Description: Amy Johnson and Nicholas Marivel have come to an understanding with one another about the ills of the faith, of better things they can direct their very efforts to - and in doing so, have chosen to wage a crusade in one of the ritziest Roman Catholic churches to denounce their perversion in what is not crime, but ascension. When things get bad, District 8's Sorsha Carcetti and Miranda Jimenez are called to put a stop to them - but what they find will only be the tip of the iceberg.
Myriad are the sins of man, running the full spectrum of form and tone. But nowhere is the corruption of the species more inherent than within the sanctum of those who claim to spearhead an ascension; who purport to anoint the blessed, to cleanse and ready their fellows for the very heavens. It begs the question, how can those with such power be pure and just? An indulgent layer of riches pads the coffers of the so-called righteous, their lifestyle subsumed in the rigours of caviar and champagne. What can they know of suffering, of healing those that suffer? Hypocrisy is steeped into the very strata of religion, and must be removed.
"Through the fire and the flame, we shall forge our path."
Gold-flecked eyes of stormy blue stare upward at the gray skies of Metro City, at a cracked ravine within the haze, desperate rays of sun breaking through to cast the raven-haired woman and her nearby companion in a faint glow. They stand as beacons amidst the grit and grime of the sprawling metropolis; and even here, in the realm of the privileged, that taint is ever-present. Here lie the worst offenders of mankind's inherent self-destruction, esconced in palaces of stalwart brick and polished glass.
A lingering moment after Amy Johnson speaks her intent, her gaze shifts to the form of Nicholas Marivel. Her lips are gently parted as she breathes steadily, allowing the import of her own words to sink within her breast. She has until now strode through the world intent upon a singular, vague goal; the location of the Grail, the key to retribution and ultimate peace. Or so she has long been led to believe. And now there is so much more - there is an enemy without that must be confronted as parcel and part of this self-same quest. The nature of today's task holds great import in her heart, for here it is that she will cross the line between seeker and crusader...
"I'm ready."
Her lips pull into a smile as she speaks, the soft upward cant of her chin carrying a pride and resolve that she will sorely need. Seconds later, her step is carrying her forward, across the street toward the lurking fortress before them. Opulent stained glass glitters in the stray sunshine, vast oaken doors await the outward swing of hinges as Amy's calloused palm brushes forward with slow, deliberate insistence to open the portal.
From within, the dying strains of a fine organ played by masterful, if flawed hands emit their last. Beyond the threshold a thousand deemed believers sit in wait for the words of a prophet who speaks his words from a pulpit funded on the dreams and hopes of lost generations. Of generations yet to /be/ lost. Stormy eyes harden as they settle upon the sight, two throats clear in tandem - the priest and the Templar both ready to speak. It is his word that fails, as the heavy doors slam wide, shocking the congregation into panicked murmur.
"Should a single word pass from your throat..."
The woman's voice carries with bold volume, echoing off the eaves and pillars. She speaks to the Father himself, intent upon his stammering form as he looks wildly around with the desperation of one whose control has been seized.
"You will be silenced! These people do not need further lies. They are corrupt enough - they will listen now, and be saved by those who bring them truth and light, not the false salvation of the self-absorbed!"
The line has been crossed. It is too late to turn back.
"There is no greater moment to be ready than now, my lady," comes the voice of her companion and fellow seeker - no, crusader, as was just highlighted in writing - in Nicholas, a man whose face is much too peaceful for what they are about to embark upon. A rapier stays at his side, though undrawn - it seems to speak almost contradictory to the very concept of readiness, but yet, it is clearly in his face, his mind, his heart, his soul.
Her smile begets his, as she takes that first step of the point of absolutely no return through the wake of opened doors.
"It is as the lady says," Nicholas says with a certain peace, in contrast of his fellow crusader with his arms out wide. He lets himself step ahead. "I do thank you all for gathering. Though sinners, misguided souls you may be, we shall bring unto you the truth and the light. The only fear that must be expressed..."
He turns his eyes to the priest, the slightest narrowing that should suggest threat, but perhaps too subtle to be really embraced as such. "Would be the ones who continue to profess these self-fulfilling lies."
Metro City. Home to immigrants from all over Europe. And when those immigrants came to the United States, what were they looking for? Some of them wanted a new start away from their jailors, down in Georgia. A few just wanted to get away from Europe period. And there are more than a few that came here for that most vaunted and, surprisingly, rare of opportunities: a chance to worship as they saw fit, away from the strictures of things like a state religion that often got a bee in its cossack if you happened to worship the wrong God or, surprisingly nastily, worshipped the RIGHT God but in the wrong WAY. As the gateway to the US, Metro saw no small number of these individuals from all over the globe, which accounts for a number of mosques, synagogues, temples, and churches of all kinds in the city. Churches that are all protected by the state, or in the case, by the city which is the state, except it's the state of New York... look, it's complicated. The 'state' as in Plato. Look it up.
However, Christian faiths make up a non-trivial majority of those religious institutions, and some of the places of worship in Metro are old and venerable indeed. Thus when someone comes into one and starts making trouble, there is usually very little delay indeed before the cops become involved. Given that someone can text the Metro PD from their pew inconspicuously while under presumed terrorist duress, it's even easier. Thus in short order to Amy and Nicholas bursting onto the scene, the police are outside, sirens blaring. Nobody comes inside, however. Why? Because one rookie out there, thank his lucky starts, is a fighting fan, and while Nicholas doesn't leap immediately to mind, Amy Johnson sure does. Considering she's in KoF, that's no small amount of visibility. So he went back to his patrol car and radioed dispatch, and asked who was available from Division 8, that might be trained to deal with religious fanatics armed with the semi-supernatural abilities of a trained professional fighter.
The dispatcher had checked the roster, and saw two names: Carcetti and Jimenez.
SOME TIME AGO
Sorsha Carcetti brings in a perp she busted who has a minimum of three broken limbs. Miranda Jimenez attempts to bring down a suspect with a rocket launcher.
NOW
"God help them," the dispatcher had said cryptically.
This is also why the beat cops kept their distance as the car arrived, and two figures stepped out of it and toward the church, then entered it. One of them is Miranda Jimenez, who strides confidently in. Normally police are supposed to identify themselves and ask if the terrorists have any demands in this sort of scenario. Miranda decides to make her stance on the matter clear by walking through the door while chambering slugs into a shotgun with a disturbingly loud *KCHK* sound.
"Ah. A church full of people," she says, in her throaty deadpan. "_Marvelous._"
Sorsha Carcetti, while walking up the steps, had tied her hair back and thrown her leather jacket aside. When she hears her partner of the afternoon make her firm declaration, her nostrils flare slightly. She walks ahead like some sort of stone-carved statue of paleolithic woman, saying roughly, "If you had any fuckin' balls and you wanted to take a shit, on /organized religion/, you'd show some balls --"
FUN KING OF FIGHTERS FACT: Sorsha is not a huge intellectual when it comes to forming complex arguments. Most of her efforts go into one liners, like thus:
"AND DIS ON THE MUSLIMS!" As she does this, Sorsha lunges forwards, leading with one fist towards the back of the head of the smaller of the two menacing terrorists. Miranda should be able to get the perp approaching the pulpit.
COMBATSYS: Sorsha has started a fight here.
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Sorsha 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Amy has joined the fight here on the right meter side.
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Sorsha 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Amy
COMBATSYS: Nicholas has joined the fight here on the right meter side.
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Sorsha 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Nicholas
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Amy 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Miranda has joined the fight here on the left meter side.
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Miranda 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Nicholas
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Sorsha 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Amy
COMBATSYS: Sorsha successfully hits Amy with Strong Punch.
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Miranda 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Nicholas
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Sorsha 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Amy
The smooth, clear tones of Nicholas are an interesting counterpoint to the almost harsh demeanour of the lady knight. She has taken to her role with a renewed vigour that imbues her with something entirely new and strange; not the mere determination she held before, to somehow validate her station in protecting and justifying her oft-controversial beliefs. Now she is another beast entirely, one man's angel and the demon of another. Possessed by a purpose, willing to give herself entirely in the fanning of a terrible flame.
But only through terror can something be achieved.
As Amy looks upon the fearful priest, the depths of her abysslike gaze register none of the regret and conflict she has felt these past weeks. The outpouring of emotion, the alternating pledges of resolve and uncertainty, have culminated in this moment. Her calm companion advances, and she begins to step forward in his wake, inhaling a deep breath as her glance veers to the people on either side - their faces confused and fearful within the questionable wisdom of the mob. Perhaps here they are right to be afraid, and the heralding clack of police response does nothing to disprove this notion. And harsh words confirm:
It is certain. There can be no turning back.
But perhaps the Templar would be served by turning /around/. She does not. Stormy eyes widen, golden taint blossoming into a flashing corona as the twinned voice of the law reaches her ears. Fingertips twitch at her side, deftly curling around a strand of unseen energy, pulling upon the mists that lie just beyond the veil of mundane ken. As Sorsha charges, her heavy footfalls cascade through a suddenly rising maelstrom of faint grayish fronds, stirring about the flagstones as Amy focuses and prepares.
She comes to a halt an instant before the savage blow can reach her, eyes slipping shut as her entire body begins to so-subtly glow. But inner light does not defend her, and though she begins to sway through the rising mists, her movements lack the easy grace of her intent; there is a resounding crack as knuckles meet skull, raven hair billowing outward as the woman is sent tumbling and stumbling. She recovers with a lashing of limbs, spinning around to face Sorsha with a stunned gasp blossoming from her throat. Booted feet plant steadily to the floor, an arm snapping forward with fingers curled.
"This is not about religion!"
Her voice is empassioned indeed, even through the throbbing pain, a wild stare upon Sorsha as Amy confronts her - and in the periphery, her partner. Her digits weave through the air as she speaks, searing with a curious bright energy at odds with the billowing sweep of the Dragon's Breath as it continues to thicken and rise.
"These people are actively misled, driven into the ground by the lies of those who would prevent the passage into a brighter future. Mankind tears itself apart! Do you seek to protect this effort? Would you forbid the just their due? You make jokes while others suffer and die!"
With a soft snap of heavy cloth, her arm retracts inward, sweeping in a reverse grasp that brings clawed fingers perilously close to her own face. Her stance is low and powerful, the movement possessing a force that seems unnecessary; until the true nature of the motion is revealed. From behind Sorsha, a swathe of grayish tendrils harden and strike, lashing out whiplike to secure a grasp around the thickset woman's waist even as they continue on - seeking to pitch her headlong into the unyielding stone floor before the Templar.
"Then you are as /wrong/ as him!"
COMBATSYS: Amy has awakened to her Rage.
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Miranda 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Nicholas
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Sorsha 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 [E] Amy
To believe by any stretch of the imagination that anything here would truly be resolved peacefully would very likely make one far more idealistic than the two partners in ascension present. Nicholas, for the one who turned Amy to this new direction in her life, would love nothing more than to be able to turn everyone here to the new truth and light he has - supposedly - seen.
There is no 'supposed' in the man's face. It is absolute, in so far as he concerns himself.
The young man pivots to face what has transpired behind him with their new visitors. The screaming strongwoman and the annoyed assassin, both worrying in their own ways. It is no surprise to Nicholas that those of the corrupted ways would be so quick to defend themselves with such force.
"A pity," Nicholas laments out loud. "Such able-bodied souls, who have chosen to submit themselves entirely to the wicked, the self-serving!" A flash of gold appears past one of his palms, which he silences by bringing it atop the hilt of his sheathed rapier.
Miranda has total legitimate cause to shoot on this gesture alone. If that's not motivation enough for her, there is how confident, measured steps are taken. Nicholas need not speak over Amy's declarations - what she says is truth enough for the two of them.
"A part of me had hoped that you would have come to be saved from this madhouse," he addresses Miranda as the rapier is drawn far too fast for the pace he is turning to face her. He stands close to the place where Amy and Sorsha are getting into their little glorious battle.
The other hand lays atop a pew as a silent reminder to a grown man nearby who has thoughts of being a hero.
"The force you wield will not protect what you stand for," Nicholas tsks as his other hand begins to glow that bright, awe-inspiring gold color with the very slightest twitch evident in his forearm as he lifts it from the pew. With a head bowed and eyes closed briefly, he brings it up in front of his chest.
"For what lady Johnson and I wield shall bring the /light/ and /truth/ to these people who were led astray!!"
With this, he snaps forward, free hand pointed forward in a lunge as the gold light built in his free hand shoots out towards Miranda and her shotgun like a bolt, as if it were his answer to who would be the faster draw between them while it zips perilously close by to where Amy and Sorsha fight.
COMBATSYS: Miranda overcomes Priere Determinee from Nicholas with Colt M1911 Dual Wield.
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Miranda 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Nicholas
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Sorsha 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 [E] Amy
"I have nothing against churches," Miranda says to Sorsha, distractedly, as she finishes loading the shotgun and it vanishes to... wherever she keeps her weapons. "But your punches are unlikely to take out nearby bystanders and create a lot of paperwork." She makes it sound like the paperwork is the onerous part, and not the indiscriminate accidental maiming or killing of innocents. This is the problem with having a really first-rate deadpan delivery: the 'dead' part.
But Officer Carcetti seems to have the terrorist angle under control, and so Miranda is left to look at the other guy. The one in the oh-so-spiffy white suit which is, assuredly, an interesting comparison and contrast to the well-worn olive drab and camo that makes up Miranda's outfit. For a moment, he talks about her potential for being saved, and inside her head, Miranda does head back to her life in Costa Rica before all this... this... happened. A life where she was raised perfectly Catholic, by the house staff of a drug lord who used her like a personal slave for most of her childhood. He would sit, brazenly, below the icons of the Lord and demand that Miranda break all the tenets He gave, just to survive.
Joke to Sorsha aside, she has a commensurately low opinion of organized religion.
"Firstly, you have missed a most lucrative calling as a televangelist," Miranda says to Nicholas carefully, as he starts talking about 'light' and 'truth'. But then he inadvertently challenges Miranda Jimenez to a quick-draw competition.
Well, _that's_ a mistake and a half.
In the literal blink of an eye she's got pistols in both hands, facing down that bolt of light. And then her wrists are crossed, both pistols pointed squarely at Nicholas, and she opens fire with both. Gold holy light may be powerful, but even such divine providence can be shredded by a hail of bullets. Over the retort of her weapon, Miranda calmly stares down her apparent opponent and adds, like an afterthought, "Second, you're under arrest."
People in the pews duck for cover, but amazingly enough, the line of shots heading Nicholas' way is precise in an almost superhuman way. They're not in danger... for now, anyway.
COMBATSYS: Sorsha dodges Amy's Quagmire.
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Miranda 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Nicholas
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Sorsha 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 [E] Amy
Sorsha expresses a theological counter-argument to Amy's remark, even as she turns to face the taller, larger policewoman.
"The fuck are you talking about?" she says, brows furrowing in a mixture of confusion and a sort of generic, simmering rage. Amy continues speaking; Sorsha tunes it out as crazy meth-head talk and shifts backwards a pace, because her arm just did something goddamn weird.
The weirdness spikes up several levels when the cloak seems to turn into tendrils. Sorsha leaps backwards rather than remain in immediate grasping range, saying at the top of her lungs, "What in the FUCK?? Are you some kind of mutated Glow freak or is that just your damn trick?!" She is however left without guns in a situation where she has no easy way to throw some kind of blood fireball back at the madwoman.
She glances left. Nothing but pews. She glances right. The holy water font.
Sorsha pauses for a second.
"Father forgive me for what I am totally about to do," she mutters, before crouching down and wrapping one arm around the stone font. She yanks once, the burbling of the water stopping. Another yank and it rips free, the heavy thing making her stagger for a moment as she strides forwards.
"If you're some kind of fucked-up demon," she says, hoisting it upwards with a wordless grunt of effort, "Then I'm going to send you back to Hell!" Yeah, she thinks, that was totally styling.
She then swings the fixture down at Amy. Holy water falls out of it, like chocolate rain, as it comes down.
COMBATSYS: Amy fails to interrupt Huge Random Weapon EX from Sorsha with Wyrm Waker.
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Miranda 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Nicholas
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Sorsha 0/-------/------=|=====--\-------\0 [E] Amy
"Demon?"
The word is spoken with singular disgust as Amy relaxes her fiercened posture, relaxing her arms and allowing hands to float outward in the loose, easy guard that her style demands. Her body and soul may be afflicted by that mystifying light, but she has not lost her presence of mind; and she knows that she must flow, bend like a reed before the oncoming hurricane. Dark hair settles to frame her pretty face as she sinks yet deeper into her stance, prepared - she believes - for the fury of this she-titan. Such fury is not just, it is not ordained by the hand of the Lord in the manner of her own focus...
"I will forgive you that remark, but I will not forgive--"
Eyes widen and blaze, searing from within and without as her inward flame alights, burning gold leaping from her athletic frame to sheathe her momentarily from view. The mist billows outward, as though retreating in the wake of this other power. Sorsha's massive makeshift mace descends, and the Templar's silhouette shifts, throwing up an arm clad in heavy sleeve and bearing at its end a palm straining with the light of God himself. Water hisses as it comes into contact, kicking up a cloud of blessed steam, brighter and more virulent than the looping tendrils of the Dragon's Breath.
But the trappings of faith crumble before sheer brutality, Amy's calloused palm shuddering for an instant before it gives way, her elbow twisted at a cruel angle before she is consumed in an explosion of breaking wood and metal. The noise is deafening, her agonised snarl almost lost as she is blasted into the thick flagstones. Splinters enter her flesh, tearing at pale skin, swiftly anointing her with the crimson of her own life's blood. And yet, when the rubble falls away, when the steam begins to clear and the light fades...
She holds herself upright on the uninjured arm, fingers quivering as they bear up her soaking wet form. Her eyelids flutter open, gold-flecked eyes seeking Sorsha instantly. Damp lips curl in a sneer, though as her head lifts it fades, replaced by a spreading smile without mirth or kindness. She believes. She has faith. And that cannot - will not - be taken from her.
Standing upright, holy water dripping from every pore, the Templar remains proud. Her voice carries it with her passion, her confidence, even as it quivers and wavers when she first opens her mouth.
"I will never... forgive your blasphemy... your /disrespect/. What am I to you? Another arrest made? A terrorist apprehended? You know nothing of what would have passed here had you not interrupted. The violence you carry into the house of God is far more abhorrent than the hope and the light that we bring."
She swallows, releases a slow, calming breath and raises her hands.
"Show me your justice and your mercy. Show me how /you/ are so righteous."
COMBATSYS: Miranda successfully hits Nicholas with Colt M1911 Dual Wield.
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Miranda 0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0 Nicholas
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Sorsha 0/-------/------=|=====--\-------\0 [E] Amy
Some would say that bullets are pointless weapons to use at all against a fighter of a vaguely defined minimum of proficiency. However, there is one thing to be said about bullets that few things in comparison could hope to ever compare to.
Bullets are incredibly fast.
The gunfire disperses the glowing golden bolts of power, dispersing them into expanding halos that fade into nothingness as crimson stains the air and the white clothing that drapes a man who stands as tall as he is capable against the rows of confused and frightened onlookers to the sounds of gunfire and an entire holy water font being used to smash a woman possessed upside her head.
Nicholas visibly flinches, taken aback from what is able to be clearly seen - Miranda's bullets have managed to embed themselves in his open hand, a grimace and momentary lapse in fortitude as he clencehs and unclenches a bloodied hand.
Amy, however, is not slowed. She has truly taken to the cause he has shown her. To hesitate in the wake of a mere wound would be doing the Grandmaster... no, it would be doing her a grand disservice.
"Under arrest," Nicholas muses out loud as he shudders, flexing the fingers on his rapier, "I will not bow to a law designed to protect the charlatans, hide the wicked, and make sport of the downtrodden!"
Just as Amy challenges Sorsha to show the justice and mercy, to show how /they/ are righteous, Nicholas sweeps his injured hand outward to let his blood stain the carpets, the pews, pretty much anything and anyone that dares be too close to him. The soft features house a solid face of resolve far more than that of indignation in the face of one willing to bring out the rotting world's greatest weapons for the base and weak.
"If we are to be seen as demons, let it be known you are nothing more than puppets!" Nicholas exclaims as he charges forth, a forward lunge of his rapier to somewhere around chest level for Miranda, followed by a brief lean back, and a second thrust of significantly less distance and reach before drawing back.
"If you shall not cast your strings, then the light and truth within me shall burn away the wood that encases your hollow shell!"
COMBATSYS: Miranda interrupts Skill at Arms from Nicholas with Medium Throw.
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Miranda 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Nicholas
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Sorsha 0/-------/------=|=====--\-------\0 [E] Amy
She's not the toughest nut to crack in the Metro PD. Not counting Haggar, it's likely that Sho and Sorsha at the very least are much more resilient than Miranda. But there is something unnerving about Nicholas, something that really makes her want to get this guy *out of the building*. Never mind the fact that if these two go really crazy (and there is every indication that they will, considering how hard Sorsha just hit Amy, and how... totally Amy didn't appear to care) Miranda would like to be able to bring everything in her arsenal to bear. So her tactics a--
Even as she's about to fire a retort off to Nicholas about that 'puppet' crack, she glances down at her side and notices a little blonde girl, huddling against her mother and crying in a pew, scared out of her wits.
The Latina looks back and notices that she's still holding two handguns. "Oh, _damn_."
Even with her ridiculous hammerspace-fu, there's no time to stow them before Nicholas gets that first pierce in right at midriff level, causing the Metro armory master to hiss in pain. But he decides to make another lunge, and this gives Miranda time to stow those guns and prepare herself for what must be done.
That second thrusting step comes in, but this time Miranda's ready for it; she nimbly steps to the side, letting the blade go past, before reaching and snagging Nicholas' extended sword arm, giving the divine crusader her typically bland, seemingly emotionless look. "If you are interested in getting out the good news," she says...
...before twisting her center of gravity and hurling Nicholas toward the door, sending the beat cops maintaining the barricade scattering. "START A BLOG!" she shouts after, finishing her thought.
"Oh who the hell gives you the authority to forgive anyone, ya loud-ass cunt?" Sorsha answers the sneering face of Amy as she takes one step back. Her muscles flex as she hefts the font upwards, somewhat awkward perhaps at the likely somewhat blasphemous situation.
She then says, "I don't know what you are, darling, but I know what you aren't, which is makin' any fuckin' sense. Do you think you're gonna come in here, threaten a priest and an ENTIRE CONGREGATION," a sweep of the hand to the audience...
... who do not provide her with much support...
... Sorsha continues, "and talk about how they're wrong, and now you care about the word of God all of a sudden? I don't buy that happy crappy, honey--"
She hefts the font upwards again. "And I'd say, hey, explain yourself a little better, but I think you're engagin' in some goddamn resisting of arrest and disregarding an officer right now!" Then she throws the font.
It goes only about a yard and a half, but it is aimed right down at Amy's feet.
COMBATSYS: Sorsha successfully hits Amy with Huge Thrown Object.
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Miranda 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Nicholas
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Sorsha 0/-------/-----==|=======\-------\0 [E] Amy
Gunfire and the sounds of a frantic tussle momentarily steal away the attentions of the Templar as Sorsha curses her. She is no religious shrinking violet - the scatching insult does not shock her into further righteous anger. Rather that it gives her just cause to momentarily disregard the heavyset officer, casting a glance to the other dubious pairing as Miranda displays her own apt skills. They are outmatched in this; that much would seem to be clear.
But this was never about /fighting/.
"You didn't tell me," Amy murmurs, her voice quieter than it has been, a touch of distance entering her tone as gold-flecked eyes shift back to Carcetti; now lofting that vast burden. "That I was under arrest." Her shoulders roll as she reaffirms her guard, fingers twitching in the air. That font travels slowly, by the instincts of a fighter - even one as relatively inexperienced as she. She has an opportunity to consider her actions. She chooses poorly.
She does not seem to choose anything. The unforgiving mass plows into her ankles, bone shuddering and cracking before the impact, the raven-haired woman's teeth gritting hard enough to creak as she forces herself to bite back a pure, heartfelt scream. Her feet will not move, they cannot move, and she is pitched forwards, a frame that is ordinarily less than fragile crashing horribly against the prone font. Her jaw collides with its base, an instinctive twist of the neck delivering a second blow to her cheek as she turns her head aside. By rights it should fell her; she should be unconscious.
Somehow, from the most unfortunate, indefensible position, she still speaks.
"You gave us," It comes out in a gasp, "No chance to explain or surrender." Entire body shuddering, quaking with the effort, the zealous convert hauls her head up, pushing with her arms until she is half-standing, half-hunched over the damaged font. Blood drips from her chin, from the widely split flesh of her cheek. And as the disturbed clergy stare, the wounds begin to pulse. Golden light consumes them, each tremulous drip of lifeforce shimmering like summer rain. "So tell me again what it is I'm resisting."
Her lips, bright and bruised against her terribly pale face, pull into a smile. Amy spreads her arms, forces herself to stand fully on legs that tremble and scream. On feet that are certainly broken.
"You attacked me when the only ill I had performed was entering the profaned house of my Father, my Lord. What higher authority do I need than His own? It is His loving hand that guides my step, and your warlike grasp that seeks to seize me from the blessed path! I do not resist arrest - I stand against injustice, I prepare myself for the judgement of one who is false not only in the eyes of God, but before these people!"
Around her, the mists bellow as her fingers spread as wide as her arms, turning up toward the heavens as she lifts her chin a little higher. Her smile has faded completely, leaving in its wake the face of a woman who truly, completely accepts the punishment bestowed upon her; not because it is deserved, but because it so thoroughly validates her belief. Blazing from within, yet beautiful and cold without, like a statue she stands. Like a saint.
"Strike me again. Lay me low, and if I am to be a martyr then I will accept my fate! Because it /must/ be done. Because I am willing to pay any cost to save everybody in this church, to save this city, to save the world!"
COMBATSYS: Amy takes no action.
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Miranda 0/-------/-----==|=====--\-------\0 Nicholas
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Sorsha 0/-------/-----==|=======\-------\0 [E] Amy
Nicholas confuses the pause in which Miranda switches her guns to be a moment of weakness to capitalize in, to perhaps go at her a bit more aggressively instead of the somewhat more passive defense he had in mind the second go around.
His eyes widen briefly when Miranda makes the cash, making the basic effort to pull himself out before she gets off her retort and throw, tossing him through the doors and down to the cops maintaining the barricade outside.
A sigh of relief may be had from the audience inside as to the removal of one of its threats, but outside, a stirring Nicholas - dirtied by the dust that lines the pavement and the assured angry shouts of brave police officers demanding he stay down, he nonetheless rises.
"Hm. I wonder," he says to himself, "does it really matter who, or where an example is made?" He asks of those gathered, although many may be speaking into radios or otherwise too preoccupied to hear him.
His bloodied hand trembles, an uncomfortable pulsating running through him as he brings it close to his face. He knows Amy is of strong resolve - he believes she will conquer the one who dared to keep her from spreading the truth he had helped give her.
This goes in stark contrast to what is actually going on back inside the church.
"I suppose if one must... blog, then, one must see it," he mumbles to the last warnings and cocked guns. There is no foul smile or glint of malice. No, he points the bloodied hand up.
"The light," he trembles, "show them all!" Whether he is calling to an unseen figure or to himself is up for interpretation.
What is not at all up for interpretation is how an aura of a bright golden light envelops him, dripping blood slowing - or perhaps being consumed? - as a great bright light threatens to blind those surrounding him. People will see it from as far as a street or two away, as a great golden light pillar flashes like a beacon for all to see and witness.
Within that pillar, Nicholas writhes, but stands resolute. Maybe they will open fire. Maybe they'll fall back and hope that Miranda follows up on subduing the perp.
His back remains turned to Miranda, assuming she has followed him out, as he flicks his injured hand downward and raises his head up high, both arms spread out wide as though a target simply awaiting to be shot.
"I bleed... but I do not falter," he whispers to himself as he stands surrounded by all sides, eyes closed as if entrusting his fate to the four winds. He expects commentary. He expects explanations. He wants to hear what awed minds try to make of it.
COMBATSYS: Nicholas focuses on his next action.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////// ]
Miranda 0/-------/-----==|=======\==-----\1 Nicholas
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////// ]
Sorsha 0/-------/-----==|=======\-------\0 [E] Amy
Oh, good. Now he's outside. Amy and Sorsha seem to be a distant country to Miranda to a casual observer, but out of nowhere, the Latina gunbunny says, without turning to look at either of the other women, "Disregarding an officer is not technically illegal." Having said that, however, she turns to Amy and adds, in that same gritty monotone, "It is merely suicidally stupid."
With that she turns and decides to chase her 'quarry'. Outside, beat cops are skidding AWAY from Nicholas. For starters, they saw him take small arms fire to the hand and find it more curious than troubling, which means that their wee service revolvers and nightsticks will probably not do much against the zealot at all (BUILD MORE MARINES). Never mind the fact that he starts talking a little crazy and then he starts glowing like a goddamned Dragonball episode and at that point, Metro's finest are not morons. They brought Jimenez and Carcetti here to deal with stuff over their paygrade, and Haggar doesn't pay his men to be recklessly suicidal. He pays them to protect the peace and go home to their families whenever they can. So they back the hell away.
Miranda, however, seems nonplussed, as she steps out of the church, taking a breath of fresh air. Now, NOW the only possible collateral damage is a few nearby patrol cars, some orange wooden police barricades, and the sidewalk.
This is why, eyes fixed on Nicholas, she pulls a grenade from her jacket and pulls the pin, speaking to him in her conversationally emotionless voice the whole time. "The 'blog' idea was not a serious suggestion. However, I have found that Americans seem to expect a certain degree of 'banter' in these situations and because I love Uncle Sam and apple pie, I try to _assimilate when possible._"
She then throws the grenade at him.
As it flies through the air in a parabolic arc, Miranda adds, idly, "Duck, by the way."
Sorsha looks at Amy as she speaks, speaking at length. She is not able to get up and wave around her arms or her /tentacles/, and then she does something else with her hands, with mist --
Sorsha frowns before rolling her eyes. She may be an ugly and crude thing compared to Amy, but in this case, at least, she holds power. "You know," she says as she reaches out towards Amy's arm, "you got a hell of a mouth on you." That arm is gripped, pulled --
And a metal bracelet is brought up, aiming to be slapped onto it. "Now turn around, St. Angelica, or we can do this the hard way. You can explain your public disturbance and illegitimate use of fuckin' transnormal combat abilities against an officer of the law DOWNTOWN!"
Of course Amy may not cooperate.
COMBATSYS: Amy endures Sorsha's Combo Attack.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////// ]
Miranda 0/-------/-----==|=======\==-----\1 Nicholas
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////// ]
Sorsha 0/-------/----===|=======\==-----\1 [E] Amy
Power. The haven of those of irredeemable value. That the city's enforcers consider themselves in control of this situation would be laughable, were Amy inclined to laugh at the situation. There is an arrogance in the actions of Nicholas and she that cannot be denied; they have expected others to listen to their words and rally to a force beyond their understanding. Millions of people claim to know God, to understand His word, but in truth they grasp only at grains of such fine sand that is slips through their desperate fingers.
For she and Nicholas, it is different. They are vessels for the word.
"Forgive me, Father, for this thing that I must do."
Her whisper is faint indeed, as her eyes slip shut, lids briefly glowing as they close about the inward light. The billowing mists begin to fade, thrashing one last time with the vicious twist of Amy's arm, before tumbling in thick knots to the floor of the ravaged church. The mistress of the Dragon's Breath remains eerily calm through her pain, the flutter of her heart as she fights unconsciousness as disregarded as the blood dripping from her wounds. As the perilous hairline cracks lacing her broken bones. This is nothing, compared to what she would willingly endure for the dream she holds.
She turns as bidden, relinquishing the 'control' the other woman seeks.
"Are you aware," she murmurs toward Sorsha, lifting her voice as she opens her eyes, drawing a breath that sends her breast straining against sodden clothing, "That you're a greater cliché even than I?" Stormy eyes, shot through now not merely with flecks of gold but slender lines of stark carmine, drift to one side. She tries to meet the heavyset officer's gaze past her own shoulder. Past a tangled sweep of soaking ebony. For a moment, the woman behind the zealous speeches stands in plain view; defiant, faintly amused. Hiding a dawning realisation of her situation behind confrontation.
It does not last long, stare broken by a toss of the head that sees her turn to the fore and draw herself up as pridefully as she can. She is self-aware, and she knows what it is to come. She harbours regrets that will haunt her. Leaves behind loved ones and responsibilities. There are things she will have to face once she has passed this trial by legal fire. But pass it she will... and all things will be right in time.
"Show me your justice, officer. I will come quietly."
But what of her companion, her compatriot? Will he do the same? He has led her this far, is the reason she can hold her head high through such adversity. She knows he will weather this storm as she, and do what is right.
COMBATSYS: Amy takes no action.
COMBATSYS: Nicholas parries Miranda's Large Thrown Object!
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////// ]
Miranda 0/-------/-----==|=======\==-----\1 Nicholas
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////// ]
Sorsha 0/-------/----===|=======\==-----\1 [E] Amy
Nicholas hears nothing. Not for lack of ability to do so. He has not plugged fingers into his ears to sing 'la la la' at the top of his lungs. He is met only with true professionals who know when to step back, no commentary or awe to be said.
He is motionless as Miranda reminds him of her suggestion. He hears the footsteps of her approach clearly, but there is no commentary on the sight.
Did they not see it?
Do they simply choose to not acknowledge it?
With the suggestion from Miranda to 'duck,' the rapier suddenly stabs at the midair grenade, skewering it at the tip.
"You were not watching," Nicholas comments. Not arrogantly, but with a tinge of sadness as he flicks the rapier down at an angle pointed away from the both of them. The grenade flies off and explodes a good second or so after the motion, the explosion close and deafening but hardly able to cause much damage other than debris of negligible size and maybe a stiff breeze to dramatically make hair and clothing sway.
Blood continues to drop from the injured hand of Nicholas, which he continues to let limp, his back still turned to Miranda.
"None of you," he speaks to all the officers gathered outside, "saw it." His head bows low. "It is a shame. To have such go unnoticed. I wonder if you do not even see the colors of the sky... only the little bars of light arranged in rigid numbers in those little black boxes. The way you seem to take no heed to any of this..."
"Lady Johnson!" He turns around sharply, facing towards Miranda although he is certainly doing his best to simply look past her. "They cannot see! They will not see. It is fruitless to attempt to show them otherwise!" He calls his loudest voice. "If they are incapable of seeing, incapable of comprehending..."
It's unlikely anyone is going to continue to let him monologue.
Perhaps now would be a great time for someone to show them what his partner in ascension's choice is.
COMBATSYS: Nicholas takes no action.
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Miranda 0/-------/-----==|=======\==-----\1 Nicholas
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////// ]
Sorsha 0/-------/----===|=======\==-----\1 [E] Amy
Unexpected? Certainly. But that's just how life is. Sometimes, your grenades blow people up. Sometimes, they blow up things you didn't intend them to. Life is, in Miranda's eyes, all about making the times when you blow up the right thing outnumber the times when you accidentally blow up a railroad bridge and send a bus full of nuns into the sea to a watery grave. Not that she has done that, but it would be a real tragedy since nuns, in her experience, are pretty decent people. Also, a waste of a perfectly good bus, which is a very useful vehicle.
This is why, the second it is clear that her grenade is not going to blow Nicholas into silence, that she is suddenly holding an old-school machine gun, a genuine M1 Thompson, sights trained expertly on Nicholas even as he talks.
She doesn't approach him. Nor does she bring the gun down when she talks. The effect is rather unnerving, all told; only one of her eyes is visible, the other squinted shut behind the sight on top of the classic assault weapon, and her voice is just as flat as it has been at any other point in the evening. "Forgive me, for as I have said, I am not a native speaker and you are using a lot of colorful metaphors, but I want to be sure we are clear. What you are saying is that we, as officers of the law called by someone in that church, did not -- and I am quoting -- notice 'the color of the sky' which perhaps explains your actions for holding an entire congregation hostage with unknown intent? As for 'little bars of light arranged in rigid numbers' I am sorry to say that I am not a fan of the video games that seem to be so popular in this country. So, I have a suggestion for you..."
She clicks the safety on the gun and makes it quite clear that she is going to spray this man with an uncounted number of bullets in about a half a second if he doesn't surrender. It is, for example, a great time for Sorsha to walk outside with Amy 1.) in cuffs or 2.) thoroughly unconscious.
Finishing her thought, the Latina says aloud, "Try it in _Spanish_."
COMBATSYS: Miranda takes no action.
MEANWHILE
The door to the church opens dramatically, even if it was shut before. Sorsha Carcetti has the captured public disturbance having person in an arm lock from behind, and is pressing her steadily forwards, doubtless to put her in a reinforced 'fighter crime' squad car for transport BACK TO THE STATION.
"You're gonna love this place," she remarks to Amy, "we remodel it nice and safe. If you're not just blowing smoke up my ass you'll be out by morning, so let's hope your story holds up, huh?" She then raises her voice.
"Hey Miranda! What's takin you so long huh?!" She remarks to Amy, who may have noticed at some point that Sorsha has not been squeezing or shoving harder than she reasonably might need to, "If you can shut this shit down it'll look good for you, you know."
Sorsha's caring ministrations are appreciated, for what little it is worth. That she shows some humility in victory - however slight - means that any brooding anger inside the Templar is far from personal. Fanatic she may be deemed, but she is not entirely deluded. She understands how this world works, why people do the things that they believe must be done. In this way, are she and Nicholas any different from the Division 8 officers?
Carcetti's low-key jibes are ignored by the manacled woman, Amy carrying herself with dignity in front of the assembled onlookers as order is gradually restored amongst them following the shuddering detonation of that grenade. These are not overtly panicked people; a part of the cultists' message may have been understood, or perhaps they merely place sufficient trust in their lawbringers to do what is 'right'.
Either way, enough has been done. The Englishwoman's crisp, if weary tone finishes Nicholas' interrupted sentence as she emerges onto the street ahead of her captor. Her tone holds weight and confidence, and something approaching the quality of leadership as she speaks.
"...then they will not be /shown/. Not here; and not now."
Shaking her head, the Templar glances toward Miranda, pausing to blink her eyes as a wave of queasiness threatens to cut her speech short. Her spine quivers, wrists sweat-slick and limp against their manacles as her body rebels against her resolve. But she endures as she will continue to; as she must. Her words come with a rush of the most calm, implacable strength.
"We could speak any language on this earth, and you would never understand. You must wait and judge us by our actions in the future. When tomorrow comes, we will see whose light shines the truest and brightest. That of the Lord himself..."
She tilts her head faintly back, that golden aura burning in her eyes.
"Or the garish blaze of your sirens as you seek to shut our 'shit' down."
Sorsha rolls her eyes eloquently in reply.
Nicholas stands face to face with the barrel of a gun pointed at him. Miranda's skill is as such that she most certainly would not miss, should she choose to open fire right now. There is not fear in his eyes - only a sadness, as she explains to him things in such straightforward, literal, and - to the common human being such as you and I - /reasonable/ response.
Try it in Spanish, she says. It's on the tip of his tongue. The language barrier is but an excuse for her shortcoming, but he finds no amusement to be had in this thought as a deadly staredown continues between the two.
Sorsha Carcetti storms onto the scene with a captured Amy in tow, and it becomes obvious as to who the winner of this standoff is.
"Lady Johnson!" Nicholas calls, bloodied hand clenched as tight into a fist as possible, the faint colors of gold cracking through the palms. There is no way to call it 'dim.' Any concentration glows brightly.
Amy's words ring powerfully to Nicholas, allowing himself a smile even in this moment of tension. This moment of, by most reasonable accounts, convincing defeat. That she has embraced this cause so very quickly, to have reached a fervor that may surpass his considerable own.
"Well said, my lady." The rapier is sheathed. "Very well... officer, yes? Is that the title you prefer to be referred by?" Nicholas smiles softly, though one of his arms twitch - his less injured hand grabs the other by the wrist to settle it. "I concede to you."
He knows it. The love of what true beauty, true light, and the very notion of truth itself is may be lost on these folks. But he can think of so many others, now. So many others, where this is headed.
COMBATSYS: Nicholas takes no action.
Sorsha and Amy walk outside, and Miranda doesn't move. She does get sassed though, which is probably what prompts her to say, in an offhanded and airy (by Miranda standards) way, "I could just shoot him."
There is a slightly uncomfortable silence to follow. She was in SWAT before this. The Metro cops know that she is not kidding.
And yes, there is a particularly... reinforced... car for the transport of fighter-level prisoners. It's more like an SUV with an MCPD paint job, but it's built sturdy... that, and Sorsha and Miranda are expected to sit in the back with their prisoners as well. A few detractors of the program have joked, not without some merit, that this is not a deterrant to escape, as if one had to choose between rolling out of a moving vehicle at 70mph, or facing down Sorsha Carcetti in close quarters, most people would take their chances with the pavement. It's off to the side, and while Sorsha lovingly escorts 'Lady Johnson' to it, Miranda gestures toward it while facing Nicholas. She gestures *with the gun*, in fact, which makes a number of patrolmen suddenly drop behind the barricades again.
She wants to make some sort of offhanded comment to Amy, now that they're in front of people. Certainly, after Nicholas implies that he could have taken them all and is just surrendering to be _nice_ about it.
Or perhaps deep down, these two nutjobs have touched off something frustrating and painful buried in the memories that Miranda keeps tightly locked under her glib, if laconic, expression and tendency toward humor of a dark variety. Maybe all this talk of God -- and the terrified expression of a little girl more scared of her gun-wielding savior than the sword-wielding maniac who had her 'captive' -- is grinding away at a steady, if glacial, pace against her resolve.
Eventually the machine gun disappears, and Miranda walks beside Nicholas to the car, a few paces behind Amy and Sorsha.
"It's all well and good to hope for God to help you," she says evenly. Lord knows she did, every night. But every night she also taught herself how to make bombs out of household ingredients and how to never, ever, ever miss with a thrown knife at 20 paces.
Heaven helps those who help themselves.
"Speaking from past experience," she says aloud, unable to restrain herself, "I would not use your alloted phone call on Him, however."
Log created on 19:37:57 03/12/2011 by Amy, and last modified on 03:36:06 03/13/2011.