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No One Does It Better

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No One Does It Better

Post by Guest on Mon Jul 02, 2012 4:29 pm

Around a dozen bodies were strewn humbly across the floor of the nondescript grey box of a room, beings vanished by shot and shell indiscriminately. Blood was pooling and welling up; it was still warm, and all of the multitude of corpses weren't long-gone, either.

Ayden flourished the Fangs of Deliverance, his twin tanto, spinning them idly in his wrists. Gunsmoke emanated from him like a natural stench that seemed to follow him around closely followed by the stink of decaying flesh and death. The room still crackled with tension, and arcs of blue lightning in the form of alchemical electric discharge faded from existence.

A single globule of blood accumulated at the right-most blade's point, slithering down the edge, hanging in the balance for a split-second before disconnecting to the blade's crimson edge and joining the rest of the blood on the floor. Frozen in the stance, he stared matter-of-factly at the man - no, the boy - opposite, a touch shorter than Ayden, and somehow apparently inhuman, due to his... displays of power.

Both of them were streaked with the red of blood from the rather vigorous symphony of murder they'd conducted, perhaps both with over two-dozen bodies to their name. It seemed timing wasn't entirely the pair's forté, given that Ayden had chosen this particular time to deliver on a contract, whilst the other, as of yet nameless, had arrived for another reason entirely. It had began as a usual sweep, a search-and-destroy, a seek-and-massacre through what appeared to be a regular gang warehouse on the fringe of North City - when he'd had the contract emailed to him, Ayden figured he could pop down mid-morning, clean house, and head back up to Briggs in time for lunch.

Mania sparkled and twinkled in the cerulean wildfire that blazed in his eyes. "Well," He expressed with a half-sigh of relief, as if the word had been waiting to come out for far too long, and Ayden had been teasing and prodding, keeping it from glorious release until just the right moment. "If this isn't just the most pleasant of surprises," At his side, one of the numerous mooks they'd slain stirred. Without a single hint of emotional change striking his face, as pleasantly surprised as he was but a split-second ago, Ayden struck out the right tanto to his side, aligned it perfectly with the thug's jugular, and thrusted his wrist in a forced downward motion.

The result was a sickening squelch and the makings of a crack as the blade apparently sheared not just through flesh, but carved through the man's vertebrae, as well. He was dead in but an instant, and a beautiful crimson fount of blood sprayed up to precede this fact, splashing lavishly in abstract patterns all up the assassin's right side. Red on black illuminated the black leather of his outfit, his coat billowing in a gentle, cold breeze, snowflakes drifting past a single open window in what had once been the command centre of yet another short-lived outpost. "Well, you can just imagine my confusion," He explained. "I'd be surprised if it wasn't just palpable," Another giggle spurted forwards involuntarily.

Ayden surveyed the boy slowly, stepping backwards, but not making any signals that he would lower his tanto, sheathe them, or really do anything with them. It was a passive, defensive, and, most importantly, a ready state, should he decide to make a move. There was a military-styled crate, probably full of stolen contraband or weapons, pressed up against the wall and imprinted with all manner of serial numbers in faded white paint.

Stepping out of the slowly-increasing ocean of blood beneath their feet that now dribbled towards the closed doors in the room and threatened to trickle out in the inches of light piercing through into the nondescript grey box, Ayden sidled backwards and took a seat carefully on the box. He set both tanto down to the side with a smile, and scanned the corpses strewn across the floor for anything that wasn't soaked with blood, when a rather nice-looking jacket caught his eye. It was made of some cheap fabric; gingerly, he reached out with a gloved hand, keeping his vision firmly affixed on the boy, and pulled it off with a quick tug on the limp corpse's scruff.

Folding the coat up, he began to use it as a cloth, running the tanto along it vigorously, and, for once, breaking eye contact and instilling a modicum of trust in the little kid, continuously drawing the silver blades through the fabric and letting the blood seep in. "As you can imagine, I'm finding myself in a bit of a conundrum here," He explained with a mock regret upon his voice, before moving onto the second of the two blades. "In my line of work, witnesses present a bit of a problem... but I don't think that's the case with you," A sigh, and he set the tanto back down and dropped the coat to the floor, before spinning both blades in the air with a quick flourish. Still a touch stained from some dried blood; light glanced off of a deep, musty red sheen, but it would do until he could get the proper materials. Standing back up straight, he held the hilts out equidistant at his side, then sheathed both swords along his back with a satisfying shhhk.

"No... you appear to have... promise... in this line of things, even if it's just a hobby for you yet," Another cackle escaped him, and Ayden stepped over to the boy, before bucking and lowering his head down so the pair were on exact eye level. "You're so adorable," He commented with a faux sigh, before snapping back up to proper height and breaking into a barrage of laughter. "BAHAHAHAHA!" It flew from his mouth in a churning bellow, cutting through the very still air before them as he almost began to cry from just how funny it all was. "SO EXCELLENT! SO INNOCENT! SO PURE!" He continued to shout in between bouts of giggling. "BEEN PLAYING IN THE BIG BOY PEN FOR A FEW MINUTES, AND NOW HE THINKS HE'S THE STAR," It appeared the assassin was commenting, though to no-one in particular.

"Well, I've got all-too-unfortunate news for you, boy," Ayden's tones had snapped back to a quiet, grisly murmur. "Your tenacity is... admirable, perhaps," A sigh. "But you can't even hope to compare to such a modern great as me," With that, he made a mock gesture, flourishing his hands and beginning to hum Beethoven's 5th idly, waiting for the child's retort. Such a complex and astounding melody - though this boy was probably more suited to the likes of 'Piano Pete's Beginner Tunes'.

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Re: No One Does It Better

Post by Guest on Mon Jul 02, 2012 5:13 pm

Dropping the last of the men he had managed to slaughter, Randolph licked the blood from his face and let out a giggle. The alchemist with him hadn't been one of their numbers, which relieved the chimera quite a bit. He had a problem with fighting alchemists, mainly because most were able to keep a distance and still fight, unlike himself. Still, he dropped back to a slouch regardless, and lazily looked at the man, smiling all the while as he spoke. When he laughed, Randolph did as well. That is, until the final comments were spoken.

"SO EXCELLENT! SO INNOCENT! SO PURE!" What? "BEEN PLAYING IN THE BIG BOY PEN FOR A FEW MINUTES, AND NOW HE THINKS HE'S THE STAR," What?!

Randolph closed his eyes, chuckles still attempting to escape from his clenched teeth. This man was insulting him. No matter how many helpless plebeians this alchemist had killed, nay, destroyed, he had no grounds to let such words slip from his tongue. Especially not in the only language Randolph understood.

"Your tenacity is... admirable, perhaps," He then let out a sigh and continued with ",but you can't even hope to compare to such a modern great as me,"

That's when Randolph snapped. He fell to his knees, laughter echoing throughout the complex. He couldn't control himself, his rage had built, but those last words were hysterical to Randolph. A sigh escaped his own lips as he pulled himself back up with only a bend of his legs.

Straightening himself to full height, and pointing his index finger at the man, Randolph finally responded, "A modern great? HA! You're nothing more than something a far off, fantastical wonderland decided to dump onto this planet!" His finger followed Ayden as he began to pace. "A star I am not, nor do I attempt to play in this 'pen' you speak of, but I do know a thing or two about how to greet someone with common interests..." A pause.

"I kill to live. I kill for hunger, for a greater need. I am no mere player of a sadistic game. What do you kill for, hmm?"

Lifting the corpse Ayden had pulled the jacket from, Randolph drove his hand through its gut, attempting to make a point. "Do you know what the blood you spill is to me? Nothing but a meal." He then licked his hand sadistically, before throwing the body into a pile of boxes. "At first I saw you as interesting, sir. You killed these trivial humans alongside me, even if for different reasons. Now I wouldn't even bother to probe your mind. Someone as predictable as you would probably give me an answer of 'black' to my usual first question, even when that is not a color at all! You and those like you are far worse than the absence of color that calls itself pure. You are a stain. Something akin to a dark blot upon the belly of a beast!"

He laughed insanely again, pulling his head inward towards his stomach, arms tightening. He then dropped to the ground, allowing the blood to stain his pants without a care. He then suddenly stopped, his retinas shaking.

"Do you have a name, sir? One as 'great' as yourself must love to throw it around from time to time, so why not humor me? I am Randolph..." His head then rose, eyes calming and smile growing until causing his jawline to twitch. "Randolph Styxx."

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Re: No One Does It Better

Post by Guest on Mon Jul 02, 2012 6:12 pm

"A modern great? HA! You're nothing more than something a far off, fantastical wonderland decided to dump onto this planet!" Ayden's chuckled began, stemming slowly from within, a great, slow, low, booming laugh. "A star I am not, nor do I attempt to play in this 'pen' you speak of, but I do know a thing or two about how to greet someone with common interests..." BAHA!

"Ahahaha! Common interests!?" He smiled, shaking his head inconsequentially. "You poor, deluded boy," A moment passed in silence, only the trickling of blood to accompany his speech as his silver-white locks of hair glistened in the Amestrian sunset. "To compare the pair of us is impossible. You may as well try to divide by zero, or find a cure for cancer," Another smirk. "You're in a whole other league, an entirely different tier..." He was delicate with his words. "You're some petty murderer... and I..."

Ayden threw himself up onto his feet with a grin, mania and dementia sparkling in opposite azure eyes, as deep as the infinite oases of Esparian beaches and deserts themselves. "I am an artist, of killing," He spoke - no, stated - as plainly as plain could be, as if he wore a badge branding him so. "I slit throats and sever limbs to splatter crimson across the canvas that is my path, and carve a crimson swathe through the page as I go,"

His voice raised as he moved on to the second path. "BAHA! No, I am a writer, of slaughter!" A toothy grin carved that pale face in two, lines of saliva coating his teeth in their perfect-white sheen, light refracting off of them and bouncing into every direction as they glistened and glimmered. "My ink is blood, and, with it, I tread tales of my conquests and mass murder across parchment notebooks in hope I may one day complete the chronicle of my life," Ayden's simplistic and flattering speech was accompanied by appropriate hand movements as he flitted from one side of the room to the other.

Then he spun to face Randolph, and his voice dropped to nothing but a low, low growl. "No... I am a composer... of genocide." Mania and dementia. Two sides of the coin that is insanity. "My notes are crimson, and they erupt forth from my fingers and spread chaos and agony to all those that can hear, leaving an imprint wherever they may spread," The growl reached its very peak, anger and tension swelling in Ayden's throat as it quickly became sore, and hoarse. "Laughter is God's greatest music, after all," His eyes narrowed and met Randolph's. "And everyone knows that you just can't spell slaughter..." A hiss. "...without laughter,"

"I kill to live. I kill for hunger, for a greater need. I am no mere player of a sadistic game. What do you kill for, hmm?"

A smile, and he burst back into laughter. Oh, how little this one knew! How little he could even understand or comprehend. "WAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" It spilled forth, gushing, like a beautiful waterfall, spreading down his front with every white-frothed stream and segment. Eventually, though, it was gone, leaving only a wheezing Ayden grinning, ready to retort.

"My dear child," He spoke simply, and in patronising tones. "I too kill to live, for it is in my blood, and my profession," He bounded forwards with a single step, and cerulean met crimson as their eyes locked. "I kill to live... because I know not how to do anything else," These words came sadly; as if it were a tragedy that his profession was so lucrative and so dangerous, adjectives which he both enjoyed the application of.

"And, like you! I too have a hunger!" He licked his lips, coating pale, pursed ridges with a sheen of spittle. He leant forwards to him, and, still grinning, spoke with a gluttonous, hungry tone upon his voice. "I have a ravenous pit within me that can never be filled," A smirk. "But my hunger," He flicked his body backwards. "Is of the mind. I rely on killing. It is my art, my profession, my music, my writing... my way to live, for I know nothing but it."

"And the game we play is not one of sadism!" He cried, holding his hands out to his side, and flicking his head up, as if he were preaching to the very heavens himself; even though he knew within he'd never get to see them. "It is one of beauty, one of a pure, and definite nature, a gambit of truth and revelation," That grin etched ever further into his blood-splattered face. "Names, faces, cities, homes... all change in any one life. But for us, for us travelers... we know that killing will be the one constant, wherever we are, and wherever we go."

Maybe... that answered his question. And, maybe it didn't. "If that... isn't good enough for you," He commented, pondering an addendum, before shrugging, letting his hands fall to his sides, swaying like pendulums, and releasing a sigh as he turned back to Randolph. "Then you could brand me a simple, pitiful, two-dimensional hitman, a primitive, primal, rough-around-the-edges thug and plebian who wants nothing more than to get his paycheck at the end of the day and go home in fear of everything and everyone because the society he lives in rejects him," Something dangerous flickered in his eyes as his tones dropped to a sullen snarl once more. "But I wouldn't advise it."

"Do you know what the blood you spill is to me? Nothing but a meal." Ayden held his hand over his chest dramatically, as if he would fall and die at any given moment, as if what Randolph had said was so shocking, so horrifically drastic, that it was insulting to the very core of his being. But the hand fell after a moment of playing around, a moment of acting, and Ayden broke back into a cackle.

"GAHAH! 'Nothing but a meal'!?" Ayden held his hands out to their full span, gesturing incredulously to the room, as if there were something obvious within. "Such a waste," He commented. With a slap, both limbs simultaneously returned to their position of ease by the man's side. "What you have here, my friend, is paint," Ayden explained. "We stand now inside a veritable pool of it. Resources for artwork, and inspiration for symphonies and modern epics that I strive so completely to craft in all their might and beauty." He continued. "And for you to call it 'nothing but a meal' is insulting to the principles that I stand for, and that artists and creators all around the world stand for," Adamant, he stood there, continuing for a moment.

"The good old 'remorseless killer' act may scare away the odd five-year-old every now and then, but you're not fooling me, friend," As Randolph grasped the man by the gut and licked his hand, Ayden didn't bat an eyelid or arch a brow. "I'm far more complex than that," He stated matter-of-factly. "And whilst your strength, and your potential, has long-since been displayed," The grin that had momentarily faded took its rightful place upon his face once more. "You are rough around the edges... but we can make a diamond of you yet, comrade,"

"At first I saw you as interesting, sir. You killed these trivial humans alongside me, even if for different reasons. Now I wouldn't even bother to probe your mind. Someone as predictable as you would probably give me an answer of 'black' to my usual first question, even when that is not a color at all! You and those like you are far worse than the absence of color that calls itself pure. You are a stain. Something akin to a dark blot upon the belly of a beast!" He burst back out into laughter; so much so that he was reeling, clutching his gut, his throat hoarse and swollen.

"ZYAHAHAHAHAAA!" He continued to howl in the boy's face, every stare at him apparently just too funny, too hilarious, for him to continue. It was too much, and before long, he was stamping the floor like a child, unable to move. "AAAAAHAAAAAHAHAHAHAAA!"

The laughter did, however, eventually, fade, irritating and ringing in Randolph's ears - Ayden had long-since been immune to the echo of his own voice, having learnt to blank it out. "That was... almost... beautiful," He commented. "But you're wrong, so very, dearly, incredibly, wrong,"

"In ideal, our reasons are the same. Society would both have us be committed as sociopaths, and, at heart, we both kill for needs and wants that are on a primal level," He explained, once more pacing back and forth, treading blood and splashing it all about as he moved, leaving many a footprint as he paced. "But my reasons, whilst... different, are, yet, in many ways, the same." One issue, tied up.

"And I think you've got yourself wrong, there. As I'm willing to wager, just like you, my favourite colour is none other than the crimson we tread upon, the crimson we so eagerly shed, the crimson..." He darted back in towards Randolph, his tongue slipping in and out like a serpent's. "...the crimson we so wish to draw rivulets of along any being's pale, ample skin..." An uncanny smile as he hooked back out, bucking upwards with a smile and a glossed look in his eyes. "So, you see, we are not too dissimilar from each other," He concluded, before turning around, his ear pricking to intently hear out Randolph's rebuttal.

"Do you have a name, sir? One as 'great' as yourself must love to throw it around from time to time, so why not humor me? I am Randolph... Randolph Styxx." Ayden smirked at him, before giggling a little more; he kept the bellowing cackles back, as his throat was too sore, and the crackling atmosphere about them far too bored of his inane laughter now.

"I don't namedrop, boy," The smirk finally settled. It was no grin, no long-drawn carving across his face, and no cocky curvature of the lips; no, it was simply now but a smile. "In my business, the fewer who know your name, the better," A plain, simple, and pure smile, with no ego behind it, no motivation, no nothing, aside from sheer, entire, complete, and wholesome happiness. "Few know of me, Randolph," He commented, taking a brief, momentary pause, before continuing. "But those that do... know my name; Ayden Derocha." And, finally, the cherry on top, the note at the end, the clef of a final bar... to finish it all up... "And I've positively got to say..."

"...you remind me of a younger version of myself."

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Re: No One Does It Better

Post by Guest on Mon Jul 02, 2012 8:15 pm

Randolph's mind was spinning. What to do now? What to say? Was there even anything left for him to ask now? This man, this Ayden, had already painted a vivid picture of his inner mind within the chimera's own. Ayden Derocha was definitely as insane or even more so than Randolph, but the thing that separated their minds was one thing: Motive. Their methods of action and goals were far different. The chimera began killing for revenge, later to sate his appetite, but what this man killed for was art and the recognition there of... But why? That was the last piece of this portion of the puzzle needed to be filled in.

At his last comment, Randolph could feel his anger building once more. He was nothing like this man, yet... he was. The boy didn't want to accept this. He couldn't accept it. Once more he rose, eyes never leaving Ayden, smile still stretched as not to display his change of thoughts.

"I guess people change then, Mr. Derocha. Hopefully I won't have to go through this exchange with another one of us in the future." He then laughed at his own joke, but this time it wasn't as loud. More like a passing giggle that rose and fell as soon as it came. He wouldn't let this fool get the better of him here.

"However, I do admire your views on this shared... pastime of ours." Pointing to the blood on the floor he continued. "We've painted quite the... heheheheh... masterpiece together."

"Alas, I must ask... What gave you the desire to live such a life, hmm? Heheh... What made you the man you are today? Why did you give up the chance of living like a normal human and blending in? Was it a need to be different? No, no, it couldn't be that simple. Did something happen? Is there an element of your past that's been left untouched?"

Randolph then began to lick what was left of the blood from his hand, though his stare never left the alchemist before him. He wouldn't allow this man to force him into the first move if this was what he was attempting. A hasty attack lead to negative outcomes. This meeting had yet to reach a proper climax. The true spread of madness within these walls was just beginning to unfold.

"Or maybe we're more alike than I can conceive? Is it that, Ayden? Were you born to be a monster?"

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Re: No One Does It Better

Post by Guest on Wed Jul 04, 2012 4:09 pm

"I guess people change then, Mr. Derocha. Hopefully I won't have to go through this exchange with another one of us in the future." Ayden nodded with a smile upon his face. Their motives were different, as Randolph had concluded, but the assassin's passion lied not in the motives, ever; but more in the execution. His beautiful symphonies of swirling steel and shed crimson of course had their points, short and succinct, usually, but the true flair, the true awe of it all, came in the execution.

"Another one of 'us'?" Ayden cackled madly for a moment, throwing his head up and letting his crimson-specked silver locks flail around him uncontrollably. "My dear boy, never consider yourself so... so generalised." The assassin's head settled, and he tilted it to the right, azure meeting crimson in their eyes. "Only you have the ability to ascend above, to transcend those petty murderers, to brand yourself as something different, and join the ranks of..." Again, he paused for a moment to choose his words. "the enlightened."

Another pause as the giddy laughter faded, and a sick grin fuelled by bloodlust shot across his pallor. "Motives change. The rationale. The objective." The statement was made with surprising force and authority for the assassin's usually-flowing voice. "But you are unique in the way you kill." He spun once more, twirling on a single foot with a croaking chuckle. "It's all in the execution, comrade~!"

He paused mid-way through the pivot, and landed, crouching down with a smile. Analysis shot across Randolph and his blood-soaked hand, and a beckoning, outstretched, leather-clad finger gestured to it. "A killer isn't simply what he says he is," Ayden explained, swiping his finger along with a flourish, before letting his hand fall to his side, and standing up to his proper stature. "A killer is defined by his moves, his penchants, his quirks... his art stems not from the final piece alone, but from technique."

An explosion of noise, and Ayden arched forwards with his hands thrust out to his side rapidly. "The way you grasped that man's throat!" He gestured to a fallen corpse, ravaged, courtesy of Randolph. "The way you snapped that poor thug's arm!" He feigned false sympathy, before giggling once more and gesturing to another limp, mangled corpse. A final spin, and he was barely inches away from Randolph's face. "The way... the way you spoke to me, telling me of how it was your hunger pushing you into this," His voice was grave, quiet... deadly.

"You are primal, you act on emotion, on need, on instinct..." He explained, taking a leap backwards; as if he, along with everything else, was part of an impeccably choreographed dance recital telling the story of a string of... well, murders. "Your movements are raw, your strength showing through... clearly inhuman," He gestured to Randolph's frame and structure; the boy was evidently built unnaturally, and from seeing this power displayed, Ayden knew he was either enhanced by alchemy or alkahestry, or a chimera of some variety. "You are like a chrysalis, a metamorphosing younger version of me, as much as it may pain your ego to hear it, my friend," The elaboration made things clear as Ayden could be in his convoluted nature. "You are so daringly similar to how I was, not a decade ago,"

All movement stopped save for the sway-like pendulum arcs of Ayden's hands still thrumming with energy. His ears pricked as Randolph spoke, the humming undertone of a Mozart melody flooding the room. "We've painted quite the... heheheheh... masterpiece together." As Randolph laughed, so did Ayden, though taking it a step too far as he threw his head up to the skies and cackled like a witch who'd just vanquished her quarry.

"Aye, that we have," His tone had snapped from giddy and happy to grim and macabre as he regarded the shed blood and snapped bodies with dark, trembling laughter. "And let us take solace in that, take relief in our shared appreciations for slaughter and murder," The laughter continued as he spoke in a sombre tone. "Let us admire one another's skills." He spoke bluntly, before listening to Randolph once more.

"Alas, I must ask... What gave you the desire to live such a life, hmm? Heheh... What made you the man you are today?" Ayden froze stiff in place. Images danced before his eyes, and suddenly, the world took a red tint. "Why did you give up the chance of living like a normal human and blending in? Was it a need to be different?" The boy was on the ball, but dangerously close to the edge. The beast snarled and rattled its cage, lashing out with a tendril of wildfire shockingly close to piercing its binds and setting itself free.

What made him the man he was today? Ayden wanted to open his mouth and croak the truth. 'He did'. Heart. Images of his childhood and his apprenticeship beneath the so-called don of demise flickered before his eyes and his pale expression whitened to the point where he would blend in with cliffs of chalk. Randolph was beginning to get close to the truth, and like a buzzing, bleeping metal detector scanning over a thin veil of sand. A thin veil of sand, covering a nuclear bomb.

His face paled further and Ayden realised that his hands were beginning to quiver; negligible was the shaking, the trembling, but very much unsettling and reminding him of just how fickle the control he claimed to have over his emotions was. He was close to lapsing back into a total loss of it; and his stomach began to churn. "Did something happen? Is there an element of your past that's been left untouched?" The boy was almost psychic with as much as he knew. But the assassin knew now he couldn't concede ground. Not here, not now. "Or maybe we're more alike than I can conceive? Is it that, Ayden? Were you born to be a monster?" Was he?

A smile flickered intermittently for a moment before being fastened down properly. The shaking calmed to a still, solid frame, and what little colour that had left his face returned in a gentle flush. "Well..." Crunch. One of the thug's arms, twisted awkwardly in death, snapped underneath the oppressive heel of his boot as he inched closer to Randolph. He could still flip this around and grasp the upper hand, conversation be damned. He'd wrench power stolen back from the child if he had to. The boy was an acolyte tempting fate - so dangerously close to a teenage variant of himself. "Even assassins are allowed their secrets, aren't they?"

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Re: No One Does It Better

Post by Guest on Wed Jul 04, 2012 7:47 pm

Had... Had Randolph finally struck a nerve with this man? Yes, it appeared so. His pale skin somehow managed to grow a bit paler at the mentioning of his past. A giggle slipped, but Randolph shook his head slightly and simply smiled that toothy smile. This meant one thing to him right now. He had evened the playing field with Ayden on a psychological level without even needing to disclose his own past.

Soon though, the color returned in the alchemist's face, and he just... smirked? Apparently the nerve was reinforced. He'd have to change that, but how? Before the chimera could even begin to formulate his next verbal assault, the man stepped closer, ignoring the bodies beneath them.

"Well..." Crunch. He was now in Randolph's face. "Even assassins are allowed their secrets, aren't they?"

Blink. Blink blink. Randolph paused, mouth agape for a moment. Then his smile crept back, ear-to-ear. Then the laughter. It started out slow, a chuckle, but soon it progressed into a howling fit as he arched his back farther than should have been possible. Leaning back forward, he looked the man in the eyes, crimson penetrating azure.

"Secrets? Secrets are nothing but mistakes with a past of lies towering above them! Nothing but a palace of shit waiting to be toppled down!" He then tried to slow his breathing, but it simply came out as staggered, breathy laughs. "I have no use for secrets, sir. Look into my eyes, Ayden. CAN YOU READ MY BOOK?!"

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Re: No One Does It Better

Post by Guest on Wed Jul 04, 2012 8:49 pm

"Secrets? Secrets are nothing but mistakes with a past of lies towering above them! Nothing but a palace of shit waiting to be toppled down!" Ayden's grin shrunk back into a plain-set smile, and he listened, continually, as the man spoke again. "I have no use for secrets, sir. Look into my eyes, Ayden. CAN YOU READ MY BOOK?!"

All-too-delicately, the man smiled on him. Silence hung in the air. The assassin Derocha did nothing but smile for what felt like a century in seconds. The lingering quiet was unsettling to he; he who valued bloodshed as music and gunfire as symphonies. His posture was impeccable, his hands swaying gently by his sides as he smirked.

"Your book, my friend," Sweet, honeyed tones broke the silence. He crouched, and his arm met the hilt of the left of the Children, Asmodeus. Asmodeus, the M1911A1 adorned with a smiling, yellow, cartoon face, and painted with a droplet of crimson blood beneath his eye. Another black-gloved hand rose to the slide, and drew it back until the pistol made a solid click, before releasing it to slide back down the rail. "Has been open at the pages I needed it to be," Click. Ayden thumbed down the safety with a smile. "Since we began talking."


A spark of excitement ran up his spine in a surge. "Per alas angelorum in caelo," He took a simple step back. "Per alas daemones in inferno," He rose the pistol up straight. His grip didn't falter; the iron-sights trained and continued to hover upwards in an arc until the barrel was extended but a few inches from Randolph's very forehead. "Libera me anima tua."

The smile inched forwards, as if it were the restraints on something that wished so desperately to break free. The makings of a grin slid through, and his arm froze solid, not faltering in the slightest. "Invenis redemptio," Something wicked flickered in his eyes, a flare from those cerulean irises, the latest and greatest, flashing upwards, lancing towards his pupils. "Et pax."

The smile twitched for a few moments more. "Ego, digito iustitae," However, Ayden's lips were fighting a losing battle. "Ego, digito iram." The smile finally faltered. Those pursed, slender lines drew backwards and carved upwards into the silver-haired genocidal assassin's face, drawing a brilliant, toothy grin. "Ego mitto vos qui in alteram vitam." The Latin rolled off of his tongue as smoothly as it always did. The speech was drawing to a close.

"Nunc amicus annis vel momenta," His smile burned hotter with each waking moment. Ayden's thumb rose to the haft of the pistol, and slipped over the edge of the hammer, easing it downwards until it primed the entire system with a resonating, third click. "Praedico tibi vale." Now came the end. It was palpable, how close he was.

Then again... he went to open his mouth, and his lips trembled, pursed, uttering the first syllable of that iconic three-word phrase. 'Requiem in pace'. But he knew this boy, from here; and he knew that he'd never rest in peace. And, how did he know it? Because, had Ayden been in Randolph's position... he wouldn't have. This boy had potential. And he knew it; had someone executed him a decade ago, this bloody swathe he carved through Amestris, Creta, Xing, Aerugo... it never would have come to be; and the world would be at a loss for it all.

Ayden wasn't having second-thoughts and a mid-moment breakdown; this boy just showed more promise than he'd ever seen in any adversary before. Vito, in Esparia, had too had the same promise, that same wicked flair in his eyes; but Vito could hold his own, and, indeed, had done. This was... this was execution. This boy had too proved his worth to Ayden; this wasn't executing some dot-com billionaire, not that kind of potential. This kid... this chimera... this Randolph had the potential to be a partner, to be a successor; if Heart had turned him away, executed him... sometimes, it was a job... but...

The assassin stood there, frozen in limbo; neither of them moved, or attacked. He was sure Randolph was planning something, in a lesser part of his mind, some movement as he finished his speech, a counter-attack of the greatest degree... but inside Ayden, a single, solitary synapse fired, something clicked, and he made his decision. He flicked the hammer back.

A stray finger swept the safety on. He crouched, once more, the blood spattering as he moved, and tucked the pistol back into his shin-holster, folding down his leg once more. Then, when he was complete; he stood back up to Randolph's height, and smiled fondly down at the boy. That silver hair... it was like looking into a mirror that knocked off another ten years. "It would..." For once, he was almost at a loss for words. "It would be a waste."

Ayden turned on his heel, and made for the door, wrenching it open and allowing the pale sunlight to pierce and illuminate the room. Sirens wailed in the far distance; it was time to be leaving, either way. He went to step out to the door, but paused, looking to the ground, and then turning, and smiling over his shoulder. "Whether you feel the same way or not... I hope we meet again."

Then, Ayden Derocha cast himself into the warehouse, descended to ground floor, stepped back into his car, and vanished into the cooling North City winds.

[EXIT THREAD]

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