A child miseducated is a child lost. [Closed]
Characters: Jean, age 13, and Sherlock Holmes, age 18
Content: A murder at a theater, investigated by none other than Sherlock Holmes. The trail will lead him to one unusual little girl.
Setting: Melior
Time: Approximately eight years ago, late evening
Warnings: Violence, gore, brainwashing, and other things from Jean's dark past that she would rather forget. And some major tl;dr to start it off.
The master had taught her the importance of masks. Your face was an important aspect of your humanity, particularly your eyes, which served as the gateway to the inner self. A mask took your face away, guarding your heart and soul from the world, and in the process turning you into something beyond human. It transformed you into a creature that struck hearts cold with fear, making your enemies weak and feeding your own strength.
Thus, the masks were revered among the children of the Shadow Dragon Fist. The Master only gave them to those who were strong enough to complete their training and practice the art of assassination. As the finest student of the Master, and as a proud expert at such a beautiful art, she wore hers with pride. It was special, just as she was. It was a mask that resembled the face of a fox spirit rather than a human, far more elegant than the dark metal masks the other students wore. And though it was not as fearsome as the demon-like mask of the Master, it suited her animal-like swiftness and skill perfectly.
It was this skill which allowed her to easily scale the wall of a building, climbing up towards a window from which golden light spilled. She reached it and perched on the windowsill, and then attempted to open the window only to find that it was locked, more likely out of habit than out of anyone expecting someone to attempt to enter from the height. There were certain ways around a simple window lock, but most of them were too clever for the small child. Instead, she positioned her arms to put the most amount of force upwards, and then attempted to open the locked window with all of her strength. There was a small sound of wood fibers snapping and breaking as the window's lock was forced straight out from the frame, and the window slid open easily. A small demonstration of what true, pure strength could do.
She stepped into the empty hallway, her black and red uniform standing as a stark contrast to the rich golds of the building's interior. It was a concert hall, and from the theater itself came the muffled sound of orchestra music. This was the balcony level, and through the ornate door in this hallway sat her target, listening to the wall of noise in the darkness with only his servants to watch over him. So weak and foolish. The man was practically inviting death as his guest.
The assassin entered the balcony. The servants noticed her right away, but could not even lay eyes on her before she attacked them. A few well-aimed punches and kicks, and all were on the floor, injured and unconscious. Then she approached the target himself, a man of wealth and political power who had grown too large and too weak through a leisurely lifestyle. It would be his undoing, for all the money and influence in the world could not buy strength or killing instinct. He would be another example for the world of the sheer, savage power of the Shadow Dragon Fist.
The orchestra below sent up a deafening roar as they reached the climax of their piece, a song that Jean could neither name nor appreciate beyond a useful cover of sound. It was loud enough that a mother would not be able to hear her own infant crying in her arms, and so no one would be able to hear this man's screams until it was too late. Desperately, though, the man tried to scream when the girl grabbed him from behind, even as his jaw cracked and his throat was crushed under her small, slender hands. Finishing him off was almost disappointingly easy, as she snapped his neck with a sharp twist. What pitiful strength the man had once held left him, and his body slumped in his padded seat.
With her work done, she turned to leave, so she could regroup with Master and the others. But when she went out into the hallway, she found something she had not counted on: There were men standing at the broken window, trying to figure out what had happened. They blocked her escape route. Worse, they had heard the door open, and all but one were coming to investigate.
They opened one door, as she hid behind the other and waited until they had all come in to slip out into the hallway. The last man was still at the window, thankfully too preoccupied with it to notice the girl that had just left the balcony. Her soft shoes were silent against the floor as she ran away from both the window and balcony, looking for somewhere, anywhere she could hide until things were clear and she could safely escape.
Unconsciously, she reached up to ensure her mask was in no danger of slipping.
Content: A murder at a theater, investigated by none other than Sherlock Holmes. The trail will lead him to one unusual little girl.
Setting: Melior
Time: Approximately eight years ago, late evening
Warnings: Violence, gore, brainwashing, and other things from Jean's dark past that she would rather forget. And some major tl;dr to start it off.
The master had taught her the importance of masks. Your face was an important aspect of your humanity, particularly your eyes, which served as the gateway to the inner self. A mask took your face away, guarding your heart and soul from the world, and in the process turning you into something beyond human. It transformed you into a creature that struck hearts cold with fear, making your enemies weak and feeding your own strength.
Thus, the masks were revered among the children of the Shadow Dragon Fist. The Master only gave them to those who were strong enough to complete their training and practice the art of assassination. As the finest student of the Master, and as a proud expert at such a beautiful art, she wore hers with pride. It was special, just as she was. It was a mask that resembled the face of a fox spirit rather than a human, far more elegant than the dark metal masks the other students wore. And though it was not as fearsome as the demon-like mask of the Master, it suited her animal-like swiftness and skill perfectly.
It was this skill which allowed her to easily scale the wall of a building, climbing up towards a window from which golden light spilled. She reached it and perched on the windowsill, and then attempted to open the window only to find that it was locked, more likely out of habit than out of anyone expecting someone to attempt to enter from the height. There were certain ways around a simple window lock, but most of them were too clever for the small child. Instead, she positioned her arms to put the most amount of force upwards, and then attempted to open the locked window with all of her strength. There was a small sound of wood fibers snapping and breaking as the window's lock was forced straight out from the frame, and the window slid open easily. A small demonstration of what true, pure strength could do.
She stepped into the empty hallway, her black and red uniform standing as a stark contrast to the rich golds of the building's interior. It was a concert hall, and from the theater itself came the muffled sound of orchestra music. This was the balcony level, and through the ornate door in this hallway sat her target, listening to the wall of noise in the darkness with only his servants to watch over him. So weak and foolish. The man was practically inviting death as his guest.
The assassin entered the balcony. The servants noticed her right away, but could not even lay eyes on her before she attacked them. A few well-aimed punches and kicks, and all were on the floor, injured and unconscious. Then she approached the target himself, a man of wealth and political power who had grown too large and too weak through a leisurely lifestyle. It would be his undoing, for all the money and influence in the world could not buy strength or killing instinct. He would be another example for the world of the sheer, savage power of the Shadow Dragon Fist.
The orchestra below sent up a deafening roar as they reached the climax of their piece, a song that Jean could neither name nor appreciate beyond a useful cover of sound. It was loud enough that a mother would not be able to hear her own infant crying in her arms, and so no one would be able to hear this man's screams until it was too late. Desperately, though, the man tried to scream when the girl grabbed him from behind, even as his jaw cracked and his throat was crushed under her small, slender hands. Finishing him off was almost disappointingly easy, as she snapped his neck with a sharp twist. What pitiful strength the man had once held left him, and his body slumped in his padded seat.
With her work done, she turned to leave, so she could regroup with Master and the others. But when she went out into the hallway, she found something she had not counted on: There were men standing at the broken window, trying to figure out what had happened. They blocked her escape route. Worse, they had heard the door open, and all but one were coming to investigate.
They opened one door, as she hid behind the other and waited until they had all come in to slip out into the hallway. The last man was still at the window, thankfully too preoccupied with it to notice the girl that had just left the balcony. Her soft shoes were silent against the floor as she ran away from both the window and balcony, looking for somewhere, anywhere she could hide until things were clear and she could safely escape.
Unconsciously, she reached up to ensure her mask was in no danger of slipping.