Irene Adler (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thedominatrix) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
multiversallogs2012-05-26 01:32 am
thedominatrix) wrote in multiversallogs2012-05-26 01:32 am
Entry tags:
→ bang bang that awful sound
Who: Irene Adler & Stephanie Brown.
What: Irene and Steph hunt the same prey for different reasons.
Where: Murkside.
When: Backdated by a few days; Coardi, 23rd Ceidary.
Warnings: Violence, gangs, gore, hostage situation, mention of torture, language, possibly more TBA;
Tonight, in this cramped and humid Murkside bar named the Nine Hostages, there is going to be a fight. Still, that’s what the Tuatha are good at. They’re up-and-coming, present in the faintest whispers of brutalities; a Sharp supposedly found dead with T carved into his back but no one can prove anything and the Sharps are saying nothing, a man who won’t open his mouth who everybody knows got a little too chatty and ended up lacking a tongue…there’s even a rumour about them which would sound like Cenel does the Militia’s dirty work for the sake of a blind eye being turned if anyone dared spread it (don’t tell anyone I told you- in fact just don’t tell anyone at all, please).
The tension in the Nine Hostages is metallic in the air, copper on Irene’s tongue- she’s here for the excitement as much as she’s here to further her own interests, or as her 'true story' goes, here on the arm of a man named Ollav of some standing in the Tuatha. While he’s left her briefly to converse with another member in low, tense mutters, she’s marked out her own space in this crowded, noisy establishment, prim and pretty and blood red, attracting stares which she meets unblinkingly until the various other parties break her gaze nervously. She’s uncanny like this; wide-eyed and watching, something hungry wearing a socialite’s skin, so much so that for all her ladylike appearance she fits in here. She puts her hands on her hips, lifts her chin, and for a moment her eyes meet those of Cenel, the Tuatha’s leader, a self-styled king- who looks away, looks to Ollav, looks off to nothing with his jaw set. Yes; there’s going to be a fight tonight, and Irene can’t wait.
Except then Cenel nods at someone behind her. Then there is the cold point of a knife between her bare shoulderblades and everything seems very quiet suddenly but really, perhaps it’s not, perhaps her heart’s just suddenly louder than everything because perhaps she’s going to die.
Irene didn’t actually plan for the evening to go this way, but who does? It just happens- especially to her, she finds, although that makes it sound like bad luck rather than a direct consequence of her own knack for…adventure.
She came here to meddle, after all. Isn’t that what she’s always doing? She’s got this thing about situations like this- explosive ones- like a shark with blood in the water. And the Tuatha are nothing if not bloody- even amongst themselves. Irene can smell a power struggle, worked it out quickly from the rumours and the scraps of information Ollav has let slip to her, but mostly from the way Cenel keeps looking over his shoulder to see if Ollav’s stabbed him in the back yet. But the Tuatha have a loyalty which Irene finds frankly bewildering; Ollav has a lot of support, but Cenel’s their leader, which for some reason people seem to think is more important than being good at the job, or so Irene would rather prissily put it. The coup, when it happens, will be bloody, a question of nothing more than who has the most friends here and how many weapons did they bring. And that’s the only reason Ollav hasn’t made his move yet.
Well, that and Irene pointing out that he really ought to choose his moment carefully- darling.
Her friendship- here to be uttered in that particular tone of voice reserved for a certain type of friend, the type that pay in one way or another- with Ollav had started as so many of hers do, with a drink in the Vault which led to various other things in the Vault. She knew within moments of meeting him that he was in the Tuatha- there’s no mistaking the look, and a lot of them like the Vault. They fit in well there, melodramatic and predatory as they are. They have a common bloodthirstiness which Irene rather likes; Ollav in particular is a little wild, a little off, with worlds of ambition and desire held deep down inside of him, a kaleidoscope of ideas and wants which come spilling out into words and actions, larger than life, uncontrolled. He rants and he raves and gives the impression of being born for something outside of normal life; he’s the sort of man the Tuatha adore. A poet, really.
He’s going to be very successful. Or so Irene thinks. So Irene hopes. Because if he’s not...
Well. There’s the blade of a knife at her back and she raises her hands gracefully, like she’s dancing not surrendering, her eyes suddenly wide and snapping to Ollav in what is not so much a plea for help as a demand for action. It’s fine, it’s fine, they can play this off- this isn’t how she expected this to go but they can play this off--
no subject
Irene, deep down, is terrifyingly, painfully practical.
She hangs on tight, fingers digging into Steph's sides-- and from a few streets away, there is shouting. Of course, that's common in the Spatters- a lonely grey silence interrupted by sudden staccato bursts of violent noise- but then there's the rattling of horses' hooves and carriage wheels and two horses bolt out of a side alley and narrowly miss them, empty carriage rattling over cobblestones behind them, the doors swinging and banging- the same Black Maria style carriage they were locked into, now without driver as well as without prisoners, the horses evidently spooked by something in the direction they came from. Irene grips momentarily tighter, but her voice is very calm when she says; "You see? They make noise. Now leave me here and do what you're good at."
Go into the line of fire? No thank you. Irene will stay a few streets away, dawdling idly and checking her watch- while the chaos resolves itself a little way away. The Tuatha never got to their intended destination- they're fighting out on the streets, two factions more or less evenly matched, blood on the stones.
no subject
"Don't break it," Meaning the bike, but really, it could apply to everything that Irene touches. There's a moment where Steph wavers on the spot, then she looks at Irene, "I've got a flare on me, if you see it go up, you run." Just in case things go wrong, but she doesn't wait to see how Irene might react to that command, just turns and starts running the direction of the noise.
The scene she's confronted with is a mess; a few carriages are over turned, one is in on fire, as are a few corpes on the ground, the flames slowly puttering out. Ollav sees her at the same time she spots him and there's a moment of tension as they measure each other up. It's broken when a woman lunges at Ollav with a large knife. Before the contending leader has even raised a hand in defence, Steph has a drawn a throwing knife and let it fly, the sharp point sinking into the arm of the attacker; she drops the knife and Ollav finishes her off with a kick to the head.
It's both easier and harder after that. Ollav lets the rest of his people know that she's on their side, and Steph does her best to differentiate the two factions. The only time she doesn't care about sides is when she comes across the man who 'searched' her -- she breaks both his arms and leaves him screaming on the ground. But mostly she just sticks close to Ollav, knowing that keeping him alive is their best hope of getting out of this mess. One of his people throws a comment her way, about the fact she leaves their enemies breathing and she tries not to let it affect her.
Killing is easier than she thought. That doesn't mean she'll kill for these people - it's bad enough to know that by helping some of the Tuatha she is, in a way, helping the militia, she doesn't need more deaths on her conscience. (She knows most of the people she takes down will end up dead anyway, but sometimes guilt doesn't make sense).
There's no way for her to keep track of time, but it must be at least twenty minutes before the fight starts to turn in favour of Ollav's people. Her presence is responsible, even some of the tougher members of the gang don't stand a chance against all her training. Cenel is harder to take down, but he goes, finally, and then the few of his men who remain standing surrender.
The skirmish ends how it started for Steph; a shared look with Ollav, neither of them quite sure how to deal with each other now that the fighting is over. The only difference is that now, Steph is splattered with blood.
no subject
Irene's voice rings out across the chaos, her entrance perfect- of course. She looks perfect; she looks vicious.
During the fight she scaled a rather precarious-looking building for safety and also, perversely, a good view- but what do you expect from a woman who frequents the Arena and hopes for as much bloodshed as possible? The lines between games and reality have always blurred for Irene; what she does has always been wrong and she knows it, but she also knows that's just so exciting.
So: she had hidden, waited, timed her entrance as best as she could- she actually left her hiding place a little too early and had to hurl herself out of the way of a knife and flatten herself against the wall but now she looks like none of that's happened, like she put no work into appearing at precisely the right time, like that's just who she is.
"'The king is dead, long live the king', isn't that it?"
They've lost numbers. That's dangerous- but people who started on Cenel's side have moved over in the course of the fight, and Steph's disinclination to kill might just work in Irene's favour. Some of these men might be persuaded to come 'round. When they've stopped bleeding everywhere.
And there's a ragged laugh-cheer-mutter of consent, a wild kind of thrill that runs through the people left standing, half we won and half just we survived, and Ollav is watching Irene now, not Steph, a grin on his face.
She lets him grab her and kiss her, lets him have his alpha male moment; there's blood on his hands, but her dress was red anyway.
And after, she looks around- "I'll need my things," she murmurs to him, "and I've got to go- you've got a regime to start, darling, but-" The rest is lost, her mouth at his ear, whispering. He murmurs something back and she replies, "You're so good to me," with a laugh, hard to tell whether she's being adoring or wry. And then she rifles through Cenel's pockets where his body lies, completely calmly, pulling out her and Steph's respective CiDs and her phone, and glances over at Steph. A single moment of eye contact.
Not bad.
no subject
She doesn't know how Irene can stand any of this. She doubts the other woman is here for the same reason Steph is; although she doesn't know what exactly Irene's motivation are. But, still. It would make her skin crawl, if she was in the same position Irene is in right now, having to get so close to someone who probably kills for fun.
When Irene goes to the body, Steph tenses even more in anticipation of someone trying to stop here. But they don't, Irene has their CiDs, and then she's looking up and making eye contact so Steph just - shuts her eyes for a second, before reopening them and walking away. She's still on edge, still full of adrenalin that she focuses on blocking out the rest of the world.
Most of the Tuatha are giving their attention to Ollav, but a few of them stare at her as she walks past, one even tries to say something to her. None of them get a response. Irene will follow, but Steph won't look at her, won't talk to her or even seen like she expects her to follow. She walks back to her bike like there's no one else around.
no subject
It's a few moments before Irene's heels sound on the pavement. Her phone and CiD have vanished onto her person; Steph's is in her hand.
She feels amazing, like everything she does echoes- the pleasure of building a domino run and the pleasure of knocking the first one down, seeing them ripple onwards and outwards, the silence after they stop. The thing is that it doesn't matter what happens, really- the dominos, the people, the knives, the blood, the gangs, the petty little territory squabbles, the drug deals and the murders and the nasty, sleazy little corruptions that bloom all over this city like weeds poking through the gaps between paving stones, bright shots of colour in grey. That's all just detail.
What matters is making it happen.
But that's for later. Now, she needs to pretend.
"Thank you," she says, quietly and calmly. She holds out Steph's CiD, keeps eye contact with her steadily; her hand doesn't shake. She's not smiling, not frowning, not tired but suddenly human- it's something in the way she holds herself, maybe, but for a moment she seems to belong to the real world, un-posed and un-performing.
It's the most acting she's done all night.
no subject
The CiD goes into one of the pouches on her belt. It feels like something snapping - mission completed and all that - and she deflates, pushing her hand through... the wig she never took off. She's surprised it didn't fall off in the fight, but spirit gum is apparently good for something aside from holding domino masks on. This keeps her real identity at least a little bit safe.
"Right," Her gaze flits back up to Irene and she lets out a breath to try to regain some composure, "I guess you'll want a ride back to civilisation?"
The humour is forced, but it's a coping strategy that she's had since she was two years old, and it's served her well so far. Right now, a part of it is motivated by the fact she doesn't want to let Irene see how deeply she's shaken by this.