IC II: DH The Purity of Sacrifice

[Bennosuke]

Marcella was brought out of her little day-dream by the approach of a guard, his boyish features mostly visible though his full identity still hidden behind the visor.

Turning and looking at him, her large brown eyes oddly blank, the Psyker simply shook her head.

"I don't smoke."

The man's face turns flushed at this, despite the cold; or whatever lower half of his face the group can see. The man's approach raises the suspicions of the majority of the group, though most don't catch anything particularly off about the enforcer, or the scene, other than the sudden interaction. Marcella and Father Milo however, can sense that the officer's approach is brought on my more than just the need for a light.

Father Milo offers the man a light, and he pulls a lho stick from a standard-issue carton. Even as he lets Milo light him, it's clear to Milo and Marcella that he has little interest in the smoke. Still the officer says, "Thanks. It's so damn cold down here," shrugging before he pulls the cigarette back.

"how long have you been here troopy?" he asks, proffering a friendly smile. "see any action, or is it boring as always?"

charm roll on the arbite

(1d100)[99]

Something about Milo's demeanor sours the officer's expression. His lips curl back as if he had caught Milo's piss in his mouth. He gives the cleric a long glare before turning to the others. He leans in conspiratorially towards the group (though managing to put one shoulder in front of Father Milo as if he were blocking the man out, and whispers, "Which one of you is in charge? I have something for you."

His eyes catch on Orla, and his lips pull tight.

[Haval]

His eyes catch on Orla, and his lips pull tight.

Orla will only shrug, as if to say 'I'm as surprised as you are.'

[BananaPhone]

Marcella

Marc didn't consider herself the 'leader' so to speak. The closest to that, in her mind, was Hound. But, when the guard looked at Orla, the Psyker took a wild stab in the dark at what his intentions were: it was about the pass to let the Underhiver up.

"I think I can help you," she said, raising her hand a little.

[bramblefoot]

milo will watch and wait, his hand resting on the mark III lasguns butt. he will scrutinize the arbites as they talk, looking for any signs of anything out of the ordinary

scrutiny roll tn 31

(1d100)[34]

[Wyndeward]

Arl leaned up against the rebar pillar, trying to look bored, while scanning the rest of the platform's guards. His left hand rested on the round end of his duffle while his right was beneath his cloak, resting on the butt of his stub revolver.

[Bennosuke]

The officer eyes Arl warily, doing his best to ignore Milo. But avoiding these threat, he turns his attention to Marcella and in reply says as quietly as possible, "Uh, this came from on high. I was told to not ask questions." With his free hand he reaches for a pocketed canvas bag hooked to his utility belt, and retrieves crisp white envelope about the size of a man's hand. The envelope is sealed with a button of blood red wax with no particular insignia.

He hands the envelope over to Marcella as furtively as possible, his hand shaking slightly. He checks over his shoulder, then says more audibly, "Thanks mate. Train should be here shortly."

If Marcella were to open the envelop, preferably in a surreptitious manner, she will find that inside the envelope is a temporary rail pass for Orla.

(OOC: Unless anyone wants to do anything else, we can move on to catching up with Ezekiel.)

[Haval]

Orla grins at how uncomfortable the boy seemed. After he's out of earshot she'll say to To Milo, 'Didn't like you did he.'

[BananaPhone]

Marcella

When envelopes with wax sealing was drawn instead of a gun, Marcella had an almost certainty what it was about.

She also smiled internally. To think that she reached all the way up from the Underhive to the Midhive with just her mind and spoke to Interrogator Ezekiel. Something about it made the Psyker feel warm inside.

Maintaining the visage, Marcella nodded once, "Thank you", and tucked the envelope away in the inside of her coat. Once they could do so away from prying eyes, Marcella opened it and withdrew the temporary pass.

Twirling it about between her gloved fingers, she offered a small, friendly smile as she held it out for Orla.

"You're welcome."

[Haval]

"You're welcome."

Orla looks impressed and will take the pass. 'How much did that cost?' The Raptore weren't neccessarily in a position to bribe anyone but the knowledge that it was possible might come in handy one day.

[BananaPhone]

Marcella

Orla looks impressed and will take the pass. 'How much did that cost?' The Raptore weren't neccessarily in a position to bribe anyone but the knowledge that it was possible might come in handy one day.

As they boarded the train, Marcella half narrowed her eyes in amused suspicion. The psyker ventured to speculated that it would be quite the pretty throne for a ganger wealthy and desperate enough to flee the putrid underhive.

"You can ask him later today..." she returned with an equally sly, little smile.

Marcella boarded and slid her backpack from her shoulders and nestled it between her booted feet when she sat down. She placed her rump on a corner seat that allowed her to view the only exit to the car, before taking out her submachine gun, ensuring the safety was still on, then laying it over her knee's for the trip. Much more comfortable than underneath her arm while sitting.

Exhaling, twiddling her nose, the psyker rolled her shoulders and eased back into the chair and looked about her, keen to watch the ascent. She'd eventually turn her attention back to Orla and stare at her, interested to see her reaction to heading up into the unknown and leaving behind her the only world she's known.

[bramblefoot]

milo shrugs "even one as persuasive as i cannot be successful all the time" he says without regret."perhaps someone spat in his recaf?" he says more quietly, boarding the train and taking a seat. he tips his helmet over his eyes, and will doze off.

milo is back in the spire, dueling his opponent to the death. his hand is steady, and he draws and blows the top of the man's head off in a shower of blood and brains.

the rest of you would notice milo twitch in his sleep several times

[Haval]

Orla has been to the mid hive before, yet not via the train or any kind of legal route. The train itself was not particularly interesting to look at so she will follow Milo's example and find somewhere where she could get comfortable and put her feet up.

[bramblefoot]

after a few hours, milo will stand, stretch, and wander over to marcella, sitting next to her. he pulls the lighter from his pocket and fishes a cigar from a belt pouch "want one?" he says, putting the stogie between his teeth and lighting it with his fancy lighter. the smell of good noble tobacco wafts through the car and milo hums to himself "good noble cigars" he purrs, inhaling with a half moan. "you never know how much you miss it till its gone" he says, puffing away on the cigar. "i liberated these from ser drimmle" he says in a conspiratorial whisper

[BananaPhone]

Marcella

Marcella had actually fallen asleep by the offer of a cancer stick was extended. Her head resting back, her eyes closed, the Psykers mind had drifted off into the surroundings of an ESP web as she caught the first shut eye they had had in almost a day and a half. They'd descended through the tunnels, met at Raptores compound, gone to Tora territory, interrogated those kids, back to Raptore compound and then to the train station. She was positively beat and was looking forward a nice, warm bubble bath when she got home back to her Midhive hab apartment.

So when the smoke from those cigars wafted into her nose, the Psyker woke up and throatily coughed as if she had swallowed a drink the wrong way, her face bright red.

Marcellas eyes flashed angrily and she swooped her gloved hand back and forth before her face to push away the acrid vapours spewed across her features, her short blonde locks shaking as she did so.

"Ewww, that's disgusting!" she spluttered, reaching down into her backpack and withdrawing her gas mask and sliding it down over her face: the full, transparent flexiplastic visor making the item seem like just a black band around her head.

"That's so gross!" her voice altered by the filtration system of her mask.

[bramblefoot]

milo shrugs. "suit yourself" he says. "arl, hound, orla?" he offers, flashing three cigars between his fingers. "i got one for each of you" he says. "not the usual midhive poodoo, the real cream of the crop"

he looks at them, and then at marcella "dont mind her, i bet shes never been cool in her life" he jokes, slapping her shoulder gently. "poor little sanctionite, never had a smoke, or a dance, or a lay"

Spoiler: ooc

Show

fyi, marcella, tell me if i go to hard on you, yeh? i want this to be fun, not unfun

[BananaPhone]

Marcella

The Psyker inhaled the delicious, sterile and clean air of her mask, the smokeless vapor cleaning her lungs of that vile smoke billowing out of Milo's mouth.

Now that she had recovered, Marcella side-eyed Milo and narrowed her eyes at him.

"Yeah I bet you got laid a lot at the abbey..." she parry and thrusted at the priest.

[bramblefoot]

milo will shrug. "i didnt grow up in the abbey" he says. he gets close to her ear and whispers "originally, i was a spire brat. gumdrops and g-strings as far as the eye could see" he lets that sink in, and will return the cigar to his mouth. in a courtly tone he says "ah milady, may i prithee offer you a dance?"

[BananaPhone]

Marcella

Marc had a slender, yellowed eyebrow raised as Milo describes the degenerate decadence of the Upperspire.

"And then you left behind the degeneracy and debauchery to redeem yourself by spreading His word and the Imperial faith, yes?"

His word, was obviously the Emperors.

[bramblefoot]

milo grins cheekily, saying "of course madam." he offers a courtly bow. "anything else would be slanderous drivel. why i might challenge said person to a duel, if the conditions could be agreed on"

he chuckles. "so will you dance, or prefer to sit?"

[BananaPhone]

Marcella

Marc's eyebrow remained raised as she seemed half incredulous and half amused.

"No I'm not dancing," she scoffed gently, "I've been up for thirty six hours and just had my nap spoiled by you blowing that nasty smoke in my face! Ask Orla."

[bramblefoot]

milo bobs his head once with a twinkle in his eye. "perhaps another time milady?" he says, resuming his seat ahead of marcella and puffing on his stogie "good night, sleep tight, and dont let the ryders bite" he jests, placing the flak helmet over his eyes again

[BananaPhone]

Marcella

Marc snorted a "Hmph!" as she reached up and took her gas mask off and returned it to her backpack. It was clear she wasn't offended, as much as she was just playing along with the banter. Though she did have to resist the urge to psychically dominate him into doing some ridiculous dance on his own. Or hand over all the contents of his wallet and smile while doing it.

"And I haven't been a 'little sanctionite'" she repeated the phrase with a mimicry of Milo's voice, but with a teasing tone, "for years."

With her haughty little correction issued, the Psyker leaned back into her chair, rested her head and closed her eyes. If Milo decided to respond, she'd simply wave her gloved hand dismissively before drifting off to the realm of morpheus.

[Haval]

Orla will take a cigar, 'No point in turning down free stuff.' After listening to the conversation she'll ask Milo, 'Wait. You're a priest. The spire thing makes total sense but you don't seem like the religious type.'

[bramblefoot]

milo will light orlas cigar with his fancy lighter. "religion wasnt in my original game plan, but it is now" he says with a shrug. "we all have various ways we think life will take us, but thats not always how it works out"

at a closer glance at milos lighter reveals that it is clearly of very fine workmanship, with silver engraving reading alea iacta est in high gothic. milo will pocket the lighter again, finish his stogie and go back to sleep up ahead

[rax]

milo shrugs. "suit yourself" he says. "arl, hound, orla?" he offers, flashing three cigars between his fingers. "i got one for each of you" he says. "not the usual midhive poodoo, the real cream of the crop"

Hound looks at the proffered cigars with distaste. "I do not partake of such, no matter their provenance. They serve only to increase the likelihood of you being afflicted with terminal illnesses."

To Arl
Observing the interplay between Milo and Marcella, Hound leans over to Arl and whispers: "I believe the priest is attempting to form some sort of bond beyond the collegial with her. I calculate a very low chance of success, however. Is this also how it's done on your home world?"

[Haval]

To Milo, 'Ain't that the truth.' To Hound she'll only shrug, 'You know where I live right?'

[bramblefoot]

milo will let out a half-chuckle. "i never knew verispex adepts were so dry and dusty" he teases hound. "all that logic must be boring. why not relax a little?" he chuckles again "i already know your answer. as soon as we let our guard down, some slavering monstrosity from the stars will squash our little world like a bug"

he will look at hound. "go on, tell me about your cases. surely it must be hard to keep it all bottled up?"

[BananaPhone]

[SIZE=5]Marcella[/SIZE

Marcella drifted off into the land of morpheus, her mind rolling across the barrier between the Materium and the Warp. Beneath her closed eyelids, her eyes shifted about as her powerful brain greedily drunk in as much REM sleep as it could.

Awakening eventually, the Psyker rubbed her eyes with her hands, peerinf around at everyone else with the whites of her eyes pinkened from her sleep.

"We almost there?" she asked, "we should probably stop by our habs and freshen up before meeting the big guy. Possibly arresting Drimmle is a big move, and we'll need his support."

The Big Guy in this case being Interrogator Ezekiel.

[bramblefoot]

"agreed" milo says, stretching his neck and rolling his shoulders. a slight grunt is heard as his left shoulder makes a popping noise like a small-caliber stub round. "im not as young as i used to be" he jokes, preparing for the train to stop. he turns to orla and winks. "if you think the midhive is a special sight for someone, you aint seen nothing yet"

[Haval]

Orla just regards Milo sceptically.