Alain knew the owner of the Lakefront Opera House in New Haven from his smuggling days. She was a bootlegger, and seven years later they continued to exchange small favors. In this case it was providing the perfect cover for a torture session: security contractor Isaac do-Eluil was locked up in a disused storage room in the basement, and Alain moved frequently between his box seat and the basement throughout the show. The papers would demonstrate that the young baron had spent his evening enjoying the opera and rubbing shoulders with the city's elite.
It was the perfect alibi.
Room 3B11 was what Colt's message read. Seamus led him to the service entrance and promptly melted away into the shadows, leaving Colt to navigate his way to the basement room. Stage hands and other workers buzzed up and down the hallways, paying the stranger little mind in an environment swimming with unfamiliar faces.
In this end of the city, nobody looked twice at Colt Daniels. His size, his clothing, his calloused hands, he was written off as help. He must be servicing something or performing maintenance on something. Within the backstage area, he was just another worker bee zipping around the hive.
Unnoticed, Colt navigated his way down through the activity to a vacant hall. 3B11. He lifted a closed fist to rap on the door.
The thin sliver of light visible under the door switched off, and the door opened just wide enough to admit Colt. The moment he stepped in, Alain shut and locked it and flicked on the light again. "You came alone? You weren't followed?" he verified, though his eyes -- already searching -- found no signs of this in Colt's expression.
Colt didn?t bother to answer the question. Thanks to the sensitivity of his nose, he tended to be a difficult man to follow. He stepped deeper into the room letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. On the other end of the dusty storage room, crammed with old props and assorted supplies, Isaac do-Eluil was bound to a chair with partially stripped wiring, all of it hooked up to a car battery sitting on a low table nearby. The wires had been cutting into the man's flesh, and from the way he twitched and the smell in the air, they'd been electrocuting him recently, too. He didn't raise his head to look at Colt.
"What's his name?" Colt asked as he approached the broken man. He stripped off a battered cargo jacket and dropped it onto a crate in passing, revealing the handgun situated in a shoulder holster.
Alain eyed the gun next. "Isaac do-Eluil. Security contractor, technically unaffiliated but the people he worked with to capture and question her -- he works with them more often than not. Her bodyguard got a few leads... I don't know what else he can give us," he admitted with a frown, and loosened the knot on his tie.
The smell of sweat, spent electrical charge, and burned flesh overwhelmed Colt's nose as he drew closer. The normal nausea didn't follow. His stomach remained stone cold silent. He dropped to a crouch before the man despite the fact that he wouldn't be able to catch his eyes. He watched his chest heave in and out irregularly. Do-Eluil was alive. Perhaps not conscious but Colt didn't entirely care.
His voice was pitched to a growl. Gone was the good natured bird dog. A rabid junkyard dog was left in its place. "You messed with the wrong son of a bitch's family and you're gonna die for it, y'hear?"
"Don't." Alain's answer came a full three seconds later. He'd been straddling this fence since they'd taken do-Eluil in, but in the moment, with the mercenary facing death at the hands of a man Alain had never known to commit murder, he hesitated.
Colt was already reaching for his gun as he rose to his full height. "You've lost your goddamn mind if you think I'm gonna let this ***hole walk out of here. He was dead the minute he put his hands on Summer."
"Because his hands hurt your cousin. I get it..." Alain stared at the mercenary, now mumbling incoherently in his chair. "And I'd be a liar if I said I hadn't done it before. But it won't help her, and it won't help you."
"Dead, he's a threat the people pulling his strings already read loud and clear. They know I'm a killer, and they know the Daniels family's drawn its share of blood too. But alive... he's a messenger." His eyes slid away from do-Eluil, and he stepped up to Colt's side, staring hard at him. "What do you want to tell them?"
The gun hung in his hand at his side. An exhale of a breath passed his lips as he examined the damage done to do-Eluil. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. A growl reverberated deep in his chest. "That I will destroy anyone who dares touch a hair on those girls' heads."
"Give that to me..." Alain opened his hand for Colt's gun, and jerked his head at the mercenary. "...and tell him what you told me. And if he doesn't tell them... we'll find him again, and we'll kill him. I promise."
There was a moment of hesitation before the weapon was reluctantly handed over. The distance was crossed and once again Colt dropped to a crouch before the half-conscious man. A rough back palm strike to do-Eluil's cheek caused the man's eyes to lift enough to meet Colt's. "Listen up and listen up good because your ability to retain this message and deliver it is the only thing that can keep you alive right now."
There eyes met and a feral smile to spread across Colt's lips. A low growl rumbled out of him more canine than human. "Now here's the short of it... you made the mistake of puttin' your no-good, greasy hands on my baby cousin. I ain't a big fan of that. You're gonna go to your employers and you're gonna tell them that if they want to even think about survivin' they'll run. Hard and fast. And if they ever accidentally stumble their way into a Daniels, they'll turn and run in the opposite direction. I love to hunt and I'm comin' for them and when I find them I'm gonna end them. I?m gonna butcher them and I?m gonna butcher everyone in my way to them."
Colt's feral viciousness was a hell of a nightmare to wake up to, and do-Eluil was crawling back into his chair with what was left of his strength in spite of how it dug the wires deeper into his flesh. "P-please... I'll do what you want, just let me go...!" Wide eyes struggled to look anywhere but at Colt's snarl.
A jet black pocket knife was yanked free of Colt's boot so quickly that it was a blur of movement. He went from snarling dog to one mass of muscles designed for destruction. The blade was flipped out and came down around, sinking itself into the flesh of the hand strapped to the chair. Deep and true the strike hit. Colt turned for him as a howl of pain crescendoed and hazel eyes sharpened by anger found his employer.
"Now I'm done with him."
((Taken from live play.))
It was the perfect alibi.
Room 3B11 was what Colt's message read. Seamus led him to the service entrance and promptly melted away into the shadows, leaving Colt to navigate his way to the basement room. Stage hands and other workers buzzed up and down the hallways, paying the stranger little mind in an environment swimming with unfamiliar faces.
In this end of the city, nobody looked twice at Colt Daniels. His size, his clothing, his calloused hands, he was written off as help. He must be servicing something or performing maintenance on something. Within the backstage area, he was just another worker bee zipping around the hive.
Unnoticed, Colt navigated his way down through the activity to a vacant hall. 3B11. He lifted a closed fist to rap on the door.
The thin sliver of light visible under the door switched off, and the door opened just wide enough to admit Colt. The moment he stepped in, Alain shut and locked it and flicked on the light again. "You came alone? You weren't followed?" he verified, though his eyes -- already searching -- found no signs of this in Colt's expression.
Colt didn?t bother to answer the question. Thanks to the sensitivity of his nose, he tended to be a difficult man to follow. He stepped deeper into the room letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. On the other end of the dusty storage room, crammed with old props and assorted supplies, Isaac do-Eluil was bound to a chair with partially stripped wiring, all of it hooked up to a car battery sitting on a low table nearby. The wires had been cutting into the man's flesh, and from the way he twitched and the smell in the air, they'd been electrocuting him recently, too. He didn't raise his head to look at Colt.
"What's his name?" Colt asked as he approached the broken man. He stripped off a battered cargo jacket and dropped it onto a crate in passing, revealing the handgun situated in a shoulder holster.
Alain eyed the gun next. "Isaac do-Eluil. Security contractor, technically unaffiliated but the people he worked with to capture and question her -- he works with them more often than not. Her bodyguard got a few leads... I don't know what else he can give us," he admitted with a frown, and loosened the knot on his tie.
The smell of sweat, spent electrical charge, and burned flesh overwhelmed Colt's nose as he drew closer. The normal nausea didn't follow. His stomach remained stone cold silent. He dropped to a crouch before the man despite the fact that he wouldn't be able to catch his eyes. He watched his chest heave in and out irregularly. Do-Eluil was alive. Perhaps not conscious but Colt didn't entirely care.
His voice was pitched to a growl. Gone was the good natured bird dog. A rabid junkyard dog was left in its place. "You messed with the wrong son of a bitch's family and you're gonna die for it, y'hear?"
"Don't." Alain's answer came a full three seconds later. He'd been straddling this fence since they'd taken do-Eluil in, but in the moment, with the mercenary facing death at the hands of a man Alain had never known to commit murder, he hesitated.
Colt was already reaching for his gun as he rose to his full height. "You've lost your goddamn mind if you think I'm gonna let this ***hole walk out of here. He was dead the minute he put his hands on Summer."
"Because his hands hurt your cousin. I get it..." Alain stared at the mercenary, now mumbling incoherently in his chair. "And I'd be a liar if I said I hadn't done it before. But it won't help her, and it won't help you."
"Dead, he's a threat the people pulling his strings already read loud and clear. They know I'm a killer, and they know the Daniels family's drawn its share of blood too. But alive... he's a messenger." His eyes slid away from do-Eluil, and he stepped up to Colt's side, staring hard at him. "What do you want to tell them?"
The gun hung in his hand at his side. An exhale of a breath passed his lips as he examined the damage done to do-Eluil. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. A growl reverberated deep in his chest. "That I will destroy anyone who dares touch a hair on those girls' heads."
"Give that to me..." Alain opened his hand for Colt's gun, and jerked his head at the mercenary. "...and tell him what you told me. And if he doesn't tell them... we'll find him again, and we'll kill him. I promise."
There was a moment of hesitation before the weapon was reluctantly handed over. The distance was crossed and once again Colt dropped to a crouch before the half-conscious man. A rough back palm strike to do-Eluil's cheek caused the man's eyes to lift enough to meet Colt's. "Listen up and listen up good because your ability to retain this message and deliver it is the only thing that can keep you alive right now."
There eyes met and a feral smile to spread across Colt's lips. A low growl rumbled out of him more canine than human. "Now here's the short of it... you made the mistake of puttin' your no-good, greasy hands on my baby cousin. I ain't a big fan of that. You're gonna go to your employers and you're gonna tell them that if they want to even think about survivin' they'll run. Hard and fast. And if they ever accidentally stumble their way into a Daniels, they'll turn and run in the opposite direction. I love to hunt and I'm comin' for them and when I find them I'm gonna end them. I?m gonna butcher them and I?m gonna butcher everyone in my way to them."
Colt's feral viciousness was a hell of a nightmare to wake up to, and do-Eluil was crawling back into his chair with what was left of his strength in spite of how it dug the wires deeper into his flesh. "P-please... I'll do what you want, just let me go...!" Wide eyes struggled to look anywhere but at Colt's snarl.
A jet black pocket knife was yanked free of Colt's boot so quickly that it was a blur of movement. He went from snarling dog to one mass of muscles designed for destruction. The blade was flipped out and came down around, sinking itself into the flesh of the hand strapped to the chair. Deep and true the strike hit. Colt turned for him as a howl of pain crescendoed and hazel eyes sharpened by anger found his employer.
"Now I'm done with him."
((Taken from live play.))