pullmeoutalive | Ramey

I’m going!

[ Arthur can’t cast spells and shoot at the same time, so for the moment they’re both without a shield.

And really, that suggestion wasn’t necessary. They’ve done nothing but move quickly since the beast attacks- snap decision after snap decision. Arthur skirts around Ornstein, though as he does, a wild swipe of the dragon’s claws clips his side. Arthur lets out a pained noise, bringing his free hand to the wound.

The sound draws the dragon’s attention, and it fixes its good eye on Arthur. The two lock gazes for a brief moment, before Arthur brings his gun up, doing his best to ignore the way pain shoots up his side at the movement, and fires one last time. Blood erupts from the beast’s eye, and Arthur just turns and runs to get out of range of those claws. ]

[Ornstein frowns as the dragon manages to connect a swipe, injuring his companion. He can only hope it isn't too grievous a wound, that it isn't too deep. His ally doesn't appear awfully distraught, though he assumes that he may just be fighting through the pain, too focused to care. It was something the knight could relate to quite fervently.

There was no point in worrying about it now. Scratches and cuts and worse could be tended to after the fact. When the bullet connects with the dragon's other eye, blooding spewing from its injury, it rears up with anger and pain, claws sweeping in the air before him. Ornstein dodges through, seizing this opportunity to dash in even closer, confident that their opponent it too blind to stop him.

His spear begins to literally spark with energy; at first it's nothing more than a quiet surge of electricity, only to erupt into what appears to be literal arcs of lightning coiling around the weapon itself. The Captain was not a proficient magic wielder, unable to perform miracles with the adeptness of a master cleric -- short of one. Lighting was a dragon's weakness (in his world, in his experience), and it would be laughable for a dragonslayer to not become familiar with the art. His weapon pierces into the dragon's belly, and the creature releases an ear-shattering roar. Lightning arcs around its entire body, crackling, blindingly bright. It's only a few seconds, but the moment feels needlessly long from tension alone.

And then, finally, the lightning subsides. The dragon breathes out weakly -- injured by blood loss, blindness, and now magic itself -- and collapses on its side. Ornstein's spear still remains pierced between its scales, like a stuck pig, and the knight moves out of the way so he isn't crushed by the drake as it falls.]

[ The spectacle with the lightning actually distracts Arthur from his injury long enough to just... stare. That was magic, to be sure, but quite unlike anything Arthur has ever seen- though he supposes it could be a distant cousin to Thaumaturgy.

The dragon falls, one last breath escaping it in a pained rasp, but Arthur keeps his weapon drawn until it's certain that the thing is dead. ]

Could not have called down the lightning sooner, hm?

[ He means for it to sound lighthearted, but it comes out a little strained. The wound at his side hurts, throbbing with every movement, every breath. He glaces down to see red seeping into his clothes and through the fingers of the hand he still has clamped over the wound. Slowly, so as not to pull at it, he replaces his gun in its holster at his back. ]

[There's always a grand sense of accomplishment after felling such a creature; Ornstein feels it rise in his chest as he looks over the fallen drake, blood still eking from its multiple wounds. But this emotion is distracted, quelled even, when he hears the words of his companion. Strained with injury, as he's heard from many before in his time. He knows it for what it is.

He doesn't retrieve his spear just yet. It certainly isn't going anywhere, and instead he turns Arthur and walks over, his lips pressed into a visible frown. The question is completely ignored.]

You are bleeding. [The red is visible through his clothes, even more vivid on his fingers.] How bad is the wound?

[ Arthur somehow finds it in him to cast a look at the other man that seems to say "No, really?" He didn't think the fact that he's bleeding needed to be declared. ]

Not too deep, thankfully. At the very least my insides have remained where they belong.

[That look might as well have been water sliding off of his armor. Ornstein remains unfazed, frown plastered on his face. It did need to be declared, and loudly at that. A dragon's talons were not always so straightforward as to be only sharp. Sometimes they were poisonous, or tainted with infection.]

We should find you a healer as soon as we are able. Unless- [A glance at Arthur, the memory of protective magic enveloping them as the dragon tried to tear them apart.] -you are able to heal yourself?

I am.

[ Thankfully, the Nymians from which his healing magic came had no objections to keeping oneself alive. Really, what good was healing magic if it couldn't heal the healer?

With his free hand, he unclips the book from his belt and flips it open. Then, he offers it to Ornstein. ]

Hold this, would you? I would so hate to get blood on the pages.

[He never understood a cleric or a sorcerer's inclination to be so... fastidious. What was wrong with a little blood on the pages of a book? If anything, it was a mark of past victories, of hardships overcome.

Still, he doesn't question it. There is but a lift of his brow as he takes the book as told, feeling its weight in his hands with vague curiosity. His concern seems tempered now that he knows Arthur can heal himself.]

I've not witnessed magic quite like yours before. Where did you study?

[ Arthur flicks through the pages as the other man holds the book. ]

Nym, or rather, what's left of it. The city-state ad its people are all but gone, now, though the knowledge they left behind is quite fascinating.

[ Having found the page he was looking for, he lets his fingers drift over the test. Red sigils and blue-green light blossoms from the page, and a soft glow shines from beneath the hand he has clamped over his wound.

After a second, Arthur seems to visibly relax, his pained expression smoothing out as he draws his hand away. The smeared blood ad torn shirt are the only indications that there was ever a wound there at all. Before he takes his book back, he pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes his bloodied hand off. ]

Now, then. What about you? Are you injured?

I've never heard of this... Nym. [It was surprising, if not true enough. Ornstein often kept himself within the walls of Anor Londo, unless tasked outside for differing reasons. Often this had to do with protecting the lands that were ruled by Lord Gwyn, unnamed territories directly neighboring the golden city. Even then, he had met his fair share of travelers. None from a now-vacant city called Nym.

He watches as Arthur heals himself, face illuminated slightly by the blue-green light. When all is said and done, and he's met with the question of his own health, he shakes his head.]

Nothing that requires the aid of magic to heal. [His side feels sore -- bruised, probably -- but that was nothing in the face of the scars he's obtained in the past. Negligible in his eyes.]

I suppose the name wouldn't mean much, unless you had a deep interest in history.

[ He takes his book back at last, placing it back on his belt. There is a brief moment of somewhat awkward silence that follows- Arthur isn't very well-versed in post-dragon slaying conversation. ]

I ah. I don't believe I ever got your name. I'm Arthur. Arthur Inkwell.

[The awkward silence is real, though Ornstein seems relatively unconcerned by it. Small talk isn't his forte, either, unless it's discussing ways to improve one's fighting prowess or the varying tactics on how to slay dragons.

Still, something proud permeates his words as he exchanges introductions with this man.]

You have my gratitude, Arthur Inkwell, for aiding me in battle. You fight well for a man of magic and miracles. [That's meant to be a compliment, it really is.]

My name is Ornstein, Captain of the Knights of Gwyn. I hail from Anor Londo.

[ Arthur quirks a brow. That didn't seem very... compliment-like, but even so-- ] I'll take that as a compliment.

It's a pleasure, though I could have done without the dragon, personally.

[He makes a noise in the back of his throat, something sounding like a "harumph". Turning his head, it's hard enough to miss the dead dragon behind him, having bled out into the earth. The sight prompts him to turn on his heel and grab his spear still stuck in the creature, yanking it out with a forceful pull. The sound of flesh tearing accompanies the gesture, but it more or less comes out as cleanly as it went in. He speaks as he does so.]

Dragons are oft a terrible nuisance, clinging to the shadows of the past. Are you very familiar with them?

I've only run into a few smaller ones. Until now, anything larger was relegated to books.

[ And of course there was the neighboring city-state of Ishgard, which had been at war with dragons or thousands of years. Rumor had it that was slowly drawing to a close, however.

He shrugs. ]

I do a lot of reading.

[This isn't the usual type of mission Ai Thao Kha, esper extraordinaire, signs up for. In fact, she didn't voluntarily sign up to be a bodyguard of a wealthy individual because in a way, she was overqualified for the position. But her superiors had pushed her into this role, mostly to please their client and no doubt receive generous monetary support in return, and partly to have Ai Thao lay low with a supposedly boring job.

Ai sighs as she stands near the buffet table with a flute of champagne in her hands (drinking age in the U.S. be damned, no one asked her). She's dressed in a plain, but nice black cocktail dress, looking at the other guests who are mingling about for the charity event that's currently taking place. She just looks like a random guest because that is the intent; the client's bodyguards look like the usual large men in dark suits, wearing glasses and ear pieces, talking into them while they stalk around the mansion, keeping an eye out for anyone who is out of place. But if there was someone who was trying to sneak in to raise a fuss, Ai would unknowingly be the one they would have to contend with.

Everyone seems to be having fun and enjoying themselves, but she certainly isn't. She's alone, she has to keep herself from trying to eat because she'd be engrossed with filling her plate instead of keeping alert and doing her job. And what's worse, there's no one to talk to. The other guards have disregarded her, making her feel more forlorn than usual.

Another sigh. Ai Thao feels like she's going to spend most of the evening doing that; a sad state of affairs indeed.]

I wouldn't even mind having Lien around... I wish I didn't have to be here.

[ Sometimes the best way to get into a place is through the front door. It's certainly the path of least resistance in situations like these, where a fancy suit and an invitation- stolen or forged, depending on the party- means quick entry into the premises, and after that, slipping away was relatively easy.

This is far from Alec's first rodeo so to speak, and he flits around the party making polite chatter and partaking of hors d'oeuvres and generally playing the part of generic rich boy B. However, as he makes the rounds, he notices that his mark's security is being... really really obvious, which makes him a little wary.

At some point he picks out a wallflower in the crowd- though she looks rather young so he doesn't immediately suspect a thing. Still, it would be a good chance to break from the mass of people and get a better lay of the land, so he wanders over. ]

Not enjoying yourself?

[There's a soft, "Oh!" as the blue eyed girl jumps a bit when the stranger talks to her. Her gaze flits back and forth as if checking to make sure it actually was her, he was acknowledging.

Holding the champagne glass to her chest, Ai hesitantly replies.]

I... Well, it could be worse.

[It comes out sheepish and she berates herself for sounding so droll. Her long hair, which is usually kept down, is tied into a fashionable bun, so the esper can't even take refuge in twirling any stray strands.

Gotta be brave. Gotta be as normal as possible. Her shyness can pass for that and nothing more.]

I'm here as a formality, rather than enjoyment. I can probably find some of that afterwards.

[She takes a swig of her champagne, a bit too quickly, and some of the bubbles go up her nose. Her hand flies up to said nose and she laughs a little weakly.]

A-And I'm not used to drinking this either!

Edited 2016-10-14 04:18 (UTC)

[The rooftops are slick with rain, dampened from a storm that had recently swept across the city. It had left the streets below spotted with puddles, black pools in the thresholds of the evening. The young empress' boots threaten to lose their traction as she runs across the top of a rather tall building, but her training guides her well; she knows exactly how to plant her feet with each step, how to manipulate her body's inertia to her own advantage. She knows how far she can leap, and the exact timing required for each. She moves with royal grace, and never has the misfortune of mistiming anything.

That is, at least, what she would like to someday claim.

Her last jump is what gives her pause, and the second-guessing floods her mind only after her form is midair, caught in an arch between two rooftops. She mentally curses, and a millisecond passes where Emily wonders if she should blame herself or the slickness of the soles of her boots for the error. Another millisecond later, and she's thinking it won't matter if she's just going to be a red splatter on the ground, anyway.

Thankfully, her feet manage to find purchase on the neighboring rooftop, but her center of gravity is askew thanks to her prior miscalculation. There's a precarious moment that follows, in which she tries to steady herself, to force herself to fall forward and not back if she must fall at all. One direction would mean a humiliating stumble, but safety regardless. The other? A highly embarrassing situation that ends in a crumpled body stories below, and she's doing her best to avoid the latter at this very moment.]

[ She does come off as a bit awkward, which probably works in her favor. He can suffer through some slightly awkward conversation for a few minutes if it ultimately helps him get out of the main hall and into the estate proper. ]

A formality? That sounds like a fancy was of saying someone dragged you along.

More or less! I never thought to put it that way though.

[She does forget she sounds more formal than most people her age.]

I guess you can say I'm representing people who aren't able to make it. It would have been rude to have no one otherwise.

[Well, that's pretty much what she's doing in a way (she isn't expecting to whip out the big guns at a pedestrian event when her usual deployment is for dangerous situations). One of the guards casts a suspicious glance over at the both of them, but looks away and patrols somewhere else.]

What about you? You seem very relaxed if you don't mind me saying.

Edited 2016-10-14 04:37 (UTC)

[ Apparently Alec is not alone on the rooftops. That... never really happened. Like, who else had any reason to be on the roof aside from... eh, chimney sweeps or something? The sudden thumping of footsteps startles the wizard into activating his wards- namely his camouflage, and he practically winks out of existence the second he hears the approaching footfalls. Granted, it's not true invisibility, there's still a slight distortion of the air to mark his presence, but most people either don't know to look for it or don't know what they're seeing when they do spot it.

He spots her on the next roof over, and he's been at this long enough that he can tell she botched her jump as soon as she makes it. He could just let her fall, he supposes. That would save him a lot of trouble.

He ca also hear his father admonishing him for such a line of thought.

God, it's so difficult being him. He drops his camouflage as she lands, closes the distance between them in a few bounding steps, and grabs her by the wrist, yanking her forward. ]

[ What a funny thing to raw attention to, and he can't help the little prick of paranoia at the back of his head telling him to get out while he can. That little voice can get really annoying sometimes.

Outwardly, he flashes an easy, slightly crooked smile. ]

Of course I'm relaxed. It's a party.

[ He raises his glass a little, toasting to no one or nothing in particular. ]

[Ai hadn't noticed the first guard, but another hovers close by, simply passing by her instead. She swirls her drink around with a slight frown (were they trying to warn her not to talk to anyone? She's sidelined enough as it is).]

It's a party, but it feels tense doesn't it? I wonder what the host has to worry about?

[Apparently, the client has something unsavory in his ledger and is trying to shy attention away from it using the guise of charity. The debriefing Ai had received was that she probably wouldn't need to engage in combat, but more likely, she would instead extracting information from any intruders that were discovered.

Too bad she can't tell it's someone standing right next to her. Mind reading would have been so useful if it wasn't magically sealed.]

Frankly, the atmosphere doesn't feel right, don't you think?

[Out of her peripheral, Emily sees a man materialize out of what seems to be nowhere. On instinct, she tenses, embarrassingly caught off-guard by this new development — as a result, any chance of her regaining her footing escapes her, and she begins to fall backwards.

But then there's the sensation of the stranger gripping her wrist and pulling her forward. For a brief moment, she isn't sure which to be more indignant about: the fact that she's being unceremoniously saved by a nameless man, or that she would have fallen to her untimely death otherwise.

She doesn't feel gratitude as she's pulled forward, even as her shoulder stumbles directly into the man. Regardless of the situation, she isn't used to being grabbed so suddenly, and her years of training kick in almost immediately. She makes a quick move to elbow the stranger directly in the stomach, retracting her wrist away as soon as she's able.

Corvo would be proud. (That or he'd just slowly be shaking his head at the sight.)]

Ramey > open rp

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party crashing!?

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