03-03-2014, 08:28 PM
The documents arrived in his wallet more quickly than Nicholas expected. The message laid across them, however, wasn't a surprise at all. "You owe me." He leaned against a wall to watch the proceedings as he scanned a fingerprint onto each document. You couldn't do them all at once; the tiny differences with each finger press were what made the system work. Otherwise somebody would just have to copy a print once. It took a few minutes for them all to be taken care of; most of the forms were standard. Shit,
he thought, only twenty thousand?
Either the Legion was having a clearance sale or he might just want to buy his own private army.
That done, he swiped a quick message back to Reed alongside the fingerprinted files. "You know, I never did give you permission to access my accounts."
Just because he wasn't surprised didn't mean she was supposed to do it. He wasn't just being petty for the hell of it, was he? Of course not. He'd put all his emotions in that box earlier.
People kept stringing into the square, both spectators and participators. The cameraman was no longer struggling, and some in the knot of men around the reporter were hefting some pretty big rocks. The power still surged through him, sweeter than heaven and hotter than--damn, that's an old song.
He almost chuckled at the thought. Then he looked back at the mob brutally beating a man and preparing to stone a woman, and felt like kind of a jerk.
The roar of the mob had long since lost meaning and faded from notice like the whir of an old air conditioning system. So when those angry roars broke into screeches of fear, the contrast was deafening. SUVs with practically ancient sonic weapons mounted on top were pushing through the crowd, which had swollen into the hundreds. In seconds they were at the center.
A black man wearing a military uniform was first to hop out of the car. He raised a weapon that looked like an old timey laser gun, complete with an oversized antenna sticking out the front. Regardless of its appearance, it was effective. The men beating the cameraman fell to the ground, spewing the contents of their stomachs onto the floor. Nicholas felt a little green himself, watching that.
In less than a minute they had the two unfortunate westerners in relative safety--relative because being surrounded by friendly men with guns was better in the face of an angry mob than not being surrounded by friendly men with guns. Then the shock wore off. The shouts of surprise turned back into roars of rage, and Nicholas got the sinking feeling that the Legion's apparently audacious, brilliant maneuver was turning into an audacious, stupid mistake.
Wait a...
That feeling of dread, he knew it. It was like what rolled off Jon, Dane and Nikolai Brandon when they seized the power--but the weakest he'd ever felt. Like he was stuck in a prison cell with a large man named Tiny. He looked away from the scene rapidly unfolding in the center of the square. If one of these crazies were capable of using magic, things could get very bad very quickly. And not in a Nicholas Trano Pays Mercenaries to Slaughter Innocent Saudis kind of way. He shivered; that wasn't a headline he wanted to see either.
He looked out over the crowd, hoping to pick out the man or woman using it and judge their intentions. Strange, now that he thought about it, everybody he'd seen using the power had been a man. It's not like women would do it differently,
he thought. That would be stupid.
It barely took a few seconds to spot the man. Red and green threads were being tied together into something... well, he wasn't any expert but what the guy was doing didn't look good. It almost looked like he was trying to make a--"Son of a bitch he's making a fireball."
He didn't realize he said those words out loud as the miniature sun--actually, at that distance it was a bit bigger than the sun--streaked through the air.
He only had a few seconds to destroy it before one of the SUVs--and anybody inside of it--was melted like a candy bar left in the sun. The silvery threads would be useless, and you don't fight fire with fire. That left earth, air and water. He was lucky he had instinct to carry him, because without it he wouldn't have figured out what to do until after everyone he cared about was dead.
Before he knew what he was doing, a cyclone of air and water filtered out the flames, winking them out of existence in an instant. Which left him in the unenviable position of being a magical terrorist's target. That position became a bit more unenviable as another fireball quickly arced through the air at him. A couple more were sent with the same result before the bastard realized nothing was happening.
By that point, the crowd realized that even in the holiest of cities, fireballs don't tend to fly at passing infidels. The angry roar once again faded to screams of fear, and people began running from the square. It was turning into a full on stampede, and Nicholas did not envy the ones who fell. Doubly so when weaves of air began thunking into the walls of the building he was standing against, and occasionally into people. He knocked a few away before realizing it wasn't any use; the inaccuracy implied they were shots in the dark.
Rather than give away his exact position, he joined the crowd running from the square. A few dozen frantic steps and his theory was proven correct: the man kept firing at the same place. Now that Nicholas was no longer looking at the threads straight on, it was easy to see exactly where his assailant was standing. It was an old man, with a beard nearly gone white as snow. Bit of a Bin Laden type.
The bastard didn't see it coming when the bludgeon of hardened air smacked into his skull. Nicholas turned back to the SUVs. Reed would probably be cross with him if he didn't show up. He didn't spare a glance for the man who tried to kill him; he'd wake up in a few hours with a hell of a concussion or be trampled by the stampede he created. He wished he could do something to help the rest of them, but anything more than he'd already done would be moronic.
By the time he forced himself through the crowd, the square was empty but for the wounded. Danjou was easy to pick out. Only one who wasn't born and bred African. They must have stayed because of the link with Reed's wallet--it didn't do to leave the man paying you in hostile territory.
"Thanks for showing up when you did,"
his smile sincere. "Best twenty thousand I ever spent."
He could ask them about what must have been their incredibly fancy fireball-stopping automated defense systems later.
Edited by Nick Trano, Mar 3 2014, 09:30 PM.
he thought, only twenty thousand?
Either the Legion was having a clearance sale or he might just want to buy his own private army.
That done, he swiped a quick message back to Reed alongside the fingerprinted files. "You know, I never did give you permission to access my accounts."
Just because he wasn't surprised didn't mean she was supposed to do it. He wasn't just being petty for the hell of it, was he? Of course not. He'd put all his emotions in that box earlier.
People kept stringing into the square, both spectators and participators. The cameraman was no longer struggling, and some in the knot of men around the reporter were hefting some pretty big rocks. The power still surged through him, sweeter than heaven and hotter than--damn, that's an old song.
He almost chuckled at the thought. Then he looked back at the mob brutally beating a man and preparing to stone a woman, and felt like kind of a jerk.
The roar of the mob had long since lost meaning and faded from notice like the whir of an old air conditioning system. So when those angry roars broke into screeches of fear, the contrast was deafening. SUVs with practically ancient sonic weapons mounted on top were pushing through the crowd, which had swollen into the hundreds. In seconds they were at the center.
A black man wearing a military uniform was first to hop out of the car. He raised a weapon that looked like an old timey laser gun, complete with an oversized antenna sticking out the front. Regardless of its appearance, it was effective. The men beating the cameraman fell to the ground, spewing the contents of their stomachs onto the floor. Nicholas felt a little green himself, watching that.
In less than a minute they had the two unfortunate westerners in relative safety--relative because being surrounded by friendly men with guns was better in the face of an angry mob than not being surrounded by friendly men with guns. Then the shock wore off. The shouts of surprise turned back into roars of rage, and Nicholas got the sinking feeling that the Legion's apparently audacious, brilliant maneuver was turning into an audacious, stupid mistake.
Wait a...
That feeling of dread, he knew it. It was like what rolled off Jon, Dane and Nikolai Brandon when they seized the power--but the weakest he'd ever felt. Like he was stuck in a prison cell with a large man named Tiny. He looked away from the scene rapidly unfolding in the center of the square. If one of these crazies were capable of using magic, things could get very bad very quickly. And not in a Nicholas Trano Pays Mercenaries to Slaughter Innocent Saudis kind of way. He shivered; that wasn't a headline he wanted to see either.
He looked out over the crowd, hoping to pick out the man or woman using it and judge their intentions. Strange, now that he thought about it, everybody he'd seen using the power had been a man. It's not like women would do it differently,
he thought. That would be stupid.
It barely took a few seconds to spot the man. Red and green threads were being tied together into something... well, he wasn't any expert but what the guy was doing didn't look good. It almost looked like he was trying to make a--"Son of a bitch he's making a fireball."
He didn't realize he said those words out loud as the miniature sun--actually, at that distance it was a bit bigger than the sun--streaked through the air.
He only had a few seconds to destroy it before one of the SUVs--and anybody inside of it--was melted like a candy bar left in the sun. The silvery threads would be useless, and you don't fight fire with fire. That left earth, air and water. He was lucky he had instinct to carry him, because without it he wouldn't have figured out what to do until after everyone he cared about was dead.
Before he knew what he was doing, a cyclone of air and water filtered out the flames, winking them out of existence in an instant. Which left him in the unenviable position of being a magical terrorist's target. That position became a bit more unenviable as another fireball quickly arced through the air at him. A couple more were sent with the same result before the bastard realized nothing was happening.
By that point, the crowd realized that even in the holiest of cities, fireballs don't tend to fly at passing infidels. The angry roar once again faded to screams of fear, and people began running from the square. It was turning into a full on stampede, and Nicholas did not envy the ones who fell. Doubly so when weaves of air began thunking into the walls of the building he was standing against, and occasionally into people. He knocked a few away before realizing it wasn't any use; the inaccuracy implied they were shots in the dark.
Rather than give away his exact position, he joined the crowd running from the square. A few dozen frantic steps and his theory was proven correct: the man kept firing at the same place. Now that Nicholas was no longer looking at the threads straight on, it was easy to see exactly where his assailant was standing. It was an old man, with a beard nearly gone white as snow. Bit of a Bin Laden type.
The bastard didn't see it coming when the bludgeon of hardened air smacked into his skull. Nicholas turned back to the SUVs. Reed would probably be cross with him if he didn't show up. He didn't spare a glance for the man who tried to kill him; he'd wake up in a few hours with a hell of a concussion or be trampled by the stampede he created. He wished he could do something to help the rest of them, but anything more than he'd already done would be moronic.
By the time he forced himself through the crowd, the square was empty but for the wounded. Danjou was easy to pick out. Only one who wasn't born and bred African. They must have stayed because of the link with Reed's wallet--it didn't do to leave the man paying you in hostile territory.
"Thanks for showing up when you did,"
his smile sincere. "Best twenty thousand I ever spent."
He could ask them about what must have been their incredibly fancy fireball-stopping automated defense systems later.
Edited by Nick Trano, Mar 3 2014, 09:30 PM.