(no subject)

[sunnydalealum]

February 14th, 2007
Manhattan

Nobody on the street (not even the beat cop on the corner) seems to notice anything odd about the fact that very well-dressed people, singly or in pairs or larger groups, have been walking into the closed-for-repairs underground parking garage and not walking out. Nor do they notice anything odd about the people in question, even those whose faces don't appear remotely human.

As with one particular group, centered around a tall figure with a lionlike face.



Angel has drawn the line at wearing the House Varadeem livery, but each of them sports a badge of sorts with Vayan's sigil -- the same intricate pattern on the ring Angel's already wearing. It doesn't make them blend in with the Rrhayaowr, even the human-looking ones, but it makes certain matters clear to the others waiting in line. There's already delighted gossip making its way through the crowd, glances and whispers.

They've learned the club's name by this time, and it's making the oldest members of the team very uneasy. There's a muttered explanation while they wait, kept vague against the sharp ears of the rest of their party. Aequitas: the Latin word for justice. It's just a little too close for comfort to another place they knew once, with a name meaning mercy.

Probably just a coincidence.

The heavy doors at the far end of the lot are just opening, and two big burly demons taking up positions to either side. A ripple goes through the assembled beings, and the line starts to slide forward like (Andrew tries not to think it) like a snake.

Comments

[sunnydalealum]

The metallic ring of swords meeting echoes off the walls of the concrete cavern as Angel closes with two of the assassins, and then a louder clang as he sends one spinning backward to rebound off the hood of the limousine. Spike dodges a knife thrown at his throat, seizes his attacker's wrist, pivots on his heel with the momentum of the blow, and uses the assassin's arm to block another descending blade.

In the tighter huddle around Lord Vayan, Gunn and two of the younger guards are hitting a rhythm of parry and counterstrike, keeping the closer attackers at bay – but just barely. An axe blade made of what looks like black glass swings high over Gunn's unprotected head –

The assassin with the glass axe falls, with a crossbow quarrel protruding from his eye. Andrew reloads quickly and stands ready again.

[nomorekaraoke]

With a loud crash, the double doors come down under the pressure of the throng of people and one after the other they take their refuge within the relative sanctum of the night club.

Relative, seeing as Vayan is not to be treated like a bird in a gilded cage. He breaks formation to go after what he views as little more than insects to be crushed under his boot, and all too soon the fight is shifting towards the entrance to the club.

[sunnydalealum]

This fight is not going the way the assassins expected. Barely two minutes from the initial attack and almost half of them are down, their vehicle damaged (a crossbow bolt through the front tire, and another through the gas tank), and the tide of battle shows no sign of shifting anytime soon. When Vayan breaks ranks to come for them, it looks for a moment like they may be able to surround and cut him off – but the rest of his cadre closes around him (one of his guards swearing furiously under her breath), and the brief advantage is gone before it's come.

Slowly they're getting pushed away from the minimal cover of the limousine, and toward the club entrance. If they were outdoors they could vault over their enemies' heads and make good their escape, but the roof in here's too low.

The team leader (the current team leader – third in line before this assault started) signals fall back to the rest. It's not a rout; they move in good order, covering each other toward the splintered doors. They're still professionals, after all.

[nomorekaraoke]

Hindsight is almost always a pain in the ass. This becomes immediately clear as half a dozen black clad demons come hurrying from a door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Not all of them are demons, and not all of them are big enough to fit the generic image of Security, but the way they carry themselves speaks louder than anything. They're backup, to keep the assailants out of the club and away from the paying customers.

Unfortunately, they're half a minute too late. With half of them on each side of the entrance, it's all too easy for the assassins to get inside. In there, there's more space both vertically and horizontally, which they take advantage of. Spreading out like a fan and taking on anyone who gets between them and their target.

Unfortunately for Security, Vayan and his servants do exactly the same.

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew finds himself briefly shoulder-to-shoulder with Angel in a breath of time between shoving through the doorway and diving back into the fight. It's long enough to register the interior: lavishly dressed humans and demons of various ages, most of them cowering away from the sudden incursion of violence into their midst.

"Oh frell," he breathes unhappily, "there's too many noncombatants in here."

"Best we can do for them is get this fight over with as fast as possible," Angel mutters back.

Andrew nods, lowers his crossbow and draws his tranq gun instead.

[sunnydalealum]

Inside, the fight spreads quickly. Guests dive behind tables, behind hastily-flung-up magical shields, behind each other. On the little stage by the dance floor, the five-piece band is standing frozen, not sure whether they should keep playing or not. Staff members, including one server whose nametag reads EMMA, are doing much the same.

One of Angus's Security people, a large blunt being with fists the size of bowling balls, tries to put a headlock on one of the assassins and gets thrown halfway across the room for his trouble. A table shatters under the impact, splinters of glass and china and wood flying in all directions. Beth flinches away and reflexively covers her face, hearing screams go up from patrons and staff, almost drowning out the very sharp gasp right next to her.

When she lowers her arms, there's Seth, his face suddenly very white against the bright blue of his feathers, reddish-gray blood trickling from a scrape on his forehead – and trickling rather faster from between his fingers, where his hand's clapped to a jagged chunk of wood sticking out of his shoulder.

[nomorekaraoke]

Meanwhile, over by the bar:

In honor of this particular night, the bar itself is a barely illuminated dark creation covered in subdued, red sparkles. Despite it being Valentine's, Aequitas wouldn't and doesn't boast the baddest of kitsch decór. The kitsch starts with the band on stage, not knowing quite whether it should keep on playing and extends to the candy red vests the bartenders wear, though at this moment in time, they're nowhere to be seen.

There's a very good explanation for this. Ramon made sure everyone dived for the floor at the first sign of trouble of the crash-boom-bang variety, and is busy ushering everyone to safety further in.

"Fuck it! Terra, get over here! Go, go, go!"

Last one running huddled from behind the bar is Ramon himself, more or less dragging the young human along. "Everyone duck and cover, dammit, what's wrong with you people!"

[sunnydalealum]

That's fine for the staff working the bar. For those out among the tables, Ramon's shouting is all but drowned out by the screaming, and by the incredible noise of the fight.

She stares at Seth, and then reaches out and grabs him by the elbow of his unhurt arm. "Come on," she says to him, low and tight. "Come on, we gotta get out of this mess –- hey. Hey." She shakes him, none too gently, as his eyes start to roll upward and he sways on his feet. "You can pass out in a minute, come on. Yohan -–" This to another server, frozen and staring at the melee (and if she looks at it she'll freeze up too, so don't look, just keep moving) "Yohan, help me with him -–"

It's bizarre how clear her mind is, how steady her hands are, as she tries to get as many of the others as she can to the safety of the kitchens.

[nomorekaraoke]

Suddenly, there's no music. The band stops playing for some reason that isn't immediately clear. There's someone moving through the crowd with determination and calm; they part as if by some silent cue. The shot gun in his hands might just be incentive enough to jar everyone from their panic.

It's the owner, placing himself squarely between his patrons and the offending quarry. His shotgun is cocked and aimed at anyone and everyone posing a threat. This includes Lord Vayan and his people.


"Drop your weapons!" His voice carries over the sound of violence, solid and as unforgiving like a blow to the gut. "NOW!"

[sunnydalealum]

There's a sudden fraught stillness – and then the last assassin standing slowly lifts his hands and lets the knives tumble out of them. One lands point down and sticks in the floor, quivering; the other goes skittering across the tiles until it comes to a stop at the feet of the taller of the two vampires.

Nobody else moves.

The assassin folds his hands before his chest and bows to the host over them, a graceful elaborate gesture that changes in midmotion; when he straightens, each hand holds a tiny three-cornered throwing blade, drawn back to hurl at the host --

[sunnydalealum]

It happens too fast to follow with the eye: two swift movements, an impact, the throwing blades spinning away wildly and missing their target (and a muffled yelp of either pain or startlement from somewhere beyond him), the assassin crumpling to the floor with the hilt of his own knife standing out of the base of his skull.

Angel's throwing hand is still extended, slowly lowering, as he stares at Lorne.

[nomorekaraoke]

It's fitting, to end a fight pretty much the same way it started. The silence erupts into shock when everyone realizes what's happening - the tension doesn't stop rising even after the last of the assassins lies dead on the floor, despite the fact that Lorne doesn't so much as flinch.


Not from the fact he only barely escaped being turned into shish kebab or something like it. Not from coming face to face with someone he never thought he'd see again. Not from the look of almost surprise and something-like-fear in his eyes. He could flinch from the fact that it's Angel, but he doesn't. He does his best not to.

Angel saved his life.

Angel saved his life, and he can't lower his shotgun. He can't.


"Get. Out."

[sunnydalealum]

It's only discernible to someone who's watching him closely and knows him well, but Angel flinches.

Before he or anyone else can react further, though, a rumbling snarl cuts through the tableau and Lord Vayan strides forward, his mane straggling loose from its usual tight queue and his eyes blazing with a civilized outrage overlaying a residual bloodlust.

"We had an accord regarding my party," he says to Lorne, very softly. "If the honored host wishes to change his mind and turn us from his door, he were best to take it up with me.

[nomorekaraoke]

Red eyes flicker from one familiar face to the other, finally settling on his long standing patron. Only now does he lower his weapon; clicks the safety back where it belongs.

"If Lord Vayan, renowned for his wisdom and open mind, brings his business into my house, he will suffer the consequences like any other of my guests. However, one wishes not to offend such an esteemed gentlebeing, especially not when the fault cannot be placed squarely on his shoulders." Double meanings and double faces, you should never judge a member of Vayan's species like a book by its cover. Similarly, only someone who knows Lorne will see just how unsettled he is. By all of this.

"Lord Vayan's membership will unfortunately come under suspension for this transgression. For that, and for the lives he has lost, I give my condolences."

His eyes move again to Angel. Gunn. That...Watcher fellow? And Spike. Even Spike had to be here. And back to Vayan, awaiting his next move.

[sunnydalealum]

Behind the kitchen doors, the bartenders and waitstaff are huddled in a loose clump between the walk-in pantry and the enormous meat freezer. Ramon's done his best to arrange everybody out of the way of the cooks and their assistants, and to drop a few quiet words to make sure everybody knows what's what without giving them cause to panic. Only a few of the kids are at all hurt, and only one of them badly, but everybody's scared.

Once he's sure things in here aren't going to melt down, he heads to peer through the porthole-shaped window in the kitchen door to see what's going on out there. One of the newest servers, Emma, follows him; he doesn't stop her, since she seems to be holding together all right.

He sucks in breath through his teeth at the sight of the mess, and of the little group facing the Boss. "Well," he whispers sourly, "will you look what the cat dragged in."

[sunnydalealum]

Another step forward, and Vayan's ears flatten back against his head ... and then, slowly, begin to lift. "And my apologies," he says, flat but ungrudging, "for the damage to my host's property, and for the risk of harm to his people. And for his warriors' assistance against those who sought our deaths, even to assaulting us outside these very doors -–" just the slightest hissing emphasis on those last words –- "we are grateful. Ahm willing."

"Ahm willing," murmur the few of Vayan's guards who remain.

[sunnydalealum]

(When Lorne looks at each of them in turn, Gunn tries to catch his eye with a look that says what's going on here? Angel stares at him as though trying to read his thoughts off the back of his skull. Spike is watching Angel.)

[nomorekaraoke]

"Ahm willing." It's whisper soft on Lorne's part. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have matters to attend to." Like seeing to the wounded and the alarmed and the downright frazzled.

To Angel and gang... There's just nothing he can think to say. It's so much easier to flee.

[sunnydalealum]

"Of course." Vayan's voice is pitched to carry to the watching patrons, a silky purr that is if anything more dangerous than his outright snarl. "And as it seems the noble host is more distressed by the company I choose to keep than by the rabble that have insulted us both with their assault, we shall trouble him no further until that matter is resolved. On this night or any other."

A murmur goes up from the crowd at the verbal cut as Lord Vayan turns his back on Lorne without a further word and heads for the entrance, followed by his guards. The two vampires and two humans who came in with him hesitate until Lorne turns away as well, and then follow Vayan through the splintered remains of the doors.


(Within the club, only the very sharpest-eared would be able to pick out the receding snatch of conversation outside.

Vayan, dark but very composed: "You will, of course, tell me what there is between you and Krevlornswath."

Angel, very flat: "Really don't think I will."

If there's any more, it's lost in the distance.)

[nomorekaraoke]

It's a cut that glides right off the gracious host, and one that he pays no attention to; Vayan knows the rules, and he knows Lorne cut him a great deal of slack. What's done is done, and his business is not of anyone else's concern, even if the demon lord saw fit to make it everyone's business. No skin off his back. He's got more important things to focus on than high society drama.

"Angus, darling, call the cleaners, get everything tidied up. Thanks. Oh, and make a call, check what the damage to the doors and so on will cost me. You're a life saver." One Yes Gov' later, Lorne's pushing open the door to the kitchen (an ambulatory kitchen, how fab is that?) to check on his staff.

"Darlings, kittens, how are we doing?"

[nomorekaraoke]

Ramon is the first one to speak up, being one of the senior, senior staff. "You want the optimistic version or the not so optimistic one?" He lets his right eye roam tellingly over the frightened faces and various states of disarray that make up the wait staff and bartenders. Mostly scrapes and bruises, but one of them wasn't so lucky. Seth, bleeding badly and propped up against the far wall, his concerned friends watching over him. "None of us are dead."

Lorne's concern swiftly takes over, and just like that, the boss face fades away ever so slightly. Just enough. "Oh, no. Seth, baby doll, what happened to you?"

[sunnydalealum]

Seth lifts his head and tries to smile. "Table shrapnel," he manages, wincing as one of the bartenders crouched next to him presses a clean towel to his bleeding shoulder. "I'm okay."

[nomorekaraoke]

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that, Sparky." Lorne smiles, shrugging out of his suit jacket as he crouches beside his fallen soldier. He wraps it up into a bundle and gently places it behind his neck. Then, off with his tie. "What do you think your mother will say when she finds out you got nicked while under my watchful eye, huh? She'll have my head, you know."

Yes. He is actually going to use his tie to cut off the blood supply to Seth's wound. Life is more important than fashion. 'Nuff said.

[sunnydalealum]

She's standing by the freezer door, watching, arms folded tightly around herself. Seth's still so pale, deep shadows like bruises under his eyes, but even worse than that is how still he's lying, all the animation and grace gone out of him. Bleeding out of him.

And it's another squeeze to the heart to watch Lorne with him, and she has to blink hard. He cares. He truly does.

"Can we," she says, "is there ... I don't know who to call. Can we get him a doctor?"

[nomorekaraoke]

"Ramon, take my cell phone, I got Doc on speed dial. It's in my breast pocket, thanks darling." He's getting his hands dirty tying his tie up good around Seth's shoulder, but for what it's worth, he's as calm and collected as if he was talking about the weather, or dishing about a cutie over a drink. "We'll get you patched up in no time, sweetie. You want something to drink? Maybe some OJ will put the glow back in your cheeks."

Ramon says nothing, but does as told, reaching into Lorne's breast pocket for his cell. Within seconds, he's out of the kitchen and on the phone.

Lorne turns his head to the side, eyes and smile aimed squarely at Seth, always at Seth. "Emma, win my everlasting devotion, get some orange juice for the big boy."