nysalogs | dec and jan catch all [closed]

[ If they're lucky. Then again, he knows about risk and reward, so he raises no objections to the answer. While Takasugi is looking for places of interest on their journey through the hallway, Mikazuki is looking forward, though he's giving off the distinct impression that nothing from any side could take him by surprise. It's just how his focus routes itself.

But it's also diverted easily. Mikazuki cants his head aside when Takasugi pauses long enough to indicate something might be there, confirming it with the test of the handle.

Stepping up to it, Mikazuki tests it himself. Sturdy, but old. Not like the sleek keypads and automatic doors of his time. Glancing up the length of the jamb, he figures it'll probably cause too much noise to break in the door itself. So he grips the handle tight and bears down, the concentration of his strength enough to cause a series of pops and groans from the locking mechanism as it bends from its molding.

It starts to give, and with a swift yank, the handle and its anchor pops off, showering off all the delicate, broken bits. ]

[They both wear confidence like an emblem, unaffected by the creaking of wood in darkened hallways. Fixated only on the task at hand. For Mikazuki, its something like servitude, but undiluted by the lack of freedom that accompanies such a notion. For Takasugi, its taking yet another trifling step in the process of securing himself a foothold in this new world.

Even if only to stamp it out under his heel.

All of their boldness considered, Takasugi is a bit disappointed Mikazuki didn't just beat the door down.

A time for brutality later.

Snapped not unlike bone, Takasugi regards the door handle with the same fondness he considers splintered ivory. Leaving Mikazuki to deal with the clean up, Takasugi steps into the newly opened room.

A much cleaner chamber than the last. Diquietingly so. Three desks, all shoved into the back wall, and all devoid of any clutter. Not that they're pristine, one dented and scraped, while the other two support neat stacks of books and folders.

And a box of sweets.

Takasugi flips through the books absently, proceeding from one to the next, inspecting the folders between. They're all empty. A hasty clean up, huh?]

Break into the drawers, too.

[The task is information, but anything of monetary value he intends to steal. Not for the coin, but for the diversion. Petty thieves take what glitters and don't care about research scrawled in ink or plans laid in wait.]

[ Though violence is his first instinct, achieving a goal is enough to knock that penchant off its alignment; set it neatly into something else. Scouting implied looking for information. Mikazuki isn't typically the person employed in reconnaissance. He's the insurance behind it. A force used to pave the way back in and out again.

Wordlessly, he steps into the room and sets the broken doorknob down on the nearest table. It smells cleaner in here too, though Mikazuki is wise to the scent of sugar, a sharp oddity that needles him to the pit of his stomach among all the other items.

But he focus pulls him to the drawers in question — locks bashed with the first two of his knuckles, popped clean from their sockets, set aside.

There's nothing of note for a while, just the mechanical sound of lock after lock, a few papers, and then, finally, Mikazuki's voice after a long pause as if he'd been trying to parse something. He's still trying to parse it, words slow and methodical, clumsy in the way someone unused to reading out loud is: ]

"I don't care about my employees and I'm getting crazier every day"...

[Clunking metal, dull against flesh, a sign his command has been followed, Takasugi continues perusing the books and files. In the dim light, he doesn't bother skimming the texts, and each folder is as empty as the next.

He'll be busting drawers himself, after this stack of paper fodder.

Takasugi knows the sound of someone unused to reading. Wind chimes clamoring in a gust, loud but familiar enough to do nothing more than make one consider the presence of weather. The state of Mikazuki's literacy tucked away, he'll later think it makes sense; strength like Mikazuki's doesn't grow from well-watered roots.]

Ho...? [He shuts the book he'd been paging, leaving it behind with fingers curling over a gold enamel page marker. He'll pocket that later.

With a hand snaked around Mikazuki's shoulder, he plucks the note from his hands.] Do you know who Evras is?

[ No more or less tense for the presence behind him that should feel more sudden than it does, Mikazuki's chin tips in a nod, shoulders keeping their set beneath his arm. In the absence of the little drawing, the first "familiar" and easily understood thing he'd seen, Mikazuki simply looks ahead in thought. ]

He runs this place. I brought information to him once.

[ When Olympia had more to offer. ]

Aa. [So, they've met.

Mikazuki isn't a poor read of character, though the substance he looks for isn't what most people would care to notice.

He's aware his question is probably useless, but Takasugi asks anyway,] Did he seem crazy?

[The note is wrapped in his palm, and he withdraws, casting the sweets a more thorough glance before he returns to his dwindling stack of literature. Another note, hastily scribbled, complains of side-effects.

Takasugi will keep that in mind, and leave the scrap of paper untouched.]

[ Takasugi is right that his perception of people tends to be skewed, but it's not always to Mikazuki's disadvantage. ]

Maybe. Looking at all this everyday...

[ He doesn't mask the flat, slightly caustic edge to his tone when saying so, either. Mikazuki wouldn't understand the need to have all this — drawers upon drawers of papers and notes, information that's useful to who, exactly? Handing over the note frees him to continue rummaging through the current drawer, where the shifting of papers gives way to a gentle clinking noise of something else bouncing off the drawer's inside. ]

Heh.

[Being locked in the depths of scholarship could drive a man mad, to be sure. To choose to barricade oneself there, then, must be a mark of true insanity.

Not that they're much better; their depravity is simply a different sort. The kind who embroil themselves in conflict where there's no answer for death but death in return.

Takasugi runs his finger over the page marker, tracing intricate pattern with a calloused skin. He can barely feel the finery - the contents it adorns are equally as dull. He plucks the gold from the page, and slides it into his yukata.]

Finished?

[He heard the clink of something heavier in the drawer, and will pause long enough in his exit to give Mikazuki a chance to grab it if he so chooses.]

[ That clink had been a small crystal bottle, capped with a cork of the same material. Mikazuki produces it from the depths of the drawer, looking at the label that has inappropriately cheery writing on it. Giving it a shake, the contents glisten and bubble.

Maybe not so inappropriate, then. He hasn't really taken anything so far, having no need for it, but he keeps the small bottle in his wide palm as he turns away from the drawers. ]

Yeah, there's nothing else.

[ He quiets then, ready to listen if they're going to move on. ]

[He thinks to ask Mikazuki what it is - but even if the boy could read, there's no guarantee the label contains anything helpful. Takasugi watches dully as the bottle glistens and then disappears from sight, held tight.

They've both stolen something that shimmers, and perhaps both will simply be exchanged for silver.]

Mm- [Takasugi gives no indication of their exit except his own departure, returning the the hallway from the study with quiet footsteps.

The light hasn't changed. His eyes have adjusted, the mortar of the walls a light tangle of color previously invisible, but there's another change

A shift in intuition.

Ease overtaken by caution.

The path he leads is back the way they came, a clear passage until they approach the first room they'd slipped into.

Three guards - two posted at the door, the other rummaging inside, well lit by a small spell. Guards standing silently, the only sound they make is the rustle of papers in the disarray of the room.

Before footsteps, those men will hear the draw of steel.] Get their eyes- [Quiet, but not too low to be heard by the patrol, the two guards immediately draw their weapons and turn to face the pair emerging from faded darkness.

Put your weapons down!

No chance.]

[ Part of him had known it would happen this way, wry beyond his years and always prepared for it. Mikazuki has no weapons to put down, but that makes him more difficult to unarm.

Get is the only word that Mikazuki has to hear leave Takasugi's mouth before he's less emerging from the darkness and more bursting from it, his rush for the first man low. An equally low center of gravity swiftly rising has his target being slammed against a wall by his gut and thrown to the ground with barely a chance to yell out in reaction. A scuffle, a sharp breath, the impact of flesh that sounds sickeningly... watery.

There's a strange depression of lungs and a stranger sound that accompanies it when Mikazuki lets that first man go, turning to see who else is close enough to go for. ]

[There's something to be said of a beast that springs into action with the slightest utterance. Trained, maybe, but Takasugi would hesitate to put such shackles on the frenzy Mikazuki unleashes every time he bares his fangs.

He leaves naming the creature for another time.

The guard of the two who wasn't immediately slammed into the wall loses a moment to alarm. In that second Takasugi lunges forward, sword carving an arc across his face. Blood and clear fluid spray from the man's eyes, shock keeping him from doing anything but holding his weapon forward.

His companion emerges from the small study in time to see him crumple to the ground. A yell, the man's name garbled by fear, the guard quickly redirects his light to a projectile, flinging it at Takasugi.

Flame licks his hair, singes his clothing - and more importantly, illuminates his face as he sidesteps, leaving the trajectory clear for Mikazuki to clean up.]

[ With the path clear and the final man's attention on whether or not he hits Takasugi, Mikazuki uses that lapse to his advantage. Over the body he goes, leaving it haphazard but still breathing as ordered, barely a space for a reaction as he shoulder checks the guard to throw him off his balance. It's quieter than slamming him into a wall for a sturdier vantage — there's not enough time for that. Here, there are three, but Mikazuki knows there will be more.

Ribs compress beneath the force of his hit, and Mikazuki pivots, drives his palm up into his jaw to quell coughing before it starts. There's a snap, not enough to indicate a break, but definitely one that will ruin his sight for the split second he needs. Its one smooth motion, the way he grabs the guard's throat, fingertips crushing into the arteries and muscles beneath skin. He lifts until the struggling subsides, and things seem to slow for a moment as he lowers the body to the ground, catching his breath in one exhale.

There's commotion elsewhere in the building. It's time to leave, but he doesn't make the first move, not until he's told to go. ]

[Embers disperse violently, shooting to crest against the stone of ceiling and floor alike. They don't leave so much as a black mark in their wake, heat quickly snuffed by the stone's chill.

The first contact Mikazuki makes echoes in skidded footsteps and a sharp intake of breath. It's not loud enough to resonate uncomfortably, but it delivers a pang of acute awareness of sound.

Soon there will be more than three.

Takasugi doesn't intend to meet them with his blade drawn, but neither does he sheath it.

Not when he's been seen, and though his order has been so comfortably received and delivered, it will need modified. He approaches the crumpled body of the third man and slips the tip of his blade into the man's bruising throat.

Enough to puncture voice box - maybe enough to kill. Either result suits him fine.

There's only a thin line of blood left flowing on the man's neck when he slides his blade back into its scabbard. He looks to Mikazuki - his eyes adjusted to the dark, maybe, or maybe he just sees more in the boy's face when he's fresh from working flesh and bone beneath his hands.

It's a lingering glance, one that requires the full tilt of his head to break as Takasugi turns to leave the scene.]

dec and jan catch all [closed]

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