The Strike of Blade Rayne

((WARNING! Mature Themes!))

The night air in St. Martial was crisp and cool. Citizens, denizens alike made their way along the streets, content to be minding their own business. It was quiet. A bit too quiet. Like the calm before the storm.

On top of a nearby roof was a figure that was invisible to the human eye. Her cloaking device blended her in well with the scenery around. Her piercing gaze assessed the the people below in a cold manner that should only be reserved for the robotic, the inhuman. But she was 100% human, not that she'd ever admit it. To meet her in person (which very few have done, without meeting the business end of her blades) would only add to the perception of cold, emotionless machinery.

Her dark eyes picked apart the pedestrians, looking for one in particular. Watching families pass, or couples intertwined in each other, moved right past her radar. Maybe, at a time, she'd have felt something. But that time was long gone. Her heart had long since turned to stone. Now, all there was was the next job, the next mark, the next target. And she kept it that way.

'Do the job. Get paid.' ... This was now her mantra.

Work for Gao had gone cold. She didn't fancy being hired on to an organization, only to not be given any work. So she found her own, careful not to break alliances with the man who currently held her contract.

A movement at nine o'clock caught her attention. Her eyes darted to the mark, the HUD in her shades providing better visuals and a confirmation that she had her target. Her gaze narrowed as her mind worked at the most efficient method of elimination. Was she in the mood for 'up close and dirty' tonight? Or did she want to do this quickly?

She made up her mind and quickly stood. In a few quick motions, a sleek bow and arrow were removed and assembled from two side compartments in her suit. These weren't her fancy toys, but they were more than enough to do the job. A few clicks, and she was already taking aim.

Breathe, pull, aim precise .... release.

On the streets below, Marc Falcetti, Family turncoat now playing both sides, instantly slumped mid stride. Blood spurted from his neck, where an arrow had not only sliced through, but apparently had two side blade sticking out that gutted his neck from the inside. The boys escorting him had a momentary look of horror as their cohort's neck nearly came off his shoulders. That quick instant was all it took for the woman on the roof to escape. By the time their guns trained in on the trajectory, she was gone. Not that they'd have seen her to begin with. But just in case, they fired wildly at an empty rooftop before finally turning to their falling compatriot.

Port Oakes

The cloaked woman in black walked up behind a man in a suit. To anyone else, he was jsut some guy holding up a wall in the area. To those that knew him, Damien Bernard was a contact to those skilled enough to make his little black book. Although Damien didn't know who this chick was, he knew she came with skills. And to him, that was impressive enough to do business.

"Cash," the woman's voice uttered. Her voice was smooth as silk, but the tone was ice cold and hard.

"Geeze baby, not even a hello?" Damien smirked.

"Not a fan of sayin' the same thing twice."

"Fine. Not in th'mood for small talk. I get it. Is it done?"

"Th'**** you think?"

"Alright, alright. And no, I ain't stallin.' I got it, fair and square. I know enough to know when to walk away," he said as he slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. He tossed it out on the ground blindly in front of him and turned to walk away. But one burning question had him turning back, "When do I get to see that face of yours..?" The question reached only dead air. The envelope, and the woman, were both gone. Damien sighed, shoved his hands into the pockets of his tailored suit, and stalked along his way.

Pocket D - Hours Later...

A tall, leggy, dark-haired woman made her rounds through the club. She always had a drink in hand, and it was apparent that she was on the prowl. And try as many did, most guys were rejected from the moment they stepped within three feet of her on their approach. She knew what she was looking for ... she just needed to spot it.

And she did ...

Downstairs at the red bar, a man stood against one of the columns. His eyes were almost as cool and calculating as hers. She lifted a brow, then walked to the bar for a refill. The game was on, and she knew better than to fire early.

After making a show of taking her time, waiting for the drink, she reached to pay only to catch sight of bills being handed over her shoulder, "On me," the deep tone said.

She smirked, "I pay my own way."

"Oh, I'm sure you do," his eyes trailed down her lithe frame, dressed in a deep maroon tube top, short black skirt and tall black boots, "But chivalry isn't completely dead."

The woman dropped bills on the bar, covering her drink and tip before turning to fully face her prey, "Let's just get to the point, shall we? Not a damned thing about it was chivalrous. So why don't we cut to the chase? We're wasting time here, when we could be elsewhere."

"Oh really?" His interest was clearly piqued, but he wasn't quite certain they were on the same page just yet.

The woman stepped closer to him, pressing her body against his. Her lips trailed his ear as she spoke in a breathless whisper, "Yeah ... really..."

By this time, the bartender had long gone about their business. The man looked down into the woman's eyes, "Do I get a name?"

"Why bother? Not like you'll need to remember it in the morning."

A Hotel in Port Oakes

Settling on neither her place or his, the two simply walked to a nearby seedy hotel. Their voices of lust, ecstasy, and pleasure filled the air. Their cries of release echoed over, and over, and over again.

Every once in a while a good hunt just put her in the mood for a good ****.

To the man she'd chosen, it was the best investment he'd ever made in a hotel room.

She waited for the first signs of sleep from the man next to her as she'd been pretending to sleep herself. She soon heard the deep, even breathing ad rolled off the bed. The arm that had been placed around her simply fell to the mattress.

She padded to her clothes, and slipped them on, electing to carry the boots. Seconds later, all trace of her was gone....

((A character I was inspired to write for. I'm also looking to re-start her RP. She was a main for a while before IC and OOC stuff happened poorly, and well she got the shaft for it.

Anyone interested in learning more, feel free to post here or PM me))

((Thanks!! I'm @Tanklet! I'll keep a look out too ))

((Second Installment))

Indy Port...

It was first thing in the morning, and just the right time. The night shift of criminals were crawling back into their holes, making way for those with the balls enough to operate during the day. Sonja strode through the streets of Indy Port, dressed in sweat pants, a hoodie, a baseball cap and shades. She wasn't out for a kill, but she wasn't out to be recognized either. This was Family territory, and if she got spotted by the wrong Marcone gunner, things could go south, quick. All she wanted to do was get in, get out, and be on her way.

Something about her demeanor was different, slightly off one could call it. She still exuded that aura of 'don't **** with me' but she wasn't actively looking for a fight. Sonja turned a corner, and let herself into a shop halfway down the block. It'd just opened, and the proprietor was still getting things ready when the bell above the door clanged. Indy Port ... the best place to get top dollar for the boxes she held on the inside pocket of her hoodie.

The owner turned, "Welcome to Carmine's Consignments. May I help you?" The slightly older man spoke. Even though the man could easily be considered a candidate for Social Security, Sonja wasn't fooled. The business wouldn't be able to pass the word 'go' without first passing through Family approval. Especially not when your business is the pawn business. She knew the Marcones -that- well.

Sonja dropped two jewelry boxes onto the counter without a word, and stood staring at the man through her shades. 'Carmine's' shoulders straightened. He was prepared for just about anything. He had to be these days. And especially seeing as how hooded, brooding, and silent this customer was. Not like all of his clientele were pillars of the community, but he could sniff the winds of trouble when they blew his way. And this one seemed capable of causing plenty.

Carmine opened the boxes one by one. He began with the small one, and gasped in surprise. Inside lay an exquisite, tastefully simple diamond engagement ring. It looked specifically crafted to have a deep set in the stone. Carmine figured that to mean the ring was prone to some amount of jostling. He looked at the piece, then back at the woman, who still said nothing at all. Next, he moved on to the bigger box that held two brand new wedding bands. He knew they were new from the moment he picked one up. There was no sign of wear, at all, anywhere, not even in the inscription which is usually where the first signs tend to show.

The inscription said simply "forever" and had two birthstones on either end. The man's heart lurched. If these were hers, his heart went out to her. But then, if they weren't, that meants they were hot. And given the woman in front of him, he was more inclined to think the latter than the former.

He cleared his throat, "Ten large."

"******* bull. They're worth five times that," she rhetorted.

"If they're not hot."

The woman gritted her teeth, "They're not," she seethed through a clenched jaw.

"And how am I to be so certain?"

She slammed her fists on the counter, causing everything on top of it to thump up and down, "A: Even if they were hot, I wouldn't let you swindle me out of a decent deal. B: I know for a fact you could sure as hell move them or ******* melt them for all I give a ****, and you'd STILL end up well in the green from that piss *** first offer you're tryin' ta' slither me with. And C: They're NOT ******* hot. I know your source roll better than you ******* know it yourself. So, let's try that again. Make an offer."

It's not like she needed the money. She didn't. It wasn't about that. It was about the principle of not getting taken like some street punk.

'Carmine' gulped, "Very well then. So as to avoid any ..... issue .... 15."

"20 at least."

"Fine."

He placed the items back in their respective boxes and walked around back. Sonja kept a sharp eye and ear in case he tried anything, though her instincts told her he was merely going to his safe. A few seconds later, sooner than it'd take to signal any of his backers, 'Carmine' came out with an envelope and handed it to her. Sonja stuffed the envelope in her hoodie and turned to walk away.

"Not wanting to say goodbye?"

Sonja paused, and tilted her head back. A heartbeat later, she turned back towards the door and walked away. Goodbye was said long ago. This just made it official...

((apparently the F word was censored o.o))