4303/Interrogation

Interrogation
Date of Scene:	09 July 2016
Location:	Slum Urbania
Synopsis:	No. 9 and Taro attempt to tempt an Assassin with baked goods in exchange for a weapon. It almost works.
Cast of Characters:	269, 399, 923

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Nasrin (923) has posed:
    SLUM URBANIA

    Ramshackle towers and destitute buildings here are the norm, presenting a landscape fraught with danger and opportunity. Holes in buildings left teetering in the wake of strong winds give the chance to move around easily -- if you know how to move around.

    Yesterday, a slum lord who had been preying on those most in need of help, known for his violent methods of threatening others and who had taken hostages had been found laying in a pool of his own blood, his throat slit and his body peirced through. Judgement was visited on him, and others inthe enighborhood had began backing off in fear of following a similar road to death.

    And yet, quietly, a figure stalked the darkness, leaping building to building. They wore a dark gray hoodie, a pointed inverted peak like a bird's beak drawn down and casting their face in shadow, with a scarf pulled up to hide their lower face. A backpack and a heavy belt were notable, along with sturdy boots.

    THe figure creeps along a rooftop, coming to a rest above a shining, teeming square, overlooking a part of humanity she could never be part of.

    Nasrin, the Assassin who kept her Creed, watched the innocent below without their knowing she was even there.

No. 9 (269) has posed:
    One being stalks the shadows.

    A familiar being.

    Hulking, degenerate, troglodytic, brutish and wrong, the figure shifts in the darkness, the eyes glinting and gleaming in the dark, ruining any chance of stealth. A glint of light outlines the figure of Number Nine, the bandy armed B.O.W. shuffling through the stinking alley, his ugly face creased up thin and his lips pulled back from white, blocky teeth.

    "Ughhh, smells like a fuckin men's room in 'ere." Back to one of the back alley clearings, a thing of scraggly weeds and cracked pavement, but at least it's not reeking of hobo piss. The GOLEM coughs and shakes himself out, the heavy backpack on his back clunking about. Smoke, pollution, but considerably better, and he draws a deep deep breath, eyes closing.

    A glance over his shoulder, his voice rough and cracking. "Any luck?"

Taro (399) has posed:
    The man had been, as Nine not so deliactely puts it, an oxygen thief. Taro has no reason to mourn his passing. He may even secretly approve of the message that was sent by the killing, even if he may not personally care for the person sending it.
    More immediately relevent is the liklihood that an Assassin is behind the killing. Of course, there's the chance that they had nothing to do with it, but better to explore one lead than none at all.
    A slimmer and smaller figure follows behind the hulking one, a dark grey cloak somewhat disguising the contours of his armor. As usual, his face is a faintly dour mask, with no disgust at their surroundings apparent. "I wouldn't know," he quips in deadpan humor back at Nine. He gives a small shrug, as much to resettle the cloak on his shoulders as response. Then, his gaze shifts upward from the narrow confines of the alley, brow furrowing slightly as he looks for signs of out-of-place motion above them. "Not yet. But if they were easy to find..."

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    ... then everyone would have one. As their brotherhood had gotten... smaller, Nasrin herself had less to call on -- and she valued her stealth more and more.

    Not that she was counting on a couple of Confederates looking for her. She stands, withdrawing back along the rooftop of the building she was on, and deftly leaping across the alleyway Taro and Nine were in, gravel from a loosened brick skittering down, falling amongst the flotsam and jetsam of humanity's refuse.

    She walks along, the next quarry already on her mind.

No. 9 (269) has posed:
    A bit of a grunt as he lifted his head, smelling the air. "I SWEAR I smell them around here somewhere... but it might just be me, might be a false positive, something. I can't /tell/, everything in this fucking place reeks." A cough, and he shakes out again, like a dog. "I swear this is totally their MO, it's awesome. Fuckin cut the fuckers throat n' gutted him. It was fuckin sweet. You could see in parts where they clipped the spine a lil. Fuckin. Sweet." He adjusts the backpack a lil, lookin around. "Yea if they were easy t' find, we could, yannow, FIND THEM. At... ...all..." A glance around, a pause. And the hand goes up. Stilling Taro.

    Or-

    The roof she'd just left suddenly ripples faintly, and something that looks like Nine if he were gaunt and red shimmers into existence.

    The faint shift of gravel RIGHT BEHIND HER indicates on her current one that it's not the only one-

Taro (399) has posed:
    Taro's head turns in the direction of the faint rattle of dislodged bits of brickwork, falling silent just as Nine motions him to. He stands perfectly still and in place, not even breathing. This is more the Golem's area of expertise, and so he's willing to take his directions.
    He hears more shuffling from above, and from it presumes that there is in fact someone above them. But is it who they're looking for, or someone else?

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    Nasrin lets out a slow, steady breath as she appraises her situation. One in front of her, one behind. Ugly looking things, gaunt and mishapen. Her head tilts, her hazel eyes studying the one in front of her for a breif moment -- likely built for speed, she decides.

    Well. So was Nasrin.

    The Assassin apparently decides that the rooftop is too open a place, and she does a sharp turn, speeding u p faster than most any human has anybusiness being as she calls upon her Gift, and uses it to get distance between herself and the two Bishops, heading towards a massive derelict building, holes and broken floors through-out.

    The chase is on!

No. 9 (269) has posed:
    The chase is on indeed! The Golem King gives a WHOOP and breaks out chasing after her, his mouth broken open in a feral grin, his eyes alight as he goes tearing off after her, keeping to the streets. As for the red figures on the roof? Well aint that just a lil bitch. The two turn towards her, shifting faintly... and disappear. Whoum. Whoum.

    Nine's following her, whooping and cackling, scrambling through the alley after her. "There they are! We have visual confirmation!" How the hell? He didn't see her. The only thing that saw, her... was the, red, thing? He's running, and occasionally there's a flash of red as one of those things shows up on a roof, head trailing as it watches her run.

    The Golem King bounces off a wall, choking on a snicker and tearing off after her. She's a fast one though.

Taro (399) has posed:
    The chase is on, and Taro is on Nine's heels. He's far quieter than his brother in his pursuit, making little noise aside from the rustle of his cloak and armored boots clacking on the broken pavement. He also didn't see their target, but he trusts that Nine is leading them in the right direction. An empty shell of a building does seem a likely place to find their quarry.
    "Can you provide me coordinates?" he asks, a bit louder than usual to be sure Nine hears him. Hopefully.

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    Nasrin heard the whoop from Nine, and instantly recognizes the voice. She gives a soft hiss, and puts on a little more speed, /leaping/ over a street, falling through the air before she hits another roof, tumbling, tucking and shoulder rolling and springing out of it, breathing coming a little bit harder as a hint of pain in her stomach twists into being. She focuses on getting to the building, and the next time she leaps, she pulls her hood down, her arm coming up to break through a window, glass and wood shattering, splintering to pieces as she disappears into the gloom within, shaking glass from her hood and her sleeves, dashing down a hallway and coming up to a stairwell, smashed in pieces -- and a very... very long drop down to the building's lobby.

No. 9 (269) has posed:
    Nine cracks out a sharp set of coordinates for Taro to be able to follow, rasped out of the corner of his mouth. There. That building. Yes. Dark. Cool. Quiet. Just about right.

    There's a CRASH, and quite a crash as a particularly weak section of the wall is Kool Aid Man'd open, resulting in a spill of scattering rubble and a dusty Number Nine, panting and grinning through the gloom. He stalks into the center of the building, stepping into that self-same building's lobby. "Heyyy lil girl~ now where've you got to..."

Taro (399) has posed:
    Taro gives a sharp nod that Nine likely had no chance to see before veering off in a slightly different direction. It's a less direct path that he takes inside, as he dashes around the building to what was the building's main entrance. Once boarded up, but looters or vagrants had torn down one of the plywood sheets sometime in the past few years. His silhouette stands out in the brief moment it takes him to pass through the open hole, but Nine's far grander entrance may make his less noticable.
    Given the chance, the android slips into a convenient shadow not far from where he entered. He's obviously no Assassin, but he'll take an opportunity to go unnoticed if it presents itself.

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    Nasrin, on the other hand, is totally an Assassin, and is embracing the shadow. Her gray hoodie lets her hide in the gloom, blending in amongst rotted drywall and collapsing wallpaper. She exhales in a slow fashion, watching the hallway. The whole of the building gives a shudder as Nine's entrance (OH YEAH!) collapses part of the exterrior wall, sending brick, motar and dust everywhere, breaks skidding along the linoleum floor that once might have been checked.


    A few bats squeak in alarm, and fly out of the building through a hole.

No. 9 (269) has posed:
    The teeth flash in the gloom. "Come on out, lil girl~ We're just here to have a... conversation." You know Nine the way you say it, it's not very reassuring. "C'maaaaaaan. Ya can't hide ferever. Come on out! We'll, have a talk, a lil bit a negotiation. It'll be fun." He claps his hands together, the resounding clang of metal on metal painfully loud in the silence. "...I can flush you out, lil girl. I can find you. I can wreck you. I can end you." His voice is a slice of pure ugliness, his eyes harsh in the gloom. "BUT. That aint whut I'm here for, actually. Belive it or not... I came here t' talk." A glance around, his eyes sweeping the shadows.

Taro (399) has posed:
    Taro happily lets Nine do the talking...well, perhaps 'happily' is too strong a word, given just what the Golem is saying. Diplomacy it definitely is not. However, if it produces results, he will not do more than make some lighthearted (for him) remark on it later.
    But for now, he simply stands silent and nearly motionless. Nearly. He does turn his head to visually scan the lobby for any signs of their quarry.

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    THeir quarry is still several floors up. The building does, however, provide an excellent echoing effect, making her voice bounce off the whole of the chasm between them.

    However, Nasin has had so much time to practice her imitation skills, it would be a complete shame to not put them to use, wouldn't it?

    So, it's not a girl's voice that answers; Haytham Kenway's dry, British voice cracks like a whip through the air:

    "And what could we /possibly/ have to discuss? I don't suppose you're still after your coffee pot?"

No. 9 (269) has posed:
    The head SNAPS up, the eyes instantly going a strange and washed out greenish gray, losing the bright sharp yellow color. His face fades to a sandy hue, blood draining away as his body seems almost instinctively to cringe down into a hunched, drooping stoop.

    "...Haytham?" And then he's bolt upright. "HAYTHAM!! ARE YOU THEERE?? Oh, FUCK MAN I thought you were DEAD I thought you were /DEAD/ fuck Haytham I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! We fucking BURIED you man!! Please, PLEASE I'm sorry man, I'm sorry I didn't realize- HAYTHAM, where are you?? H-hold on buddy I'm comin up there-" And then Nine is clambering up, his metal fingers directly digging into the walls, dust streaking the lines down his face as he pants and whimpers faintly, scrambling up and nearly hyperventilating, the wheezing shff of his breath thin and fast. "HAYTHAMM, I'm comin' buddy!"

Taro (399) has posed:
    Taro's face barely twitches, but inwardly he snarls. They had just visited the elder Kenway's grave not long ago. The Assassin's choice of voice was surely coincidental to to that, but it gives the choice in voice an extra sharp edge it may not have otherwise had...
    ...And his larger brother reacts in a completely different manner, believing (or wishing to believe) the imitation to be real. He's forced to break his silence, boots clacking on the ancient linoleum as he chases after him. "Nine! Stop! It's not -- "The words are too late, Nine is already climbing up, a path he can't easily follow.
    With a snarl that shows this time, he turns away to take the staircase. Stairs two at a time in an attempt to keep up, or at least not fall behind.

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    Purely coincidental. Nasrin was not, however, expecting /THAT/ kind of reaction. She winces, searching through her repertoire of voices, and moving as quickly -- and quietly -- as she can, she tries to hop up another level, hiding in the shadows, leaping for a hanging pipe and slipping into some abandoned apartment's bathroom, dangerously perching to the side as Nine thunders his way upwards.

    "I would stop where you are, Nine," someone very different calls out. The accent is all wrong, the voice slightly garbled, screechy. "Haytham is long dead and burried -- may he find the peace he sought in the afterlife."

No. 9 (269) has posed:
    Nine's shoulders flex, twisted and tense, the silvery G stamp branding his shoulder flexing and tightening as he struggles his way up to the second story. His eyes are frantic, glowing bright in the gloom, voice a quavering shriek as he rasps out, "HAYTHAAM!! WHERE AARE YOUU??" It's like something out of a bad dream. Hope. Pain. And a terrible horrid fear, all trembling in that ugly, brassy muck of a voice.

    At the voice, the Golem stops, crouched in dusty cobwebbed shadows, hunched and more than half mad. "NO! NO I HEARD HIM, I /HEARD/ /HIIIM/! He's HERE, he's- he might be hurt, he needs HELP. HE NEEDS MY HELP- I a-abandoned him when he w-was, a-and he..." Streaks of muddy dust and dirt streak his ugly, leathery face, caught in a rictus of pain and a strange, half mad terror, before his hand goes over his face, just, smearing the whole mess. Yuck. "//HAYTHAAAAAM!!// -PLEASE- TALK TO ME!! Please..." But maybe he already knows, and the ugly thing is hunching over into a curled heap, silent hitching hidden by the shadows.

Taro (399) has posed:
    The android's head whips around left and right once he reaches the second floor landing. He's not forgotten about the Assassin, but he is now more concerned about a blow delivered from above or behind rather than outright finding her. There's nothing to see here but peeling paint and sagging floors, and a spiderweb in the doorway that he brushes away with a gloved hand.
    Nine is screaming, Nine is ranting, Nine is weeping. Taro silently hopes those two Bishop models are somewhere nearby to protect them, as the King himself is vulnerable. His brow furrows, and his gaze remains darting and wary as he makes his way toward the wailing golem. Once at his side, he throws his cloak back a bit to better free his arms, and reaches out to lay comforting hands on his brother's broad shoulders. "He is not here," he says quietly, a gentle note in his voice not normally heard by those like Nasrin. "I'm sorry."

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    Nasrin just leans against the tub, her eyes looking upwards, giving a slight grimmace. Neither Taro nor Nine were innocents... but Nine is making it difficult for her to not feel sorry for him.

    While Taro is comforting a weeping, ranting Nine, the girl slooowly crawls over the tub, leaving a footprint in the mold at the bottom, and exits through a window, clinging to the side of the building, her fingers holding to the top of the window, her toes pressed against the sill as she searches for a way upwards. She gives a gulp of air, not looking down, and scrambles up the steep incline, clinging to another windowsill on the outside of the building, dangling slightly.

No. 9 (269) has posed:
    The voice is a brassy, broken shrieky little whimper, little more than a whisper, keening softly in pain. "I /heard/ him. I heard himmm..." And then poor Taro, he's getting his cloak all dusty and gross, the hunched mutant thing sobbing against his shoulder like the worlds ugliest child.

    Buuuut after a bit even this moment must end, and the Golem lurches back, wiping messily at his face with big, clunky hands, wiping the muddied tears on his pants. A few weak, shaky breaths slide from him, and with a quivering inhalation, he's, talking?

    "Haytham? I'm, I'm sorry you died. I /miss/ you. I know you got away, that they made sure you'd be okay a-after you'd died... I'm sorry I, um. I'm sorry I thought you were herrre." A long sigh. "I guess I... I kinda knew. I'm sorry I guess I kinda new. I just, I MISS you. I let you down, and you, died. And I'm still here." His hand leaves a handprint on the wall. "Why should *I* still be here and *YOU* be gone?? That's not how that's supposed to GO. I was, supposed to keep you safe..." he knows he's dead, and yet he's, talking to him? Has he just lost it? "I'm sorry. I knew you were gone, but I can't- I just can't. I miss you. I wanted to see you again. ...I'm sorry." And then he looks up, up and around. "Haytham? Are you still there?" Wait you just said you knew he's gone, he's dead. Nine? Hello? "...Haytham?"

Taro (399) has posed:
    Taro is hardly innocent, he was never given the chance to be such. Yet he's developed the capacity for emotion that burdens most true people. That includes a capacity to care about a fellow monster like himself. Far more than he cares about about his cloak being marred with dust and tears. As Nine rests his head on his slim shoulder, he runs his hand over the golem's head in a comforting gesture.
    Then Nine pulls away, and he himself moves to stand up straight again. There's a tightness in his expression that wasn't there before as he turns away to look around them. It's more likely that she's taken the opportunity to instead escape, but the chance remains that their quarry may attack them while they're still off-guard like this.
    A quiet sigh. "It was a trick, Nine." One that worked very effectively. "He was never here."

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    One that worked effectively and allowed Nasrin the time to start climbing the outside of the walls, three, four floors above the two mechanical constructs as she mutters something into her radio, and tries to get a little more distance between her and the two. She looks down, using her Eagle Sight to see if those Bishops were following her.

No. 9 (269) has posed:
    The two Bishops had been where she was. They had been drawing closer to her. Now they simply stand there, almost looking lost, given their master was momentarily lost. One actually turned it's head, unseen by normal eyes, glowing a soft golden in her vision, those soulless goggles fixed on her; and yet it doesn't move. Doesn't follow. Nine looks up, coughing, face mussed, shaking, but nods, coughs, nods.

    It was a trick Nine.

    He was never here.

    His eyes close. Never here he was- it was a trick Nine it was a- he was never here never- never here it was a- never... the eyes open.

    "IF YOU COME DOWN NOW..." the roar echoes through the building, sifting dust down. "YOU WILL NOT BE HURT." His voice, other than the volume, almost sounds... calm. Very, almost oddly collected. "Believe it or not. I just want to talk."

Taro (399) has posed:
    Another quiet sigh, this one of relief. Nine has regained his senses. This is followed by a mild wince, since he was standing right next to him when he started shouting loud enough for half the neighborhood to hear.
    Without a word, Taro brushes the fallen dust from the shoulders of his cloak. Some of it remains clinging to where tears have dampened the cloth, but can't be helped.

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "So you said." a different, accented voice states, and from high above, peering down through the holes in the floor is Nasrin.

    "So. Talk."

No. 9 (269) has posed:
    "So I said." It's quiet, almost more to himself. A cough, clearing his throat, then, "RIGHT."

    Looking up at her. "Taro lost more than his arms." His weapon is drawn and poked up at her, in her general direction. "And DON'T think I'll forget about cuttin up my brother. Don't think I'll forget it." He swings the weapon around, making orange lines in the air. "But." Voon voon. "Tis war. It happens." A glance to Taro, quiet, reserved. "He dropped his weapon. We want it back." Voon voon, vwouuuun. "It, means, something to him." Vooun vooun vooun VWAMM. "You know how often he actually indicated that something /matters/ to him?" A glance up at her, and he sheathes the weapon. "So we want it back. I, want it back. For him."

    CLANG. "I was hoping to bargain it out of you. So I, started out by-" and he's pulling out his backpack. And, a baking dish? "I had t' look up a recipe on google, since I aint never made one b'fore. It's s'pposed t' be a, traditional, dish, a yer people? I uh, tried. It's called, um, Oum Ali? Dunno if I did it justice a'tall." He made her dessert. As way of opening bargaining a weapon out of a member of the enemy. Um? Right.

Taro (399) has posed:
    Taro's mask has reasserted itself by this time, a mild dour frown and nothing more showing on his face as he looks up through the gaps in the ceiling. Again he's silent, letting Nine speak without interrupting.
    The silent treatment doesn't last forever. "I was wondering what you were carrying in there," he murmurs when dessert is presented.

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    Nasrin bint Hadir al'Halabi, of Syria and Egypt was... kind of impressed, actually, though it doesn't show on her face. Her head cants to the side, birdlike as she regards the two far below her.

    "Oum Ali." she reflects quietly, and her head leans down, her eyes set on the two.

    "I do not have the weapon." she replies simply, and gives a shrug of her shoulders.

No. 9 (269) has posed:
    A glance over, the mussed and muddy Golem breaking out with a grin. "What, you think it's always C4 and bullets with me?"

    A dry, small sort of chuckle.

    At the words, he stops, staring up at her. His eyes thin a little. "...Okay. Do you not have it here /with/ you? Or do you not have it, at, all..."

Taro (399) has posed:
    Taro finally addresses Nasrin directly, his brow furrowing just slightly. "If you do not have it, then do you know what has happened to it?" A pause, after which he adds, "If you do choose to come down, my weapons will remain sheathed."

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "Forgive me for not putting faith in your statement, but as my bag has no room for further arm-orment, I am afraid the weapon's location shall stay simply 'not here'." she explains.

    "And no, Nine. Sometimes it's late mornings and coffee. You are an unpredictable sort."

No. 9 (269) has posed:
    His finger goes up. "It wasn't THAT late a morning, it wasn't even after twelve!" he might be tanky and crazy dangerous in battle, but he is a lazy motherfucker. He puts the dessert down, crossing his arms and stares up at her. "And? So? How may we, argue bargain slash wheedle it from thee, m'lady?"

Taro (399) has posed:
    Taro brings up a hand to his chest as he continues looking up at Nasrin, brow furrowing further. "You doubt my word?" he huffs, sounding genuinely offended.
    Then, he makes a sidelong glance at Nine, saying quietly enough that hopefully only he will hear, "How many others have you taken out for breakfast?"

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "I doubt many things." the Assassin replies, and Nasrin hops down a floor, examining the two and getting a closer look at that Oum Ali. Her head tilts again, and she glances back to Taro, then back to Nine.

    "I will honor an agreement of no weapons drawn." she decides after a moment, and she swings down, grasping onto a railling and letting it bend until she drops the last fifteen feet down, and lands a good twenty feet from Nine and Taro. She's taller than when she first met nine, by a good six inches. More lean, less boyish. She still keeps her hood and scarf up, obscuring her face though as she looks to the two of them.

    "The weapon is interesting." she states plainly.

No. 9 (269) has posed:
    A glance over, then, huffing faintly, "Oh come on man, I didn't take her out fer breakfast. She woke me up one day by tryin t' slit my throat but, bounced off th' subcutaneous armor? N' then she kicked a pot a hot coffee inta my face. We came t' an understandin'." A nod, aside, before his eyes go back up. Following her down, his eyes lock onto her, his ugly, dirt streaked face crinkling faintly. "You've grown, girl. Thass good. Ya were too damn skinny." At the words, he nods. "The weapon is interesting. But the weapon is his." he tips his head to the side. His fingers tap the gunblade. "Means bout th' same to him as this does to me." Which says a LOT that Nine gave Nathan one to keep his friend safe.

Taro (399) has posed:
    Taro continues to not quite glare and not quite stare through the gaps in the ceiling as she drops down one floor closer to them. When she finally agrees, he gives a single nod, and his scowl lessens a bit, apparently mollified.
    Once she joins them on the same floor, he holds his gloved hands up, plams out, to show he is in fact not holding anything in them. Then, he reaches back to gather up the trailing edge of his cloak so that he doesn't sit on it when he sits on the floor. Which he does.
    "Ah. that incident," he replies to Nine. Then, attention returns to their former quarry now guest. Or something of that nature. "The weapon is bespoke. I spent a great deal of time perfecting its design and crafting it by hand."

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "And it is well made." and extremely vexing. AND INFURIATINGLY BEYOND HER COMPREHENSION. She was used to longswords. ONly 1180's kids will remember....

    Nasrin remains standing as Taro sits down, and she watches the two of them with a sense of calm about her.

    "Although I appreciate the gesture -- and your research, Nine -- it would take more than a baked good to procure the item." she explains quietly, and shakes her head.

No. 9 (269) has posed:
    His face irons out, as do his eyes. Thinning and narrowing, growing tight. "Alright. The question here is; what, do you want."

Taro (399) has posed:
    Taro accepts the compliment with a deep nod and a "Thank you". He did construct it, after all. Silence, then, as he awaits Nasrin's answer to the question.

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    Nasrin steeples her fingers. She could topple the other Assassins who tried to take over the brotherhood in the vacuum left when the others left. She could safeguard a city with their help. She could eliminate slumlords and human traffickers.

    ... but those are deals made with a devil.

    Nasrin shakes her head. "Nothing. The weapon is not here and is not for exchange."

No. 9 (269) has posed:
    There's a flash in the Golem's eyes. Thin. And then bright. Crazed. Just a little. His grin gets wide, actually kinda warm. "How about... this. Lives. You and yours decry the harming of innocents, am I right?" The eyes flash again, like some feral beast. "Now I'm not saying you're a superhero who throws yourself under a bus to save every orphan, nun and nurse that comes by harm's way? But you seem to like it when good people don't get hurt for no reason, right?" He goes from threatening to broken, weeping, melancholy, sad, and now to psychotic and right back to threatening? But not of, her? His grin is, a mad thing, thin and lacking all humanity. "What about that, hmm? Will you bargain with monsters? Or just try to slit my throat again? It went so /well/ last time..."

Taro (399) has posed:
    Taro narrows his eyes at her answer, and while he doesn't look directly into Nasrin's eyes, his gaze is rather intense. His silence continues, hands folded in his lap, as Nine delivers vague threats on his weapon's behalf.

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "I bargain with monsters for sleep." Nasrin replies, her own eyes narrowing, and she gives a shrug of her shoulders. "If you are resorting to threats, then this parlay is finished. May your jouney making a new weapon be smooth and the sand never enter your joints." Nasrin waves a hand a moment, going to walk for a window.

No. 9 (269) has posed:
    The golem's eyes flash one more time, his jaws cracking as he snarls. "YOU LITTLE-" before he rips himself to a stop, his eyes closing hard in a sudden seething breath. Body shaking, hands opening and closing with little mechanical whirring noises. His eyes close. "I fucked it up. I fucked it all up. Taro, fffffffuck, I'm so /sorry/ I fucked it all up. What are we gonna do?" He already threatened her and it didn't work. If he tried to hurt her he didn't know WHAT would happen. He might make it worse. What if he made it worse? He already made it worse. What if he made it /even/ /worse/?

Taro (399) has posed:
    This has not been as productive as he would have liked, but at least they now know that his beam sabre is in either her possession or with one of her associates. If she does not have it with her, then it's likely she does not feel comfortable using it in battle....or that she hasn't figured out how to unlock it.
    Taro raises his left hand in a stopping gesture, intended for Nine rather than for Nasrin. "The parlay is finished. The matter is not." A pause. "At least take the Oum Ali with you, Assassin. It would be poor manners to not accept a dish prepared for you."

Nasrin (923) has posed:
    "And worse manners to not return the dish full." Nasrin replies. And she gives a slight smile beneath her scarf. "A pity we stand on either side of the line. We could have made a good team." Nasrin replies, accepting the baking dish, making sure it won't spill too badly.

No. 9 (269) has posed:
    Nine hesitates... and then bows. Low. Low. His spine does it well, and his forehead brushes the ground with little trouble. "We shall see an answer to this either way. Personally? I don't like lines. Never have. But when there's lines, there's inevitably someone I don't want to see on the other side of it." A sigh, as he stands up, looking over to Taro, and bows to him in turn. "Resolution will be found my brother. But, apparently, not today." A sigh...