you magnificent fuck up (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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multiversallogs2012-02-22 02:05 pm
apostatised) wrote in multiversallogs2012-02-22 02:05 pm
Entry tags:
i believe most people are inherently good;
Who: MARTEL, Stephanie Brown, Hellsing employees, semi-open.
What: Candlelighters in the library, and Integra slipped Martel’s leash.
Where: The Blessed St Brian; Hellsing Guild Hall.
When: The day after Integra's announcement.
Notes: Library patrons are free to talk amongst themselves in reaction, if they so desire.
Warnings: Violence.
Academic politics aside (Martel is well aware of the fact his colleagues aren't above aiming him at some of the professors like a guided missile) and the periodic mishaps in the high security ward sections, working at the St Brian tends to be more low-key than Hellsing's training grounds. It's a library. Quiet goes with the territory, and all the moreso when considered in comparison to that which he's accustomed to. There are days he finds he prefers this, taking his piece of the scholarly life on his own terms, avoiding the trappings of the faculty. There are days the quiet is a saving grace in this afterlife which isn’t, when he finds himself soothed by the familiarity of intellectual pursuits and the incongruous stillness he’ll never quite be accustomed to.
Today is not one of those days. Today is one of the other days, where the ticking of the clocks strikes too loud against his sternum, where the stillness feels sluggish and grates on him, where he feels like a dulled knife left too long in its sheath, rusted and forgotten and rendered obsolete. A restlessness builds into irritation-- so he’s already in a fantastic mood when he discovers the tampering. He almost misses it - nothing seems changed, at first glance - but for the unfamiliar magical signature that shouldn’t be there. By the time he’s taken a close enough look to realize what it means, he’s already moving, reflex action, catching Steph by the shoulder: “We have a small problem. Make sure the library’s exits are closed. Do not alarm anyone.”
It’s authoritative in the manner of habitual command, and it is so easy to slide back into that; so easy because he was so fucking good at it, and so accustomed to being obeyed that he doesn’t so much as break stride to ensure she’s doing as she’s told. If she’s not, she’s fired, so there’s that.
Seeking out the other mind in the library is a risky maneuver, he’s aware; there’s always the possibility of being recognized and tracked, the possibility that the operative is anticipating this precise move and prepared to entrap him, the possibility of a hundred thousand other things he can’t prepare for because the possibilities in Baedal are infuriatingly infinite. More pressing, though, is the awareness that the options are ‘capture or kill’, not ‘capture, kill or embarrassingly balls it and let the bastard slip through your fingers’. He only has so long until they realize he’s boxing them in, and hostaging the entire library and combing through them one by one is not an option for any number of reasons.
Got you, he thinks, when he touches the edges of something that matches the books under his arm-- finds him, withdraws without leaving an impression. He’s at a table on the other side of the library, killing time (waiting? for someone else-- no, clock-watching, up to something? he’ll explain himself to Hellsing--), unaware of the doors being locked, the vents being checked securely, and Martel stalking him like prey.
The most efficient thing to do would be to come from behind, disable him, and remove him from the building.
Martel, who has had a long goddamn day and would quite like to see the little bastard run, drawls out in the most bland way, “I believe you mislaid these.”
The first blow catches him in motion, propels him bodily into the hard wooden end of the nearest stack; Martel is considerate enough to his workplace to ensure he only hits wood and doesn’t keep tumbling down the aisle where he might overturn books. Knocking the man’s feet out from underneath him, it isn’t necessary to slam into his chest when he kneels down, braced hard and smiling through his teeth at the familiar sound and feel of ribs cracking beneath his knee, pressure easing just before he’d have gone straight into a lung.
(It takes practise, that kind of fine control-- but he’s irritated and on edge and he doesn’t pull it quite fast enough. Internal bleeding is going to be a real bitch.)
His hands free for the moment, he produces the badge he keeps on him in case of such emergencies and flashes it, obligingly. “You are being taken into Hellsing custody for terrorist action. This show of courtesy is for the benefit of our concerned onlookers, and not, I am afraid, indicative of any mercy on my part. Do bear that in mind.”
When he forces him back, Martel’s expecting it, rolls with the motion and regains his feet at speed; the locked door (good girl) does half the job for him, but he catches the back of his neck and shoves him forward into it regardless, achieving an ugly (and probably dangerous) head injury and the sweet, temporary release of unconsciousness.
“Stephanie,” he says, conversationally, as he unlocks the door with his free hand, “have someone clean that up. Forward any inquiries from the library to Hellsing; I’ll be in Sobek Croix for the rest of the evening.”
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She figures it can't hurt to share that information, Martel did flash his badge after all.
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He'd been curious about what the man had done, why he was being taken away, but if Stephanie didn't know, she didn't know, and he certainly didn't blame her for cooperating. He'd have likely done the same, figuring it would be easier to sort things out after than demand answers in the heat of the moment, and not wanting to get in trouble with any branch of the law in this place.
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Steph likes to think the library is a safe place, but it's also a public place, and anyone could be around and listening. It's important that she keeps a low profile after her run in with the militia, and she wants to head Jay off before he says anything potentially dangerous.
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"I know. I'm just overstating mundane stuff, like locking the keys in the car," he lied, a lie hinted at by the fact that he did not have a car.
He figured she realized he meant more along the lines of the sort of things that were on the CiDs as of late, barring the latest one that, despite the murder, actually bothered him less than some of the others, but it was best to seem like he was overdramatic than draw the attention of the militia, if even a comment like the one he'd made before was treading into dangerous territory.
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It's plausible enough for Jay, who's a little older than her, to have a car in Baedal, but it's unlikely that someone like Steph would be able to afford one. It's a lie anyway, she never really drove back home. She only got her license because Tim let her learn with his car.
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Anything being something along the lines of damage control with the other patrons, but even though anyone spying surely wouldn't expect him to not know about something that just happened, he suspected from her earlier warning look that it was probably best to act less concerned about events that he saw than he actually was.
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"I can do those for you though, if you want?" She holds her hand out for the books, to save Jay having to wait in a line. This is probably a slight abuse of powers, but Steph isn't botehred.
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Baedal is weird.
With the books scanned, Steph hands them back to Jay with a smile, "If I hear anything from Martel, I'll let you know." This is... possibly not true, she'll decide whether to pass on the information depending on what exactly that information is.
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With a quick smile and wave, he headed out.