[Closed; see note] Trigger Scent Hunting

[shoplifter]

who: Laura Howlett and You
what: Laura has been afflicted with the Trigger Scent - and is ready to kill.
when: Thursday, Early Friday morning, after this unsettling post. 
where: All across Riverview.
warnings: Violence/blood, potential death (mainly NPC).
Note: If you would like to be involved, I may be able to squeeze you in; just hit me up at simpledog! I have a plurk here regarding this plot.

Laura isn't herself.

She doesn't really feel anything — see anything, think anything. It's more just an all-encompassing need to kill, some sort of mentally paralyzing fog where all she can think is that she needs to track and hunt. If you'd asked her, before the trigger scent was used, what this strange liquid was? She wouldn't be able to tell you. It's new information, something the scarce files Gabriela stole away didn't cover.

Too late now. 

She prowls through the city, her steps fast and her nose sniffing at the cooling air. She smells her targets. Some are stronger than others, closer by. Some are moving. Some are stationary. Whatever the case, she stops firstly by a local liquor store where a man is stumbling out with a beer in hand. She doesn't know him, and she won't remember that he's her first victim. Poor guy just got doused with the wrong thing, wrong time, wrong place. With him easily neutralized, she moves on to the next scent—

Likely one of you.

Comments

[indigobird]

[And his fine plan would work if it weren't for the fact that he's not quite as sneaky as he likely believes himself to be. See, a guy with a metal arm and a chip the size of the moon on his shoulder tends to stand out a bit. People remember him. And people talk, especially when a woman in rather, uh, interesting but still kind of intimidating looking armor is asking questions. Double that when said man did something to a girl and set her loose on the population in kill mode. People kind of get mad about that.

Hawke, in particular, is none too happy about what he did to Laura. And unfortunately for Shiloh, Hawke's good at two things: finding people and killing people. She's applied those skills over the past couple of days, first in trying to find Laura and then, when she realized she had no means of stopping her and decided to leave that to more capable people, in finding the culprit. It took a lot of questioning and cajoling, even a threat or two, but eventually Hawke got an idea of where this guy might be.

Which is exactly how she's there at the end of the alleyway that he's running down. She's leaning against the side of the wall perpendicular to the alley, casually playing around on her phone. He'd have to come out this way eventually, and lo and behold, here he comes. Hawke looks up as he runs past, brow cocked.]

Late for something?

[shoplifter]

[The man stops in his step, looking slowly in her direction — clearly already sure of her ill intent. It's not hard to guess she wasn't here to congratulate him on his violent spree via small murderchild, and he looks her up and down trying to decide just how to approach this situation.]

Not as late as you. If you're here to fight me, I hate to say — won't fix nothin'.

[A pause.]

How much did they pay you? Or are you on the Perimeter's Guard shitty payroll?

I can meet it and then some.

[indigobird]

[Confronted with what could (and very likely would) be the harbinger of their death, people's reactions say quite a lot about them. Hawke's always found it interesting, having been said harbinger a number of times. Often it's just angry cursing and threats. Sometimes it's surprising. And then there are those like this dude who try to buy their way out. She's not sure what she expected, but it wasn't that.

Relm throws her head back and laughs at his offer.]

Oh, you're precious. You think I'm here to "fix" something? That I'm here out of some sense of begrudging duty? Oh no no no no. You've got it all wrong.

[She steps off from the wall, tucking her phone away.]

No, I'm here because I want to be, because you made the very, very stupid mistake of hurting someone I rather like. See, I'm good at two things. Finding people and killing people. I'm really good at the latter. You could say I made a career out of it. I've got a body count higher than the number of your little friends back at that compound. [She tilts her head a little, smiling.] And you? I want to kill you. So I'm going to. [Her hand reaches for her bladed staff, drawing it off her back. But that's not the biggest of Shiloh's worries in regards to her. More like the crackles of electricity that dance around her hand and up her staff, promising a lot of pain in the coming minutes.]

Shall we dance then, or am I going to have to chase you for it?

[shoplifter]

[He snorts, skeptical.]

Someone you like? That little feral animal? [The little beast that killed his friend, took his arm? Ha. He glances at the bladed staff and electricity that follows, swallowing some of his fear; he's certainly got a plan up his sleeve. Too literally.] Only a matter of time because she did it on her own, anyway. You see the kid's eyes? I just sped up the process.

[He suddenly shoves his metal palm forward, and a flashbang sounds off as the area floods with light.

Yeah. He's gonna try to run for it, you bet.]

[indigobird]

[...sigh.

Well, that stung her eyes a bit. Ow. Damn, that's a new one. She'll have to ask someone later what the fuck that was.

By the time her eyes focus and she can see again, he's taking off and has a decent headstart. Not ideal, but whatever. It'll make killing him all the more worth it.

Hawke sprints after him, debating what spell to use to stop him, or at least slow him down. Her gravity-based spells will take too long to cast. Tempest wouldn't work much in this case. She could try and just zap him but given the distance, it likely wouldn't reach. That leaves fire and ice out, too, for the moment. Wel, that just left her favorite.

Hey Shiloh, have a Stone Fist hurled at the back of your head. Hawke sincerely hopes it hits him, and hard enough for him to faceplant onto the tarmac. Or at least make him stumble enough for her to gain some ground.]

[shoplifter]

[Shiloh is most definitely hit hard in the back, not enough to break it — but certainly enough to send him flying forward. He seems to be more of a warrior than he initially suggested, judging from the way he rolls forward and is back up on his feet painfully. Fuck, that smarts. If he gets out of this, he'll be too stiff to move in the morning.

... Dammit.

She's a magic user, and a good one. Ground is gained, and he turns toward her as he considers what he can do to evade her wrath; he doesn't have much on him that can entirely stop something of her caliber, but why not try? Pointing his metal arm her direction, it clicks back and leaves the telltale sign of a gun nuzzle.

He fires, the shots semi-automatic and well-aimed.

What now, lady?]

[indigobird]

[He's spry and not going down easily. While it means this is going to take a little longer than Hawke initially anticipated, it'll make killing him all the more worth it. And if he's this well-trained, then he's a bigger danger than she realized. Not to mention an absolute fucking menace.

Especially since he has a gun. And oh boy does Hawke hate guns.

She skids to a halt and leaps to the side to get out of the line of fire. A couple bullets graze her; most hit her armor, though one manages to nick her arm. She barely pays it mind after she confirms at a quick glance it's a flesh wound. Guns are annoying, and loud, and unpredictable. Who knows how many bullets this guy has? And whatever he's firing isn't a single shot (she... thinks, Maker who the fuck knows she barely understands how they work), which complicates things. Rock Armor would absorb most of the bullets, but it would slow her down and that's the last thing she needs. After a moment's debate, she makes a decision. Magic pools around her arm, and she waits.

Once there's a pause in the firing, she spins out of her hiding spot and slams her fist downwards. Rather than hurl another Stone Fist at him, she brings the pain down on him more directly. A powerful shot of energy comes down on Shiloh's head. It'll very much feel like someone punched down on him or stomped on his head. It is called the Fist of the Maker, after all. And if it connects, Hawke sprints at him again, damn determined still to close the gap between them.]

[shoplifter]

Fuck!

[That's what he gets out before he's punched on the head — it sends him toppling forward and he nearly slams his head into the cement from the impact. He's definitely thrown off his groove enough that, if she's fast enough, she can pin him down without letting him re-aim his gun her direction.

... Just a matter of who gets to what first.]

[indigobird]

[Damn, she almost hoped he'd give himself a good concussion, or worse, on the ground. Or hell, at least see a broken, bloody nose on him. He deserves that at the very least. But it's a trivial disappointment. What matters is that he stopped firing, and she's got enough time to close the gap between them. If she didn't have her armor on, she'd be able to close in on him in no time at all, but as she does, it does slow her down a bit. Enough that he's recovered and that his gun's raised up and ready to fire just as she reaches him. If he fires, so be it. She's been hit with worse.

Using magic on him would be the safer option, yes, but even as a mage, Hawke knows that sometimes, there's nothing more satisfying than tackling someone and getting physical. So that's exactly what she's going to do: fucking body slam him and send them both to the ground. And given that he clearly has some combat experience, she's going to take no chances with him. She grapples for his metal arm, trying to pin it so he can't fire at her and also reduce his chances at escape.]

[shoplifter]

[He tries to jerk his arm upward so he can aim at her face point-blank; in the end, he fires and misses, his limb to the side of her head than aimed at it. He's slammed down on his back, the air rushing out of him, and he moves to grab at her and try to fling her off him.]

You — bitch!

[She's heard worse, pretty sure. His metal arm is in her grasp, and he fights hard to try and buck her off him. His hand pats for a knife in a holster, on his thigh.]

You're protecting the wrong kind of monster, you idiot!

[indigobird]

[Oh yes, much, much worse. But really, he can rattle off whatever, she's barely paying attention. At least until the part about helping the "wrong" monster.

She brings her knee down on his chest; given their position she can't put much force into it, she can only hope to pin him down better. With one hand she slams his metal arm against the ground. The other would stop him from grappling for whatever he's got on him, probably a dagger, but she's got something else in mind.

Her free hand wraps around his throat, though her fingers don't dig in tightly. Not yet, anyway.]

Don't spout at me about the "right" and "wrong" kinds of monsters, you piece of shit. A little girl having claws and fighting for her life does not a monster make. The person who put her in that position, however, is. [If Shiloh's expecting her to just choke him, well, he's in for a nasty surprise.] Tell me: did you like breathing much? [Because it's about to get very painful as she summons fire into her hand before she squeezes his throat.]

[shoplifter]

[He chokes on his breath, squirming and rasping in his pain.]

You didn't read what I read — she's made to be a weapon! S'all she — is! A number!

She's not worthy of the First P—

[He cries out, grappling more fervently, panicking as the fingers of his flesh hand scratch at her arm and towards her face. Anything to get the pain to stop; the First People, they'd have fixed this place, they'd have ended people like Hawke or X-23-23. They would have made this place a haven-]

[indigobird]

[Once upon a time, Hawke's stomach would have turned at the sight. But the thing is, when you spend a year with smugglers, and then subsequently end up having a number of gangs, criminals, Qunari, Carta, blood mages, slavers, demons, templars, and Wardens trying to kill you at some point or other, well... you wind up with a high body count. And after awhile, killing just becomes as straightforward as paying bills. Hawke's become horribly desensitized to it. It says nothing good, but that's not a problem to be tackled here and now.

Her fingers tighten, and the smell of burning skin fills her nostrils. Ugh.]

I'm well aware. She told me about that. And you know what? [The flames intensify, not entirely by her conscious doing.] You're still the bigger monster here. And you're going to die like one.

[His fingers scratch at her face, but she doesn't flinch, just moves her head out of the way. She could do the nice thing and just put him out of his misery, but eh. Let him suffer. Laura's victims suffered because of him. Laura suffered because of him. He gets to suffer now, too.

Giving the way the skin on his throat's bubbling and his screams becoming more panicked, it won't be much longer now anyway.]

[shoplifter]

[Ah, yes. That's about as excruciating a pain as he's felt — and his struggles intensify, throat closing up as the heat sears flesh. Smoke and the stench of a burning human flood upward, staining in the insides of his nostrils with his own slow death. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think straight—

All because of that foul little beast.

He damns them both to hell, prays for divine justice, just before he loses consciousness — and soon after, his life entirely. It's a particularly indignant way to go, and his body grows lax, eyes rolling back.

So it goes.

Rest in pieces.]

[indigobird]

[Hawke lets out a long, low sigh of relief as his body slumps. At least Laura is safe now. She lets go of him, wiping her hand on his shirt. Damn, it's going to take a lot of washing to get the blood and... fuck, she doesn't want to think about what else is on her hand and under her nails.

His arm's interesting, but she's not about to hack it off and sell it or something. That'd be a little obvious. But there is his bag, and like any good Thedosian, she rummages through it for anything useful. Sadly, there's not much. Some money (which she pockets), extra clothes, old food...

Ah.

She pulls out a phone. Shut off at the moment, but it could have some useful info.]

Now this might be worth something. Let's see who you've been talking to. If you have any friends from your little cult still scurrying about, I'd love to meet them.

[And do the same to them what she did to Shiloh. Because she's generous like that.]

But I'm afraid that, while this was entertaining, I need to go. I'll let the authorities deal with you. Maybe any friends you have left will take the hint when they find out you're dead.

[And she'd rather not be here for the authorities. Let them wonder who killed him. She pockets his phone and heads off, wondering how she was going to proceed with what she had.]