Participants:
| Scene Title | Just the Way it Was |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Forced out of their home, Ethan and Raith take a look at the damage and encounter some old friends. |
| Date | January 21, 2011 |
I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain—and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light.
Steam flows out of his breath as he pulls away slightly from the scope. Lowering the rifle some, Holden lets one hand leave the weapon to touch gingerly at his ear. But something gives him pause, watching the Dispensary over the snowy landscape he smirks lightly over the rifle.
I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchmen on his beat. And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain
It's been a long night. And the sun is just now starting to rise, shedding little light on the situation. They had spent hours and hours watching the building. The two had taken turns patrolling the forest and woods. Without any activity all night, it might seem safe now to finally enter.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of ffeet. When far away an interrupted cry, Came over houses from another street;
Holden and Raith have been investigating the Dispensary and it's surrounding area for some time now. The hours of twilight drifting by with only the freezing air to remind them of the task at hand. Not so much as a bird flying to entertain the passing of time. With the first signs of light, Holden leans over to speak into his earpiece. "Enough light to see by inside. Let's stack up."
But not to call me back or say goodbye. And further still at an unearthly height. One luminary clock against the light.
When Holden says enough light, it's hard to understand what he means. Though light starts to shine the moon is still plainly visible. And as Holden gathers himself and his feet pound against the fresh powder towards the building, his eyes still search vigilantly across the landscape. Breath steady as he sprints, once reaching the building his back slapping silently next to the door as he holds his rifle up waiting for Raith.
Proclaimed the time neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night.
Ethan makes it across the ground to the dispensary. No shots ring out, and a moment after it seems like things are clear, Raith is up on his feet and pounding down the same path the other man took. 'Enough light' means 'enough light,' and that's all Raith needs to know. He's just as heavily armed, opting for a carbine with attached grenade launcher rather than scoped rifle. All the same, he hopes there's no trouble: With the dispensary compromised, ammunition is suddenly in short supply.
The ex-spy reaches the wall, his back slapping slightly against it next to Ethan, and an instant later, he circles about his partner and comes to rest against the wall on the opposite side of the door. What they're doing is probably stupid. It's almost certainly stupid. It's also exactly the sort of thing both of them have a habit of doing, although their last big escapade involved copious amounts of alcohol.
This one's a little more serious than vandalizing a Starbucks.
Glancing over to Raith, Ethan sinks down to a crouch. His free hand comes up to rest on the door, testing it. Still open. He gives a light nod, his black gloved hand quickly signalling that he will be going in first. The door swings open with a gut wrenchingly loud creak. Circling the door, Ethan's hands go to his weapon sweeping the room quickly. He enters in a crouch, allowing Raith to take the high road behind him.
"«Clear»"
It's almost whispered but loud enough to travel to Raith's earpiece. Stalking in deeper, he pauses in his assault. This is no Starbucks. And they can't steal any delicious caramel flavored drinks either. Slowly standing to his full height he looks over to the other man arching a brow, as if to ask him his preference on which direction Raith would like to take… Ethan's brows are very expressive.
'Clear' is about the best thing Raith's heard recently. When both weapons sweep across an empty room, that's even better. A preference for a direction to take, however, is trickier. First instinct is downstairs, to make sure all their weaponry is still there. That's also the most likely place to stage an ambush, and the most likely to have been trapped against trespassers. The basement will have to wait, and so will the top levels: Checking upstairs is a terrible idea until they know they have a way out that doesn't involve jumping.
The King of Swords nods his head towards the kitchen and dining room, not far away, and arranged just right to be quickly checked and cleared before they move on. Shouldering his weapon again, he presses on towards the entryway, wishing to all the universe that they had some proper night vision equipment. Stopping just outside and leaning against the wall, he waits for Ethan and then slips into the next room, sweeping the barrel of his carbine across…
…exactly what they had left behind. No gunfire is a good thing. A glance back to Ethan: Now what?
Ethan ducks past Raith, his rifle sweeping then.. pausing.
The barrel of the gun is dropped towards the ground as Ethan straightens up in the kitchen. His eyes tracing the far wall. Carved in large blocky letters.
EVERYONE YOU LOVE DIES
THEN YOU
Ethan takes a step to the counter, setting his rifle on top of it. "There's no one 'ere." He mutters. Tactically it's a glaringly retarded mistake to make. But tactics don't account for knowledge of the perpetrator. Ethan knows this one better than any. "Slippery cocksucker." Ethan growls to the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder to Feng. "Bet you 'e left everything just the way it fuckin' was. We should take what we can carry. Get back. Don't say anything else. 'e might 'ave it bugged."
Holden walks towards the wall where the message is left for him. "Probably not." He admits, staring at the message.
"I have a lot of fond memories of that wall," Raith mutters. Nothing to be done now. Taking a chance, he approaches Ethan and taps him on his shoulder to get his attention before falling back to hands signals: two fingers pointing at his eyes, and the one up at the ceiling. Two fingers at his eyes, and then one pointing at the floor. Two fingers at his eyes, and then one hand gripping the air and moving left to right, as if holding a steering wheel. Look upstairs, then look downstairs, then look at the truck. A vehicle would, naturally, make it easier to cart goods away from the building. And Ethan will know that Raith has seen enough of the inside and outside of the truck to know if any 'unauthorized' components have been added recently.
Finally, however, a shrug. Ultimately, Raith has only made a suggestion.
Ethan glances back at Raith distractedly. Placing his hand on his chest, he points down up at the ceiling. Then points to Raith and points down. Then a finger flicks back between the two of them before a thumb jerks outside. Ethan up, Raith down, then both of them out to the truck. Reclaiming his rifle, he gives a light nod, lowering it now more because that's what you're supposed to do rather than actual caution.
Dipping past Raith, Holden sets his course upwards to search the rooms of the former Remnant headquarters.
Splitting up works for Raith. Ethan slips up the stairs, and Raith slips down to the basement, slinging his rifle across his back and opting instead for a Glock and a flashlight. There might've been enough light to navigate upstairs, but below the ground is another matter entirely. The beam from the bundle of LEDs is almost blinding in the gloom, but does the job, showing Raith that everything is basically the way he remembers it. Except for some of the things he'd left out missing, or then maybe not?
No wires to trip on, no IR sensors activated when he sticks his hand in the room. Safe as it can be. Stepping inside the basement armory fully, Raith has almost the same feeling he did when one of his (late) contacts gave him a tip that led him to half of the weaponry now accounted for, when he'd found it waiting disused in a storage shed in Poughkeepsie, New York: Jackpot.
A door creaks as the barrel of Ethan's weapon creeps into Eileen's room. Her room first. Of course. The rifle sweeps the room as he creeps in, his eyes scanning. But his eyes fall on something in particular, causing him to set the rifle down on Eileen's bed. Taking a few steps across the floor towards the dresser. One black gloved hand reaches up to grip at the object lying atop of it.
Glaring darkly at it, his head tilts from one way to another. A gift. It had originally been a gift. Yet the gift was turned into something so sinister. This gift has most likely killed more people than many guns have. It's twirled once fluidly in his hand. How many lives have ended at the end of this object? Ethan's not sure, but he knows one more will soon be added to the total.
Wolf-head cane has been added to Ethan's inventory.
The relative silence of Eileen's room is by a sharp 'croak!' issuing from, appropriately enough, the very bed that Ethan had just placed his rifle on. Of course, there's no need to panic.
It's only Bran, feathers ruffled in a way that makes him look very put out about having been left alone in her room for two days with nothing for company other than the tiny, injured raccoon she'd brought home just days ago. Miraculously, that has survived as well, looking at the Wolf with eyes that are both afraid, and too weak to really care. Bran's display, however, does enough talking for both of them: You faggots left us.
His heart almost skips a beat. Almost. But the croak is quickly recognized. "Bran." Ethan lets out in deep recognition, he half turns with a light frown. Stretching his arm out. "Sorry old man." Holden lets out in a genuinely apologetic tone. "You know 'ow she can be. All flighty, forgetting important things." He crooks his arm, offfering Bran a space to land on. Looking down at the raccon, Holden's lip dips down. "Thomas.." The man sounds a little sad at the weak looking creature. Then a baleful look is cast to Bran. "Y'aven't been watchin' out for a damn thing." The Wolf growls. The cane is tucked into his belt, as he dips down slightly to reach in and gingerly scoop up the raccoon. "Let's get th'fuck out've 'ere boys."
Bran leaps up to Ethan's shoulder when the man prepares to leave. He has no reason to stay in this room any longer than necessary.
Downstairs, Raith has already moved what he deemed most important up the stairs- Several boxes of rifle and pistol ammunition, and some fragmentation hand and percussion grenades- and without waiting for Ethan, has already moved on to the garage. There were no thumps or explosions or gunfire or yells, so he assumes Ethan must be fine. The truck seems fine as well, although that's based just on looking at it. When Ethan makes his way back down the stairs, he will doubtlessly hear the sorts of clangs that one might associate with a mechanic tapping on different parts of an engine to find what needs repaired. For all he knows, that's exactly what Raith is in the process of doing.