View source for 2023-10-14: Ballad of Fallen Angels (Prelude)

*'''Log:''' Ballad of Fallen Angels (Prelude)
*'''Cast:''' [[Character :: Lucine Azul]], [[Character :: Faye Valentine]], [[Character :: Vicious]]
*'''Where:''' Alba City - Cathedral
*'''Date:''' 2023-10-14 (ICly 0097-10-15)
*'''Summary''': ''Lucine sticks her nose somewhere it doesn't belong, and gets kidnapped for the trouble. She meets Faye, who met a similar fate... and Vicious, the man holding them hostage.''
----

[[Category:Logs]]
[[Category:Phase 1, Turn 3]]

 <Pose Tracker> Lucine Azul has posed.
<poem>

        "You definitely have your father's eyes."

        The video call was part of the deal; Lucine wanted to see the man's face before she met up with him, as well as confirm some details.The man was definitely her father's age, with the same weariness that spoke of a hard life. Bags under the eyes, a certain glint of iron to the eyes, teeth that looked a little too white when he smiled.

        ".... I haven't seen him since the invasion."
        "I'm sorry to hear that. He was an old school cowboy. Your dad... I met him when he was hired to spice up a few of the crafts. But he also thought not just about going fast, but catching prey. Man could take a junker and turn it from a geriatric alley cat to a tiger in the prime of its life. He also didn't care what company he kept, once he was out of the public eye. But, it was different times, back then...."

        They talked, and the more they did, the more Lucine wanted to meet this man.

        After all, the only way to confirm if anything was the truth, was to meet him in person.

        *********

        The door swang open after a few urgent rams; most of the defense it had was already made moot by the violence committed to it earlier.

        What Lucine saw was exactly what her senses told her, and more; the dying man, grasping for air, blood bubbling from his neck. The shock of her Newtype senses feeling that brutal pinch of a life being snuffed out had obscured all else, including reason.

        A groan, and the candle flame that was that man's life is no more; his memories, and whatever he could have told Lucine, sink into darkness, never spoken.

        If she hadn't waited so long, had been less careful, maybe she could have met him, at the very least...

        What sort of young woman would barge into a room if she knew trouble was on the other side?

        .... A hostage, is what.

        **********

        ".... His contact came by not too long after we did him in. Lucine Azul. One of the GGG crew. Figured we'd bring her in even if we already had Ms. Valentine."

        The black suited henchmen usher the blindfolded Lucine in with enough force to quell any disagreements, but not more than what was needed. ".... Seems she's the daughter of some hasbeen hotshot cowboy, though. One of the nerds on the squad wouldn't shut up about it; seems he used to do some freelance work for us back in the day."

        Lucine's head turns towards the most significant signature in the room subconsciously.

        ".... You have to let us go. That man... he just wanted to tell me about my dad."

 </poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Vicious has posed.
<poem>

        "And the kaiju?"

        "It wasn't hard," a man in a suit replies. That's not a distinguishing feature: they are all, to a man, Men in Suits. It's a palpable trait, even blindfolded. They ''sound'' like they're well-dressed. "She walked right into one of our fronts, her and her man. The music didn't quite catch her, but she called in something ''bigger...'' Shin and Lin are using it, now."

        "He won't be distracted."

        Surely the men hear Lucine; she's spoken up loudly enough. A female voice -- hey, it's Faye! -- even replies: "Thaa~at won't work. These guys have no appreciation for-- hey!" And her pout, as well, is audible, in the wake of the sound of a gun being shoved against flesh: "I get it, geez..."

        ''She'' quiets down, and what follows is the silence of the grave. Drop a pin, and you will hear those dancing angels die from the impact. This place could easily be some mausoleum; the sound echoes against stone, and the floor beneath Lucine's feet is of solid foundation. It is an old place, a defended place.

        (God's own house, abandoned by the godless men of Mars.)

        No, what she has to say... doesn't register at all. A man whose heart has no edges to grasp onto, no shelter to rest in; everything slides from him, all plea and reason. A man who cares nothing for --

        A bird cries out.

        "It's almost time."

        He is a man who speaks and commands the whole room for how little he does; a man who moves apart, just slightly, from the grain of life-as-lived. What he sees of the future is seen through flat eyes, lightless and hungry.

        A snake slithers to Lucine, and with two fingers, hooks the blindfold and pulls it from her eyes. He is --

        He is a man, with wild pale hair and a sharp gaze which can only be described as ''dissecting,'' carving her to her component pieces with all the cold logic of a killer. He does not smile, looking down to her, but don't call it a mercy.

        He's not thinking of her feelings at all.

        "Kit Azul... you have his eyes." She may be aware of how close his fingers are to hers, in that moment before he pulls his hand away and drops the cloth. A moment's contemplation. He considered taking them. "Yes... it's always a woman, leading men to think they can leave. As if his blood were not tainted..."

        Now -- ''now'' he smiles, as if he's said something quite funny. It is an expression which splits his face in two, too wide, too sharp, a wound across his lips. The new face of the Syndicate. "And here you stand... living proof. As that blood drips from father to daughter... here you are. All tangled up..."

 </poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Lucine Azul has posed.
<poem>

        As powerful as a Newtype sense can be, if a person is used to having eyes and seeing with them, it can't really serve in the same place. The henchmen around her might as well be made of slate; whatever grip she could get on a general emotion always fails no matter how hard she tries.

        The other senses fill in with the scent of mold, old wood, accumulated dust. The smells of an old building in decline, probably hailing from Alba's earliest years as a city. A tall building, too; the voices of the henchmen echo, as do their footsteps.

        Kaiju. Music? Called in something bigger. At first, Lucine assumes they're talking about her, but the mention of kaiju--

        "..." Lucine's head tilts towards the source of Faye's voice. She recognizes it, at least; they've faced off at least once. What sort of woman talks so casually right in the middle of a lion's den?

        ... Another hostage. But one Lucine is grateful for as an anchor. She focuses on that presence through her mind's eye, not to invade it, but to confirm that Faye still exists even if the silence coats everything else.

        Even her own words, as Faye warned.

        The caw of a bird disturbs it, and Lucine startles like a tightened spring, but just as quickly ceases movement.

        For all the way the earlier voices echo, the man with the strong presence has a quieter voice. She listens, tensing slightly as he nears, the memory of the red throat in her mind's eye.

        The blindfold is pulled, and Lucine's eyes stare straight towards Vicious, cutting across the dim light, studying his face.

        Should she be relieved that she doesn't recognize him at all?

        ".... People have told me that." The pupils focus on Vicious's fingers, wary.

        She tries to remember Faye's words, as anger boils in her belly at his smile. "..... Why did your men mention a kaiju?"

        A pause, as she realizes she forgot the more important question. ".... And... Who are you?"

 </poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Vicious has posed.
<poem>

        Faye exists. She is frazzled but not unravelled; she's been trapped in handcuffs before, and she's quite sure this won't be the last time, either. Her heart beats against its cage, mind spinning as she tries to calculate her escape. She's a survivalist. A survivor. She doesn't mean to die, and certainly not in ''church.''

        (And Lucine will find, when it comes time to send a message to the others, that Faye is willing to use ''anything'' to secure her escape -- even the goodwill of her rescuers. This will come, in time.)

        Here, now -- Lucine should be relieved he's unfamiliar, yes.

        You only tend to meet a venomous snake like this... ''once.''

        Lucine pauses; he does not fill the silence. Until, smile cracking a hair wider: "Vicious."

        It is both name and title; he IS Vicious, in every sense of the word, embodiment and existence. No last name. No roots. If Mao was a father to him, it served only to veil his approach.

        Kill your darlings.

        "In your situation... you're worried about kaiju playing at humanity." He tilts his head, fractionally; the light shifts, against his face, but his eyes don't blink. There is more than one way to be a monster. His smile drops from his face as easily as he wore it. "You're fascinated... of course, he was, as well. He invited too much in, without considering the consequences... a story told so many times. You believe you can grasp the unknown."

        His head straightens. It is notable primarily for the lack of motion to the ''rest'' of him. "... I won't have you pay his debts. You're not here to bleed for honour... no, it's convenient to use you. If you insist on involving yourself..." His eyes narrow; he lets the implication hang.

 </poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Lucine Azul has posed.
<poem>

        A survivalist. It speaks to the tone of Faye's voice: she knew exactly what situation she was in. She chose to not let it define her.

        Lucine should do the same. This man's attention, for better or worse, is on her, for now.

        "..... Vicious," Lucine repeats. She bites her lip against any possible retorts her mind wants to bring up.

        .... But, she just can't help herself.

        ".... I'm worried about what's being planned. There's a situation on Jupiter... you're part of the Syndicate, right? If whatever's on Jupiter isn't stopped, none of this will matter. Mars, Earth, the universe..."

        But the way the man's eyes are on her, they definitely seem to not think in those terms. The kaiju play at humanity, and here in God's house, the humans embody monsters.

        She studies him again, like a scientist coming across an novel species of snake, unwilling to look away for more reasons than one.

        ".... My dad... I knew what he did wasn't the best... but he lived by his own rules. I... would like to think, if he's alive.... he's still living that way."

        It's more words than she's ever said about her dad in a while. And, she notes with some irony, it's to a man who feels more interested in getting a rise from her.

        As well as invite her interest.

        It's working, and she dislikes it.

        ".... What... did my dad even do? He's a cowboy, I know... they're not as glamorous as they sometimes get shown to be."

 </poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Vicious has posed.
<poem>

        "You'd like to think he's alive."

        It's the worst way to cut down that sentence.

        Vicious studies Lucine, where Lucine studies Vicious, and one may get the impression that he is ''winning;'' his is the type of stare which gores right through a person. Not ''psychically'' -- he's given not a whiff of Possibility since Lucine saw him -- but ''physically.''

        "Ask yourself," he invites her, as he straightens. "Why a mere 'cowboy' had such connections to the Syndicate. Or has loyalty blinded you?"  He thinks little of the possibility, and less of her.

        "But you're quite right," he says, stepping back. He turns from her; effortlessly, he closes the conversation. "... none of this matters."

        As he walks to the centre of the aisle, all shrouded in black.

        "... I'm waiting for you..."

 </poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Lucine Azul has posed.
<poem>

        It doesn't take a Newtype to stab one, metaphorically, or literally. In this case, it's verbal, and the weight of that verbal stab can be felt in the seconds it takes for Lucine to reply.

        But she does.

        ".... there's no cost to acknowledging the possibility. But I don't imagine him to be ramming down the doors to rescue me, either."

        Ask yourself.

        "... Should it matter? If you keep at this... even if the danger at Jupiter fizzles out, Alba City will become a cage."

        It still matters to her, but she doesn't want to acknowledge it as much as she acknowledges the possibility of her dad surviving.

        He steps back, stating a cold truth.

        The possible plans here still remain a mystery; perhaps, nothing matters.

        Her head hangs against her chest, at least glad he's turned away, but the mystery of it still pulls her.

        He doesn't seem to mean her, after all.

        ".... What are you waiting for?" Her head raises, and she narrows her eyes. ".... Or is the question. 'who are you waiting for?' If nothing matters... there's clearly something that does matter to you, more than anything else. .... Am I correct?"

 </poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Vicious has posed.
<poem>

        But he doesn't acknowledge the possibility.

        Now he has closed the conversation, Lucine's words wash over him and find no purchase; perhaps they never did, even when his attention fell on her. His heart is smooth as glass, and just as difficult to grasp. No one else dares to answer her, in the face of his cold, dead silence.

        This memory he's living through... there's only one cure.

        Kill your darlings.

 </poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Lucine Azul has posed.
<poem>

        The silence is painful, laying bare any squeak or protest of the ropes binding her. Even if she found a way to free her hands, the henchmen around the church would surely kill her. They only need one hostage.

        So there is only the quiet.

        And her, and Faye, trapped here with a man waiting for something unnamed.

        There's only one or two other people that could be connected, but only by virtue of being Martian themselves.

        But. There is another connection: Faye herself.

        "...... You're waiting for him, aren't you."

        It's a guess, and undefined by choice. But, she eases, and sighs, closing her eyes.

        She hates to believe in it, but, people will come.

 </poem>