Scene #8458: Helicopter Arrives at Eight

Owner	Pose
Rufus Shinra	The only text Rufus sends is a request for an address. Whatever address Bond responds with, a helicopter arrives promptly at 8. Like, setting down landing rails at 7:59:50, and the rotor spinning down enough to safely approach at 7:59:59. The interior's luxurious, with padded seats, climate control, an entertainment system and a mini-fridge. It wouldn't be the very most expensive helicopter ride someone like James Bond has ever taken, in his interactions with dealers and warlords and barons - but definitely would clock in the top ten. The pilots can be talked to via the intercom, but they don't have a lot to say. If Bond asks, they're a third party hired by an anonymous account - and if Bond searches, the helicopter company's information comes up as legitimate (if not entirely clean (see earlier paragraph w/r/t dealers, warlords, barons)). The copter makes its way across the skies, through several flying-vehicle-appropriate warpgates, to a mountainside restaurant, landing on the roof. In the near distance, the lights of a nearby city are twinkling in the evening darkness. There's a maitre'd on the roof who ushers Bond inside, taking a back hallway around what sounds like a busy dining room, and into a private dining room where there is one (1) Rufus, waiting. He stands up. "Ah. Mr. Snappy Dresser. Glad you can make it. I hope the flight over wasn't too rough, it was the best I could find on short notice."
James Bond	Mr. Snappy Dresser, indeed! International men of mystery should never find themselves abroad without an outfit for every occasion. An informal evening for two, part business, part pleasure, was offered. Rather--less offered, and more thrown out as a smokescreen. The occasion provides both an opportunity for Bond to do a little grilling on Rufus Shinra, the mysterious and very forward arms dealer. And it also provides Petra Soroka some much needed relief--not that Bond imagines he'll get any thanks, nor does he intend to go looking. His accomodations in the rather ambitious Lord Zanon's castle see him preparing for the evening with a bit of cologne. Not too much, but a deliberate decision--a woody, floral fragrance for men, from a high perfumery in Oman. A black ribbed-knit merino wool cardigan, cut with a large shawl collar, is slipped on over a white cotton-poplin dress shirt, cut with an Italian spread collar, which naturally, stylishly rests flush with the collar of the cardigan. Timeless ivory cufflinks from a French designer are next, and the whole affair is rounded of with a pair of boot-cut cotton trousers, a black leather belt, and a pair of dark brown sueded chukka boots. It's an outfit equally at home in fine dining or walking along the shore of a beach, and Bond is of course not without his standard issue watch. To the naked eye, it looks as though that's all it is. Having it does mean that it's quite easy to be on time. He strides confidently into the helicopter and take shis seat. "I'm impressed," he says. "Punctual and palatial." There is, of course, a bit of small talk. He does, indeed, run the company's information, navigating through menus on his watch and having the results projected before him as a touch-interface hologram. Satisfied that he's gotten as much info as he's going to get by the time he arrives at the mountainside restaurant. Straightening the hem of his cardigan, he smiles at Rufus. "So am I," he says. "Don't worry yourself about the flight--if that's 'short notice,' I'd love to see 'careful planning.'" Bond takes a seat at the table, blue eyes studying Rufus as he does the same. "You must travel often, to have a company like that on call. Is there a story behind finding this place?"
Rufus Shinra	Rufus doesn't seem to be giving Bond nearly the same intensity of analysis. Instead, his gaze is drawn towards the room's window, with its picturesque view of the city and the rest of the mountain range alongside it. "Oh, it's just a place I got recommended to go to, and went a few weeks ago. And likely won't go to again. It's a big wide multiverse out there, it'd be a travesty to eat at the same place twice, wouldn't it?" "Honestly, I'd almost forgotten the name of it. Had to do some sleuthing to find it again to make the reservation." "I also went ahead and ordered a bottle of red," he says, just as the door opens and a server comes in with a corked bottle. "Ah. Impeccable timing." The menus are also delivered. They're one sided with a single column of entree options, with no prices listed.
James Bond	The corner of Bond's mouth curls downwards, in a roguish little smirk. "I think it's quite alright to have favorites. Something that keeps you coming back for more." Is he still talking about restaurants? "It helps to be... discerning, from time to time, don't you think?" Probably not, if the gleam in his eye is any indication. The bottle is brought out, and Bond gives it an appraising glance. "A Barbaresco?" His eyes light up, and he indulges a chuckle. "Well, Mr. Shinra, no one could accuse you of having poor taste in wine." After a brief perusal of the menu, he's ready to order, so long as Rufus is. "The roast grouse, please." Once the orders are taken, and the wine poured, he starts in on a little more conversation. "That was certainly an entrance you made, before Zanon's little court," Bond notes, with a little hint of strategic admiration. "Do you always rush in guns blazing like that?"
Rufus Shinra	"Hmm. Favorites? Maybe. I haven't found a 'favorite' yet, Mr. Snappy Dresser, and after having the same thing for so long I'm not sure I can have the same thing more than twice, anymore." Rufus gives a more genuine grin at the Barbaresco being recognized. He doesn't have the same subtle mannerisms that Bond has. "Not always coming in guns blazing. One needs to vary up the approach from time to time." His eyes glance back at the window - and then glance downward. "Huh, odd..." There's a windowless cargo van making its way up the single road towards the restaurant. "Didn't think the mail ran this late here... someone must be getting something couriered." Then back to Bond. "Having a good gun makes it hard to resist the blazing part, though, I must say. Don't suppose you brought yours? I'm something of a conniseur."
James Bond	"'Yet,'" says Bond, lifting a hand to stroke his chin, and fix Rufus with an unprofessionally inviting smile. "I'll keep that in mind. The name is Bond, by the way. James Bond." He shrugs his shoulders gently, at Rufus' mention of the mail being delivered. It so happened that he'd made a downward glance of his own, having slipped his right hand under the table to look at something on his watch. Search results, seeing if 'Rufus Shinra' is a real person, or just an invention. His blue eyes are back on Rufus, and engaged, with a harrowing sliver of time to spare. "Guns, at the dinner table?" He says, with playfully affected shock. "I suppose I could," he says, leaning forward in his seat as a spark of mischief glimmers in his eyes, and that roguish smile returns. "In my line of work, it doesn't do to be unprepared. But... it's more fun, sometimes, to paint part of the picture, and let the imagination fill in the rest, hm? A bit of build-up goes a long way." "It's a variant of a popular compact, double action semi-automatic pistol. The grip, barrel, and frame are shorter than the mainline model," he says, illustrating a general size with both hands. If Rufus looks hard enough, he can probably spot the slight disturbance in Bond's cardigan. 'Slight' is the operative word. Whatever he's using is something that would be ideal for undercover, plainclothes or just plain clandestine work. "What about yourself? Paint me a picture," he goads. "Showing can come later--among other things--if I like your brushwork."
Rufus Shinra	"Rufus Shinra, just Rufus if you please, Mr. Bond." 'Rufus Shinra' pops up with lots of results. Lots of results, all of the same person. Vice president of Shinra Electric Power Company/Shinra Inc., and son of its President - there's a lot to read there about his nepotistic namesake company, more than Bond can do with circumspect glances during one dinner, but the bit that stands out is that one Rufus Shinra was a public figure in his world ('public' including a large fraction of tabloid covers) some years ago... and then abruptly disappeared from public life as of about two years ago. "Fairly stock model shotgun, for mine, at least at the start. Shortened barrel, overcharged inertia module. Seven materia slots with two linked pairs. Custom cartridges, and I've got-" He cuts off as there's a loud noise from somewhere downstairs. "Why, Mr. Bond. I swear, you've described yours so well I swear I heard it go off just now."
James Bond	"It takes more than just a little talk for mine to go off, Rufus," says Bond. It didn't sound like the usual for a restaurant--a blunder with plates or silverware. "If you're lucky, you'll see for yourself." A little convenient, isn't it? With a nod towards the stairwell, he adds, "I imagine you'll want to go investigate?"
Rufus Shinra	"Now why would I?" says Rufus. "I'm quite enjoying your company." He sips at his wine - just as another loud sound goes off, followed by what is unmistakably the sound of a window breaking. "(I SAID DOWN ON THE GROUND!)" can be heard yelled from downstairs. "(PUT YOUR WALLETS IN THE BAG, AND NO FUNNY BUSINESS!)" "That said, I wonder if we can get ours to go. It sounds like the bottle service might be slow for a while."
James Bond	Bond smiles apologetically. "I'm pleased to hear it--but disturbances like that do kill the mood. I'll only be a moment," he says, before checking his watch, pushing his chair up and standing up. "As a matter of fact," he says, "If you happened to bring one of those materia with you, now would be a good time for a sample." His focus in on the watch, where the screen displays a rapid rundown of the restaurant's layout. Downstairs is displayed in wireframe, complete with estimates on where obstructions--and people--are.
Rufus Shinra	"Well, fortunately, I did just happen to bring a little something, in the hopes that you'd want to hit the gun range later..." A small gift box is removed from inside his jacket, and slid across the table. There's an underbarrel attachment for a pistol, with four of the crystals inlaid into it. "Little bit more elegant than the superglue they were handing out at the castle, hmm? Remember, focus and intent. It's harder to accidentally 'fire' than the gun itself, really." "Oh, and it's got fire set to wide-angle right now, so might want to stick to ice and lightning if you don't feel like setting the place on fire." Rufus doesn't sound like he'd be especially bothered if Bond ended up setting the place on fire. Downstairs, there's four men moving about the dining hall, going from table to table. There's just tables, not booths. The people are down prone or sitting on the ground, and there's a trio of other people (probably staff) hiding in the kitchen. Getting to the dining hall from here is easy enough. There's not much cover immediately near the door, though. There's some better cover coming into the restaurant from the front door, but no walkable path from here to there that wouldn't either trip a fire alarm or involve doing something crazy like jumping out of a second story window.
James Bond	Bond takes the underbarrel attachment--but doesn't procure his gun, giving Rufus a teasing glance. "Maybe I will," he says, of the shooting range. But it seems like he's both dedicated to being coy with his gun, and dedicated to 'something crazy.' Bond heads for the nearest window, resisting the urge to shoulder through it for the fact that it'd give the robbers downstairs an early warning, or at least, cause for suspicion. Instead, he tucks the underbarrel attachment into his pocket, then steadily but quickly opens the window. In the absence of latches, Bond simply lasers an opening with the watch--and leaps out, back-first. A quick shot with the watch sends a grapnel line into the lip of the mountainside restaurant, and for one stomach-dropping moment there is nothing between his back and the sheer mountainside below. He swings back towards the restaurant, his legs already in a practiced position to rappel down the side. Landing next to a valet-parked classic convertible with a roll, Bond removes the keys to his LM002, holding them tightly in his hand so as not to give himself away too early. The front of house has a few pieces of furniture and waist-high walls to take advantage of. Waiting for the readout on his watch to show that all of them aren't looking right at his position, he makes an underhand toss, throwing the keys over the wall he's pressed up against. A tap of the stop on his watch turns on the novelty 'where are my keys' feature, which plays a badly compressed soundbyte from a video that made the rounds approximately seven months ago. It's just benign enough to draw laughter rather than suspicion, and stupid enough to draw attention. Quietly, Bond affixes the underbarrel attachment, waiting for the guard that investigates to get near the keyring. The moment they do, he springs his trap, mashing the stop and sending a directed burst of knockout gas right towards them. The others, meanwhile, are unwilling test subjects for Rufus' underbarrel attachment, as Bond crouch-rolls into a firing position, thinking intently of ice, sending concentrated blasts of it towards the other three.
Rufus Shinra	"Hmm? Door's over that way..." Rufus says, and then goes quiet when he sees what Bond's doing. Really, he has his full attention now. Immediately, the robbers' attention is drawn, and one of them goes to investigate. He gets a face full of knockout gas, easily. "Hey. Hey, what are you doing," says another one, going over towards his sleeping partner in crime. Bond could potentially get a second knockout if there's any gas left in the keychain, really. Using the magic crystals is as easy as Rufus said it was. Bolts of ice fire out. What wasn't said was that the energy to fire those bolts of ice is coming not from the crystals, but from Bond himself - he feels slightly more worn out. Just slightly. Like if he fired a dozen more then he'd be feeling like having a sit down and some coffee, maybe. Ammunition isn't unlimited. The three go down easily enough, though. They seem to have bulletproof vests on - which doesn't do much for knockout gas or freezing magic. Not dead, but they might need some frostbite treatment inbetween here and the jail. It's all happened so quickly that nobody in the restaurant has reacted yet, though more eyes are turning towards Bond... Behind him, Bond can hear something hitting the ground - Rufus making his own landing, a bit more awkwardly, having had to climb and jump down.
James Bond	Bond steps out from around the corner, pistol raised--he lowers it and clears the chamber when he sees that it's just Rufus. He smiles. "Well, Rufus, it looks like you were lucky, after all." He unscrews the underbarrel attachment and puts it back into the pocket of his trousers, before placing the Walther back into its shoulder holster. "I had to give some uninvited guests the cold shoulder," he says, likely eliciting a groan from anyone within earshot. "Quite a remarkable thing you've got, in that materia. I have an export business myself--we'll have to have a chat about it, sometime." Bond steps a little closer, reaching out and fixing Rufus' collar, letting his fingers linger just long enough to give the idea it's not an entirely innocent gesture. Tugging gently as his hand withdraws, he adds, "I believe you mentioned something about a shooting range. I'd hate to have strung you along without the chance to fire off a few rounds."
Rufus Shinra	There's applause from the restaurant patrons as they realize that Bond is, in fact, here to save them - and did save them. (And maybe some groans as the pun hits.) "Hah, look at you. The hero of the hour, and you're acting like you're too cool for it," says Rufus. He accepts the not entirely innocent gesture. "Mmmhmm - It's just over there in town. I'll call the copter back - I imagine the road traffic here will get kind of busy, with the cops on their way."
James Bond	"All in a day's work," says Bond, turning and nudging the unconscious guard aside to pick up the keys. Placing them back into his pocket, he looks over his shoulder at Rufus. "I imagine you're right," Bond agrees, with that same roguish smile from earlier. "A shame about dinner, but there's always next time." "I happen to know a lovely place in Tangiers." He heads for the front door, casually slipping a hand around Rufus' waist. "For the moment--let's see about that bottle service, hm? It'll give us something to look forward to after the range." He grins.