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Butch. Bitch.

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Butch. Bitch.

Post by Dunstan Hue on Wed Jun 26, 2013 9:12 pm

Drachma doesn't snow besides its most northerly borders in the summer, but that doesn't make it a warm atmosphere. What moonlight can break out from the clouds usually ricocheted off the puddles and a myriad other wet surfaces, the streets and building-tops peppered with shimmering shapes, like diamonds. In this environment, a dark blue car rolled, slowly exploring the Moscow streets, the driver hidden in blackness of the dark Drachma evening and the lack of light in the vehicle. The only lights came from the headlights of oncoming traffic, which he did well to avoid, keeping to the smaller, broken roads that few ventured down, his path unseen. He escaped the Moscow urban jungle of the main roads, staying to quiet, unwatched suburbia before slipping into the city centre, and with good reason. The target of this man was high ranking in RIOTE, and in Drachma the group seemed to have eyes everywhere. If anyone identified his car, not being able to immediately identify it via CCTV was a good insurance. Besides, it wasn't like the car originally belonged to him.

Dunstan looked again to the photo on the dashboard as he pulled up to a large apartment block inside the heart of Moscow. This guy was an absolute bastard to find, to say the least. The man behind the attempted (and foiled) bombing at the Central City Festival earlier that year. The standard of the bomb's components initially said that it was someone with access to the high grade equipment, but the fact that the bomb really wasn't all that complicated suggested that whoever made it thought he was some hot shit. That, or that it really WAS a military operation. Given the high grade, even Dunstan's expertise led to a complete dead-end in terms of discovering the origin of the parts, he did finally find who actually planted the bomb, and the most likely culprit for the mastermind; one Skinku Kamogaya. Honestly, Dunstan felt that he should've known the name, but he consistently drew a blank. Contract killer, started young and badly, royally fucking up his first assassination and not resurfacing until he was a man. Dunstan might have read something about his work earlier, he liked to keep up with his competition, though he was more interested in bombing than in mere killing. To Dunstan, it felt grander and yet grittier, as if the conventional assassin was beneath him. There were assassins with codes of honour, and there were simplistic thugs, but a bomber was a craftsman and a schemer. They had to get their hands covered in oil and semtex, and they had to know how to hide and to build. It was a wider mastery, in his opinion.

He stepped out of the car, locking the door before walking to the boot. Opening it up, water sliding off the metal as he looked inside. A multitude of pipes, tool-bags and nick-nacks. A fairly simple disguise, along with the disguise Dunstan already had on; a high-visibility jacket. He wasn't about to risk a forced entry on the window, but if he went via the door and didn't break anything in an entry, people would just see a menial labourer fixing a door, and not bother him. He grabbed two of the tool-bags and locked the car, before walking into the apartment block. He looked at a piece of paper, printed to resemble an invoice, and went to the room of the would-be saboteur of the Fallacy, Toss' rocket. He knelt down, whistling the first Drachman folk song that came to his head and took the door off its hinges. People walked by, and absolutely no one stopped him. The only thing that maybe fascinated them was the horrendous scars on his face, but they were too uncomfortable to ask, so they just rushed by. Besides, the man looked like he was busy. Dunstan could only smirk as he removed the door. The things one could get away just by looking like you're meant to be there.

With the apartment now completely open to Dunstan, he gingerly walked in. Lights off, no sound, too early for someone's bedtime. No one home. Dunstan grinned, putting the door back in place behind him, before he opened up one of the tool-bags. Inside it was a shoebox, which he placed on the first surface he found, before inspecting the contents. Inside the box, a very large bomb, wires and small tanks of compressed air jutting out of it. Some were fake, some were very real, but the aim was to be complicated and confusing. The only indicator that it was a bomb was a huge red numerical display, which hadn't started ticking yet. Dunstan had intentionally made it non-lethal; he was more interested in showing this Shinku guy who was boss, and if he killed him then all of RIOTE would be after him. No, if it was just a non-lethal but extremely painful warning, then the chances were that the bulk of RIOTE wouldn't care enough to follow it up. Dunstan grinned a wolfish grin, before fiddling with the only control on it; the sensor. Anyone who enters this room after Dunstan left would have ten seconds before the rubber pellets, the blinding flash and (for a cruel personal touch) acid exploded in their face. Not lethal, but certainly excruciated, and without proper medical treatment possibly blinding. Dunstan then replaced the lid and wrote on the top of the box.

A present from Carraig, just to show who's the butch and who's the bitch. Next time plant your bomb properly. Kiss kiss.

Satisfied, Dunstan Hue popped the lid back on and left the room, which in turn primed the bomb, ready to set off when it detected someone new come into the room. He replaced the door on it's hinges, even sliding the lock back into place, his tool-bags in hand as he went back to the car, sitting in the driver's seat and turning on the radio. He fiddled around, before he found a good jazz radio station.

"Ah, splendid." He said to himself, before laying back and reading a Drachman magazine (The Moscow Hop, your one-stop for jazz news and reviews in Drachma; page 3 exclusive interview, is Swinging Sveta Saksofon bringing electro-swing back to Moscow?) which both covered his face and also gave him something interesting to read as he waited for the screaming to begin.
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Dunstan Hue
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Re: Butch. Bitch.

Post by Shinku Kamogaya on Mon Jul 01, 2013 8:59 am

The world it seemed, turned out to be a fickle mistress. His first thought when he first heard about RIOTE, was that they were a bunch of amateurs and freaks. Now a year later, he was one of those freaks. As he walked into the building, he fiddled with a big set of keys. While his main base of operations was set in the RIOTE mansion, Shinku had plenty of outposts set up in each and every country. Back when he killed legally for Aerugo, he would have to wait a week for the right moment to kill a man. And that was solved by having multiple safehouses. With the right key found, he sighed as he had clambered up the last flight of stairs before his abode.

Not many people lived here. Hell, he wondered if the landlord still collected rent. As he thrusted his key into the lock with the tumblers giving way, a creek greeted his turn of the knob. Swinging the door open, his arm outstretched to flip up a switch, the lights coming alive.

It was pretty basic. Not many furnishings. A single window that looked upon the street. It was caked in iced. He would have to remind himself to clear it later. As he began to take off his duster, he noticed a small shoebox out of his peripheral. With a quick dash to the counter, he took of the lid and looked at the counter inside.  

3

2

1...

By then, shinku had hauled ass to the window. He never ordered things here. Bracing himself, his shoulder slammed against the iced covered window hard, as pellets and acid had hit his left side. It stung a little, as the heat and pressure from the bomb hurt more.

Now through the window, he landed hard on his feet, tumbling foward as not to break his own legs. He couldn't from that height, but whatever was left of human instinct and his training made him. His hands had the unlucky pleasure of bracing himself on the shards of glass that hid in the snow from his window. Blood began to creep along the snow, but this pain was laughable. This was the best that could be done.

As he looked over towards his side, he remembered the shoe box lid he took. He noticed the writing on it. As he picked it up while he stood, he read it carefully. It seemed the past kept its chains on you no matter how high you went.

He thought this man was dead. The best bomber the world had seen. A deadly carraig man who could turn a toothbrush into a bomb if he wanted to. That bomb up there.. If he wanted Shinku dead, he would be dead. Which meant he was fucking with him. Crushing the lid in his hand, he took note of the idling car in the back of his vision. Who in their right mind would casually sit in their car after witnessing a bomb go off? The man who planted it, that's who.

Drawing his pistol from under his coat. He fired two rounds, each hiting the two tires that faced him. If this man could pull off driving on two flats in the snow, then he really did live up to his name. Stopping ten feet away from the car, he screamed.

"get out of the car so I can shoot you like a fuck, Jacob!" he thought this man had died in one of his own creations, but apparently Shinku thought wrong. It would also make sense that this was also the guy who ruined his plan at the festival and made him look incompetant. He would make sure this man eould die. He was a threat to Shinku's plans in the future, and he had to go.

.....................................................................................................................................

Fluent in:Aerugese (crimson), Cretan (green), Amestrian (blue), and Xingese (yellow) {All with Cretan accent}
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Re: Butch. Bitch.

Post by Dunstan Hue on Wed Jul 03, 2013 8:17 am

Vladmir: So, Sveta, your last album was mostly about your girlfriend, essentially a coming out album for you, but I've noticed that this new album is quite a lot darker in tone. Is there any reason for that?

Sveta: Well, I kind of wanted to get out of my comfort zone. The last two albums I did were filled with love songs, songs about my own homosexuality as you mentioned. I'm not fed up with doing them, but I wanted to set myself a challenge, do something that's a little out there.


Dunstan made a bit of an odd popping sound from the side of his lip, turning the page.

Vladmir: Proving that you're not a one trick pony, as it were.

Sveta: That's essentially it, yeah. I've really gotten into the blues recently and I like-


BLAM!

One tyre gone, and Dunstan instantly slapped the magazine against the cold windscreen as he dived down, hoping that it would block the gunner's view, stop him from seeing Dunstan as he scrambled out of the car. It shook violently, BLAM! Another tyre gone. In the snow and wet. That'd be fun to drive. Dunstan, however, looked in the boot. He did not expect any trouble. If the bomb was built right (and Dunstan knew it was) even if the guy had thrown it away he'd be writhing on the floor in agony and unable to move. It was a stun bomb, but on steroids. But here was a guy shooting at him, presumably Shinku. Still, he wasn't totally out of tricks.

"Mortar, no... grenades, no... why's a rubber chicken in here? AH!" Dunstan lifted up a small grenade launcher and two green canisters; he knew the canister's well, he made them. Blue for flash grenades, green for smoke, red for shrapnel, yellow for incendiary. Again, Dunstan couldn't risk killing the guy, but now things were a little more serious. Before, he was going put him in the hospital for months. Now, it was life. He carefully opened the boot, making sure it couldn't be seen...

"Get out of the car so I can shoot you like a fuck, Jacob!"

THAT made Dunstan stop. Who in the name of fuck was Jacob? Suddenly, Dunstan began to hear a very dull, very low hum. It wasn't in the car, or outside. It was like it was in his head, like someone was rattling a birdcage in there. He couldn't explain it, but he looked backwards quickly. He could worry about the hum after he'd shut up whoever was shooting at him.

"The name's not Jacob!" He shouted back, his head dropping down under the car, before he shot two smoke grenades along the car, just sliding out of the gap, rolling right in front of Shinku. They released their plumes not a moment too soon. Dunstan slammed the boot shut, and leapt back to the driver's seat. He knew that the burst tyres were at the front, and cars were better at pulling than pushing, so he began to reverse. Hopefully the smoke and the noise made it sound like he was fleeing...

... until he wheeled the car around, and let it charge towards the gunman.

Low gear for maximum speed, and the pedal dug into the car floor so it wouldn't release, and Dunstan moved into the boot, grabbing his suitcase full of bombs and his grenade launcher. The car might get him so far, but it'd be faster to steal another one anyway, so he might as well crash it if it meant he could knock down this guy. He strapped the grenade launcher's ammo bandoleer to himself, went to the nearest door, and rolled out of the out-of-control vehicle. Without looking to see if he hit or not, he charged to the first door he saw, and slammed his way through, closing it against and looking through the window with his singular, beady eye.
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Re: Butch. Bitch.

Post by Shinku Kamogaya on Sun Jul 14, 2013 8:31 pm

Not Jacob? Shinku had run in with this guy before and knew he was crazy. But now he was denying his own existence? Shinku stood and watch as his ears alerted the two thud like sounds. That sound was recognizable before. A launcher perhaps? To do this in broad daylight, this guy was nuts like him.

Shinku put his arm up as two canisters landed by his feet, he took note of the green ring around them. Before his mind clicked, a plume of smoke erupted before him. Shinku stood where he was as the he couldn't see jack shit. He would rather use the cover of smoke and not get shot. He heard the flapping of popped tires, which made him assume he was getting away. But the sound of a revving engine was only getting closer.

Out of the smoke plowed a sedan of good size, causing Shinku to curse. Shinku quickly leaped forward, running over the top of the car as he turned to watch it take off. He didn't see the driver, so where was this assailant? He steeped out of the smoke to survey the building s and street. Looking down before him, he saw a trail of foot prints. His gaze followed them back to a building. Thats where he was it seemed. Retreating back into the smoke, Shinku decided to take the back.

As he slowly entered the back door of the building, he made sure the floorboards didnt creak underneath him. Step by step, he noticed a room on his right. There stood a man looking out for danger. Pulling his pistol up, he fired a single round into the back of the man's leg."Well, Jacob, im not gonna kill you now, but please explain what the great bomber of carraig wants with me?!" he ket his gun holstered for now. Unless this man wanted to blow up both of them, he would drop the launcher.

.....................................................................................................................................

Fluent in:Aerugese (crimson), Cretan (green), Amestrian (blue), and Xingese (yellow) {All with Cretan accent}
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Re: Butch. Bitch.

Post by Dunstan Hue on Mon Jul 29, 2013 2:07 pm

Dunstan's eyes danced around in his sockets, looking for the white haired target. The smoke began to clear, but Dunstan saw no footsteps in the snow. He bit his lip, expecting Shinku to be standing off to the side, gun out waiting to fire. He didn't hear Shinku coming, certainly, and only narrowly avoided the bullet by moving his leg by chance. His trouser leg tore apart and the hot lead connecting just enough to cause pain and leave a long, thin red line across his calf, which began bleeding immediately.

"AAAOOW! Fuck!" Dunstan yelped as he felt a burn mark paint across his calf. Having caught him off-guard, the portly bomber staggered to the floor, grenade launcher simply falling out of his grip weakly.

"Well, Jacob, I'm not gonna kill you now, but please explain what the great bomber of Carraig wants with me?!"

... yeah, this guy's a loon, Dunstan thought, his gaze turning back to the man. His name wasn't Jacob. He'd know. He woke up knowing his name, it was Dunstan Hue, and even if he had used the name after his accident he didn't use Jacob as an alias; it was always foreign names, to increase confusion of the identity and nationality of the bomber.

"Dude, you don't have the right guy. I'm way better than Jacob, and..." and then the door handle that Dunstan used to support himself as he stood up again swung away from him, and combined with the pain in his leg, he ended up tumbling into the street and landing flat on his face. He immediately regretted it, wiping his face.

"AAARRRGGGHHH! FUCKING SHIT!" He screamed and wailed in agony, trying to get the snow out of his scars. He shuddered with the pain, the dirt and cold on his pink flesh burning and slashing into him like a sabre. It was worse than the grenade itself...

... why do I remember the grenade...

Dunstan suddenly fell forward again, the pain only reinforced by a pounding headache. What the hell was that? What was wrong with him?! And now Shinku was undoubtedly getting closer. Dunstan knew he had to leave, but he couldn't even see. He patted around, looking for something to hold on. He found the car window, and started punching it, cracking the glass and trying to force his way in, all with the pounding migraine and the pain and whydoirememberthegrenadewhydoirememberthegrenadewhatiswrongwithme?!

... a forgotten look in his eye as he opened it again, for once seeing the world and being in control. And then he opened the other, and the bloodshot eye simply being a sphere of purple and red with a pupil.

"Urggh... the stupid fucking idiot." Lugo Brenhian murmured wearily, as if drunk. He looked forward, to the door directly in front of him. Drachman make, so it carried the fatal Drachman flaw. He slid his hand underneath the car and simply twisted, the pipe he had grabbed easily buckling away from the sub-par welding, and petrol poured out of the car's tank. In the meantime, Lugo put his foot on the door and pulled the pipe away. Now, with a weapon at the ready, he very slowly turned his head, looking to Shinku with contempt in his eyes.

"I remember your hair being longer, boy." He commented, and grunted irritably as he got back up. He had grown to not like the word 'remember', with Dunstan trying to remember a life he never had. His life. Lugo's life. The horrors of being forced to the passenger seat in your own head. Once he was steady, he began to walk towards Shinku, the bullet wound in his leg completely ignored.

"So, if Dunstan's got his facts right, you're a chimera now. You were always a fan of the theatrics." He stated simply, his voice less like Dunstan's loud bombast, but a more grumble that reminds the listener of ice and watery depths, of grime and death. His movements were slow and measured, almost rhythmic in their motion.

... and pipe to the face.

Lugo brought the broad end of the pipe crashing into Shinku's cheek from the left in a swift, heavy strike, and he took the chance to move next to Shinku and push him into the petrol soaked floor. The fat bomber landed on the white haired man, getting out a cigarette lighter.

"Of course, given that chimeras are sturdy things, you should probably come out of this bonfire alive." He said, readying to brighten the Drachman evening with flame. "I doubt there's anything you could give me that would keep me from dropping the lighter."

{OOC; Sorry it took so long to write}
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