Triumphant return

[Borovsky]

The guard was only following his orders and when the door was blocked by a fiery woman he could only smile. She apologized but she did not move. The man tried to look around the woman but she continued to stand in his path. "Pardon me Miss. I need to speak with Mr. White."

Though Mr. White was no longer using the terminal he was certain the man didn't have the necessary clearance to be mucking around in the system specially where the gods were concerned. The Regus liked to keep a tight lid on that - field hunters often searched for people, but white was not one of them.

The guard spoke through the woman, trying very hard to ignore the look she gave him. He wasn't sure if he should be allured or frightened. "Sir. Can I ask what you were doing?"

[Oriena]

Oriena's expression twitched a smirk at the first hint of weakness. Her gaze made a languid tour of his face; a cat with prey the moment he didn't simply shove her out the way. His gaze blinked passed her, but she could almost sense the prickle of awareness. "White! He wants to speak to you"
Her hands shifted to her hips, but still she didn't move. A pout played on her lips, but it was teased with a smile. And maybe a bit of a dare. A few moments more and she winked and shifted enough to let him in, though he'd be forced to brush by her. "Toying with you, sweetheart."



Edited by Oriena, Sep 14 2016, 02:27 PM.

[Jaxen Marveet]

The Fake White straightened the cuff of his jacket at the wrist and approached the pair at the door, flashing Oriena a look unamused by her joke. Jaxen considered edging Oriena back away from the guard so he wouldn't be able to press near her as he passed within, but he quickly concluded such protectiveness was not White's style. He recalled the way White interacted with the women at their table in Manifesto. They would have been the lucky ones to be allowed to pawn all over White. White never grew jealous where his women were concerned. This guard was a pussy wimp Atharim who probably couldn't get in to police academy let alone an actual military level operation. He was no threat to Fake White. Let him gawk all over Oriena - Fake White was amused by the attempt.

Fake White was also fake-shocked by the question. "What? You mean one of you has balls bigger than a Pomeranian and finally decided to come question the weird shit I'm doing?"


Fake White kept his tone steady. He was speaking to a pre-pubescent girl after all. No point in traumatizing her forever. Not yet anyway. He had better things to do with his time than making Atharim guards cry for their mommies.

"I'm testing you, and so far, you all fail. When the first breech happens and someone strolls in here and lays waste to the building, It'll be deserved. I've given you tools and training. And you all still manage to fuck it up."


A flick of the wrist and he waved the little man away. "Move. Move. You don't want me moving you for you."
His gaze settled on the Atharim's throat. A good throat punch always got people out of the way, fast.

He beckoned Oriena to follow.

"Tell your people if he wants me back, he can call and arrange it. But my fee has gone up. Just for the cost of dealing with you imbeciles."


So close. Jaxen meant to poke around a few offices and slide through the armory. But for now, he saw the cue to to break out. Unless the opportunity presented itself, he was done. They just needed to make it to the elevator, and they would be as good as gone.

[Borovsky]

The guard leered at the woman in front of him while White finally presented himself. He had a good explanation. But the computer security was never on White's list of jobs. They had IT guys who handled that. Their IT department sucked most days, but that cyber security was their ball of wax not Whites.

The let the two pass by but he spoke from behind him. " You have never used the terminals before today. We pay you for security and arms and a helpful hand. Not computer work. So, I'm going to have to ask you one more time before you go. What were you doing in there?"

He was ready to reach out and grab White should he try to leave the conversation again when the frailest Atharim but also one of the richest strolled down the same hall. The guard rolled his eyes, why that boy was ever around was always a wonder, fucking legacies.

[Jaxen Marveet]

Jaxen had a hard time believing White considered himself a helpful hand, no matter how much they paid him. Fake White on the other hand, was rather surprised that this yipping pup continued to go for the ankle. So surprised, he didn't kick the little bitch away.

He turned, looking back at the guard, barest hint of approval leaking into his expression.

"That's more like it. I told you I was purposefully doing weird shit. Finally got someone's attention, so I guess you're the only half capable guard in the whole place."
Fake White didn't dole out compliments. He also didn't care a lick about Atharim. What had White said about them? He didn't have a lick of interest in hunting gods.

But this guard was really standing up to White. Either he was truly suspicious or Jaxen wasn't doing a very good impression. And it couldn't be that.

He seized the Ancient Power and made ready to rope the man up in bonds of air like Tarin had done to him once upon a time in a land far far away. His very past search term had been 'naga'. There hadn't been time to see what the search resulted in before pulling the Wallet transfer off the work station.

But as far as IT security went, Jaxen already had a bead on the caliber of their firewalls. "And a friendly piece of advice, two hackers have already gained access to your top secret files. I suggest you worry less about me and go interrogate your computer staff."


His tone suggested the guard walk away, enhanced even more realistically by the sudden darkening of his aura by seizing the Ancient Power. Friendly advice from White was hardly ever friendly. Besides, that Fake White knew about that kind of breech meant he was even more aware of Atharim security than this guard assumed.

Fake White glanced at Oriena, and beckoned again that they leave. Or at the very least, Jaxen hoped she would be at least kind of useful on this trip. Why the hell did he bring her? She wasn't exactly arm candy.

[Borovsky]

Eliot walked past White and one of their guards - he forgot his name. They were so many who took their stab at it before returning to the field. For most Atharim staying in one place was very difficult. But as he walked past he felt the menacing presence of another god like him. He turned on his heels and knew that the Atharim guard was not the one who wielded such power.

Eliot closed the distance between who was now an impostor in the system. White did not channel the power of the gods. He took a deep breath and smiled at the men and the strange woman there.

"I got this." Eliot looked at the guard searching for a name, but unable to find one. "I'm sure you have more pressing matters. White was just leaving, I'm sure of it. And then I will have a word with our IT staff." Eliot flagged the man and woman towards the hall hoping they'd move easily and without incident. Being the only Baccarat Heir in the mansion had its advantages. It was his home after all.

Once around the corner and away from prying eyes. "I don't know who you are or why you are here, but you need to leave now."

(( if you want to check out more that's fine with me... take something for the regus to get angrier over lol ))

[Jaxen Marveet]

Fake White didn't need some scrawny kid standing up for him. His gaze was bland, his affect flat in response to the interruption. He vaguely wondered who this kid was that Atharim guards would obey him when they questioned White's authority. Jaxen was mildly intrigued, but he was itching to snoop some more.
Fake White shrugged when the kid imparted his wisdom, turned to Oriena and left him behind in the hall.

[Oriena]

She left the library. She left the guard. Sweet, docile, obedient. But her patience for this boring charade had reached its limit. When the small Atharim pulled them into the corridor, imparting a furious warning, interest lit her expression. White moved on with barely an acknowledgement, but Ori lingered.

Her head tilted, considering. Secrets were her currency, and she had a nose for their alluring scent. Suspicion glittered her gaze as she looked him over. If he saw the small flaws in Jaxen's disguise, he had no reason to spare them; entombed in the Bacarrat's heart, the advantage was his. It fluttered other possibilities in her mind - why it might be in his interest not to call attention to intruders. How he even knew that's what they were.

Could he see the power warping Jaxen's appearance? Because admitting such perception would reveal something awfully dangerous about him. Certainly something he could not allow his brethren to know. And oh what a secret that would be.

Ori's expression warmed as she stepped closer. Her gaze sought to unmask, searching him for hint of deception. Offering the promise of confidence. A smile played soft on her lips. "If you suspect us, little bird, for what possible reason might you let us simply leave?"

[Borovsky]

Eliot stopped when the woman cast her gaze at him and stepped closer. She asked the one question he wasn't going to let her in on. He may be weak compared to others here - fraile even. But his money spoke words here - his father's did anyway and his name said so much more than that. But she was not Atharim. He could pull the sleeve of her blouse up and feret that out quickly enough. She was not Atharim. And neither was the man they didn't know him. And he intended to keep it that way.

But he's answer the best way he knew how - with a little truth and misdirection. "Because you don't belong here. Whatever you taken will be found again. As are all things." The man put his life at risk just entering the domain of the Atharim. Eliot leaned in and whispered. "And if I were you I wouldn't want to be caught here when the Regus returns. Being what he is is imminent death." And Eliot knew that first hand. Helping him could get him out quicker. But if he were caught he'd be in trouble too not that it mattered really he'd probably fall on his own sword if he thought the Regus was on to him.

[Armande]

Armande Nicodemus took all the back streets there were to get back to the mansion. He was tired and in pain, but he ignored that. The Chong Ran meditation let him move despite the agony. He was failry confident that his camera scattering tech on his clothing- despite the tears and holes- would give him an undetected path.

The feel of warm blood down his arm had given way to cold and then nothing. Clotted. Good. He knew he'd lost a lot and his field dressing had been haphazard at best. It was enough though. The litany burned across his mind, again and again. Betrayal. No more. Never again.

The Atharim had been infiltrated. Worse, he had known and had allowed it. Why. He couldn't answer. He'd flirted with heresy- his first since Lissandra. The idea that the abominations could be used.

His injuries and the loss of Martin had proved that to be a lie. Abominations was what they were. Intolerable. And he would cleanse the Atharim in blood and fire. He would purge it. Never again. Again and again, it repeated itself. Never again. This was war. And you did not tolerate traitors.

At last he rounded a corner and saw the mansion ahead. Home. For now. Even if Brandon- Apollyon- was dead, it had been clear his name was known. This could not be as secure as presumed.

He mounted the stairs- ignoring the faint-headedness that washed over him- and headed for the doors. Inside, he went to the secured entrance. The guards hesitated as they looked at him, but his face spoke a quick death. His eyes blazed blue fire and he walked through unchallenged.

And yet even then, he felt disgust well up. So weak. Such pathetic security. Despite his anger, they should have stopped him. Demanded proof. The place as weak. Sick. Pathetic. He would turn it around. He had to.

He went to the infirmary and his presence immediately commanded the room. Doctor Rosenbaum only had to take a look at him before his armor and clothing were carefully being removed. The dried blood made it stick to his skin, but he bore the pain silently as it was torn away. Instead, he called Father Filevsky.

"I want the mansion locked down. No one goes out. Not a soul. I don't care who they are. Call up the 1st and 2nd Canticles, alll 7 orders. Tell them Barovsky is dead. Battle alert. They will be armed and ready. The new weapons""- He smiled at remembering their effectiveness- "No one is exempt. Not.one.living,soul! And bring Theis to me."

His shirt removed, he saw at last the damage done to his body. Gashes across arms and chest. Breathing hurt. Broken rib probably. But what turned his stomach- seemed portentous- was the ouroboros. The tear across his arm ran down it, ripping the image to pieces. His mouth turned down. Just a tattoo. Just ink.

But it hurt. As if he'd lost something. Something he would do anything to return. At the very least though, Apollyon was dead. Such a terrible price. But cheap, at the cost.

Now, though. Now was the second act. And everyone knew how the second act of a play went. Everyone.


Edited by Regus, Sep 16 2016, 10:36 AM.