Characters: NPCs Fugue, Orca, Locke, Nothing, Charger, Steve and OPEN
Date/Time: Monday, September 26, 2011
Location: Frost Mountain (mostly the caves)
Rating: PG, possibly upwards for violence and/or language
Summary: Orca is executing the last steps in his plan to abduct and subdue Fugue. Locke says hell naw. Meanwhile, the rest of the Sphere
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He had no allies from his speech and Calkins was dead. These were but small obstacles, for he knew that he could only truly rely on himself. He shed the guise of the scholar and donned a bulletproof vest on top of clothing made of stuff far more hardy than he was used to wearing in this place. He did not bother concealing the firearms he carried on his person.
Locke discovered where Orca was hiding out of sheer logic. Frost Mountain simply made the most sense, and that was where he went. He stood outside the caves, bright blue eyes snapping with ill concealed frustration at how infuriatingly simple this entire thing was. Did Orca think him a fool? His scarred face twisted for but a moment before smoothing back into indifference.
"Is this really your master plan, Orca?" He called out, unafraid of what he may face. "It appears that you are in need of my assistance. This plan of yours is little more than an interlude in the grand scheme of things, my old ally."
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"'My old ally'?" It was too far for Locke to be able to tell Orca's facial expression but the derisive, almost amused sneer in his voice would be able to help the other man fill in the blanks. "So how is it you're expecting this to go, Sarge? I come to you for your 'assistance' and you shoot me and the Old Man down? Put us back where we started, undo all the work and planning I've done? Because you want go up in a puff of the metaphysic? No, I don't think that'll be happening."
He had lashed his rifle to the griffon's saddle because trouble was bound to raise its head sooner or later and a man needed to be prepared. Now Orca released it from its confines and aimed it at Locke. "Instead, I think I'll 'assist' you. Give you that freedom you've been wantin' so dearly." Orca fired a shot in Locke's direction, crowing:
"Here lies the body of Sergeant Locke!
Came to the party to offer a shock.
But to his surprise
He met his demise
At the end of a shotgun stock!"
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When he squeezed the trigger, he aimed for the head.
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"Hnnrgh. Gettin'... too old fer this."
With some effort, Orca managed to haul himself to his feet. That was a start but he still had to drag Fugue's dead weight down the caves without Locke finding him first. Grumbling, Orca fetched his shotgun from the side of the ailing griffin. The beast was worse for wear, one wing shot through, the other broken, meaning it was wailing something fierce. It wasn't likely to last. No sense in letting it suffer (or, more importantly, call attention to them). Putting the barrel to the creature's head, Orca pulled the trigger and put it out of its misery.
With that done Orca slung his shotgun so that it hung in front of him, looped Fugue's arms around his shoulders, then set off down the cave in a gate that was half-trudging, half-limping.
"Yup, def'nitely gettin' too old."
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He walked into the caves, then frowned as he saw the labyrinth that appeared in front of him. A bit of a bother to be sure. He walked slowly, lest his footsteps cover up the sounds of Orca fleeing that he was listening for. He was gratified when he heard a familiar grumble come from the right.
"You are no older than any other in this place!" He said, knowing that if he could hear Orca, Orca could surely hear him. "With two exceptions."
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