Plot - The Christmas Party [closed]

[purity_mods]

Who: Prima, BLU Spy, Alphonse Elric, Ritsuka Aoyagi, Zidane Tribal & Others...
When: December 21st, around 6pm.
Where: The Governmental District
What: A Christmas party is held for a select number of Awakened. If you’ve ever wanted a chance to engross yourself in Boston’s upperclass, now’s your opportunity!
Warnings: Violence. All participating

Comments

Am I doing this right? /o\

[fyi_iamaspy]

Spy's chattering (and admittedly, slightly buzzed despite forcing some stale saltines down his mouth) when someone notices that the doors are locked. He doesn't make an offer to help. It's not really in his nature to try to save the majority if his own skin is on the line, even though he's sure he could pick the door open if he really tried. There's a brief flicker of want to go save that one kid and pull him away from doors that are more than likely locked for a reason, but he quashes it as soon as the want rises.

Instead, he falls back in the crowd, lets everyone else squabble and shout over locked doors this and never getting out that.

He ducks behind the obnoxiously large chocolate fountain. If the main entrance is locked, a kitchen exit is the next best possibility, or slip out the back, go through the bathrooms... He presses his cloaking watch; the fizzing sound of his cloak going up is barely audible, and with a flicker of blue there's nothing there anymore.

Which, is really terrific timing, considering there are men blasting the doors inside like Demo in a full drunken fury. Spy curses in Italian, diving under table with a rustle of white tablecloth and just the slightest blue flicker. He's already reaching for the small pistol he's managed to procure in his time here from his jacket, mentally swearing and cursing every deity in the book as he cocks his gun and presses his invisible face to the cool tile, looking under the tablecloth that is just an inch or two shy of the ground.

Americans always threw very terrible parties.

that's fine!

[purity_npcs]

Screams and shouts fill the room. There's another crash as something - or someone- crashes right into the grandfather clock; it falls in a spectacular heap of gears and clockwork, echoing throughout the ballroom with a sound loud enough to rival that of the periodic gunfire.

It's impossible to hear amidst the chaos, but there's a metal click and a hollow thwump as one of the men detonates a grenade. It rolls across the floor right in front of the table Spy is hiding under, and then hisses as a cloud of thick white smoke pours out from the top of the metal canister.

[fyi_iamaspy]

For a split second, Spy's shoulders seize up as the canister clacks towards him with a hiss that means gas is being released. Memories of his childhood of men ravaged by mustard gas flashed through his mind; his reaction to scramble backward, untucking his tie to press to his mouth with his free hand is almost instinctual, even though the color of the gas indicates it isn't mustard.

Even though it's not the kind of gas to sear his lungs and eyes, it could still be the knockout kind- Spy crawls to the end of the table, lifting the tablecloth just enough to slide underneath and out. He can't see a damned thing, and his cloak is quickly dwindling away, but he's going to get out of this, preferably alive. So, still invisible and pistol drawn, Spy moves towards the wall and away from the general noises and gunshots.

[purity_npcs]

The gas is quickly spreading around the immediate area. From across the room, one masked man throws another canister at a small group of fleeing Mutants who are attempting to make a run for the door; as soon as the smoke begins to rise, pained, choked coughs are heard and, eventually, screams when the man runs through the mist with his rifle raised.

Although Spy won't feel the full effects of the gas just yet, his eyes will begin to burn and water as his vision blurs.

[fyi_iamaspy]

Spy briefly moves back towards the table to find the nearest bowl of something- punch- and dunk his tie into it before pressing it to his mouth once more. Fruit punch. It at least has some water in it, and he knows some of the more dangerous gases, like chlorine, are water soluble, and the best thing next to pissing on something. (Which, despite the racing heart, he doesn't think he can manage right now.)

When he sees the man run through the mist, something takes over him. Maybe it's the fact that after eight or so years in a war where death didn't mean anything, he's lost a good deal of his self-preservation when common colds were ended by simply committing suicide. He doesn't think, just reacts, aiming his gun at the man's torso and firing off a few rounds; his cloak fizzles and drops almost immediately, and he prays that he got at least one bullet in the man.Spy briefly moves back towards the table to find the nearest bowl of something- punch- and dunk his tie into it before pressing it to his mouth once more. Fruit punch. It at least has some water in it, and he knows some of the more dangerous gases, like chlorine, are water soluble, and the best thing next to pissing on something. (Which, despite the racing heart, he doesn't think he can manage right now.)

When he sees the man run through the mist, something takes over him. Maybe it's the fact that after eight or so years in a war where death didn't mean anything, he's lost a good deal of his self-preservation when common colds were ended by simply committing suicide. He doesn't think, just reacts, aiming his gun at the man's torso and firing off a few rounds; his cloak fizzles and drops almost immediately, and he prays that he got at least one bullet in the man.

[purity_npcs]

The bullets meet their fatal mark; through the fog of nerve gas, a stifled cry rings out followed by the sickening, heavy thump of a body weighed down with riot gear hitting the marble floor.

Just as quickly, be it out of the attention Spy has drawn to himself or some vicious form of retaliation rooted in comradery, two more masked men appear from out of the smoke, rifled raised. One takes aim at Spy's right leg, shooting precisely at the man's knee; the other runs forward, lifting his gun up and attempting to hit Spy square in the ribs with the stock.

[fyi_iamaspy]

Spy grins at the satisfying sound of a body crumpling to the ground. His face falters as he sees the men, and then twists in pain as the bullet buries itself into his knee. He automatically drops down as the man rushes towards him, onto his left knee. The stock of his rifle clips his head, and Spy falls back, the room spinning and bile rising in his throat.

While his face has settled in some grim calm, his mind is going a mile a minute. He's got ten bullets left, out of fifteen. If he dies here, he'll be a bit upset, but it's one of the better ways to go as a Spy, isn't it? In a nice gunfight?

He wishes there was a girl to fight for, however. Even a handsome man would do in a pinch.

But he might as well go out with a bang, he thinks, as he raises his pistol once more and fires his gun at the man who had rushed him and the other; his vision is swimming and he fires without any grace or skill, just hoping to take out a few more before he passes out or he gets his own bullet to the brain.