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A: The Diplomatic Do

Episode 03

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#1
CrazyDreamer

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[OOC: Putting the mission site schematic here for ease of reference.]

 

Vertical slice.
 
         ___-----___
      _--           --_
     /                 \
    |                   |
 .|.           . m | m.

 |  |\                 /|  |
 |sa|/                 \|sa|
    |\                 /| 
Mm  |/m .  M     M  . m\|  mM

 
Blue = (reinforced) glass dome.
. = railing
/ and \ = stairs
m = miclone area
M = maclone area
sa = service area (food prep, restrooms, &c.), miclone size

 

Top-down.
       
               v outside balcony v      
        |                               |
        |                             | |
|  SA   |      ^inside balcony^     | | |
|-------|                           | | |
|-------|                           | | |
|  SA   |                           | | |
        |                             | |
        |                               |
 
Blue = (reinforced) glass dome.
SA = service area, maclone size
 
Miclone doors available at ground and balcony levels on those three sides.
Maclone doors available at each end of hallway through maclone service area



#2
Vertigo

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Tatsu, being the relative tumultuous planet that it was, had been experimenting with the notion of a peaceful existence for some time.  From time to time power brokers on various sides had thrown events nominally for this cause, but also to show their prosperity off to their rivals across the aisle.  The Zentreadi factions had often noted that such events were often thrown at their expense regardless if they had been the host or the guest.  The governmental assembly simply felt lucky to be invited.  The Yakuza had simply shrugged off the implied slights in a blatant disregard for circumstance.  Wealth, and therefore power, was to be demonstrated.  Suffice it to say, no one trusted anyone else, and everyone was trying to one up the other side.

 

Due to several previous incidents, some with rather impressive resulting body counts, an unnamed underling had suggested an outside party should be brought in to provide on site security and general direction for future galas.  Knowing a good idea when they could steal one, the Yakuza concurred.  Using governmental intermediaries they contracted CCS to provide said security, trusting in the company's discreet reputation.  Estimates on manpower had been initially conservative at best, and the officer in charge of the team had requested an additional half team to cover certain gaps in coverage.  Thus Dwer, Olga, Eric, Jo, Tiff, Rallye, and the Jagerkin found themselves being fitted for the event.

 

The main pavilion was decked to the gunnels with decorations bordering on the gaudy.  Giant double doors, easily big enough to allow full size Zentreadi to march in shoulder to shoulder, opened from either end.  Multiple smaller entrances for miclone sized guests spaced the area, with stairways spiraling up gently through three floors to allow smaller guests to talk to larger ones face to face.  Banners proclaiming peace and friendship spanned the eastern entrance, with pennants honoring the various Zentreadi factions flying in full glory from the various balconies.  Crystal chandeliers beamed light throughout the hall, hung by anti-gravity drives.  They slowly rotated in place, their expense not lost to the discerning eye.  Sumptuous tables of food were sprawled along the western wall by the service area, creeping down each side underneath the second floor.  To the south lay the Yakuza delegation, the heads of the organization seated upon thrones of vary degrees of humility and ostentation, each to their owner's personality.  Old Man Hiro-Matsu sat, or rather rolled, at the place of honor.  Confined to a wheelchair, he studied the events unfolding with a cautious and keen eye.  Only subtle hand gestures to intermediaries indicated the necessity for a drink or a platter of food.  All the other bosses seemed to defer to him.

 

Across the hall was the Zentreadi delegation.  Only about two thirds of the official party sat at the table.  The rest had declined to maclonize and instead filled much of the northwestern corner of the hall.  Some spoke to miclonized guest on the balcony, while one pair engaged in a waltz to the band playing on the top floor.  Speakers carried the music to all corners, a lovely full orchestral band playing distinctly soothing and subtle music.  Dress on both sides was an eclectic mix.  Most guests were dressed in evening formal wear, ladies in sheer dresses and most men in three piece suits.  Several of the Zentreadi opted instead for dress uniforms, and several of the Yakuza wore kimonos.  Others, mainly on the miclone sized, wore more casual suits.  These attendees the CCS security lead had marked as bodyguards for various leaders within the two sides.  A thorough weapons search went on at the main entrance, with bio-scanners verifying everyone's identity.  The only armed people in attendance at the party would be CCS personnel, and none of those on the floor would be carrying anything heavier than a sidearm.

 

A bare hour had passed before the last of the "important" people arrived at the hall.  Encouraged to mix, the CCS team, in both maclone and miclone capacity, had moved into the crowd and had kept the peace despite some rather heated stares from the Zentreadi warlord, Thurel, at Hiro-Matsu and his cohorts.  Eric found himself on the southern third floor, staring onto the dance floor.  He'd been assigned relative overwatch given his tactical training and comparative lack of hand to hand ability relative to the rest of the team.

 

"Comm check, floor team.  Eric here.  Olga, what's your twenty?  You missed last check in."



#3
CrazyDreamer

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A moment later, the answer crackled back. "Honey, HYU try findink zumvun who can sew hyu into fife-foot seams qvickly." The doors at the end of the hall with the Maclone "service area" swung open and Olga sashayed in. She was in a shimmering, form-fitting, dark-red dress with full-length evening gloves and a wide-brimmed fedora that shaded her features. And oh boy, she knew how to wear them.

 

Without looking around, she sniffed the air and then whispered, "Hyu can come out now, boyz." She smiled, pointy teeth glinting despite the fedora's shadow. "Time to get dis party schtarted."

 

Two full-size Zentradi stopped inconspicuously holding up the wall and fell in behind her. Both were in tuxedos, and each wore a fancy hat. "Yez, Momma."

 

"Goot boyz." Olga resumed her sashay until she found a Zenradi colonist who was doing more glaring than socializing. "Hey dere, big boy. Lookink for my kind uf trouble?"



#4
Vertigo

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Eric gave a mock tip of the hat as Olga swept past his position.  And here I thought security was supposed to be low key...

 

He walked as if uninterested past a group of Yakuza and governmental types and stopped near one of the balcony doors.  At times like this he regretted not being able to have the Sari-C chip implanted in his body.  Memories of the attempt and subsequent violent rejection flashed painfully.  His beefed up PDA was taking in the relative slack, a small ear and neck unit linking him into the rest of the team's network.  He keyed another query to the group.  "Who is proximity close to the Yakuza reps?"

 

 

The 'colonist' glowered at Olga.  He looked uncomfortable in his suit, and he clearly did not recognize her from Tatsu's indigenous Zentreadi population.  "Big boy?  Is that supposed to be some sort of miclone joke?"



#5
Coolhand

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Across the other side of the hall Dwer checked in. "Koolhan here, I'm within stones throw."
 
He'd taken up position leaning against a balustrade and had a clean visual on the Yakuza reps. He was trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible in an environment he wasn't overly comfortable in, having purposely set up in the 'human' end of the room to avoid too many encounters with miclonised Zentraedi.
 
It was pretty obvious to those around him he was just venue security so there were few attempts from the crowd to strike up a conversation. Dwer half expected to be recognised though, he had a small amount of noteriety in this part of space though hardly anything to write home about. It had been years since he was last out this way though.
 
"I could really go a drink. What's the booze policy?" he asked idly over comms.


#6
Vertigo

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"Virgin daiquiris or soft drinks only, Koolhan" one of the control center guards said over the network.  "Our party is after everyone goes home."

 

Dwer noticed that one of the dressed down Yakuza had taken up residence underneath the second floor landing.  He was nursing a drink but was clearly watching the CCS people walking around.  He briefly locked eyes with Dwer before moving on to another one of the main team's members.  His hand was in his pocket, and he was clearly tapping on something flat.

 

The band started into another dance number, and more people filed out onto the floor.  When Dwer turned back, the Yakuza was gone.

 

Jo, meanwhile, found herself on the Zentreadi side of the hall in their micloned section.  Olga had just glided into her conversation and already muffled talk had started on the first floor regarding her choice of hat and further comments of proper decorum, not all negative.  Jo was about to move on when a bedraggled man brushed by her.  His clothes may have been nice earlier in the evening, but they were ruffled and his shirt had become untucked.  A vest, adorned with a peace symbol overlapping a Zentreadi crest, hung open and he reeked of hard liqour.  The pallor of his skin and his shock green hair spoke to Zentreadi heritage, but the rounding of his ears and cheeks indicated human stock in his lineage.  The man turned drunkenly to her, grabbing her forearm.

 

"I am sssoooooo sorry!  I dhid na hurt you, dhid I?"  He chuckled at his question, flashing a toothy smile.  "Ain't it great?" he slurred, not letting Jo answer.  "Peoples coming together.  See, I always told Da, we can get along nice enough.  And how bout you?  What's a pretty lady looking so serious doing here at this party?"



#7
gradius

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"Schhhooo theeere you arree hanschommeee!"  A dainty arm clad in an elbow length glove snacked around the drunken man's neck and tugged him away from Jo.  Attached to the arm was a tall blonde in a slinky blue gown now leaning into the man to keep him upright.  In the blondes other hand was a bottle of wine.  "I wanetd to driink hwti you but didn't wawnt you tvo have too mnuch of a heuad start."

 

"Corme on, i knoow la grewat place where oyu wopn't be distrbued."  Tiff slurred in a decidedly chirpy way while attempting to lead the duo off.  "Here, haive msoe more."



#8
CrazyDreamer

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Olga quietly cursed herself for not code-switching appropriately and switched to Zentradi. «I've never met a miclone who had my sense of 'humor'; they seem to be scared of it . . . as they should be. I just wanted to know if you were going to be starting a fight, because if so, I wanted it to be with my brothers and I.»

 

Her brothers flexed suggestively.



#9
Vertigo

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The drunken playboy looked between Tiff and Jo rapidly, his alcohol addled brain slowly registering the change and the brand new bottle of booze being offered.  He shrugged to Jo with a dippy looking grin on his face.  "Whad can I shay?  Popularidy is a churse..."  He allowed himself to be led away by Tiff but put up enough of a hesitation to let Jo know he would be back.  He indicated a table on the Zentreadi side for them to sit at.

 

The Zentreadi soldier regarded Olga and the two Jagerkin.  It seemed for a moment that he just may have started something, if only to see how good they were, when a large hand placed itself on his shoulder and firmly clamped down.  Standing behind him and guiding him away from Olga, a larger, obviously commander stock Zentreadi presented himself.  <<It is not that they have no sense of humor, miss, it is just that their sense of humor is vastly different than our own.  And none of my command will be starting any fights tonight, will they>> at that point he turned to stare down the officer <<Jorren?>>

 

The younger officer straighten himself up, the tension past.  <<No, sir.  Of course not.>>

 

"Good.  Go enjoy the festivities."  There was a mix of urgency and implied disciplinary threat behind the words.  The switch back to non-Zentreadi was also noticable.  The younger Zentreadi nodded and headed towards one of the large sized buffet tables.  The commander turned back to Olga.  His attitude became pleasant, but also business-like.

 

"I assume you are part of the security team for this event.  I do commend you on your target selection.  Jorren was not particularly pleased to be... assigned this duty.  Still, this is an important event.  I want to reassure you that if there is an incident it will not be because of one of our number."

 

Meanwhile, Dwer and Eric mingled through the crowd.  Both contained themselves to the Yakuza side.  The Yakuza head had been joined by a pretty young lady, save for the traces of some burns and scars running up the side of her neck and disappearing into her kimono.  She seemed to be talking to the old man quietly, but rapidly.  He nodded occasionally, but his face betrayed no concern at the information she was passing along.  Eventually she completed her report and took a place at the table to the man's right.  At this point she looked Dwer's way and have him a quizzical look, as if she was remembering something.  Just as quickly she turned and joined a conversation going on at the table.

 

"Look, but don't touch, gaijin."  The Yakuza Dwer had spotted earlier approached him.  His tie hung loose around his neck and his coat was unbuttoned.  His posture was languid but spoke of the experience of a trained fighter.  Still, there was no immediate threat in his stance.  "Old Man Hiro doesn't like men looking at his daughter.  Especially foreign men.  Why don't you take a little walk outside with your friend with the pony tail?  You two might be able to get a drink together.  Its a nice night."

 

Over at Tiff's table the playboy was laughing at yet another dumb joke of his own design as he slurped down yet another glass of wine.  He had consumed far more than she had of the bottle, yet despite his obvious inebriation he was maintaining his balance quite well.  Tiff had found herself a professional lush and probably would have regretted it save for a timely interruption.

 

"I see you found yourself another companion, dear."

 

A gorgeous woman of blatant Meltrandi heritage walked over to the table.  She wore a sheer red dress that emphasized her vary generous proportions and heels the accentuated the effect.  Her blue hair was styled into an up-do, but would have cascaded around her shoulders and down her back.  She held a purse that matched her dress.  Two elbow length white gloves completed the ensemble.  It was clear she was addressing the playboy solely, though she did stare daggers at Tiff as she found her own seat and sat in close to the half-blood spokesman.  She ran a hand through his hair, straightening it.  The man just smiled, but he really seemed to be more interested in his glass.

 

The Meltrandi again glanced at Tiff with disdain in her eyes.  "Dearest, send the floozy away, would you?  You and I can have a drink.  And then we need to talk."

 

Somehow Tiff got the feeling that the talk would not be good for the peace and tranquility of the party.  She would have to do something right away.



#10
Coolhand

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"I'll make a point not to look when he's watching then." Dwer replied half jokingly.
 
While the man was imposing Dwer judged that he wasn't hostile, however not so vieled his threat may have been.
 
"Folks upstairs say I have to stay dry until after the party, so unfortunately were stuck here 'til then. We'll try to stay out of your way though, just don't start anything." 
 
Standing up from the wall he was leaning on he brushed himself down. "If you'll excuse me I really should find my friend."
 
"Eric. I trust you heard all that." he said over the group network "I'm coming to find you, best we stick together I think."
 
Taking a second glance at the woman he tried to remember if he knew her from anywhere before checking behind him to see if the Yakuza had decided to follow him or not.


#11
gradius

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Tiff was surprised but easily kept from telegraphing it.  She had expected to drag the drunk over to the first aid station and discretely do away with him there, sending him along with a medical note to a local hospital for a rectal exam.  Tiff certainly hadn't expected to run into what was seemingly turning out to be the makings of a plot to disrupt the peace talks.

 

Time for Plan B.

 

Tiff glomped the drunkard and glared at the Meltrandi sitting across from her.  "cutie, who is ttah tarrt whmo is trying vto take you ajway pfrom eml?"



#12
CrazyDreamer

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Olga grinned up at the Commander-type. "Goot to see zum pipple schtill respeck de Communder genome." She tipped her hat, and the boyz assumed something resembling attention. "Hy do luv a goot fight, but my bosses say 'not tonight,' so don' vorry about me. Hy'm a goot gurl." She smirked. "Care to dance?"



#13
Vertigo

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"I was just about to ask you the same thing."  He made the formal motion of bowing slightly and offering his arm while gesturing towards the dance floor.  "I must apologize in advance if I step on your toes.  I do not have much practice with this sort of thing."

 

As he took Olga's hand the giant commander gave a hand signal to a miclonized Zentreadi standing near the band area.  The man rushed over to the band and spoke to the lead musician, who stopped the current song and switch the band over onto a waltz.  Contrary to the commander's previous statement it was clear as he lifted Olga's right arm and clasped the small of her back that he did indeed have much experience with social dance.  Most of the other giant dancers yielded the dance floor to their superior.  The two swished over to the edge and turned with a flourish.  The commander kept a smile on his face, but Olga detected a small twinge of tension nagging at the corner of his eyes ever time they turned to face the Yakuza table.  "My name is Breull, may I have your name, miss?"

 

"Yeah, Dwer, I got that.  Southeast landing, third floor.  Most of our hosts don't seem to like standing up here."  Eric replied to Dwer's message.  The Yakuza maintained a distance from Dwer, interposing himself between his boss and security, but not so much that Dwer couldn't maintain line of sight on the older Yakuza and his companion.  The woman and Dwer locked eyes once more, and her hand involuntarily went to the scar creeping out the side of her neck line.  A moment of realization crossed her face, and she produced a PDA out of nowhere.  She tapped something, then spoke to the old man again.  He tensed slightly, then motioned for one of the other bosses to come to him.  Speaking behind a veiled hand, he issued some sort of directive to which the other man hurried away to complete.  Dwer's Yakuza shadow stepped into view again, and motioned that the pilot should continue his journey upstairs.

 

Eric was waiting at the landing and handed Dwer a soft drink.  "I have the distinct feeling that we aren't terribly welcome downstairs."

 

If the playboy's cheeks could have gotten redder, despite the copious amounts of alcohol consumed, they would have gone scarlet at Tiff's full body hug.  Grinning stupidly from ear to ear, he looked at his Meltrandi counterpart and merely shrugged.

 

She, on the other hand, was no where near entertained by the display.  Her eyes were daggers aimed at Tiff's face, and her mouth was twisted into a grimace of anger.  "Listen, and listen closely, you trussed up strumpet.  You are nothing to him and even less to me.  He has a half dozen of you desperate whores every week and he is, frankly, not that good."  She emphasized her insult by holding up her right hand pinky as an indicator.

 

"Haawwyy.... thaad's not whad you...." he began in protest.

 

The hand bag sailed across the table gently but firmly, planting itself in the man's chest.  "Be quiet, Dear.  The women are talking.  I'll deal with you in moment."  The words were strong and forceful, the edges of angered passion creeping in.  The Meltrandi refocused on Tiff, standing as she did so and clearing the table.  "Get up, find another man, get your hole stuffed by someone else.  If I ever see you anywhere near him again...."

 

The predatory smile the Meltrandi produced was not welcoming or pleasant.



#14
gradius

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Internally Tiff gave a sigh.  Under-dressed and under-armed.  Even with a pistol, she wouldn't have liked her chances with 'Miss Pissed Off Girlfriend'.

 

Time for Plan B-and-a-half.

 

From her glomping position against the drunken playboy, Tiff glared blearily at the Meltrandi.  Then using both hands, one on the edge of the table, the other on his shoulder, she moved herself partway behind the drunken playboy to rest her chin on his shoulder.  With one hand and part of her face blocked from the Meltrandi's sight, she brushed against her concealed earring and slid the back plate off.  "I krnow your kiend, ymou just want txo kepe ihim foxr yrueosrlf so beack fof sithser, ki'm packirng mace!"

 

Tiff's other hand fumbled for her handbag to bring out what was easily recognizable as a stick of lipstick, the clear top cover was plain for the Meltrandi to see when Tiff brought the weapon -unsteadily- to bear.

 

While this was going on, the now active listening device was secreted under the playboy's collar.



#15
Vertigo

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The stand off was calling more attention than was needed.  The Yakuza side of the hall seemed a combination of silently pleased but outwardly offended, comments veiled behind hands flinging this way and that.  The Zentreadi looked somewhat despondent.  Two of the participants were obviously from their ranks, and the third was an unknown neutral.  The side showed great restraint, but it was evident that more than a few wanted to get involved.

 

Eric and Dwer's PDAs beeped as the bug came online and linked in to the Sari-C network.  There was a brief shrill of static as the playboy was jostled around, but it soon subsided.  Tiff and the Meltrandi's back and forth continued.  "Hell, we better go give Tiff an out."  Eric threw a thumb at the confrontation and headed down the stairs.

 

The Commander had done his best to ignore the outburst, but as he and Olga swirled across the dance floor his eyes fell on the source of the disturbance.  Olga felt the older Zentreadi tense up before he let out an audible sigh.  "Zoral..."

 

The Meltrandi glared at Tiff.  One iron claw shot up to grab the wrist connected to the hand holding up the lipstick tube.  Tiff momentarily found herself in real pain as the azure haired ace's fingers tightened.  She didn't even have to fake dropping her 'weapon' as the Meltrandi easily locked her hand out straight.  "Pull a real weapon on me, bitch, and be prepared to use it."  She shoved Tiff backwards by her arm, spinning the CCS explosives expert into the drunken playboy.  The two went down in a heap despite Tiff's best effort, her compatriot's equilibrium completely addled by booze.

 

Despite having caused the fall, the Meltrandi heaved an angry roar and went for Tiff.  Eric broke out in a sprint as he hit the bottom floor.  "Get between them!" he yelled at Dwer.



#16
gradius

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With the pain came realization that maybe antagonizing the woman was a bad idea.  Though from Tiff's perspective, that may have been an impossible goal without just walking away at the start.

 

In any case, time for Plan C.

 

First the bad.  With the locked arm, Tiff couldn't do very much without giving away that she wasn't really drunk.  So she tried flailing at the claw with her loose arm.  It was genuine, panicky looking and completely ineffectual.

 

Then the good.  Getting tossed into the drunken playboy meant that she could now plant a tracking device on him.  Though making sure the bug she'd planted earlier didn't get knocked loose took first priority.  As she was spun into the drunk, Tiff made sure that her crashing into him look completely natural.  Including the fingers that kept the listening device in place as the chair tipped over and sent the both of them to the floor.

 

And the ugly.  As Tiff's extra momentum rolled her clear of the man, she heard the Meltrandi roar and saw her coming in for the kill.  With one trick left, the semi-effectual flailings, hair pulling and sobs of a totally-normal-human-girl-with-no-self-defense-training-whatsoever (i.e.: catfight), Tiff knew two things:  'Here comes the pain' and 'she was she was so gonna hate herself within the next three seconds'.

 

Elsewhere, a very short distance away, a certain lone earring started transmitting location data from a certain vest pocket.



#17
CrazyDreamer

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Olga was vaguely competent on the dance floor. Enough so that she could follow someone else's lead, anyway; in that sense it wasn't much different from hand-to-hand combat. She was surprised by the question at the first turn: "Ho, hyu dance vith me viddout knowink vo Hy em? Braff man. Hy em Olga Jägerkin, de Jägermomma. Hall de CCS Zentradi here are my brodders."

 

The Commander-type had gotten distracted and stopped paying attention to her, though. She didn't like that. She could, theoretically, reach in and physically separate the combatants . . . but it was also far too entertaining to interfere. "It seems de odders vere more successful in findink trubbel. Hy'm sure dey can hendle it . . . alddough it's a goot tink ve didn' let Tiff vear a dress made uf grenades. Or plastic eksplosives uf her own design." She cocked her head to one side at the name. "Vun uf you boys ve schould be keepink an eye on?"



#18
Vertigo

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"Precisely that" the Commander said.  "My boy.  Zoral is my son."  The man heaved another sigh, but relaxed somewhat when he saw the two CCS security guards place themselves between the Meltrandi and his son.  "Wait... grenades?  You mean that young lady...."  a twinge of a smile tugged at his cheeks, then broke into a warm grin.  "Your security is far more in depth than I gave it credit.  My compliments to your operations officer, that was well played."

 

Somewhat relieved of the situation, he picked up Olga's hand more firmly and lead back into the dance in earnest.  Olga missed a step only twice as the larger Zentreadi twirled her around.  "I have been remiss in my manners.  My name is Yulgren, though I suspect you already knew that.  It is a pleasure to be your dance partner tonight, Miss Olga.  Perhaps you would care to join me for a drink afterwards?  I would like to talk to you about you and your brothers."

 

On the floor Tiff continued her roll, falling backwards as she flailed away at the enraged Meltrandi.  The woman was on her before Dwer or Eric could cover the distance, and Jo was busy keeping anyone else from getting involved on either side.  Tiff was aware of the azure haired demon batting her blows aside with rather precise and hard forearm blocks, but the CCS bomb expert got a leg up and a toe into the woman's left thigh.  Tiff pushed with all her might, sending her skidding back along the floor and tearing a gash along the hem of the other woman's dress.  The aggressor's eyes went wide with fury, but a body planted itself between Tiff and the upcoming onslaught.  Dwer hovered over her, grabbing her in an obvious show of "restraining" her, while Eric likewise moved to stand in front of her counterpart.

 

"Stop this.  Now."

 

"After what that little slut did?!  Move aside before I end you too!"

 

Eric raised a hand, palm out, fingers tight and pointed up, in the universal sign of stop.  His posture was firm, but trained eyes noticed a slight fall into a combat stance.  "Last chance.  Hit me and you won't even see the rest of the team that takes you out.  Stop now, and you leave on your own power."

 

The blue haired woman regarded Eric, then looked over his shoulder at Tiff.  "She owes me a dress."

 

"Place a claim with the concierge.  We will see that your are fully compensated."

 

"Fine."  She raised her hands in compliance.  "Keep her away from him."

 

"That is the intention."  Eric gestured towards a nearby refreshments table.  "Might I suggest a drink before you go."

 

"Alright, guard boy."  She clicked her tongue in mock annoyance.  "Zoral, you are a mess.  Go clean yourself.  We need to talk."  She glanced back at Eric, noting the disapproval in his glare.  "Later."

 

With that she turned on her heels and headed for the drink tray.  Eric watch her down two glasses of water and then one of wine in rapid succession.  When he was certain she posed no further immediate threat, he turned back to Dwer and Tiffany.  Walking over, he "helped" Dwer "escort" Tiff out of the main hall and to the security center.

 

"So" Eric said with a knowing grin to Tiff "I assume you bugged him."



#19
gradius

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As she expected, it was painful and she was hating herself.  Tiff fully expected to find bruises on her hand and arm from connecting with her opponent's expert and aggressive blocks.  On the upside, she managed to score a very satisfying rip upon the Meltrandi's dress.  Too bad that woman was going to return the favor with a heaping shipload of interest.

 

The initial panic was real when Dwer 'restrained' her from the side.  A 'random' headbutt was made to miss just in time as she recognized that she was more cradled than manhandled.  Yay for backup!

 

 

Tiff tensely watched the other get into a standoff with Eric, relief only flooding her as the Meltrandi finally backed down.  She leaned heavily against Dwer, letting out soft choking sobs and hiccups.

 

She kept the act up from that point, through their exit from the hall, until she and her escorts were among their own people where Eric 'interrogated' her.

 

"Ouchies, yup, two bugs.  Oooh that smarts!  Audio under his collar.  I want my mommy!  Location in his vest pocket.  She hits like a mac truck!"  Tiff sagged for real and was babbling in between reports both from excess adrenaline and a near mauling experience.  "Should be transmitting already.  I could kiss you guys, thankyouthankyouthankyou!  I hope I don't have to see _her_ ever again.  Put me on that couch, pretty please?  Oh what I wouldn't give for Ell and Em to wait on me and and foot for the next month!"



#20
CrazyDreamer

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Olga smiled. "Gettink security drunk might be taken de wrong vay." She broke away, taking a couple steps away and making a half-turn before stretching, making sure to show off all her best assets. She turned back and smirked. "Goot tink Hy don' get drunk easily. Hy assume hyu can find a tanker uf Jägermeister? If not, ve've got vun." The smirk dissolved into a broad grin.

 

"Hy'd betta check on de odders," she said, as if she wasn't wired for sound and watching a HUD with everyone's positions on it. She sashayed off, her boyz falling into formation behind her.

 

Always leave 'em wanting more.







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