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originally posted in:The New Dojo
originally posted in: THE DOJO
10/13/2016 11:14:23 PM
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[i]Dojo Apartments // 1950 hours // Death of a Godfather The sun had just gone over the horizon, enveloping the Dojo in the darkness of the night, dimly lit by what few lamps there were in the courtyards. It was quite a silent night, not a sound aside from the loud screams and shouts from the massive party going on in Theta Brown's apartment. A disco ball hung from the crowded room in the Dojo, with at least thirty five people crammed into it, all dancing and laughing wildly. In the middle of the room, just below the disco ball, a woman around the age of twenty four stood above the crowd on a table, scantily dressed and pole-dancing. The woman wore fish net clothing, tight against her light olive skin, and black, lacy lingerie, contrasting greatly from her brown hair and green, mechanical eyes. Her thin lips were pulled up in a sexy smile. It was Theta Brown, a rather unknown member of the Dojo, yet she was there, mainly for fun. Suddenly, from the crowd, a man jumped up onto the table, his black boots landing on the countertop with a thud. he was dressed in a black leather jacket and black jeans, a white t-shirt under the jacket, which was left unzipped. He had a hair of neatly combed back, jet-black hair, and kept like that with just the right amount of gel. His bright blue eyes contrasted greatly with his clothing and hair, his light skin tone smooth and unblemished. He had high cheekbones and a square jaw, recently shaved, and a full lower lip. The corners of his mouth pulled up in a smile, and he suddenly grabbed Theta, whispering something into her ear seductively. The woman laughed, grinning wildly at the man, and only nodded. The man's smile remained on his face, however somebody who was sober and paying enough attention would see that it was faker than a politician. He pulled Theta to the apartment room's stairway in the corner of the room as the crowd in the room squealed wildly. Picking Theta up and carrying her to her room, the man feverishly pressed his lips to Theta's, throwing her onto the bed, but now his smile was gone. Pulling away, Theta grinned, beginning to pull off her scandalous clothing, however the man stopped her by reaching into his leather jacket, pulling out a 9mm pistol equipped with a silencer. He'd gotten the gun after countless hours of pickpocketing at Dojoville; not the best way to go about it, but he was rather poor. He pressed the barrel of the pistol to Theta's chest, the woman's eyes widened in shock. He placed his left hand—slender, the hands of a violinist—against the woman's thin lips. He smiled coldly at the woman, before speaking.[/i] "Party's so loud, not a single soul's going to hear the screams of a Godfather—you filthy Bloodsucker. And even then, they'll assume you'll be screaming for... other reasons." [i]The man's smile disappeared, and wasted no more time and pulling the trigger, the 9mm bullet entering Theta's heart and ending her life with next to no sound, and what sound there was was drowned out by the party downstairs. The man got up, walking over to the desk in the room, grabbing a notebook. He tore a piece of paper from it, and, putting on a pair of leather gloves from his pocket, he wrote on the paper:[/i] [u]Damn Bloodsuckers. Had to take care of this Godfather myself. You're welcome. -The Aviator[/u] [i]Of course, if he was a vigilante, he had to come up with a good name for himself; he liked the rush of air in his hair and against his face as he ran, so the man decided that a pilot was fitting; sprinting, as though he were flying. The Aviator walked towards the window, unlocking it and opening it wide, the cool, night air blowing into the room. The man stepped onto the windowsill, and without a second's hesitation, he jumped down to the dark courtyard below.[/i] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ [i]Dojo Apartments // The following morning, 0830 hours // The Aviator All the information you've received is that there had been a murder the night before in apartment room 764. The information was sent in an email to you by one named "Detective Bowel". He requests that you meet him in courtyard 3, the one below the apartment room, at 0900 hours.[/i] ((Open!))
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    [i]And thus...the duelist herself arrived. Clad in her outfit consisting of an olive green longcoat with a plain white shirt and handkerchief protruding protruding from the outfit's neckpiece, the five foot seven foot tall, twenty-four year old woman made her way to the courtyard, her dark leather boots laced up to her shins, while her tight pans were a light brown. The woman's left hand was hidden away by a thin metallic gauntlet, while her right hand was completely cybernetic, an augmentation presented as a gift to her by a rather familiar cowboy. The woman's belt wrapped around her waist tightly, and held a sharpened silver and steel rapier alongside a loaded 9mm pistol. As for her physical features, one could say that she was attractive. She was athletically thin, with an hourglass posture and a slight amount of muscle. Her skin was slightly tanned, her lips a light pinkish. The woman's cheekbones were high yet shallow, her face angular and her ears and nose small. The woman's hair was braided back, her hair resting onto her back, although some of her dirty blonde hair remained in her coffee brown eyes. A grin of apparent joy slowly crossed her face: Finally, something...exciting. Ren was truly excited about the whole ordeal, to say the least. She was just waiting... [/i]

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  • [i]Instead of Detective Bowel showing up because -blam!- that old guy, a man walked into the courtyard, rings under his bright blue eyes, having gotten absolutely no sleep that night; the nightmares kept him awake. His jet-black hair was nearly combed backwards and held that way with just the right amount of hair gel, not a single strand of hair out of place. He had high cheekbones and a square jaw, recently shaven. On his torso he wore a simple, button-up white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His slim, blue jeans were old and faded, his black boots dusty. As he walked into the courtyard, the three foot long, inch and a half wide straight sword sheathed at his left side became visible, the man's favorite blade. He smiled up at Ren, waving slightly.[/i] "Hi there," [i]He called out, eager for a conversation.[/i]

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    [i]The duelist Ren responded with a grin of her own, alongside a deep bow towards the young man that had entered the courtyard. After rising up from her bow, she began making her way over to him, eyeing the sword at his side with apparent interest before looking into his blue died with her own brown ones. [/i] "[b]Salut![/b] I believe that we have not met? I am Ren. Tis a pleasure, monsieur...?" [i]She placed her cybernetic hand on her side, awaiting the name of the young man in a rather eager manner. Ren was just this happy, really. Seriously.[/i]

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  • [i]Zachary smiled, recognizing the French; he'd learn a bit of the language in school.[/i] "Salut, mademoiselle," [i]He said with a smile.[/i] "Je m'appelle Zach, ou Bruce en Français. Et toi?" [i]His French was a little rusty after years of not using it, but it was there nonetheless.[/i]

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    "[b]Je suis Ren, monsieur. Ren Monroe. Plaisir de vous rencontrer ici, de tous les lieux.[/b]" [i]Ren's recognition of Zach's ability of speaking some French had excited her somewhat: he was the first person that she had met in time Dojo that spoke French, her native language. In fact, he was practically the only person that she had fluently spoken French to in general, for she thought she would confuse those that spoke primarily English in the Dojo.[/i]

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  • "Enchanté, Ren," [i]Zach said with a smile, yet he appeared a little confused by Ren's strange French; perhaps they came from different French-speaking countries, or maybe the writer was using Google Translate; either way, it was rather difficult to understand. He continued the conversation in what basic French he knew, doing his best to understand Ren's once again strange French.[/i] "Comment allez-vous?"

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    [i]The writer was indeed using Google Translate, as she was a wannabe French. Seriously, I do feel bad. Ren only chuckled this time, shaking her head a little after listening to Zach speak French. Mostly because she relied on Google Translate, and mostly out of amazement.[/i] "...Amazing. And here I was, thinking I was the only one that spoke French here.."

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  • Then Zach died.

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    RIP.

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  • "No, mademoiselle, most certainly not," [i]Zach said with a smile, switching back to English.[/i] "Anyway, how's a fine woman like you on an equally beautiful day?" [i]He asked, shoving his violinist fingers into his pockets awkwardly.[/i]

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  • Alpha did so, he wanted to make sure there wasn't any competition and get rid of the perpetrator if the man was of unsound motives, he awated and simply played with an odd sort of red heart locket as he waited

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  • [b]Guards had been doubled after the incident, and some people weren't even allowed to leave their homes without an escort. Approach was Magrim, head of the dojo Guard and police. Bowel's boss. [/b]

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  • [spoiler]I just want to make it clear, Theta was a Godfather for the Bloodsucking Mafia, and the assassin is a vigilante. Not that they know that, just want to make sure YOU know that.[/spoiler][i]Bowel waved at Magrim, smoking a cigar. He had a head of gray hair, and a deep shade of brown eyes, appearing to be in his mid-forties.[/i] "Boss! Yeh here!"

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  • [spoiler]Yeah I get it. I don't know him. Even though I know who it is. -blam!-ing Zach probably. [/spoiler] [b]He walks over, speaking swiftly and strongly [/b] "Bowel! Heard about what happened. Guard's been doubled right?"

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  • [spoiler]Is he that dislikable? -blam!-.[/spoiler]"Sure has, boss. Now, the investigation...." [i]Bowel handed Magrim the death note that was left at Theta's body.[/i] "Whatcha make of that?"

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  • [spoiler]Rip. Was he supposed to be?[/spoiler] "Ah not again." [b]He sighs [/b] "All these GODDAM members wanna be important. Filthy Vigilantes."

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  • [spoiler]... well, no....[/spoiler]"Yeah, pisses me right the -blam!- off... but eh, whatcha gonna do?" [i]Bowel shrugged, examining the note.[/i] "But was this lady really a Bloodsucker? How's she git past security?"

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  • "We didn't have a backroom check I'm guessing. We should staff one."

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  • "Ehh... not the point. Do we try to find this vigilante, or do we let 'em be?"

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  • "Eh. I say let him be. Less bandits we have to worry about the better. Especially with Shi Canyon hounding our asses."

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  • "Oh, goodie. The Shi Canyon bandits...." [i]Bowel sighed, nodding at his boss.[/i] "Well, better hope this vigilante knows what he's doin'...."

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  • "It was clean for sure. Quiet kill. Probably used a silencer. He was able to lure her into the room, to kill her. To many people otherwise. Run a check on the handwriting. Seems to feminine to be a male." [spoiler]SO yeah. Magrim is low-key Hadassah detective [/spoiler]

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  • "Eh? I thought we weren't goin' after this guy?" [i]Bowel shrugged, taking the note and examining it closely.[/i] "Y'never know. I've seen plenty of guys use cursive, but this does seem a lil' too elegant for a vigilante to have written it, if they were a guy."

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  • "Maybe... Maybe not a vigilante. An Assassin. Just call it curiousity really."

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  • "I dunno. Combing through the records, old newspapers and whatnot, there've been reports of some 'Aviator', killing criminals with what appeared to be a bladed weapon. He disappeared randomly one day, we still don't know why, but it appears either this is the same guy or somebody with the same name; probably the latter, for this was a gunshot kill instead of a bladed one, but let's not rule out the former."

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