2017-07-25: An Informal Invitation
- Log: An Informal Invitation
- Cast: Cecilia Adlehyde, Jack van Burace, Fargo Foobach
- Where: The markets of Lacour.
- Date: 07-25-2017
- Summary: Fargo Foobach is looking for a princess, and Cecilia Adlehyde is looking for a clue.
========================<* Lacour - Market District *>======================== The Lacour Market District does not rival that of the major commercial powers of Filgaia in terms of volume or value of trade, but it the class of the world in traditional weapons and protective gear. More than a hundred individual shops line the streets of the district, each bearing its own name, specialties, and branding. Almost any kind of weapon or armour can be found in Lacour, and odds are good that anything innovative will be found here first...or make its way here in short order. The merchants of the Market District are proud and competitive, and walking down the streets is an exercise in patience, as they bombard passersby with litanies in praise of their work and curses for the rust-ridden works of their neighbours. At no time is this competition more fierce than during the Lacour Tournament of Arms; this annual exhibition to name the World's Greatest Fighter includes considerable prestige for the merchants sponsoring their entries, and talented fighters will find their services heavily sought-after.
BGM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-bqMqHag86c
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<Pose Tracker> Cecilia Adlehyde has posed.
Cecilia Lynn Adlehyde has been taking...something like a vacation. The next stop on their itinerary requires their friends to heal and the tournament toend, and after the battle with Harken, she finds she doesn't much want to look at the stadium right now.
So she's about. She's located a small outdoor seating area and sat down with a platter full of three meal-sized hamburgers in various varieties and an entire bowl of chow mein, both of which are split apart around a book she acquired in town. Deep lore on the Guardians may not be in easy supply....but almost every town has a Guardian shrine in its vicinity, and those you can find in travelogues. So she's picked one up for the region of Milama, leafing idly through while she demolishes her meal.
<Pose Tracker> Fargo Foobach has posed.
'Cecilia' is a person of interest to a very powerful and very cool organization. That organization has many faces moving through Filgaia, coming from many angles, with many, many plans. They control more than anyone realizes. They set their nets, and steadily draw them close.
A small group of people pass by, laughing. A man emerges from them as though he were stepping through water. A Man in White.
He has one hand on his bowler hat, shielding his eyes from the sun's blaze with its brim. He is stepping somewhat gingerly, his pure white suit bulky and malformed around his chest by the bandages he is still wearing.
When he approaches, he removes the hat, placing it against his chest in a courtly gesture. He smiles at her, polite, sketching a small bow.
"Greetings. I hope I am not interrupting you too significantly. I was hoping to speak with you, miss."
<Pose Tracker> Cecilia Adlehyde has posed.
Cecilia looks up as the man's shadow falls upon her, and with more focus as he enters properly into conversational range of her presence. That courtly bow gives her some amount of pause. A message from Johan...? No, that's not how a servant of Adlehyde would address her; nor from Lacour, for that matter. She pops the last of her first burger into her mouth, in some quiet defiance of the poise she's about to have to adopt, slugs back a drink to wash it down, and then finally straightens her back so she resembles somebody respectable. "Fargo Foobach, isn't it? The man from the tournament. I've seen a couple of your fights." She smiles, not entirely warmly. "What brings a man of your caliber to my table?"
<Pose Tracker> Fargo Foobach has posed.
Fargo is watching Cecilia closely. But then, a man like him who fights the way he does... a certain intensity is likely to be part and parcel.
Without asking, he takes another seat across her table from her. His eyes flick to the spine of her book as he places his bowler hat gently on the table. His black hair, which whipped around like a candle flame as he fought, is piled on his head to fit beneath the hat and clipped with a small ivory clasp. A somewhat strange look.
"I will confess I have had an eye on you during the tournament - when I first saw you, you struck me as familiar, and I believed you might be someone I knew once. I tried to meet you before, but was quite busy." Fargo throws one leg over the other, neatly folding his hands on the table.
He shakes his head. "But then, during the recent incident within the arena, you took up arms yourself and I realized I had been quite mistaken. I wished to meet to dispel any uncouth misunderstandings... and, also, some curiosity. I believe if you had entered the tournament yourself, you would have done quite well."
Then he starts, eyebrows twitching upward. His face arranges into earnest regret. "I apologize. You had me at the advantage and I simply forgot to ask your name."
<Pose Tracker> Cecilia Adlehyde has posed.
Princesses aren't so common on Filgaia, now, but there's nobles of all stripes about, and Cecilia has the air of one who has experienced the kind of silent scrutiny only politicians give each other. She strives to retain her poise under that stare; hands folding on the table in front of her, an old, familiar posture helping her retain old, familiar poise. It's not entirely conscious; she has no great reason to mistrust the man. But those eyes are a touch hard to feel comfortable under, let alone attached to a man she knows could stifle her well before she could bring her magic to bear. Still: She ultimately does not see a reason to fear, only to remain poised.
"I hope not," she says, with a chuckle, to his rather bold offering. "I have been studying Crest Sorcery for some time, but I should hardly dare to call myself on the level of a trained fighter such as yourself." She offers, unbidden, and with some amount of humor, "The only techniques the Abbey taught were for using a staff to keep unruly young men to themselves."
"Ah," she says, to his request for her name. "Ah, of course, I do have you at a disadvantage, don't I? I am Cecilia," she says, and leaves the surname off. Not that it ever helps, but that few seconds of not being fawned over is always nice. "But I don't believe we've met."
<Pose Tracker> Fargo Foobach has posed.
Despite being a fighter, Fargo has the kind of aura around him that suggests he's accustomed to speaking with nobility - or at least people powerful enough to acquire nobility's trappings. Difficult to read. He does smile at Cecilia's humor, though for a living flame, he doesn't have a great deal of warmth to spare. "Would that more people were so modest about their abilities. The world would be better. Perhaps even greener."
His eyes tick to the side for a moment before returning to Cecilia's. He nods. "It is good to meet you, Cecilia. No, we have not. I apologize for the mistaken identity if you happened to see me watching. I have been looking for someone for some time. They are very important to me."
He turns inquisitive, leaning forward. "That sorcery in the arena... Guardian summoning, correct? It is very uncommon where I am from."
Some distance behind Cecilia, three people have begun loitering around, talking amongst themselves. A large, sturdily-built woman and two smaller men. The three of them are dressed somewhat similarly, black pants, suspenders, and crisp white shirts. The woman has a black bowtie and a small messenger bag over one shoulder.
<Pose Tracker> Cecilia Adlehyde has posed.
Perhaps it is what sets Cecilia ever so slightly on edge. The types of men she would see in the palace could always smile so kindly over top of their evils...
Still, Fargo does not set off any alerts for her. She hems, agreeing at the greenery. "The Guardians teach us that it is in harmony with each other that Filgaia will grow green again," she says, quietly; a kind of agreement, from a woman with faith.
"I see," Cecilia says, to Fargo's admission. "Then I should hope you find them." She offers a smile of her own, thinking, in her way, of some of the other travelers she's met; people of conviction, seeking goals and dreams. It's a familiar story, by now. Would that her own were so romantic.
"It's not terribly common even in Adlehyde," she says, low. "I don't know any others, actually. I believe the Baskar are more familiar with the art." Her eyes do cut up with some curiosity. "You take it in better stride than I'd expect. Even in Adlehyde, the Guardians are so often forgotten as real forces in our lives."
<Pose Tracker> Fargo Foobach has posed.
"Unfortunately," says Fargo, placing his hand on his hat, "such harmony is... very far out of our reach. Filgaia is somewhat plagued by men and women who use their technology, their sorcery, without understanding it. They either fear it too much, or do not fear it enough." He gives his hat a quarter turn, giving Cecilia an earnest look. "I am glad to know there are still some few out there with the proper respect for things."
Fargo continues to talk. It is interesting - he seemed fairly reticent given his demeanor on the battlefield. "We tend to take things as they come in the Badlands. I am from Elsewhere. While my father taught me my Art, my mother was once a traveller. She taught me many other things about the world. It left me eager to journey into it once my... training was complete." He swallows past something. We all have things we'd rather not speak about.
"There I learned about cruelty. Drifters taught me about the perils of trust. There are many people out there who wish to deceive others. It wasn't until Jack Vantabrack that someone finally taught me how to use deception properly."
A hand reaches forward, placing a bottle on the table near Cecilia half full of a pale green liquid, stuffed with a rag. There is a sound of a struck match.
Fargo lifts his hat onto his head. When it passes over his face, his demeanor locks away completely, cold and remote. A faint pulse of heat radiates away from him. The name, the reports, the description, the poise and easy charm... he is certain now. "Your deceptions, at least, are merely of omission. I understand your position, Princess Cecilia, and I do believe you are a person worthy of respect. However, I must ask that you come with us. You will be treated well, I will ensure it."
The woman and her little pals have moved up while Fargo was speaking, ringing Cecilia like an escort. They are beginning to gather a little attention.
<Pose Tracker> Cecilia Adlehyde has posed.
Fargo may notice it as he speaks; Cecilia's attention drifting. Not boredom so much as loss of focus, like something imperceptible catches her attention and holds it fast as he goes into the story of his life.
To Cecilia it is like the air pressure changing, like being briefly submerged, like tinnitus, a high whine piercing her thoughts and a muffle falling across the world. Something calling to her....
She doesn't entirely break the spell, if spell it be, until Fargo's tone shifts; the wording becomes more pointed. The presences behind her, ignored or unnoticed before, enter into a space she can sense them and her thoughts turnt o peril. The liquid. The match.
His eyes. Cecilia's own face cannot turn so cold. She has not the soul for it. But perhaps she looks more frustrated than wounded. She listens to him speak and makes no attempt to deny him. The woman and her cohort encircle her fully. Yes, she's familiar with this. The last time it happened, her father had ordered her confined to her room. The knights then had look anxious, uncomfortable; she knew them and they knew her, and it eased the subtle fear of the moment. Now, it is not so subtle.
But she manages to shut her eyes - boldly or foolishly, who knows - and draw in a breath, and breathe out a prayer. She does not, just yet, rise, eyes turning to Fargo with a narrower cut. "Is it Aveh?" she asks. "Perhaps Kislev. Perhaps Elesius? I've heard stories of the kinds of men the Council of Elder Statesmen keep close."
She tries to think. Rudy's injured. Claude, too. Rena will be with them. Tethelle could be at the colisseum, and Jack...the weapon shops, maybe, or else the colisseum as well. She hasn't seen Bart in weeks, or Lily, or Leon...Emma barely crosses her mind. Probably in Adlehyde. Ragnell could be possibly literally anywhere...she'd take Lucia or any of her strange friends, even, or the man Sorey and his, but...
No miraculously-timed arrivals occur. The situation remains resolutely lopsided.
Her eyes cast slowly up to Fargo, trying not to tremble. "Either way," she says, quietly, "I would like to politely decline." ...politely, as in, asking nicely if this can not happen is the best defense she has. "This is not some idle errand I am on, and I have no wish to play the petty games of power."
<Pose Tracker> Fargo Foobach has posed.
Fargo Foobach rises. The other three appear to have no particular abilities, and he is certainly still injured. Are there others lurking around? "While I thank you for not doing me the insult of denying it, I must become insistent. We are not here on behalf of anyone so small and petty. It may not always be clear, but the Black Ties, too, work toward the restoration of Filgaia into a green paradise once more."
"There is an agriculture term. Slash and burn."
The woman whips her hand out, smashing it into the bottle. The match in her hand hits the rag as it spirals off the table and smashes into the ground with violence, fire erupting into the air. The two men are small but strong, their hands dangerously warm as they grab for Cecilia. Disciples? Is Fargo teaching people within the gang?
The reaction is sudden and loud as people in the area start making a variety of noises. The Black Ties are known and hated in Lacour, with shockingly high local bounties. Some note, even higher than they should be for kidnapping a king. It seems they've developed a taste for royalty. Fargo's head snaps to the side as one guardsman comes charging in, trying to be a hero - the woman, a Jacket in disguise, answers him with a backhand. Steam pours off her fist.
"We should go quickly, Princess," Fargo says seriously. "I would earnestly dislike to see you injured in the confusion."
<Pose Tracker> Cecilia Adlehyde has posed.
Fargo is revealing terribly much about himself, right now; someone more informed, more clued-in, smarter, might be able to take what he's given her in the last few moments and draw, if not lines, at least very important dots.
Cecilia Adlehyde is none of those, and she is openly startled by the crash of the rag, the explosion of flame - the grip of those hands.
This, she knows to react to, and some distant, tiny part recognizes that if she lets these men warm up - literally - then her one ace will mean nothing. So when she feels hands on her, she surges. One guardsman comes in, distracting both Fargo and the woman; in that moment Cecilia is up, and deploys her single ace: Her staff appears in her hand with a sudden flash of soft light, and she swiftly drives it down, hard, into her left assailant's foot, then her foot sweeps 'round to kick the lower portion of the staff, arcing around to smash him in the chin. The tip flashes and sparks with tiny amounts of internal energy. The Abbey's staff-fighting art may not be Hot Body, but it certainly knows how to leave a man dazed.
She rounds, driving the staff hard for a third movement toward the second man's ribs for a disabling strike. It's as she advertised; this may not be an elaborate, high-level fighting style...but she definitely knows where to put that staff to make people very unhappy.
Of course, that was her action alotment for the turn, so she finds herself finishing the maneuver and looking up at Fargo and his companion, shorter of breath than she expected.
She doesn't know that much about the things fire does to available air, see.
<Pose Tracker> Jack Van Burace has posed.
MEANWHILE!!
ON THE STREETS OUTSIDE!!
"...look Hanpan, it wasn't that I wasn't paying attention to where we were supposed to meet its that I was distracted." The unassuming Drifter in the long duster didn't look worried. A sword rested on his shoulder, his steps were easy and light. Not much of a care in the world.
The blue mouse-like creature on his shoulder doesn't look nearly as calm. "You mean you were brooding, and drinking."
"Like I said," Jack replies with a smirk towards his partenr. "Distracted."
Hanpan rolls his eyes, arms crossed over his chest as he balances on Jack's shoulder. There is a sigh from the small figure before he shakes his head. "Fine though, fine. It should be right around the next corner. Though there are so many resturants here I'm never going to be sure just which one she's at."
About that moment...
Flames blossom into existance around the next corner, smoke billowing up from one of the outside cafes.
Jack and Hanpan both stare at each other for a split second. "...that one." They say in unisin before the Drifter takes off at a dead run towards the burning cafe.
"Cecilia! What did you get yourself into now!" Comes his loud shout as Jack rounds the corner and sees...well...violence.
Bright eyes sweep over the struggling figures and there is a twitch of a smile. "Gentlemen!" Jack sounds much too cheerful. "I'm going to guess you invited her along with you, I'm also going to guess she refused. I'd listen to her if I were you," Almost casually the swordsman rests one hand lightly on his still sheathed sword. Hanpan holding onto the collar of his duster.
"She's a handfull, and I wouldn't want all of you to get in trouble." A pause. "Fargo right?" He asks as he turns towards the wounded firebrand. "Seen you in the fights, you're not bad."
What might worry the Black Ties in attendance is the fact that this newcommer doesn't seem worried about things even after seeing Fargo fight.
Either he's good, or he's really overconfident.
<Pose Tracker> Fargo Foobach has posed.
The woman is a Jacket, Badlands-born and tough as nails. The guardsman pounds her in the face with a mailed hand, creating a sharp crack as he bends her nose grotesquely to the side. She reaches up and pulls it back into place before slamming a fist into his stomach with the smell of burning leather.
The men are just Shirts. They are not worth a lot of experience. The first man is caught off guard by the staff's sudden appearance and howls as the Princess buries it into his instep. His hands stop dully glowing as he loses his focus, and he obligingly bends forward to take the staff blow directly to his chin, toppling satisfyingly backward.
The second man is more braced, having the scarred knuckles and nose of a barfight veteran. He barely gets his arm in the way of the staffblow to his ribs, but she can feel herself grate into his bone painfully, and that hand also winks out. He staggers back to bump into the brawny woman, shoving that hand into her bag while she slams a knee into the guardsman's crotch with satisfied expression.
He comes out with another molotov cocktail, which he lights by just grabbing onto the rag with his still hot hand, hurling it down toward Cecilia's feet. Not close enough to hit, but certainly not close enough to be comfortable with.
Fargo himself has yet to join in, slowly pacing around once the second molotov is thrown, trying to pin the Princess between himself and the new flame. He slips one hand out of his pocket. While the others are only managing a dull orange glow, his hand is a thermal lance of blinding white. "Please," he says. "This futility is below your station."
It is then that Jack arrives. Fargo's eyes get even colder when he looks at the Drifter-to-end-all-Drifters. "Tch." He lifts his hand, heat flaring from his fingertips, flashing light into the air. It doesn't take the Man in White long to realize someone's capabilities, and injured as he is... "Enough. Stop running away. You have a job."
While another pair of Black Ties come hauling up through the press, hastily shrugging into the harnesses of their scrap flamethrower fuel tanks, Fargo reaches for the side of Cecilia's neck with his non-white-hot hand, trying to pinch a nerve to make her more pliant as he intends to start dragging her in that direction. They hoped for a simple escort, but planned for a running escape through the streets.
<Pose Tracker> Cecilia Adlehyde has posed.
The good news is, Jack has managed to isolate the two most reliable ways to find Cecilia: Food, and trouble.
It's hard to breathe amid the heat, the air is hot and thin now, too. And the second man she assaults - that didn't hit the mark, damn...! And indeed, he may not be happy, but he's still up enough; the second molotov explodes, catching Cecilia too near to open flame. She tries to shift her stance, but...she can't make the geometry work, she doesn't have the battlefield experience, and the Ties have the upper hand. This is bad...
But she hears a voice, and looks over. "Jack!" she calls. ... wow he kinda nailed that, actually. "Thank Zephyr you're here!" she says, "It's--!"
'Enough. Stop running away. You have a job.'
Cecilia's eyes get a glint in them, and she rounds on Fargo, holding the staff out. A magic circle flashes into being in the air, a Crest Graph whirling out of her pockets on currents of Ley energy. "Muse!" she snaps, and an emblem of an abstract drop of water flashes high. "Wing!" An icon of whirling winds flashes low.
And then Fargo grabs her by the throat - but not, quite; rather, pinching that pressure point. The spell flickers. The pain is immense, in a way she's unaccustomed to. Gylfi just tried to run her down. This is...precision. A knowledge of her body she did not herself possess. Her stance weakens.
But she grits her teeth and with something wild in her eyes dares to match Fargo's again. "I do!" she spits. "And I can't...do it...from a palace, or a tower, or a cell!" She forces one hand to rise, aiming square at Fargo's chest. "SPARK!"
From the center of the circle, a raking claw of lightning lashes out. Cecilia doesn't know all the body's secrets, but surely, in this condition, injured and this close, even Fargo will be unable to stop his muscles from seizing at the blast of electricity surging through him.
<Pose Tracker> Jack Van Burace has posed.
Fire and frenzy. It brings back unpleasent memories, but its hard to tell that from Jack's face. Shakes his head slightly. "...I supose you're gonna be wanting to do this the hard way." He murmurs quietly as his hand snakes down to the hilt of his sword. "Suits me just fine."
"Hanpan."
That single word is murmured before there is a soft tink of a sword leaving its sheath. The blade flashes as Jack's drawcut bisects two of the tables that he spints to kick towards the tussling Black Ties near Cecilia.
His eyes cut towards the pair with the flame thrower as he doesn't stop moving, spinning in place as he lies a second hand on the sword to sweep it up in a blindingly fast cut. At the apex of the arc he reverses the blade to bring it back down again, hardly any momentum waisted.
Of course he is too far away to actually bring the blade to bare on the Black Ties with the flame thrower.
At least thats what they think until the leather straps on their contraption snap from the pressure of Jack's swings.
There is a soft click as the sword is returned to its sheath, all one smooth and impossibily fast motion.
Even as Cecilia's lightning strike arcs off.
The Drifter chuckles. "I told you she was a handfull, when will people start listening to me." His sheath now held in one hand, opposite hand resting lightly on the hilt. "Now, are you all going to take no for an answer, or are we going to have an actual problem. I'd hate to make you miss a few fights."
<Pose Tracker> Fargo Foobach has posed.
Air slashes. The Black Ties are from the Badlands. Most of them have seem some crazy shit, and those that haven't are told about it over terrible alcohols. They know from air slashes. One of the oncoming Shirts is fast enough to dive to the side, skidding along their own fuel tank, throwing risky sparks in the air. The other sprays a thin arc of blood from a surface wound as his harness is cut, the tank dropping onto the ground and yanking the flamethrower from his hand.
That Shirt bellows and dashes off and away in a random direction. His tank was made on someone's off-day, a section snapping loose on impact and dumping fuel onto the ground and the dropped flamethrower and the dropped flamethrower's pilot light.
As the third, much, MUCH larger burst of flame races into the sky, Fargo bears down and twists, fingers burning like rocks that have been baking in the sun, trying to disrupt the spell. He thinks he's done it. "You would go with them? With glorified children who can hardly bother to learn their own capabilities? Accept your responsibility. Master your arts. Then, if you are no longer necessary, you will be permitted to-"
He's too close. Fargo lets go and tries to mirage step away from the spell, but he is constantly pouring heat from the injury, he is unstable. Heat blooms around him and he appears to smear across the air until the lightning rips through the half-formed illusion. "Gh!" His muscles twitching, he staggers back and takes a knee. He loses his iron grip on his chi, already difficult, and his skin swims with spots of molten red and unhealthily cold blue.
Jack's kicked table hits the woman square in the back as she slaps the guardsman with enough force to knock him out. It shatters over her, causing her to stumble forward, but you don't manage to stay a Jacket in the Ties without being able to take at least two freeattacks. She is grinning ferociously as her head turns to regard him. "Oh, I'll show you a handful, honey," she says with a strong, twangy Badlands accent. She straightens, spine and neck popping, and runs for Jack with glowing fists.
Fargo is starting to push up to his feet. "You're making a mistake," he says, voice finally strained. He gestures toward the blonde man, barely sparing him a glance, radiating contempt. "Men like him are what are killing Filgaia. He'll shatter and fall eventually. They all do." Fargo now does look toward Jack, and the hate crawling behind his composed face barely makes sense. Still waters.
<Pose Tracker> Cecilia Adlehyde has posed.
Cecilia's free hand flies to her throat, but she dare not spare the concentration to heal it. It stings to breathe, let alone talk. Casting will be all the more difficult now...well, at least they're close to even at this point.
The new explosion of flame caused, somewhat proximately, by Jack's quiet attack catches her by surprise, and she stumbles a few steps back, only stopping when she hits flame. She shifts, trying to get herself more toward Jack without exposing her back to Fargo or his remaining muscle. "Watch--out!" she rasps in Jack's direction, as the woman rushes him; largely unhelpful, probably, considering. He's talking trash, but she knows Jack can handle a battlefield, certainly better than her. She does croak, "Her, her hands...!" at him, in the off chance he hasn't noticed how these guys work yet.
Fargo's recovering, but Cecilia's got some distance, now, and the area around her pulses with the gathering power of sorcery in potentia. She stares at Fargo, hissing for breath. "This...is taking responsibility! I will..." She huffs in an ugly attempt at a cough. "I will continue my journey. I will get the Teardrop back. Wherever that path leads!"
Power ripples around her as her spell takes shape. "It...it may be so that he's a little troubled," she says, as the motes gathering around her begin forming into the encircled pentagram of her sorcery. "But even so...I trust him. I've felt the weight of the sword he carries. And if it becomes too heavy...I will do my best to help to carry it!" ...the metaphor may be coming apart on her but perhaps it means more to her and Jack. She sets her eyes on Fargo, sucking in air painfully. "So this is my answer, Fargo Foobach. WING! FRAY!" The crests flash in her circle, a slip of paper gliding out of her pack and whirling up to take position in the center of the pentagram. It shines, releasing endless torrents of ever-brighter light, while Cecilia's final word rings out.
"ESCAPE!"
The light blinds; a ringing sound deadens any sense of the world; and when both fade, Cecilia and Jack are just....gone.
Meanwhile, at the gate to Lacour:
There's a loud POP and a crash as two bodies and a mouse just sort of...appear just inside the town gate.
Cecilia immediately falls flat on her butt, staring up at the smoke billowing out of a distant fire. She wheezes. "Oh, good, it worked!" she laughs.
<Pose Tracker> Jack Van Burace has posed.
Jack's eyes light up as the woman with the glowing hands turns towards him, to start to charge towards him. Cecilia has seen it before, that slight change of stance. The knees bend, the weight shift, that almost lazy stance of his tightens just enough. She's seen him cut oppenents in near half from that stance, but he doesn't draw his sword.
"I'll make this fair," He drawls back towards her as he shifts his stance, his sword angling just slightly as he leaves it sheathed.
His eyes never leave his oppoennt as the Jacket charges forwards, the sheathed weapon parrying her fists before striking out at her side again as she engages.
There is a touch of a smile, but it doesn't meet his eyes as he hears Fargo's anger. That rage of his. "You don't know me." He points out. "So lets keep the judgement to ourselves shall we. I'm not the one attempting kidnapping anyway."
There is a smile towards Cecilia as she tries for that metaphor...but...then there is that spell...and...
"Wait!"
The light flashes and there is a wrenching sensation that just feels wrong for a moment before Jack's legs are back on solid ground.
"I totally could have take them!" He protests when he figures out just what just happened. "You never let us have any fun, does she Hanpan?"
The wind mouse just sighs slightly. "Jack?"
"Yes?"
"Your coats on fire."
<Pose Tracker> Fargo Foobach has posed.
Jack's weapon impacts the woman's fists. She's no Fargo, but she is Fargo trained - she is shifting with the blow from the sheathed sword. A rib cracks, and it only seems to further her battle-lust. She ducks low, fist melting a gouge in the stone as she chances a deep uppercut.
Cecilia can see Fargo Foobach calculate, his eyes flicking over the distance, considering how quickly she produced a spell when under duress. It's over. He lifts his right hand up, the blinding glow subsiding.
"I once trusted unwisely as well."
They're gone. The dark-haired woman's uppercut hammers through empty space before she staggers away from the light. Fargo just shields his eyes with one hand. The first two Shirts begin to pick themselves up, groaning, while the reinforcement that didn't run away slows, having not even made it in time.
Alarms are being raised within Lacour.
"The Teardrop," Fargo says to himself. Getting the Drifters into a sharing mood - it always works. "We're leaving."