| Logs |
2002 January 03
| Cosmic Guardians |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
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| Realms: Guardians Logs |
Background RP - Reynard - Part 1
More Than He Can Chew: Reynard’s Story
Part 1: Contracts
The contract was pretty straightforward, if a tad more morbid than most of the ones Reynard got. Kurt Kranston was an assassin. A good one: not one of your average rent-a-thugs. Only the last person he killed didn't stay dead. More importantly, he had the money and the clout to not only keep his survival a secret, but to hire someone to enact justice. That someone was Reynard. The contract was dead or alive, but with a preference on dead.
Kranston wasn't easy to find, but Reynard used his contacts as best he could, and eventually tracked him down, all the way to Cambridge, one of the suburbs of Boston in Massachusetts. He was in a gothic nightclub, of all places, called ManRay. It was relatively small for a nightclub, but it was packed, and seemed to suit Kranston just fine. Plenty of liquor, and a pale, scantily clad girl on each arm. Apparently there was something about the assassin that attracted the girls. Reynard looked wistfully at the two, wishing he wasn't working. But a job was a job, so for the moment, he had to keep incognito. He leaned against a wall, watching Kranston through the crowd.
Reynard's fingers itched. They always did, right before the stalk became a chase; the chase became the capture. Idly, his fingers slipped into his trenchcoat, to caress his favored pistol, a tailor-made Glock 23. Absently following habit, his fingers then strayed lower; trailing the contours of a grenade attached to the inside of his coat. Always paranoid the thing may go off by accident, its setup within the coat is interesting; a cloth strap hooked around the handle, but enabling one to pull the explosive out. Even a strap above that, to hook the pin into, if need be to yank, and throw in one smooth action. He watched Kranston, smirking. The man was a predator, competition. But, he did it for the wrong reasons, worked the wrong prey. He's going down for that. A slender brunette walked by then, and the bounty hunters eyes flicked down to admire her fishnet stocking-clad legs. Looking back to Kranston, he mutters, "Focus... focus."
Kranston looks at his watch, grimaces, and then appears to apologize to the two girls, managing to be somehow suave and crude at the same time...he appears to bite one of them on the neck, and from her expression, she seems to like it. With that, the assassin walked around the bar, heading though the crowd in the direction of the exit. Black clothes, at the very least, are required for entry, even if the customers don't wear any special clothing like leather, spiked collars, or any other sort of garment specific to gothic culture. For his own part, Kranston is completely decked out in leather: pants, boots, jacket, and a pair of black RayBans. He walked past Reynard without a second glance, and as he does, there is something strikingly odd about him...his skin seeming to take on a dusky gray hue in the light.
Reynard’s eyes followed the fellow. He had also dressed primarily in black: Dark trousers, his trenchcoat – specially lined with Spidersilk ballistic armor – and a deep purple silk shirt. His ankle boots were off beat leather, and he kept his own dark glasses on as well, even in the dim light of the broody house of angst. Even if the goth chicks dug those feline eyes of his, it wouldn't help to draw attention to himself. No, he preferred to be slick, silent, a shadow. Of course, his red hair doesn't help that, but who's pointing out his faults? Kicking off from his position, the hunter disposes of his glass of coke. Snorting at himself for paying three bucks to get a coke in a dark glass, the bar's 'specialty chalice', he walks after the assassin, gliding amid the movers, shakers, and gloom of the place, winding his way closer, yet keeping a safe distance.
Smoothly, Kranston strode out the front door without a look back, moving as if with a purpose. Reynard followed. Between the noise of the line to get in, the relative shadow of that mountain bouncer, the awning above offering further darkness, and the night itself, he felt confident in not being noticed. Focusing on his prey, watching Kurt's every step, the hunter moves when Kranston does, as if in step with him. Making his way past the bouncers, Reynard sees Kranston walking down the sidewalk, towards the residential district of Central Square, one of the public hubs of activity in Cambridge. Reynard notes this as another oddity: he found Kranston's car before entering the club, and it wasn't in that direction. Reynard does seem to be deliberately walking in that direction, however. Nothing casual in his step, instead it's as if he's in a hurry to be somewhere.
So he's got some place to be. Fair 'nough. And here I was going to trail him to the car. Might as well see what the bugger's up to. Likely 'speak' to him after he’s finished his business. Reynard stalked after the assassin, getting in step with passers-by on the sidewalk, and moving past them, staying at least twenty feet behind Kranston. In the back of his mind, he's disappointed; the bounty hunter wanted to see the expression on his target's face when that nice Mercedes wouldn't start. Those spark plugs weren't even weighing down Reynard's pocket.
Reynard and Kranston quickly leave the few pedestrians there were behind: there aren't many people walking down this sidewalk at twelve midnight. And not many cars coming down the street either, meaning that Reynard has to keep awful quiet if he doesn't want to be spotted. And he seemed to be doing a pretty good job, but then Kranston abruptly stops, moving as if to turn with a hand reaching inside his coat.
Aware of the lack of 'cover' for his shadowing, the hunter casually whistles, as Kranston comes to a halt. Turning on his heel, Reynard takes a set of keys from his pocket, and crosses the street, towards an old little Ford Contour. Walking around to the driver's side, he begins fiddling with the lock, even drops his keys, and swears somewhat loudly under his breath. All the while, he's watching his target through the side view mirror.
Kranston watches Reynard dully for several moments. When the bounty hunter gets back up with his keys in his hand, however, his mark is gone. Reynard swears, for genuine this time. However, instead of looking over his back, the hunter moves around the car. "Innovative new locking system my arse," He comments, crossing to the passenger side, and tries the keys there. From here, he stares over the hood, surveying the area, looking for his target.
For a moment, it looks like Kranston got away clean. But as Reynard scan back and forth, he abruptly hears the sound of someone stumbling, and then swearing. Two blocks ahead, a slightly limping fellow in black leather comes into view. Reynard smirks to himself. He pockets the keys, and moves to the left sidewalk, moving amid the shadows, keeping harsh track on his prey. Of course, those shadows need to be held close.
The assassin appears to look around briefly as he starts up again, but he doesn't even spot Reynard this time, so he keeps going. Reynard tails him from the opposite end of the street for several blocks, and from the sound of traffic, they appear to be getting pretty close to Memorial Drive: one of the two major roads leading alongside the Charles River that connect downtown Boston to Cambridge. Then, at one of the few intersections with a traffic light on this particular road, Kranston hangs a right, and seems to be heading towards a large building. It doesn't look in terrific shape: it could have been an old factory, or perhaps a warehouse. It's surrounded by a chain-link fence, and Kranston swaggered towards an unlocked gate, which he opens to get inside the fence's perimeter. He does have the piece of mind to close the gate behind him, but it remains unlocked by any means. Kranston then heads towards a small door flanked by dumpsters, to which he does produce a key, and enters.
Reynard swears inwardly. On the bright side, the assassin is gone. On the unfortunate side, he's lost sight of his prey, and likely needs a key to follow. Moving to the gate, the bounty hunter opens it as careful as possible, even if his target is all ready inside the building. Shutting the gate equally as quietly, he walks towards the building, looking for another entrance, likely on a second story. I wonder if the windows are locked...
Reynard scans the warehouse wall. The only windows appear to be too high up to reach, even if they do open. There does appear to be a fire escape, composed of a ledge and two ladders: one goes up to the roof, and the other is meant to descend from the ledge to the ground. At present, the ladder isn't down, and the ledge is about ten feet up. Deciding to risk it, Reynard goes into a crouch, and then makes a short run and jumps! He not only manages to grab onto the metal rung of the ladder the first time, he does it without making a sound as he pulls himself up onto the ledge.
Reynard gives a quick breath. "Phew!" He gasps, and dusts his fingers off. Now, to find the stag... Taking the ladder, he continues up the fire escape, to the roof. Climbing atop, he glances about, looking for a door down into the building. The top of the warehouse reveals naut but a small cubical shack with a metal door. When Reynard tests it, however, it proves not to be locked, and reveals a set of stairs leading into a dimly lit darkness. Reynard breathes a sigh of relief. Good. Taking in mind to shut the door behind him the bounty hunter carefully sneaks down the stairs, putting his shades in his pocket, to let his enhanced eyes come into play.
The stairs zag once, before opening up onto what appears to be a metal catwalk that runs along the wall of the warehouse. There is plenty of moonlight being let in from the dirty windows on the walls. There is also a noise from down below, that sounds like a match being lit. There is a second catwalk on the opposing wall, and they are connected by a third catwalk that appears to be at the midpoint of the two. There are also a half dozen ladders that lead down from the catwalks on both sides.
Reynard moves along the catwalk, and gazes down, looking for the assassin. Absently, he makes note of the boxes piled up, right to the catwalk, and figures they're a much quieter way down than the ladders. Moving toward a stack, but trying to stay out of the light, he watches, curiously. From the angle he's at as he moves catlike onto a box just below the walk, Kranston can be seen waiting, with a cigarette in his mouth. He doesn't look edgy, or impatient. He just waits.
Reynard eases onto the next box down, slowly coming closer, Kranston's features and body coming better into view. Something else strange about this picture... he thinks to himself. And then suddenly, he knows what it is. Kranston isn't breathing in the smoke. He's just putting the cigarette to his lips, and taking it out again...and not inhaling.
Reynard's brows knit briefly, but then he shrugs, as he moves down the next box, his hand coming to caress over the butt of his pistol, knowing the twin is just on the other coat's flap. However, the hunter is aware of the situation: Kranston is waiting on something. Thus, it’s not smart to try anything when others could be coming in at any time. He silently moves down another box, before waiting and watching again.
Suddenly, a light snaps on to Reynard's left, directly over a four way intersection framed by boxes, the light making visible a door on the opposing wall. Reynard is too high, luckily, for the light to shine directly on him. Beneath the light stands three females, but how they got there without either of the men seeing them is anyone’s guess. The two on either side are wearing what is visibly recognizable as Spidersilk jumpsuits, the one on the left in a trenchcoat similar to what Reynard wears. Bodyguards. Both are brunettes, and one visibly holds a machine pistol: an Ingram Mac-11. The one in the middle is wearing a woman's dress outfit: a gray pantsuit, low-heeled black shoes, with her blonde hair tied back in a severe bun. She has a manila envelope under her left arm and a suitcase in her right hand. "Mr. Kranston." she says in a clipped voice. The two bodyguards say nothing, but as one of them shifts, a shotgun can be seen under the duster from Reynard's angle.
Kranston smiles. "That's me, chickie’. I hear you've got some work for me." He drops the cigarette, and steps on it dramatically as he moves forward. Reynard grins inwardly. He notes three things. First, the delicious hug of that Spidersilk: how it accentuates the bodyguards' athletic tone. Second, that they're packing serious guns, and obviously mean business. Third, by the way Kranston is moving, if wasn't for the fact he likely is taking a contract for them, they would have ventilated his body by now, with that form of talk. The bounty hunter is ever aware of women who don't take kindly to men like Kranston. Men like himself. The hunter slowly moves down another level, using the assassin's steps and the dialog to mask his movements' whispering sounds.
The blonde does not look amused. "Call me that again, Mr. Kranston, and not only will you not have the job, you'll get to find out if certain specific bodyparts of yours are still repairable in your...condition."
Kranston sneers. "Look, lady, you called me. You wanna go and ace this guy yourself, be my guest. But the fact that you called me implies to don't want this traced back to you and your 'Inner Circle'. So cut the crap and either give me the envelope, or I walk. That simple."
Reynard absently wonders if he'll need to waste the ammo; Kranston seems to be putting himself in front of the gun now. Still, he moves down between two boxes, curiously focusing on the altercation.
The blonde offered a long-suffering sigh of frustration. "Here. The information you requested, along with the target's specifics." she says, handing over the manila. Kranston takes it and opens it, scanning the contents. "Huh. High profile job. That's gonna be extra. You bring the cash?" he mumbles without looking at the women.
The glare from the light as Reynard descends makes it impossible to make out the details of the contents of the envelope...but something else catches the bounty hunter's eye. The brunette bodyguard on the left is wearing silver earrings that glisten in the light...earrings in the shape of spiders. And, on second glance, the other brunette has the same. Reynard arches a brow, but dismisses it as a new fashion trend, although he's unaware of this one. Generally, he tries to stay on top of fashion. Likely related to this 'Inner Circle' stuff.
The blond puts the briefcase on the ground, and pushes it over with one foot. "Seven-hundred and fifty thousand, Mr. Kranston. The rest to be paid to your bank account upon completion." she says primly.
Reynard's lips make an 'o'. So he's getting a bundle for this job. Definitely putting him down before he makes it out of here. Maybe I can grab that case while I'm at it... He moves down another box, letting his hand slip inside his coat to pull one of his twin babies out. Always good to have a gun in hand, even in this case.
Kranston looks over the top of t papers he's looking at with a feral grin. "I'd count it, but I know you Arachne ladies are always good as your word...even to a man. Or at least, a man that you need the help of."
Suddenly, there is a crack as the top of the box Reynard steps on gives way slightly under his weight. All four below react, jerking their heads up on Reynard's direction. Reynard grimaces. He stands up, letting his gutter London accent kick in. "Yah, anyone drive a blue Toyota? Your lights are on." His gun comes up; pointing at the assassin as he manages to get off three quick shots. Not waiting to see if he hit, Reynard hunter jumps off the box, intent on a door that looks like the one the assassin entered.
Kranston does seem to take a hit, jerking back and crashing into the box to his right. The brunette with the Ingram lets loose a flurry of bullets, but none of them find purchase in the bounty hunter as her dives through the air, going into a crouched somersault as he reaches the ground, and then rolling right back up to his feet...just his forehead comes skin-to-muzzle with a Glock. A Glock being held by another woman in a black bodysuit. As Reynard comes to terms with this abrupt curtailment of his escape, he notes that this newcomer also wears silver spider earrings.
Reynard stares up the underside of the barrel, at the manicured hand and undoubtably up at the face of the woman poised to decorate his brains with lead piercings. A sweet smile. "That's a very pretty gun," He says, smoothly. He seems pleased in his ability to speak without wetting himself.
The woman, share Reynard's penchant for red hair, smiles a nasty smile. "I've got a matching Uzi. Now be a dear and drop the hardware."
"An Uzi? Oh, you should see the assault rifle I have at home." Reynard quips back. Obediently, he drops the pistol, and stands up, hands raised. "If you like, I'll just kick it over there..." He nods toward the far wall, and conveniently, close to the door.
The redhead turns Reynard around. "Just put your hands behind your head and move," she says, pushing the bounty hunter in the direction of the other three women. Reynard nods to the woman behind him, and lets his fingers slide inside themselves, cradling the back of his head as if in relaxation. Walking toward the three, inwardly wincing. These ladies probably eat men like me alive.
The two bodyguards now have their weapons out, and pointed. The severe-looking blond eyes Reynard. "And just who are you supposed to be?" she says coldly.
Think fast... Women like the truth. Nothing wrong with the truth, right? Reynard clears his throat, turning to face the blonde, which has the added advantage of allowing him to see the door with his peripheral vision. The redhead appears to move with him, preferring to remain behind him with her gun pressed against his scalp. "Well, miss, I'm a..." He halts on 'exterminator', having noted the spider jewelry and not about to fall into that trap, "...pest consultant manager. I deal with rats." A nod toward the direction of Kranston’s fallen body, which does not appear to have moved since he was hit. "As you can see, scum like him really doesn't need to be around, clogging up society's filter. Make more room for respectful, obedient, appreciative men."
The blonde cocks an eyebrow. Behind her, Kranston's body persists in laying still, and Reynard can't help but wonder if he actually dealt a fatal shot, even in his haste. The businesswoman assesses Reynard, taking a step closer with her arms folded across her chest. "While I'll not disagree with your assessment of Mr. Kranston, you are hardly in a position to claim to be of a higher cut than him. Besides which, you seem to have the rude habit of hanging around where you're not wanted." She hesitates, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Can any of you ladies think of why I shouldn't just…order one of you to kill him? Anyone?" She smiles as she says this, a smile of a cat toying with a mouse.
Before anyone else can reply, there is suddenly a croak behind the blonde. A familiar voice. "Yeah, I can think of one, chickie. Cause I'm going to be the one to off this ass."
Kranston suddenly seems to get up behind the three women. The one with the shotgun looks back at him, and then suddenly gasps. The others look back, and then abruptly make way for Kranston. As he steps into view, a few things become immediately apparent. First, the left lens of his RayBans has a hole in it. Second, the leather of Kranston's jacket has two similar holes. And then, as the assassin pulls off his broken sunglasses, two other things grab everyone's attention. The eyeball behind the holed lens is a pulped mass of tissue, and the undamaged eye glows red. "Fucker. I can grow a new eyeball, but do you have any idea how much this fucking jacket cost??!!" Kranston growls, as if he'd suffered nothing more than a flesh wound. And everyone just stares.
Reynard, as the assassin starts to gets, was initially only disappointed. And I thought I'd killed him. However, as he sees the shattered lens, the holes, and then the man's face, he simply...gawks. Mouth parted, and the beginnings of speech, but those words never find purchase, his mind a total blank. Now would likely be the time to wet himself. Finally, after the initial shock, he babbles out, "H...how?"
Kranston looks Reynard up and down, seeming unconcerned with his shock. "Hey, I know you. You're that asshole that was pretending to get in his car. Shit. I should have killed you and risked being late to the meeting." He looks at the shotgun-wielding brunette. "Hey, chickie, gimmie that Winchester. I'm in the mood to redecorate this jagoffs face." The woman, however, does not appear to be compliant, and she points the shotgun at Kranston. "I don't take orders from you, dead thing." she sneers.
The redhead behind Reynard 'hmms' in a way that implies she's smiling. "First time you've seen a ghoul, huh, pretty boy?" she says in an undertone.
Reynard, despite his bemusement, needs to think, and fast. He looks from face to face, wincing as he looks over Kranston. "Hey, now," He pipes up, holding his hands up. "Now, hold off a moment." Pointing to...whatever Kranston is, "Obviously, that jacket cost an arm and a leg. Likely...three hundred dollars? I have that in my coat." He nods to the trench. "I'll hand it to you, you can get you a new one, and these ladies can shoot me painlessly. Because you know they probably wont let you play with my corpse; they'll likely dump it. So, we all can live happily ever after...other then me, who's dead, but that's obvious. Anyway," He clears his throat, "I'll get the money. And, I'm not about to go for a gun," The hunter adds hastily, "Because that doesn't work; I probably need a stake or some silver or whatnot."
The redhead speaks first. "You should keep in mind, Mister Cat's Eyes, that we could just as easily take the cash from your corpse." There is a brief pause, and Reynard can feel the gun muzzle travel from his head, casually down the length of his spine. "Still...it would be a waste of good stock...we could probably use a fella like you for some of the carnal Power gatherings at The Lady's Webs....." she says thoughtfully. The other two bodyguards seem to relax a little, their guns not held at stock still attention like before...the girl with the Ingram actually folds her arms, pointing the gun at the stack of boxes as she looks Reynard over with a gaze akin to a shark assessing a potential meal. Even the blonde looks thoughtful, though in a different way. "He would be a worthy sacrifice on for the Ides of March." she says to herself.
Kranston looks around at the women, confused. "What? Hell no. I'm gonna get this asshole, and then I'm outta here." He walks back towards where he fell, picking up a Beretta he apparently dropped.
The bounty hunter feels uncomfortable. In a situation where he wasn't being faced with some monster, and women who would easily riddle his body with holes in a breath, he'd likely be turned on. Why, there's obvious suggestiveness and interest, based on the womens' eyes. Score one for those enhanced pheremones those fellas in New Atlantis engineered. Relaxed combatants are easier to escape from.
But on the whole, Reynard is creeped out by the suggested offer. Especially at the mention of a sacrifice. Beautiful. Maybe the spider-women are Black Widows. His head snaps up, however, at Kranston’s words, making him the more immediate threat. "Just like you, Kranston. Preferring to shoot someone from a distance." He shouts coarsely, desperately trying to bait the assassin. "Never was one for wetworks, were you? Tsk. For a man who can take a bullet like a tick, you obviously can't stand to stand in front of your handiwork."
Kranston snorts as he picks up his gun, and then gahs!, putting his hand to his wounded eye. He reaches into a pocket, pulls out a roll of what looks like cotton cloth, and wraps it around his head over his eye, typing it off. Then he looks back at Reynard, stalking towards him with his pistol pointed right at his face. "You're lucky I can heal this fucking eye with a couple pounds of hamburger, fuckface." he growls, pushing the muzzle of his gun against Reynard's forehead. "Now what were you saying? You think I'm too gutless to get up close? Bullshit. Just proves you haven’t done your research. Nothing more I love that feeling the hot spurt of some fucker's arterial blood on my face. Here, I'll even show you right now."
The blonde speaks up. "Not likely, ghoul." she says coldly. "He's ours to do with as we please. You have a job to do, I suggest you get to it."
The cold barrel against Reynard’s skin is chilling. He's got a hair of a chance to pull this off. His eyes trail to the blonde, before moving back to the one eyed...thing. "You heard that. The woman is telling you what to do. Hop to it, lap dog," he quips, trying to further antagonize the assassin.
Kranston snarls. "You, shut the fuck up." he says to Reynard. And then he swivels, pointing the gun at the blonde. "And you, I'll do what I please and go when I please. You purchased my services, not me. This smartass shot me, so I'm just going to return the favor...."
The brunette abruptly points the shotgun at Kranston's head. "You'll talk to Priestess Nyah with respect, walking meat-drone." she replies.
Suddenly, there is a loud 'caw'! Almost everyone's head swivels upwards, to see a crow standing on top of a stack of boxes to Reynard's left. Reynard resists the temptation to look, taking this as his last chance. Into his jacket goes the hand. Grabbing the grenade, he yanks it from its position, letting the hook pull the pin out. He leans forward, shoving the explosive into Kranston's pocket as his fingers flick the hammer free. "Sorry about the jacket, mate. Hold this for me." Before Kranston can react, he shoves the ghoul at the ‘Priestess’.
One of the women shrieks out, "Priestess!" as the blonde reflexively thrusts out her hands to keep Kranston from stumbling atop her. The assassin grunts, not even realizing what just happened...but the women are all too well aware. The redhead shoots, but cleanly misses Reynard as he bolts towards the door. The brunette with the shotgun swivels, aims and lets loose with a blast at the retreating Reynard...but between the Spidersilk lining of his coat and his biologically improved thick hide, the bounty hunter barely feels the blast of the scattershot. Reynard briefly winces as the buckshot runs up his torso. He likes this jacket! But, that's not his worry, it's getting out before the grenade goes off...
The bounty hunter slams against the door, which opens from this side using a push-bar. It almost doesn't open on the first shove, but then it does and Reynard is outside, between chain-link fence and warehouse wall...and then the grenade detonates. Several of the windows shatter, and sound of the crow cawing loudly follows, accompanied by the desperate flapping of wings.
Reynard pushes past the gate and keeps running, intent on getting to his cycle, and driving away. There's little chance that Kranston survived, but a shot through the eye didn't work... Either way, the guy isn't happy. If he took out the blonde, all the better. Just then there is a loud scream that comes from inside the warehouse. Not of pain, necessarily, but of monumental anger. The scream is recognizably female.
Reynard winces at the sound. That can't be good. Despite the urgent instinct to get the fuck out of there, he glances behind him, slowing down enough to get a better look.
Only a dozen yards away, the door into the warehouse comes flying off its hinges, as if struck with a powerful force. The blonde exits purposefully, her hair a tangled mess. One thing becomes quite clear as she comes into view: her clothes appear to have been partially shredded by the fragmentary grenade. But she, herself, looks completely untouched. "Get back here, you MALE!" she shrieks, lifting a hand... Suddenly, the transformer nearest to Reynard sparks, and a bolt of electricity comes shooting down towards the bounty hunter, seemingly in denial of the laws of physics.
Reynard, although his dignity would kick him later, squeaks like a mouse. He starts running quicker, desiring to get Away from this spectacle. People walking away from grenades without a scratch? Taking a bullet in the eye and not screaming in agony? This isn't normal.And then the bolt comes. "Shit!" He drops flat on the ground, letting the bolt dive over him, sizzling across the pavement.
The blond gives chase, kicking off her shoes, shrieking like a harpy. There is, abruptly, the sound of a car starting up behind both of them, and the blond turns to look in spite of her raging fury. Reynard does not. He doesn't care what's behind him, he just hooks a right and runs down the road he came...but the blond is well aware of what's going on. A van accelerates towards her, and she barely dodges out of the way, yelling her defiance. The van makes a sharp curve and then comes racing down the street behind Reynard. The side door swings open as the van pulls alongside Reynard, revealing a dark-skinned man in black slacks, black t-shirt, and a Spidersilk duster similar to Reynard's own. He also wears sunglasses over his grim looking face, and he offers a hand as the car matches speed with Reynard. "Get the fuck in!" the man shouts over the noise of the engine.
Reynard is scared. He's shocked. He's nearly been killed. Electrocuted. Shot. Ripped apart by a 'ghoul'. Blown to bits. At this point and time, it seems the wisest situation is to just go with the flow. The bounty hunter simply turns, and bolts, to leap into the van, reaching out to the fellow. The man firmly grips Reynard's hand and pulls him into the dimly lit van, swinging the door shut. "Holmes, gun it!" he shouts. The van speeds, up, racing back towards ManRay and Massachusetts Avenue.
The interior of the van reveals that the black man is not the only occupant. One seems to be, of all things, a rabbi, dressed in full priest's dress, his black hair in braids. Another is a short looking Asian woman dressed in colorful clothes...only she's covered in fur and has a tail, and wears a silver chain with a small silver cat attached to it. And the third appears to be...a 17th century samurai in full dress armor. And he's transparent.
Reynard simply sits down, for a moment, trying to register himself, get his bearings straight. As he looks up... he blinks. A simple nod of respect shot the duster clad fellow's way. A smile to the Rabbi, an even better one to the cat, considering he's more comfortable with other bio-engineered folk. Then he spots the...samurai? "Pardon me," He says, after a moment, "But what in the bloody Fuck is going on? Have I been dropped into some sick Halloween special?"
The van comes to an abrupt stop at the traffic light, and then the driver twists around in his seat, catching the notice of Reynard. He seems normal enough: a man a little younger than Reynard with short, straight black hair...and no pupils. His eyes are completely white. "Wait'll you get a load of me." the man says in a drawl imitating Jack Nicholson, before turning back to look at the road and pulling onto Mass Ave.
Reynard holds up his hand, in gesture to the driver. "And another shoe drops! Could someone clue me in, here?"
The black man eyes Reynard coolly. Now that Reynard gets a better look at him, he notes that the shirt the man is wearing has writing on it: 'Whatever doesn't kill me probably missed!' His skin is a medium-brown, his hair in high and tight cornrows, military style. "Actually, we're rather interested to know what you were doing in a warehouse where a high ranking Arachne priestess was meeting with an assassin." he says, his voice revealing a slight Southern accent. At the mention of 'Arachne', the rabbi shivers briefly, sitting back.
Reynard spreads his hands. "The spider chicks? I was here to scrap Kranston. And, for some odd reason, the whacking required something other then bullets..." He shakes his head. "And, apparently, I caught him when he was making a deal... With the women, the 'Arachne', was it?"
The samurai grunts, and the black man nods thoughtfully, ignoring Reynard's question. "This man...ghoul...that you call Kranston. You were after him then? Not the Arachne? Why?" The van seems to be moving at more leisurely pace now, though there are no windows outside to tell how far they've gone, or in what direction.
Reynard glances at the Samurai, and scoots away, uncomfortable with the fact he can see right through him. Unconsciously, his hand settles on his ribs, but in close proximity to grab his other gun if need be. "Ghoul? First of all, I have no idea what that is; he gets up after a shot to the eye, then blabs about heading for a hamburger. As for why? The guy tried to whack someone with money. He didn't make the kill. So, the target wants him, dead or alive." Sitting back in the van, "Hopefully he can't shrug off a grenade in his hip as easily..."
The samurai grins. "I like this century. Explosives were primitive in my time. Still, I think we should have gone in there and killed them all ourselves!" he says in a thick Japanese accent, waving his arms dramatically. The rabbi sighs. "Mr. Hiro, you always want to go in and kill all the bad guys. That's not what this was about. We were supposed to find out what they were doing!" "Bah!" retorts the samurai. "The way of subterfuge is the way of the ninja, not the samurai! I prefer direct action! It gets better results faster!"
Reynard smirks, relaxing slightly. "You want to know what they were doing? They were putting Kranston on a contract. Offing someone high, I believe. Didn't get a name, unfortunately, and the papers were likely incinerated."
The black man rubs his chin grimacing. "Perhaps." Then the driver calls back. "Keep in mind, Tyco, Lillian's watching them. If the ghoul's still alive, she can follow him, and maybe the Arachne too." 'Tyco' nods, and then looks squarely at Reynard. "He just might be alive." he grunts, pulling off his shades...and revealing red, glowing eyes similar to Kranston's own. "I've taken a grenade and 'lived' to tell the tale."
Reynard's hand dips into his jacket. Gripping his pistol for life, the bounty hunter glances around the van. "Ok, Enough small talk. There's a three hundred-year-old samurai that I could walk through sitting there, a blind man driving the car, and for all I know, I'm riding with Dracula. Can I get some bloody answers?"
The occupants of the van look around at each other. Then the rabbi reaches out and places his hand on Reynard's knee. "I think you need to get some rest, my son."
Reynard snorts. "No, what I need is a nice big fat piece of cake, some scotch and a red...head." He barely completes the last word before falling asleep between one second and the next.
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