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Loiterers Extraordinaire
Topic Started: Jul 30 2017, 10:48 PM (283 Views)
Reya Starlyght
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Verba volant, scripta manent.

It was just turning out to be another mundane day at Akane Resort. Although the private’s assignment for the evening was supposed to be slightly more exciting than walking around looking for trouble, the gang of uninvited thugs and vandalists she was ordered to bring the whip down on had yet to show their faces at the beach’s night scene. At the very least, it was cooler than usual in terms of the temperature, enough so that Camilla was wearing her full uniform with only slight perspiration, but her post was still being a bore. Literally, the woman had gotten her picture taken and developed already with no action to be seen. She stared down at the small frame before folding the paper up and putting it in her jacket’s interior pocket. The photograph only reminded her of the difference between Fiore and her home.

Yes, in Bosco to be caught diddy-dallying at a resort would mean one had enough money to be considered rich, and the rich were more often than not in favor with the nation’s emperor-dictator. Based on his title alone, one could assume a lot about the man and a good amount of it would be correct. Needless to say, the woman had never familiarized herself with the term of vacation before fleeing her birthplace, and now she was experiencing far too much of it. How two countries so close could so vastly differentiating Camilla doubted she would ever know, but the concept alone made her uncomfortable.

The knight was jolted from her thoughts as a seemingly delinquent figure passed by through the trees running. Positioning her hands for an easy pistol draw she casually walked in the direction of the individual, whom upon further inspection had stopped in front of a building and pulled out a canister of red spray paint. Not to the point of drawing any weapons Camilla made herself known by moving out to the open and uttering a command.

”Puten sie das paint down before I catch you breakink zee law.”
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Grond
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Hammer of a Thousand Chickens

Evenings were the best part of the day. Because in most cases, an evening, especially in a place of activity like Akane, saw most people with their energies spent, since the brighter moments of the day apparently had so much activity to be carried out, for those interested in social interactions, playing and other such forms of leisure. And when the sun was creeping low in the sky, so also did the energy levels of most wane, having exerted themselves, so that the most profitable thing to do would be eat dinner and go to bed. And the next day, it was simply a case of rinse and repeat.

Some other fellows were more or less the opposite. They spent the brighter moments of the day lazing around, and then sought activity at night. Most of the people who frequented the evening recreational facilities were of this category. As well as those who frequented the bars and made their immediate environments rowdy over bottles of alcohol and other not-so-liver-friendly spirits. And when the night ended, they would retire to their own places of rest.

There were others, a much lesser lot, who preferred, like the night crawlers, to spend their days resting, so that they would be awake and alert at night, although, to the discombobulation of the average social human, they did not persist in human company, even in the hours when the sun was on the other side of the earth.

Of these three groups, Beryl wasn't sure into which category she fell, but tonight, she knew she fit quite snugly in to Group 3: the night owls who did not care for much socialization. That meant either of two things were available for such people to do: reconnaissance or mischief. It was often the latter, but Beryl was not in the mood to go looking for trouble. So she had gone for a walk to be alone with her thoughts.

The sound of whispers caught her attention, impulsively making her slide off the path on which she walked and into the shadow of trees growing close by. The voices went on for a moment, then Beryl heard multiple footsteps moving in different directions. Carefully but quickly following one of the footfalls, Beryl could make out that whoever she was following was hurrying. She couldn't say where to, but after a while, he stopped, and pulled out a graffiti can.

"Graffiti. Really?"

Just then, a feminine voice in a strange accent called out to the man to stop, just before he started his work. Probably a cop or night security. For the moment, Beryl decided to stay hidden, though she was ready to help the security personnel if the punk tried to run.
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Reya Starlyght
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Verba volant, scripta manent.

Well, it seemed like that she had learned something. Indeed, Camilla had never known that glow in the dark spray paint existed until that night. Neither had she realized how terrible she actually was at policing. As the lanky teenager created an odd depiction of art on the wall she pulled out her pistols, attempting to incapacitate him with a well placed bullet. Non-lethal, of course, although it wasn't like it mattered because she missed by a small margin. The Boscan supposed that she still wasn't entirely used to aiming with her new arm, especially using handguns.

Still, she was quick to pursue the vandalizer as he headed further down the cobblestone path. It was a bit odd, for the route he took was practically abandoned of people until all of a sudden it morphed into a main area that was swamped with a crowd. Unfortunately, Camilla hadn't gotten a good look at the teenager, and he had stopped running so it was impossible to pick him out. Sighing, the woman turned around to head back to the scene of the crime, expecting only to witness the crude paint on the wall.

When she did return, a swarm of assorted individuals, most the same age as the law breaker, had gathered around the marking. At a closer look, it did look almost like a gang symbol of some type, although she knew nothing of the Fiorean branches and therefore couldn't decifer what the group's name was. Camilla thought it best to hang back for the time being, seeing as she knew almost nothing about what was transpiring amongst them. She put both of her pistols back into their respective holsters and withdrew silently into the trees.

That did bring up the question though, what exactly was a gang doing in Akane Resort, a place that was supposedly for the better off? Were they just a bunch of bored teenagers that thought it would be fun to cause mischief and give headaches, or was there some ulterior motive? The Boscan had no idea and couldn't discern if the situation called for reinforcements. Hopefully the group was a privy one.
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Grond
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Hammer of a Thousand Chickens

The next events occurred too fast for Beryl to do anything of tangible results. The graffiti-spraying hoodlum had ignored the security personnel, who had then attempted to incapacitate him with her firearms, which Beryl guessed, or perhaps more correctly, hoped, were non-lethal. Whatever they were, they had missed, and the punk managed to finish his design before running off, with the woman in hot pursuit. Mentally noting that this was not in the everyday-list-of-ordinary-things-to-see, Beryl stepped out of her hiding place and observed the design.

It was done in some sort of fluorescent paint, a simple yet notable marking, easily visible in the dark. She was about to continue scrutinizing the sign, when her ears picked up a number of footfalls converging on her location. As swiftly and yet silently as she could, the Seveni girl plunged back into the vegetation cover, a few moments before a number of youths gathered round the glowing design.

The function of this odd marking was particularly unknown, but Beryl wanted to assume that it was a sign well understood by the youngsters observing it. While she attempted to figure out what to do, she noticed the law enforcement lady return alone from her chase of the graffiti-wielding punk, and the Seveni assumed the woman had lost him. Like herself, the woman slipped into the vegetation, and Beryl momentarily lost sight of her. For the meantime, Beryl would not go after the woman; she was not up to any likely malevolent enterprise.

"Well, I guess you guys know what this means," one of the assembled youngsters said, eliciting murmurs from the group, which started to disband. Eager to find out what was going on, Beryl decided to attempt to catch one of the punks. But she would have to do it quietly and carefully, so as not to alert any of the others that someone was onto their plans, whatever they were.

On second thoughts, maybe tailing the hoodlums was safer. Watching as the group scattered, Beryl chose someone she would try to track, while keeping a lookout for the policewoman.
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Reya Starlyght
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Verba volant, scripta manent.

A few of the teenagers scattered to the right, in the direction from which Camilla had been pursuing the initial graffiti artist. Others went left, either heading out towards the beach area or sticking to the side of the building. Two of the directions involved large crowds, and for that reason she decided to tail the latter group, not only for a more guaranteed result but also because chances were another knight or the like would spot the others and pick up on them if they were truly performing any sort of illicit activity.

As she rounded a corner, the building revealed itself to be a warehouse of some type, based on the loading docks she saw from the back entrance, although it was advertised as a shop. There was quite a steady stream of people trickling in and out of the place, but based solely on the ages of the crowd involved the Boscan knew she would stand out in a heartbeat. Shrugging off her jacket to tie it around her waist and undoing her light hair only solved part of the problem, but it was the best she could do considering the circumstances. So, with an eye still on the teenagers, Camilla entered the fray.

The genre of the store, some type of popular culture outfitter mixed with items typically befitting of hoodlums, was something the private had never experienced before. Because they were in Akane Resort, she had to assume everything was being sold legally, and indeed most products were harmless in their true intent, but such a place seemed to be the ideal location for a gang to loiter. From the gray, rock-like walls covered in art much like what was now displayed on the building’s exterior to the loud, hardcore music blasting through large speakers, it would be easy for one to plot an act of chaos or the like in the shop’s premise. Its name, The Alley Cat, seemed fitting, to say the least.

For now, the teenagers from before seemed intent on browsing through the aisles particularly pertaining to paint and fireworks, two things that seemed quite suspicious, although they had yet to pick up anything from the shelves nor catch on to the knight’s existence.
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Grond
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Hammer of a Thousand Chickens

Beryl watched in silence as the security personnel followed one of the groups of youngsters surreptitiously. Perhaps there'd be more fun where the cop was, so the Seveni girl tailed her fellow blonde, as the taller woman picked the larger of the two major groups and slunk after them. A mind kept telling Beryl to mind her business and allow herself the quiet night she'd actually gone outside to have, but she reminded herself that if these youths were up to something wrong, her apathy could cost her in the future.

The clandestine night tailings led to some warehouse-like building that, from its external appearance, looked as though it had been kidnapped from Goon City, and dropped in Akane, to the detriment of both locations. Was it that the authorities of Akane knew this structure was here and left it to appeal to the naughtier and younger clientele, or was this some sort of secret kind of setup, hidden from the eyes of the proprietors? Beryl decided that if she were to venture a guess, she would pick the latter option, seeing that Akane served a bunch of really rich folk, and so didn't necessarily need everyone's patronage, unless these brats were likewise very rich, though interested in the punk culture.

Unlike the cop lady, Beryl didn't need too much alteration to blend in with the youths, and she wouldn't look that much older than them. All the same, a few more undone buttons, and she was certain her cover wouldn't be blown readily. Slipping into the warehouse, or was it s
Edited by Grond, Nov 9 2017, 04:13 PM.
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Reya Starlyght
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Verba volant, scripta manent.

The whole situation, first things first, put the woman on edge. It wasn't that it was extremely dangerous, or that there was a high potential of being shot, in which there still was because of the warehouse's skinny albeit accessible rafters, no it was something much less tangible. She wasn't one to easily break the air of calm in a stressful situation, but everything about The Alley Cat was strange. The people, their clothes and hair especially, were so bizarre.

One teenager in particular, an older boy, in fact he was probably wasn't even underaged, stood out from the rest of the group Camilla had been trailing. It wasn't that he was issuing commands or taking the head in the operation, it was that unlike the others he didn't seem nervous at all. The man, with one side of his head shaved and the other colored purple and black, just seemed... excited. Well, that wasn't the exact word, considering that it looked like he was under the influence of something; the knight wagered Boscan Grass without a shred of irony going through her thought processes. Even if that wasn't the case, he seemed like trouble. There was a considerable age gap between him and the others, something that perhaps denoted that he was subtlety pulling strings from behind. She simply continued to watch, however, as the scene unfolded.

"Hoho, this is gonna be such a great party!" the man exclaimed, sloppily hovering over the teenagers as they continued to bicker about the color of paint they were seeking to purchase. "I like the colors red and yellow a lot, although not too many agree with me...." He spoke loudly, enough so that the teenagers turned and looked at him, and certainly enough for Camilla to hear him.

Her mind immediately mulled over the significance of such hues along with what the man had said. The woman's mind instantaneously went to a certain mantra, but she brushed the thought out of her head. After a few more moments, Camilla reconsidered it, eyes widening as she realized it made perfect sense.

"Mord und Totschlag?" she questioned almost inaudibly to herself before walking away from the group as to not be caught lingering in one place for too long. It was then that she caught eye of another individual considerably older than the rest of the crowd, and along with it a plethora of workers packing up what she could only assume were fireworks. Already, the entire scheme seemed far too elaborate for just one to thwart, but she couldn't risk calling into the command post in such a crowded area.
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Grond
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Hammer of a Thousand Chickens

As she drew closer, while managing to keep herself inconspicuously out of the way and in the shadows, Beryl was able to hear some snatches of conversation going on among the hooligans, especially from the older discolored fellow. He did seem to be in quite the garrulous mood that evening, or perhaps he was generally a talkative fellow, as he went on commenting about the fun they would have at the party, and how he loved a bunch of colors, despite the fact that people didn't agree with his likes.

While Beryl was uninterested in whatever party he was looking forward to enjoying, something caught her attention. The two colors, red and yellow. Beryl had absolutely no idea of their significance, but there was something in the man's words that made her feel uneasy. Why did he mention that some people didn't agree with him? Normally, colors were idiosyncratic to the point that people's choices of favorite hues varied, and not liking the favorite color of another person was hardly a reason for disagreement...

...unless the punk wasn't really referring to colors.

As the goons stocked on fireworks and spray cans, Beryl sensed someone behind her. She spun quickly and noticed that the person was already too close for comfort, so she stepped back, but he moved too. This caused the Seveni girl to take another step before she felt the cold wall of the makeshift store at her back. The fellow was now rather close, and in the dim light, Beryl could make out his features. Weird-shaped sunshades on his forehead, eye-jarringly colored hair, and nose and lip piercings. He seemed to be of similar age to the red and yellow guy, so Beryl correctly assumed he was one of the man's enforcers.

"Say, what's a pretty little lass like you doing in a place like this?" he asked with a smile, revealing surprisingly clean teeth, although incomplete. Beryl tried to move away, but he quickly placed a hand against the wall, blocking her escape route. "Was just curious is all. I thought this was a place I could buy something I want," she replied.

Fortunately, no one seemed to be taking serious notice of this occurrence, and those who did would probably just think they were two individuals on the verge of making out. While Beryl didn't appreciate how close he was, she wasn't intent on spoiling what seemed to be the potential for interrogation. As discreetly as she could, so it wouldn't seem like she was looking for someone, Beryl tried to regain sight of the lady she had followed here, to no avail. Best to focus on this fellow, and try to get something from him.
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Reya Starlyght
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Verba volant, scripta manent.

No matter what the store's nefarious plans were, it would do Camilla no good if she were caught deliberately snooping around. So, instead of simply observing the scene unfold she hugged an aisle near the packing of fireworks, posing as a customer examining the goods on the shelf. To call her out shopping, after all, would warrant further investigation, for the warehouse was an outlet dedicated to selling various objects, or at least it masqueraded as one. Various sorts of apparel dotted the particular section the Boscan had found herself, most articles of it hued either a black or other dark color with an assortment of spikes, buckles, and chains. Impractical, if one were to ask her, but alas she supposed all people had their own preferences.

Just in case simply browsing with her eyes wasn't cutting it, the knight reached out with her right hand and pretended to take particular interest in a set of black leather gloves that were easily long enough to cut off beyond the elbow were they to be worn. All things considered it was a rather unrealistic design for mass manufacturing; even though hand sizes could be roughly approximated the forearm and elbow predicament were a different story altogether. Camilla supposed it was just another object on the increasingly long list of strange things about and in Fiore. Almost three quarters of a year ago she probably wouldn't have given the gloves much, if any, thought. At that moment she realized why her mind had subconsciously picked out the black merchandise however.

The woman's line of sight usually just tended to skip over it, her eyes avoiding contact with her hands even when they were straight out in front of her pointing a gun, but something about the store and its strange atmosphere averted her gaze slowly but surely from the material she was touching to the cold, hard metal attached to her shoulder. With a shiver crawling up her spine Camilla was pulled away from reality, into the wintery depths of that night where she not only lost her family but also herself.

Whether a minute or an hour had passed the knight was not sure of by the time she collected herself with a sharp intake of the building's artificial air. Vaguely focused on the loud and metallic music as a reminder of where she was Camilla cautiously turned around from the shelf, deciding that although it would be a far more risky venture to actively pursue the motivation behind what was going on it probably wouldn't lead to her getting distracted with the past. It wasn't like her to become distraught, but if that was creeping up behind her then it would be best not to simply ignore it. Such things only became future detriments.

A tap on the shoulder caused her to spin around almost violently, although soon her caught herself and offered a shy smile to the girl that had performed the action. She looked rather normal compared to most of the other individuals the Boscan had spotted, although she knew better than to judge a book by its cover. "Oh sorry, did I startle you?" she asked.

"Ah, no, it's fine," Camilla replied hesitantly, concentrating hard to attempt to not let her origins slip through. It was possible that the girl had some useful information, if nothing else. Or she could just be a bystanding customer, although even that could be useful to a degree.
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Grond
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Hammer of a Thousand Chickens

With the goon practically pinning her to the wall, Beryl was sure she would cause some decent level of suspicion to rise in Dude-with-freak-hair, if she attempted to locate the security personnel whom she had tailed into the shop, or whatever this hideout was. The goon was too close not to notice any surreptitious motions of her eyes, so Beryl decided to make the most of the situation, by fleecing the fellow for information, when at present, he was trying to get that out of her.

Making another attempt at escape, albeit a more feeble one, the Seveni girl was prevented by Freaky-hair's motions. Not as though she actually wanted to escape; communication among humans involved a lot of body language, and hers currently hinted, not screamed, that she was uncomfortable about the man's proximity. Most people generally tended to allow for information slips when they were uncomfortable, and Beryl wanted this fellow to notice, and ask questions. And if fortune was on her side, the conversation could be twisted to serve her, rather than him.

"What's the hurry, lassie?" the goon asked, shifting his bulk to reduce her chances and options of escape, "old Thumbtack doesn't bite." Thumbtack, really? Beryl resisted the urge to roll her eyes. All the same, she raised an eyebrow and said in a half-amused tone, "what kinda name is 'Thumbtack'?" The man shrugged with a slightly sheepish grin. "Just a nickname," he replied. "But anyways, you mentioned you were looking for something. Maybe I can help."

"Piercing. Navel stud. This shop sells such, doesn't it?"

Thumbtack nodded. "Wouldn't mind seeing it on you," he replied. Beryl responded by wagging a finger before his face. "Maybe if you fell into my 'friend' category, there'd be that possibility." Thumbtack revealed his teeth again in a grin. "Can I make that happen, somehow?" he asked.

"Maybe," came the reply. Now for the interrogation....
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