What Mercs Do

July 03, 2015:

Armory, Sabretooth and Scandal Savage step up for a job.

British Embassy


NPCs: British Embassy's employees, Iranian Diplomat


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…


It seems to be a buzz as most of the embassy is on arms. One of the Iranian diplomats were visiting today and they needed to make sure everything was good and proper to not insult the man who visits. He had certain tastes; women had to be tall leggy and blond and in short professional skirts, yet their hair had to be tied up away from their shoulders so he could view their necks. The men need not speak to him nor the women need not to look, for the women who were employed at the embassy needed only to greet him and send him on his way. He didn't want to talk to a woman in power.

The men had to be clean cut and shaven, he needed to see their eyes so there had to be a type of pedigree for him to feast his gaze upon, for the Iranian diplomat hated to be offended, and he takes his offense a many different ways.

Much like a rockstar not wanting green M&M's to mix with the other colors, or having water bottles from certain parts of the world instead of Nestle, the diplomat was the target, the picture which shows up on Match.com gave Scandal a target to see.

Eagle One: Poked. (Creed)
Eagle Two: Poked. (Lunair)

The target and destination was set in the glorious part of New York that was now being cornered and cut off just because of the fact the diplomat hated people who were under him.

There were two objectives to this mission: Take the briefcase that the Diplomat was going to present to the British Embassy, and two, kill the Diplomat and his close, trusted advisors. This is a mission that required the most skill, and people who enjoyed the mess. Because it needed to get done by any means necessary and done on British soil.

*Does a Chipotle seem like an odd place to get together to plan a massacre and theft? Perhaps. But Creed was in the mood for burritos and they serve them in volume. Also, generic places are, in his opinion, almost always the best - people at high end restaurants or artisinal pubs pay attention to their customers, learning their quirks, that they might serve them better. Fast food employees tend to avoid eye contact and see you as just another generic schlub stuffing their face with empty calories.

Although it was hard not to notice Creed a little bit. It's the fangs. People notice the fangs.

He got there first, though, his feet kicked up. They were only a couple of blocks from the Embassy and in line of sight with the back entrance of the place, allowing for both scouting and maximum burrito opportunity. He has the foil peeled away from his, eating it like a candy bar - he ordered six, each of them the size of a large dachsund.

Sorting M&Ms is hardly unusual, right? Lunair likes to play with her candies, and all. She's alarmingly puppylike sometimes. And Lunair is duly contacted. She likes New York. It's vastly different from Gotham, where people in yellow spandex shorts wield katanas and there's even pigeon mafiosos. It's a place, alright. For now, she seems just fine with Chipotle. It's a lot safer than South Park makes it out to be, at least. Lunair is easy going. So burritos it is.

Plus, he might have fangs, but he's not sparkling or on fire, so Lunair just kind of - goes with that. There's some curiousity, and she'll arrive second. She only orders one burrito, and when she gets waved over or finds the table, she might be a little bit in awe of the Victor Creed Burrito Disposal Attack. Or something. That's pretty impressive, though.

New York, New York. Home of.. whatever. Despite the fact that the people were mean and as Erik said, smelled like pee, Scandal had a little penchant for tight and packed in places with a million of people to disappear into. The meeting was public sure, but as natural, Scandal knew the owner of the chosen Chipotle and managed to get all of her meals for free. She managed to get rid of the guy who attacked the managers daughter and the man was pleased with the results.

So once Scandal strolls in? The place was mostly vacated. It was the natural order of things; people recieved their food and left, and suddenly those who were eating with their friends or working on their laptops were convieniantly relocated. The manager gave them gift cards and three burritos to go because.. to them? He needed to clean the kitchen.


So as she sits down with the dufflebag in hand, one of the cashiers brings over a burrito that was piled high with rice and black beans, a diet soda to boot, and some weird vegan-ish type salad. Cool.

And she digs in. "Glad you two could make it." She mutters after a few bites. "Everyone read their dossiers?"
Victor Creed looks over briefly, his cat-slit eyes flickering slightly as he takes in the women who've joined him, a flare of his nostrils taking in their different scents, marking their armaments, their heartbeats. He takes another bite of a burrito, his loaded with several kinds of meat, along with jalapenos, rice and guacamole galore, "Yeah, yeah. I presume I'm here for the wetwork part. You want a thief, there's other names I c'n give ya - I don't mind stealin', but it ain't exactly my specialty. You want me, you get blood an' guts, just part o' the package deal," he says.

He tries not to makea face at the vegan salad. Food without meat wasn't food, far as he was concerned.

Huh. Lunair looks around. She seems a little surprised, but she goes with it. She doesn't press on it too much. There's a polite wave to Victor. She listens before she speaks, though Lunair doesn't really seem to show emotion unless actively thinking or working at it. It's not that she's super stoic. She's just massively undersocialized. She does manage to smile politely at Scandal in greeting, sipping her soda.

She nods. Lunair seems curious, and quietly concerned. "I suspect something like that isn't coming without a fight," She notes in a soft voice before taking a bite. It would have to be done carefully, at least. She doesn't seem ruffled by vegan salad. Some people just liked to imagine the plant life in terror. Or something. But she totally did read it, at least. Thievery and general - fightiness, it seems.

Burrito bitten, salad picked at and promptly eaten. Her green eyes dance up to meet the slitted cat eyes, and soon she turns to take Lunair in her sights. "If I can manage it, I was hoping I could get close enough to the brief case to slide it to Eagle Two." Lunair, of course. "Ideally, I don't want any of the British Embassy employees hurt, but we all know how that'll go." She continues eating afterwards, keeping a modicum of silence. For now.

Once the burrito was devoured and her diet soda sipped upon, she gives a brief nod to Lunair. "Yes. You're right. So you both need to bring your A game. Which leads us to this." She leans over, drawing the dufflebag closer, reaching into the side pockets to pull out two arm bands that fit upon the bicep. They were obviously HYDRA symbols. "Only for this job, only today. You two are HYDRA agents. Employers rules. Not mine." She hands it to both of them, then slides out of the booth, stealing two more bites of her salad. "We leave in ten."
Victor Creed wrinkles his nose as he looks a tthe symbol, "Really? HYDRA, huh? Buncha wannabe nazi-ass fuckers. Aint they usually busy gettin' bent over an' takin' it up the chute from Captain America or somethin'? Whatever…I ain't nobody's employee, but if they're payin', I'll wear their little badge," he says.

He shovels down the rest of his burritos and wipes his claws with a napkin, "You don't gotta worry 'bout givin' me a funky li'l codenae, though, doll. Ain't nobody gonna mistake me for anybody else once I start spreadin' guts around. I got what you might call a reputation."

Lunair looks to Scandal. "Okay," She nods quietly. "I can loan you something if you prefer to walk past sleeping people." Probably better than one of her sillier crowd control weapons. She takes another sip of her soda, looking thoughtful. Although, she freezes. And STARES at the symbol. There is no love lost apparently, for HYDRA. Actually, it's a bare hatred. The same sort of hatred a battered dog shows, when it's cornered, teeth bared and snarling to keep anything away. Lunair is not a HYDRA fan.

Her left eye tics a moment and she stifles it by biting into her burrito before responding. She takes the symbol quietly, deciding to resist the urge to bug out. For now. "A code name is fine, thank you." She seems less eager to be outed. She is more sneaky, it seems. And definitely not a fan of HYDRA.

Scandal notes this down in her little black mental book. "Alright then, Creed." She says blatantly, she knows his name of course, who wouldn't? He wasn't terribly hard to miss and he was hired for this job just because of his brutality. If she wanted to stop Creed? She possibly wouldn't. Did she want to? Nope!

Though, she does note Lunair's reaction; she wasn't one to share emotions but she'd do it now just for the job. Her hand reaches out to awkwardly rest upon Lunair's shoulder, nodding her head faintly. "Eagle Two.., it'll be alright. I can tell you dislike them, you have it written all over your face." Sort of. She noticed that tic. "Lets stick it to them and get this job done."

She spares no further words, drawing out of the booth to snag the duffle bag to head into the bathroom. Her change of dress was quick, dropping on a pair of business like attire and fixing a badge to her pocket to give the appearance of her actually being employed. Her hair was quickly drawn down, messed just a touch and fixed at certain points to give her a mop of a cut. Once she was out, she puts on a smile. "Creed, you hit the back entrance. Lunair the front. I'll be inside and running point. Once the action starts, radio silence. We meet two blocks from here. Got it?"
Creed just wears the HYDRA symbol as blatantly as he can, making an armband out of it. He strips off his jacket and leaves it hanging on the chair at the Chipotle - he'll be back for it and he can scent-track any bastard dumb enough to steal his property. It's too hot for it at the moment anyway. That leaves him in jeans and a wife-beater, as he reaches up and looses his hair, the dirty blonde falling down to his shoulders as he shakes it loose.

He walks the couple of blocks to the Embassy psyching himself up, feeling his blood start to rise as he gets ready to fight. He has no intention of playing nice or slipping in quietly. He's been hired to distract, attract attention and make a mess. The two men at the rear entrance see him coming and put up a hand, 'Stop there, chappie, I don't know what you're ab-GLURK!" he cries as Sabretooth casually lashes out and shreds his throat like pulled pork. Mmmmmm. Might go get some pulled pork after this…

Lunair straightens herself back out. "It's okay, thank you," She offers quietly to Scandal. She has one notable ability. She can make her own clothes at whim. That should make it easy to get in quietly. On goes the HYDRA symbol.

Before getting too close, her dress becomes that of a cleaner, a simple worker. She's just coming in. Her face is masked by headgarb. Probably for the heat and dealing with cleaning solutions, right? Right. She's immaculately polite, thoroughly unremarkable and could pull off being a movie extra. That blank face that one knows vaguely is there, but doesn't bother to learn the details. Anyone she gets too close might notice the dust sprinkled from her hand. Sleeping dust. She's preferring quiet, subtle. Why yes, that gentleman IS just taking a nap. No alarms raised. None yet. It's easy enough for her to make her way through the front. Who on a camera would see /dust/ after all?

No one. No one is going to see the dust. For Scandal was already inside, shaking hands and rubbing elbows with the 'betters'. "Emmanuelle Lopez. Yes. Why I do own shares in Apple!" Ha. Ha. Ha. All the while her eyes go to the unnoticed, the dust wasn't seen but the man was soon napping. Good. Everything was right on schedule.

The two men in the back were easily taken out by Creed, barely even making a death rattle as they slump to the ground, their bodies shredded, twitching, bleeding..

Four black SUV's pull up to the front, the street roped off and cleared for the entry. Crews of guards remain upon the perimeter as one opens the door to allow the Diplomat out onto the carpet. He takes a look around, seeing that everyones up to standards, then smiles and walks on in.

'Emmanuelle's' eyes are upon the door, watching as the diplomat enters, her head slowly turning as she disengages from the conversation, her hand pressed against the ear.

"Target is in. Radio silence."
Victor Creed barely even notices Scandal's words in his ear. He's entered a state of feral glee, a sort of savage ecstasy, something he only gets when he's had his leash pulled. There are many kinds of highs and this is Victor's favorite - uncontrolled, unrestrained slaughter. The power of holding another's life in your hands and ending it. The security squad is quickly getting drawn back towards him, scrambled cries over walkie talkies as he just starts killing whoever he finds.

Not just security either. He comes across a secretary, just carrying dictation for some sort of lower level diplomat. She barely gets a chance to scream, and then he's flinging her bloodied, ruined body at a pair of well-armed security men, making them scream as her head pops off on impact, rolling between their feet. They manage a few shots, the rapid-fire rat-a-tat of their weapons likely drawing some attention before it's silenced and followed with screams…and a rolling, bestial snarl that seems to carry through the pipes, through the vents…the growl of a predator on the loose.

Sleeping men are carefully arranged so they look natural. There's just a soft grunt in response to the radio silence. She is silent. She listens. While Lunair can be a feral, frenetic fighter, this is time for silent, sneaky mode. The submarine beneath the waters compared to Victor's rampaging frenzy of sharks in a beach full of tourists. Lunair creates a mop and bucket. She is just the cleaning lady scampering to be out of the way. No one seems to pay her much mind.

Who would? She'd likely be paid minimum wage, hustled out of the way during important occasions and called when some sort of bodily fluid gets spotted in the restroom or on the floor. People are remarkably callous and unthinking to those around them. And yet, it is the help who know the secrets and quietly turn daggers. Except for now, it is sleeping dust, gentle dreams and men shuffled out of the way. Perhaps they had too much afternoon tea. It was a slow day. Unremarkable, really. And that's just how she works. Alarmingly stealthy when she needs to be.

Victor had his own baddies to deal with, for once the gun fire started, everyone came into their own. Civilians and guards alike broke out into a fire, one man who attempted to flirt with 'Emmanuelle' drew her into a corner, and with a flick of her wrists? Her pesars were brandished and a row of three point holes were punched into his body from chest to groin. Yes. She went there. As the man screamed in terror she pushed him aside, allowing him to fall to the ground as she walks out into the open, pistols that were dropped from the fray soon drawn upright as she aims and plants three shots into the Diplomats body: One in the head, two in the chest. The last one? Right into his beating heart.

And his guards? They were on her as well, bullets soon flying, the briefcase kicked by one guard off to the side, lodging itself against a fallen chair and a shattered table. She couldn't worry about that now, it was total mayhem.

Eagle Two? You're up!
Victor Creed is laughing as he careens into a pack of six, although he's starting to weed his way through most of the security detail at this point. Even under teh circumstances, they hadn't expected much of a threat - America isn't exactly hostile territory for the British embassy. He spits a mouthful of blood in the face of a man who shoots him in the throat, exposing his crimson streaked fangs in rictus grin of terrifying proprotions, "Good shot, pally boy. Bet the devil makes you a sniper in hell," he snorts, driving his fist through the man's chest and punching his heart through his back.

He kicks open one more door and comes across Scandal finishing up with the diplomat's guards, casually walking up and raking one with his claws, a backsplash of spinal fluid running down his wrist as he looks up at the 'team leader', "Nice knives, girlie. Think I saw a pair like that once a long time ago…fella looked kinda like you, now that I think about it…"

Lunair doesn't stand out. Certainly not amidst the chaos. But she can head into a bathroom, to turn janitor's clothes into camouflage armor. The sort used by Laughing Octopus, that only gives away a soft shimmer when she moves. Certainly not too likely to be spotted amidst a fire fight. And this bird is quite prepared to make a briefcase disappear. Not literally, mind you. The suitcase will get snagged and Lunair is going to begin making her way out. Whether she camouflages or hides the briefcase in the custodian's cart, she seems to pick and choose, depending on what might look least fishy.

Really, a floating briefcase is going to look odd, so it's once she gets back into the bathroom, that the cleaning lady hears the chaos and bolts out, cart a rattlin'. Totally ordinary, face concealed by headgarb. Yup, Eagle Two and her cleaning supplies (with a briefcase stuck in them) are going, going and if no one goes after them, gone. Gone to take a looooooong loop around. She has the unenviable task of hunkering down with the precious briefcase until they can get back together. Making sure there's no tail, leaving only sleepers in her wake.

Lunair was probably the only lucky one to get out of this unscathed and not taking a life. Or not! For the guards out front give chase, only to catch up to her and be put to sleep in a heap. Damn. She was one crafty lady.

Creed and Savage were lucky as well, for once she was out of bullets she puts down the last two survivors with a few punches that were aimed to kill. It was a quick row; each organ was tapped by a pesar and bodies dropped to the ground in a heaping slump.

She lets her hair down just then, taking in a few breaths as she glances towards Victor, her eyes narrowing as she holds up a hand. "Do. Not. Mention. That. Man." She bends down, checking the lifeline of the man and then stands, her hand drawn to swipe her hair away from her face, smearing blood upon her forehead by accident. "I will punch you. Hard." That was really all she could do.

A third armband was produced from her pocket, tossed upon the body of the diplomat as she gestures towards him. "Out the back. Police should be here soon." No doubt they were called as soon as the fight broke out. "Eagle two should be gone already."

Victor Creed grins broadly, "See, when ya say it like that, it just tempts me. I like a woman ain't afraid t'punch me in the mouth. Long as she knows I punch back," he says with a grin. He casually makes his way towards the backdoor again, moving alongside Scandal as he makes his way along. "Guess I probably shouldn't stay around just to kill a few cops. I do like a bacon chaser after a good kill. Oh, well," he snorts, stepping over a few of the bodies on their way to the backdoor, until they're back out in the summer sun.

"Watch yer step. I made some puddles."

The armband might be briefly visible. It might also fall away as she flees the men going out the way. Oops~ Darn slippery HYDRA agents, right? Nevertheless, Lunair takes a long, winding path - stopping in behind a dumpster to shift her clothes to a business suit, so it doesn't look odd that she has a briefcase. And she takes a looping, winding path to watch for any tails.
Scandal is right, though. The bird is long gone. She will even wait for them politely, watching warily.

Scandal gives Victor a rather.. off putting look. "If that's your attempt at flirting, I'm not flattered." She steps out the backway, and actually does slip on a little bit of the blood, but that was alright. She should have expected it. "No, no cops. Wasn't part of the deal or else.." Hell, she'd be all for it. "Besides, they're an intricate part of the plan. This needs to be reported. Or so I'm told. Though there already is a man inside scrubbing the tapes. Let's get out of here."

It doesn't take them long to reach the rendezvous point, Scandal, on her way there, having cleaned up a little bit, the suit jacket tossed aside, her pesar's in full view. There was little to no small talk during their arrival, taking back ways, even drawing themselves upon the rooftop to get to the destination.

And there, they'll wait.
Victor Creed shrugs, "I ain't much of a flatterer, girl. You want yer ass kissed, I'm sure there's plenty o' spandex pussies'd line up for a shot at it, provided you could stomach their spineless bodies," he mutters. He's not particularly put out either way, though and, in fact, seems to be largely in relatively good humor. He had fun.

At the rendesvous point, he casually pulls off the armband, throwing it on the ground and shrugging as he gets to where they're going. He did stop at Chipotle to pick up his jacket - sorry, he's not leaving it -that- long, but he keeps it slung over his shoulder when he makes it there, "People do love playin' mindgames with each other. Long as I get paid to do their dirty work, though, fine by me.

Lunair misses the conversation, but she will eventually make her way to the appropriate rendezvous point. At least, once she's satisfied she has no tail. She's in a fully pressed, neat business suit. Doesn't look odd to have a briefcase in the slightest. Just goin' up to enjoy some fresh air. She glances over her shoulder, around her and above her before making her way up. Lookaround. Meet with the others. Ta da!

"Scandal Savage. Don't call me girl." She says pointedly, but the stop to Chipotle had her picking up another soda on her way out. Once they were at their point, she smiles just a touch as she sees that Lunair has made it out in one piece. Good. "We're clear?" She asks, just before she reaches out for the briefcase, not taking it, just waiting for her to hand it over.

"Day will go on as usual. Though I'm sure there will be a little upset overseas about what we've done here. Good job."
Victor Creed snorts, "Scandal, huh? I'll remember that. Feel free to call again, I had fun. You, too, 'Eagle'," he says, punching Lunair lightly in the arm, "Creed's fine fer me, although you can call me Sabretooth if yer feelin' all codenamey. I've always liked that one. It fits," he says, starting to stroll off once the festivities are finished, "I'll be checkin' my bank account fer that deposit. Tell our 'employers' I like it prompt - elsewise, it ain't that hard fer me to backtrack to where they live. An' that wouldn't be good fer their upholstery…be seein' ya, ladies."

Lunair will hand the brief case over and nod. "I took a long walk, just to make sure I had no tail," She offers quietly. Lunair smiles politely. She looks between Victor and Scandal. There's a quirked smile at the light punch to the arm. "I see. Thanks." She nods. "I um, have to change my codename. It's constantly getting mixed up. It's a bit awkward," She admits, rubbing the back of her head. "And cool." Sabretooths are pretty neat, right? "Be well." Pause. Right. Upholstery. New euphemism for THEIR ORGANS. Or something. Who knows? "See you both." Wavewave. She's a bit awkward.

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