4994/Cutting Cards

Cutting Cards
Date of Scene:	06 January 2017
Location:	Hellsing-1 Earth <HE1>
Synopsis:	Tubalcain Alhambra travels to Barcelona, Spain to tie up one of the old group's 'loose ends' and runs into Heinkel Wolfe!
Cast of Characters:	1087, Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped)

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Tubalcain Alhambra (1087) has posed:
     There has been some intelligence about possible occult-related criminal activity in Barcelona, Spain. At the penthouse of a well to do private gentleman, there is the report of an explosion. News moves rapidly, and due to the threat of midians and other supernatural dangers involved, it seems likely that some special task force will show up to assist the police that are responding to the incident. It's a rather classy looking place--gray stone exterior, rising up into a fanastic view of the Barcelona city-scape, stonework and gargoyles ringing the rooftop. But now there are many windows blown out and police have surrounded the place with yellow police tape, several of their cars and emergency response vehicles standing by. Entry from ground level would be a bit annoying for most mundane folks, but it seems like it'd be easy to cross over from a neighboring building, or perhaps just climb or fly up to it, if you were so inclined...

Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped) has posed:
  Once upon a time, Europe was a great travel destination, with many of its cities and towns prospering from international currency. That was before the multiverse decided to turn itself inside-out and reshuffle a lot of its already-unified worlds. Unfortunately, this one wound up plunking down right beside a vast area of contaminated land, cleverly referred to as the Contaminated Flatlands.

  It didn't end well. Incidents of freaks, ghouls, and just plain old-fashioned undead have been flaring like wildfire ever since the incident. The world's police and military forces have been scrambling to keep the populaces safe, while other cities have simply disappeared off the map. Enterprising freaks, handed their mysterious technology from mysterious people, have seized the opportunity to create their own little fiefdoms of ghouls.

  Overrun with work, the top-secret supernatural hunter groups, the Hellsing Organisation and Vatican Section XIII, have revealed themselves and now fight with public support and funding. Both rival organisations are so put-upon that they've signed a treaty and formal alliance. Their hands are more than full trying to help the most brutally-hit areas.

  Most people are just trying to stay alive, at this point.

  Russia is practically drowning in corruption, with its militaries beside themselves trying to protect the greatest population centres. Its grain belt is all but destroyed. Even if the people there survive, their agricultural heartland has been razed. Yet further west, Spain is one of the territories largely untouched, despite all the incidents peppering central Eurasia and some of the central European areas.

  That's probably the reason why rumours of occult activity in Barcelona are taken seriously by Vatican Section XIII. No sooner have the rumours cropped up than they've already dispatched an agent to the area.

  It's too late to save anybody from the explosion, and the city's emergency response teams are already here to deal with any survivors or wounded. They're all as busy as a little hive of ants on the ground, which is why a dark shape flutters up above the rooftop, out of the way of lamps or the floodlights being used by rescue teams.

  Up above, a small metallic sound announces the readying of a pistol, followed immediately by another. A lone, tall, and lanky figure strolls unhurried down the hallway, obscured by a long, cassock-like overcoat and a clerical collar visible against the black fabric. Round sunglasses completely obscure the figure's eyes (who would wear sunglasses at night, anyway?), and in each white-gloved hand rests a silver-plated pistol with obscenely long slides and apparently designed for obscenely large-caliber ammunition. Around the warrior priest's neck and resting over the coat is a simple iron cross, bound by a leather thong. The figure is all in all very androgynous -- there's something masculine in the set of the shoulders and the strong facial features.

  Heinkel Wolfe eases into a crouch behind some rubble, considering and listening. This was the building all the rumours she'd managed to chased own led to. Yet now it looks like whatever evidence was left is gone... if there's anything left to smell over the stench of charred everything, perhaps she can find it. Human she may look, but her nose is better than a bloodhound's.

  Besides. She'd promised Chief she wouldn't go back home empty-handed. Maybe, if she brings something useful back and doesn't cause an international incident, he might not dock her pay this time...

Tubalcain Alhambra (1087) has posed:
     It seems the interior had been partially ransacked and trashed--with what looked like a waste basket full of papers that had been set ablaze, setting off smoke detectors but had not been the actual cause of the damage here. It seemed like a bomb had gone off, but there was very little in the way of traces of it--little charring, black powder, and the living area had been in disarray with the windows mostly shattered. The crime scene forensics of it didn't exactly make sense, but the penthouse's owner was very dead. He was now a crimson smear against one of the carpets, mutilated, looking as if he was a wet tissue bag that had been burst open with a hard stone from a slingshot, or a bullet.

     Right now that nose would be likely stung a bit from the smell of the smoke, and the charred remains--as well as the very intense coppery scent of the blood. But there was something else--something going right out the nearby window and seeming to lead up to the rooftop.

     Right now, Tubalcain Alhambra stood at the edge of it, looking down at the swarming police with a calm sort of curiosity--he should have departed already, he likely told himself, but he wasn't about to hurry about for a bunch of police.

Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped) has posed:
  The acrid smoke is almost enough to bring tears to the eyes, but Heinkel pauses where she is, crouching down and inhaling deeply with effort. It's horrifically tempting to cough, but she needs to find out if there's anything else to track, especially now that the scents are going to get scrambled by police establishing a crime scene. Her clock is ticking.

  Against the morass of char and smoke, she can detect blood, and that strange and subtle stench that could be called 'death.' The paladin wrinkles her nose against it, frowning and following it, carefully picking her way through smoldering or already-charred wreckage. The penthouse owner is given a long look. Whatever killed him was probably not natural unless there's a maniac toting around the kind of weaponry that would attract lots of attention. That hypothesis can be scratched out; she hadn't heard of any illegal arms activity in this sector of Europe. Not enough to stand out against daily news, anyway.

  This definitely has to be something supernatural. The question, she decides, is what? A lycanthrope, a 'werewolf,' would certainly mutilate its victim, but the last time she'd seen a lycanthrope's last crime scene, the corpses had been unrecognisable. This man, she reasons, can probably still be identified by dental records. Not a lycanthrope's work. A freak, those cheap knockoff vampires, would just drain all the blood from the body. Said body would then rise and shamble on as a mindless husk. No, this wasn't a freak, either.

  Some manner of local spirit? Heinkel slowly tilts her head to one side, listening and tasting the air.

  There, she decides. Her head, her whole body, freezes as she catches wind of something that isn't ambient burning. She immediately crouches low, stalking after it on the balls of her feet, bracing with one hand every time she lowers herself to check the scent. It probably looks almost comical, especially in that long overcoat, but her pace is still alarmingly fast.

  It takes some scrabbling to climb up the roof, easing herself up over the edge and stalking, almost noiselessly, over toward where she can see the silhouette of Tubalcain Alhambra.

  She stays low, since there are still emergency response teams with searchlights down below, and attracting police attention would be absurdly inconvenient right now.

  "Vhat a nice night out. Really, Spain is nice efen in vinter, you know?"

  The voice that speaks is solidly androgynous; it's difficult to tell whether it's a man or a woman. Gruff and scarred by too many years of cigarettes and hard drink, it's still young enough to suggest the speaker is in their early thirties.

  "Too bad those emergency teams couldn't get here any sooner, ja? Not such a nice night for those people."

  The light glints off teeth, next; teeth bared in a broad grin, and a cigarette pinched between those teeth. No light from any guns. At least, not yet.

  "I hope you haf a good reason for loitering near the scene of a crime."

Tubalcain Alhambra (1087) has posed:
     Tubalcain, for his credit, is enjoying a clove cigarette when Heinkel appears. He's just not standing around for no reason, after all. He takes a puff of it before throwing it away--he really only smoked for the flavor of them now, anyway.

     "I suppose I should apologize for making them come out all this way for no reason," he said after inhaling and blowing out the smoke, which came out in a white stream from his nose and mouth. The dark-skinned man in the white suit and hat turned toward Heinkel, his features more visible--crafty, green eyes, trimmed moustache, and thin lips which revealed a grin sparkling with very white ivory teeth.

     "I take it by your dress you work for the pope, no? come to cleanup after a rash of bizarre events around this city?" Tubalcain tilted his head and peered at Heinkel from under the brim of his white fedora, his white-gloved hands at his side. He eyed the large metal cross they wore in particular, it was a bit of a clue as to what outfit they really were with.

     "Of course I have a good reason, I was enjoying a smoke after tying up a loose end," he grinned a little, shrugging as if this was a very natural thing to do.

Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped) has posed:
  Nostrils flare at the familiar scent of cloves. She'd preferred those, once upon a time, but these days she prefers tobacco. Hers she keeps in her mouth, swivelling it around so it dangles from her lower lip. A thin streamer of smoke wafts from the tip, and she exhales smoke.

  "All this vay?" The accent is very clearly German, and if Alhambra pays attention to his European dialects, it actually pins the priest to east Styria. A short distance away, the priest cocks their head, as though curious. "Ja, I vork for the Pope. Vatican Section XIII, 'Iscariot.' Ja, und I take it by your teeth /you/ aren't human. That's really interesting, you know, because that means you really haf no reason to be here if you veren't involved vit this crime somehow. Hunh. /Loose ends/."

  There comes the mechanical sound of two guns being prepared. Silver gleams from the darkness; the very large-caliber muzzles of two very large pistols. They look like they've been fitted to stop a charging bear.

  "You haf about two seconds to say you'll let me take you into custody, vhich I'm only offering to your sorry arse as a formality." The leering grin widens, light catching teeth and sunglasses lenses in reflections of cold blue. "I really hope you don't, because then that means I get to shoot you, /freak/."

Tubalcain Alhambra (1087) has posed:
     "I tell you what, I'll do you a favor," Tubalcain flicks his wrist and five playing cards fan out into his grip, all bearing ionic greek columns on their backs, their faces currently hidden. He then turned his wrist and waved his arm out--the cards flying through the air right towards Heinkel!

     Now, these were not just any ordinary playing cards--they were beyond razor sharp, and also explosive--which is something Heinkel will soon learn about as the air in front of her would be sucked away with a series of horrible booming, thundering crashes--likely the same sort of effect that blew out the windows of the penthouse beneath them.

     When the smoke clears, Tubalcain's voice can be heard.

     "I didn't think one of you would come out all this way just for me, but I'm flattered, really I am," he puts on some of that 'charm' to his voice, something that's no doubt less than sincere.

Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped) has posed:
  "Favour?" Heinkel tilts her head, although she's already easing the pistol up as Tubalcain flicks a hand of playing cards into his hand. His are the faster resources, if only because he knows what comes next and she doesn't.

  The priest fires off two shots even as the cards whisk past her, two drawing blood along the lines of her cheekbone, one shredding a sleeve at the shoulder. One even cracks the left lens of her glasses as it glances off, exploding far enough away to do nothing but stagger her, and also exploding close enough that she is now deaf as a post. Clapping her hands over her ears is more of a reflex than anything else, but it's too late, and the damage already done. The world abruptly hushes around her, ears buzzing and ringing.

  Heinkel staggers under the onslaught, snarling in pain and anger. "Ach, nein, you /couldn't/ do this the easy vay! Of /course/ not!" Alright, you piece of shit, opportunity revoked!" Her shouting suggests she is indeed deaf as a post at the moment.

  "Vhat kind of favour are ve talking about? If it's the von vhere I get to shoot you in the face, then ja, I'll take that!" She hears his voice, but only dimly. It takes her a half-second longer to glean words from the buzzing.

  There are also two or three shots fired off in Tubalcain's direction, through the last wisps of smoke. "Ach, don't flatter yourself, /freak/! Ve're just exterminators, und you're no more than vermin to be exterminated!"

Tubalcain Alhambra (1087) has posed:
     "This IS the easy way, senorita," Tubalcain raises a brow at her with a toothy grin, though it's dubious if she can hear him after what her ears have just been through. His eyes then go wide as she's still able to draw the large guns and squeeze off a volley of bullets--raising his hands again to project a ring of floating, glowing playing cards around him and drawing them out of the air to throw them back at the bullets--almost attempting to shoot the bullets out of the air, in essence.

     "Hurk!" Until of course one catches him in the side of his head, what looks like blood issuing forth from the wound until the wound itself begins to glow and Tubalcain's form unravels in what looks like playing cards--some kind of magical spell? In just a few moments, it's as if he wasn't even standing there.

     "It's the favor where I cut the chatter and the charade, m'dear," Tubalcain's voice now comes from a rooftop several feet away, behind Heinkel!

Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped) has posed:
  "Son of a bitch, Chief better give me vacation time for this," Heinkel snarls, forcibly ejecting the clips from her pistols, hunching and sprinting for the nearest cover while slamming new clips into place from her pockets. That coat looks like it has fantastic pockets. Her ears are still ringing, but she can apparently hear most of what Tubalcain's saying. "Nein, you just vasted your only opportunity!"

  She stares as the bullet clips the card shark and his wound promptly knits itself back together, brow furrowing. Well, that just confirmed any doubts she might have had. Definitely a freak. They do seem to have a knack for regeneration, even if most of them couldn't keep up with Father Anderson.

  "Hunh. Son of a /bitch/," Heinkel spits irritably, the heel of one hand reaching up to box at the side of her head in a futile effort to get rid of that awful ringing. Pivoting, she looks up, not even bothering to wait for an answer before firing again, three shots in rapid succession, from her left pistol. The recoil of that pistol must be monstrous. She's obviously bracing herself hard against the weapon when it roars and bucks in her hand. It's certainly loud, but maybe she's used to that.

  And before he has a chance to flick more of that Papercut Deck at her, she's already sprinting for the rooftop, vaulting over whatever obstructions lie in her path. "Ja, I don't really think so!" she bellows, over the white noise in her own ears. "By all means, I vouldn't mind a chat vit you! Who the hell are you, you freak, und who the hell do you vork for? I'll haf /that/ much before I put a silfer bullet through your miserable excuse for a heart!"

Tubalcain Alhambra (1087) has posed:
     "Hey, I /was/ trying to kill you, in my defense," Tubalcain sighs at her 'wasting your only opportuny' reply. At the next three shots, the dandy man is running to the side, strafing around Heinkel and bringing out a few cards to try and deflect the shots--the seemingly unlimited cutting ability of the cards not turned away by their no doubt holy or silver composition--shearing through them and cleaving them in two--the flecks of silver and shards of the metal do seem to give him pause, however--as he cringes and shields his face in the process. Unlike harder metals, the silver in the alloy of the bullet tips is likely to fleck and crumble rather than just be cut through, one might suspect.

     "I am Tubalcain Alhambra, my friends call me the 'Dandy Man'," jumping back from the edge of the roof he was on, he stops to tighten his gloves and pauses to stare at her. "I would not mind a chat with you under friendlier and less violent circumstances, perhaps, but it does not seem like it could be so," he shrugged with one shoulder, "As for who I work for, well, I don't have to give everything away right now, do I?" he grinned.

Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped) has posed:
  Each card that impacts a bullet neatly slices it in half. They're custom tailored to take out the supernatural, with a lot of silver content and small vials inside, filled with holy water, and designed to shatter on impact, because having slugs made of silver isn't awful enough.

  The important part of this to Heinkel is the fact that they're /not hitting the vampire/. Bullets aren't very useful when they don't hit the /target/. She grunts, hunkering down behind the nearest thing that's big enough to cover her, in this case an air conditioning unit, and slaps another clip into each pistol. They make a sharp mechanical noise as she primes them.

  "Ja, I can see that! You care more about that suit than the people you just had killed, ja? Murder, you know, ist a felony everyvhere!" Heinkel shows her teeth, grinning. "You've pretty much confessed, und you're also trying to kill me, so I haf no real qualms about swatting you like an insect, freak! You operate in Catholic territory, und you pay the price for it!"

  Three more shots are fired in rapid succession. "Then I'll gife you a free hint: Ja, you're right; I'm vit the Catholics! Specifically I am Paladin Heinkel Wolfe, of Vatican Section XIII! It's our job to kill freaks of nature like you, especially vhen you start stirring up trouble!" Like blowing up buildings. And using combat origami.

Tubalcain Alhambra (1087) has posed:
     "I have many like it, but that doesn't mean I don't take murder seriously," The dandy man flicks a hand up with another trio of cards held between his fingers, throwing them out towards the airconditioner unit that Heinkel was using as cover--two embedding in the AC unit and then blowing up--while the third tries to intercept the third bullet Heinkel fired--which only grazes the top portion of and slams with full force into the Dandy Man's shoulder--causing a spray of blood!

     "Arghh--damn it!" he winces and a white glove is soon slapped over the now sucking wound, blood gushing out--of course, it doesn't spray for too long, as the flesh begins to close--but that is before the effect of the silver hits.

     "Hrkk--augh, that's... that's not good," the silver causes the cells immediately around the bullet in the artificial vampire's body to die, rapidly. If one had a better look, they might see the tissue there turnign ashen gray before starting to flake away.

     "We might have to continue this later, senorita," Tubalcain stands firm despite the severe injury, the very top of his hat appearing to flake away as that multi-colored glowing card dissipating effect returns, his entire body unraveling into playing cards from head to foot!

Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped) has posed:
  There goes a perfectly good air conditioning unit. Metal shears apart with a tortured screech, debris and freon flung from it in a spatter mark... but Heinkel isn't there any more.

  If he looks up slightly, he'll see that she's running along the roof for all she's worth, because she isn't stupid and knew that was going to happen. Also, it's not hard to spot her because of all the pieces of air conditioning unit embedded in her coat. It must be something abnormal. A normal coat would have shredded itself to ribbons under that razor-sharp debris.

  She twists back to fire again, twice, but both shots swing wide. It gives her just enough time to scuttle behind a chimney, skidding to a halt so fast that a terra cotta roof tile is sent skittering over the edge to shatter on the ground far below.

  Heinkel backs herself up against a chimney, gritting her teeth and probing at the slice that runs through her shoulder. It won't stop bleeding, and it's starting to sting enough to be distracting. No, she tells herself. Calm. No helpful regeneraiton for her, but strength of will is a hell of a thing. That can't knit her wound but it can certainly keep her focused.

  In fact, she's just about to raise her pistol for another shot, when the card shark simply vanishes, poofing into so many whirling playing cards.

  "Shit." She slumps back against the chimney, boxing the heel of her hand against the side of her head to try to elicit something other than that /ringing/. "Ja, vell! You know ve don't stop, vonce ve haf our quarry!"

  Heinkel looks left; looks right. Gone. The pistols she'd raised waver, slightly. Where'd the well-dressed bastard go?

  "You're a dead man!" she adds, bellowing to account for the ringing still in her ears. "If I don't hunt you down und finish you off, than somevon else vill! Iscariot vill stamp you out like the vermin you are!" Heinkel grimaces, glancing down to the slice through her shoulder. She looks up, sunglasses searching this way and that (how does she /see/ in those things?), one pistol raised. For now, it's probably better to stay behind cover for as long as she doesn't know where Tubalcain's gone...

Tubalcain Alhambra (1087) has posed:
     There does not seem to be an answer, as the cards drift up and float away into the cold air of the day--? Night, perhaps, by now. That AC unit is trashed, however, and it seems they both have dealt eachother serious injuries. Perhaps The Dandy Man was not expecting to face such serious and deadly opposition here, or maybe it is different from what intelligence suggested, that the secret order iscariot had so many members capable of this? It's unclear. What is clear though, is that they are both fearful enemies by fate, even if it were not for the hostilities displayed here.

     And Tubalcain apparently leaves no other trace than a few scant playing cards bearing that greek pillar design laying on the rooftop, the only real indicator that he was even there.

Heinkel Wolfe (Dropped) has posed:
  "Ghhh, ow /fuck/ ow ow fuck ow fuck /ow/," the priest snarls, hunching over. Some of those chunks went right through the coat, and she can feel them biting into her back and shoulder. She can also smell her own blood from more than just those gashes at the side of her face. It's strong enough to suggest that her back and shoulders were peppered pretty thoroughly. Sure feels like it.

  It's a risk, but... Heinkel reaches up and whisks those goggle-like glasses off her face, staring into the gloom.

  Her eyes are not normal. Her eyes are not even remotely normal. They aren't reflecting light like a normal person's eye does; they're actively luminous, almost like a cat's eye, but instead of that phosphorous green, it's a pale blue-white. They glint and gleam every time the angle so much as shifts. And they can see very, very well in the dark...

  But there's nothing to see but a few playing cards.

  Heinkel slaps the sunglasses back on, snarls, and stalks over to the cards to... rummage in a pocket, and produce a plastic evidence bag and tweezers. The cards are carefully tweezered into the bag, after several clumsy attempts, and the whole lot is tossed into her pocket. Probably useless, given how sharp those things are, but hey, procedure.

  Once that's over with, Heinkel takes a last look around, growling curses under her breath and popping her sunglasses back on. Once it's patently obvious that he Really Is Gone, she reaches into her coat and produces a battered flip-phone, stalking off into the shadows and furiously punching a number into it as she goes.

  Unseen, she slips away from the scene of the crime, where police are even now looking for whoever the shooter was that they'd heard. They won't find her. Heinkel's halfway to Rome by the time they come across the brass -- or would that be silver? -- she'd left behind.

  And maybe go find some band-aids.