Another sacrifice to a tormentor your world wouldn't understand... [Locked]

[asoultosave]

This is not the best afternoon to leave the safety of wherever you happen to call home, but Bianca de Luca is not about to let the frigid winter air keep her from a drink and a smoke. She's bundled up in a coat, headed towards Terrence's bar, and lighting a cigarette, not really paying much attention to her surroundings, because she's used to this

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[kineticmachine]

Seeing as Bianca's done absolutely nothing wrong, and neither has her ward, there's no reason to suspect that the young(-appearing) man also heading toward the bar, about a block or so behind the angel, means her any harm at all.

Arlin's been tailing her for a bit -- usually he has a little more time to orchestrate the hit, get used to the target's movements, but one works with what one gets. He's dressed as nondescriptly as possibly, hair pulled back into a low ponytail, but under the jacket is a silenced pistol (as well as the customary number of knives) and if one watched closely one might be able to tell that his facial features are shifting a bit, blurring so that one would be hard pressed to describe his face much at all, or even pin down a distinct gender (the baggier clothes and ponytail also help with that).

He'll amp the blur up later, in the moment, but this will do for now, until she gets to her destination and he can get this job done. He's got a bad feeling about this whole thing -- it's mostly the short notice, the public circumstances, and especially how easily Cole had caved to his demands.

[asoultosave]

Bianca pauses briefly to finish her cigarette, because for all Terrence is an agreeable shapeshifter and tends to respect anything from wings-out to the occasional archangel skirmish provided it doesn't do too much property damage, he will throw you on your ass if you smoke in his bar.

The universe might have hard done her by more than she realized it, because if she were an archangel, she might have managed some sort of sense that she's being followed, but there's nothing but the familiar bond with Vaughn and given that he's safe right now, she feels comfortable.

She walks into the bar, greets the regulars and notes that Terrence isn't at his usual post behind the bar. She frowns and takes a seat, dinging the bell. "Where'd Terrence go?" She asks someone to her left, who responds with an, "I dunno. He went into the back for something." Shrugging, Bianca just rests her elbows on the table and studies the mixed nuts.

Somewhere in the back room, the barkeep in question is on his knees, grimacing in pain, which is an odd position for a man his size to be in, considering the man currently holding his arm and squeezing it is not nearly as big, but that's the interesting thing about Cole's Rift ability- all it takes is a touch and you go down.

"Y'know, I really didn't wanna do this the hard way, but if you insist..."

[kineticmachine]

Arlin waits for a bit, nursing his own drink very slowly at a table a bit behind her. He's watching her out of the corner of his eyes, mentally grumbling about the necessity of close-and-personal hits in a public space (usually he'd prefer to be a building over with his crossbow or sniper rifle), so when she gets up and starts walking away from the bar, he surreptitiously follows.

And catches her in the doorway to the backroom, out of sight of the other patrons. One hand is over her mouth and he's fired a shot into her stomach, through her spine, the incapacitating shot. Messy, but it'll do for now. Then he swings the gun up to her heart, figuring if Cole wants her to deliver a message, Cole wants her recognizable and therefore a headshot won't do.

[bigtimebackwash]

Bianca doesn't know what to think when the hand goes over her mouth- her first thought is demon, but the hand's human temperature, and she has no idea why on earth a human would be doing this. The gutshot cuts off all lines of thinking and her mind is just a haze of please don't go after Vaughn- not my ward, not my ward, because it's a distinct possibility and her own life doesn't even figure into this, and it might have eventually, but the shock sets in and she's not really thinking of much of anything anymore.

And then suddenly, rather than the final bullet what comes is an explosion somewhere in the backroom, strong enough to throw the two of them to the ground. It's meant to be more of a smoke-bomb (with a rather unpleasant kick to it) than an actual incendiary, but it's sufficient enough to provide adequate cover for someone to sneak in, grab Bianca, and make a run for the back.

[kineticmachine]

Arlin knows exactly what to think when the bomb goes off -- or rather, when his head's cleared enough after, which takes less time than one might think. He rolls with the blast, getting back on his feet a little before the smoke clears out of his eyes, but that gives him enough time to see Bianca get dragged off by someone. He doesn't really think, just fires a few shots in that direction -- bar's panicking now anyway, thanks to the explosion, so what little subtlety he had to work with is gone anyway.

And then he's moving for the door after Bianca (and her mysterious kidnapper, though Arlin's got a feeling he knows who exactly that is), muttering a colorful amalgam of curses in about nine different languages under his breath. This was not what he meant by 'creative', the little fuck.

[bigtimebackwash]

The thing about McKenas Cole and probably one of the scarier things is that he's not stupid- he's just fucking crazy, which looks like stupidity in the wrong light. So the person dragging Bianca out who now has a bullet in his shoulder as well as feeling like someone just crammed chili peppers into his organs is Terrence the barkeep who picks up the pace long enough to get out the back door where the smoke is worst and all but throws a half conscious Bianca outside, where she tumbles awkwardly just in front of a black sedan with the door open. Cole's leaning out of it with a silenced pistol in one hand while one of his men leaps out and drags Bianca into the backseat.

"Good man, Terrence," Cole grins, once the bleeding angel is secured. The white blood's never coming out of the seats- that's what happens when you get black upholstery and then wind up killing angels. "Now get your ass back in there."

Terrence doesn't have the strength to argue anymore, just slams the door shut and blocks the way, which will give Cole ample time to get away while Bianca's killer stumbles through the smoke, leaving only him there to take the fall... Not much else to do. Hell if he knows where that bastard's going with Bianca or what he plans to do with her- he's just the simple barkeep who got tortured into being a damn accomplice.

Poor Terrence.

[kineticmachine]

And as the van's pulling away, here comes Arlin out the back, with an expression of utter rage on his face -- not that it's easy to tell what expression is on his face due to the amount it's blurred now, features shifting around so much that he pretty much looks like a walking impressionist painting. Which, actually, might make the snarlgrimace look a bit more terrifying. He whirls on Terrence, shoving the gun up under the bigger man's jaw. He doesn't really say anything -- this guy probably has no idea what happened and Arlin's sure it was Cole or one of his goons anyway -- just growls an elaborate Czech curse into Terrence's face.

And then pulls the trigger, because this is the fucker that actually got in his way, never mind that he was probably coerced into doing it. Never mind that it was Arlin who walked into the fucking bar expecting Cole to adhere to the terms of the hit.

Moments later, Arlin's walking along the back alleys of Chicago, white blood soaked into his clothes and a bit of red still at the edge of his face where he hadn't wiped it all off completely, wondering when exactly he'd gotten so stupid and heading toward an associate's place for a change of clothes. Terrence, poor guy, is just a corpse just outside the back door of the bar, missing most of his head.

[bigtimebackwash]

And in a sedan, bound for the Conrad, Cole is working on writing an entry in Bianca's journal, hopefully her ward's paying attention to the channels or this could get ugly. Bianca, meanwhile, is sprawled across the seat, half-paralyzed and just staring blankly at Cole like she's not sure exactly who the fuck he thinks he is.

She's dying, she can register that much. She's really wishing he'd just put her out of her misery, but that's clearly not gonna happen, and she can't even muster enough strength to ask him to.

"Here's the sitch," Cole says, tearing a page from a notebook he procured from the floorboards and scribbling something on it. "Your ward's gonna wanna be out of the city for a little sumthin' I got planned, and if he doesn't go, he's gonna die, which I know is definitely gonna be a problem for you, even if you ain't got much longer to worry about it."

Bianca tries to muster a growl of rage, but it just comes out weak and half-hearted. God, everything hurts and the thought that this really was about Vaughn just hurts her even more. "I coulda got 'em out," she rasps, weakly.

"Not the way I want him out," Cole says, somewhat sadistically gleeful. "Now here's the part where you come in. Y'see, if you tell him about me or the son of a bitch who shot you, he's dead. If you just give him this note-" he holds up the note he just scribbled "-he gets to live. Believe me, I don't wanna hurt your ward, but I will if he gets in my way. This-" he waves the note again, "-ensures that he won't. You followin'?"

Bianca just nods, glowering at him darkly and wishing for all the world that she could just wring his fat neck and be done with it. Even dying, all she can think about is protecting Vaughn. "Why would I believe you?" She snarls through the pain.

Cole shrugs. "The way I see it, one of these circumstances is absolutely guaranteed to end with your ward deader than roadkill. The other one... Well, you can believe me when I say he'll be safe or you can not believe me, but either way, goin' with that option promises you a better chance of the bastard surviving than otherwise."

He shoves the note into her hands, closing her fingers around it. "Make sure he gets that."

The sedan stops and Cole leans over Bianca to get the door before shoving unceremoniously out onto the sidewalk, thankfully into a small bank of snow so it breaks her fall and prevents her from further injury. It's dark enough that the streets are fairly empty- no one really wanting to venture out into the cold- although it won't be long before someone notices the woman in the snow. Hopefully, the boy scout's on his way.

Cole slams the door and signals the driver and heads back to the bank. Phase one's complete.

Now it's just time to move onto phase two and hope he can avoid Arlin for a little while.

[stillaboyscout]

Vaughn comes rushing out of the Conrad, his heart racing, his mind one big blur because there was someone in Bianca's journal, there was someone who was not her and this can't be happening, not to him, not again, oh god oh god...

And there she is, laying there in the snow. Vaughn can't breathe as he races towards her, no, no she's not moving and this can't be happening.

"BIANCA!" he yells, then comes to a skidding halt next to her motionless body oh god oh god she's bleeding she's bleeding she's bleeding. "Bianca!" He's on his knees, things are coming in snippits now but this can't be happening it can't be happening to him. "Bianca, oh god oh god Bianca can you here me? It's me, it's Michael, it's Vaughn, can you hear me can you hear me oh god." He's ripped off his jacket and then part of his shirt, she's bleeding and he needs to stop that. He puts as much weight on it as he can without squashing her, she looks so small here in the snow. He has to stop the bleeding and someone has to call 911. "HELLO?!" he shouts, because god someone has to notice something's going on. He doesn't dare get up, doesn't dare leave her side. "SOMEONE, ANYONE, YOU NEED TO CALL 911 THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!" He turns back to Bianca, suddenly fighting tears because this can't be happening, she's Bianca, and he needs her dammit.

"Bianca?" he whispers, stroking the side of her face with the back of his hand. "Bianca it's Michael, it's Vaughn, I'm here, you're gonna be okay, you gotta talk to me though, okay? Okay?"

Michael Vaughn does not wear panic well, but oh god he can't lose another person, he can't lose Bianca, not here, not tonight.

[asoultosave]

Bianca's eyes flutter open- kinda hard to stay unconscious with all that yelling. She manages a little smile, because it's her ward and he's there and with all the pain she's feeling right now, it's comforting to know that the bond is still there, strong as ever. She can focus on that.

"Hey, Skippy," she murmurs. "Guess I wasn't fast enough this time."

She doesn't have much time- she's slipping further and further down into the darkness, but, dammit, she will do this. She can't tell him anything, because it's either tell him a lie and kill herself faster in pain or tell him the truth and risk him getting killed.

Weakly she raises her hand with the note still clutched in it. She hasn't read it, obviously, but it screams trap, even though it's the safer option. Instructions on where to meet her killer somewhere in Switzerland. It's meant to look like a trap, because clearly Cole was smart enough to assume Vaughn would go either way- at least this way assures that he'll have back-up, preferably in the form of Bristow.

"Told me to give you this," she murmurs and her eyes flutter again. Not long now.

And God, she's worried about him. He doesn't look like he's going to be able to keep it together when she's gone.

[stillaboyscout]

At first Vaughn is completely relieved, because she's still alive, she's talking to him and oh god where are the people she needs medical attention. He's about to call for more help, when the words actually register.

'Guess I wasn't fast enough this time'? What does that mean-

No. No no no no no no. Shit. "No, Bianca, you have to stay with me, okay? Okay? You gotta stay here with me, do you hear me Bianca?!" He's panicking for real now. He's not going to let her die, he's not going to let her die he's not going to let her die because he can't let her die. He's a Boy Scout--he saves people. This isn't how it works.

When she raises her hand, Vaughn takes the note, crumpling it into a ball as he presses his hand against hers. He can hear the weakness in her voice, and it kills him.

"You gotta stay here with me, Bianca," he tells her, fighting tears as best he can. "You gotta stay here with me." His voice cracks. He's not about to let her go.

He can't let her go.

[asoultosave]

"Skippy, I can't feel legs," she says, laughing hoarsely. Her vision's starting to go dark and the laughter hurts, but she can deal with it. Not like she doesn't have much longer to deal with it. "I was raised by archangels. I know a mortal wound when I get one inflicted on me."

She winces and relaxes a little. Shame she doesn't have an Angel of Death here. That could make this so much easier for the both of them, maybe. "You take care of yourself, all right? Love to stay and do my job properly, but... I don't think that's gonna be..."

Bianca's eyes fall shut as her heart gives out on her before she can even finish the sentence, the youngest child and the only daughter of the de Luca archangel family dead for no reason other than a vendetta that neither she nor her ward really had anything to do with other than by proxy- one more unfair death in a city of many.

[stillaboyscout]

Vaughn just sits, stunned. No. No no no no no. Fuck. FUCK.

"Bianca?" he asks, even though he knows she's dead. "Bianca?"

And he proceeds to break down completely, burying his face in her shoulder to supress the sobs. "No," he whispers. "No no no you can't Bianca, you can't I need you here I need you please oh god."

There are words he hasn't said to any one in a long time, the words that hurt him before he came though the Rift, the words he couldn't bring himself to say to her.

"I love you," he whispers. "I love you and I need you and you can't leave me. Please. Not now."

But she doesn't reply, and he knows it's over. With a single sniff, he raises his head, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Slowly, carefully, he takes the crumpled piece of paper from her hand, opens it and reads it.

The rage sets in like ice. Someone's going to pay for this. And he will do it himself, dammit.

But first he has some things to attend to.