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Post by Deleted on Dec 2, 2013 21:48:53 GMT -8
That got a chuckle from the Shard.
"If I could rely on my powers, you'd be right. Tell you what though, we'll save the bullet as a last resort. As for Koko..."
It's difficult to look pensive with two blacks eyes, a broken nose, and mangled lips, but Dresden pulled it off anyway.
"Something is going on. The more I think about it, the more likely it seems that something is up. A forced couple's retreat is right up her alley, but the bounty hunters? The six hour prep window? She went through great pains to cripple us, and then turned around and gave us the means to almost completely turn the tables on our attackers. Even without shoes or the Force, a couple of revolvers in my hands is a combat multiplier, and you with that musket is less a danger and more an act of God in a suit. There's got to be more to this than she could tell us right off."
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Dec 3, 2013 4:32:28 GMT -8
"It ist us zyou say: dere ist ein 'fishy' smell to dis situation. vWhile it ist obvious dis setup ist designed to improve our vworkability us eine team, our combat acumen far superceeds ein platoon of disjointedt jägers. Perhaps Force users vwill be among deir ranks. Artillery, fvery difficult to prepare in dis forest, couldt essentially endt our position. Even close air support couldt accompany our comingk foes. Such astringent variations vwill increase dee difficulty of dis test by orders of magnitude."
Dresden quite frankly looked like hammered shit. Seeing this again from a different vein causes the morbid scientist to retreat away from his visage,and adds an element of raspiness to her next sentence. "Or maybe dehr real test, dehr real Hell, ist each other."
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Post by Deleted on Dec 3, 2013 10:34:02 GMT -8
Dresden looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head.
"They wouldn't be able to get away with something like artillery, or even heavy explosives. We've had enough problems with extremists in the past that we've learned to keep a close eye on the hinterlands. They pull some shit like that and the DDF will be all over this place, and not even Koko could stop them. You want to see an op go sideways with a quickness? Let those hopped up fuckers get a crack at some action. They're so good at busting up terrorist ops that it's not even funny."
There was clearly something else bothering him, but it was also clear that it wasn't something he wanted to discuss. Wheels were turning in that head, and where they would stop was anyone's guess.
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Dec 3, 2013 15:44:36 GMT -8
Taking his prolonged silence as a cue -maybe he wanted to be alone to muse, maybe the wounds were acting up- she didn't know, couldn't read his mind, and could only guess. Naturally, as was her way, she takes a MRE from him without a peep in the direction of thankfulness. The Major was far too blunt for such pleasant exchanges. Being raised by the military, through one alias or another, kind of had such an effect. Not one for complaining about flavor, nor quite honestly concerned when taste was an issue, she scarfs down the ration with bird like effectiveness, then promptly takes a seat on the bed.
If one didn't know any better, they might say the Fallanassi was preparing for quick nap.
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Post by Deleted on Dec 3, 2013 16:18:52 GMT -8
Dresden's own rations disappeared with equal disregard for palatability. The pasta wasn't bad, and under other circumstances, he might have enjoyed it. The meal was light on fixings, probably as a means of atoning for the unforgivably good main course, but the former Shard wolfed it down in short order. It all tasted like ash in his mouth anyway; his nagging suspicion that something might be wrong on Koko's end eating away at him. He didn't fear for himself or the Major. They were both in the top half percent of the 99th percentile of fighters in the galaxy even without the Force, but Koko...
He knew his fear was illogical. The Shard woman was perfectly capable of handling herself in a fight, and if she wasn't as experienced as Dresden and the Major, it was because she was much better at staying out of conflicts. But, much like the memories of war that his human mind turned into nightmares, his memories of a bumbling toddler, eyes bright with intelligence and a startling disregard for personal safety, invoked a paternal sense of protectiveness that shocked him in its intensity. All the signs pointed to her being in serious trouble, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it, stuck here in this cabin.
Now that his initial anger had subsided, Dresden was able to examine the events with a clear mind, or at least one clouded with a different set of emotions. Everything he saw told him he should be terrified for the 60 year old inorganic crystal in an HRD body that he still irrationally thought of as his little girl.
As Major sat on the bed, Dresden joined her, though with a respectful few inches in between. As much as he wanted to let her presence soothe his frayed nerves, somehow the act of admitting he needed comfort was an inexcusable display of weakness in his mind. So he sat, wordless, waiting.
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Dec 5, 2013 6:40:14 GMT -8
The miraculous and gigantic had made themselves very clear in the odd, polarized lives of the two marred souls sitting in a bed -in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the sleepy embrace of deep winter. Frost had chased away all but the most robust of the Dresselian creatures, and although the ecology of this biome was rather rich, there was a marked, nearly magical hush to the surrounding woods. And so it should be, for even without active use of that energy that binds all the cabin's occupancy threw off an aura, albeit imperceptible to eye or reason, that was as real and tangible as the feeble, crispy leaves that had been shed in the name of seasonal renewal. You could feel it in the hair of your arms, both the positivity and beauty that was two warhound souls, often damaged, often surviving, often retaking, always contending, slowly reaching out to each other while seeking to repair any number of qualms.
But there was something else.
Something utterly terrifying, and the Force knew of it, because one of them was a demigod with absolutely everything taken away from him; the other one, an avatar of Mars marching about in the body of Venus, sorely bringing its revenge upon the galaxy at large. Both won and lost on their own time. Though the scales were tipped, they essentially played the same games with life. Who is going to stop them once they are one, act as one, bring their terrible desires as one, commit genocide unrivaled as one. Soon, their moral compass and fancy would be their only limit -and this was in regards to the Whill who was known for his amorality fueled by math, along with the woman called Major. . .
"Zzz. Zzz. Zzz."
Nap time had fallen swiftly, because this woman often took advantage of such lulls, and often slept. Mercifully, her snoring wasn't anything too obtrusive, just a raspy rumble coming from a deep pit within that rather uneventful chest. Shivering, instinct takes over and searches for a warm source. One would expect the cute and tired cliche of leaning over to rest on Dresden's shoulder, just like in a romantic movie with unwitting, budding lovers.
Our Major not only did not watch such movies, but was far too blunt for any of that restrained nonsense. Instead, guided by the unconscious desire for warmth, she goes straight for the area between his thighs, which lands her head resting against his crotch. And what could be said of it? Untensed this area, along with the fallen Whill's navel, formed the ultimate heated pillow. Those hands, still gloved, end up clasping to the back and front of his right knee. It was remarkable, really, how peaceful the Fallanassi looked when sleeping, as if every ounce of malice and angular calculation had vanished without hind or hair; moreover, with smugness abandoned everything about her features seemed softened. Naturally, looks were entirely deceptive.
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Post by Deleted on Dec 5, 2013 9:09:08 GMT -8
The cliché here would have been for Dresden to absentminded lay brush a strand of hair from her face, but he too hadn't watched those sorts of movies. And besides, with hair that long, any stray strand removal effort would take far more than a gentle nudge from his fingertips. If it was anything like the rest of her, it was probably already digging in defensive positions, ready to die rather than be moved for any reason.
The former Shard was able to pull off one act of a comforting nature, as the Major was still wearing her glasses. He very gently pried them from her face and set them on the bed.
SP time in 3 hours. That was plenty of time to let her nap and begin to plan. As a precaution, Dresden set his chrono's alarm to go off in two hours. If he accidentally dozed off too, it was entirely possible that they'd sleep through the attack.
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Dec 7, 2013 9:07:47 GMT -8
The telltale drool begins to dribble from out the left side of those rather long set of lips eased for momentary peace, and thus this marker signifies the first step into the subconscious realm of dreams. Here in the black, starless ether a number of blurred objects and possibilities formulate, all vague, all fleeting, and all forgotten in microseconds before a hundred more repeat the process. This continues until a blank piece of paper scribbles upon itself with an invisible pen, shaping out words in purple ink. Recognizing the sentences as something that made up a possibly sentimental letter caused this vast realm to warble with a pulse of emotions that run a gauntlet in range –until the note tears itself with a pair of snow white hands, delicate, beautiful, but so much so it was inherently repulsive because it was unnatural. From behind these hands opens a maw with as much aplomb as a capital ship being rent asunder from bow to stern. Black ink leaks and pulls like melted strands of flesh between the rows of pearly shark teeth, rows and rows as far as the eye can see. The malicious voice whispering in sing-song behind this array provided all the evidence needed to prove the presence.
“When people make promises,
they make fracases.
People say, ‘That’s okay,
so long as we have time to celebrate.’
Promises, legion, which you won’t keep,
in exchange for momentary bliss on bedsheets?
But so long as people make promises,
they can say, ‘It’s okay when we celebrate.’
Make him stare with glowing eyes,
mouth stretched wide.
Because you’re living on borrowed time,
and even if you keep squeaking by,
you’re still both fucks in lust
making promises,
playing friends in love.”
Say what? Diva…
“Oh? By name again?
Tell me where one finds brass balls.”
…I don’t give a flying fuck. And, really, do I detect the hint of someone jealous, much? Perhaps enslaving the living is losing its touch. Heart wallowing in a lonely quest without anyone following you willingly would make anyone’s eyes water until slicked with rust. Your rub: Chevaliers, Schiff, and Ghouls and their cold, unfeeling eyes are proving to leave you a little dry –covering you with rotten dust. Keep to your sphere, Monster, and save your mockeries; I’ll not be chided by something talking out its perpetually frothing ass.
“Hah ha ha ha ha ha huuuuuuhhhnnn….
You slay me.
Why are you such a bitch?
Let the right one in;
let me in.”
Shift into a masculine form and I’ll think about it. I promise.
“Oh, wow, bitch.”
Where are you, anyway?
“In your hair, of course!
I can come and help, but it’ll cost you. . .”
Your annoying tendencies are neverending but how can I mind if they are starting to get to me? Help means death in your demented language.
“I thought that would be the fastest solution for the both of you.
I’m really trying my best for the both of you.”
That will be all, Diva.
“Hang on, you didn’t listen to my cost!
I was going to feel up your mental---“
Good-bye. Go play in hyperspace traffic.
There was no grand gesture to stop the manifestations in the Major’s mind. One moment they are gnawing, and in the next deep, thoughtless sleep draws its curtain.
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Post by Deleted on Dec 7, 2013 10:06:05 GMT -8
Dresden was blissfully unaware of the Major's encounter with the Ice Queen; he was fast asleep. The icy ink that signified her presence briefly touched the corner of his mind, but shrank back after the deep, rumbling growl rang through the former Shard's subconscious. From fear? Probably not. Perhaps she felt that her work was already done, having tasted the monster lurking in the newly human mind. Tightly bound, locked in the deepest recesses where it would never see the light of day perhaps, but there none the less. Maybe that was a small victory, but it seemed that the one known as Diva was content, for now.
Some time later, the shrill alarm of Dresden's chrono cut through his slumber. He was instantly alert, instantly aware, and oddly comfortable. He hadn't expected to find himself curled into a ball with the Major again, certainly not of his own volition, but there they were. She had retained her grip on his leg, somehow pulling herself into the fetal position more or less on his lap, and he had, in turn, ended up using her hip as a pillow. Curious. The odd angle should have been painful, but it wasn't. Maybe it was the extra warmth.
At any rate, he sat up, spine popping with an eye watering series of cracks.
"Morning."
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Dec 7, 2013 15:10:54 GMT -8
"Hmm. Mmm?"
And all of Dresden's grace in rising and being at the ready couldn't be further from her exhibition if it had been acted out terribly. Where his awakening was nearly instantaneous across the board of general criteria for reveille -our resident Fallanassi took slumber, even relatively brief blooms of rest, as a serious, deep seated affair. The joke hidden here was that she took everything seriously, but sleep especially. After all, what business does a guiltless human have with troubled dreams? Not even an incarnation of the dark side could furrow those thick, prominently black eyebrows.
Noticing that her body had practically clutched unto the man, she groggily offers an apology and explanation in a mixture of Basic and Allegic. While mostly unintelligible, the golden nugget in it all was a mention of convection currents. Eventually, she stands, yawns, and begins marching doggedly for the restroom, only it was just beyond the range of the collar.
" Oh, was zum Teufel. Ficken, ficken, fick. Ich möchte, um zu urinieren, aber diese verdammten Kragen! Ich glaube, ich urinierte auf meine Selbst ein wenig. Verdammte Scheiße. Bloody, buggingk. Dresden, Ich habe ein emergency. Look, jetzt vwalk to dehr door."
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Post by Deleted on Dec 7, 2013 20:42:15 GMT -8
Dresden's face went completely blank, with no tics, twitches, or tells to give away the fact that, on the inside, he just died laughing. But, given that they had just mended their relationship for the umpteenth time, it seemed unwise to antagonize the Major at this point.
Even if it would be hilarious.
Alas, the Shard went with the proper route, dashing to his beloved's side and opening the door to the latrine like a gentleman.
"Let me know if you require assistance with anything."
Okay, so maybe a perfect gentleman would have had at least a hint of inflection in his voice, and his face wouldn't be utterly devoid of expression, but c'mon, baby steps. At least he didn't purposefully dash across the room to shock her again or race inside the latrine to use it first. He might have thought about it, but he didn't, and that's what counts.
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Dec 10, 2013 18:47:05 GMT -8
"*grumble mumble grumble*"
How supremely unfair, and while completely the once groggy markswoman's fault -was no doubt casted darkly upon the meddling arms dealer whose vexing penchant for traps and also-traps proved too lethal to a pair of nondescript white underwear -and bless the great maker of probability that the Major was, in fact, wearing some form of underwear. Anything else would result in "catastrophic" damage. The morbid scientist's gait was a little, at best, off, and lacking any form of fluid charm or pose, but this should not be surprising; once inside the lavatory a check while on the white throne provides the evidence of what a full bladder, exhaustion, and a sudden shock could do. Some odd steps later the slightly soiled pair is stuffed into a garbage bin, and since that wasn't enough of a solution, nothing more than a handful of waste paper, hand soap, and a running tap would suffice. There were probably better options present and accounted for, but there was no need to risk activating the collars on some stupid technicality.
"I am due fuer maintenance." Again, mumbled under breath after an observation. Granted, being trapped in a log cabin after recovering from several gunshot wounds had a way of reorganizing priorities in a girl. First you recover, torture your love interest, and maybe bookmark the purchase of some antique as a distraction -or maybe something that shines.
"zYou saw nothingk." Said the Major about seven minutes after going in with the kind of glare upon her face that would easily explode a number of thick tree trunks.
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Post by Deleted on Dec 10, 2013 19:18:35 GMT -8
Dresden's expression was suitably grave, though he couldn't quite keep the twinkle out of his eye.
"I did, in fact, see nothing. You closed the door, after all."
The barest hint of a grin played at the corners of his mouth.
"I heard a great deal, but I saw nothing."
The former Shard found himself wishing his face was still metal, as maintaining a poker face is a lot easier when one can't actually move it. As it was, it was taking a fair bit of willpower not to smirk. Willpower bordering on Whillpower. But seriously, it wasn't easy to withhold further comment, especially since his keen eye noticed the distinct lack of panty line, or the fact that her glare threatened to crisp his eyebrows. There is something in every male that, in these situations, drives them to want to poke the bear, just to see what happens. Perhaps it's natural selection at work. The ones that can't shut their mouths often don't get the chance to reproduce, after all. Whether it's because bedding a woman is exponentially more difficult after an ill advised remark or because they're missing vital equipment after the exchange varies on a case by case basis. The ones that can control their destructive instincts tend to live to love another day. See? It's science.
"So...sleep well?"
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Dec 11, 2013 13:53:20 GMT -8
"Ja." Said the Major while wrinkling her nose as if smelling something like rotten fish. "As goodt as vone can vwith ein persistent equivalent of ein mental canker sore. It ist sadt really: even der shpirits are lonely."
Which was all that was needed to be said on the subject, or at least all that she wanted to say on the subject. Dealings with Subject 67 were a conundrum of sorts: pleasing when her violence was directed against targets, but tiresome when she was bored. Right now, there were more trying situations to deal with; namely, rage. Her grasping of the warmhammer was with far more pent up energy and force than needed. This trend didn't end there, and while Dresden might appreciate the fact that none of this type of ice was directed towards him, that still didn't mean it shouldn't pay half a mind to not venturing too close. He might get a mouthful of blindly swung wooden stock.
"vWhen does dehr rout begin? All dis fresh air makes me incredibly hungry fuer freshly killedt unt cookedt game."
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Post by Deleted on Dec 11, 2013 14:13:46 GMT -8
The former Shard consulted his chrono.
"By my count, we've got about 45 minutes."
Naturally, this was the point that the massive fuel-air blast turned the cabin above into toothpicks. The basement was protected my the nature of its construction, though that didn't exactly mean it went unscathed. The trapdoor was thoroughly jammed, having been blasted downward by the initial burst of overpressure. If it hadn't been, both Shard and Fallanassi alike would have been crushed by the force of the blast.
The room was rattled hard enough that just about everything upright fell over, and bits of the ceiling began to flake down. Also among the victims was a section of conduit along the ceiling that had looked like perfectly innocent pipes, right up to the point where it shattered and spat out a cylindrical hilt, about twenty centimeters long and blued black. It lacked the ornate phrik crossguard of its sister, but the activation stud on the side would generate an identical silver blade, far more tightly focused than a normal lightsaber.
"Looks like they're early."
Dresden grinned, the saber in his right hand and the LeMat in his left. He'd have to shoot from the hip, but since when had that ever stopped a badass?
"Shall we go say hi?"
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Dec 15, 2013 8:51:27 GMT -8
A harsh and feigned grin was all that would be offered to that tacky line, even as loose dust and motes filled the air before them both and was so bold to make a thin coating upon the lenses of her glasses -pockmarking that field of vision cone with dozens of tiny, vibrating distortions that ultimately cause no bother; well, stopping to clear them now seemed ill advised, since the bounty hunters had quite clearly attacked earlier -as Dresden so cleverly pointed out. Who could trust bounty hunters to follow schedules anyway -the greedy wardogs would take advantage of literally anything to gain a single edge.
"Snipers first."
A bit of a modification of the old cliche, "Ladies first." Being far too intelligent to be above both self deprecation and self aggrandizement in a simple, two word statement, the Fallanassi of course realizes that there were no "ladies" present in this blown cabin. There are opportunities present, however, and ones in line with antiquated, conventional calamity. Ounce by ounce, that grimace shifts in an undulating motion towards true happiness -wretched, anticipation laced, giddy happiness -because nothing raised both the hairs on her head and her spirits than a threat of sudden, unrestrained violence.
Old fashioned bayonets went with single shot rifled muskets like a tie went with a suit. However, applied to current combat technology available to almost anyone with credits in this galaxy, an old steel blade on the end of a sniper's tool was clumsy at best; lethal as it was in trained hands that could pinpoint a gap of rubber in a set of armor, it took a lot of effort to use properly, and the stamina drain -oh, the stamina drain. Replace steel with a crystal powered force guided instrument of civilized and ultimately more destructive quarrels, and now you were on to something special. Practically, it was a lightsaber pike with the ability of a reloadable single shot that could hit targets a kilometer away, while still retaining the distinct and nasty power to penetrate 19mm thick armor plate at anything under 600 meters, and it only got worse and worse the closer you got. Overpowered? With the advent of full amour coverage the Major would say it was quite evenly distributing the odds. Don't be spotted, and don't have anything less than, say, a wall of extremely robust material -lots of it to be safe.
Riplian has tinkered a bit with the warhammer, adding little aspects here and there that Eralam hadn't bothered with throughout her travels. It was only natural that she took a bit after one of the more influential figures of her life, and for now we will lay down any references of an Electra Complex for the sake of sanity: those issues would manifest themselves at the proper, or improper time. For now, we have the macabre markswoman fasting her lightsaber hilt unto the end of the "musket" before activating it with a separate stud located a few inches past the bolt mechanism. While it appears the normal length of about a meter does not require any kind of constant holding in any area to keep alight -much to the bright crimson's blade great relief. The dual phase mechanism, which is now revealed with the press and hold of steel button located just a thumb shift from where her hand would usually rest on the barrel while shooting, did not make the blade any longer or more erratic -the weapon was already like a spear in this configuration anyway. It did make the emitted blade far smaller and thinner. Fine cutting: on a battlefield you could always use a fine cutting tool which was discrete, and if you didn't have wires or locks to abuse, there was always a wounded escapee that could use explorative guttural surgery.
Upon climbing the stairs the finer setting is used to quietly burn away the edges of the hatch, before the gangly Major presses her back up against it while cautiously pushing up to peer through the resulting gap. Glasses now alight with that eerie glow and searching indicates that she is undoubtedly cheating -using uplink feeds from commandeered satellites to gain the upper hand in situational awareness, further amplified by the power requisitioned by Callsign Saya. Great thing about the explosives they used: it caused flames, and flames caused smoke, and smoke caused nice, rich concealment. The idiots were moving out of cover, represented by bright blue outlines in a rough circle around their position. Thus, the Major picks the closest and highest concentration of bright blue, anthropomorphic shapes, pushes up the hatch just enough to lay her rifle through the gap, inhales in a controlled fashion. . . .
. . .The closest mercenary noticed something very suspect in the conflagration coming from the very center of the floor. Was it movement? Hell, there was nothing for it but shoot first, and ask questions later -especially since he was only about 10 meters away from the movement. His blaster carbine levels (naturally, he was a hip shooter), his HUD syncs up with the aim of his weapon and the display on his helmet provides a nice circle crosshair that floats over the whole mess. It was now that he made a crunched up face which would mark his fate, since his latest step enabled a brief peering through the ashen clouds. What did he see? Why, of all the damned things, a grinning set of white teeth, comically large, a pair of blueish white orbs, and some glinting devilry poking, all slicked and cloaked in black shade provided by a burnt out hatch -sort of a like a made up umbrella.
"Oh, sh--"
!KKKRRRAACKOOOOOWWMMM!
Excellent reflexes for a typical bounty hunter, he did manage to pull the trigger, but whether that was on purpose or a nerve twitch from direct nerve stimulation as a .50 BMG round pierced through the softer rubber weave between the codpiece and stomach piece of the trooper's amour was a matter of interpretation. What wasn't interpretive was how the force of impact not only resulted in the round passing through and out of the back of him without trepidation, but also crushed his bowels and pelvis due to the massive amounts of energy. There was still more harm to be done, especially to the man standing directly behind him -his support- who also met a tepid fate when the same type of damage and force hit him, only this trooper had to suffer the indignity of having his friend's intestinal juice splattered onto and into his own gargantuan rent. As the first trooper's trigger squeeze sent a trio of bolts soaring upwards into the canopy, and as they both fell the round still hasn't met enough resistance to slow its happy travels. Crunch, through the trunk of one tree; crack, through the trunk of another; shhhplurt, and through the right hand of yet another hunter who had taken cover behind the aforementioned second tree, sending both the digits of his hand and a bit of the shotgun's stock that he had shouldered soaring like messy bits of glimmering, red confetti. Now the debate between conflicting physics was starting to exhaust the now whirling bullet which was bleeding energy; it decides enough is enough when it punches through a thin layer of plate in a lorry which carted these fools to their killing ground, before bouncing and shattering in the engine block of the vehicle. . .
. . .400 meters away from the hatch. . .
The grinning chainsaw toothed grin retreats back under the wooden covering amid the shrieks from the recently disabled man some ways away and urgent barking coming from those hunters who were closer. The two men who were gutted did not really have opinions at the moment. The first guy with cat like reflexes had died from the resulting shock and blood loss, while the latter of the duo was in no mood to argue: having a large caliber round pass through the lowest vertebrae of spine tended to leave the afflicted paralyzed. No, he was surely paralyzed.
"Mein horn soundts, but ist meek unt not vwarm! Do zyou hear dem? Deir hope ist not yet forlorn!"
With blatantly more cheer than Dresden has probably ever seen from the Fallanassi, she leaps down from the steps and begins to cycle the bolt in order to load another round, humming a bombastic tune in low volume.
"Go on den! Chop-chop. zYou handle pathfindingk: zyou can probably lose ein limb or two unt be das honky dory."
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Post by Deleted on Dec 15, 2013 10:57:22 GMT -8
"Gee, thanks."
There is an old saying about Shards on Dressel, specifically about how one shouldn't meddle in their affairs, for they are subtle and quick to anger. Dresden had his own version of that saying.
"Fuck subtle."
Which is exactly what he proceeded to do, with a giant spiky concrete cactus. Let that image stew in your brain for a moment.
It was his estimation that the bounty hunters would be out in force and loaded for bear, ready to take on two smart, well trained opponents. This theory was supported by the demolition of the cabin. It was a smart, pragmatic move that told him they weren't out to take them alive. They would be expecting the Shard and the Fallanassi to use common sense and smart tactics to whittle away their numbers until they could bring things down to something resembling parity.
The fallen Whill exploded out of the trapdoor like a bat out of hell, heedless of little things like common sense or smart tactics. He knew the only way to get out of this was to throw the bounty hunters off balance, and Major's opening shot had set the stage for mayhem on an epic stage. They clearly weren't expecting the sort of firepower that the musket had brought to bear, and were caught short. A full squad's worth were laying down suppressive fire on the wreckage of the cabin while medics frantically tried to extract the wounded. The blaster bolts screamed around the former Shard thick enough to give even his mastery of Absorb a run for its money, but his initial trajectory had taken him behind perhaps the only relatively solid bit of the structure left: the stone fireplace. The local stone used for the masonry was absurdly hardy, and had weathered the shock wave of the blast well enough. And since the squad firing on him couldn't actually see anything through all the smoke, it stood to reason that they didn't know what exactly they were shooting at. The sheer volume of fire wouldn't permit Dresden to engage them just yet, but it wouldn't save the medics either.
The LeMat spoke its deadly word, and the first medic, who had been frantically trying to drag the surviving gutshot victim of Major's assault fell to the ground, his knee a shattered mess. The shrill scream cut through the clearing, even above the din of the blaster fire. For just an instant, the fire petered out as the stunned bounty hunters looked on in shock. No one attacked medical personnel. It was unheard of, even in their line of work. Another medic rushed over to help the first, heedless of the danger. Her bravery earned her a bullet to the throat and a slow, sputtering death as she choked on her own blood.
Yeah. It was going to be that kind of fight.
The remaining medics hit the ground, trying to reach their patients without taking hits themselves. Meanwhile, the squad provided covering fire increased their efforts tenfold, heedless of things like fire discipline or aiming. They were pissed, and that was exactly how Dresden wanted them. While the fire rate had increased, the fire density decreased dramatically as accuracy went out the window. It wasn't long before he found his opening, a gap in the fire as three shooters had to reload all at the same time. He dashed out of the remains of the cabin, running headlong for the prone medics. He didn't bother with the LeMat, instead choosing to activate the lightsaber, dragging the tip along the ground behind him. He didn't purposefully seek out new victims, but he didn't exactly avoid them either. The paralyzed trooper, for instance, found his problems compounded by the blade that slashed him from his left shoulder to his right hip. The slash was shallow enough that it didn't kill him, but deep enough to sever his spine again, this time much higher up. His story was not unique, and the trail of carnage that the former Shard cut on his way to the treeline was horrific, even by his standards, but it got the job done. The squad in the trees dared not open fire while there was a chance they might hit their own, and were powerless to stop him.
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Dec 22, 2013 16:47:19 GMT -8
Disgusting. Truly, this was a waste of precious material. Look at these chumps. There was no unit cohesion, no timing of firing so as to keep entire fire-teams from reloading at the same time. Mentally, the Major manages to wince as an example of shoddy teamwork causes three hunters to exhaust the gas cartridges of their three blaster carbines. Normally, switching to a fresh charge would only take a few moments. Unfortunately for them, a certain head strong cowboy ex-robot had already cut precision strikes which emancipated each and every crackpot from the tyranny that was existence. As if matters couldn't be degrading rapidly enough for the would-be-combatants, they have made yet another terrible folly: it appears as if they had forgotten that they were, in fact, fighting two targets instead of only one, and since they had failed to even attempt to suppress the resident sniper, consequences were certain to follow.
!KKKRRRAACKOOOOOWWMMM!
The other hunters that were busy watching Dresden tear their right flank to shit tickets were fidgiting while waiting for an opening to attack. One of the brighter ones, figuring their bounty would again rush and close in for CQC, had prepped another air/fuel grenade in order to toss it into his projected oncoming path. None of this flash dance ever happened. Before Dresden was done killing the last of the mercenaries on the right flank, a heavy round soared through the man's chest plate and out through the elbow, which naturally shattered the silly limb with excessive energy, and it expanded it to a shearing-slash-exploding point. That would have been a decent snipe for anyone, but what made this exceptional was the tiny detail that the arm which now fell in a blood dribbling mess down this stomped upon permafrost had released a primed grenade -in the midst of the fireteam, which would ultimately lead to one exciting conclusion.
!FFFFWWOOOOOOOSH!
And now, the wails of terror as human shaped pillars of flame extol the gods of anything to do anything. Reloading too, the Fallanassi was admiring her work for only a moment before ducking back down to chamber another round while in cover.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Dec 22, 2013 17:39:22 GMT -8
They called for their gods. They called for their mothers. There was no answer from on high. The only god present today was Death, and he danced, smelling of angel down.
Dresden was his servant, his hand and his feet.
Oh, the metaphors.
At any rate, as the grenade took out the rest of the right flank, the first gun truck arrived. It was a standard utility speeder, aside from the pintle-mounted Z-6 rotary cannon manned by a particularly brave fellow in the bed. The hell of it was that, brave as he might have been, he was totally exposed to any fire that might come his way. Of course, there wasn't supposed to be any, right? Surely, two squads can't be take out by a mere two targets, neither of whom can use the Force, correct?
That was the last thought to go through his brain before his bullet splattered his brain across the truck. There were, however, three more right behind it, and their gunners lit the night up in search of the fallen Whill. He, meanwhile, was taking shelter in a shallow gully, trusting Major to clear off his back. If they really were going to work together, they'd have to be able to trust each other, and this seemed like a perfect chance to see if he'd be able to.
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The Major
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Also known as Sailor Titan
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Post by The Major on Dec 22, 2013 18:12:49 GMT -8
The trick here was to count the sources of blaster fire from behind the lorry. They weren't even considering a shift of aim towards the Fallanassi -they weren't even aware of her presence in an impromptu foxhole in the middle of a raised clearing that they, the hunters themselves, had made. A quick check with her glasses confirms and highlights the three targets in bright blue, making quick aiming lethal shot placement more than some myth from a forgotten time. Placing two more rounds into her mouth and holding them with her teeth, the woman levels her warhammer, shuts an eye, exhales, and then squeezes the hairtrigger.
!KKKRRRAACKOOOOOWWMMM!
Once right between the collar bones, and thanks to her prone posture, the bullet bounces down the center of her rib cage, is expelled from some bright spot on her tail bone while continuing off with a wail and a some red mist for at least a few more hundred meters. The other gunners react instinctively by hunkering down behind what little cover the truck provides against the angle of attack.
Stupid pups. That plating wasn't thick enough.
!KKKRRRAACKOOOOOWWMMM!
Through the plate and through a torso, sending this effected hunter bouncing down the flat-bed and over the end in ruined heap.
"No! No! Wait! Stop! I sure-"!KKKRRRAACKOOOOOWWMMM!
This man had just enough time between her reloads to extend both raised hands over the lorry's side before sticking his head over the edge with a great deal of supplication in his eyes. Luckily for him the Markswoman's aim had finally proved merciful: she finally achieved a shot placed right into the cheekbone under his left eye. For this man, nothing was felt or registered. There was merely a flash, a zipping sound, and then a chunky release of semi-solid goop which behaved much like red oatmeal tossed from a bowl all at once.
"Alles klar?"
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