The Sanguine State

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Brovo, Dec 9, 2014.

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  1. ((Read the OOC for info on the NPCs.))

    "Why don't you dance to the music inside my head?"

    Nightclub

    Outside the nightclub, it was an overcast night, with a light drizzle of rain encouraging people to take shelter before it started to get worse. The sight of a partial moon was obscured by clouds, making the streets and alleys even darker than they usually were in the bloody city. Inside the The Crown Nightclub, it was packed with people this night: Aleksander always drew a crowd wherever he went, which often served to protect him as much as it did give him a large platter to pick potential victims from. The bouncer at the main entrance, which faced south at the end of a three-way intersection, had been bribed by The Rebellion, letting anyone in so long as they had an appropriate disguise for their role. Past the doors, people would be greeted to the sounds of bass-heavy electronic music, a bar, and a large dance floor packed with bodies. Slender bodies, a few of which were underaged from the looks of it, implying disturbing things about Aleksander's tastes. A few feet away to the left of the main entrance was the staircase to the second floor, and at the center of the open first floor was the DJ's booth, where a dark skinned man plied his trade.

    Only, something was missing.

    Aleksander was nowhere to be found where he should have been: His seat was present a few feet from the DJ booth, and four out of six of his vampire enforcers remained near the expensive chair decked out in heavy riot armour and light machine guns, implying he was somewhere in the club, but his position was for the moment, unknown.

    At the back of the nightclub in an area cleared with hanging ropes connected to stanchions, leading to the staff hallway, the door was open revealing a several foot long stretch of private rooms to the left and right. One of the rooms was the main security room, where security cameras (most hidden from view) were being operated. At the end of the hall was the door to the storage room, which had access to the basement. Getting past the bouncer in plain sight of a crowd might be tricky though...

    On the second floor, there was a thin layer of drywall blocking the view of the dance floor which serviced little to muffle the music coming from the DJ's speakers. There were several miscellaneous rooms, though on the north side of the club's second floor was the main office, where the manager likely spent most of his time. The door was locked, likely to prevent him from being harassed by dissatisfied customers. Only two bodyguards kept the area safe, and the area was not frequented often by civilians. There appeared to be hints of a small armoury on this floor as well, likely for the bodyguards throughout the club in case of emergency robbery or holdup, or maybe it was placed there by Aleksander to ensure his men would always have the weapons needed for the job. Either way, the lock on it looked well used, and ready to go with just a little bit of applied force, though a security camera was watching the door.

    Entering the club with other agents of the Rebellion was Staznov and Maurice. Both of them came as guests, rather than bodyguards. Staznov could be found on the second floor, eyeing the armoury from time to time. Maurice on the other hand remained on the first floor, appearing to fit in with the crowds of upper class partiers perfectly, though the way he eyed the guard by the staff hall door implied he had ideas on how to get inside.

    Bank Truck

    About twenty minute's drive away from the Nightclub on the fairly empty streets, the Bank Truck was hidden inside a garage of a well-to-do fenced off mansion. It was owned by Maurice, who was already at the nightclub. The interior of the Bank Truck had a pair of small barred windows to let light in, though it was still kept largely dark inside for the purposes of keeping them hidden from outside view. It wouldn't take long once everyone was finished readying themselves for combat, then boarded the truck. Decorated in heavy armour and leaning against the truck, Samuel tapped his fingers over his light machine gun impatiently, tapping his foot on the concrete floor of the garage. It was a large garage, and the walls were lined with weapons and other equipment that would be hidden from view by the mansion's servants once they were done loading up. "Most of you are new kids eh'?" Samuel says with a cheeky grin. "Name's Samuel, though all of you probably know that. Nice to meet all of you."

    Erica was also joining the Bank Truck squad, in light combat gear with a rifle slung over her shoulder and a machine pistol on her waist. She was giving final instructions to the truck driver, leaning in the driver side window directing him with a map on where to go in case the main routes were blocked. "You know you could introduce yourself Erica." The woman shoots him a cold, disapproving look before returning to her task. Rolling his eyes, Samuel looks at everyone in the garage. "Don't let her get you down, she's good in a fight, just not at anything else. Now lets get a move on kids, hop in the back of the truck."
     
    #1 Brovo, Dec 9, 2014
    Last edited: Dec 9, 2014
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  2. Bank Truck
    Karl pulled himself out of fluffy with a number of pieces of kit the heavy burden not overly bothering him despite their weight. "Samuel, i'm old enough to be your grandfather." He said with a shrug putting down his chosen weapons on the table and shrugging into a type IV ballistic vest.



    The first item on the table was a pair of Lupara shotguns that he loaded into shoulder-holsters with care while whistling Europe's 'Final Countdown' his veritable arsenal in Fluffy changed from day to day but he felt that this mission might call for a little heavier firepower. The DJ Booth and it's armoured glass palisades were going to be an obstacle he needed to remove the enemy from.

    And so his second piece of kit was carefully loaded. A Russian RPO-M loaded with Shmel-M rocket. Produced by Konstruktorskoe Buro Proborostroeniya in Tula, Russia. The power of a 152mm Artillery Shell in a single thermobaric rocket it'd reduce anything within twenty metres of the blast to a fine paste. But for the more dirty work he'd selected the German made MG-42 machinegun, one of the most feared machineguns in the world.

    Karl basically caressed the weapon as he lightly prepared her for battle before remembering his last piece of kit. A Beretta 92r on his hip for if shit went well and truly south. Prepared for battle he headed over to fluffy and closed the rear door and locked it. Grinning he slipped on a pair of sunglasses. "It's a 20 minute drive, we have half a bank truck full of badasses, its dark, and i'm wearing sunglasses. Let's hit it."
     
  3. Flashing the fake ID for appearance’s sake, Jonathan moved past the bouncer and, at last, out of the rain. Feeling the beat of the music against him, he winced at the volume but didn’t otherwise show any sign of discomfort. Slipping off his overcoat, he passed it off to the coat check before making his way to the bar. Walking along the dance floor’s edge, he frowned just a tad as he noticed from the corners of his eyes a distinct lack of Aleksander where the intel had said he would be. It wasn’t like the man couldn’t have simply gone for a walk, but the operation was going to be all the more difficult and dangerous if the target’s location wasn’t known. That aside, the Enforcer’s equipment was also somewhat worrisome.

    He had expected less cumbersome firearms, assault rifles or the like, not full-auto crowd suppression weaponry. One of them alone, with its massive rate of fire and ammunition count, likely would have been enough to tear him to shreds. Six of them was just suicide, and for a moment he doubted his part in all of this. With that in mind, he looked around for any of the other operatives. He wasn’t particularly noticeable, but neither was he inconspicuous. If someone was going to wander the club in search of Aleksandar, it certainly wouldn’t be him. For the moment he’d just relax until the time to work came around or an opportunity presented itself.

    There wasn’t any reason for him to head onto the second floor, as he’d seen Satznov go up the stairs already, so it seemed he’d have to find something to do here instead. While perfectly content to watch the party happen, it was also probably a bad idea to simply hang about without some form of socialization. Rather than the many party goers though, he looked for one of the Rebellion members that had come along for the mission. Maybe they'd have some plan to put in action that needed a bit of muscle.
     
  4. BANK TRUCK

    Leo Ebayan settled into the back of the truck and began visually inspecting his equipment. As the truck team's demolitions expert, he had a few unique tools on his tactical harness that the others would have little use for. Rather than some of the heavier firearms, he kept a SIG SP 2022 as a sidearm in a thigh-rig and a Calico M960 nearby. Pouches around his waist were filled with wire strippers, spare wires, blasting caps, and other tools of his explosive craft. The lighter armament meant a little more mobility, especially since the briefing prior to heading out involved him securing the second story of the nightclub.

    "Don't let her get you down, she's good in a fight, just not at anything else. Now lets get a move on kids, hop in the back of the truck," Samuel said to the others.

    Ebayan smirked. "As long as she can keep hostiles off me while I work, I'm solid gold." Then he nodded to Karl Reinhoff, his shades in particular. "Karl - you got a spare? When I'm done tonight, I imagine we'll all need a pair for the fireworks."

    His smile, meant to be amicable, was feral. He was looking forward to participating in giving the Blood Bank a punch to the gut in a big way. The idea of delivering a cut in a location where the corporation thought they were safe was icing on the cake. If they succeeded tonight, the Rebellion would no longer be ignored. If they succeeded, they would no longer be the ones living in fear.

    Not if, he reminded himself, when.
     
  5. Bank Truck

    She wrinkles her nose and cups her hands about her face as she raises her lighter, trying to shelter the flame from the draft. Light flares up between her fingers, flickering out before flaring to life before Terra looses a satisfied sigh with a coil of smoke from between her lips, looking back over the rest of the group as she shifts against the truck, her gear in a duffel ready to be slung on as soon as she got in.

    LJ comes up beside her and wrinkles her nose, grabbing hold of the lit cigarette and tosses it aside into a puddle outside the garage. She covers Terra's mouth as the older woman goes to protest and gives her a look of amusement. “Really Ter? You're gonna get in a cramped space with all these guys, smoking, seeing all the junk they've got on them? You wanna blow us all sky high?” She just chuckles, shaking her head as she climbs truck. Loosening the top button on her shirt, rolling up the sleeves of her shirt and smirking as she settles in and takes a seat in the truck. “I don't know 'bout the rest of you, but I'm ready to rumble.”

    Terra looks dejectedly after the remains of her cigarette before following after LJ, “Don't get ahead of yourself, LJ. Don't get in over your head. Play it safe, use your head. Don't try and take them all on on your own.” She sighs and takes a seat next to the weremadillo, opening up her pack to start taking out her shrieker system, dragonskin body armour, lightning glove, Glock 20 and its harness, and grenades and its webbing.

    The teen flushes and lightly shoves the woman as she tries to slip into her gear, earning a whine of protest, “Ter, you don't have to freak out so much. 'Sides, when we're in the thick of it, I'll be the one watching your ass.”

    The human woman adjusts the magitech glove before going over her grenades: two flashbang, two fragmentation, an incendiary and a smoke. She just shakes her head and smirks, “We'll see, LJ.” Terra perks up her head, looking up as Samuel starts talking. He hardly looked any older than her and he kept calling them kids. She furrows her brow, and Karl referred to himself so much older. They must both be vampires. “Nice to meet you, Samuel. I'm Terra and this here is LJ.” She smiles and looks between him and Erica, “I'm really good at causing chaos, apparently.”

    LJ snorts and pipes up beside her, “And I hit stuff.” She emphasizes it by punching into her open palm.
     
    #5 Snowball, Dec 11, 2014
    Last edited: Dec 15, 2014
  6. Bank Truck
    As Karl climbed into the Bank Van with his arsenal he nodded reaching down into a pocket. It didn't hurt to carry spares, they often got busted up in combat. "Certainly, sunglasses get broken all too often during a fight, I find a need to have spares on hand." He said appraising LJ and Terra as they bantered.
    Karl grinned mischeviously. "Chaos and impact," he said nicknaming the pair, "Nice to meet ya. I'm effectively destruction." He patted his rocket launcher fondly.
     
  7. The Bank Truck
    "Sup sup, ramblers. We ready for rambling?"

    She brought in her own suit of armor, what they would call a... a type four or something, that covers her torso, and parts of her limbs. A pink heart splashed onto the chest part completes the whole look. With it she brought a whole ballistic shield, a meter length blade with a wrapped handle, an old but still in good condition HK21 with a box of extra ammo, plus an old M79 grenade launcher with two extra 40mm grenades. Just for emergencies and the likes, she put in a pistol in her belt. While it was a lot of equipment for one girl, the wraps under her clothings were working perfectly, her movements was barely impeded, if at all.

    Mafuyu Charles eyed what seemed to be a rocket launcher one of the guys were carrying.

    "Damn son, where'd you get that beast?"

    Karl looked at her. "Garage sale from an old Russian Colonel's private supply. 100 units for ten thousand, plus five missiles per unit."

    Noting that the others was introducing themselves, she spoke up as well. "Nice to meet you all, I'm Mafuyu Charles. Thats Mah-foo-you. Don't fret if y'all can't pronounce it well though, its all cool."
     
    #7 Fubuki, Dec 11, 2014
    Last edited: Dec 11, 2014
  8. "Hair?"

    "Check."

    "Skin?"

    "Check."

    "Dress?"

    "Check."

    "Come off it, darling. You are meant to attract the eye. Where has your ass gone? Your chest? Your neck? Make them hungry for you."

    "Oh my god, this dress is so tight!"

    "Perfect, darling. If you were a boy, I'd eat you up!"

    Thoughts of the flamboyant vampire, and his face at her discomfort were more than enough to dispel Anya's nerves. After he had done his work, even Anya couldn't hide her surprised approval of the pretty Anya Samson in the mirror.

    Or perhaps, more precisely, of the pretty Anna Fuchs. After all, Anna Fuchs was daughter of the reclusive Hans Fuchs. A fake-yet-easily found online businessman from Germany. Anna was his daughter, who attended university in the Sanguine capitol, and her dipping a curious toe into an exclusive nightclub would be more than plausible. In truth, it would be more weird if she didn't.

    She flashed her false ID, aware that the bouncer was aware of the truth behind the lie but playing the farce out. It scared her that they were putting their trust in a man who'd betrayed one group for money already. She ran her fingers through her dyed-blonde hair, ignoring the few drops of moisture that came away with her fingers. The hair dye had been her idea: it would hide her identity a little better, and it fit the Germanic backstory.

    The club was jam-packed, but that hardly dissuaded her from weaving her way towards the bar. As she moved, she looked around the bar with a face that said 'awe' but eyes that asked questions. Where was the target? Were the guards always so heavily armed? Had they walked into a trap? It seemed unlikely that Aleksander knew of the threat, considering the density of people in the club. It didn't relieve the tension though. Anya felt stressed by all the unknowns.

    Anya decided she best just play at being Alex, as she secured herself a drink. She had no desire to ever touch the alcohol, but it fit the character perfectly.

    She briefly leaned against the bar as she saw other operatives doing their own various things. Anya spotted John...Jones? She hadn't had many conversations with the man, but she knew he was a Wolf of some sort. She didn't really know any of the operatives on this mission. She'd have to make a more concerted effort to learn about them all, after this mission.

    She held in her hand a small bag, and was comforted by the fact that she had no actual gun inside it. Instead, pressed against her thigh was a rather pricy Sig Sauer variant which served her faithfully in the past on a number of occasions. It was compact, semi-automatic and had a cool sixteen rounds: fifteen in the clip and one in the chamber itself; and hopefully, she wouldn't have to fire it once. Shock and awe was not her mission here.

    She slowly made her way to the dance floor, swaying lazily to the beat. She was, for once at least, trying to invite a little attention. She'd settle for a teammate or for a stranger. Already there were a few schemes hatching in her head. As she swayed back and forth, she glanced down at the drink in her hand. Liquid courage was getting more and more tempting.

    “Okay Anya, you’ve got this. Wait it out, then play out the plan. Absolutely nothing can go wrong, right?”
     
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  9. Nightclub

    Josephina had entered the club with a simple nod of her head and a flash of I.D. As a spur of the moment thought, the young blonde decided to enter as a bodyguard not only because of her physical abilities but also because she really had nothing fancy she could wear. If she came as an invited guest dressed as a sack of potatoes, she was sure the mission would be blown out of the water as soon as she stepped through the threshold. Since she was acting as a bodyguard though, she had thrown her hair up into a tight bun and picked out a simple white button-up to accompany a pair of black fabric suit pants and a matching blazer. She looked both professional and stylish, but not overly. Not only would she blow her cover if she underdressed as a guest, she would also blow it if she was to overdress as a guard. Honestly, she had personal outfit issues with this mission before arriving.

    Now though, as her sharp, black heel cladded feet walked across the club's floor, she relaxed knowing that there wasn't going to be a problem with her attire at all. With a shake of her head, the blonde decided to stay close to Maurice for the night, knowing that Staznov didn't even need the image of a bodyguard at his side. She was feeling confident for this mission until her eyes swept over the DJ booth and landed on the empty chair surrounded by the team of vampire's. Their presence meant that Aleksander hadn't exited the building, but the scene also inquired that the target was not there. An unknown target would only make this mission ten times harder. She worried about how this lack of information would go if nobody alerted the team in the bank truck.

    Strapped to her hip was the outline of a Boberg XR9-S, the world's smallest and most powerful nine millimeter pistol that Boberg Arms Corporation had to offer. Josephina, in her confused and panicked state, lightly patted the pistol to make sure it was still there. It was hidden from civilian view if she kept her blazer on, it's dark black holster also matched her pants, but it still calmed the young woman down to physically feel it. She kept to the side of Maurice at all times-- her hands grasping one another a front her body and her eyes scanning the club suspiciously. If Aleksander wasn't in his zone then he could be anywhere, doing anything. The duo stuck to the first floor, saying nothing yet thinking the same thing.

    It would be best to explore the staff hallway, but after exchanging a few glances with the bouncer, Joe knew that feat would be rather difficult. She kept her posture straight and her eyes focused on the bodies that passed by, but her voice swept over towards Maurice. "Is there anyway I can be of assistance, sir?" They were surrounded by guests and if she began to speak openly about the mission, like a dunce, then there would be no saying how the rest of the night would go. If she could see that Aleksander was missing then so could Maurice and she was sure the male had a plan or two up his sleeve. It was only logical. Act like a bodyguard Joe, be the bodyguard.
     
  10. Nightclub
    Els tried her best not to keep her hand too firmly attached to the grip of the pistol she had holstered under her blazer, knowing that even as a no-nonsense bodyguard, it would hardly look natural. As the burly security guard prodded her with his ham hock hands, a process more heavily resembling copping a feel than actually ensuring that she wasn’t smuggling in explosives, she had managed to endure the entire ordeal without so much as a grimace. She did have to growl as the glorified bouncer’s hand seemed to linger too long along her inner thigh, although his unamused grunt just reaffirmed that he was “doing his job” and the rough jostling as followed clearly also followed as “just checking”. No matter what shit she had to put up with, she decided she wouldn’t be the one to screw this thing up. Keeping this in mind, she balled her fists and shoved them into her unsatisfactorily shallow pockets, trailing along behind Anastasiya.

    Normally, the faint rotting corpse aroma of a bloodsucker would send her running, heckles up, but this one she could tolerate. She’d heard stories that the vampire elites had made her life quite the living hell back in Russia, and Els could appreciate any vampire who resisted the thrall of their overlords. Kept her from baring her teeth at any attempts she made at engaging in conversation, at least. Nothing could help the fact that the pale woman reeked of… the werehyena couldn’t quite place it, not being the morbid sort that would hang around decomposition and all, but she assumed this was what a morgue smelled like. Inhabitants long since passed the human condition, the cold steel table sterile beyond what was wholesome and natural, a slight chemical tinge to it…

    It was then that she realized she had absentmindedly wandered a little too close to Aleksander's position. One of his bodyguards visibly shifted to ward her off and she slinked back as soon as she noticed her mistake. It was subtle enough. She hadn’t even glanced his way. No red flags, she guessed. Perhaps she should have allowed herself to be stuffed into a slinky red dress and caked in makeup, after all. Scanning the room, she once again located her vampire companion and her companion. She hadn’t caught his name. Several times. She’d been calling him Quentin Tarantino in her head all night so far, as she thought it either closely matched his given or surname, couldn’t recall which, and that would likely stick.

    Humming under her breath, Els moved past the gyrating figures all around her, catching sight of her fellow shifter being a much better bodyguard than she was, so she quickly tried to adapt. She cleared her throat, painfully aware of how the thudding bass swallowed her meager noise whole, and tried to call out to Anastasiya, “Ana—” Yes, just like you’re best buds. Christ, girl. This time, with an accompanying arm motion, she got a little closer, “Miss, might you need a drink, perhaps?” Are you a butler, or are you the hired gun? Els figured she wouldn’t be needed around the vampire constantly, anyway, seeing as she was not exactly alone, so she figured that stopping by the bar for a moment or two wouldn’t kill her. She had her own plan in place, and it involved getting to that laptop whenever the moment seemed right. The werehyena figured she would be trailing along right with whatever infiltration squad had formed, but was also entirely prepared to stand behind and shoot along with the incoming bank truck riders. Her M&P40 was feeling even punier the more she almost itched for the confrontation. The logical voice, stifled way in the back of her head, piped up that there were be more than enough hell to raise if she took the smarter route and rushed the basement.

    For now, though, the bouncer had made it very clear, something of a glint in his eye, that bodyguards were to stay on the dance floor. She’d already bungled the “don’t approach the old, skeezy vamp” rule, so she thought it best to play it close for right now. No wandering towards the hallway door. No dancing on the stairs. No requesting songs from the DJ, even in jest. She’d just wait on anything that Anastasiya could ask of her and at the sound of the starting pistol, she’d launch herself into action. She ran her tongue over her lips for a moment, sighing. A drink did sound very good right now.
     
    #10 Drifter, Dec 13, 2014
    Last edited: Dec 14, 2014
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  11. BANK TRUCK

    Leo leaned back in his seat as Karl, LJ, Terra, and Mafuyu talked. They seemed like an odd collection, him included. Not a one of them normal in the strictest definition of the term. Not one of them seemed the type to back down from a fight. Indeed, Terra and LJ appeared all too eager for the coming battle, a sin that Leo was likewise ready to commit.

    Self-preservation's a hindrance in this line of work anyway, he thought to himself.

    He glanced through the window in the back of the truck's cab and saw through the windshield beyond. "We're getting close to the club," he announced. "We'll be there before you know it."

    He felt around his pockets and vest, frowning. He retrieved a lighter, but that was it. Glancing up, he asked of the others, "Anyone got a smoke? Little tradition of mine. One cigarette before I blow something up."
     
  12. Terissa and Dean
    Bank Truck


    In response to Leo's question, Dean began rooting through his pockets. "Yeah man, I got some smokes," he gave the man a lopsided smile. "Name's Dean. New even to the new guys." Pulling out a half-full box of cigarettes, Dean tossed it them to the other man. "Don't smoke them all in one place, now."

    Meanwhile, Terissa pulled down her duffel bag from the overhead and began putting on her mix-and-match riot gear. Scaled vest over polyester mesh; hard shell plastic inserts for limbs and joints; and then the helmet. "Stop flirting with the nice man and take your stuff," she said to Dean, passing him a pistol and baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. For herself she pulled out another pistol as well as a crowbar, and then, last of all, her magitech hoppers. Gloves and boots with bright blue lines and grooves. They were most likely the most valuable thing she'd ever owned. But more importantly, they were useful.

    Slipping them on, she gave a test bounce with her foot to make sure they were working. The satisfying rebound of her leg, slightly lifting her from her seat, told her they most definitely were.
     
  13. Nightclub

    Pavel violently brushed an offending piece of stray fabric from his suit with an irritated sigh, he disliked formal affairs at the best of times, but he reserved a special hatred for the gaudy parties of elite vampires like Aleksander. His only consolation was that he hadn't been compelled to join the assault team. Stewing in the back of a bank truck before being shot by heavily armed Enforcers was by his own measure significantly worse than having to mingle with the spoiled aristocrats of Sanguine City.

    So far however, things weren't going particularly well, he hadn't seen a hint of Aleksander, there were an alarming number of heavily armed guards and the clock was ticking. Deciding that he would have some strong words with the chaps in intelligence, Pavel downed the remainder of blood that swished in the wine glass he held in his hand and went over the plan in his head once more. He had not forgotten of course, but he prided himself on his professionalism and he had no intentions of being sloppy when branching out into the exciting fields of political assassination and theft. His task was a simple one: find the club owner, convince the man that the violence that would soon follow did not in fact require a phone call to the authorities and barring the success of his diplomatic mission, Erica had simply instructed him to "make damn sure" that the unsuspecting fellow was unavailable as the true festivities began.

    Casting a quick glance on the dance floor and spotting a familiar face, Pavel left the empty wine glass with a passing waiter and summoned the entirety of his theatrical skills as he approached the striking blonde in the tight dress who had naturally caught the attention of the lecherous Count Dracula he was pretending to be.

    Offering a sharp smile, he bowed slightly before addressing her in a familiar tone,"Miss Fuchs? What a pleasant surprise to see you here this evening! How is your father?"
     
    #13 Iben, Dec 14, 2014
    Last edited: Dec 14, 2014
  14. Gabriel - Nightclub

    Gabriel was waved through the front door with no fuss, as expected of the paid off bouncer. He came as an invited guest, and he had chosen his wardrobe accordingly to play the part. Rather than trying for true high class formality, he had decided to go for what he liked to think of as slacker chic, the kind of look worn by spoiled rich bastards who wanted to show off just how aloof they were. Gabriel wore plain black dress shoes, black slacks work around the hips rather than the waist to give the legs a slightly rumpled look, a white dress shirt not tucked in and with the top couple buttons undone, and a black suit jacket that was a bit large on him and looked fancy enough to belong on a philanthropist billionaire rather than a somewhat shoddy looking fellow who you could just tell would describe himself as "eccentric." To add to the look, he wore no tie at all and chose instead to accessorize with big dark sunglasses that were an imitation of expensive designer shades and a pair of black gloves. Anyone not looking too closely would most likely think he was the kind of asshole who had grown up rich and never bothered to put in a real day's work in his life.

    In truth, it was all a calculated ruse, of course. Not only did it allow him to fit in without actually being bound and constricted by a properly worn suit, it hid his weapons quite nicely. The gloves were attached to magitech cells on his forearms, conveniently made hard to notice thanks to the overlarge jacket. His loosely worn shirt allowed him to covertly carry his modified pistol in his waistband, old school gangster style, because of course a slacker rich guy wouldn't do anything as smart as carry his gun in a holster. It was once a run of the mill 9mm job that wouldn't have drawn many looks, but now it shot fire-empowered bullets thanks to a magitech modification; he'd named it Zippo, because special weapons deserved a name and he had a moderately functional sense of humor. Gabriel had upgraded it himself, and he was itching to put it to use on something other than a practice target, preferably a vampire or three.

    He strolled through the club with a slouching strut that completed his facade. Anyone could dress like an asshole, but you had to move like one too if you wanted people to buy it. Gabriel knew that fitting into a group was about more than just looking the part, so he made sure to add those extra touches that would keep him inconspicuous. As he walked through the dance floor, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket for maximum insouciance, he made sure to look around at everything with mild disdain on his face. He didn't let his gaze linger on his fellow Rebellion operatives any longer than it rested on anyone else, in order to not give anything away to whoever might be watching. Rather than joining the group forming around Maurice, Gabriel headed for the stairs and made his way up to the second floor.

    Once there, he saw Staznov paying some extra attention to the armory room door. His intentions in lurking up there were pretty obvious, and Gabriel thought it was a damned good idea. He'd come up here intending to help keep the club manager quiet, with force if necessary, but the armory angle was good too. There were a couple bodyguards in the area, but they didn't seem like they'd be too much trouble. Even so, it would be best to wait until the others downstairs made their move, or the bank truck made its interrupting arrival, before hitting either upstairs target. That meant he needed some reason to lurk about upstairs, and he had come prepared for that eventuality.

    Gabriel sauntered his way toward Staznov and pulled a rather rumpled hand-rolled cigarette out of his jacket pocket. There was probably some kind of rule against smoking in the club, but trying it anyway went with the rich slacker persona so there was no real problem there. He popped the shabby cigarette in his mouth and then made a show of checking his pockets, muttering darkly under his breath after the first pass through. Gabriel almost walked past Staznov, but then turned around to face the man with a disgruntled frown. "Hey man, you got a light?" It wasn't the most ingenious ways of striking up innocuous conversation with a fellow rebel, but hopefully it would serve his purposes anyway.
     
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  15. Nightclub
    As soon as she took out her fake idea and showed it to the gruff-looking bouncer, Anastasiya moved delicately and swiftly through the grand entrance into the heat of the night. Her companion, Quintin, a young blond-haired fellow, followed alongside her, as well as a werehyena named Els to her left, who was acting as her bodyguard in order to not seem suspicious.

    Her round-shaped eyes darted immediately around the vicinity, long black eyelashes flashing as she turned her head towards the left, hoping to find Aleksander right where he was supposed to be. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be found at the moment and Anastasiya cursed the man for making things seem to be more difficult than what had been expressed previously. She situated herself a little ways into the crowd, glancing around once more.

    The sound of a familiar voice came into contact with her ear and she quickly turned her head to gaze at the young woman that had questioned whether or not she wished for a drink. She identified her as Els, a woman who was on par with her with height and had pitch black hair with dark red tips blended in with the rest of her thin strands. Anastasiya immediately responded back in kind, "It's alright. I'm good without." Anastasiya waved Els off as a means of indirectly telling her that she could run off and play if she so wished. Other agents like Maurice and Staznov, the brunette noticed, from the Rebellion were moving towards their respectable spaces within the nightclub.

    Anastasiya took the initiative to begin maneuvering towards the back, pushing her way through the crowd as she began to near the staff hall. Settling herself nearby within a large group of diverse men and women of Caucasian, Hispanic, and all other races, the vampire, to fit in with the flow of atmosphere, began to sway her body, inviting Quintin in with her.​
     
  16. Nightclub
    (Collab Courtesy of Brovo)

    With nary but a flash of her ID and a flirtatious look, Jeanne, accompanied by Sir Callahan, entered The Crown Nightclub. In her old life, she'd never had given one of these places a second thought, after all, partying was for those with money to spend and brain cells to lose. Now, however? Now, she loved them, the bigger the better. They were modern-day bacchanals, filled with delectable morsels of all kinds.

    Unfortunately for her, their appearance at The Crown tonight was not one of pleasure, but one of business. The business of course, being the murder of Aleksander Consveka and the retrieval of his laptop, containing whatever it was that her fellow "rebels" needed. She hated that term, "rebel". It was such a gauche term, not at all one befitting one of her high standing. After all, she was one of the strong nobility, destined to rule over the weak peasantry.

    Regardless of her distaste for the term that her compatriots insisted on labeling themselves as, she was now inside the nightclub, and the mission took priority over her hatred of a particular sobriquet. Speaking of missions, there was one of her fellow infiltrators, Maurice Winston, right over there being approached by some ugly wench of a woman, who, as a matter of fact, turned out to be another rebel.

    "Well, we, I mean, I can't let such a wonderful member of the nobility such as he have his important time taken up by a plebeian bitch such as her. I think I'll have to have a little talk with Monsieur Winston over a proper Waltz. Sir Callahan, if you'd kindly take up position at the bar over there, maybe with a bit of blood to sip on, I'd be greatly appreciative."

    "Your wish is my command, Miss Richard. If you require my assistance in dealing with ruffians or knaves, I am at your beck and call." With that, her bodyguard made his way to the bar, cradling his Double-barreled Shotgun in his arms. He'd brought a Colt Peacemaker as well, in the event that he ran out of ammo for his shotgun.

    Making her way over to Maurice, Jeanne grabbed the man by his arm as a way to get his attention, completely ignoring the other girl there. "Why, hello there, Monsieur Winston. It's simply a delight to see someone of such rank and status here, rather than the usual gutter trash," Jeanne made a brief gesture towards the girl while she ended that last sentence. "Now, I hate to impose, but I must simply insist that you dance with me. You know how to Waltz, don't you? And while we dance, we can have a little chat about the certain business ventures of a mutual friend, and the best ways for our friend to succeed in said ventures." Jeanne finished with a flash of her teeth and a bat of her eyes towards the wealthy lycanthrope.

    Maurice was about to answer Josephina's question when Jeanne grabbed his arm. Inhaling slowly, his nose wrinkles as he turns and looks the woman eye to eye. "I was busy with this lovely lady." Perhaps it wasn't wise to try and fool a lycanthrope with enhanced senses about one's physical sex. "... Madam... Dancing with these people would be... Distracting. I have other things to attend to."

    "Oh my. Is that a hint of disgust I detect? I'll have you know, Sir, that I'm perfectly capable of relations, despite my previous exterior. I'm as much of a woman as this uncultured cur is, most likely even more so." Surprise, surprise. It seemed Monsieur Winston did not care much for her biological sex, despite the work she'd had done to change it. "If dancing isn't your particular cup of tea, Monsieur, then perhaps we could take a seat at the bar and discuss how we're supposed to get into the back. You seem to have a plan for that, do you not?" Jeanne was starting to like this one. He didn't care for the bullshit most socialites thrive on. She was going to enjoy this repartee, whether he did or not wasn't her concern.
     
  17. “And I hit stuff.” -LJ, Page 1.

    Bank Truck

    As everyone boarded the bank truck, Samuel followed and took a seat beside Karl and Leonardo, whilst Erica sits across from them. Erica then taps the metal door separating the driver's compartment from the back of the "bank truck". The back door closes as mechanical gears whine from overuse, followed quickly with the sound of ignition. The truck starts and begins to move out of the garage, and surprisingly, there was little soundproofing within the vehicle. They could hear the servants outside, the garage door opening and closing behind them, and so on.

    Erica's eyes dart between Karl and Leo briefly before she double checks her rifle is in working order, seeming to run over a mental checklist as she looked after the safety and clip. "Remember, we're here to strike a blow for the revolution, not cause a massacre. Try to avoid civilian casualties." Erica states simply and coldly as she reaches into an overhead compartment and retrieves a combat helmet. There was nothing protecting her save a simple dragonscale vest and cheap military grade helmet, it appeared.

    As Leo asked for a smoke, the Bank Truck starts to slow down. Erica takes a quick peek through the small barred window in the metal door between the driver's compartment and the back of the truck, and grimaces. "Trouble?" Samuel asks her as she nods and flicks the safety off her rifle. "Roadblock. Looks like Aleksander is being especially careful tonight. We're less than a kilometer away from the club, too." There was a tap from the driver on the door. "We're being stopped." Erica says as Samuel finally flicks the safety off his LMG. There was about a minute of silence as Erica kept her ear to the door, listening for trouble. Then, without warning, the bank truck lurches and drives backward, swinging to the left it sends Erica stumbling and falling onto Leo and Samuel momentarily.

    The truck manages to speed itself back-end first into a dead end alley, locked between two apartment complexes. Though the bank truck barely fit, a few gunshots spray into the driver compartment, almost certainly ending the life of the driver. He might be wounded, checking by opening the door to the driver's compartment however might get the would-be medic shot dead.

    Rolling to her feet, Erica looks at the door momentarily before sighing. "No choice. Everybody out into the alleyway, we need to blow a hole into one of the apartments and try to make our way on foot to the nightclub. Failing that, we'll need to find a way into the sewer system to get back home safely." Indeed, there was no manhole cover in this alleyway, implying they would need to travel at least a short distance to find one. Samuel gets up and clasps his hands, rubbing them together with anticipation. The situation didn't seem to phase him in the slightest. "Showtime." He mutters as he moves to the back of the truck and kicks it down. He looks back at everyone inside the truck. "C'mon kids! It's time for some fun, 'fer they blow up the truck you're sitting in with an RPG."

    There was only about ten feet of space between the bank truck and the dead end, and the brick walls of three apartment buildings: One in the direction of the nightclub (east), one away from it (west), and the dead end wall (north). There also seemed to be an old fire escape ladder that could lead them to one of the eight higher floors on the two apartments to each side of the bank truck. There was, of course, always the option of attempting to overwhelm the military police with firepower before reinforcements arrived, though that would almost certainly alert Aleksander to a sincere threat on his life by nearby Rebel forces...

    Nightclub

    Staznov looks at Gabriel and looked somewhat apprehensive. Still, pulling a lighter out of his pocket, he lights Gabriel's cigarette. "Da. (Yes.)" Staznov says in a thick Russian accent as he looks at the armoury door and wrinkles his nose. A few moments of awkward silence later, something on his wrist starts beeping. The bodyguards nearby tense up as Staznov raises his wrist, showing a digital watch to them. They calm down and start conversing with each other casually as Staznov turns off the alarm and looks at Gabriel. "Should have been here, five minutes ago. VIP friends are late, not like them, they like to deliver on time." Staznov slowly starts to reach for a pistol at his waist, only to see the door to the manager's office open.

    Out came Aleksander, who had a satisfied smirk on his face.

    "Der'mo. (Shit.)" Staznov mutters under his breath as his hand slips away from his pistol. He would be dead before he could even pull it out. Aleksander passes by the both of them, nodding before he moves to the stairs with a pair of vampire enforcers behind him. The manager was leaning on the doorway of his now open office, watching Aleksander pass with a pale expression on his face. "Lucky, maybe." Staznov grumbles as he looks at his watch again. "Assume, friends have... Retired." A grim look passes his face. "We are partying alone, comrade..." Glancing at the guards who were still holding a casual conversation, he looks at Gabriel and motions to the manager. "Get bodyguards away, da?" He whispers as he then motions to the armoury.

    Meanwhile, on the first floor, Maurice was finally about to answer Josephina's question despite the interruption from Jeanne, when his cell phone started ringing. His eye twitches as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and answers. "Yes?!" He says with great annoyance. He played it up, though it was apparent that he was perhaps not the most patient man. "Yes, I was just about to--... Ah. I see. Very well then." He hangs up without even saying goodbye, and his blue eyes unable to hide the instinctive fight or flight reflex that was now going through the animistic side of his mind. "Our... Friends, have been... Well... They're sick, it seems. All of them. They won't be coming." He turns as he notices some people on the over crowded dance floor suddenly making a path. "So the king moves to his throne. No coincidence..." He states as Aleksander's eyes sweep over them. He seemed to take a momentary interest in Jeanne, though it was more morbid curiosity than lustful intent, before sitting down, back facing the staff area.

    Maurice pulls Jeanne and Josephina close, and motions to the staff area. "Jeanne, distract the guard. Josephina, slip inside and get into the security room, should be a door on your left, clearly labelled. Kill the security guard and shut off the camera and alarm systems. We may not be able to peg Aleksander, but we should at least secure the route to the laptop." He then glances to the bar, where Els was sitting alone, as Anastasiya had been lost in the dancing crowd. "I have more work to do. Good luck." Without even looking at them again, he slips his hands in his pockets and boldly walks over to the bar, motioning for two drinks from the bartender and placing a rather large tip for him. "Als... That is your name, yes? Or was it Els? Either way, I need to ask you a favour... When the bartender comes back with two glasses of liquor, slap me and start screeching about how I tried to grope your thigh. Lets try to get ourselves led into the security room after a couple minutes so you have an excuse to be in the staff area to help us secure the laptop." Maurice flashes a charismatic smile. Then, clearing his throat, he speaks a little louder, with more suave confidence. "I'm sure it won't take much effort to touch a face like mine..." Slowly, he leans over on the bar towards her and one of his hands begins to slip underneath the bar...
     
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  18. Karl leapt from the Bank Van without any further ado, there was no use trying to hold onto. He looked back into the van and cocked his head. "Perhaps we could set up a little surprise on the back of the van door? Anyone with some C4 and the inclination to slow down our pursuers?" He remarked as he checked his weapons were intact.

    He thought to himself as he examined their course trying to decide on the best course of advance, they could head east, but surely Aleksandr had people in place to cut them off if they tried, on the 'flip' side they had enough firepower to flat out eliminate the opposition.

    Or they could break the north wall and head through before heading east, doing so would delay opposition, but make it clear which way they went.

    Or they could go west... which served little purpose but to delay supporting the people in the nightclub.

    "And I have an idea. We'll head east, but I suggest that we blow a hole in the north wall and make it look like we headed that way. But whatever we do, let's get it done quick." Karl said as he examined the van had come.
     
  19. Bank Truck
    After all that conversation with the name introduction and all, she'd figured she'd have some time to listen to some songs on her rather beat up player, painted red and yellow up to the still functioning earpieces. Mafuyu dared say her player right there had better sound quality than some of the newfangled stuff they were farting out these days.

    "Remember, we're here to strike a blow for the revolution, not cause a massacre. Try to avoid civilian casualties."
    She flashed a thumbs up at Erica. Killing normal people was a no go, and a no brainer as well. What they were after was simply the people behind all this, and stop oppression of the common folk and workers. Mafuyu didn't pay much attention when the van stopped however, there was plenty of traffic lights to stop at, and people crossing the streets. It was no surprise that she tumbled head first into the floor when the van suddenly moved, jamming itself into what seemed to be an alley, as bullets sprayed across the van's front.

    "What the fuck!?"

    "No choice. Everybody out into the alleyway, we need to blow a hole into one of the apartments and try to make our way on foot to the nightclub. Failing that, we'll need to find a way into the sewer system to get back home safely. C'mon kids! It's time for some fun, 'fer they blow up the truck you're sitting in with an RPG."

    Wasting no time, she followed after Karl, jumping off the van with her lmg out. Taking the safeties off, and hooking her trigger finger on the trigger guard, she looked around the area before speaking her mind for Karl's suggestion.

    "That sounds good. Anyone has the shaped charges we could use? If not, we'd better start climbing and save the noise for later."

    She jumped on the ladder and started climbing a little way up, as if to make her point, waiting for the others to move. If they so choose to destroy one of the walls and go through one of them, then Mafuyu would follow them. If not, she'd get a headstart on climbing the ladder.
     
  20. Nightclub

    She felt someone move up beside her and, from her peripheral vision, was able to make out a man gesturing for two drinks and sliding a wad of cash across the bar with all the grace and flourish of a magician. A man like that, fingernails clean as his, certainly wasn’t trying to pass off a fat stack of Washingtons for a cheap date… no, Els was almost certain she could make out a Jackson among the bills. She almost wondered about the mystery man until she picked up an aroma. Musky, yet fragrant, like someone had sprayed a whimsically spicy cologne after a rainstorm in a mossy clearing. Furrowing her brow, she searched to place a name to the face that suddenly came into her view. Tall, blonde, well-dressed, definitely a werebeast, might have been the rich snot who was letting them all run operations out of that nice, fancy mansion. Maurice. There it was. She blinked as he quickly and adeptly explained the course of action, his fingers dancing teasingly just below the bar, hardly even touching her knee.

    He surveyed her face with both smug interest and impatience as she gathered up everything she learned from high school drama. Breathe from the diaphragm. Don’t be afraid to use your hands to carry the actions of your face.

    Drawing up straight, she pretended to bristle at Maurice’s touch, thinking back on that bouncer’s rude intrusion earlier to inform that prickly feeling of shock and disgust that drained the color from her face and sent her rocketing up to her full height. Eyes narrowed into accusatory slits, she drew her hand back into an exaggerated fist before realizing that was falling back on an old habit. She shook her hand quickly, passing it off as a nervous tic before she brought her open palm hard and fast against his face, aiming for the jaw and knowing that was decidedly not where a lady usually flailed her hands when experiencing some unwanted male attention, but doing the best she could for her inner brawler. The resulting noise wasn’t a satisfying smack of the flesh-on-flesh variety, not like movie producers prided themselves on, but the rattling still resounded, likely to turn a few nearby heads. It was definitely enough to get the bartender’s attention and hopefully draw a crowd of security.

    Growling, Els glared at Maurice, indignation coloring her cheeks, “You keep your disgusting mitts off of me, fucker!” She raised her voice as her sentence came to its natural end, preferring to add loud venom than a line or two more. For good measure, she glanced at the two glasses of fine bourbon that the blond had summoned and she knocked one off the bar, pointing an accusatory finger back at the fellow lycanthrope, “Think I saw him slip something into my drink, too!” That, she practically yelled, allowing herself to get into the character. Dramatic, big fan of reality programming, regular at the shady manicure parlor that they passed three blocks back, away from the club. Glancing back at Maurice in case he had any pointers, she turned her attention to scan for anyone coming to drag them away as she stood carefully to avoid embedding any glass into her already uncomfortable shoes. Not wanting to fling herself onto him for an impromptu bar fight, she decided to use a napkin to angrily wipe off her clothes, having spilled more than a few drops of hard liquor on herself in the display.
     
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