It's a bird! No, a plane --
Characters: Sherlock Holmes and Claus Valca
Content: There are certain people who are less than happy with Sherlock Holmes' investigations into the poisoning, and even the best shot has to take time to reload. Luckily, there's a courier who spots the firefight...
Setting: Boston Market
Time: Backdated to about a week ago, give or take a few days
Warnings: EPIC. SECRET-AGENT STYLE SHENNANIGANS. FIREFIGHTS! AIRPLANES! RESCUES! AND A THOUSAND ELEPHANTS!
This was a problem.
Really, he should have foreseen something like this: despite his effectively-concealed identity, it was only a matter of time before Denouement and their agents realized that somebody was investigating them, and took steps to stop it. Potentially fatal steps, he thought, as he dodged and weaved through the wares on the large, pavillioned airship that was but one of many in Boston Market. Gunshots rang out behind him, and he threw himself flat behind a crate, reloading his gun and getting up on his knees to sight his pursuers. He let off one, two, three, four shots, each of which found their mark: crippling, but not killing his pursuers. He did not kill if it could possibly be avoided.
Unfortunately, there were many of them, and one of him. He didn't have time to get any more shots in before they were on his heels and he was forced to flee. Turning, he spied another ship -- one with less cover than he would like, but there was a gangplank that connected the two ships, one that could be removed easily. Holmes dashed across the deck, quick and nimble, until he reached the gangplank. The gang chasing him had cleared the pavillion, and were taking clear shots at him, but it wasn't far now. He darted across the narrow bridge, always having had a good head for heights, but right as he was nearing the other ship, one of their bullets struck his shoulder. Luckily, the force propelled him forward, knocking him down onto the deck, clearing the gangplank, as he let out a sharp cry of pain. He didn't know how bad the damage was, but he would take care of that later. If he survived, there would be plenty of time.
Holmes had fallen onto his knees, steadying himself with his right hand, as the left was in too much pain to be of proper use. Turning over, he kicked at the plank, dislodging it and sending it spiralling down through the atmosphere. It was fortunate that the merchants of Boston Market knew to take cover and stay there when trouble appeared; otherwise, he could not imagine that this ship's owner would be very happy with him.
He was safe from pursuit at the moment, but as a shot hit the deck just beside him, and another grazed his leg, Holmes was well aware that he was not out of danger. Clambering to his feet, he half-ran, half-ducked to the other end of the ship. He had next to no cover, and had to keep moving, or he'd be a sitting duck. There was only one possible escape route, but that would involve climbing down a rope-ladder that led to the airship below this one, and with only one good arm....
....as much as he did not relish the prospect of aggravating his injury, he just might have to risk it. Sherlock Holmes cast his eyes about once again, searching the deck, the ships, the sky, for anything he could use, anything at all....!
Content: There are certain people who are less than happy with Sherlock Holmes' investigations into the poisoning, and even the best shot has to take time to reload. Luckily, there's a courier who spots the firefight...
Setting: Boston Market
Time: Backdated to about a week ago, give or take a few days
Warnings: EPIC. SECRET-AGENT STYLE SHENNANIGANS. FIREFIGHTS! AIRPLANES! RESCUES! AND A THOUSAND ELEPHANTS!
This was a problem.
Really, he should have foreseen something like this: despite his effectively-concealed identity, it was only a matter of time before Denouement and their agents realized that somebody was investigating them, and took steps to stop it. Potentially fatal steps, he thought, as he dodged and weaved through the wares on the large, pavillioned airship that was but one of many in Boston Market. Gunshots rang out behind him, and he threw himself flat behind a crate, reloading his gun and getting up on his knees to sight his pursuers. He let off one, two, three, four shots, each of which found their mark: crippling, but not killing his pursuers. He did not kill if it could possibly be avoided.
Unfortunately, there were many of them, and one of him. He didn't have time to get any more shots in before they were on his heels and he was forced to flee. Turning, he spied another ship -- one with less cover than he would like, but there was a gangplank that connected the two ships, one that could be removed easily. Holmes dashed across the deck, quick and nimble, until he reached the gangplank. The gang chasing him had cleared the pavillion, and were taking clear shots at him, but it wasn't far now. He darted across the narrow bridge, always having had a good head for heights, but right as he was nearing the other ship, one of their bullets struck his shoulder. Luckily, the force propelled him forward, knocking him down onto the deck, clearing the gangplank, as he let out a sharp cry of pain. He didn't know how bad the damage was, but he would take care of that later. If he survived, there would be plenty of time.
Holmes had fallen onto his knees, steadying himself with his right hand, as the left was in too much pain to be of proper use. Turning over, he kicked at the plank, dislodging it and sending it spiralling down through the atmosphere. It was fortunate that the merchants of Boston Market knew to take cover and stay there when trouble appeared; otherwise, he could not imagine that this ship's owner would be very happy with him.
He was safe from pursuit at the moment, but as a shot hit the deck just beside him, and another grazed his leg, Holmes was well aware that he was not out of danger. Clambering to his feet, he half-ran, half-ducked to the other end of the ship. He had next to no cover, and had to keep moving, or he'd be a sitting duck. There was only one possible escape route, but that would involve climbing down a rope-ladder that led to the airship below this one, and with only one good arm....
....as much as he did not relish the prospect of aggravating his injury, he just might have to risk it. Sherlock Holmes cast his eyes about once again, searching the deck, the ships, the sky, for anything he could use, anything at all....!