sunnydalealum | (no subject)

There are shadows, in the shadows.

--Wait, no. There are people with lots of weaponry in the shadows. Sorry.

River's gun drops to line up with a guard's forehead: three shots, bangbangbang melding into one rapid roar, as she fans the hammer and ducks behind a filing cabinet. Her small face is pale, intent, and full of nothing but a sharp deadly focus.

Spike could watch River all day, and if there's anything left of the security cameras when it all goes down, he just might. With freeze frame and privacy.

But for now he's got an elbow mostly through the larynx of another guard who made the novice mistake -- look where the bloody bullet came from, not where it went. Not that the bit of empty air that used to contain River would tell him much.

Spike bends down to steal the bloke's rent-a-cop hat. Not likely to fool anyone for long, but you never know your luck. A bullet -- no, an arrow -- passes over his back by a matter of a foot or so.

Harth is grinning as he slips through, entirely too happy to be going into a fight, even if he can tell right off that nope - no Mel here. No scythe, either, not anywhere close, but that's okay. He's here with another lurk, and that girl's carrying actual antiques, and using them in a manner he can't help but enjoy. A guard raises a crossbow at him as he saunters further in, thoughtfully, and makes the mistake of seeing a kid, not an intruder.

He fires anyway, of course - Wolfram and Hart have pretty solid views on leniency. Namely: it's a bad, bad thing, and must be stopped. But the momentary hesitation is quite enough for Harth to dive at him head-on with a low, gleeful chuckle. Harth grabs the bow, twisting it from his hands to use as a weapon, and the guy makes a choked sound as ribs crack before his head smacks hard against the wall.

That's more than enough of a hint; Wolfram & Hart employees know how to recognize a vampire when they see one in action. (Two, in this case.)

Nightsticks come out, and heavy wooden stakes spring out of their far ends.

River's head snaps to the side, raking the room in a quick sweeping glance, and back to the target.

(And there, her first expression: a fleeting moment of what might be exasperation.)

Her fanning hand drops, slaps leather and jerks sideways all in one motion as she spins to set her back to the wall; the right-hand gun shoots for blood, and the left-hand one to splinter wood.

Spike's having a hard time remembering what the plan was. He was there, he assumes, but there was a lot of talking with words in, and somewhere along the line he must have mistaken it for one of Angel & Hart's interminable meetings and quit listening. Kill shit, and then... well, for now just kill shit. When that gets old probably someone will shout something useful.

The sticks with more sticks in them are quite good, though. He doesn't remember that from L.A. He deflects the one coming at him, mostly -- there's a hole in his black t-shirt and one in his white stomach, but it's worth it to break the attacker's elbow instead of the toy, which he shoves in a back pocket.

Harth has his own plan.

It may or may not line up with the overall plan.

For now, though, it's right in line with Spike's, and he jumps into a lazy fighting stance against one wall to welcome his attackers. Aim one: Break arms holding stakes. He fires the crossbow casually at one guard, before raising it as a bludgeon for the rest.

The crossbow bolt sticks in the guard's shoulder. The guard gives it an annoyed look, reaches up with one plate-scaled hand to snap it off, and hurls the broken shaft back at Harth like a dart before starting to move in River's direction.

The bullets from her gun aren't doing much to stop this one either.

River ignores him for the moment, or seems to. Her eyes scan desks, potted plants, filing cabinets and water cooler; her bullets follow.

She rolls behind her filing cabinet again, reloading without looking, her fingers deft and gunslinger-fast. But when the cylinders are full again, she jams the guns back into their holsters, head cocked as if she's listening for something. Perhaps she is.

Because when she spins back around, it's the katana that's in her hands.