MISSION: World War III: Peace and the Pestilence of RIOTE {2}

There were many words, and tensions were getting more and more heated as bodies moved from the dining hall towards the ballroom, a light figure slipping over rooftops to maintain a clear shot. From the words being said by all parties..... It was only a matter of time. Rebecca laid back down and readied her rifle, sights focusing on various potential targets on the inside of her special helmet. She recognized certain figures immediately, and it only made her grimace to see the numbers on each side. God this mission felt like an absolute shit storm and nothing had even technically happened just yet. Her skin was crawling with nerves, whispering dark promises of a red dawn to greet them the next day. No. She could not allow that to happen. So why the hell was she so on edge. "Aurelius just arrived. Priority target." SHIT. Why was the head of RIOTE here?! FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK. "Edi, I want--"

She didn't get to finish her sentence because gunshots rang in her ear. Shit had just hit the bloody fan.

"Oh bloody hell..." She whispered, looking through her scope down into those large windows below. People were moving too fast for her to get appropriate targets, except.... For one. Aurel. Lining up the shot, she took a deep breath and held it, feeling her heartbeat slow within her chest. Her alchemy would be of no help here, only the skills she had acquired over the years. With one little pull of her finger, the trigger clicked back, propelling the bullet forward and to its determined target at high velocity. She readjusted from the recoil and fired again, not even pausing to register the sound of breaking glass. There was no room for subtlety now. If people weren't alerted to something being wrong by now, they certainly would be shortly.

And the enemy would know that she was here now. She could only offer so much help from the rooftop and so she lowered her rifle, pushing herself off as she raised her arm and bent her left hand back. Clicking a button on her wrist, a dart shot out and plunged deep into the facade of the White House, burying its burrs enough to support her weight. Giving a little tug, she hopped up onto the ledge, pulling a couple of discs looking objects out of a pouch at her waist and took one last deep breath. Exhaling slowly, she jumped. Her body was suspended in the air for but a moment and downwards gravity pulled her, swinging her towards the building with all of its chaos inside as she tucked her legs into her chest. Her black body suit gleamed with a leathery reflective quality to it, the light seeming to glide off of the sleek helmet obstructing her features from view. Another window shattered as she made contact, twisting her wrist to one side to disconnect the wire as she came rolling into the ballroom about ten feet behind Dietrich.

Without stopping, she rolled to her feet and straightened, both hands now holding those circular explosives and pressing the center to arm them. With one good chuck, she sent them flying out in an arc towards the clump of enemies that were getting descended upon by raging Cretan militants. One exploded above them, the second following in its wake. But the explosion wasn't a fiery explosion of doom or anything, no... It was something far more subtle. An EMP blast was sent out to disable any technology that those RIOTE bastards were carrying, extending into about a seven foot radius each. She prayed that none of her own teammates had run into the blast. As those little EMP grenades went off, Rebecca was already moving quickly forward with her pistols drawn, stepping up beside Zen and aiming at the one with the brown hair and sharp blue eyes in the midst of those other RIOTE soldiers. His perfect suit was bothering her to be honest. This was a sneak attack, and ambush upon the seat of Cretan power, and he was wearing a perfect suit? No, she could not allow it. She fired off two shots before running forward to pull Dietrich back and out of the way of the temptress that had bewitched Drachma.

At this point, her only worry would be that either A) Her own teammates wouldn't realize she was on their side and attack her. B) Alena would make it to Dietrich. C) Her EMP bombs had done more harm than help. "Dietrich, Ge' back!!" She called, holstering one of her pistols so she could grip his shoulder, shoving him a few more steps away as she lined herself up as a second line of defense after Elastor. Well, she had certainly made her entrance if it was late.

Meetings were an unforutnate evil of life that couldn't be avoided and had to be dealt with; Tanandra knew this very well. Every time she met with her agent to discuss new movies, ad shoots, shows or contract renewals, there was a meeting and it was always rather droll, but Tanandra was always exceedingly well-informed, preparared for small, civilized battles and negotiations. But those were her battles, and she was more than happy to take them all on and decimate all bad offers, countering each one effectively until she got the best deal. After all, she was Tanandra. Few other models had commanded their own careers as she had or come so high, and now thanks for Aurel would never have to come back down. However, it was for Aurel that she was here now, in this grand ballroom with Creta's handsome Lord Dietrich and Vanity listening as they each batted pretentious banter at each other.

They were still prattling on about chess, talking about themselves and trying to fan their feathers and plumes to seem more dazzling than the other... Really, it was funny how similar humans at their base were to animals. The many wolves and peacocks that roamed the halls and gardens of Versailles were all well-bahaved for the most part, but still animals; the male peacocks would still raise and fan their great tails to impress mates and intimidate others. The wolves would still growl and wrestle, nipping and snarling until one was pinned and made to submit, maintaining order within the large pack. Humans were no different at all. Pretty wors to impress and intimidate, trying to get a civilized upper hand. God, it was a good thing Tanandra had stopped aging or she'd be an old lady before either of them got to a point.

She gave a gently pat to Alonso's arm, her instructions for him to tend to Vanity's need and eliminating Dietrich standing as she turned away from the conversation she was an audience to. Simply standing there holding her breath was boring as hell, and the vast openness of the ballroom around them was making Tanandra uneasy. Their objective as to take out Dietrich, but in a room like this? It just screamed 'opposition'. Tanandra turned away from the conversation, stepping away from the four of them. The room really was exquisite, and Tanandra couldn't help but wish she'd been able to come here under different circumsta- Three gunshots. Tanandra whipped around, aghast as Vanity fell forward onto the little desk. Tanda's hand went to her mouth in pure shock. Chess was a funny thing. There were strategies, and tactics, and there was always a victor one way or another. Or, you flipped the table and shot the other player. Less stubtle and tact, but just as effective.

All hell broke loose in that breath, guards bursting in to gun them all down as the violence erupted. The surprised scream that left Tanda's blood-red lips was all her breath at once, her body crumpling into a green and black glittering heap on the polished floor. The bullet shot true, blood seeping from the wound of her heart and pouring from her breast to pool around her body on the shining marble floor. Honey eyes searched and found Alonso, the look on her face one of shock, pain, and utter heartbreak. That man... He.. He shot her! So this was death? It wasn't at all how she'd picutred it would be for her. Being shot in the heart made for a good E!Hollywood True Story tragedy, but in a place like this? Where was the flair, the glamour? A death like this would leave no good mysteries, no sparkle, and dammit that HURT! But the room went quiet. Alena was shot and bleeding to death on the desk. King had been shot through a wall. And now? Now Tanandra was laying in a pool of her own blood, turning her gaze to her shooter, the look purely woeful and almost confused. "The actress... hasn't learned the lines... you'd like to hear..." The words came as a caressing whisper, Tanandra controlling her voice just enough to make sure it would reach Zen's ears before she let molten-gold eyes close, accepting death.

.......And THAT was why Blood Roses won Best Picture and why Tanandra Collier had won Best Actress! Her portrayl of Lady Macbeth was something that had let her sink her teeth into the role she understood so well, and what was this little tryst than simply an encore performance? Aurel had come in, sounding somewhat amused at the situation, even as soldiers fired at him. Tanda's orders hadn't changed, but she'd have to make a point to tell Alonso to help protect Aurel while he was at it. But sure as Aurel breathed, wounds were undoing themselves. Vanity rose to her feet first, unharmed, but undoubtedly pissed. King would be just fine. And slowly, almost artistically, the bullet shoved itself back out of Lust's beautiful chest as the wound closed, blood withdrawing and drying. Gracefully Tanandra moved to her feet, brushing off her dress, ignoring everyone around her. Merde, this was a Dior dress! That floor had better have been pristine. Tanda knelt down, full breasts threatening to spill free from the bust of her gown as she picked up the spent bullet with one hand and reached for a ribbon in her dress with the other. The black satin ribbon pulled, sliding out of her dress and the long mermaid ruffle falling away from her body with it, leaving a very short and very tight upper part of the dress clinging to her thighs.

Golden eyes looked to the bullet and then to Zen... the one who'd sent it to her. "A Cretan musician's words come to mind," Lust purred, her Rouenian and Esparian accent heavy on the Cretan words as she took slow, poised steps toward Zen, her heels clicking on the marble. "Shot through the heart, and you're to blame. You give love..." Tanandra Collier had zeroed in on Zen Howler, harmlessly plinking the bullet he'd shot her with at his chest with her fingers, the used metal bouncing off his body and landing on the floor with a soft clatter. Tandanra was nose to nose with him, sharing his breath as she smiled, the golden wolf's eyes not leaving Zen's for a second. "...A bad name~" Crimson lips that were arched in a perfect, thick-lipped smile moved forward, pressing against Zen's mouth in a motion that was both commanding yet oddly tender, and very, very brief. The very tip of her tongue flicked out teasingly before the actress pulled away entirely, still smiling in a way that almost very plainly purred "Se coucher avec moi" There was no danger in her kiss, unlike Vanity's, and no malicious intent in her eyes as the nails of the hand closest to Zen began to extend downward slowly.

Daemon let out a low growl from his spot by the tree. Something in the air had changed - it was now far beyond the typical feel of an area keeping its troops in check. People were moving in, and too many people at that. Even he, who'd been in this place for so long and knew what was natural and what wasn't, was taken off guard by the commotion. The echoing footsteps rang loudly in his ears, only to be interrupted by the sounds of gunshots inside the building known as the White House.

"Dietrich," the chimera growled impatiently. He was supposed to wait for Vanity's signal for any sort of detonation, but he hadn't even really placed any of them. Only one had been left hidden in the bushes a few blocks away, the others were still on him. Allowing himself but a few moments to think, he dropped the remaining explosives under the tree and ran toward the building. Something told him that if there was an altercation going on, Aurel and Nyx would follow. At this point, nothing Vanity would say or do could possibly stop him, save for killing him. Of all the things in this world, none were so important to him as being by Aurel's side, serving him, and protecting Nyx. It was that which gave him a purpose in living. Dietrich had - unconsciously - neglected him, and as a result, the weapon had changed hands.

Long legs made swift, long strides, allowing him to move past most of the soldiers before they even realized he was there, taking them by surprise. It wasn't long before he made it into the room from which the gunshots had come. Once again he was inside the castle of Lord Dietrich, but this time he wasn't on the Cretan's side. Maneuvering here would be a simple task, as this was a building he'd been in many times before. With the exception of the now disrupted furniture, he could have pointed out all of the important things: doors, windows, the corners of the room, anything at all. In fact, that's how it was in the entire building, not just this particular room.

He had entered on the side opposite of Aurel, where Vanity and company had made their entrance. The loud, roaring voice of a man was overwhelming, and the bat chimera let out a pained growl as his detonator dropped out of his pocket. He was so caught up in the confusion that he didn't notice, and instead turned his attention from the obnoxious volume of one man to the voice of a woman.

"Dietrich, Ge' back!!"

"Dietrich," Daemon hissed, focusing on the woman's location using the sound of her voice. Pushing off of the ground full force, the ex-militant sprinted directly to her location. At this point, he felt that if Dietrich was out of the picture, then things would be much easier to get a grasp on. Aurel and Nyx would be much safer then. A bullet whizzed past his head, breaking the rubber band that kept his hair tied up, but he did not falter. He would soon be standing in front of the man that he'd once called Lord and the few people that stood between them, but would throw himself at the woman who smelled of metal and gunfire. Of course, he wasn't sure if there was anyone else in the way other than that woman, Vanity, Tanandra, and their respective targets. He could only hope that this was a straight shot...

Just as the woman lunges over top the table, Elastor sticks out his leg and trips the woman in the midst of her barreling attack at the Lord. Her body twists and she squeezes her shoulders tight up against her neck as she falls, causing the sword to slice right between her shoulder blades. Her body hits the grounds with a large thump. Almost immediately as the blood starts to drip down the back of her gorgeous gown, the wound heals itself. Alena didn't have time to play little games with the guard, Elastor. Her eyes didn't even look at his, she just keeps them focused on Dietrich. Toxic bacteria forms in the palm of her hand into a grenade like shape, and she throws it over her right shoulder back at the man whom was crouching behind the table. Upon impact of hitting the floor, the gas ball exploded into thousands of tiny particles that would cause hallucination of a persons worst fear for anyone that inhales the substance.

She was only a few feet away from the man whom her lips were craving. Dripping like honey, as she approaches the leader. She was like a wolf, staring at the sheep, waiting to devour.

"Dietrich, Ge' back!!" A woman demands as she yanks the man back by his shoulder. Her short hair sways as she moves, aiming a pistol directly at the homunculus. This little girl obviously didn't know who she was dealing with, however, it was honorable that should was doing her duty. She was beautiful, and it was such a shame that beauty like hers was going to be wasted. Vanity continues walking towards the woman, her hips sway with every step she took. Her dazzling red grown stained with a darker crimson red from her own blood.

"My foolish dear, I'm sorry that beauty like yours will be wasted..." Was all the woman says before blowing out her signature Kiss of Death. The toxic gas releases from her lips, expanding in ten feet radius from her person. If inhaled, the gas would cause paralysis almost immediately, and certain death if inhaled for too long. Vanity didn't' have to worry about her siblings, or even Aurelius who had taken a pill during the last grand mission that would protect his body from this substance.

After the gas was emitted into the air, Vanity continues forward. She slides by the short haired woman, ignoring her completely. Her focus was only on the man, the man whom had brought death upon her. Her fingers reach up, grabbing his shirt collar and pulls him into a deep kiss. Her lips were like honey, sweet and desirable. The longer the kiss, the more poison that would ooze out into his mouth. She holds onto his shirt with all the strength that she had, not allowing the man to escape the deadly lip lock. His eyes were rolling back into his head, and she knew it was almost over. Any longer and he would be dead, for now, unconsciousness was the key. Her moist lips broke free and she releases the man. He immediately crumbles to the ground at her feet, like a lifeless soul waiting to be placed in its grave.

"And that's when a skilled player strikes, my Lord." She uses his own phrase against him as she bends down and grabs his shirt collar as he lays there in his dream like stance.

This man was going with her, she couldn't afford to leave him behind in Creta. She turns, looking back at Aurelius with a grin on her face. "Let's get going, I'm tired of these pathetic individuals. The prize is in my hand and I'm ready to change outfits." She smiles and looks at a few of his personal guards. "If any of you dare to attack me, or anyone else in this room that is on my side, I will slit his throat!" She pulls out her knife and holds it against his neck as he rest against the floor.

(Izzy and I talked and agreed on this.)

Of course, he was a fool to think victory could be secured so easily. Three bullets? Not even the Esparians had change in governments as cheap as that. So, when he turned to look at Aurel, his heart sank. Just once – just once – he wanted thing to go to plan.

The man in the back sputtered off something, pulling out his gun, as Elastor grabbed his favorite cherrywood table and tossed it into the air. The bullets collided, embedding themselves in the piece of furniture with splinters flying off, several grazing his cheek. When the table landed… That’s when he realized he was in trouble. Daemon was charging around in the background, and Alena’s corpse… Or Alena herself. He was unsure at this point. Whispers existed of undying beings, but he never believed in them. Immortality was impossible, or at least it used to be. And there she was, her figure slowly approaching him.

His legs grew weak, shaking until he fell down onto his knees. Slowly, he felt himself lose control of his body, falling flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling above him. God, he hated that ceiling. Peeling flecks of paint, cracks, far out-dated chandeliers…

His vision changed as he felt someone grab him by the collar. Alena appeared, looking down at him like he was a broken man. ”Save your false pity for an actual person, Alena. You and I both are monsters in our own rights.” Unable to resist the kiss, his eyes soon feel heavy, and he slowly drifts off into a quiet slumber.

Well played, Alena. Well played.

[Le exit thread~]

Unbearable. That's what that grin was: the very definition of it. It was something that made one writhe inside, something you had to look away from, but somehow found yourself staring at as if thinking: 'is that really there?' It was there. And it was unbearable. Elastor couldn't help the minute eyebrow raise that deterred him from resembling a human ice cube, but he couldn't afford to silently harbor the high amounts of distaste that ravaged through his calm, cool, and collected interior. "Nice move," the idiot said, locking eyes with the redhead as if trying to irk him into some form of competition. The pistol cocked, Ela eyes lost on Vanity approaching all too quickly yet slow enough to configure the distance perfectly. "Actually wanna try killin' somethin', instead a' just playin' the defensive? I don't really like the waitin' game." A blur of words amid the chaos transforming into a wolf raising its head to howl--a wisp of fur casually blowing in frozen air whose sky, a dark blue, matched Ela's trained eyes. Gunshots resounded through the room from directly beside him. Zen was firing at Vanity, the bullets lodging themselves into her only to be recoiled and healed over again. Vanity's toes touched down beyond the cherry wood barrier, her other foot blindly shooting ahead into an unexpected trip. "Yer' turn now, Ela." He could taste the smirk.

She fell like a tree derooted, twisting as if in a hurricane to thwart his horizontal strike deep across her shoulder blades--no, it healed immediately just like the bullets. There was no stopping her... She didn't even take her eyes from Dietrich. Ela seethed, nearly fuming after her if not for a creation that resembled a grenade of some sort. He treated it at such, giving it a large berth after Vanity launched it over her right shoulder directly at them. Rolling backwards, he turned his head with a whip of sweat. "HOWLER!" A husky yell through the blaze. The grenade burst into fumes, covering the area in what could only be some sort of toxic gas. In case it wandered, he held his breath a moment, eyes grazing over the distance to see that his partne--the idiot was out of range as well. Confirming that, he thrust the blood off his blade and nearly sliced the knees of a female newcomer. His radio became static, their eyes met for a second, she was standing beside Zen, and "Dietrich, Ge' back!!" she was on their side. He allowed the King to be shoved away by her, and as much as Ela didn't approve of her methods, it took Dietrich out of the direct line of Vanity's charge, therefore deeming it acceptable. However, a very...very tall man ventured directly into the fray, careening around the table blockade.

"Dietrich." He made it into Rebecca's path, but remained out of reach of Ela's sword. RIOTE. He reeked of a foul play with nature, clearly blind, his hair let free from a wizzing bullet in which Ela nearly ducked away from out of sheer paranoia. What was this? Rebecca fired shots in the direction of Aurel, but no body hit the ground, she had to have seen the towering creature before her. A quick take-that-one-and-cover-me nod before he turned around, slinking just barely under the cover of the long table. Down. The other RIOTE woman slammed into the floor, drowning from a wound in her chest. Ela let his eyes waver to the scene for just a moment.

"Shot through the heart, and you're to blame. You give love..." Hah, who would have guessed, zombies could sing. He'd rather go deaf. The tip of his sword drew towards her as if magnetized at her throat, but instead of taking those few steps forward to slay her, he entirely averted his eyes to a halt. She was kissing that man. The immortal enemy with a hole in her chest was kissing Zen. He pivoted back around on his heels slowly. Okay. Alright. That did just happen. He would mourn for the man later. Maybe send him some of Nu's Bourbon. But that--that just no. His eyes refocused on the object of his plight, again thwarted by another series of events. "My foolish dear, I'm sorry that beauty like yours will be wasted..." Vanity tore through the bullets aimed at her, making it up to Rebecca in less time than Ela had allotted. He sucked in a tight breath, feeling his lungs burn unnaturally. Vanity's lips slammed violently against Dietrich's, forcing Ela's expression into one of utter shock. She got that close. They failed. The kisses? He didn't have time to glance behind him to confirm that Zen was dead from whatever the other female had done to him. He broke into a sprint, no longer caring whether or not he died trying. If he failed to protect his king, he was nothing. "And that's when a skilled player strikes, my Lord." He crumbled to the ground, looking hardly human for how limp his usually regal form was. Ela was light of breath, his blade thrust outward towards the man with white shoes. Aurelius, his teeth clenched into a hateful sneer. You did this.

"If any of you dare to attack me, or anyone else in this room that is on my side, I will slit his throat!" He attacked, head on, all or nothing. In the stream of movement, he felt his direction change. A wall appeared, his sword bent into it, causing sparks to fly up. He let go of the hilt, momentum carrying him straight into it. His forehead smashed into the concrete, but he didn't fall--not before seeing that wry, smug smirk slither onto Aurel's untouched face. Knees buckling, he plummeted to the floor, katana bent into a useless shape beside him. While his vision spiked into disaster, something else happened. In the moment he clung to consciousness, a deluge of explosions went off. An airship smashed through the White House, screaming the word retreat as it had already begun to tear through Ela's mind. Blood at his lips, finally he accepted defeat.


[I figure the Cretans can hop the airship for retreat to the coast. Just someone drag Ela with them? 8D]

Things were happening fast. She fell back in her steps and tightened her trigger finger. It was a split second after Deity had shot at the man, that a guard was killed somehow. She wasn't sure exactly what had happened, but she wasn't going to question it. Her eyes shot to where the strike had flown from. A sniper in their presence? Beautiful! Her hands moved swiftly, one arm pushing straight down and into her inner thigh, as the other reached and pressed on a button. Her little device working like a chime, barely visible upon her. A hurried whisper was upon her voice. "This is Captain Deity Silver. This is no test! I am at the white house, I need a 'copter here and NOW. I repeat, this is not a test!" A woman Deity recognized filled her eyes and soon after her headset glitched out and her hands moved instantaneously to survey the field. Her footsteps had moved her a distance from everyone while her eyes caught in all of the wreckage.

Voices screamed, people shot bullets until the room smelled of blood, and gun powder. As Rebecca came in a woman whom was shot had revived and walked to her. A kiss, Pancake had destroyed the building as well as various others. What had happened in the time it took to shoot the man- WAIT HE WAS STILL ALIVE? Fucking Demon epidemic. A sickness washed over her and she straightened to keep from vomiting. They should all be dead and yet? Something had taken her bullet without a scratch now scathe upon her target. Impossible! He hadn't even moved. What was this? She couldn't even fathom what was going on. Zen was in danger somewhere along the line, but the man needed a kick in the ass. Of course she should probably worry since he was probably in a position where he could die. However, Deity was more concerned in establishing a retreat. This was a losing battle, fast and cowards got their lives to plot a way to get back. When did that limmo get in the wall? Ugh, this place was a mess in a matter of fleeting minutes.

The unspeakable happened, Ela had started to fight and ran into a wall that was created out of nowhere it seemed. Alchemy! This did not look good at all. The woman whom was on the table had crawled off the ground, to throw a grenade of sorts at Rebecca which would continue to cause mayhem. WHAT WAS GOING ON?! Where was the damn helo? She could only watch helplessly from the complete OPPOSITE side of the room, now. The group of zombies was starting to lean, thank God. What was with the talk of the woman? Deity could care less. She went and then.. kissed Dietrich? Mixed signals much? Logic was illogical anymore. Survival was all that needed. Some shouting continued as she demanded no one attack her or her teammates. Well, that no longer mattered.

CRASH. There went another section of the of the white house as the helo appeared with loud blades blaring. It hovered, a ladder dropped and Deity rushed forward. A reaction she had never expected. She was running.. for HER life? When did that make sense? SO long she had wanted to die, but now, she was ready to take risks to help herself and a few others. As she ran with swift movement, her arms grabbing at Elastor, she seemed hurried. Though these people had no reason to really attack them now, she didn't want to risk it. Elastor, he needed a doctor. Or at least, those were her thoughts. Why did she even care for this man she barely knew? It was as if she knew him from her first days. How odd that she didn't know anything about him.

"Sorry it took so long, Captain Silver." No cares were given. She ignored the man and turned to speak to the rest of those she was with in the ballroom.

It was odd that of all the people in the room, Deity was the one barking out orders. "LET'S GO! ZENITH HOWLER, GET YOUR ARSE IN BLOODY GEAR AND GET OVER HERE. EVERYONE GET ON THE HELO, NOW." If they wanted to they could listen and get out, if they used their smarts. Her body leaned down and she sighed. With a toss, her gun went sliding across the floor as if in surrender. Bracing her body, she pulled the unconscious man up and though she was struggling, she managed to get herself as well as Elastor to the escape pod, more or less. Once she reached the rope, a man leaned out and helped both in. Her body was exhausted and she barely could move. Adrenaline was a bitch that only worked for a few minutes and then pain replaced it. Elastor was placed upon a bed once in and rushed towards a back section of the behemoth. Still worried, she would lean out and help those who climbed aboard without a second's hesitance. No words spoken, but the defeat known in the air.

Afterwards, she sidled down into her own claimed seat where she coughed a few times from exhaustion. "And to think, I wasted a perfectly good umbrella." But her mind was more conflicted and worried for her comrades as the vehicle went off towards the coast.

[EXIT THREAD]

As Nyx approached fast, she saw the girl began to move away, before she even got a chance to attack her. Nope, nope, nope. This would NOT happen! She had come from ALL THE WAY OVER THERE, broken rank, and revealed her location to the enemy JUST to exact her revenge! ARGH! And this chick just went dip-mode!? Oh, screw that. As Deity ran for a chopper nearby, Nyx cocked an arrow toi the bow and had loosed it, but just as the arrow began its trajectory, her mind changed; catching the arrow by the lower shaft, she stopped it as its flight started, and instead plucked a feather from her wing; pinning it to the arrow, she fired it again, the arrow soaring high over the chopper, placing the feather, which floated down mid-way, right into Deity's hair, clinging to it as feathers do. "Lucky! You are lucky! I could have killed you!" SHouting over the roar of the spinning blades, she let it escape. Turning back to the ballroom, she entered as Vanity took Dietrich hostage and a stupid Cretan tried attacking Aurel. Passing by him, she gave him a brief look, meeting his eyes, before moving to be by Aurel's side.

Daemon, her partner within RIOTE, as fate seemed to favor towards, had also entered the ballroom, and Nyx did worry for him a little. Just a little... Cocking an arrow to Hemera's side, she gently waved the bow, strafing the room slowly, giving it a once-over; a watchful eye of steel searching for all those who dare oppose Aurel or RIOTE, easily replacable should it move like the Esparian panther and take its prey in a single bite of its single barbed tooth. Deciding her safety was no loner a prominent issue for the time being, Nyx let go of her alchemical shield of flame, with a brief flicker of red surrounding her, and a few wisps of smoke. Glancing to Aurel with the corner of her eye, she spoke, almost apologetically. "I wasn't supposed to leave my perch, was I? You aren't mad, right? On the bright side, I think Dae-Dae set off the bombs!~" That was a good thing, aye? She'd heard a thunderous FWOOMP noise, most likely the roaring of flames from the packages she and Daemon had placed prior to the now-time.

Whether it WAS a good thing or not was for Aurel to decide, and also for Alena. As it was, however, Alena's decision was not very important to Nyx at the time; whatever the Czar thought of Nyx and Daemon's mission's success or failure was irrelevant. Nyx cared only for Aurelk and Daemon's safety at the moment, followed then by Aurel's opinion, Alena's safety, and finally her own life. Of those five priorities, Alena's thoughts and opinions were not inclusive. Therefore, if Alena were to throw a plethora of angry comments and verbal assaults at the two, Nyx wouldn't even so much as register it in her mind. But of course, Alena seemed preoccupied anyways, so unless Aurel WAS mad, Nyx hadn't done too poorly; the mission in entirety was completed. And she now stood vigilantly by Aurel's side, to further ensure that he win this skirmish completely.

The guardsman had caught the bullets in the cherrywood of the table with three deep thwunk sounds resonating through the ballroom. That was no matter. He'd advanced, now; the pistol hovered over Elastor, with King's finger ready to tighten, that trademark smile upon his thin lips, ready to blow this man halfway across the room and into the next li- "YOU! YOU'RE GETTING FUCKED UP! RIGHT NOW!"

...what?

Smack. Before King could retaliate, a fist hit his face, one of flesh and bone. Two more collided with him, made now... of metal? It wasn't long before the barrage hit him, and, indiscriminately, he was being torn apart. If he'd had full control over his mouth as this self-righteous, and apparently rather hot-headed man tore into him, King would've yawned. He felt one of the metal tendrils pierce his gut, and push all the way through into the other side, puncturing what felt like his stomach, and grazing his kidneys and liver on the way out. Naturally, King's head bucked, and he spat blood all over the man as his eyes finally narrowed; that had hurt.

After the man finished rooting around in his innards, using some concentrated mechanical power pent-up in his strange, artificial metal tendrils, King felt himself thrown into the wall, blood trickling down his lips and soaking his chin solid as the liquid continued to gush into his mouth from as little as three punctured lower-body organs... it wasn't a good feeling, but the fact that King knew they'd regenerate... that was.

The wall shattered around him, crumbling; King felt sharp punctures dot and line his back, the outer layer of the wall veritably crushed. The environmental destruction had begun; the White House had a serious fucking beating to take, and King was starting to get angry. Blood trickled from further open wounds as the homunculus lay there, still, for a moment, grinning at Pancake, eyes falsely rolled back so that only the bloodshot whites showed... 'dead'.

The tendrils had opened a gaping wound in his gut, but what was worse that the contact he'd made with the wall had forced shards of brick and jagged cement blocks further into him at at least ten different junctures. And the worst was still yet to come; a block of rebar had pierced just below his ribcage, and King was now held fast to what remained of the wall, the breeze blowing in from light slats that Pancake had opened. He was strong; King would give him that. Still hands began to tremble, and outstretched fully, before, finally, eyes of the deepest emerald came to the surface, and locked straight on Gluttony's assailant as the homunculus took hold proper, a long, tattooed tongue, Ouroboros and all, ran gently over thin lips, creating a gentle film of saliva, touching and brushing over the metallic tang of dried blood - King's own.

A quivering growl turned to a steadfast grunt, and King rose one arm, letting grime, silt, dirt, blocks, and rubble from it; a pang in his shoulder made it clearly evident that the joint had been dislocated. King shook his head from side to side, shedding more embedded shards of rock with every movement, opening more wounds which closed up almost immediately. Raising his right arm, he fastened the grip tightly back on his left, and with a dull, weak grunt, snapped his shoulder back into its socket.

Skin, flesh, and sinews knotted themselves back together in unison, pale skin reforming, the only permanent damage done by Pancake to King's shirt; the entire thing was now soaked with blood, steadily crusting over the interior as a hand went to his ear, flicking a switch. A radio transmitter, an earpiece, that he'd hidden over the bridge. Fastened for one line of short-wave contact and one line only: the driver of the limousine.

"Vlad," King panted; his lungs had probably collapsed, but the souls of many long-dead within the stone of a heart he possessed were blowing them back up again, like a patched-up paddling pool. "Bring the limo through,"

The driver hissed back in response almost immediately, an incredulous tone upon his voice. "Through!?" Below eyes glinting with determination, and what could be seen as desperation and the makings of madness, King's quivering lips stretched into a grin as the fighting exploded, soldiers and guardsmen of Creta's king himself loosing shot and shell towards their assailants.

"The ballroom," King spoke with an element of finality in his voice. The driver knew what to do. With that, he grasped the irritating little earpiece, and tore it from the bridge of his ear, tossing it aside as he looked back up to Pancake, and, finally, down to his torso once more. The length of rebar metal was still protruding a good foot-and-a-half from his chest, dripping with blood - the last constant wound that he'd maintained, and, well, a length of rebar metal through your chest is going to fucking hurt, no matter what.

King tried to shoot a look over his left shoulder, but to no avail. He winced, a grimace forming on his chest - there was no way he could pull it out from behind him, and slipping off the front was going to fucking hurt. He was well and truly gored; there was a simple, singular way to do this, and it wasn't going to be pleasant. A low, guttural growl formed in the homunculus' throat, and he grit his teeth in determination as he grasped the very end of the rebar protruding from his torso himself, and didn't push - but pulled.

The might swelling in his chest coupled with the dull ache from the stick lodged in his chest turning to a sharp, hot, and near-unbearable presence quickly turned the growl to a snarl, and then the snarl to a roar. Pulling as much of the stick as he could through with a roar, King felt his insides finally stop swirling; his stomach, moments ago torn completely to shreds, had sewn itself back together. His legs involuntarily chattered against the tiled marble floor, and King gave the rebar one final grasp, shutting his eyes and looking up into the ceiling as he tugged with all the immortal strength he had.

The rock the rebar had been jammed into came loose, hitting the ground with a thud. Now that the jagged length of metal was all King had left, with the revs of the limousine coming close in his ears, he smirked, pulling it through all the way and carving an entry and exit wound just as large which healed up almost immediately, the length carving through a bloody, crimson arc in the air, the homunculus bucking forwards once more in surprise, more red spattering against his jacket and shirt, his attire now torn totally to shreds. His knees had taken more than enough time to repair themselves; now, he was truly free from the wall. A hand outstretched as the rebar length clattered against the floor; a hand to grab the Automag pistol. He hadn't fired the fourth round. That meant there were five of eight left.

Deep green orbs narrowed and focused on the tendril-laden man flexing and showing himself off. That bastard. King looked down at the orange light of the hall dancing along the engraved and adorned pistol, dipping in and out of ridges and trenches carved long-ago by hand, some Drachman working tirelessly as a weaponsmith to produce King a pistol of near-impossible quality. He swung the hand cannon forwards, and placing his left against the floor as a pillar of support, pushed himself upwards, and grasped the stick of rebar, finally.

He trembled and swayed for a moment, but, sure enough, stained with his own blood, his hair specked with white-grey plaster dust and crimson, King managed to take a steady stance as he patted off his own shoulders in a display of mockery. Lust took another bullet, and fell backwards; another soldier fired at Vanity twice more. King snarled, but knew his protectee would be fine; with a snap of his neck towards Pancake, he, however, knew that the smarmy, tendril-bearing man wouldn't.

"YOU!" He roared off at the man from what he remembered of the tourist language, his voice lowering to a raw, primal snarl. King locked his eyes on the man, and rose the pistol in one hand, quivering finger tightening over the trigger. Finally, he uttered that last phrase before he squeezed; his catchphrase, as stupid and immature as it was. "You're fucked, sunshine." In Cretan, it just had that ring about it.

Crack. The bullet carved through the air, splitting it in two, and smacking the very belly from the oxygen they breathed itself. Crack. Another round followed it, both making for Pancake, on target, the second a little less so thanks to the recoil sending the gun flying upwards in King's grasp. The grin stretched further across his face, and he didn't wait to see if the rounds struck; the man was screwed, either way. He'd just pissed off the world's number-one immortal bodyguard. And that really wasn't a good idea.

Smoke rose from the pistol's receiver, and not a moment before King rose the pistol again, the chaos in the room unfolded further, and erupted proper. If they thought that was noise, they were in for a treat. The grin stretched ever-further across Gluttony's face as those echoing, resounding revs followed up by two sets of clunk sounds - as if a car itself had just driven over two conveniently-placed low barriers just outside the ballroom.


King could only mouth 'surprise' as the noise hit the room, headlights blaring as Vanity's steed, the white-and-grey limousine, smashed through innumerable sets of stained glass and tyres squealed across the ballroom floor. King saw the airbag pop and slam the driver backwards as the room continued to explode with noise further, the acoustics accommodating the sound of the heavy, twelve-cylinder engine thrumming as the car veered off into the distance. Just what the King had ordered.

Though, of paramount importance wasn't exactly the car itself, but, more, what it contained. A duffel bag within, containing a few boxes of ammunition, and King's party-piece; time was of the essence, and as the car skidded off past the crowd, and past the violence, conveniently managing not to catch any of the parties involved, the homunculus fired the last three rounds off in an escaping Elastor's direction before the pistol finally clicked empty, sprinting over towards the limo.

He skidded along through the rubble, quickly checking the driver for any signs of life - fruitlessly - and finally opening the back compartment they'd emerged from not ten minutes ago. The homunculus' eyes lit up with fire when he saw it was still there, hidden haphazardly beneath a sheet, a single barrel poking out, orange licks of flame dancing across it in the light.

Darting forth, he grasped the weapon by a length of exposed leather sling, bringing it through, and brandishing it, slinging it forwards and over his shoulder, wrapping one hand against the grip as it finally set into place, and roaring off as the helicopter arrived. "YOU'D ALL BETTER GET THE FUCK ON," King screamed, raising the eight-barrelled monstrosity of a gun, taking aim, and launching one of the single buckshot rounds out through a gap in the wall, off towards the helicopter's side, snarling as he grinned to himself.

They were retreating, both sides. This would be fun.

Chaos continued to erupt within the ballroom for some time. "HOWLER!" Eh? Ting... ting... ting... OH. That. Zen eyed the makeshift grenade-object with some suspicion, until it started emitting noxious gas... yeah, that was definitely bad news. Flailing his arms in the air, he dove to the side and started spluttering from the mere smell of the gas, having only inhaled a tiny amount of it. He still felt a touch groggy.

"ITO!" He screamed for good measure, pupils dilating, feeling once more like he was very drunk. Lethargy grasped him and he almost blacked out... then, Tanandra Collier leapt on him. Yes. The Tanandra Collier. "Shot through the heart, and you're to blame. You give love... a bad name~" Oh, fucking excellent. He felt her lean down to kiss him, and then realised that Alena's sleeping gas was severely limiting the blood flow in his body. In other words, he couldn't get a rodney.

In some ways, this was good. Increased manoeuvrability, no possible STD transmission, and one less thing for Tanandra to break when she inevitably tore him in two. The pistol still waved about limp in his hand, like some other useless appendage attached to his body, and he watched as she broke away and then dove upon him. Ohgodohgodohgod. She was a mass of... nails... and... skin... and... sex... and... OKAY MAYBE THE BLOOD FLOW WASN'T THAT LIMITED.

With a limp grip, he rose the pistol in the loose hand, and, still groggy, feeling more drunken than ever, emptied the remainder of his magazine in her direction, then tried in a less-than-chivalric manner to boot Tanandra's flexible, light, and arguably limber frame off with size-12 black, steel-toed combat boots. He felt kind of like an asshole, but was a) feeling a touch too drunk to care, and b) ...she was a singing, regenerating, supermodel zombie.

The airship was a goalpost in the distance, his vision narrowing and becoming distorted. How far was it? Ten metres? Fifty? One hundred? The voice of Deity, his subordinate, resounded through the air. "LET'S GO! ZENITH HOWLER, GET YOUR ARSE IN BLOODY GEAR AND GET OVER HERE. EVERYONE GET ON THE HELO, NOW." Somehow, the voice sounded a lot like...

"SHUT THA FUCK UP, MOM!" Zen roared in response, slurring every syllable of every word, so only his crouched position and crunched face truly conveyed his inebriated anger, the words and sounds all but drowned out but the rotating of the helicopter blades. He turned back to Tanandra, and threw up a hand, still speaking drunkenly, as loud as he could over the chopper. "SO... LIKE... I'LL... CALL YA OR SOMETHIN'?!" The infamous line. With that, Zen flashed one more look to Rebecca, and grinned at her, planting his hands on his hips. "HEY MORGY! DON'T GET LEFT BEHIND, BECAUSE THEN YOU'D DIE, AND I REALLY SORTA' LIKE YA'," He stumbled further along to the helicopter with a grin, waving and tripping over his feet every time he stepped forwards.

"I REALLY LIKE THIS STUFF IT'S GOOD SHIT," He commented, raising a finger to the air to make a very valid point. The gas was very potent, and in a matter of moments, he'd drift off to sleep. However, some residual endurance did remain from his university days in the innate ability to continue walking, talking, and answering exam papers for at least a superhuman forty-eight hours before he actually slumped in a heap. Now, the gas was accelerating that value to about three minutes, but, that was more than ample time for Zen to make his great escape.

Speaking of which, he did hum The Great Escape theme as he clambered aboard the helicopter with a satisfied grin on his face, and a bulging presence in his undergarments, sliding alongside Elastor as he rose a drained and aching hand to stroke the man's auburn hair and then his face, aiming to splutter some strange remark. Instead, it came out as: "A bhurga dhyja ofmogon." And a blast of spittle as powerful as a shotgun shell coating the other man's face.

And then a limousine carved through the side of the ballroom, and, finally, a shotgun blast did hit the side of the aircraft. Zen pulled himself to a sitting position, and with what was left of his will, screamed towards Rebecca. "BOARD, YA' SILLY PURPLE-HAIRED SEXY WOMAN!" With that, he did slump down beside Elastor, placing his hands to the floor as a headrest, with a contented smile sitting upon his face, and the blood slowly returning to his upper body as the bulge faded. Somehow. Somehow, Zen Howler had managed all this, and to survive.

Echoing silence, rebirth against rebirth, the stagnant hand hovering over a hole, haunting the very seams of what is. Is it as unattainable as they all fathom?--A dastardly ploy to disrupt the makings of human life as it is--to undo all that has been done, all that has chewed up the world only to spit it out in fumes of endless construction and deconstruction? What is the attainable if not a means of striving towards the possibility of something being attained? Who defined the term but someone who attained something from nothing?--A nothing so vast he held it in his hands and still remained while everything else vanished into the vortex of his invented void, swirling effortlessly into another realm entirely, of which he sometimes felt he understood. Memories would sometimes lace together, shedding light and darkness together in monotone hues that expressed familiarity. I was there before, he would think, knowing all the while that maybe it was true. Hild was inside him, breathing for him, living for him, smiling for him. Smiling in a time when smiles were scarce, forcing the curl of his own lips despite the dust gathered there--despite the impossibility of the act for what he was. He should have died--should have slowly vanished under the surface of a clear water pond, tainting it with the plausibility of his own existence. Attempts of suicide he could not fight, brought to a climax by tiny, soft hands and whispered words. "I will live on... in my Aurelius... For..." For...?! For unspoken thoughts that ravaged his being--for something he could not guess, but already knew. That love, that serenity but a form of feeling he could not grasp entirely--could not comprehend as something even possibly pertaining to him. He'd lift the gun and pull the trigger. Let it end. Let it end. Let it end. A small measure of peace trapped under a glass jar, seeing all as the sunlight scavenges for every last remaining drop of humanity, sucking dry the everlasting dream of becoming something more. But to die? Was that not what he wanted all along?

"And the King ain't gonna get put down, either," says King ironically in his own tones--in his own visage of desire. Hild, what would you have done? Aurel managed a hiss that turned into a feral cough, lost emotion stuck in his throat and filling his eyes with query. Finish your sentence. Nothing came. Finish it. Only silence. He already knew. All along, Aurel already knew what was to happen, but to lose Hild before he lost himself--no, before he regained himself, was something he could not handle. For The World. For Father. For the balance that must remain. For the end of pain. For RIOTE. For you. For this you had to die. I'll be joining you soon. Being already joined with Hild was speculation. Aurelius had her soul, but he did not have her voice, her whispers, her touch, her smell--all had become ashes once lying on the linoleum floor in his hospital room. Because of that he knew--he knew the fleetingness of life--what his seldom unthought actions accounted to in the end. No, he just couldn't take it sometimes. Hild, I could have died then and it still would have worked. But she never understood. How could she without him telling her, but he couldn't tell her. There was only one person in this world that could know the Truth before the end--before the beginning.

“I hate losing, and there is no way I’m going to die by the hands of a man like you.” Stickily, Aurel tilted his head to the side, eyes ferociously glowing in the haze of growing hostilities. A gun was raised by quaking fingers: Cretan girl desperate to disperse the true devil in the room. Bang a shot was fired, spinning metal dragged immediately into the black hole about his fingertips. His mismatched eyes flickered into the depths of her, lighting flames everywhere inside. If that bullet had hit him, he would have died. If he died here by the hands of anyone but himself, the plan--everything would have turned to ashes like Hild's body through his fingertips. His eyes, bridging on anger, slowly filtered out the realization back into his calm demeanor. Before, such a thing would have never happened among company, but the multitudes of pain building in his head was beginning to have adverse effects, allowing emotion to ogle through.

Glass shattered, and two more bullets tore through the distance to disappear into his raging alchemy. Aurel's eyes followed the invisible trail out the window where feet soon touched down, belonging to another female too quick to judge. Within another few moments, his radio went dead. All the radios in the room went dead, faint hissing being the background noise beneath the exchange of hateful words. "Dietrich, Ge' back!!" Yes, Dietrich get back. We cannot have you die here just yet. Aurel's eyes took on an ethereal glow, sifting through the dim lighting of the once ornate hall. Lust went down, falling leafly in dramatics that rivaled the best death scene in film ever before. The gunshots faded, her eyes snapping open into song while Aurelius' attention deferred elsewhere.

"Dietrich," Daemon mouthed through the haze, allowing for Aurel to recall right then and there the first time he had ever seen the towering man. When he stole him away into RIOTE--when he gave meaning to a malfunctioned creature. He could give sight to the blind, but he'd rather watch the fickle attempt at finding the Lord like a hopeless deterrent from the plan. It was...mildly intriguing. Almost as much as Vanity tripping and falling on her face. But her focus was too conceitedly connected to Dietrich for her to realize how terribly entertaining she was. Aurel continued to observe, having not taken a single step since his arrival. He looked on as the blue-haired woman in all her glory smashed her lips fervently against Lord Dietrich's, sucking him dry of consciousness and leaving him there like a pile of worn clothes.

"And that's when a skilled player strikes, my Lord." Followed by applause, Aurel finally moved, waving away his black hole with an equally black look.

"Well done," he says quietly, his voice almost lost across the small distance to her. Vanity turned and smiled, evoking something that coiled within him, undefined and never understood. Could it be fear? Their limo crashed through the wall, screeching out of hindsight.

"Let's get going, I'm tired of these pathetic individuals. The prize is in my hand and I'm ready to change outfits." Aurel nodded, raven hair falling over his shoulders to hang somewhat in his face. But before he could turn to leave, the sound of running alerted him that someone was daring to approach. He didn't even look up before he knelt down, hands finding the ground to erect a thick wall. Alchemy burst from him, breaking apart the floor and shooting concrete ceilingward. The man, looking to be a royal guard, slammed into unconsciousness, no longer a threat. A strange satisfaction overcame Aurelius, allowing a smirk to form over the blank slate of his face while blood trickled carelessly out of the corner of his mouth. Down his chin it skittered into his collar where it soaked in and slowly...stopped.

Suddenly, copter blades penetrated all hearing, creating waves of wind overhead while more of the White House was ripped apart, this time for escape. Perfect. It was as expected. Remaining Cretans flooded to retreat, leaving their leader behind, neck to blade. Selfishness. Live to fight another day. Any other leader can fill the shoes of a monarchy. "EVERYONE GET ON THE HELO, NOW." Everyone? Hm. Aurel let a soft snicker fall out of his mouth along with another cough, more blood oozing out from cracked lips only to be wiped away onto his sleeve. A demonic look turned to capture Vanity again in his sights. To her, he knew he could not hide that blood meant something--something more than pain.

"YOU'D ALL BETTER GET THE FUCK ON."

"I wasn't supposed to leave my perch, was I? You aren't mad, right? On the bright side, I think Dae-Dae set off the bombs!~" He jolted to the side, swallowing the quick surprise that came with not expecting someone to be there who was. An eyebrow raised in inquisition, but soon fell again once he processed the words spoken.

"It's fine," Aurel murmured, hardly sounding like himself whilst trying to drag himself to his feet. He swayed slightly, wiping beads of sweat into his bangs. The agony was becoming uncontrollable, his eyes trying to reveal nothing before he looked back away from the little girl he could only wish would understand why he was doing what he was about to do. Vanity. He sought her feverishly, as if flailing through the dark until he reached her side in a heap of not what he should be. Smoke gathered, concealing them, the loud helicopter so close only they could hear each other. "Alena," he began, his voice rough like tree bark being hacked away under an ax. "I need painkillers of some kind now." Human. It reeked human. But that was the first step. Like this, he wouldn't even be able to complete the final act in his script. That's right, he was the puppet. This man, had strings attached as much as anyone else. He needed the screaming in his head to fade away, he needed to sleep for a while to regain the energy required for the first page, and he needed one person to understand. Without that, it would all fail.

"Listen to me carefully," Aurel breathed, leaning on her slightly as his vision spiked out of focus. "No matter what transpires, remember that I will be back. In any form. Without the necessary memories. I am counting on you to replenish that. Again, it all depends on you, Alena." They both managed to make it towards the limousine which was still functioning. The weight of Aurel's words was so strangely heavy and so strangely mortal coming from a man that spent so much time with those who could not die. The driver of the limo whose name Aurel didn't care to recall was dead. He turned his voice again to her, this time closing his eyes completely. "I'll just barely make it there."

To say that the grand ballroom was chaotic would have been a more than mild understatement; all hell had broken loose. What had been two world leaders having a pissing match with three uninvited guests watching had become a massive flurry of gasses, bullets, broken furniture, tangled limbs of soldiers dancing from both sides and now rubble and dust as Vlad drove the limo through the wall of the White House and into the ballroom. Not a bad party after all, though somewhere in the back of her mind Tanandra noted that she could do with a martini about now. Nice Rouenian one, with pineapple and Chambord shaken with the vodka. The lovely RIOTE operatives were all playing with Lord Dietrich's toy soldiers, and that was fine; Tanandra had no doubts in her mind that Vanity had her prey in her sights.

Entertaining as the thought of the powerful Lord Deitrich crumbling into vanity's toxic lures was, Tanandra had her own prey in her hands. He was cute, too. Nice face, good shoulders.... His hair was a bit of a disaster, but this wasn't really the time or place to refer Howler to a good stylist. Morticians were usually pretty good at what they did. Tanandra had rather enjoyed kissing him, letting herself explore a little as Zen began to go a bit groggy from the gasses swirling the air like water louching in absinthe. The party was becoming lively but wouldn't last long.

Dark laquered nails extended slowly, turning from long, well-manicured nails to long talons. Sure, she could jsut shank him in the gut and be done with it, but there were too many things going on all at once and too many already dancing in the rubble and smoke of the beaufiul ballroom. Besides, Tanda hated going to parties and not getting to have fun with at least one good-looking man. Even if that man seemed more and more dazed with every beat of his heart. Oh well, that wouldn't last much longer, either. Claws raked up Zen's torso quickly, the arm they were attached to only pulling back long enough to center above the officer's heart, ready to strike.

Zen's arm flailed about useless;y, his body nearly limp. Nails began to make their marks when the gun cracked, firing into Tanandra's left shoulder. OW! MERDE that HURT!! Okay, fuck enjoying it. Her eyes narrowed darklydrawing a vehement breath to skip all the fun and go for the kill when it fired again and again, the gun drunkenly swaying as bullets grazed skin before lodging solidly into Tanandra's shoulders and chest. Claws lanced out and dug in, trying to make a clean strike and the force of the bullets persistently knocking Tanda back at this range until a thickly-soled boot met her chest, giving one forceful, final push that sent the moel back and away, carching her breath to heal.Gasses, gunsmoke, and dust from debris were kicked everywhere and lifted in a windy spray as an airship landed, the Cretan soldiers fleeing and leaving their "beloved" Dietrich behind.

Pained breaths sucked in through dark, blood-spattered lips, Tanandra's chest and shoulders aching as the bullets popped out one by one and tattered against the ruined marble floor. Well, this dress was fucked. Retreating, everywhere, everyone. Cretans ran for their miserable lives onto the airship, RIOTE soldiers holding the crumbling remains of the Capitol. Gold eyes scanned the fray. Hm. Her bodyguard was toast... Dammit. Oh well. Vanity and Aurel were alright, at least, and so was Gluttony. Not that she really expected them not to be, but a little reassurrance never hurt. Tanandra let out a soft, almost frustrated sigh, looking down at herself, the mess that was the White House, Alonso, and finally to the limo where Aurel was getting in and approached it slowly as the last of the bullets exited her body. Hm. Cretans. Terrible at dancing, kissing, AND throwing a good party.

Envy was disappointed.

He had been hesitant on starting his own part on the plan due to no signal. He probably would have done it, had it not been this kind of situation. While he had some idea on RIOTE's behavior and methods of working, it would still be a bad idea to do anything rash. Getting this particular organization as an enemy would be bad. Extremely bad. And that was when Envy was excluding the fact that there were four other homunculi in the said organization.

Oh, but why the disappointment? He still has a chance to use it, right?

Well he doesn't.

Envy was fully aware of what was going on. He had taken a parade spot from the roof after the walls had shaken. He had climbed up there out of sight, of course. One could see a telephone in his hand. It was given to him by Vanity. He could use it to signal certain people near some very special warehouses once needed.

There was a loud noise to be heard for pretty much everyone who were observing the White House from the distance. Envy turned his head with everyone else even when he knew what it was. It was clearly a helicopter. It wasn't theirs, so clearly it had to be one from Cretan military. He felt that it was something that didn't need to wait for the signal anymore. Envy turned his device on and connected to the person he needed to. "It's Invidia". Weird code names were weird. "Permission to the release has been gra..."

His mouth prevented that sentence to be finished. The helicopter seemed to be... leaving. "They're retreating?" This could only mean one thing. They had succeeded. However...

"...nevermind". Envy finished finally finished his sentence and closed the device. Success meant that distraction had been rendered useless. Once again, he didn't get to do about anything.

This is why he was disappointed.

Helicopter flew quite close to Envy's rooftop. His whole outfit and his hair were all moving back and forth due to this. "Hey!" Some voice was yelling at someone. Envy ignored it. It didn't matter to him. "You, on the roof". Okay, now it did. He glanced down, only to see a man yelling at him. That person looked like one of those guards outside of the White House. "Come down from there. It's dangerous". This remark made Envy to look his surroundings a little. The building wasn't that high compared to the one where he had been in Amestris, but it was still probably tall enough to injure, maybe even to kill. On top of that, sitting on the edge did seem a bit suspicious. "Poor choice of words". And so Envy jumped off.

He did reinforce his feed a little bit during the fall. In hopes of accomplishing something on that day, Envy had aimed for the militant. Poor man seemed so confused. Thanks for his nonexistent efforts, it was spot-on. Asphalt was now a bit more colorful, as were Envy's feet and few people near the spot of landing. One man in particular was shaking from the event as Envy looked at him. Envy's face turned, surprisingly enough, into a smile. "He was right. It was dangerous". Not that it was a genuine smile. It's just that dissonant serenity seemed to be quite effective. The man finally got into his senses and started to flee, hopefully with a splendid trauma.

This was when Envy split off from that scene, running towards a nearby alley and proceeding from there, transforming the blood off his feet in the process. He would go to the warehouses. His smile had started to resemble a smirk. This trip, although disappointing, was looking a bit brighter now.

//Exit//

Aurel was still standing on the other side of the room. She knew she couldn't have missed him. What was that man? He was the Devil. That was the only explanation for it. She hadn't seen Drachma where he had summoned a black hole. She hadn't seen how he took death and spat it in the face. He was a man she did not have nearly enough information on. Her lips tightened as she stood between her King and the dogs of Hell. "Your grenades were effective. Watch yourself Tali." Edi whispered into her ear as Alena continued her approach. "My foolish dear, I'm sorry that beauty like yours will be wasted..." What? Narrowing her eyes behind her helmet, she drew her pistols and was about to fire when alarms beeped inside her helmet, telling her that a gas had been released. Had the homunculus seen through the dark of her helmet? Gritting her teeth, a mask formed over her nose and mouth within the helmet for safe measure as she didn't get to focus on Vanity for very much longer as a body collided at full force into her.

The air was knocked from her body as they went flying a few feet away, rolling until they finally stopped with her attacker on top. One of her pistols had gone flying from her hand, the other held tightly between her fingers as she coughed behind that glass that had saved her from whatever gas that had been. Shit. This really wasn't good. Her right arm with the pistol remained away from her body, and she used this to her advantage to crack the butt of the gun against her attackers head with all her might. She hadn't even noticed his presence in the room. That was a capital mistake on her part and it was costing her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dietrich go down, Alena and Aurel towering over him. Her crimson eyes widened slightly as she heaved and kneed the man as hard as she could, wriggling to get free. No. She burst free of Daemon and jumped back out of reaching range, about to aim to shoot him when a voice called out, "If any of you dare to attack me, or anyone else in this room that is on my side, I will slit his throat!" Only one thing was burning within her and it's weight was stabbing her it was so great. She had failed.

"LET'S GO! ZENITH HOWLER, GET YOUR ARSE IN BLOODY GEAR AND GET OVER HERE. EVERYONE GET ON THE HELO, NOW." She had failed. Alena sat there with a dagger poised at Dietrich's throat and she could do nothing to stop it. "SHUT THA FUCK UP, MOM!" Ela and Diety were already in the chopper and Zen was shouting unnecessarily. "He is not dead Rebecca. You must escape." "I sure as hell don't want to." She whispered to herself as the gas mask moved away from her features behind her helmet. A voice called her back to the reality of the situation that she was hating with each small step back towards the copter, "HEY MORGY! DON'T GET LEFT BEHIND, BECAUSE THEN YOU'D DIE, AND I REALLY SORTA' LIKE YA'," Wh-what? Blinking, she stared dumbfounded at the stumbling man, the words somehow.... It was the oddest sensation. She couldn't even really describe how that had affected her mood. She darted around the prone man and held her pistol ready just in case they decided to attack her.

A limo burst through the one wall and signaled that the enemy was leaving, holstering her gun as shame and disappointment washed over her. Good feelings were gone as she stared at them leaving, walking backwards as she could not tear her eyes away from Dietrich's unconscious form. "Tali-" "BOARD, YA' SILLY PURPLE-HAIRED SEXY WOMAN!" Breaking into a run, she swung up the rope nimbly and landed lightly inside the helicopter, her helmet hissing as she finally removed it to stare unobstructed at the scene below. Her short purple hair whipped about in the wind, but she didn't even notice it. Her expression was hard before she forced herself to go and take a seat, strapping in without another word. What words could be said in the face of this defeat?

It all erupted in a moment. People shouted and screamed, guns boomed, fists were swung, bullets let out harsh whistles as they raced through the air in every direction. The chaos clutched at the souls of everyone within, emotions consumed and rationality disappating as blind instinct took over. Pancake was the only person not to immediately move, a wide grin on his face as he took the moment in, inhaling the air through his nose as if he could smell the panic.

Then he went to work.

Pancake's tendrils dug straight into the ground around him, burrowing deep past the mortar and into the concrete and the mud before he yanked it all up. The floor ripped up in chunks and drabs rather than one clean pull, but they were, for Pancake, perfectly sized. Not bothering to dodge anything, inviting an attack on him, he began to hurl the bits of floor in every direction. He failed to consider which side the target was on, or even if there was a target there; Pancake just wanted to fight. Over and over, chunks of stone, marble and plaster of paris were hurled around, crashing into either a person or the floor, Pancake had no care.

A voice made his ears perk.

"YOU! You're fucked, sunshine."

"Fucking hardly." Pancake thought to himself. He heard the boom of a gunshot, though he lazily swung his tendril to deflect it. He only saw something was wrong when he made contact, and his artificial arm flung back. Then a force tugged at him, powerful enough to literally throw him off the floor and straight into the air. Another crack sounded in the air, and Pancake felt something hot scratch his calf. Another searing hot and very large bullet.

Unfortunately, Pancake couldn't process the pain and get over it before he crashed through the wall... and another... before he finally slid to a stop in the White House Gardens, stunned and breathless. He looked to his leg. Superficial damage at worst; it stung like nothing else, but he'd be fine. He brought the shot tendril towards his point of view. Similar story; few people knew that the tentacles weren't actually metal, but simply carbon fibre with a convincing paint job. A lot of that had been ripped away, and the black of the material was pretty obvious, but he had hit the bullet at an angle that did the least damage to him. He stood up, the airship behind him filling the world with a noisy 'jud jud jud jud' from the propellers that Pancake found...

... most...

"Wait, it's over?!" He asked in disbelief. Horror entered his system at the idea that he had just been thrown through the wall and he didn't have the time to unfold that damage on who did tenfold. Everyone was retreating, Drachmans and Cretans alike. The battle was, as far as Pancake was concerned, over.

And all Pancake could do was sit in the grass covered in mud and dust, looking like a complete fool.

"... oh... fucking..." He stood up and began to pace from end to end of the garden, not noticing retreating soldiers and bombs exploding nearby. "No, this, I mean, nnnngh... this is... I, I can't, I..." His tongue stopped mid-sentence, his brow lower and lower with every attempted sentence. His feet carried him faster and faster, none of his incomplete quiet ramblings doing anything but making him angrier and angrier. "I just, I... nnnngh... I fucking... he's... fuck... I, this, nnnngh..." He stopped in the middle, panting a little, his teeth gritted in an animalistic rage before he let it out in a terrifying roar of purest fury, a message to any and all Drachmans whether they heard it or not.

"I WILL SLASH OUT YOUR STOMACHS AND STUFF THEM DOWN YOUR FUCKING THROATS!" He screamed into the sky, before all of his tendrils smashed right into the White House's wall closest to him. He pulled himself closer, looking to what remained of the carnage. The Cretans were getting themselves to the airship, the Drachmans to the limousine. Pancake looked to the airship first, not all that far from him. It was about to go, and Pancake, as confident as he was in his own strength, knew that even he couldn't fight the odds. This was one fight he'd have to pass up, as much as the idea of a retreat galled him.

Still, he could make sure everyone hurried.

He flung a brick directly at the limo, hoping to bury it straight into the bonnet. Instead, it pretty harmlessly but noisily ricocheted off, but it hopefully caught someone's attention. Pancake pointed straight at the man already in the limo; whoever he was looked pretty important, though he meant for all able to see him to pay attention. With a horrible scowl painted across his face, Pancake drew his thumb across his throat, that most universal of threats, before widening his stance and exerting every bit of energy he had in his body into his tentacles. They groaned against the brick, but the building had already been weakened significantly by the various bombs and conflicts, so it took a mere second for the entire structure to moan and groan ominously. More brick, more stone, more plaster of paris and dust fell from above them, as if the entire building was about to collapse. Considering its state, it wasn't far from it, but as Pancake stood backward, ending his boorish demonstration of strength, the entire roof seemed ready to collapse in onto the ground. Everyone in the building would have to be forced out. With that, Pancake turned around and coiled a tendril around a bar on the departing airship and yanked himself straight off the ground and into the nearest open door like lightning. He looked around to its inhabitants, all panting and beaten looking. He furrowed his brow in disappointment.

"Well, I'm not trying to antagonise anyone here... but I blame you lot for that." He said, looking outside of the window of the airship to see a great whump of dust emerge from inside the White House. A huge chunk of the ballroom had completely caved in. "See, I did that, because you lot don't pull your weight and I'm awesome." With that, Pancake sat down and began to sulk, immediately bored by the journey. "Wake me up when we get to where we're going, coz I'm fucked."

With that, Pancake closed his eyes and fell to sleep pretty much immediately.

EXIT THREAD

The grand leader of Creta was unconscious at her feet, wasting away into a dream like state. If she wanted to kill him, she could easily pull that knife across his flesh and allow him to bleed out. The poor fool wouldn't feel the pain and at least he would die in a state of peace. Something built up inside of her as she stares down into his lifeless features whose mind was lost in a distant world. She had to give him respect as a person, and a ruler of a country. She wouldn't kill him in this state, especially since she had bigger plans with the foolish man who thought he outsmarted the beautiful homunculus.

Her eyes looked up and caught Aurelius staring her down like prey. His eyes were full of guilt but he was thirsty for answers, just like she was. She desperately wanted to run to his side and aid the man who gave her life everyday, to take care of the needs and wounds that were eating him away from the inside out. Nyx appears at his side and mumbles something. Aurelius didn't really give the girl the time of day, and Vanity grins lightly at that. Smoke gathers around the area and before she knew it, Aurelius was at her side, speaking roughly from his suffering. "Alena," He began and she reaches out to hold his hand in the midst of the battle that had erupted. "I need painkillers of some kind now." He demanded and she knew exactly what to do at that moment for Aurelius. She squeezes his hand, preparing for another kiss to sooth the pain in his mind. The great thing about having this curse was that she didn't feel physical pain against her body, but seeing it in the eyes of Aurelius, she knew it was bad. "Listen to me carefully," he continues and she couldn't help but look away for a brief second to gather her thoughts. "No matter what transpires, remember that I will be back. In any form. Without the necessary memories. I am counting on you to replenish that. Again, it all depends on you, Alena." She felt as if someone had just dropped a 100 pound weight on her chest and was struggling to hold it up. Her eyes began to swell with tears, but she knew she had to be strong at this moment. She wipes her tears away with her free hand and squeezes Aurelius hand once again.

"Aurel," Her voice gives a hesitant response before she knew the only thing to do to ease his pain. Her hand breaks free and both search for his face in the smoke. Her gentle touch pulls lightly against his cheek bones as she stands up on her tippy toes to give him a kiss on the lips. His lips were cracked and dry, easy for the poison to sip in and numb his brain from whatever pain was there.

"I'll just barely make it there." He slowly states as she releases her lips from his. She takes a moment to brush his cheeks bone with both her thumbs before taking a step back over to the Cretan leader. Alena slowly begins to drag Dietrich by the shirt collar to the limo. She manages to stuff the man in the back seat, and buckles him in to keep him his limp body from falling over.

"Aurel, don't you worry. I will never leave your side, no matter where you go or what happens to you." Her voice was calm and collected as she reaches up for his left hand. Slowly she begins to take it off his hand and holds it in hers. "Let me have this glove as a reminder, and here, you need to sign a note with your name on it." If something was going to happen to his mind, she could use this glove with the note to somehow bring back answers he might have from trusting her. She bends down and pulls out red lipstick from her purse in the limo and hands it to him. "You need to write a note on this glove and sign your name, for you to remember...." She turns and slides into the limo next to Dietrich, leaving the seat next to her open for Aurelius once he did was she asks. Gluttony and Lust should both be hoping into the limo soon to join them and they'll be off to the next stage of this reality.

[Exit thread]

The helicopter began to chug away into the distance as the last troops piled on. King launched another few shells towards it, then, grumbling, swung the Defender back around to his posterior, and ran his fingers over the skin that had been pierced with the rebar. Blood matted his clothes and dried quickly over the toned flesh of his stomach, but the skin was as smooth as a baby's.

King grimaced involuntarily. He still wasn't sure of how much he liked this immortality idea. With a sigh, the adrenaline fading from his weary body, he looked quickly from Lust, to Vanity, to Aurelius, the end-all; blood trickled down and alarm bells toned in his head as the man sidled into the limousine, taking heavy, pained breaths.

Exhaustion spiked at his fingertips with aches that reminded him of staying up all night in the ward with Jack. A pang of guilt hit him; what would his brother thing? He was a terrorist, now. A murderer. He was guilty of so much more than just betraying the man he'd tried to hard to pull back from the brink of oblivion; his fist balled up over his gut, and he spun around, his face contorted with self-disgust, and grasped Dietrich's arm as Alena lugged him into the car, helping her pile him in with a brief smile towards her employer.

"I need painkillers of some kind now." King fumbled in his pocket for a small orange cylinder filled with Jack's painkillers. He'd taken them... well, just in case. Popping the cap, he poured out a handful, then picked two, and flicked them over towards the blue-haired Sekretar's lap. Smiling uncannily, he pushed the cap back down and slipped them into his pocket as she breathed over him, sending him into what King could only presume was a world of no pain, of no misery, of no suffering; only numbness.

"They'll help him get some rest," He spoke quietly and firmly, scanning Aurelius, once more. "That is, if your poisons won't do enough." He murmured. The man was public enemy number one, and he entrusted his fate to them, three homunculi; King could feel how close he was to the man. It was almost unbelievable. A world-class terrorist... and he could eliminate him entirely from existence with just a pound of trigger pressure and an ounce of conviction enough to leave his love behind. However... he didn't possess the nevessary drive or even want to; he held nothing against Aurelius, even if he knew the man considered him insignificant. He was just a bodyguard. This was just a moneymaker. Or, at least, it had been. Things... things just got a touch more complicated.

With a quick look down towards Dietrich, unconscious in the limousine's back seat, King spat down onto his body, and circled around to the front of the limo, at its cab. Grasping the door roughly and pulling it open, the limousine's body scratched and raked with a tiny criss-cross of bare, ugly chrome shining through beneath the original white primer paint.

Vlad was collapsed and bleeding all over the steering column, clearly either unconscious, dying, or dead. "For fuck's sake..." King murmured, and with a heaving gesture, his arms a little more tired and achy than usual, he pulled the man from the driver's seat with a single lug, before sidling in himself, ignoring the feel of the blood soaking into his clothing - there was already enough matting the ruined suit, anyway. "Guy couldn't fucking drive for shit, anyway..."

A brick bounced off the car's bonnet and the perpetrator jumped into the aircraft. The man with the tendrils. King spat off to the side once more. He didn't matter, now. With a look over his shoulder into the back compartment, as he shut the door and pushed off his shotgun into the passenger's seat, King knew that the protection Vanity, Lust and the two men lying near-dead in the seats were now the top priority. His eyes narrowed. His brow furrowed. And he grasped the key in the ignition, and twisted it to the side, the engine spluttering into life with a low growl.

A smirk. Just like him, the beast wasn't done yet. Exhaustion flared back up into his body, his bones, every inch of his skin, muscle, and flesh shot with a dull ache surging through his system. Maybe this fabled 'immortality' could save him from any wound of shot or shell... but he couldn't regenerate and patch over exhaustion. His vision spiked and blurred for a moment, and King patted his forehead with a single bloodied hand, before giving the car a quick rev to test the water, and nodding.

"All good..." He muttered, and turned back to the barely-conscious Aurel. Sure, Alena was the boss, usually - but today, King knew to defer to Aurelius. "Just a moment..." With that, he snapped his head back, looked to the inconsequential piece of shit tugging at the White House's roof, and sighed. "Cretan morons."

He revved the engine and hit the accelerator pretty much as hard as he could. Leaping up as bricks began to fall haphazardly from the roof, the car bounded straight over steps and stairs indiscriminately, a tough little bastard, before speeding straight back out of the giant, gaping hole in the wall it had left in the nick of time - only moments before the roof seemed to cave in behind them, leaving a great big white cloud of dust in the sky as the car rattled and landed in the garden.

Wrenching the steering wheel to the side, King shouted. "HOLD ON!" The car squealed and spun, carving through the mud and spraying up artificial turf and dirt as it reeled off to the side, King desperately wresting for control. However, with a slight application of more speed, the car regained its stability, and zoomed over various pieces of foliage and shrubbery, flattening them in moments, and, within a moment, back into the White House's driveway with a crash as its wheels touched the tarmac.

"So," He turned around, looking over his shoulder, and smiling that little devilish smile he did, looking first to Vanity, then to Aurel. "Where to, boss?"

Hmm? Nyx's face dropped a tone, from the depression of failure to worry. Why did Aurel seem likie that? he barely muttered an answer to her, and then stumbled over to Alena. But... Why was he acting like that. She wanted to run over and see what was wrong, but she didn't, she merely watched, despite the chaos arou- haha... Chaos... That seemed a little funny to her, upon thinking it through; she's watching out for Aurel even if he's present! But aye, despite the Cretan retreat and everything else still going on, she kept an eye on Aurel, only moving very cautiously towards Daemon, still holding an arrow to her bow. Looking up to Daemon, she oddly held no thoughts on his now-visible eye sockets, as his hair had shifted to the point they were a bit visible, especially from her angular view of his high-up face. "Dae-Dae... Sorry for leaving you back there, I just, I saw that Cretan lady trying to shoot Aurel, so I just hd to do something... Sorry..." Breaking her deathgrip on Hemera for a fleeting moment, she hugged Daemon's leg, since the REST of him was rather high up, and then turned back towards Aurel, checking on him. Vanity and Aurel were now entering a limo, driven by the guy Alena brought with her, presumably a bodyguard.

Glancing sideways at Daemon, she started towards the limo, herself. "Dae-Dae, I think we should get in the limo too. Follow me~" And whether or not he heard her, or didn't listen, or didn't pay her heed, she moved quickly to the limo, Hemera in one hand, an arrow in the other, until she got to the limo and opened the door. She took her seat by Aurel's side, glancing at Alena briefly, also sitting near Aurel, as Nyx lightly held Aurel's arm between the two of her's, wings folded over to the side, so as not to get in his way, as she looked up at his face, trying not to show her concern. But to be honest... She was scared. Aurel didn't seem much like Aurel right now... She contemplated speaking, but deigned not to. Few words could have been said without her sounding too pitiful or whiny. Aurel...

[EXIT THREAD.]

The quelling of tears was something so bitterly familiar, but this time he needn't reach out the comforting hand. Instead, Vanity cleared the wreckage away herself, grasping that hand with unwavering azure eyes. He felt his own fingers curl around hers, a softening look daring encroach into the depths of mismatched eyes, eternally opposite. "Aurel" was the sound of her voice sifting through the smoke, clanking beyond the metal in his head. She was still here. Still here. Clarity returned momentarily at the resonance of his own name, grasping tightly to the folds of consciousness before it left him again in the ashes leftover of his love. A gunshot. No, multiple were happening all around him, each time the trigger pressing cold metal up against his pulsing temple. Aurel's pointer finger twitched involuntarily in Vanity's grasp, his eyes flickering down to confirm the appendage was still attached to his body and hadn't acted on its own. That finger was what ended Hild's life. By chaos or by a single gunshot, it didn't matter. She was gone, fallen down from his body, fingers clawing against the surface of his human skin, and letting go... Something inside of him was writhing, gurgling just beneath the surface of doubt, screaming deafly under drowning water. He couldn't hear her words, muffled meagerly one by one by one into the depths of pure and utter power licking at the fabric of his being, thrusting at the outline of everything that ever made him breathe.

Lips slid against his, cutting off his next intake of breath and sealing it with quenching poison. Everything slowed, debris dancing through the air, smoke like a sheen of stationary fog. So still, but spinning. He let his eyes fall closed. It was a kiss--a drain to steal oceans away. And he let it even if the last person to kiss him had been Hild. It was okay, he thought, before that too drifted into the abyss. "Aurel," she coaxed again, his chest tight with something unable to be described. Slowly his eyes opened, rising from their hands to graze against her irises like disturbing settled pond water. "Don't you worry. I will never leave your side, no matter where you go or what happens to you." Worry? He peddled backwards without moving, eyes steady albeit inquisitive. Worry was something foreign to him: self-assured, confident everything would always go according to plan, but? Worry. It was a mild, faraway thing like desert sand stretching into a blurred oasis, thirst telling you your saved, but the waves of heat screaming its only a mirage. What he had said was essential for Vanity to know; did she think he was worried? No, certainly not. But did he appear to be so? Aurel checked himself, donning a bemused look suddenly in focus. He did not feel as though he was giving away his thoughts aside from what he had shared verbally. Did that then imply that Vanity was not aware of the confidence he had already vested in her--in that single kiss?

"I have no doubt," he reassured, eyes growing fairly colder when she let go of his right hand and then reached for his left to remove the glove covering his skin. He didn't move, watching her carefully until it was fully off. He felt like an experiment, tenderly prodded under a strobe. How much more could he take? His eyes glowed with an ethereal amusement, following the white glove as it fell into her possession. It was clear he let he do as she pleased, accepting her touch, her words, and her kiss as if it were already his own.

"Let me have this glove as a reminder and here, you need to sign a note with your name on it." ...A note? Aurel fell completely silent, lost suddenly in the whole ordeal, pain blocking out all sense. The world shifted sardonically on its side, searing hot stakes deep into the confines of each thought. He paused breathless, barely catching himself on the side of the car as the poison finally began to combat the plague he had caused himself. Family--a rugged reminder he was not alone however alone he should be. It was quite like that red stain along the side of her purse, leaking viciously into the seams of a lesser color with enough direction to forced his hand. His right hand clenched into a tight fist, a sharp intake of breath following. "You need to write a note on this glove and sign your name, for you to remember...." Aurel smiled, his lips pulling into an all-knowing curl, intelligent eyes flashing further unshared knowledge. He'd humor her. But no, it was not just simply memories he would lose. He saw the glint of the lipstick cover as she handed it to him along with the returned glove and stared dumbly at it for a second in his grasp as if he had already forgotten how to write. She vanished from him and into the car beside Dietrich, leaving him leaning on the hood with a glove and lipstick. How precariously odd. Aurel popped the lid off and pressed red into white, scrawling in perfect script a single word before signing his name.

Ducking into the limo, he settled down next to Vanity, laying his head back against the seat to just feel the poison coursing through his system. It was weak, but growing like ephemeral rain seeping across his scalp. In all actuality, he should still be in the hospital. "They'll help him get some rest." Hm? Aurel opened his eyes anon, seeing King had thrown a pair of pills onto Vanity's lap. "That is, if your poisons won't do enough." Aurel let out a choked laugh, snatching the things from atop the fem fatal's torn gown. Hesitating for a pause, he latched himself to each wave of agony assailing him before taking both pills with a cocky smirk. This was perfect; it took out the barely.

"Certainly helpful, isn't he?" Aurel replied, paralleling King's dialogue by going through Vanity as well. King seemed to have noticed the play, but went about prying the driver's door to the limo open and removing the worse for wear driver whose name Aurel still could not recall. It was pointless to remember pointless things--especially that of a dead man's. A light thunk alighted the roof, clunking onto the ground afterwards. It appeared the roof was getting read to collapse. However, he was unconcerned, feeling the effects of the painkillers he took immediately mixing with the poison and making everything begin to dim.

"Just a moment..." King was staring straight at him, but Aurel couldn't even tell if he was staring straight back or not. In a moment, the roof could collapse. What was the point of even saying that? He felt like laughing again, but held it in this time, finding it harder and harder to do much more of anything other than nod his response to the silver-haired homunculus that could probably eat the damn limo rather than drive it. But at least it would hurt less when he plunged his hand into his gut never to see the light of day again. Was he even the same person--the same entity? Would he live on or would everything just...stop? Aurel's fuzzy vision took in the glove resting on Vanity's knee. For - Aurelius Carston Schwarz
Would that be the only remaining thing left of him--the same person? The only thing... "HOLD ON!" Aurel was jarred from his nearly REM thoughts, pinned by reality once more as the car spiraled out of control in control's hands. He grit his teeth and shut his eyes to avoid dizziness as much as possible. Yet when he closed his eyes, it only made it worse. Crash the car landed down on smooth sailing, but Aurel didn't return to the light, lost in the confines of thought, sealing eyelashes. He hadn't even noticed when Lust, Daemon, or Nyx had entered the car some time ago. "So, where to, boss?"

"Central," Aurel breathed just before the pills took him completely.

[EXIT THREAD]