[ Disappointment is an understatement as Tartaglia stalks the corridors on the trail of the escaped trio. The opposition he met so far while sheer in number had been uninspiring in technique — the most exciting moment of the evening so far had been when two guards had him in a pincer attack with his back to the wall. He was rewarded with a bruised rib and a dripping cut on his left forearm as he consolation prize for a risky if not effective escape maneuver. But otherwise the whole experience had been painfully dull considering all the hype around the syndicate.
As Tartaglia rounds another corner, he finds another one of Rex Lapis's men sprawled out cold upon the pristinely polished sandalwood floors. The fact that the blow was non-lethal ruled out many of his own companions. But who else had managed to sneak so far into the dragon's den before him? An ally perhaps? Unlikely. But then who—? That train of thought is ever so rudely interrupted as the lights sputter and die dramatically around him.
A handicap. How exciting.
Grinning behind his mask, Tartaglia approaches the room most likely to be the escape route for his prey by memory alone. The ice crunches pleasantly under his feet, lighting too dim to enjoy the spidery cracks that most certainly crackle across the surface. On the next step, treaded leather slips, but the Vanguard barely stumbles, huffing a soft laugh. Perhaps this would have been an effective trap if it had been anyone else but a boy who had spent many winters racing across the the frozen waters of his quiet fishing town, always one misstep away for plunging into icy waters. ]
Clever.
[ Halfway across the room, he stops, half-turning to the shadow of appliances and cupboards lining the far wall. He hears nothing, sees even less, and knows every moment dallying is another moment he loses ground in his pursuit. And yet—
He lingers for one breadth. Two. Three.
Before the ice crackles again as he continues toward the exit. ]
no subject
As Tartaglia rounds another corner, he finds another one of Rex Lapis's men sprawled out cold upon the pristinely polished sandalwood floors. The fact that the blow was non-lethal ruled out many of his own companions. But who else had managed to sneak so far into the dragon's den before him? An ally perhaps? Unlikely. But then who—? That train of thought is ever so rudely interrupted as the lights sputter and die dramatically around him.
A handicap. How exciting.
Grinning behind his mask, Tartaglia approaches the room most likely to be the escape route for his prey by memory alone. The ice crunches pleasantly under his feet, lighting too dim to enjoy the spidery cracks that most certainly crackle across the surface. On the next step, treaded leather slips, but the Vanguard barely stumbles, huffing a soft laugh. Perhaps this would have been an effective trap if it had been anyone else but a boy who had spent many winters racing across the the frozen waters of his quiet fishing town, always one misstep away for plunging into icy waters. ]
Clever.
[ Halfway across the room, he stops, half-turning to the shadow of appliances and cupboards lining the far wall. He hears nothing, sees even less, and knows every moment dallying is another moment he loses ground in his pursuit. And yet—
He lingers for one breadth. Two. Three.
Before the ice crackles again as he continues toward the exit. ]