Scene #1230: Ill Met

Owner	Pose
Nasrin	Sirens wail in the Slums, buildings held together with a mortar of duct tape and bare hopes. A city full of corruption, the kind of stain that no amount of rain can wash out. Folks were milling about in the mid-holiday rush, some rushing home from procuring materals for that New Year's meal, others heading to work. THe patchwork of the city was held together with the stitches of back alleyways lit by seedy bar signs and fluttering streetlights where the sun doesn't reach between the crevasses of the buildings.
Quentyn Westwind	Ok, now /this/-- of all the 'gather information about the multiverse' quests Quentyn has gone on so far-- /this/ takes the cake for 'sketchy.' The white mage might jump at every little snap or sound, he might nervously fiddle with his glasses more than usual... but, dutifully with pencil in one hand and notebook in the other, Quentyn jots down his observations and findings. And it might be while the kid's expositing on the city's poor infrastructure and state of repair that he, in this lapse of attention to his surroundings, takes a wrong turn down a seedy alleyway...
Nasrin	That's when one fo the doors bursts open, and a cry of alarm echoes against the walls of the alleyway. A dishoveled man in a fine brown suit backs out of the door; there's a slice taken from his cheek, a long mark carved into the flesh from a knife. He takes off down the alley towards the observing teen, and goes to shove him out of the way! "Get odda my way!" he growls, and goes to run into the streets. A gray shadow pursues, nimble and moving on silent feet as it hops to the fire escape and manages to run along the wall, bounding from side to side!
Quentyn Westwind	If things were only a little different Quentyn might react quicker. Instead he just stares dumbly at the man's multilated cheek-- goes into the wall with an 'oof', dropping his pencil and nearly dropping his notebook. "Wait!" Quentyn calls after the man, "I-- I can hel... help..." He trails off when he sees the figure pursuing. He sticks the notebook in his bag and runs after, drawing his PDW into his hands and flicking the safety off. In a way, Quentyn /likes/ being a white mage. What are white mages if not protectors of the party? Well, technically it's a stranger and this situation is really more the kind of protection you'd get from a knight/paladin/warrior... but lacking any of those, he'd just have to make do. As he runs, Quentyn raises the sights to his eyes and lets off a few quick, controlled bursts-- BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM! each time. Surprisingly accurate for running at the same time, but the student-adventurer isn't trying to actually hit the grey pursuer-- just suppress and divert them away from the (in his mind) victim.
Nasrin	The man keeps running, not inclined to see how the gunned teen can help him, and definately more interested in getting away. From the door, another man appears, clutching his shoulder, stumbling -- he's been stabbed. Whatever's going on, the figure in gray was dangerous. The gray figure ducks to a rooftop to avoid the gunfire, rolling on a shoulder and springing back across the alleyway, spanning the ten-foot wide jump like it was nothing, and continues in pursuit of the brown-dressed man. There's the glint of metal catching against the light. THe man shoves his way into the crowd, leaving a wide trail of surprised people. "It's gonna kill me!" he shouts in fear, and tries to duck down another alley. "HELP!"
Quentyn Westwind	"Hang...hang on!" Quentyn calls breathlessly-- but he keeps up OK. He takes a moment away from his suppressing fire to cast a spell. Aether gathers visibly around the boy and, with a hand gesturing out to man in brown. The man's skin, too, may turn brown (and rocky!) for a few seconds as Stoneskin takes effect. The teen fidgits with his weapon for a moment. Shooting a person, well, that's not exactly the same as shooting a monster. He sends a few more short bursts (seems it has a generous magazine) at the figure in grey whenever it appears, as before the white mage trying to create fear of getting hit rather than trying to actually hit the pursuer.
Nasrin	The pursuer doesn't seem to mind. THe new alley is a dead end. The fire escapes terminate twenty feet up; there is a gathering of forgotten trash, the flotsam and jetsam of urban decay. THe man in brown, with brown skin, skids to a stop, helplessly looking around at the dead end, and the only escape back through a narrow gauntlet of building with a straight shot down. The gray figure is standing atop one of the budilings, a blood red sash fluttering between the gray leather of a jacket. And it begins to decend, calmly, un-afraid of any shots.
Quentyn Westwind	"Behind me!" the kid calls quickly to the man in brown, not all that calm himself. But Quentyn takes a breath. Sights in the gray man with his weapon. "L-Leave him alone..." Quentyn's not exactly all that great at intimidation. On the other hand, he does have that gun.
Nasrin	The figure pauses, and the head tilts, animal-like at the white mage. The man in brown is holding his breath. His eyes are wide, and he hides behind the teen as cowardly as possible. He might or might not have soiled himself, adding to the /charm/ of the situation. The figure quickly decends, leaving after images of itself -- one moment it's half way up a building -- the next, it's on the ground, crouching, and the hood lifts. A pair of hazel eyes peer out from the gloom beneath the gray fabric, and the figure stands. Normal height, maybe a little tall for a hume. Lean form, leather and mail armor. The sound of metal on metal alerts to a drawn weapon. "You should move." the figure states in a dry sort of tone. The voice is androgynous, deep enough to be a male but smooth enough for a woman.
Quentyn Westwind	Quentyn struggles to keep up with the quick movements and, from the look of him, it spikes his heartrate up another tier. Stay calm. Breathe. "I-I'm not..." Aether gathers around the white mage but only briefly. This spell's a fast one-- Quentyn closes his eyes for the split second the world turns white-- Flash, attempting to blind the assailant for at least a handful of seconds. "--joking. L-Leave him alone." To the boy's credit, he keeps himself between one man and the other. And keeps the weapon sights on the now landed figure.
Nasrin	Aether. A spell. The boy might not mean her harm, not Nasrin isn't about to let her quarry be taken away by someone otuside the situation. There's a soft hiss, and the scattering off feet. Unfortunately, the feet is from behind Quentyn! The man gives a cry of alarm, and he pushes the white-mage trying to protect him forward, trying to push him and escape past the blinded assassin. THe assassin, though, has other eyes. And a pair of ears. She follows the sound,a nd there's the whizz of a throwing dagger, sharp steel splitting the air. "Bad dog! Sit!" the figure in gray hisses, and goes to tackle the mage with a loud "GRAH!"
Quentyn Westwind	Quentyn's eyes widen and he tries to let off a burst into the incoming assassin-- but well, the boy's not as his most effective and she might not have much difficulty getting out from the barrel's path. Then he's crashing to the ground with an 'oof' and a wince and the gun skitters out of reach. But if white mage is lucky... the man's Stoneskin effect will be strong enough to absorb the blow to the man in brown and let him get away. Except, of course, the assassin might still pursue. But, even tacked, Quentyn's not out yet! Arther gathers around him but this spell takes a second or so longer to actually cast. Trying to grab the assassin, the trembling, wide-eyed white mage tries to impart Repose-- a spell to send her off to the land of dreams.
Nasrin	Stoneskin protects the man, but not his pants. He's held fast to the wall, crying out and 'petrified' between the stone skin and the blow. He stumbles, and pins himself against the wall. The gun skitters away, but the mage has the upper hand. The figure stumbles, backwards and off the mage, sword drawn, and fighting off the spell the best she can. Repose isn't a kind thing for a killer. You tend to have bad dreams. But while she's fighting it, she stumbles, and falls to one knee, struggling to stay awake. The man in brown goes to try to scurry away.
Quentyn Westwind	Some part of Quentyn's brain reminds him that spell effects like Repose don't always work as well or even at all sometimes on 'elites'. This assailant's an elite? But later-- He quickly kicks himself backwards and to a crouch, trying to get out of reach of that sword. But... Repose was having at least some effect? Time. Just need to buy the victim a little more time. Aether gathers around the mage once again, but it looks like Quentyn has to focus to form the spell... maybe it can be interrupted? But if the figure doesn't do anything-- He gestures towards her with another cast of Repose. Maybe this could end without any blood-- or at least any more.
Nasrin	No, the assaliant does something. She cranes her neck. Her eyes come into sharp focus, and she brings her head back down, forward -- and then there are three. Then six. Then nine of her, all heading away. After images from a speedy chase that ends with her at the man in brown -- where repose finally wins out, and drops the assassin. The figure in gray skids along the street, and ends up with the assaliant slamming hard against the building, curling up and clutching at her stomach. She'd been pushing too hard; her stomach twisted and she had just enough left to grip before she slammed against the building. The man in brown blinks, and then opens his mouth to thank Quentyn -- but instead, he pulls out a gun from his jacket, and takes shakey aim at the gray figure!
Quentyn Westwind	Quentyn collects his own gun first. It's precious seconds but compared to not having his weapon... he chases after, stumbling to a halt just as he comes across the man pulling his weapon. "Stop!" Quentyn calls quickly, also quickly trying to cast a third spell. Guess what it is? Repose-- but this time at the man in brown. Well, if it works...
Nasrin	Turns out he's much easier a target than the figure in gray. The man in brown goes down. The gun drops, and clatters with a 'BANG!' that richochets off the wall, scattering concrete and dust. THe gray figure startles awake, however, and backs up. Eyes go up, and the figure hops to its feet, hazel eyes set on Quentyn now, and the sword to the ready. "You shouldn't interfere."
Quentyn Westwind	Quentyn pales. As much as it's possible for a Ramuha to pale anyway. Did he just make the assassin's job easier? He looks like he might be able to cast again, but the telltale signs of aether gathering around the mage don't appear. He bites his lower lip, perhaps running through what other cards he has left to play. "You shouldn't kill people!" the boy counters. Not exactly a convincing persuasionist. But he raises the ironsights to his eye once more. This time, he tries to shoot her legs. Buuuut, if she manages to avoid the first burst, a perceptive observer might notice that leaves the gun empty.
Nasrin	The assassin, even without the supernatural help, is quick! She narrowly avoids the burst -- but isn't about to trust that someone who weilds magic /can/ have an empty gun. She stands though, brushing herself off. "Even men who sell-out women and put them on the street for a crust of bread? Those who buy their own skins at the price of another life? Even scum bottom-feeders who sell addicitive substances to schoolchildren? Not convincing." she states. "They might not deserve to die, but they don't deserve to live, either."
Quentyn Westwind	Quentyn reaches with his left hand into his bag, pulling out a new magazine and sliding it home. There's one curious thing about Galiandan weapons, however. They have no cases, no chemical propellant. The bullets are literally only bullets, making them and the magazine smaller. But, all the same, the assassin's words do sew a seed of uncertainty in the boy. He straightens out his glasses. "Um... then... then call the judges or police or whoever you have in these outworlds." Quentyn nods, as though to reassure himself that's the correct path.
Nasrin	"You're not from around here. Neither am I. These people don't have the luxury of the police to protect them." the Assassin points out. "Judges are people, and can be bought for the right price. Or the wrong interests. Addiction, possession, greed, flavours these people know well." the figure in gray replies. "You're a good kid. Quentyn. You're just not in the right place at the right time." And then the assaliant drops a metallic looking ball, and it explodes in a brilliant white light and a loud BANG! A flashbang, appropriate enough. There's the sound of a blade on flesh, a body falling...
Quentyn Westwind	His own medicine, in a way. Quentyn doesn't expect it, shields his eyes too late-- can't see a thing, at least not until too late. He just stands there, stunned well after the effects of the bomb have worn off. What if what she said was true? What if it wasn't? Either way, Quentyn couldn't protect them. Kid's going to have a lot weighing on his mind... ~