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#Post#: 2846--------------------------------------------------
It Doesn't Even Matter
By: Grace Date: June 29, 2017, 11:27 pm
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The sun rose, reached its zenith and then set the same time
every day barring any extreme supernatural or magical meddling.
Most - in Equestria especially - understood this schedule, but
every once in a while you would get that pony that was simply
incapable of keeping to a schedule. Meetings went missed,
appointments rescheduled, dates postponed. Grace could never
wrap her mind around it. She had traveled across several
countries and attended countless engagements and never once had
she ever been late. She would move Heaven and Earth to maintain
her reputation for punctuality so it should come as no surprise
that she had little patience for those who did not do the same.
Yet here she was. Waiting.
A small sugar cube was guided via magic towards a cup of tea
steaming before her. Grace stirred till dissolved and had
herself a sip prior to heaving a quiet sigh. This was her second
cup. This was also getting ridiculous. Over an hour spent
wishing she’d at least ordered something to eat as she
could have easily enjoyed a meal and cleaned up by now. A salad
would have been nice. La D’or Carotte may not have been
the most famous of cafes, but Grace enjoyed its charming
interior and quality of food well enough. She supposed this
wasn’t the worst place to waste her time but still
couldn’t help but wonder what she could be getting done
right about now.
Grace’s ears perked when she heard the sounds of the
outside street filter into the building for a moment. She cast a
subtle side glance towards the entrance and shook her head when
she saw who’d entered. Well, holy Hell. He was still
alive. Meaning, of course, that he also had no excuse.
A few moments later Grace found herself with company. A light
blue earth pony sporting a white mane took up the seat across
from her and was clearly avoiding eye contact.
“… Do you not understand what ‘noon’
means?” grace asked, tone cold but eyes tinged with anger.
“Do you not understand what discretion means?” the
stallion shot back, eyes shifting to the window nearby as if
expecting someone to be there, “I was trying to make sure
I wasn’t being followed. Figured you’d appreciate
the care taken, so give me a break.”
“You weren’t being followed,” Grace dismissed
the idea as she took another sip of her tea.
“You can’t know that.”
“What do you think you are, some kind of secret agent? You
weren’t being followed. You were only wasting my
time.”
“You can’t know that,” his insistence was
annoying, “clearly whatever this is was important enough
for you to find me so how am I supposed to know that
you’re the only one that knows I’m here? Atrium has
feelers all over the place, just waiting for somepony like me to
step out of line and-“
“Atrium has been dealt with as per our agreement. In
addition, your nest egg is secure, tickets bought, itinerary
sorted and new dwellings prepared. I have provided everything
that I have promised, so stop devouring my day and give me what
I want else you wish Atrium returned only so that you may have
an idea of what will come.”
The range of emotions traversed by the stallion was amusing to
behold. First, he was surprised, then overjoyed before finally
settling on a nervous paranoia.
“What exactly did you do to him?” he asked, eyes
narrowed in skepticism over news he clearly believed too good to
be true.
What did she do? Well, a permanent vacation in southern
Equestria as a proxy for her own interests would probably do
little to ease his worries, so…
“Use your imagination,” she encouraged as she
removed a necklace from her saddlebag and placed it onto the
table for the stallion to inspect. He didn’t need to pick
it up to recognize it.
He let out a sigh and leaned back, taking a moment to compose
himself and not bothering to hide the small smile that came to
his face. Grace near rolled her eyes but needed to keep her
focus on her tea for a moment. Near gone. Two cups of tea and
about a week of work and still she was waiting.
“Thank, y-“
“Don’t thank me, give me what I want,” Grace
snapped, her patience wearing thin, “Every second you
spend delaying in owning up to your end of the bargain is a
second closer to your new home being burned, your tickets lost
and money spent on cheap catering. Consider your next words very
carefully, as they damn well better be the ones I want to
hear.”
That killed his smile. Good.
“… I… don’t know where they’re
planning on going with it,” he spoke slowly as he had
evidently taken her advice, “but I do know that
they’ve outsourced its security detail to a third party.
They want to put some distance between it and them and since
they can’t get it open they figure some muscle
wouldn’t have much luck either. Right now, they’re
holding it in a warehouse here in Canterlot.”
“Where?”
“120 Umbra Avenue. I believe it’s intended to be
kept there for the next couple of days but this could change at
the drop of a hat.”
Grace finished her tea. She savored the flavor and the moment as
she was finally delivered what she’d been promised.
“You can keep the necklace,” she stood up and left a
few bits to cover her tea, a generous tip for the mare
who’d served her and a few other services rendered,
“Gather your things and head for the train station. A
stallion will find you there. Dark green coat, black mane,
probably going to be wearing some kind of top hat or scarf.
He’ll provide you with the details for your trip and hand
over everything you need. Never come back to Canterlot.”
The stallion nodded as Grace turned to leave. His curiosity,
however, seemed to get the better of him in that last moment as
he decided to risk asking a dangerous question.
“… Excuse me, but… I just have to ask…
What’s in the box?”
Grace turned back to him and her dead serious visage was enough
to cause him to shrink back a bit and regret asking. He was put
at ease though once she crack*ed a small smile and sounded a
short chuckle, though his nerves still trembled slightly.
“Would you believe me if I said it didn’t
matter?” was her reply.
She left it at that and again steered herself for the exit, the
stallion being left to figure out the rest of his life from the
train station onward on his own.
#Post#: 2849--------------------------------------------------
Re: It Doesn't Even Matter
By: Broadshield Date: July 1, 2017, 8:13 am
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The light blue stallion never realized it, but he was in fact
being followed. Followed by a maroon pegasus sporting a leather
jacket, but hiding any sort of items identifying him as being
part of the military and EQUINOX, as well as a loaded TEC-9
machine pistol if things ever get hairy. Either the stallion
knew he was being followed, or he was just very paranoid, which
would explain what took him so long to get to the resturant. He
stays outside and watches the stallion enter the building from a
distance. A few minutes later he emerges and leaves the cafe,
but after the mare that he was with does. She was his target. He
looked down at the file, giving all the basic information about
the target, but he didn't even need that to know his target.
Many ponies knew of this mare and her family. What ponies didn't
know, where things described to him as 'suspicious behavior' by
his client. His client wanted information on this 'suspicious
behavior' conducted by this mare, and he would see to it that
the mission was completed. As such, as the mare leaves, he
begins to follow her, being careful to take all the necessary
steps to ensure that he was following her, but not to the point
where suspicion arose.
#Post#: 2850--------------------------------------------------
Re: It Doesn't Even Matter
By: Grace Date: July 1, 2017, 11:26 am
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Umbra Avenue was a relic of the past. This, along with a few
other streets, made up what was locally known as “Old Canterlot”
due to half of its buildings keeping with their original
architecture. The process of updating the area to fit better
with its more modernized neighbors had been slow.
Preservationists demanded they be left alone for the sake of
history and would often take to the streets to protest whenever
plans were made to demolish and clear a location. It mattered
little to them how condemned it may have become. Renovations
were the way to go should their opinion be taken, though the
efforts made would result in a lack of efficiency that a current
design would provide and ultimately bottleneck progress. So says
the opposition. Grace’s family was the opposition, or at the
very least a strong portion of it. For them, new factories,
better roads, and their name placed above the door would lead to
the future for all and more importantly money in their pockets.
Grace cared not either way. For her the area was quaint and of
little significance, though she would have loved for the city to
tear up the old cobblestone and redo the roads as they were
starting to bother her hooves.
The address of 120 Umbra Avenue belonged to a small worn-down
warehouse that used to serve as a storage space for a
neighboring workshop that had long since been torn down. It was
of a different era, a building lost in time as it stuck out from
among the coffee house and salon that crowded it from either
side. Across the street Grace thought she could make out what
seemed to be tiny shop dedicated to fixing clocks but her
position on a bench halfway down the block left her at too
awkward an angle to know for sure. Whatever. It was a
distraction at best anyway as she had been keeping her focus on
the stallion standing outside the main entrance of the warehouse
for the last hour.
The passing ponies in the street between them kept her as an
inconspicuous color amongst the sea, a dull jacket she’d
detoured to pick up on the way hiding her expensive clothing and
helping to blend in with the rabble. It wasn’t all she’d brought
with her, two tools weighing a saddlebag she did not have when
she’d left the café. The hand off had been exquisite in its
execution and was also one of the reasons she’d been so
concerned with how late the light blue stallion had been to
their meeting. Passing through Canterlot Main, Grace had
momentarily been consumed by a passing group of businessponies
heading wherever the money was. When she’d entered she had been
carrying only her usual small saddlebag of personal effects, but
once on the other side a second bag was competing for room on
her other side. Who had given it to her would be near impossible
to tell, and she was happy to learn that they hadn’t ditched due
to her having arrived a half hour past when she was supposed to.
Reputation for punctuality now threatened, she’d have to be
early for the next months’ worth of appointments even if it was
just for her own pride. Great.
Inside the bag was one small pick - a “skeleton key” as it was
known on the streets – and a small box fashioned to a very
custom and specific design. The key was a highly expensive
magical gadget that boasted being capable of opening any lock
this side of Equestria. Accidentally latch the door on your way
outside? Fear no more, for a simple turn of the key would have
you back indoors and on your couch in no time. Got sent to a
cell? Find a way to smuggle and you’re good. Or so the pitch
went. Grace hadn’t used these often - a major reason being that
they were highly illegal so be sure to keep it hush hush - but
she’d already found an occasion where one had failed her so the
spiel was taken with a grain of salt. Of course, the lock she’d
tried had a multitude of enchantments and the like to make it
difficult so that may have been why. She thought she remembered
one of its defenses involving an entirely different dimension?
Maybe that was just a joke intended to scare off street
hoodlums. Who knows. Either way it was only good for one use
anyway, so the lack of longevity made it something she rarely
indulged in using.
The box was much simpler and far more legal to hold. It truly
was just a box, 8x5x4 in size, gray in color with a golden trim,
weighed down with something of little importance and requiring
eight-digit code to open. Her carpenter had even gone so far as
to add the correct initials on the lid with careful attention to
detail before being paid off to forget it existed. Its
significance was its exact matching of the one she was after
minus the difficulty one would have to go through to get it open
by means outside its demanded code. The intended purpose of such
a thing was most likely easy to deduce.
“… Just go…” Grace muttered under her breath as she observed the
guard at the door giving the coffee house another longing gaze.
These ponies set to guard the place were a joke by Grace’s
recollection. She couldn’t remember the name of their outfit,
but their jacket was a giveaway and while she was too far away
to see from here she could picture the patch on his shoulder in
her mind. Some kind of cross between a knife and a feather. The
usual mercenary design you’d expect. These were cheaper than
she’d expected to guard the box, but perhaps she had
overestimated the care being taken to make sure it didn’t get
swiped. Then again, it had been difficult to find and the family
currently in control of it wasn’t the richest in the city, so
perhaps this was all they could afford and they had been relying
on secrecy. Regardless, they were Mid-level at best. Shouldn’t
be too much of an issue.
She started crunching numbers in her head. It wouldn’t be
difficult to find a team capable of getting inside and dealing
with the guards, but the box was an easy thing to run off with
and hiring such a brand of person could draw attention should
tabs be currently kept by her rivals. She could work around
this, but it would take some time and whether or not the box
would be moved within that time was up in the air according to
the stallion in the café. Go freelance? Highly untrustworthy and
usually overly expensive. Honestly, Grace felt confident she
could go in herself. The guard was clearly carrying a short
sword at his side and there was always the possibility of him
packing worse, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d sneaked
into an area where she wasn’t wanted. She was no ninja, but they
were no royal guards either.
The decision would have to be made soon, though. The guard at
the door was sidestepping away from his station with a few
nervous glances being cast back up towards one of the buildings'
windows. He appeared to be in the clear as he drifted further
and further away and Grace could tell he wouldn’t be standing
there for much longer. She stood up and reached back to her
jacket, untucking its hood and pulling it over her head to try
and obscure her face in case she was discovered. There was
nothing she could do about her horn, and her rapier, the hilt
and scabbard of which was currently wrapped with dark cloth from
the shop she’d detoured to, was still visible. She unfortunately
had been lacking in the time needed to leave it somewhere secure
and she’d be damned if she ever lost one of her most prized and
useful possessions. Anyone who knew who she was, how she rolled
and was brave enough to try and identify her may have been
capable of doing so should this go wrong, but this risk was
deemed minimal and worth it in her eyes. She couldn’t risk
losing track of the box or having whoever she hired take off
with it. Not when it was so close.
She started in a light trot down the street with care not to
hurry too quickly and tip off the guard. She may have been being
too careful. The guard would have ignored an out of control
carriage barreling towards the building if his infatuation with
the nearby scent of coffee was anything to guess from. Needless
to say, he did not notice her approach and soon his post was
left abandoned as he hurried next door for a drink and snack.
#Post#: 2877--------------------------------------------------
Re: It Doesn't Even Matter
By: Grace Date: July 3, 2017, 8:54 am
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This warehouse looked even worse from up close. Doing its best
to loom over the street, it stood a mere two stories high and
was composed of what looked to be rapidly crumbling brick. Three
windows on either side of the entrance provided a decent
estimate of its size though Grace could not count the ones on
its sides. The uncomfortably narrow alley between this and the
coffee house made it difficult to spot them, the house’s
roof angling in such a way that it blocked the view from street
level despite not being terribly steep. What windows Grace could
see were on the second level and did little to improve its
image. One was pasted over with paper, the other, just above the
coffee house roof, was horribly crack*ed and most likely nearing
the end of its life. Grace couldn’t help but chuckle a
little at the state of the building. Her family must have heart
palpitations every time they passed this thing followed by a hot
shameful shower for recognizing that it was still standing.
Moments after the guard had departed to satisfy his need for a
caffeine fix Grace was on an approach for the door. She cast
careful glances up to the windows overlooking the street and
failed to spot anything to raise concerns. Apparently clear, she
casually trotted up to the entrance and tried to turn the
handle, a soft rattle cluing her in to the fact that it was
locked. Shocking. She’d actually expected them not to
think of that going off of what she’d seen so far. She
gave the door a once over and took into account the fact that
the door had shaken slightly when she’d tried to open it.
It was decrepit and hardly holding together, and she could have
probably knocked it down with a solid buck, but such a thought
was for fun only considering the obvious draw backs to such
noise and spectacle.
Ugh… she really didn’t want to do this…
Grace reached back into her second saddlebag, not with magic but
with her hoof, and removed the key she’d gone through the
trouble to commission. Keeping it covered with her hoof to
conceal it, she put it to use on the lock, any passing civilians
most likely assuming she simply had a key to the building with
how easily it obeyed. This was not what she’d wanted to
use this for, but she hated the idea of leaving and coming back
even more than saving it both for the box and a later date. With
a click the door unlocked, a bunch of money now having been
spent on opening something she could have broken down with a
pipe. The key was near useless to most now. A second attempted
use would break, jam or jumble most locks, combinations and
dials and seal them for the foreseeable future, this being an
intentional design flaw meant to encourage repeat business and
**** off the poor fool who never got the memo. With a subtle
glance over her shoulder, Grace pulled back her hoof and
inserted the key back into her bag. A thought occurred shortly
after, and she flicked her horn to activate the key a second
time before clasping her bag shut once more.
Now with a way inside Grace opened the door as if she owned the
place, keeping with her attempt to avoid suspicion on the street
and opting to simply bail if the other side was occupied by more
guards. Fortunately, it was clear, their trust obviously having
been misplaced in the solitary pony at the door, and Grace was
free to enter and shut the door behind her.
#Post#: 2878--------------------------------------------------
Re: It Doesn't Even Matter
By: Grace Date: July 3, 2017, 8:55 am
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Someone was a hoarder. Upon entering the building Grace was
immediately plagued by the sight of one of the most
claustrophobically packed collections of… everything ever.
To the left was a pile of crates – a literal pile, not
stacked or anything – bearing the seals of several
different importing companies and countries, all seemingly empty
at first glance and serving no other purpose than to clutter.
The right… a mini plane kiddi ride surrounded by old
newspaper stacks? Was that a bit above the coin slot? Someone
had reserved the next ride, Grace supposed. A drinking bird
nodded at Grace from atop an old defunct vending machine missing
its door and standing as a quiet sentinel beside the doorway
leading further inside. It appeared the warehouse had been
divided up into sections with walls segregating areas into
makeshift rooms. Why they would go through the trouble was
beyond Grace as it seemed it would only serve to limit space in
an already crowded environment, but that was something to think
about some other time. The walls lacked a cover over the top and
allowed free visibility to the sky lights of the building
providing the only real source of illumination for those inside.
The sun shone bright outside, but even still the amount of junk
it needed to filter through caused the interior to appear much
darker and shadowy than it needed to be. Grace spotted what
looked to be a second level landing above her, the railing
overlooking the entrance but thankfully lacking a lookout.
Now, if she was in charge around here this place wouldn’t
be a disgrace. She would also want to keep anything important
that may or may not be stolen in as out of the way of an area as
possible. The landing seemed a good bet considering it would
force intruders to filter through this maze of garbage and
increase their chances of being discovered. She may have been
giving them too much credit, but she dreaded the thought that
they’d simply tossed the box wherever. It would be a
doomed nightmare to try and sort through all this, especially
considering the small size of what she was after.
Grace took care to keep her hoofsteps silent as she snuck up to
the vending machine, her pausing to peek around the doorway and
scope out the next room. Parts for what looked like a carnival
ride lay like a dead whale down its length, cutting it in half
and making wingless ponies such as Grace have to traverse around
to progress. As she inspected the junk her ears perked as she
heard someone shouting. For a moment, she winced and worried
that she’d already been caught, but listening closer she
realized it was the sound of two ponies arguing amongst
themselves about something. She couldn’t tell what yet,
but it did warn her that she was indeed sharing this building
with others. Keeping an ear trained in the direction of the
shouting to keep its distance in mind she advanced, opting to
circle around the left of the junk and again pausing at its end
to check ahead of her. There was space on the other side
occupied by yet more things. A row of statues, gray and simple,
sat isolated to one side of the next doorway while the other was
more scrap from what she could tell. It all fell into a shadow
over there and she’d have to get closer to see.
The shouting sounded to be about another “room” or
two away, signaling Grace that she could move on and check that
corner. Stepping out from around her corner she trotted up
halfway passed the row of statues and-
“AH! Shut up already!”
-stopped dead in her tracks. That was close, was a new voice and
was getting closer with Grace figuring it be mere moments before
it’s source entered in through the doorway ahead of her.
Her eyes darted around her as she tried to think of a way to
hide settling on the statues and ducking in between the nearest
pair. They were almost the same color as her coat and her hood
was covering most of her mane so she hoped she’d blend in
well enough in the dark so long as she could keep her jacket out
of view behind the statues.
“I swear it’s, like listening to two foals argue
over toys! Toys!”
An earth pony stallion entered just as Grace got into position.
She watched him as best as she could from under mostly closed
eyelids to hide her blue irises. He walked… eh, well, that
was generous. He staggered into the room and only cast the
briefest of looks in her direction before stumbling towards the
refuse in the center. There he started to dig around in the
junk, seemingly lost as he walked from one spot to another with
momentary pauses to tap his chin in thought. This was when Grace
was hit by it, a thick cloud of stink following in the
stallion’s wake. Body odor and alcohol, so pungent that
Grace had to struggle not to snort in disgust. While she battled
her senses and forced herself not to gag, the stallion half
buried himself into the pile, rooted around for some time and
finally popped his head back out with his teeth clenched around
something they most likely were very familiar with. Grace gave
him a few seconds to reacquaint himself with the bottle and then
slowly faded back behind the statues. Using them as cover she
snuck around to the end of the row and watched the stallion
wander off around the corner before turning her attention to the
other corner of the room. Ruined bedframes and a vase holding
dead flowers. No box here.
Getting impatient and now mildly nauseous, Grace darted for the
next doorway, cast a quick look inside and entered only to once
again be halted and forced to step back. Shed finally found the
source of the arguing, two ponies to the right of this next area
in some side room shouting at each other at the top of their
lungs were starting to spill over into where she needed to go
next. One, a pegasus mare, had just exited out in front of Grace
without realizing, her quick whipping around to throw another
obscenity towards the doorway giving the intruder a chance to
hide back behind the corner. This was going to be a problem if
they both decided to occupy the room and Grace would not accept
having all this time be spent for nothing. She noticed a short
way away was the start of a set of stairs heading up to the
second level and marked it as her next goal.
“… yours to begin with! Not everything on this
planet revolves around your stupid hobby!” the mare
screamed, knocking an old radio from a stand then kicking it
against a dresser near the stairs, bits flying in every
direction with some even managing to bounce off of Grace’s
jacket. Wow, she was pissed…
There was a muffled response coming from the other room that
Grace could only guess was a very eloquent and carefully worded
objection to the destruction of what she assumed was not the
mare’s property. The mare turned back towards the other
room and replied in kind.
“I’ll break whatever I damn well please! And your
legs will be next if you don’t get off my case!”
Alright, well, this was fun and all but Grace had places to be.
Halfway through the next line of the mare’s tirade she
made a break for it, dashing past behind her and ducking behind
a tower of old microwaves further contributing to the squalor.
She earned a very brief moment of the mare’s attention as
she turned to check on what she’d thought she’d
heard as someone passing by but soon Grace’s possible
presence was forgotten when the mare was again displeased by
what she was hearing come from her adversary’s mouth.
“That wasn’t even me! That wasn’t EVEN ME! If
you weren’t so wigged out all the time you-“
Yeah, uh-huh, anyway… Grace gave one last cautionary peek
from her spot before sneaking up to the stairs. She felt
confident the mare wouldn’t notice as she was far more
interested in the baseball bat she was dragging into the side
room. Halfway up the stairs Grace paused to listen to the sound
of splintering wood and whining. She smiled. This was too easy.
Did she think mid-level earlier? Truly she gave others far too
much credit.
At the top of the stairs Grace was nearly shocked to find things
weren’t a mess. This whole second level landing looked
like someone was staying here and not just squatting. No walls
divided this level and so she immediately was able to recognize
that no other ponies were up here and was left free to
investigate. A couple of bunks were immediately to her right,
footlockers haphazardly arranged according to their
owners’ care while further along she spotted a table and
eating utensils. Seems this was where they were supposed to be
living when they weren’t slumming it up downstairs. Table
could use some work though. Whoever had used it last
hadn’t cleared it off and left it decorated with dirty
dishes and empty drinking glasses. Beyond the small dining area
was a nicer looking little corner with a more comfortable bed
and small desk. Grace trotted past the bunks, deciding to dig
into the lockers if need be, and ignored the dining area. Her
eyes were set on the corner. That bed was the nicest thing
she’d seen in this entire building so far - not saying
much really but you take what you can get - so it made sense to
her that whoever owned it probably called the shots. He probably
did so while taking shots too Grace figured with a brief smirk.
So, let’s see here. One desk and a bed above the quality
of everything else around. First, Grace checked under the bed
just to see if her idea of a child running things had merit and
that the box would be hidden there. No luck. Nothing on the bed,
so she turned to the desk. Aside from a few blank pieces of
paper and an inkwell there was little to see on its surface.
Several drawers ran down its front and Grace began to snoop
through them one by one. The first had more writing materials,
the second a bracelet and empty shot glass along with some
letters that Grace cared little for. The third drawer was the
largest and, coincidentally, the only one with a lock. She tried
to open it but found it wouldn’t budge, Grace now
wondering if she should have gone for that “buy three get
one partially marked down” deal her contact had pitched
when setting up for the skeleton key to be delivered.
She’d just have to settle for her dagger. It would leave
far more evidence than she’d originally been comfortable
with but she was convinced now that she could have left a
headshot of herself and a letter explaining what she’d
done and still be able to run circles around these punks.
It was tricky getting it to fit, but some chipping of the wood
and digging with the blade was enough to force it deep enough to
gain leverage. Grace used both her magic and her hooves to pry
the dagger and soon was rewarded with the sound of a pop as the
lock gave way. The drawer was now janky as Hell but was unable
to resist her will as it was pulled out from the desk.
Well. Would you look at that. Someone had locked up a small box
in this drawer. Gray with golden trim, initials carved into the
lid, a combo lock adding up to eight digits needed to open.
Grace picked it up with her magic and allowed herself a proud
moment to grin and admire the loot. The grin faded when a
realization came to her.
Why didn’t she hear anyone arguing?
“Alright, that’s enough,” a voice came from
the direction Grace had come from, her attention however being
pulled by the sight and sound of a certain pegasus mare rising
from under the railing closer to the buildings entrance and
nearer to Grace herself. Grace took several steps back and
immediately multitasked dropping the box into her hoof to focus
her magic back onto her dagger, the blade raised defensively out
in front of her but being incapable of covering both directions
at once as she soon found herself surrounded. Aside from the
pegasus in the air covering the exit, two stallions had ascended
the same stairs she had and were spread out well enough to
prevent her from sprinting past. One. Another earth pony, looked
like he had a black eye and was stressed out. Perhaps the
stallion from the fighting earlier? The other was calmer.
He was light green with a buzz cut gray mane, his face sporting
the start of a rough beard as well as bags underneath his yellow
eyes hinting at a lack of rest. He wore the same jacket as the
rest though the patch on his shoulder was fancier than the rest.
Grace thought she could smell a cologne wafting in from his
direction. It smelled cheap.
“I just don’t understand what the big deal is with
that thing,” he started to speak, Grace slipping the
mentioned box into her saddlebag to better guard herself with
her dagger that bounced between whomever was closest at the
time, “five times now we’ve had somepony show up and
snoop around since taking it on and honestly it doesn’t
jive with what I was told. You see, I was described a simple box
of family heirlooms that were on a few thieves’ radars,
but a few pieces of jewelry that fetch a pretty price at a flea
market? No, I don’t think that’s right. I’ve
since heard it’s full of blue prints, blackmail against
the princesses, and a bomb. The mystery has been bothering me
for the last week and I’m starting to get the feeling that
I may have been short changed when agreeing to look after
it.”
“Hardly,” Grace responded, keeping her head down
enough to force them to have to look past her hood if they
wanted to try and see her face, “you were short changed
because your outfit is a joke. Drunks and bickering sweethearts?
This is pathetic.”
“You say that, and yet here you are,” he said after
an irritated and not so subtle side glance at the stallion next
to him, “Surrounded and with nowhere to go. If we’re
so pathetic, what does that make you?”
Well… She wasn’t a ninja.
“Look, I don’t care that you came in here and broke
my things,” he started again, Grace needing to whip her
dagger back around to the pegasus to keep her from getting too
familiar, “all I care about right now is to know what it
is I’m sitting on. So how about we make ourselves a deal?
You tell me what’s in the box, or at least your version of
what’s in the box, then explain who sent you and why and
we might just be ab-“
Blah blah blah. Grace ignored the stallion and turned her
attention to the room around her. The pegasus would make getting
from the landing to the front door very tricky and the drop from
here to the ground floor may be treacherous in and of itself
considering the crap she’d be falling onto. One hoof of
center and she may just end up with a broken ankle and a load of
new problems. The stairs were out of the question. Fighting may
be her only option even if it was the worst one. Three against
one was ridiculous, especially considering that she didn’t
have the room to utilize her rapier properly and would be forced
to settle for just her dagger. There was also the very real
chance that the guard from outside may return and make it four
to further plummet her odds.
She took stock of what she had to work with. Um… an
inkwell. Paper. Dagger of course. The desk? Not much coming to
mind for that. A crack*ed window. A bed. Some dirty plates.
Cots-
A crack*ed window. Grace let her eyes settle on the window near
the desk. She scanned the crack and reversed it in her mind. She
came up with an admittedly desperate but necessary plan.
“… Alright,” Grace spoke up, interrupting
whatever it was the stallion was going on about at the time
before then sheathing her dagger back into concealment,
“You want to make a deal? Fine. Let’s make ourselves
a deal. What was it you wanted?”
She turned towards the stallion and waited for him to open his
mouth to reiterate, her ears picking up on the pegasus inching
closer now that she was not holding her weapon to keep them
back. That was fine. She wouldn’t be standing there for
much longer anyway.
“I said-“
And she was off. Grace broke into a sprint towards the window,
her horn lighting with magic as she leaped towards the glass
shoulder first and raised her hoof up to pull the hood tighter
over her face for protection as she hoped the material would
shield her from most of the oncoming danger. The window exploded
outwards with a crash, shards showering both the narrow alley
beside the building and the roof of the coffee house two meters
below as any passing ponies gasped with a start. Grace’s
landing was not befitting of her name. She had estimated the
height of the fall correctly from what she’d seen earlier,
but unfortunately the roof of the neighboring building angled
away from the warehouse she was fleeing from. She collided with
more force than she’d anticipated and was left momentarily
stunned. Luckily she hadn’t broken anything, but she knew
she’d be sporting a pretty hefty bruise for a while after
this.
Once the glass was finished raining down onto the world Grace
rolled over with a groan and was now sporting a fresh cut across
her right cheek as well as a few smaller ones across her legs.
There was the sound of wood scrapping against the slick shingles
of the coffee house roof as she looked up to see a box sliding
down the sloped angle towards the alley below.
“No!” she shouted, lunging for the item and clipping
its corner with her hoof, sending it into a counter clockwise
spin just before it reached the edge and clattered down to the
ground. Looking up, she saw the mercenaries watching.
“Get the box!” the one in charge barked, their
pegasus flying out of the shattered window and swooping down to
the street to try and retrieve the item from the alley while
Grace pushed herself back up onto her hooves and turned to flee.
A gunshot rang out as the black-eyed pony fired a pistol
he’d taken from his jacket after her, missing but forcing
her to flinch and cuss while the one in charge smacked the
weapon out of his grasp.
“What are you doing!?” she could hear their leader
scold, her regaining her footing and making a beeline for the
awning at the front of the shop, “We already have enough
problems now as it is! Keep it quiet! Go!”
Grace wouldn’t be watching when the stallion made his own
leap to pursue her as she would be too busy jumping from the
roof. She dropped down to the awning and spread her legs out to
distribute her weight and keep herself from tearing through.
Landing, she rolled off the side and onto her hooves after
another short drop, surprising one very confused stallion
holding a coffee whom had stepped outside to investigate the
ruckus. Grace cared little that his drink was spilled as she
sprinted down the street, ignoring the pain from her recent
landing and looking for a side street or back alley to cut
through and make her escape more difficult to keep up with.
#Post#: 2928--------------------------------------------------
Re: It Doesn't Even Matter
By: Broadshield Date: July 6, 2017, 1:02 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Broadshield continues to keep his distance from his target,
making sure to not seem suspicious. He's had much experience
with this kind of work. He's patient, he can wait. He silently
watches Grace wait for an opportunity to break in, waiting for
the guard to leave. He could easily follow Grace, but there's
another option on getting information. Watching Grace enter the
building he chooses to instead follow the guard.
He waits patiently for the guard to exit the coffee shop before
dragging him off into an alley without drawing any attention to
himself. "Alright, listen carefully if you don't want a 9mm
bullet in your stomach. I got a certain somepony about to enter
the building that you've failed to guard. So tell me, what
exactly are a bunch of low-live mercenaries guarding, and how
many are there inside? If I find you lying I won't hesitate to
come back out and kill you. Now start talking." he says,
pointing the TEC 9 to his stomach and pinning his neck to a wall
with his hoof. "I-I-I-I don't know! I don't know what's in
there! They don't tell me anything! As for how many are in
there, there's me an-" he manages to say before their attention
is drawn to the sound of shattering glass.
He pulls himself and the guard out of the way of falling glass,
Broadshield pinning the guard to the ground. With a swift punch
to the face he knocks him out, before seeing a brown box fall
near him. He quickly picks it up and hides it in his jacket
before taking to the air, flying in the direction his target is,
but appearing to be fleeing from the scene.
#Post#: 2930--------------------------------------------------
Re: It Doesn't Even Matter
By: Grace Date: July 6, 2017, 11:05 am
---------------------------------------------------------
The pegasus sent to fetch the box would land too late to see the
brief scuffle in the alley. For her, she would arrive only to
find the alley barren save for the now unconscious guard and a
half empty trash bin. Rushing over, she ignored her brother in
arms and focused on the trash, tossing several hooffuls out and
onto the ground before realizing no box would be found. Casting
about a now very worried scan of the alley, the pegasus saw no
signs as to where it had gone and let out a soft groan.
“Oh, we’re in trouble…” she mumbled as
the sound of four hooves met the cobblestone just around the
corner of the building. The stallion pursuing Grace from the
warehouse had made it to street level and was paying little mind
to anyone other than the mare he’d been sicced on as he
galloped forward to try and catch up.
Grace herself had already built a decent lead on the pony as
she’d refused to slow down, ducking and weaving around
anyone who didn’t know the situation and hadn’t
realized the report from earlier had come from a firearm.
Confident, she tossed a look over her shoulder to check on
things and noticed few others fleeing in the same direction she
was. Amongst the crowd she was able to pick out a stallion
sporting a black eye but felt little reason to worry as she
settled on simply taking the next alley, zig zagging through the
next streets and-
“Hey! Watch out!”
Grace had been a little too confident it seemed, her
self-approving smirk soon wiped away as she drifted halfway
around a corner only to collide with a stallion running in the
opposite direction. He could not stop in time, and threw off her
center of balance in her own attempt. Upon the collision,
focused entirely on her left shoulder where she’d taken
the brunt of the landing earlier of course, she fell in a half
spin and ended up on the ground growling in pain and smashing a
hoof into the ground to try and fight through it.
She heard the stallion saying some sort of apology but words had
no meaning for the next couple of seconds. What she did pick up
on was the twang in the voice hinting that they were from out of
town, this enough for Grace to make a myriad of unfair
assumptions.
“Get your hooves off me you inbred troglodyte!” she
snapped when he tried to help her up, the mare eventually
finding her hooves and bearing a very unhappy set of teeth at
the stallion. The thought did not occur for her to simply accept
the apology and keep going with this distraction being enough to
keep her in place for the stallion pursuing to gain some ground.
Half way through the opening paragraph of her tantrum her head
started to clear and she remembered what she’d been doing.
Looking back, that stallion sure was a lot bigger than he had
been a few moments prior. Figured that out of everything these
mercs failed at, cardio wouldn’t be one of them.
“This isn’t over, hillbilly,” Grace promised,
breaking into a now slightly limping gallop and leaving the
stallion confused and offended.
Now she was slowing down, the rough landing and knock down two
cruel twists of fate that had taken most of the wind from her.
Adrenaline was helping, but it could only go so far as with
every step she was aggravating her injury and sending waves of
discomfort and pain down her chest, leg and back. Unfortunately,
she no longer felt confident in simply out running the stallion,
and the sudden turnaround was incredibly frustrating.
She’d need to think of something else and quickly.
Exiting out the other end of the alley shed cut through to try
and confuse her pursuer, Grace abandoned the idea of out pacing
the pony and instead looked to think of a way to avoid them
instead. Her sprint had faded into a reserved gallop and her
eyes were darting everywhere to try and find the best place to
hide or blend in. She could try and abandon her jacket and
attempt melting into the small crowd in the street, but it
wasn’t dense enough to assure her she’d not be seen
and her limp carried a very real possibility of giving her away.
Again, the idea of fighting her way out came to mind, and she
was far more confident in being able to handle one solitary
opponent, but it would be with a handicap and could draw more
attention and birth new problems should the guard or any of his
friends get involved.
She half galloped past an open door leading to a small shop
displaying lamps, rugs and other such furniture, Grace at first
ignoring it the pausing to throw her attention back. Business
was slow it seemed, as nopony looked to be inside aside from its
lone shop keep…
She did an abrupt about face and bolted inside the shop,
swinging the door closed behind her and latching it before
flipping the sign on its window to “closed”. Ducking
down next to the shop’s front window and trying to keep
herself obscured from immediate view by hiding behind a hung-up
rug, Grace watched the street for signs of the stallion.
“Um… Excuse me?” came a voice from near the
shops counter, “but can I friggin help you? I didn’t
know you owned my store.”
Grace rolled her eyes without looking back at the light brown
earth pony mare, and when she finally did she was a completely
different person.
“Sh! Sh! Sh! Please!” she began, sounding out of
breath and distressed as she waved a hoof in a way that
encouraged the mare to keep her voice down, “Please,
I’m sorry, but I just didn’t know what else to do! I
need your help!”
“If you need a lamp, you can just ask. There’s no
reason to take over the shop for it.” The shop keep was at
first unconcerned as she worked through her initial irritation,
but Grace’s face was a convincing mask of panic that gave
the impression of legitimate peril.
“No, there’s a stallion after me!” she
continued, stopping to throw a paranoid glance over her shoulder
and towards the street outside, “He’s been chasing
me for the last couple of blocks! I think he was going for my
bag and when he couldn’t get it he got violent!
Look!” she stopped to pull back her hood and show off the
cut across her cheek. It had been running red for a little bit
now, so the blood was clearly visible and navigated its way down
her cheek in a narrow stream of crimson. To add to this, Grace
lifted one of her front legs to display a second cut gained from
her leap through the window.
“He has a knife!” Grace spoke in a whisper as if the
information would somehow get her in trouble just for knowing,
the shop keep bringing a hoof up to her mouth with a small gasp
at the sight of the blood. Grace saw her eyes go to the rapier
at her hip and noticed the wrinkling of her brow to indicate
confusion.
“Oh, Celestia! How’d you get away?” the shop
keep asked just before noticing Grace’s rapier strapped to
her side, “And why would he target someone who’s
armed?”
Grace was good at preventing herself from giving away that she
needed to think of a response. As such she didn’t even
break eye contact with the mare before answering with hardly
half a beat missed.
“I got him really good in the eye, I think. He staggered
and I ran, but it must have just made him mad cause he
hasn’t given up yet.”
About the weapon, Grace looked down as if not understanding what
she meant until resting her gaze onto the weapon at her side.
“I don’t know, maybe he couldn’t tell what it
was,” she suggested, referencing the cloths still wrapped
around the sword’s scabbard and hilt, “not that it
matters. It’s ornamental, and I wouldn’t know what
to do with it anyway. I was planning on pawning it…”
Looking back at the street, Grace cut herself off by stopping
short and dropping low. The stallion, having apparently caught
up and now dealing with the problem of not seeing Grace, was
outside on the street, tossing his attention around in an
attempt to pick up on her trail and seemed intent on approaching
the shop next. Grace, staying true to the character she’d
crafted, sneaked over to the corner of the shop off to the side
of the window, staying low and mouthing a silent plea with a
gesture of her hooves close to begging. The shop keep, while
obviously still relatively unsure as to what exactly was going
on, could think of no reason to out of her way to give Grace
away and so stayed at her post. Not wanting to look like she was
standing in a closed shop doing literally nothing, she picked up
a rag and started dusting off her wares and countertops.
Now, the merc, hailing from a rag tag outfit as he may be, was
not the dumbest person in the world despite what Grace may say
to the contrary. Therefore, he knew that Grace couldn’t
have simply dissipated into nothing when he turned that corner
to find she had been gone. With how fast she’d been
moving, her lead, and the lack of any alleys and side roads near
enough to where he figured she’d have been by the time he
got to this street, he could either assume she knew how to
teleport or was still in the area. He had gone with the latter
since the former would be giving up, and during Grace’s
little show had entered and glanced around several of the shops
down along the street, this next one in his sights being the one
Grace had chosen.
He harrumphed when he saw the sign stating the building was not
currently open to the public and loomed over the window for
several seconds before knocking on the glass to grab the
attention of its owner. The mare, looking up from her rag, was
doing a decent job of making it seem she didn’t know the
situation. She did however give away a slight widening of her
eyes upon seeing the stallions’ black eye, this along with
his angry and sweaty exterior was, in her mind at least, enough
to confirm what Grace had been telling her. She took a moment to
appreciate how heavy the black eye had set in. Grace would have
had to have hit him really hard to cause it to be that dark so
quickly.
Not wanting to let him in, the shop keep only pointed at the
sign then went back to her dusting. The stallion, refusing to be
brushed aside, knocked again, this time louder as he grunted in
anger and considered breaking something. The shop keep, not
backing down and failing to be intimidated while earning a
little of Grace’s respect in the process, looked up from
her work with an expression that suggested a lack of belief over
how thick this stallion must be. Again, she thrusted her hoof
towards the sign before tapping the side of her head to suggest
he was an idiot. This did little to calm the stallion’s
temper, but it did eventually force him to leave her be. Chasing
Grace had already caused a lot of noise and problems, and
breaking into a shop on the off chance she may be hiding there
was too much risk for no reward. Cursing very loudly, the
stallion moved on to the next shop.
Grace remained in the shop for a several minutes to encourage
her pursuer to move on, eventually deeming the coast clear
enough to head back out.
“Thank you,” she told the mare who’d helped
her, playing up her lack of words at the mare’s kindness
with long pauses and stutters, “I don’t know how I
can ever repay you for that.”
“look, just, be careful alright,” the mare
responded, “you don’t have to repay me or anything,
just, you know, make any weapons you’re carrying more
obvious next time or something. Even if they are fake. Oh!
Actually, there is something you could do! Direct your friends
to the best damn rug shop this side of canterlot the next time
their thinking of moving.”
Grace chuckled and promised to keep that in mind, her then
heaving several deep breaths and wishing the mare a few more
farewells before venturing back into the street. Her façade was
gone almost instantly once outside of the shops’ view, her
overjoyed relief soon giving way to a very frustrated grimace
over the pain in her rapidly developing bruise. She would not go
home from here - she felt it too dangerous to go directly to her
house from the scene of a crime - but instead start making her
way towards a hotel halfway across the city.
#Post#: 2946--------------------------------------------------
Re: It Doesn't Even Matter
By: Grace Date: July 10, 2017, 10:45 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Grace didn’t deviate from her route for quite some time
only pausing every once in a while to rest. She’d been
confident in her losing of the group that had been watching the
box and as such hadn’t been rushing her walk due to her
aching body, but eventually she started to get a feeling she
didn’t like at all. She wasn’t seeing anything that
was actively tipping her off, but there was always something
about the crowd around her that was making her uncomfortable.
Like some part of it kept popping back up but fading away before
she could get a lock on it. She hadn’t shown much reaction
towards this feeling or her suspicions so as to hopefully
encourage whatever it was to keep itself around in the hopes of
recognizing it better, but she did start to form a simple plan
she hoped would she some light.
As Grace made her way through the city she would eventually
reach one of several alleys dotting Canterlot that anyone in law
enforcement would immediately recognize and groan over. These
alleys were tiny mazes that were pressed between buildings so
densely packed that their rooves near collided with each other
and made it difficult to keep track of anything when watching
from above, this casting an almost perpetual shadow over
whatever took place on the ground. It was also host to several
different exit points back to the streets and, should rumors be
believed, even had the potential for back entrances into these
buildings that even then may or may not have old smuggling
tunnels that allowed travel between the buildings to remain
undetected. Needless to say, guards and the like hated these
alleys.
Grace didn’t really like them either as they often times
proved a headache, but today she figured they’d be of use.
Having kept to the main streets up until now, she hoped that her
quick cutting into the alley would encourage any ponies that may
be watching to either think twice about following or be forced
to do so in a way that would assist her in the next step. In the
alley she found no one to get in her way and would hang a mild
turn left from it's initial fork snaking between the city
buildings. She would not exit back to the street however, but
remain here under the cover of the cramped rooftops and wait it
out for a bit. Best case scenario she’d be assumed to have
used a tunnel to shake off whatever was bothering her. Second
best case scenario, she’d get to find out what it was but
also have some semblance of a drop on it.
Grace was no sorcerer, but a simple light spell was something
she felt she could manage rather well. As such, should she find
anyone following in after her she was hoping to pin point such a
spell and focus it in an attempt to rob them of their vision in
this shadowed area. For now, she waited behind the cover of some
trash bins and an abandoned recliner, watching the alley around
her, ears perked to make sure she wasn’t caught by
surprise by some third party that had intention to use the alley
and throw off her plans.
#Post#: 2988--------------------------------------------------
Re: It Doesn't Even Matter
By: Broadshield Date: July 17, 2017, 5:46 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Broadshield continues to hover some distance above the general
area of where Grace is. After she leaves the store, he looks
back at where the warehouse was, the place swarming with Royal
Guards. Not wanting to lose his target, he slowly and silently
trails her from above. During her trot, she doesn't seem to make
indication that she is aware of his presence, so he could risk
going on the ground. Upon landing, he notices that she enters a
dark alley. Maybe she did know something was up. Taking caution,
he slowly steps into the alley, but keeping himself next to the
exit, scanning the area for anyone and anything.
#Post#: 2989--------------------------------------------------
Re: It Doesn't Even Matter
By: Grace Date: July 17, 2017, 9:21 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Aha! Or, well, kind of aha. Grace could, from where she was,
sort of make out the figure of some other pony having entered
the alley behind her, lingering at the start, and felt this
enough to confirm her suspicions despite not being able to prove
them entirely. Could it have just been someone else happening to
use the alley? Could be, but that would make them shady either
way as most civilians would avoid such a detour.
Facing this pony was the fork she herself had navigated just
moments before, the left her choice and the right devoid of life
as far as she knew. She could have waited and seen whether the
pony would take the right path, leading to no one and eventually
emptying back to the street, but now Grace was curious and
slightly offended to learn someone may have been following her.
Casting careful peeks around the junk she used as cover, Grace
subtly removed the saddlebag she’d gained from the handoff
earlier that day. Opening it, she removed its only contents, the
now useless skeleton key, which she abandoned in the nearest bin
before again checking on the pony. Once she had a chance, she
tossed the now empty bag further down her path, slightly around
the next bend in the alley and off to the side to make it appear
as though it had been abandoned. She didn’t know how long she
may have been followed, but if it was one of the mercs from the
warehouse she thought- pffft... This wasn’t one of the mercs
from the warehouse. No way. They couldn’t track down a sandwich
in their own fridge. All the more reason to try and figure out
who it really was in case this was far more serious than she’d
thought.
The bag landed on its buckle hard enough to sound an audible
clink that resonated down the alley, Grace repositioning herself
in her hiding place to maximize her chances of staying hidden as
she readied to ambush whomever may approach with light. Her hoof
hovered over the hilt of her rapier should the worst come to
pass and her breathing became very controlled and silent as she
waited.
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