give who fucking shits what the alien thought of him. They achieved the same rank and they both paid their dues. Was he just mad that Banning was being sent out on an actual mission rather than riding a desk and being stuck in this office for the rest of his career? Maybe. The lavender haired Pilot Royal put the matter behind him, because now it was time to focus. 

Preparation now was perhaps the most important. He wasn't going to have a repeat instance of that 'shit in the Wastelands'. He wasn't going to be remembered for that. And it was just his luck that that was all Alesku would focus on. It seemed for now, however, that he placed most of the responsibility on Izzy, regardless of her being a Pilot Noble. That sheer distrust in Banning on part of Mission Control...well, it was nice 'fuck you' up the wazoo.

Personally, the mission couldn't have been in better hands. He knew Isabel Kiers took no shit, and would give no fucks to get the job done. In fact, he was in many ways glad for it. Because that meant he could watch her from behind most of the time. He was just her muscle after all.

Banning didn't get much of a chance to observe Izzy's transformation into 'Arizona St. Clair'. He just closed his eyes and let himself be subjected the makeover as it were. Kitters, the silent mountain of muscle he was supposed to be. Stripping down, he observed the outfit he was supposed to wear.  "Um...lemme guess, picked out by Alesku?" he asked pointedly.

A snort quickly confirmed that answer. And he slipped into the fishnet tanktop that was way too tight to be any sort of real clothing. Did people in Edanith really wear this? Well, he wasn't Edanith. Just that Arizona was. Pffft, well, if this was the outfit. this was the outfit. "Why does it look like I just got back from performing in a burlesque show?"

That tank top really only reached just above his belly button and his tattoos were covered and fake ones plastered over the uncovered parts of his arms and body. Even one applied just under the spiked collar he buckled around his neck. Below the waist, he was dressed in assless chaps, with the bottoms tucked into boots, laced all the way up to his knees in proper bum fashion, and when he finally sat in barber's chair, that was when his heart really broke.

That sound - he'd never forget it as long as he lived - of the buzzers running through his hair. HIS HAIR! And seeing the purple tufts fluttering down to the floor. His beard also followed, and the roots were immediately dyed with a cerulean blue, and a fake tattoo applied to his face. The process couldn't have taken very long, but it may as well have been months for the amount of horror he had, watching each strand fall from his head.

"Kitters is getting fabulous, darling," he managed to choke out, tearing his eyes away from his hair on the ground and up to her. "Whoa!" He hadn't even looked in the mirror yet, because if he did, he'd be even more awkward to look at her. The rainbow on his face, arching over his eyes and across his forehead, ending in clouds on either side of his temples and the two kittens playing on his cheeks.

"Holy shit, Rainbow Sprinkles. You look...really really damn good."
« Last Edit: July 06, 2017, 06:25:27 pm by Lion »

Offline nephero

Re: The Ghosts of Our Actions Linger On [Lion!]
« Reply #6 on: July 06, 2017, 08:34:38 pm »
If this had been a normal exchange, Izzy might have tried to brush aside the apparent awed compliment. She might have blushed, pretending not to be too terribly pleased, and she might have smiled and thanked Banning for it, considering she was still very unsure about the awful lemon yellow color of her hair at that present moment. There might have even been some manner of flirting, a little last bit of teasing before they needed to fully settle in their roles, accent and all.

None of this took place, however, because this was absolutely not a normal exchange, because good lord where to even begin! Suddenly the "carefully used" aspects to her "new" undies didn't seem so bad-- even the copious and unnecessary tears in her jeans didn't seem so bad, even though she'd nearly caught her foot in them more than once just trying to get the things on. And at least her shirt wasn't entirely made of string.

Now, there were certain aspects to Banning's outfit that Izzy rather enjoyed-- those pants could certainly stay after they were done, and that collar too. Especially that collar. Izzy had plans for that collar, several wonderful, exquisite plans.

But she never got a chance to linger on those plans. Not when there was... everything else to deal with. The mesh shirt that was barely anything even close to a shirt. The way those altogether intriguing pants were tucked into boots. And then there were the tattoos. Some of the ones that littered Banning's arms and upper body weren't... terrible. She was a bit biased in that she had grown very accustomed to his real ones, especially that one particular zombie with the eyeball. These new ones were passable at best.

And then there were the ones on his face, and Izzy absolutely couldn't stop herself. Her hands flew to her mouth, though the effort did nothing to hold back the altogether unladylike snorting noise that escaped her, her brows knit tight as she fought down a wave of laughter and the tears that followed suit. It was a clear marker of what horrors had been wrought that Isabel Kiers couldn't even stand straight, curling over herself and outright struggling to breath in between sucking gasps for air, her face a bright tomato red because really she shouldn't be laughing this hard at him!

"I'm sorry, sorry-- Oh, oh, Kitters, you certainly are the prettiest belle at this ball," she snorted out a drawl, somehow managing to keep to her new characterization despite the shock of seeing her poor boyfriend in such a terrible state. "Oh, your hair though..."

She moved over to him, and all but pouted through the last vestiges of mirthful tears, rubbing at the blue stubble on his head and very sorely missing his wonderful purple locks. Not that they wouldn't grow back, of course-- hair was hair and tended to do so, but the loss was real, regardless.

"So uh, inquiring minds wanna know. You spit in Alesku's ma's face or just piss on her ashes? Because mm, that is... that is a hell of a look, honey."

Offline Lion

Re: The Ghosts of Our Actions Linger On [Lion!]
« Reply #7 on: July 07, 2017, 12:08:26 am »
Oh no. Oh NOOOOO!

If that was her reaction, then how on earth was this whole operation going to work?  Here he was in the stupidest get-up that Alesku had set up for him!  ALESKU!  If he made it through this and came back alive, he'd find that smarmy alien and tear those fucking bone fragments out of his FACE!

For now, however, his own face was beet red and burning hot underneath her laughter. He wasn't going to blame her. Because in spite of it all, as silly as he felt wearing it, it was probably just as silly to look at him up and down. Besides, it was better that she get all this out now rather than trying to hold in her amusement during the nitty-gritty of it all.

The least Alesku could have done was just let him go out shirtless. That he could handle. The belly fishnet tank top was just pushing it a tad much. He was lucky he didn't add fishnet stockings to the mix, because that would have been the proverbial icing on the proverbial cake, and if he didn't get cat-called when he was on this mission, he'd actually be disappointed!  As of now, he'd settle for assless chaps, and he twisted his pelvis to adjust himself in the thong he wore underneath it.

Gods, this was going to be a doozy. Just as Alesku promised.

Banning leaned into her touch the moments she ran her hands of his bald head. His poor scalp that tingled when under a familiar hand again. "Oh fuck if I know!" he mumbled and coughed to force himself to mimic he accent he was supposed to have. Oh, maybe it was a good thing he didn't have much of a speaking role because his paled in comparison to Arizona's.

"I think I've met him only once before. I'm pretty we walked passed each other in the hall and I stepped on his shoes or something. His shiny new shoes. You've seen my shoes. They're not the prettiest. And...oh yeah...  That's it. I scuffed them.  The look on his face went from a friendly smile to, 'I'm going to skin you, Lockhart.' I remember it now because he said just that."

Banning twisted around and caught sight of his reflection. "Oh...Oh no, Arizona!  There are kittens on my face! I thought I was supposed to be your bodyguard!" he whined, ducking into the mirror and trying to rub off the tattoo.  But the work was not at all sloppy and the ink remained no matter how rough the touch.  Which was good, but bad.

Now he was both Kitters and Rainbow Sprinkles!

Holy shit.  "Ugh, this is going to be one hell of a doozy," he sighed, pressing his face against the cool glass. And he pushed himself off once they had company again. It was Alesku and he had a smug grin right on his face. A click of his heels and he faint scuff on his shoes still shone on the light of the preparation area.

"Right, now there's no time to waste Pilots. I see the pair of you have gotten well acquainted with your personas. St. Clair. Kitters, Follow me, and we'll get you set up with the right gear, nothing super tactical. You understand," he instructed, turning firmly on his heels and not at all hiding a loud snort at Banning.

"Ugh, I am not getting used to this new underwear," Banning whispered to Izzy. Which it seemed even Alesku heard because he threw his head back and cackled.

Banning clenched his fists. "Just get on with it, Alesku. I'm not here to fuck around," he hissed. Alesku only grunted, guiding them to the weapons room.

"Obviously we can't send you in there completely naked. Well, one of you anyway. You'll need something discreet, but readily available when you require it. Aside from your coms, we won't be able to send you back up immediately should things get hazy. And they will, rest assured. So please, choose wisely. St. Clair, if you please," Alesku bowed his head and stepped aside to stand beside Banning, holding his hand astutely behind his back.

Banning sighed and bumped his old boot next to Alesku's buffed out boots, leaving a mark in the shiny black leather. "Oops. I should really watch my step." And grinned smugly at the other Pilot Royal.

Offline nephero

Re: The Ghosts of Our Actions Linger On [Lion!]
« Reply #8 on: July 08, 2017, 08:19:38 pm »
"All this for scuffed boots? Remind me to never blow my nose around the man..." she hummed, her mouth pursed in disapproval. At least she had managed to stop laughing at that point, her hand at her cheek as she watched Banning try and rub the tattoos off to no avail. She clicked her tongue and gave a little soothing noise, and almost reached up to touch those little kittens before Alesku arrived.

Right, no time to waste. Izzy let out a breath, and turned to follow the Pilot Royal out to where they would gear up for the mission. She couldn't help a little smile at Banning's comment about the underwear, and almost replied before that, too, was interrupted by Alesku's laughter. Okay, she was rapidly acquiring a distinct distaste for the alien, her shoulders tensing with every last bit of humilation visited upon her 'bodyguard'.

She glanced to her side where Banning stood, his hackles proverbially raised and with very good reason. Izzy's arm moved, just enough to brush her knuckles against his, a soothing little gesture and a soft thought between them: You do make the underwear look good, though. Isabel gave him a little wink, before turning back to the task at hand.

The task being weaponry. It wasn't as if Izzy really needed something too terribly potent-- she was, after all, still a psychic. While they wouldn't be able to utilize their psionics while still in the thick of things-- nothing was a bigger giveaway like twisting a man like a pretzel with your mind-- it was still one considerable "back up plan" in case everything went completely awry. So the weapon aspect really only needed to be in case of a show of force. Something to wave around like a gunrunner would-- and what else would a gunrunner wave around but a gun?

It'd need to be something concealable, certainly. Walking around with obvious firepower in Aedolis was another dead giveaway. So, nothing too big, nothing too small. Something that an up and comer might choose to help her with her still-budding reputation. Something that a smart up and comer would use because she knew her stock intimately and wouldn't just choose for looks.

A little bit of substance, a little bit of show. She glanced to the side, and looked at Kitters-- poor, poor Kitters, set up to look like something that'd crawled out of the worst parts of the internet, and yet more than capable of wrecking anyone's day if the need arose. Struck by a thought, Arizona looked at the collection of potential weaponry, and selected a pistol-- a Winterfield, nothing too fancy, but certainly nothing to shake a stick at. A quick application of a holster, and a quick check, and the gun disappeared beneath her shirt without another word. The same she did with a switchblade, though that she set into one of her boots, just in case.

And turned just in time to see Kitters bump against Alesku's boot, and even she couldn't help an amused grin, before gently chastising her 'bodyguard'.

"Now, now, Kitters, don't be rude. Go on and getcha a toy." She folded her arms over her chest as she stood back-- and tried not to look too terribly uncomfortable as she slouched. She was going to need so much chiropractic attention after this.

Offline Lion

Re: The Ghosts of Our Actions Linger On [Lion!]
« Reply #9 on: July 10, 2017, 09:49:26 pm »
Don't be rude, she said. Get his toy, she said. And even as Banning levelly met Alesku's gaze, he flicked an amused grin of his own. "Yes, Mistress," he said with mock play - and his eyes never left the alien's until he was safely out of his reach and stood before that long display table of weapons. For the most part, he could take any weapon he wanted. Normally, he wouldn't be caught dead without his pistols.

But such a shiny and wonderful weapons were likely too 'high-caliber' for a lowly bodyguard of some Edani gunrunner. No, he'd need something more practical in case things got messy. Overuse of their abilities could get really nasty really fast. In truth, however, Banning had every intention of upholding his role - however humiliating it was.

He didn't need anything flashy, or even anything to make a point. Banning reached for a set of knuckle dusters and shook his head. "I need nothing else."  And even at that Alesku sniffed.

"Well, then if you're ready, let's get you shipped out to the lower levels. This shit will just be a few above the Midhaven but dregs from all over seep through the cracks don't they. This way, Pilots." Those were the last words he said to them before they were dragged off toward their mission. Thrown in the back of a van and kicked out once they were at the proper levels.

They were refuse now, and were to be treated as such. So how else would anyone else believe it? Banning rolled out of an alley, pushing himself up onto his feet and helping 'Arizona' as well. "All right this was the club the Aviett was found at I think. Weird. It looks like a dump," Banning sighed to Arizona and he twitched, gripping the knuckle dusters in his grip.

The Red Randy flashed in a red neon sign over steam-billowing up from grates in the concrete. and the music from the inside was loud enough to blare through the doors and brick lining. Banning wasn't completely unfamiliar with clubs like this, and he cleared his throat, trying to look as displeased as he was as they approached the doors. The bouncer at the door gave them a once over and tilted his head before waving them through.

Barely clothed dancers moved and gyrated behind glass panes gouged into the walls. Bright neons flashed and flickered above them, changing in time with the pounding synths the DJ was fluxing in a raised caged platform above the crowd. The lot of them too eager to get lost in the mindless of their vigor, their dance, and Banning took 'Arizona's hand and pulled her into the thick of it, momentarily getting lost too.

"Romankov "Yahtzee" Iazi. That was Aviett's contact here," Banning whispered to Izzy into her ear. "That's who we're looking for. Do you see him?" Maybe him having his hand on her ass in the thick of a sea of party-goers wasn't exactly ideal, but they blended better in the thick of it than standing on the side lines.

Offline nephero

Re: The Ghosts of Our Actions Linger On [Lion!]
« Reply #10 on: July 22, 2017, 12:25:08 am »
"Found at..." Arizona looked up at the place, her eyes narrowed in contempt. Would Arizona be feeling that way, though? Perhaps not of the place itself, but rather the fact that she even had to be there, chasing after some "so called" business partner like a landlord after wayward rent. So yeah, maybe 'contempt' was the proper expression to be wearing.

The key, was, however, to act like an Edani. She let her gaze linger over the dancers perhaps a bit longer than she might have normally, looking them up and down and following their movements with a hooded gaze. The careful caricature of a woman who was not used to such displays and was trying very hard to pretend she wasn't. Not that Isabel needed much incentive to look at pretty dancers, so she was more than willing to let Arizona get an eyeful.

Still, they had business to attend to, and after a thoughtful hum, Arizona continued on her way after Kitters, letting him take her hand and bring her in close. Bodies pressed around them, all together and yet in their own separate worlds, a sea of skin and sweat and hormones and chemical delights. Pressing a bit closer to Kitters, just enough to keep strange bodies from getting too close or comfort, she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders.

The dancing bit was certainly more reserved than any Aedolian might've done, but again, that was kind of the point. She certainly noticed the hand on her ass, though, and Arizona's lips curled into a cheshire grin. She tilted her head, eyes slanted to view the room, urging Kitters around in a little meandering circle just so she could get a good look at everything while looking at nothing at all.

Iazi. Where, oh where, had little Iazi gone? She was almost going to start rotating again to get another pass at the rest of the room when just enough movement at the bar caught her eye. A skinny man, almost skeletally so, with flashing rings and a slick suit. Pretty high end, all things considered, and his grandiose gestures at the bartender only helped to draw attention to himself. Considering the sweet little blonde on his arm, however, she supposed that was kind of the point.

"Bingo. How about a drink, Kitters? I am damn near parched."

It was a bit of a meandering path from where they were, through the sea of bodies and up to the raised bar. Fanning herself for sweat that wasn't really there, Arizona slid up and rapped her knuckles against the surface of the bar, thumb and forefinger raised.

"Old fashioned, sugar!" just loud enough to be heard over the din, and she leaned against the bar, resting on her elbows and blowing bleach-blonde hair out of her eyes. Just enough to make the glance towards Iazi perfectly casual, hooded eyes darkening and grin nearly overtaking her face. Pointedly ignoring his arm candy for the evening, Arizona shifted to better face Iazi at the crowded bar, gesturing for Kitters to pay for the drinks when they arrived.

"Well, well, well. Ain't you just slicker than paint. And just the man I wanted to see!"

"Yeah?" came his reply, a little less gruffly when he turned to see ample cleavage attached to a well-despised accent. Clearly jingoism only really carried so far down here. How quaint. "And who the fuck wants to see me, some fresh off the boat bitch?"

Arizona's smile turned all the sweeter, and she knocked back her drink in a solid swallow before setting it down onto the counter with an audible clunk. Which was saying something, considering how loud the music blared around them.

"Oh, sugar, manners, manners! Now, I know times are hard, changes in management can be so stressful this time of year! I sympathize, really, I do. And because I'm so very generous, I will pretend to be afflicted with temporary deafness, and so will not have heard you call Arizona St. Clair a... I'm sorry, what was it? A fresh off the boat bitch."

Huh. Okay, so Alesku did some fast work. Already the scuttlebutt had made its rounds, reputations carefully planted and preceding. Must've been a hell of a story told, of course, considering the none-too-subtle swallow Iazi gave, the slight twitch of fingers against his own glass and a suddenly far better posture.

"Can't really say the same about my man, though. Excellent hearin', and a profound distaste for rudeness. Ain't that right, Kitters?"

Offline Lion

Re: The Ghosts of Our Actions Linger On [Lion!]
« Reply #11 on: August 01, 2017, 11:54:12 am »
If they weren't here on a mission, it would have been a nice moment to share, out on that dance floor. It seemed there were far too few of those to go around these. Always things to do, people that needed things, and the busyness only seemed to get worse as time went on. Banning didn't want to think about it. He didn't need any further distraction from his mind, no matter how good Izzy looked in that outfit.

Or how ridiculous he felt in his. The pants were okay. And the collar too, surprisingly enough, but the fishnet shirt... Really? Like, couldn't he just go shirtless? It wasn't like the lattice design here was really going to stop any bullets that came his way.  And it wasn't like he could exactly use his abilities without blowing their cover.

Because dragon's balls! A few walls decorated with exploding head juices would be an improvement for this place.

Making their way over to the bar, Kitters kept close, but not too close. The smell of scum and sweat and utter balls (Because that one was particularly potent) made his nose crinkle. Frankly in another time, before all this, before Izzy, he'd be right at home. Finding some ass to fuck in the alley next door to this joint. Buzzed beyond any serious comprehension. And inside Banning was cringing.

He couldn't keep his disgust away from his face, and it appeared in something of a snarl as he stayed beside Arizona while she ordered drinks and made eye contact with their target. The drinks were paid for and slid closer to Iazi. Eugh. Kitters kept his eyes on the both of them - even the bombshell on his arm, eyes narrowing and he grunted closer to her. Just enough to roll his shoulders backwards.

Couldn't have people getting too close. And maybe that need for proximity stemmed more from Banning rather than the role he was playing. Something something marked his territory, and he didn't like to share.

And...just like that something fucking flared.  Off the boat bitch, was she? Did Iazi really wanna go there. Kitters shot the slick-suited sonuvabitch a grin and despite the twitch of his hand, and trying to make appearances that he knew better, Kitters crossed that threshold. Just to make sure that he did.

He made no small movement in grabbing "Yahtzee" by the throat and twisting him around to press down on the back of his neck, bending him over the bar countertop and twisting one arm behind him. Banning was grinning, again saying nothing, and pressing his groin to Iazi's ass, as if to make a point. The man gave an emasculating squeal and dropped his glass.  "Apologize to the lady," Kitters murmured steadily, keeping his words sparse and accent thick enough.

The woman Iazi had been with stepped back. Something clicked beside Kitter's head and cold steel was pressed against his cheekbone. He knew a bullet waited for him on the other side of that gun.

"To some Edani gunrunner? You must really want your head blown off," Yahtzee hissed. Kitters kicked out a leg further and pressed his front in a hard thrust, even if he did have a gun to his head.

"Manners, please."

"Fucking hell. Sorry!" Iazi hissed again, feeling the pressure on the back of his neck increase. The possibility of it separating from the rest of his spine suddenly became very real.  "Sorry! Call off your goddamn dog!"

Offline nephero

Re: The Ghosts of Our Actions Linger On [Lion!]
« Reply #12 on: August 03, 2017, 11:06:03 pm »
It was far from anything that Isabel had experienced in her life, in more ways than one. The quality of the place, if quality was a word that could be used here, was far beyond anything she would have ever dreamed of. The natural side effect of being born with a silver spoon in your mouth, she'd have never guessed that a place as… Mm. Odious as this would even exist. But then again, she was a Pilot before she ever went to her first bar, so her experience pool was… somewhat limited.

Not that she had much time to sit and stew over the state of the place. Because almost on cue, Kitters was on the move, and Yahtzee was face first on the bar. Arizona's eyes widened, and she did nothing to hide the sparkling glee there, or a toothy grin. And not all of that glee was purely Arizona, either.

She nodded to Kitters once Yahtzee was suitably sorry, and made a point to settle herself more comfortably on the bar stool, crossing one leg over the other as she waited for the slimy sonofabitch to compose himself.

She didn't dare risk a telepathic thought, but hoped it was clear to Banning just what she thought of that particular display, rather enjoying the sudden ferocity that went into defending what little honor an Edani gunrunner had.

Rather enjoying it a lot.

Arizona hummed, inspected her nails, and shot Yahtzee a wink.

“See? I told you he's particular about manners. Now, I'm sure we can all put this little bit of unpleasantness behind us, can't we? Unless, of course, Aviett’s associates are full’a horseshit too. Because I will be honest, thus far I am… unimpressed.”

Nothing like emasculating a man and then wounding his pride, and Arizona's eyes narrowed as Iazi sputtered angrily at the notion that his services were only surface deep as it were.

Not exactly the shining reputation any contact of anyone's ever wanted to have, even if it were a false accusation. Which was what Izzy had been counting on. The woman Iazi was with hadn't said a word, but at least the gun was no longer being pointed at Banning's head. That looked like such a nice dress, Izzy would have hated to peel her apart like a banana. Not to mention how quickly that would have blown their cover.

Quickest path to mission failure, and yet Izzy was absolutely sure that anything so much as a twitch more from that girl was going to result in bloodshed.

“How about this, though? You get us somewhere we can have a nice, friendly chat, and I will give you the time to… impress me again. How's that?”

Iazi rubbed at the back of his neck, shooting a venomous sneer in Kitters’ direction, and certainly holding no love in his eyes as he looked over at Arizona herself. Which was fine; Arizona had certainly not come here for a polite dinner with tea and crumpets. She came here to move weaponry.

“Yeah,” Iazi said, finally, slapping his wrist against the bar to clear his tab. “Yeah, fine. This way. To the uh, old office.”

Smiling sweet as pie, Arizona followed behind, trusting Kitters to have her back like always. They crossed behind several tables and back against the corner of the room, where a small set of stairs led up into a corridor that partially overlooked the sea of bodies below.

Arizona let her hand idle on the railing, watching the crowds beneath them before following Iazi further down, to small red doorways that were clearly meant to be private rooms. And Iazi seemed to be the keyholder for one in particular, waving his skinny wrist before the lock and pushing it open as soon as the light turned green. The music was much quieter here, a dull thudding in the walls versus the rattle in your bones on the first floor. Iazi stopped at a mini bar, feigning politeness in offering a drink which Arizona immediately feigned disinterest in.

Quickest way to mission failure, be the idiot who lets herself get poisoned.

Offline Lion

Re: The Ghosts of Our Actions Linger On [Lion!]
« Reply #13 on: August 10, 2017, 12:43:48 pm »
A very brief glance to Arizona, his eyes meeting hers, and Banning's face, flushed with carefully concealed rage, remained stoic enough to enjoy it. His body however, decided it was a good idea to reveal another interloper on their little first meeting. First impressions, being what they were, however, really couldn't get any worse.

Kitters clearly just got a little excited over the thought of ploughing a stupid sonuvabitch over a bar counter because of an ill-mannered tongue. So he'd have to walk around a little uncomfortably for the next hour or so. A small price to pay for keeping him in line. But also, it was nice to not have his own brains splattered over the bar side countertop. That would have made the mission decidedly short.

Kitters followed quietly once they were on the move again, and he could forget the tension in his trousers long enough to feel the hackles on the back of his neck rising. And decidedly noted the black bulbs on the ceiling above them. He didn't look up, but knew they were watching back. Watchful eyes not of those that would come after the pair of Pilots should balls be stuck to the wall, but the ones that would slit their throats without so much as a second though.

"All right then. So now that we're all properly acquainted," Iazi sighed, watching as Kitters closed the door behind them and scowling at him. Kitter's own eyes narrowed and he blew him a kiss. Iazi shuddered, moving over to the bar and pulling out a few drinks for himself. "So you got a few crates you want to move 'eh? Don't wanna pay the tariffs? I don't blame ya. Aviett was a right fucking cocksucker, but he kept business flowing. I miss him about as much as I'd miss my dick being ripped off."

"He was your associate," Kitters replied, and then mentally kicking himself for opening up his big mouth. Shut the fuck up, Banning.  Kiers was in charge here. And furthermore, he was the muscle. Muscle didn't nudge in on the boss' business.

Iazi was sober enough to bark a laugh back at Kitters and tried not to snort aloud from kittens and rainbows on his face. "We weren't friends. Fucker kept demanding a bigger cut. I was happy to keep him happy as long as it kept the credits rolling through. But I didn't exactly shed any tears."

Iazi knocked back a glass of amber, and gestured over to a lounging sofa  and assumed a place behind a large metal desk. "So, St. Clair is it? What exactly is it that you need moved? The sooner the better because I have a feeling that whoever is taking Aviett's place probably won't be as pleasant."  Yahtzee gave her a beaming smile, leaning back in his chair and kicking his feet up onto the desk surface.

 

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