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xp_logsThe dance of the Baron leads the people to those responsible.
There was a jungle beat on the streets; the rhythmic pounding of feet on the asphalt in a counterpoint to the drumming of the rain. It was sleeting down now, not as hard as it should be, but still thick and forceful. But that wasn't the only sound. Around them, the odd swirl of horns would emerge; a steel drum riff; the sound of bells; a thick brassy bass. The phantom music echoed the drumming, in a song of the streets underfoot. There was the greasy tang of magic in the air, odd flashes of colour and random flares. As if the city was due for one last parade.
The people were scared. You could see it in every face, past fatigue or anger or drunken bravado. These were people with nothing, left to face a storm because no one cared enough to trying to get them clear of their city, and irregardless, having nothing but their homes here worth anything. None of them were armed the same; baseball bats, broom sticks, bricks and broken chairs. No guns, in a city full of them, oddly. This was something to be settled with flesh on bone; blood on blood.
Terror, and below it, determination bore of nothing left to lose. Thousands of them; tens of thousands. Marching because to stop was to die, responding to a call older than language to keep surging forward.
And Amanda went with them, swept up in the crowd, in the beat. New Orleans was closed to her powers by Tante's edict, but on such a night there were hints, intimations; the spirit of the doomed city licking at her awareness. Rain had plastered her hair to her face, sleeted down the leather of the jacket retrieved and worn over the pulsing runes of the channelling spell, squelched from her boots as she marched right along beside Tante. The houdon stood proudly, almost regally, and in her face Amanda could see the doom of those who had crossed her, threatened her people, her city.
Not all the water running down Amanda's face was rain.
They reached the bridge over the canal, its waters pregnant with waves. On the bridge, in temporarily erected concrete dividers, sat at least two dozen men. They wore their weapons with a casual arrogance; the look of men who had killed with them before, and didn't spare it more of a thought than swatting an insect. Their role was simple. Stop anyone from trying to escape over the bridge. Anyone that got too close, shoot. A scattering of bodies in front showed their willingness to do just that.
Now the mob paused, as the man in front leaned on the cane, and tipped a top hat of midnight, sketched in midnight blue energy. His voice, when he spoke, was deep and brown and nothing like Remy's. This was rum, dark and humid, and spoke with an edge of constant laughter.
"Dat you out tonight, in dis rain. Nothing t' drink. Nothing t' smoke. Nothing but a cold guard shack. Don fear, hommes. De Baron-" He stopped long enough to laugh, in a long joyous rumble. "brought you de party!"
He tapped his cane twice, and danced forward. His arrival was met by a hail of bullets, and yet, none seemed to touch him. He laughed away, dancing forward, and where he brought down his cane, death happened. They erupted in fountains of men, screaming as they were driven into the air and to the greedy waters below. Others the cane tapped, and made headless with a lethal glee. He spun and twirled, his body moving to the beat of the city, and the intruders met death with each step. The Baron called to his dance, and the people surged forward, mobbing those remaining, to tear the weapons from their hands and beat them until nothing but twisted red lumps remained, all to his deep laughter. When there was nothing left of the men alive on the bridge, the Baron whistled and waved, and the mob followed him again, now the bloodlust rippling through them.
Where the mob surged forward, Tante remained still, the people breaking around her like waves around a rock, Amanda sheltered in her lee. Death happened, bloody and awful, and Amanda watched it with a kind of savage satisfaction in her heart. This was what they'd deserved, what they'd earned. And if Remy had to die, then let it be over the top of the bastards who'd come, paid to kill. "So, where's it end?" she asked Tante, raising her voice over the wind and the phantom music.
"De only place dat it can, childe. At de place were all dis started. De Baron might even make it dat far." She saw at the look on Amanda's face and shook her head sadly. "Dere's only so much dat a body and soul have, and right now, de Baron is taking in everything dat Remy has and right to de end."
"There's nothing we can do? To help?" Amanda knew the answer to the question, but she was young enough to ask it any way. "I don't have a lot of power left, but I could manage something..."
"No. Jah can't. Dis is de oldest magic, childe. From de blood and de bone. Dat's de cost of power, and of jah own evil. Watch him dance."
The mob continued, led into the dance, so now the front row was moving and shaking like a carnival. Voices raised in song; a thousand different ones from ten thousand throats, all merging into a single fugue of sound. They wept and laughed and ignored the bullets when they struck. Caught up in the dance, they charged machine guns without fear and died laughing. Just like the Saturday Lord leading them, elemental and deadly.
First the mercenaries fought. And then they fought back. Soon enough they retreated, but it was at the final bridge that they started to run. The dance ignored them, making its way up a winding streets and out the front of iron gates almost as old as the city itself. The Baron bowed elaborately before the gates, waving his top hat theatrically, and hoisted his cane to the howling approval of the mob. He leapt into the air, and with a sound like the crashing of continents, brought it down on the gates. The impact exploded iron and stone into all directions, raining down around the now exposed estate of the Boudreaux. The Baron turned, and tipped his hat one more time to Tante.
"Dat's my dance, Mattie. Jah gon come dance wit' me soon 'nough. De Baron, I got de first turn on de party."
"Jah gone, Dead Man. Take jah rum and jah smoke sideways now. Dat's a good man."
The white smile almost crackled, and the energy suddenly dissipated, leaving LeBeau standing there. For a moment, he seemed to stay on his feet, before collapsing like a puppet with his strings cut, face down to lay motionless in the mud.
"Remy!" She'd known this moment was coming, and in a way knew it had to come. One life in return for the lives of New Orleans' Ninth Ward. The life of a killer, spent in saving the lives of those no-one cared about. But it was still the life of her friend, the man who'd stayed by her when almost everyone else had pulled or been driven away, and the sight of him lying like that... No-one stopped the English girl as she pulled forward from the mob, moving towards him. His skin, when she touched him, was cold, and there was no pulse, no breathing.
The rest of X-Force finds a surprise ally and valuable information.
Being on top of levies, out in the middle of a hurricane that was threatening to destroy the city, was not exactly the best way to spend ones evening. And a levy that was crawling with assassins and explosions, no less. They had stumbled across one charge already and dismantled it with the knowledge that there would be more where that came from. Right now, they were climbing about the levy in an attempt to find more—slick conditions were making it hard to avoid the ones setting them.
"Careful," Wanda called softly, "I nearly broke my neck back there."
"I'm much closer to the ground than you are," Mark countered, "So I'm more likely ta just sprain my ankle. You freakin' giant," he teased under his breath. He followed a few feet behind her, one hand in his pocket holding onto his iPod and ready to play if necessary.
"Please don't remind me, I did have to spend a good amount of time learning what it means to be short," she shot back, grateful she had on shoes with good traction. Still, it made for treacherous going and did nothing good for her nerves. Blinking water out of her eyes, Wanda stopped suddenly and squinted into the gloom. "Company up ahead, see them?"
"I do." He pressed the play button and took his hand out of his pocket. His clenched fists glowed purple. "Betcha we can take 'em out from here."
Wanda was about to argue, to say that they probably could make their way around them quietly enough but then she stopped. They probably were guarding yet another explosive device and leaving them roaming around might mean a forced confrontation later. Mark was right—better to take them out from here from a safe distance. "All right," she responded, giving him a grin. "Let's see if we can. And a beer to the person who can get someone in the water. And I do so hope they don't know how to swim."
"Try not to hit the bomb. That might be bad." Mark held out both luminescent fists and concentrated, training his eyes on the two who were kneeling down by the bomb. When he came to Snow Valley, he'd been entirely self-taught with his powers, and he was pretty good. Remy and Pete had showed him just how wrong he was and in just a year had refined him. And then Scott's lessons at the school had only furthered his training. So when the two bright blasts of purple energy hit each of the men square in the ear, he was only mildly surprised.
Both men reeled back, hands going up to protect their heads and faces as they registered shock and pain from the blows. Wanda's powers turned the same slickness she'd been complaining about back on them, causing them to slip and fall into each other. They went down in a tangle of limbs and gear before teetering off the edge and then finally into the choked waters below. The chaos manipulator smiled a little as she and Mark started to make their way down to the now cleared area. "We are very good," she said, "and never let anyone tell you otherwise."
"Bitch, please, we're fuckin' hot."
***
"Stupid fucking weather." Sarah growled, despite knowing that the severity of the storm was the whole point. Seriously, who woke up one morning and thought 'I've got an idea, let's rain them to death!' What was essentially saving their asses was making it just as difficult to do their own jobs, and Sarah didn't particularly like having to hope that they were the ones who saw the others first. "If you see anything, let me know."
Doug shrugged as they moved forward. The torrential downpour, in addition to soaking everyone to the skin, had reduced visibility to around an arm's length. Even the water-resistant fabric of Doug's cargo pants was having a hard time staying ahead of the weather. It was something like swimming while standing up, and making any sort of headway against the gusts meant bending nearly double.
Okay, silent communication it was. There was a great concrete wall just ahead, and she moves as quickly as she could towards it without being careless. It looked steady enough, but the first sign of trouble would have these assholes reaching for their explosives. And Sarah did not want to die here with Doug, She liked him well enough, but still.
She steadied herself against the levee when they reached it. "Got to be one on the other side. Any suggestions besides run in and take the sons of bitches out?"
"None."
"Good."
Sarah's target went down like a sack of wet potatoes, but because of the rain, she didn't see that there was a second mercenary in position. Just as he moved to take the Morlock from behind, Doug appeared out of the storm, a pair of telescoping batons in his hands. The first cracked down sharply across the wrist of the thug's gun hand, and the firearm fell from nerveless fingers. The man recovered quickly, though, and ducked under the second, vicious head-level swing as he pivoted and charged toward Doug. Doug saw him coming, and dropped one baton, grabbing the man at the collar and using his forward momentum to bring his knee up into his sternum. As he wheezed for breath, Doug brought the baton still in hand smashing down at the base of his skull, letting him fall bonelessly to the ground.
***
They had neutralized the charges at the lock at least, which was a grim comfort that at least ships could get inside the city if it flooded. Considering the whipping rain, it wouldn't be long before they could just float them over the top of the levee itself.
"You missed two. Dis isn't a smart way to try and stop them." A rough Cajun accented voice growled from the darkness, and two of the charges were tossed at Wanda's feet, disarmed and covered in blood.
The man that emerged from the shadow was at least in his sixties, but he had the look of someone who had all weakness boiled out of him long ago, like an ancient oak. His lined face was dominated by a hook nose, obviously the result of numerous breaks, and an impressive scar that cross it, as if his face had been slashed open in the past.
It took a lot for Wanda not to have jumped and lashed out, though inside she wanted to leap at least several feet in the ground. Pursing her lips slightly, she eyed the charges on the ground and then the 'delivery man' in equal measure. "Then what is?" It was a simple, neutral question because she had no energy for games. Soaked to the bone and trying to keep a multitude of eyes out for Mark—they had split up only for a few moments to check on different spots—more assassins and bombs, she simply figured if the man in front of her had wanted her dead, she probably would not have even known he was there.
Still, she doubled checked the strings to the charges to make sure nothing was going to explode—willing to accept help from an unlikely source, yes. Stupid, no.
"Individual bombs would be impossible to coordinate wit' a timed planned. Dat means you need a remote detonation system set up to trigger dem all at de same time. Since all de concrete means dat you signel isn't going to be strong, you set it up close 'nough dat it will work, wit'out catching you in it." He sighed. "Kids today. You one of Gambit's?"
She was quiet for a second, taking in and thinking over what he had said about the bombs before nodding. "I am going to say yes to that on the idea that being one of his will not get me killed. Or, well, at least at this moment in time." Wanda pointed to the charges. "Two charges gone and no knife in my back leads me to assume that you're one who would like to stop this mess and not make it even worse. I would rather this not be a case where I am wrong."
"I don't care about stopping this mess. I want revenge. Belladonna killed my Guildmaster and friend. She's destroyed de traditions of all the Guilds, and none as much as mine. I am ashamed to call myself an Assassin thanks to her." He said it simply, matter of factly. "Worse, de bitch sends men to kill me dat won't have been fit to carry my drycleaning, much less the Guild's honour on a contract. Gambit's at war with her, you work for him, so you're working against her. Dat's my motive. Javier Boudreaux." He said as introduction.
Well, then. "Wanda Maximoff," she said, responding in kind. A hand brushed soaking wet hair out of her eyes before she continued, "Sounds like more than a fine motive to me and since you obviously know what you are doing…" A toe nudged one of the charges gently. "I am going to assume you know a better way than what we are currently doing and right now, any help is good help."
"Intelligent choice. Killing you offers me no joy." Javier gestured with his knife blade. "They've set up dere main controls in de Lincoln pumping station. Dey'll have it locked, and guarded, but one thing dey don't know is dat we slipped several accessways into de building design during construction. Dere's a short tunnel dat leads into de accessways at de base of de station, through de water system."
"And if they blow the pumping station…" Her voice wandered off as she winced at the thought of what that destruction would do to the city, already building off of previous mental images of flooded destruction. "Underground, of course it would be underground. But it is certainly more than we had before, so thank you. If we can manage to get under there and stop them, a good portion of Belladonna's plans will come tumbling around her ears as opposed to the city."
"Kill dose remotes, and none of her bombs can go off. Dat's were my revenge starts." He nodded. "Now follow me."
With a deep understanding that if that was where his revenge started, Wanda probably didn't want to know where his revenge would ultimately end up. "After you." They would pick up the rest of the team on their way.
***
The tactical advantage brought by the reduced visibility cut both ways. The mercenaries wouldn't be able to see or hear them coming, but it also meant that Doug and Sarah were flying blind in trying to find them. Still, being on the offensive did give them a slight edge, in that they would be prepared when they stumbled upon the enemy. Doug had been wracking his brain for a
better alternative, one that didn't come out like a crapshoot, but he shook his head. "I don't have any better ideas," he murmured in her ear. "I wish I did."
"Great. Let's go then." She gripped the bone in her hand a little tighter, and hurried along the concrete, one hand trailing against it to keep her bearings. A figure formed just ahead, and if they were lucky, they might just get there before they were noticed themselves. The rain made hitting a target from anywhere but close range impossible, so she threw herself in the direction of the dark figure crouching at the foot of the wall. Graceful, it was not, but she still managed to throw him off balance and away from the explosive charge. She slammed the wet bone towards his throat, but it slid, cutting messily across his neck and shoulder. Her elbow connected hard with his nose then, and he slumped back against the levee.
***
It was starting to feel a little bit like being a nearly 6 foot tall flashlight, Wanda mused, sweeping her hand in a wide gesture to briefly flood the tunnel with a soft red light. On the other hand, it allowed her to keep one eye on the strings and one eye on not falling face first into the potential grime and muck of the tunnels. Glancing over her shoulder, she gave Mark a slight nod and they started to proceed forward. Even armed with Javiar's information, they needed to be cautious.
Mark trailed a pace behind Wanda, Debussy fueling a blue-white convex shield behind him. He couldn't help but chuckle as he'd conjured it; leave it to French music to only be capable of protecting him during a retreat. But it worked here. Mark kept their backs safe while Wanda kept all her attention on what lay ahead. He hummed softly to Clair de lune, the slow, peaceful notes of the piano belying the actual danger of the mission.
When they got out of this mess, Wanda was going to have to ask Mark exactly what he listened to in order to get a shield that only covered his ass. It was bound to be entertaining. But before that, they had to make sure the levies didn't go tumbling down around their ears, resulting in a drowning city. More, anyway, considering the storm battering New Orleans above them.
She paused for a second, sure she had heard something ahead of them.
Mark stopped just inches behind her, his thumb quickly spinning the click wheel of his iPod to queue up classical renditions of popular music so he could drop the ass shield and summon his exoskeleton. He brushed back a few strands of hair that had escaped from his Iraqi beret (his new fashion statement for life-or-death situations) and stared straight ahead, as if he could discern who or what was there.
The tunnels split off into two but the slight noise had come from the right and Wanda could see the slight shifts of red. Placing her feet carefully, she edged forward and then frowned. Her hand went up and counted off five for Mark, five of Belladonna's "consultants", all at work. At least the two sneaking up on them hadn't been heard yet.
The tunnel widened a little bit in front of them but even still, Wanda knew she was going to have to be careful. Manipulating the area around them was nearly out since their entire reason for being down there was to prevent the destruction of the levies. So, they were going to have to play it differently. And unlike earlier, they wouldn't get much chance to She nodded at Mark over her shoulder, waited a second, and then sprang into action, hands blazing red as she went for the man with the explosives.
Mark followed two seconds later, discarding the rear shield in favor of the bright white exoskeleton. He reached for the closet mercenary, grabbed him by the head, and flung him into a wall. He crumpled down, clearly unconscious. The rest didn't stop to gawk, though, and instantly opened fire, so Mark quickly to a step in front of Wanda and focused on the music to keep the exoskeleton strong enough to withstand armor-piercing rounds.
Even with Mark in front of her, Wanda ducked her head a little bit in a vain attempt to make herself less of a target. But a nearly 6 foot woman with glowing rings around her hands in a tight corridor made an inviting target. The man nearest to her started to curse as his weapon jammed but he didn't waste much time. Throwing it down, he pulled out a knife and threw himself forward, managing to slide in between the exoskeleton and the wall, going for the person that would the easier of the two to reach.
If she'd still been standing there. Wanda shifted around Mark, using him as a shield, as the man came flying by. His feet slid as he fought to regain his purchase, an endeavor Wanda was making that much more difficult by yanking on the strings. When he finally turned around, he was met by the underside of a boot and when he went down, his head just happened to connect badly with the ground, leaving him out of the game.
"Wanda, a little help," Mark grunted, the effort of keeping up the armor made incredibly difficult given the force of the bullets. He lashed out blindly with a fist and managed to slam another into the wall, but only hard enough to stun him and make him drop his gun. But he recovered and pulled a pistol from somewhere that Mark thought must have been uncomfortable and trained it on Wanda.
Wanda's face darkened as she wrenched on lines, determined to take out not only his weapons but the rest of his friends as well. And it worked…but they were smart and had seen what had happened with their teammate. One rushed Mark in an attempt to distract him as the other two suddenly lunged for Wanda. Caught unawares, she went down in a tangle of limbs and muck as they fought to subdue her. Surrounded by the dark and constricting area with people trying to either knock her out or kill her, she thought back to when she'd been trapped outside her own body, unable to get out.
The thought had stayed with her, unable to get out and be free and now it was being reinforced. And she reacted violently.
"Fuckers!" Of course, the merc still on Mark continued the barrage that would have made Swiss cheese out of a tank, and he didn't have the time to let down the exoskeleton and switch to pure energy blasts. And the merc seemed to realize just how clunky Mark was in that thing, so he effortlessly dodged his counterattacks. "Wanda? Oh, shit." Out the corner of his eye, he could see her struggling.
Oh God. They were going to die down here. They'd be killed and the levies would explode and New Orleans would be the next Atlantis. Who did he think he was, anyway? Some kid from St. Louis who thought he could become a super secret warrior-spy? He flailed, and a bullet ripped through the arm of wavering armor. Mark shouted, partly in fear and partly in defiance. For all the shit he got from Remy and Pete, they wouldn't have kept him if he weren't fit for the team. If he died, then he'd die fighting.
The shout from Mark and her sudden worry for him wormed its way past the gripping panic and Wanda snapped back into herself. An arm pressed against her face as the man tried to get her into some sort of lock but she twisted and squirmed until she could reach up and dig her fingers into his face. He yelped at the unexpected pain and the pressure eased up, enough for Wanda to be able to land a kick in the other man's rib cage and with a little powers help, she felt something break. And all at once, there was room to breathe and kick off the assassins, allowing her to stumble back up to her feet.
Wanda's escape gave Mark a bit more confidence. The assassin shooting at him was still out of his reach and capable of moving back further if Mark advanced, but he suddenly had an idea. The exoskeleton was a a combination of his force field and energy projection manifestations, so it only stood to reason that he could use both. He shot a hand forward, and the arm extended, grabbing the shooter. "Well damn," he whistled, "Look what I can do."
The one with the hurt ribs was having some trouble getting up, so Wanda went after the one she'd gotten in the face. Grabbing him by the front, ignoring his attempts to hit her back, she swung him around and threw him at Mark. There wasn't enough room to do much more than toss but hopefully that would be enough momentum in order to get him in position.
Mark saw the man, turned, and launched the assassin in his hand at him. They collided midair and fell to the ground in a messy tangle of limbs. "Four down," he rasped, turning to face the last conscious one, whose hands were clutching his chest like it might split open if he let go.
"Fuck you!" the man snarled, scrambling backwards as fast as he could. Wanda started forward but paused as he grabbed a gun that had been dropped behind him. It was useless, dead and jammed and…he threw it at her. Surprised, she managed to get her hands to shield her face, stumbling back as the weapon hit her arms.
Using the distraction, the assassin rolled away as best he could, trying to go for the bag of explosives. He slipped as he regained his feet, tumbling over one of his fallen teammates who laid sprawled on the ground. Flailing, the man went back down again, legs getting tangled up in the other persons gear and he cracked his head on the side of the wall, knocking himself out.
"Did you do that?" asked Mark. He stayed in his exoskeleton even though the five were all out. He'd seen enough movies to know that if he was too hasty to remove his armor, then some merc who'd been hiding would shoot him in the brain. It was not a cliche that he wanted to become.
"For once, I actually get to say no," Wanda replied, shaking her arms out as she looked around the area cautiously. "I think these were it for this area, though remaining cautious is always good." She frowned down at what the group had been setting up before hand and knelt down next to it, eyeing the cobbled together bomb with wariness. "Mark? I do not think we can leave this as is." There was a chance that another group could come up behind them and finish the job or that it could go off accidentally. No, leaving it whole was not the safest idea ever. But neither was messing with it. "You know electronics better than I, care to take a look?"
Mark looked around the corridor, but couldn't see anyone. "I will hurt you if I get shot in the ass," he quipped as he fell to the ground. He knelt down in front of the bomb and hrrmed. "It's pretty sophisticated. One of those ones where if you cut the red wire or the blue wire or even the green wire, it'll blow up. They didn't want anyone fucking with this. But they made one really stupid mistake." He jerked his thumb at the laptop that was counting down the minutes until the detonation. "Never use Windows."
Her computer skills were fairly limited but even Wanda got the direction that Mark was going in. "Well then, if you could kindly show Mr. Gates who is boss then we can be on our way," she responded and then wiggled her fingers at him. "Let me know if there is anything I can do but for right now, the show is all on you."
"How do your powers work with machines?" Mark took out his cell phone from his pocket and a short cable to connect it to the web. He hoped that he had a strong enough signal down here, but then again he'd never had any problems in the New York subway. "I'ma download a virus. With your help, it'll freeze the operating system, but keep the whole bomb connected so it won't blow. S'gonna kill my phone, but I wanted a new one anyway. I'll just put it down as a business expense."
"I think this is going to be a new experience for me but let's give it a try." Balancing on the balls of her feet, Wanda stared down at the bomb as she mentally sifted through the chaos strings. Not surprisingly, there was a lot of things that could ultimately go wrong or fail there but she was looking for something a little harder to get a hold of. "I think I've located it," she told him, "though it is a bit hard to say when it comes to the internal workings. I will just have to hope I do not fry the entire thing and set something off."
"Yeah, please don't." Mark tapped a few buttons, and sighed as the phone downloaded a nasty virus from an 'Open this attachment and increase the size of your penis!' e-mail and instantly uploaded it to the computer. Poor phone. It had been a good friend. "Don't turn off the computer, just make it not work."
Because she had been watching him closely, she was able to see the strings shift and brighten in her mind. "Ah-ah-ah, got you," Wanda said, eyes half closed in concentration. A subtle touch was needed and that's what she gave it, pulling just a little bit to watch as the virus suddenly found its attack to be that much easier overall.
An error message popped up on the monitor. And then a second. And then a third. Soon enough, there were a hundred, each complimented by a stylish icon of a flaccid penis. "Poor Guilds. They can't even get it up." He grinned wickedly and wiped his hands in a satisfactory manner. "Eat your heart out, Zachary Levi."
"You know, I probably do not even want to know," Wanda sighed, reaching over to gently remove the explosives. It took more than a few minutes as she was reluctant to hurry in case something went horribly wrong. By the time she was done, her fingers were cramping. "I suppose we will need to take these with us, at least until we are far enough away that no one could easily find this. Or us."
"On the bright side, I don't think these are the kind that react to movement. They need a specific electrical current running through them to detonate. Score for us."
Back at the mansion, Belladonna confronts the crowd.
It wasn't long before there came a flurry of motion from the mansion; more men with guns approached the waiting mob, led in front by a tall woman whose green eyes snapped with anger. While news of what had occured had surely reached her, Belladonna didn't allow it to cow her one bit, scanning the crowd imperiously until her gaze fell on the woman who led them all. "You're too late!" she sneered, her voice carrying over the spattering of rain and noise of the crowd. "If you wanted to fight this you should have started long ago."
"Dat's where you wrong, childe. Tante started dis years 'go. Dat's always been jah trouble, Belladonna. Jah never thought far 'nough ahead." Tante said, crossing her arms and standing impassively against the weather. The men flanking Belladonna weren't mercenaries; these were trained Assassins. The size of the mob didn't matter. They could hold that gate and turn it into a death trap for as long as Belladonna ordered.
Arrayed around her were other guild representatives; Ciel Baptiste chief amoungst them. Obviously Belladonna had been sharing whatever her next step was with them, when the noise had forced her out to face down Tante.
"Oh, I've thought this through more thoroughly than you could ever imagine, old woman," Belladonna replied, her rain-slick hair and burning eyes only serving to make her look more snake-like as she lifted her chin to smirk down at Tante Mattie. "And this, this is the culmination of it all... every piece falling into place just as it should, leading me to where I belong to stand." As she spoke she looked out over the crowd once more, and as her eyes fell on the crumpled figure in the mud and the blonde girl huddled beside it she let out a crow of victory. "And what's that? My supposed downfall? Leave it to you to trust a half-man and a little girl to lead your band of miserables."
Amanda looked up, eyes burning. "Shut up." It was supposed to be a growl, but it came out slightly strangled from grief. "We're not beaten yet. You think we came alone?"
"Does it matter? If that-" she indicated Remy's prone form with a dismissive flick of her fingers "- is the best you can muster, why should I be worried? Though I am glad the putain son of a bitch is dead, even if I couldn't do it myself." Belladonna smirked.
Amanda's fist clenched as she tried to summon the power for a spell, wishing not for the first time she'd been able to keep Margali's handiwork. What was she going to do? Throw George at the woman? "Who says Remy was the best we have?" she retorted. "There's people out on the levies now, seeing to your hired killers."
This gave the older woman pause, but only for a moment, and then she resumed sneering haughtily down at Amanda. "A paltry effort. At this point there's no way to evacuate the slums in time for salvation. You and yours are trapped, like rats on a sinking ship. And when the storm hits for well and for good, all those little rats will drown." Pouting her lips, Belladonna stepped closer to inspect Remy's body, her boots leaving clear prints in the mud. " Au revoir, salaud," she hissed, scuffing her foot and kicking a large wave of muddy water over both the body and Amanda.
The air shimmered around Amanda briefly, the barest hint of her shielding spell as she used the last of her magical energy. Mud dribbled down her face, but she refused to leave Remy's side. "You haven't won yet, cunt."
Belladonna laughed, casting a contemptuous gaze over the mob who lingered around the twisted fragments of metal that had once been the gate. "It won't be long until I do. The storm is nearly here. And with it, my triumph, so long overdue."
Tante had stood silent since her first statement, letting Belladonna gloat to Amanda, while behind her, the mob shifted uneasily. The idea that they had just run out of hope was starting to filter through. Tante's jaw shifted angrily, but still she held her peace long enough for Belladonna to pause.
"De future never what jah think it will be, childe. Not even for Tante."
Quick as a lightning strike Belladonna turned, fixing the old woman with a look that was a mixture of hatred and smug victory. "I've heard enough of your useless platitudes. Words don't matter, only the actions that back them up. And your actions are just as futile as your words, as tonight has proven. Give up, old woman, and go slink back into your swamp to drown with the rest of the vermin. Soon the city will be clean again, and it will be all mine."
The two women stared at each other in the rain, Belladonna's sharp green glare against the brown depths of Tante's; each hard in their own way, unyielding. Both knew this was the knife edge of the confrontation. The only difference was that Belladonna was reasonably sure that she was the one holding the knife. She held up her hand, ready to motion her men forward.
It was a tiny sound, but it cut through the sound of the rain and the crowd with a razor's slash. A hiccuping noise in the back of the throat, like a death rattle in reverse. Suddenly, it was overtaken by a gasping sucking breath, as the body on the ground shuddered and began to twitch. Fingers curled into the mud and the grass, clawing at the resistance to find some kind of purchase for itself. Finally, the head came up from the mud, still gulping air in huge draughts between the tremors that shook his body.
Slow, to the astonishment of everyone present, Remy LeBeau got his arms under him, and levered himself up. He clung on to Amanda's shoulder as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. Mudsoaked and bloody, he looked like a barbarian from an ancient and cruel battle ground. The only thing animated about his disjointed rise was the look in the red irises of his eyes; almost luminious against the dark wet mud on his face.
"See... dat... Remy almost... missed... de party." He choked out, staring first at Tante and then Belladonna. For the briefest second, surprise flickered across Tante's features, disappearing almost as soon as it came.
A bevy of colorful curses filled the air as Belladonna witnessed Remy's recovery, but even that wasn't enough to bring her down from the elation of a plan nearly complete. "Ah, bien. The only thing that could make this night any sweeter is the chance to wipe you from this world myself," she said, still holding back the group of men with an upraised hand. The ritual was still building, she could tell from the growing storm overhead, and even with Remy's resurrection she was confident that the house was safe from interruption. "And now I can do just that. What dark gods must I thank for this windfall?"
"You lost... de plot, 'donna." Remy shook his head a couple of times, still weak but less disoriented. He wasn't sure how he got here, but here he was. "Killed you pere, Daniel... now trying to kill de city. All dat Remy have to do is get to dat house."
"You'll never do it," the woman sneered, a twitch of her finger causing the assassins to shift forward in an undeniable message.
"You know, 'donna. Dis time you absolutely right." Remy said.
The mob flattened under the wall of sound created as the mansion that backdropped the group exploded into a firey mass. The flames arced high as sections were thrown wildly into the air, raining down around the estate. As if a switch had been thrown, the winds immediately began to lessen, and the boiling clouds in the sky to dissipate.
Storm, fighting for her life in the belly of the hurricane.
Time had officially ceased to matter, as had thoughts of success or failure or making it out alive. The only thing that counted now was holding back the storm as long as possible - a task which grew more and more difficult by the minute.
Ororo's eyes were open wide, blank and unblinking as she stood on the jetty, her feet planted a shoulders-width apart. Safe in the cocoon that Sofia had created for them, she nevertheless was beginning to grow weary of the effort it took to counter the hurricane's imminent approach. Never before had she fought with a storm this swollen, this strong. Every effort she gave was soon made null by the magic ritual's effect, and while perhaps the bokor had a never-ending source of power with which to drive the storm, she did not. Soon she would run out of energy, and when that moment came, she would fail. The storm would win.
It seemed like pure strength of will that she threw against the advancing wall of wind and water, seeking the weakest points and collapsing them in on themselves. Below the winds the water churned and dashed against the spits of land that jutted towards the Gulf, throwing up an angry spray that Sofia slapped back before it could touch the two women.
Drawing in a deep, almost shuddering breath, Ororo once again plucked at the spots above and below the tunnel of wind, trying desperately to alter the conditions enough to slow the cyclone. While it seemed to work for a minute, she knew that soon it would renew in strength and push forward against them, possibly strong enough to sweep over the jetty. While she could normally survive gail-force winds, the silver-haired woman was weak and tired. Being swallowed up by the storm would surely mean her death, and yet there was no outrunning it now.
Maybe she had bought them enough time. Though it had been a desperate plan, it could work, and she trusted the others to do their best, just as she had. Just because I did not succeed does not mean they will not. Briefly her thoughts turned to her friends, and those she called her family, and lastly to Remy, her heart giving a great wrench at the thought of never seeing them again. Still, she would not turn back, and, with a great effort, she tried to speak, to communicate to Sofia that the time had come. The other woman must be tired as well, but if she had enough strength to retreat from the storm she had a chance. Whatever words she uttered were not strong enough to reach her friend, however, and as the storm once again swelled and strength and resumed its hungry march towards the city, two things happened.
Somewhere, something snapped, and what had been a category-5 hurricane that would have destroyed the city and everything around it was suddenly... not. The wind deflated, the ocean stopped its heaving, and the rain that had been pelting the ground hard enough to dig holes in the mud suddenly became a shower, then a sprinkle. The sudden suck of pressure and atmosphere passed over Ororo, disorienting her as she fought to understand what had happened. It was too much, however, in her already weakened state, and as her knees buckled and her clouded white eyes rolled back in her head, she could only fall to the ground, slipping out of consciousness and into sweet black sleep. One thought did remain, though, and it was enough to touch her pale lips with a smile even as the darkness came.
We won.
More shocks for Belladonna, as the future unfolds.
Belladonna stood stuptified as her home burned behind her. The other assassins held looks of equal shock. The Boudreaux mansion had been the Guild's home for almost two centuries, hiding secrets and history in. Now, it was gone, burning brightly in an increasingly less wild night.
"Dis is where it ends, 'donna." Remy said, lit in the flame light and made a garish red as a result. He settled himself more stably with Amanda's help. There was movement in the crowd, and finally a group pushed themselves forward. It containing many of the Guild members that had fled ahead of Belladonna's purge when she had ruthlessly taken control of all five Guilds, now arrayed behind Tante.
As if seeing ghosts, Belladonna's face blanched, and her hands tightened into fists at her side, nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms. "No!" she screamed, taking a stumbling step backward in the squelching mud. "This is impossible! I planned it... I planned it all so well!"
"Not exactly, ma filles." There was a voice at her ear, and as she turned, the unmistakable face of her brother Daniel. The one she believed she'd killed with her father, to start this entire cycle. "You look shocked, Belladonna. Don you know, dis is were de dead walk."
Daniel Boudreaux had been a handsome man, but the scarring from the explosion had covered a good part of the left side of his face in knobby shiny pink skin. He looked past her to LeBeau. "Dat was my end of de deal, LeBeau. Even since Belladonna got her hands on it, it just a house."
"You ruined it!" With a screech, Belladonna flung herself at her brother, all her training and discipline forgotten as she flailed at him with fists and nails. She was like a wet cat, outraged and bristling and utterly humiliated. She continued to try and rake his face as the men that had flanked her took a step away, obviously sensing the turn in tides as well as anybody else there.
Daniel's punch was fast and vicious. It caught her expertly in the solar plexus, and as she wheezed, Daniel grabbed her by the throat and pulled her close. "You killed our father, Belladonna. Even if he wasn't de Guildmaster it would still deserve death."
"Dat's enough." Remy said quietly, and Daniel dropped her. Belladonna struggled to regain her composure.
With a gulp she straightened, pushing her rain-bedraggled hair back from her face. "I am the head of the Assassin's Guild. Perhaps you don't realize it, but it means that I speak for the other guilds! And you will both face death for what you have done today," she hissed. "Traitors. Salauds. You are both dead men."
"I don't think so." A new voice rose up, as Arlen D'Armade stepped forward. "The murder of a Guildmaster is one of the most serious crimes under all Guild law. One of the elements it specifically prohibits anyone involved in the conspiracy to hold any office in a Guild."
Arlen reached into a duffel bag and pulled out a document pouch. "Over the last year, I've managed to put together convincing evidence that the deaths of all five Guildmasters on that boat was orchestrated by you. Javier Boudreaux made much of the investigation, and his word is unquestioned here."
"Pere D'Armade--"
"It's Mister D'Armade, Mere Baptiste."
"Very well." Ciel Baptiste said, already starting to feel the ground shift under her politically. "You are correct on the penalties but there are two important factors you must consider. As a censured man, you cannot bring charges against a Guild member, and the penalty only takes effect if judged by a Guild court as conclusive. Under the new arrangement, only Mere Boudreaux has the power to call that court to session."
"And that will never happen!" the green-eyed woman declared triumphantly. "I will be dead in the ground before I allow you to take away what is rightfully mine."
"Ah, see, that's where my second folder comes in." Arlen smiled. "The Guildmaster's position isn't rightfully hers. Under Guild law, the first granted advocacy for the position of Guildmaster is the closest heir. Unless that right is observed, the appointment of the new Guildmaster is not valid."
"Belladonna was the closest heir, Mr. D'Armade."
"No, not since she married Remy LeBeau at the age of sixteen. LeBeau had the right to stand for the position as the closest heir by that marriage, which Belladonna never saw fit to annual or break." Arlen's look was pure, vengeful pleasure.
"Don't be ridiculous," Ciel overrode Belladonna's growing fury. "Remy LeBeau is from outside of the Guilds. He has no right to stand, whether married or not to Belladonna."
"See, that's the last thing you're wrong about." Arlen picked out yet another envelope and held it up. "Remy LeBeau is properly Sebastian D'Armade! The child of Louis and Amile D'Armade, who were killed and Sebastian lost three decades ago! A murder that all five Guilds condemned as an ugly blight. Sebastian D'Armade was lost to the streets, and then to the city, but here he stands now under the name of Remy LeBeau! Now Pere LeBeau, the properly elected Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild, and the proper heir to the Assassins." He dropped his voice a little. "And since he's neither censured or an outsider, unless you plan to completely ignore the last two centuries of Guild law, that man has Belladonna sitting in his chair."
There was a stunned silence, broken finally by Ciel. "If what you say is true, there must be an immediate meeting of the Guildmasters, because you are correct, and--" She shot a look at Belladonna. "The question of who runs the Guilds belongs into LeBeau's hands."
Belladonna recieved her second moment of stunned silence. In only a handful of minutes, they'd managed to strip away the entire legitimacy of her control, and now no one would follow her orders. Criminals or not, they all clung to the laws of the Guild because to abandon them would make them nothing but common criminals. No fear or loyalty to her would overmatch that. Suddenly she was very alone, surrounded by people who she'd controled by killing their leaders, included her now alive brother. At least she'd take death with dignity, she thought, as Remy walked forward slowly, to deliver revenge himself.
LeBeau was starting to move more easily, and he came eye to eye with the woman that had done her best to kill him, his friends, and his family. He leaned forward, his voice not much beyond a harsh whisper. "Belladonna,dey all know what you done, and dey al want blood. Guess dat I'm supposed to collect it. So dere's only one thing dat I have to say to you first." He said, and Belladonna looked into those red on black eyes to the only expression she'd never seen in them, and the only one that could truly hurt her the most; mercy. His voice a gravelly hiss. "Run. Dey be coming, wit' all de blessings dat I can give dem. So run now for de rest of you life."
She turned and fled.
There was a jungle beat on the streets; the rhythmic pounding of feet on the asphalt in a counterpoint to the drumming of the rain. It was sleeting down now, not as hard as it should be, but still thick and forceful. But that wasn't the only sound. Around them, the odd swirl of horns would emerge; a steel drum riff; the sound of bells; a thick brassy bass. The phantom music echoed the drumming, in a song of the streets underfoot. There was the greasy tang of magic in the air, odd flashes of colour and random flares. As if the city was due for one last parade.
The people were scared. You could see it in every face, past fatigue or anger or drunken bravado. These were people with nothing, left to face a storm because no one cared enough to trying to get them clear of their city, and irregardless, having nothing but their homes here worth anything. None of them were armed the same; baseball bats, broom sticks, bricks and broken chairs. No guns, in a city full of them, oddly. This was something to be settled with flesh on bone; blood on blood.
Terror, and below it, determination bore of nothing left to lose. Thousands of them; tens of thousands. Marching because to stop was to die, responding to a call older than language to keep surging forward.
And Amanda went with them, swept up in the crowd, in the beat. New Orleans was closed to her powers by Tante's edict, but on such a night there were hints, intimations; the spirit of the doomed city licking at her awareness. Rain had plastered her hair to her face, sleeted down the leather of the jacket retrieved and worn over the pulsing runes of the channelling spell, squelched from her boots as she marched right along beside Tante. The houdon stood proudly, almost regally, and in her face Amanda could see the doom of those who had crossed her, threatened her people, her city.
Not all the water running down Amanda's face was rain.
They reached the bridge over the canal, its waters pregnant with waves. On the bridge, in temporarily erected concrete dividers, sat at least two dozen men. They wore their weapons with a casual arrogance; the look of men who had killed with them before, and didn't spare it more of a thought than swatting an insect. Their role was simple. Stop anyone from trying to escape over the bridge. Anyone that got too close, shoot. A scattering of bodies in front showed their willingness to do just that.
Now the mob paused, as the man in front leaned on the cane, and tipped a top hat of midnight, sketched in midnight blue energy. His voice, when he spoke, was deep and brown and nothing like Remy's. This was rum, dark and humid, and spoke with an edge of constant laughter.
"Dat you out tonight, in dis rain. Nothing t' drink. Nothing t' smoke. Nothing but a cold guard shack. Don fear, hommes. De Baron-" He stopped long enough to laugh, in a long joyous rumble. "brought you de party!"
He tapped his cane twice, and danced forward. His arrival was met by a hail of bullets, and yet, none seemed to touch him. He laughed away, dancing forward, and where he brought down his cane, death happened. They erupted in fountains of men, screaming as they were driven into the air and to the greedy waters below. Others the cane tapped, and made headless with a lethal glee. He spun and twirled, his body moving to the beat of the city, and the intruders met death with each step. The Baron called to his dance, and the people surged forward, mobbing those remaining, to tear the weapons from their hands and beat them until nothing but twisted red lumps remained, all to his deep laughter. When there was nothing left of the men alive on the bridge, the Baron whistled and waved, and the mob followed him again, now the bloodlust rippling through them.
Where the mob surged forward, Tante remained still, the people breaking around her like waves around a rock, Amanda sheltered in her lee. Death happened, bloody and awful, and Amanda watched it with a kind of savage satisfaction in her heart. This was what they'd deserved, what they'd earned. And if Remy had to die, then let it be over the top of the bastards who'd come, paid to kill. "So, where's it end?" she asked Tante, raising her voice over the wind and the phantom music.
"De only place dat it can, childe. At de place were all dis started. De Baron might even make it dat far." She saw at the look on Amanda's face and shook her head sadly. "Dere's only so much dat a body and soul have, and right now, de Baron is taking in everything dat Remy has and right to de end."
"There's nothing we can do? To help?" Amanda knew the answer to the question, but she was young enough to ask it any way. "I don't have a lot of power left, but I could manage something..."
"No. Jah can't. Dis is de oldest magic, childe. From de blood and de bone. Dat's de cost of power, and of jah own evil. Watch him dance."
The mob continued, led into the dance, so now the front row was moving and shaking like a carnival. Voices raised in song; a thousand different ones from ten thousand throats, all merging into a single fugue of sound. They wept and laughed and ignored the bullets when they struck. Caught up in the dance, they charged machine guns without fear and died laughing. Just like the Saturday Lord leading them, elemental and deadly.
First the mercenaries fought. And then they fought back. Soon enough they retreated, but it was at the final bridge that they started to run. The dance ignored them, making its way up a winding streets and out the front of iron gates almost as old as the city itself. The Baron bowed elaborately before the gates, waving his top hat theatrically, and hoisted his cane to the howling approval of the mob. He leapt into the air, and with a sound like the crashing of continents, brought it down on the gates. The impact exploded iron and stone into all directions, raining down around the now exposed estate of the Boudreaux. The Baron turned, and tipped his hat one more time to Tante.
"Dat's my dance, Mattie. Jah gon come dance wit' me soon 'nough. De Baron, I got de first turn on de party."
"Jah gone, Dead Man. Take jah rum and jah smoke sideways now. Dat's a good man."
The white smile almost crackled, and the energy suddenly dissipated, leaving LeBeau standing there. For a moment, he seemed to stay on his feet, before collapsing like a puppet with his strings cut, face down to lay motionless in the mud.
"Remy!" She'd known this moment was coming, and in a way knew it had to come. One life in return for the lives of New Orleans' Ninth Ward. The life of a killer, spent in saving the lives of those no-one cared about. But it was still the life of her friend, the man who'd stayed by her when almost everyone else had pulled or been driven away, and the sight of him lying like that... No-one stopped the English girl as she pulled forward from the mob, moving towards him. His skin, when she touched him, was cold, and there was no pulse, no breathing.
The rest of X-Force finds a surprise ally and valuable information.
Being on top of levies, out in the middle of a hurricane that was threatening to destroy the city, was not exactly the best way to spend ones evening. And a levy that was crawling with assassins and explosions, no less. They had stumbled across one charge already and dismantled it with the knowledge that there would be more where that came from. Right now, they were climbing about the levy in an attempt to find more—slick conditions were making it hard to avoid the ones setting them.
"Careful," Wanda called softly, "I nearly broke my neck back there."
"I'm much closer to the ground than you are," Mark countered, "So I'm more likely ta just sprain my ankle. You freakin' giant," he teased under his breath. He followed a few feet behind her, one hand in his pocket holding onto his iPod and ready to play if necessary.
"Please don't remind me, I did have to spend a good amount of time learning what it means to be short," she shot back, grateful she had on shoes with good traction. Still, it made for treacherous going and did nothing good for her nerves. Blinking water out of her eyes, Wanda stopped suddenly and squinted into the gloom. "Company up ahead, see them?"
"I do." He pressed the play button and took his hand out of his pocket. His clenched fists glowed purple. "Betcha we can take 'em out from here."
Wanda was about to argue, to say that they probably could make their way around them quietly enough but then she stopped. They probably were guarding yet another explosive device and leaving them roaming around might mean a forced confrontation later. Mark was right—better to take them out from here from a safe distance. "All right," she responded, giving him a grin. "Let's see if we can. And a beer to the person who can get someone in the water. And I do so hope they don't know how to swim."
"Try not to hit the bomb. That might be bad." Mark held out both luminescent fists and concentrated, training his eyes on the two who were kneeling down by the bomb. When he came to Snow Valley, he'd been entirely self-taught with his powers, and he was pretty good. Remy and Pete had showed him just how wrong he was and in just a year had refined him. And then Scott's lessons at the school had only furthered his training. So when the two bright blasts of purple energy hit each of the men square in the ear, he was only mildly surprised.
Both men reeled back, hands going up to protect their heads and faces as they registered shock and pain from the blows. Wanda's powers turned the same slickness she'd been complaining about back on them, causing them to slip and fall into each other. They went down in a tangle of limbs and gear before teetering off the edge and then finally into the choked waters below. The chaos manipulator smiled a little as she and Mark started to make their way down to the now cleared area. "We are very good," she said, "and never let anyone tell you otherwise."
"Bitch, please, we're fuckin' hot."
***
"Stupid fucking weather." Sarah growled, despite knowing that the severity of the storm was the whole point. Seriously, who woke up one morning and thought 'I've got an idea, let's rain them to death!' What was essentially saving their asses was making it just as difficult to do their own jobs, and Sarah didn't particularly like having to hope that they were the ones who saw the others first. "If you see anything, let me know."
Doug shrugged as they moved forward. The torrential downpour, in addition to soaking everyone to the skin, had reduced visibility to around an arm's length. Even the water-resistant fabric of Doug's cargo pants was having a hard time staying ahead of the weather. It was something like swimming while standing up, and making any sort of headway against the gusts meant bending nearly double.
Okay, silent communication it was. There was a great concrete wall just ahead, and she moves as quickly as she could towards it without being careless. It looked steady enough, but the first sign of trouble would have these assholes reaching for their explosives. And Sarah did not want to die here with Doug, She liked him well enough, but still.
She steadied herself against the levee when they reached it. "Got to be one on the other side. Any suggestions besides run in and take the sons of bitches out?"
"None."
"Good."
Sarah's target went down like a sack of wet potatoes, but because of the rain, she didn't see that there was a second mercenary in position. Just as he moved to take the Morlock from behind, Doug appeared out of the storm, a pair of telescoping batons in his hands. The first cracked down sharply across the wrist of the thug's gun hand, and the firearm fell from nerveless fingers. The man recovered quickly, though, and ducked under the second, vicious head-level swing as he pivoted and charged toward Doug. Doug saw him coming, and dropped one baton, grabbing the man at the collar and using his forward momentum to bring his knee up into his sternum. As he wheezed for breath, Doug brought the baton still in hand smashing down at the base of his skull, letting him fall bonelessly to the ground.
***
They had neutralized the charges at the lock at least, which was a grim comfort that at least ships could get inside the city if it flooded. Considering the whipping rain, it wouldn't be long before they could just float them over the top of the levee itself.
"You missed two. Dis isn't a smart way to try and stop them." A rough Cajun accented voice growled from the darkness, and two of the charges were tossed at Wanda's feet, disarmed and covered in blood.
The man that emerged from the shadow was at least in his sixties, but he had the look of someone who had all weakness boiled out of him long ago, like an ancient oak. His lined face was dominated by a hook nose, obviously the result of numerous breaks, and an impressive scar that cross it, as if his face had been slashed open in the past.
It took a lot for Wanda not to have jumped and lashed out, though inside she wanted to leap at least several feet in the ground. Pursing her lips slightly, she eyed the charges on the ground and then the 'delivery man' in equal measure. "Then what is?" It was a simple, neutral question because she had no energy for games. Soaked to the bone and trying to keep a multitude of eyes out for Mark—they had split up only for a few moments to check on different spots—more assassins and bombs, she simply figured if the man in front of her had wanted her dead, she probably would not have even known he was there.
Still, she doubled checked the strings to the charges to make sure nothing was going to explode—willing to accept help from an unlikely source, yes. Stupid, no.
"Individual bombs would be impossible to coordinate wit' a timed planned. Dat means you need a remote detonation system set up to trigger dem all at de same time. Since all de concrete means dat you signel isn't going to be strong, you set it up close 'nough dat it will work, wit'out catching you in it." He sighed. "Kids today. You one of Gambit's?"
She was quiet for a second, taking in and thinking over what he had said about the bombs before nodding. "I am going to say yes to that on the idea that being one of his will not get me killed. Or, well, at least at this moment in time." Wanda pointed to the charges. "Two charges gone and no knife in my back leads me to assume that you're one who would like to stop this mess and not make it even worse. I would rather this not be a case where I am wrong."
"I don't care about stopping this mess. I want revenge. Belladonna killed my Guildmaster and friend. She's destroyed de traditions of all the Guilds, and none as much as mine. I am ashamed to call myself an Assassin thanks to her." He said it simply, matter of factly. "Worse, de bitch sends men to kill me dat won't have been fit to carry my drycleaning, much less the Guild's honour on a contract. Gambit's at war with her, you work for him, so you're working against her. Dat's my motive. Javier Boudreaux." He said as introduction.
Well, then. "Wanda Maximoff," she said, responding in kind. A hand brushed soaking wet hair out of her eyes before she continued, "Sounds like more than a fine motive to me and since you obviously know what you are doing…" A toe nudged one of the charges gently. "I am going to assume you know a better way than what we are currently doing and right now, any help is good help."
"Intelligent choice. Killing you offers me no joy." Javier gestured with his knife blade. "They've set up dere main controls in de Lincoln pumping station. Dey'll have it locked, and guarded, but one thing dey don't know is dat we slipped several accessways into de building design during construction. Dere's a short tunnel dat leads into de accessways at de base of de station, through de water system."
"And if they blow the pumping station…" Her voice wandered off as she winced at the thought of what that destruction would do to the city, already building off of previous mental images of flooded destruction. "Underground, of course it would be underground. But it is certainly more than we had before, so thank you. If we can manage to get under there and stop them, a good portion of Belladonna's plans will come tumbling around her ears as opposed to the city."
"Kill dose remotes, and none of her bombs can go off. Dat's were my revenge starts." He nodded. "Now follow me."
With a deep understanding that if that was where his revenge started, Wanda probably didn't want to know where his revenge would ultimately end up. "After you." They would pick up the rest of the team on their way.
***
The tactical advantage brought by the reduced visibility cut both ways. The mercenaries wouldn't be able to see or hear them coming, but it also meant that Doug and Sarah were flying blind in trying to find them. Still, being on the offensive did give them a slight edge, in that they would be prepared when they stumbled upon the enemy. Doug had been wracking his brain for a
better alternative, one that didn't come out like a crapshoot, but he shook his head. "I don't have any better ideas," he murmured in her ear. "I wish I did."
"Great. Let's go then." She gripped the bone in her hand a little tighter, and hurried along the concrete, one hand trailing against it to keep her bearings. A figure formed just ahead, and if they were lucky, they might just get there before they were noticed themselves. The rain made hitting a target from anywhere but close range impossible, so she threw herself in the direction of the dark figure crouching at the foot of the wall. Graceful, it was not, but she still managed to throw him off balance and away from the explosive charge. She slammed the wet bone towards his throat, but it slid, cutting messily across his neck and shoulder. Her elbow connected hard with his nose then, and he slumped back against the levee.
***
It was starting to feel a little bit like being a nearly 6 foot tall flashlight, Wanda mused, sweeping her hand in a wide gesture to briefly flood the tunnel with a soft red light. On the other hand, it allowed her to keep one eye on the strings and one eye on not falling face first into the potential grime and muck of the tunnels. Glancing over her shoulder, she gave Mark a slight nod and they started to proceed forward. Even armed with Javiar's information, they needed to be cautious.
Mark trailed a pace behind Wanda, Debussy fueling a blue-white convex shield behind him. He couldn't help but chuckle as he'd conjured it; leave it to French music to only be capable of protecting him during a retreat. But it worked here. Mark kept their backs safe while Wanda kept all her attention on what lay ahead. He hummed softly to Clair de lune, the slow, peaceful notes of the piano belying the actual danger of the mission.
When they got out of this mess, Wanda was going to have to ask Mark exactly what he listened to in order to get a shield that only covered his ass. It was bound to be entertaining. But before that, they had to make sure the levies didn't go tumbling down around their ears, resulting in a drowning city. More, anyway, considering the storm battering New Orleans above them.
She paused for a second, sure she had heard something ahead of them.
Mark stopped just inches behind her, his thumb quickly spinning the click wheel of his iPod to queue up classical renditions of popular music so he could drop the ass shield and summon his exoskeleton. He brushed back a few strands of hair that had escaped from his Iraqi beret (his new fashion statement for life-or-death situations) and stared straight ahead, as if he could discern who or what was there.
The tunnels split off into two but the slight noise had come from the right and Wanda could see the slight shifts of red. Placing her feet carefully, she edged forward and then frowned. Her hand went up and counted off five for Mark, five of Belladonna's "consultants", all at work. At least the two sneaking up on them hadn't been heard yet.
The tunnel widened a little bit in front of them but even still, Wanda knew she was going to have to be careful. Manipulating the area around them was nearly out since their entire reason for being down there was to prevent the destruction of the levies. So, they were going to have to play it differently. And unlike earlier, they wouldn't get much chance to She nodded at Mark over her shoulder, waited a second, and then sprang into action, hands blazing red as she went for the man with the explosives.
Mark followed two seconds later, discarding the rear shield in favor of the bright white exoskeleton. He reached for the closet mercenary, grabbed him by the head, and flung him into a wall. He crumpled down, clearly unconscious. The rest didn't stop to gawk, though, and instantly opened fire, so Mark quickly to a step in front of Wanda and focused on the music to keep the exoskeleton strong enough to withstand armor-piercing rounds.
Even with Mark in front of her, Wanda ducked her head a little bit in a vain attempt to make herself less of a target. But a nearly 6 foot woman with glowing rings around her hands in a tight corridor made an inviting target. The man nearest to her started to curse as his weapon jammed but he didn't waste much time. Throwing it down, he pulled out a knife and threw himself forward, managing to slide in between the exoskeleton and the wall, going for the person that would the easier of the two to reach.
If she'd still been standing there. Wanda shifted around Mark, using him as a shield, as the man came flying by. His feet slid as he fought to regain his purchase, an endeavor Wanda was making that much more difficult by yanking on the strings. When he finally turned around, he was met by the underside of a boot and when he went down, his head just happened to connect badly with the ground, leaving him out of the game.
"Wanda, a little help," Mark grunted, the effort of keeping up the armor made incredibly difficult given the force of the bullets. He lashed out blindly with a fist and managed to slam another into the wall, but only hard enough to stun him and make him drop his gun. But he recovered and pulled a pistol from somewhere that Mark thought must have been uncomfortable and trained it on Wanda.
Wanda's face darkened as she wrenched on lines, determined to take out not only his weapons but the rest of his friends as well. And it worked…but they were smart and had seen what had happened with their teammate. One rushed Mark in an attempt to distract him as the other two suddenly lunged for Wanda. Caught unawares, she went down in a tangle of limbs and muck as they fought to subdue her. Surrounded by the dark and constricting area with people trying to either knock her out or kill her, she thought back to when she'd been trapped outside her own body, unable to get out.
The thought had stayed with her, unable to get out and be free and now it was being reinforced. And she reacted violently.
"Fuckers!" Of course, the merc still on Mark continued the barrage that would have made Swiss cheese out of a tank, and he didn't have the time to let down the exoskeleton and switch to pure energy blasts. And the merc seemed to realize just how clunky Mark was in that thing, so he effortlessly dodged his counterattacks. "Wanda? Oh, shit." Out the corner of his eye, he could see her struggling.
Oh God. They were going to die down here. They'd be killed and the levies would explode and New Orleans would be the next Atlantis. Who did he think he was, anyway? Some kid from St. Louis who thought he could become a super secret warrior-spy? He flailed, and a bullet ripped through the arm of wavering armor. Mark shouted, partly in fear and partly in defiance. For all the shit he got from Remy and Pete, they wouldn't have kept him if he weren't fit for the team. If he died, then he'd die fighting.
The shout from Mark and her sudden worry for him wormed its way past the gripping panic and Wanda snapped back into herself. An arm pressed against her face as the man tried to get her into some sort of lock but she twisted and squirmed until she could reach up and dig her fingers into his face. He yelped at the unexpected pain and the pressure eased up, enough for Wanda to be able to land a kick in the other man's rib cage and with a little powers help, she felt something break. And all at once, there was room to breathe and kick off the assassins, allowing her to stumble back up to her feet.
Wanda's escape gave Mark a bit more confidence. The assassin shooting at him was still out of his reach and capable of moving back further if Mark advanced, but he suddenly had an idea. The exoskeleton was a a combination of his force field and energy projection manifestations, so it only stood to reason that he could use both. He shot a hand forward, and the arm extended, grabbing the shooter. "Well damn," he whistled, "Look what I can do."
The one with the hurt ribs was having some trouble getting up, so Wanda went after the one she'd gotten in the face. Grabbing him by the front, ignoring his attempts to hit her back, she swung him around and threw him at Mark. There wasn't enough room to do much more than toss but hopefully that would be enough momentum in order to get him in position.
Mark saw the man, turned, and launched the assassin in his hand at him. They collided midair and fell to the ground in a messy tangle of limbs. "Four down," he rasped, turning to face the last conscious one, whose hands were clutching his chest like it might split open if he let go.
"Fuck you!" the man snarled, scrambling backwards as fast as he could. Wanda started forward but paused as he grabbed a gun that had been dropped behind him. It was useless, dead and jammed and…he threw it at her. Surprised, she managed to get her hands to shield her face, stumbling back as the weapon hit her arms.
Using the distraction, the assassin rolled away as best he could, trying to go for the bag of explosives. He slipped as he regained his feet, tumbling over one of his fallen teammates who laid sprawled on the ground. Flailing, the man went back down again, legs getting tangled up in the other persons gear and he cracked his head on the side of the wall, knocking himself out.
"Did you do that?" asked Mark. He stayed in his exoskeleton even though the five were all out. He'd seen enough movies to know that if he was too hasty to remove his armor, then some merc who'd been hiding would shoot him in the brain. It was not a cliche that he wanted to become.
"For once, I actually get to say no," Wanda replied, shaking her arms out as she looked around the area cautiously. "I think these were it for this area, though remaining cautious is always good." She frowned down at what the group had been setting up before hand and knelt down next to it, eyeing the cobbled together bomb with wariness. "Mark? I do not think we can leave this as is." There was a chance that another group could come up behind them and finish the job or that it could go off accidentally. No, leaving it whole was not the safest idea ever. But neither was messing with it. "You know electronics better than I, care to take a look?"
Mark looked around the corridor, but couldn't see anyone. "I will hurt you if I get shot in the ass," he quipped as he fell to the ground. He knelt down in front of the bomb and hrrmed. "It's pretty sophisticated. One of those ones where if you cut the red wire or the blue wire or even the green wire, it'll blow up. They didn't want anyone fucking with this. But they made one really stupid mistake." He jerked his thumb at the laptop that was counting down the minutes until the detonation. "Never use Windows."
Her computer skills were fairly limited but even Wanda got the direction that Mark was going in. "Well then, if you could kindly show Mr. Gates who is boss then we can be on our way," she responded and then wiggled her fingers at him. "Let me know if there is anything I can do but for right now, the show is all on you."
"How do your powers work with machines?" Mark took out his cell phone from his pocket and a short cable to connect it to the web. He hoped that he had a strong enough signal down here, but then again he'd never had any problems in the New York subway. "I'ma download a virus. With your help, it'll freeze the operating system, but keep the whole bomb connected so it won't blow. S'gonna kill my phone, but I wanted a new one anyway. I'll just put it down as a business expense."
"I think this is going to be a new experience for me but let's give it a try." Balancing on the balls of her feet, Wanda stared down at the bomb as she mentally sifted through the chaos strings. Not surprisingly, there was a lot of things that could ultimately go wrong or fail there but she was looking for something a little harder to get a hold of. "I think I've located it," she told him, "though it is a bit hard to say when it comes to the internal workings. I will just have to hope I do not fry the entire thing and set something off."
"Yeah, please don't." Mark tapped a few buttons, and sighed as the phone downloaded a nasty virus from an 'Open this attachment and increase the size of your penis!' e-mail and instantly uploaded it to the computer. Poor phone. It had been a good friend. "Don't turn off the computer, just make it not work."
Because she had been watching him closely, she was able to see the strings shift and brighten in her mind. "Ah-ah-ah, got you," Wanda said, eyes half closed in concentration. A subtle touch was needed and that's what she gave it, pulling just a little bit to watch as the virus suddenly found its attack to be that much easier overall.
An error message popped up on the monitor. And then a second. And then a third. Soon enough, there were a hundred, each complimented by a stylish icon of a flaccid penis. "Poor Guilds. They can't even get it up." He grinned wickedly and wiped his hands in a satisfactory manner. "Eat your heart out, Zachary Levi."
"You know, I probably do not even want to know," Wanda sighed, reaching over to gently remove the explosives. It took more than a few minutes as she was reluctant to hurry in case something went horribly wrong. By the time she was done, her fingers were cramping. "I suppose we will need to take these with us, at least until we are far enough away that no one could easily find this. Or us."
"On the bright side, I don't think these are the kind that react to movement. They need a specific electrical current running through them to detonate. Score for us."
Back at the mansion, Belladonna confronts the crowd.
It wasn't long before there came a flurry of motion from the mansion; more men with guns approached the waiting mob, led in front by a tall woman whose green eyes snapped with anger. While news of what had occured had surely reached her, Belladonna didn't allow it to cow her one bit, scanning the crowd imperiously until her gaze fell on the woman who led them all. "You're too late!" she sneered, her voice carrying over the spattering of rain and noise of the crowd. "If you wanted to fight this you should have started long ago."
"Dat's where you wrong, childe. Tante started dis years 'go. Dat's always been jah trouble, Belladonna. Jah never thought far 'nough ahead." Tante said, crossing her arms and standing impassively against the weather. The men flanking Belladonna weren't mercenaries; these were trained Assassins. The size of the mob didn't matter. They could hold that gate and turn it into a death trap for as long as Belladonna ordered.
Arrayed around her were other guild representatives; Ciel Baptiste chief amoungst them. Obviously Belladonna had been sharing whatever her next step was with them, when the noise had forced her out to face down Tante.
"Oh, I've thought this through more thoroughly than you could ever imagine, old woman," Belladonna replied, her rain-slick hair and burning eyes only serving to make her look more snake-like as she lifted her chin to smirk down at Tante Mattie. "And this, this is the culmination of it all... every piece falling into place just as it should, leading me to where I belong to stand." As she spoke she looked out over the crowd once more, and as her eyes fell on the crumpled figure in the mud and the blonde girl huddled beside it she let out a crow of victory. "And what's that? My supposed downfall? Leave it to you to trust a half-man and a little girl to lead your band of miserables."
Amanda looked up, eyes burning. "Shut up." It was supposed to be a growl, but it came out slightly strangled from grief. "We're not beaten yet. You think we came alone?"
"Does it matter? If that-" she indicated Remy's prone form with a dismissive flick of her fingers "- is the best you can muster, why should I be worried? Though I am glad the putain son of a bitch is dead, even if I couldn't do it myself." Belladonna smirked.
Amanda's fist clenched as she tried to summon the power for a spell, wishing not for the first time she'd been able to keep Margali's handiwork. What was she going to do? Throw George at the woman? "Who says Remy was the best we have?" she retorted. "There's people out on the levies now, seeing to your hired killers."
This gave the older woman pause, but only for a moment, and then she resumed sneering haughtily down at Amanda. "A paltry effort. At this point there's no way to evacuate the slums in time for salvation. You and yours are trapped, like rats on a sinking ship. And when the storm hits for well and for good, all those little rats will drown." Pouting her lips, Belladonna stepped closer to inspect Remy's body, her boots leaving clear prints in the mud. " Au revoir, salaud," she hissed, scuffing her foot and kicking a large wave of muddy water over both the body and Amanda.
The air shimmered around Amanda briefly, the barest hint of her shielding spell as she used the last of her magical energy. Mud dribbled down her face, but she refused to leave Remy's side. "You haven't won yet, cunt."
Belladonna laughed, casting a contemptuous gaze over the mob who lingered around the twisted fragments of metal that had once been the gate. "It won't be long until I do. The storm is nearly here. And with it, my triumph, so long overdue."
Tante had stood silent since her first statement, letting Belladonna gloat to Amanda, while behind her, the mob shifted uneasily. The idea that they had just run out of hope was starting to filter through. Tante's jaw shifted angrily, but still she held her peace long enough for Belladonna to pause.
"De future never what jah think it will be, childe. Not even for Tante."
Quick as a lightning strike Belladonna turned, fixing the old woman with a look that was a mixture of hatred and smug victory. "I've heard enough of your useless platitudes. Words don't matter, only the actions that back them up. And your actions are just as futile as your words, as tonight has proven. Give up, old woman, and go slink back into your swamp to drown with the rest of the vermin. Soon the city will be clean again, and it will be all mine."
The two women stared at each other in the rain, Belladonna's sharp green glare against the brown depths of Tante's; each hard in their own way, unyielding. Both knew this was the knife edge of the confrontation. The only difference was that Belladonna was reasonably sure that she was the one holding the knife. She held up her hand, ready to motion her men forward.
It was a tiny sound, but it cut through the sound of the rain and the crowd with a razor's slash. A hiccuping noise in the back of the throat, like a death rattle in reverse. Suddenly, it was overtaken by a gasping sucking breath, as the body on the ground shuddered and began to twitch. Fingers curled into the mud and the grass, clawing at the resistance to find some kind of purchase for itself. Finally, the head came up from the mud, still gulping air in huge draughts between the tremors that shook his body.
Slow, to the astonishment of everyone present, Remy LeBeau got his arms under him, and levered himself up. He clung on to Amanda's shoulder as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. Mudsoaked and bloody, he looked like a barbarian from an ancient and cruel battle ground. The only thing animated about his disjointed rise was the look in the red irises of his eyes; almost luminious against the dark wet mud on his face.
"See... dat... Remy almost... missed... de party." He choked out, staring first at Tante and then Belladonna. For the briefest second, surprise flickered across Tante's features, disappearing almost as soon as it came.
A bevy of colorful curses filled the air as Belladonna witnessed Remy's recovery, but even that wasn't enough to bring her down from the elation of a plan nearly complete. "Ah, bien. The only thing that could make this night any sweeter is the chance to wipe you from this world myself," she said, still holding back the group of men with an upraised hand. The ritual was still building, she could tell from the growing storm overhead, and even with Remy's resurrection she was confident that the house was safe from interruption. "And now I can do just that. What dark gods must I thank for this windfall?"
"You lost... de plot, 'donna." Remy shook his head a couple of times, still weak but less disoriented. He wasn't sure how he got here, but here he was. "Killed you pere, Daniel... now trying to kill de city. All dat Remy have to do is get to dat house."
"You'll never do it," the woman sneered, a twitch of her finger causing the assassins to shift forward in an undeniable message.
"You know, 'donna. Dis time you absolutely right." Remy said.
The mob flattened under the wall of sound created as the mansion that backdropped the group exploded into a firey mass. The flames arced high as sections were thrown wildly into the air, raining down around the estate. As if a switch had been thrown, the winds immediately began to lessen, and the boiling clouds in the sky to dissipate.
Storm, fighting for her life in the belly of the hurricane.
Time had officially ceased to matter, as had thoughts of success or failure or making it out alive. The only thing that counted now was holding back the storm as long as possible - a task which grew more and more difficult by the minute.
Ororo's eyes were open wide, blank and unblinking as she stood on the jetty, her feet planted a shoulders-width apart. Safe in the cocoon that Sofia had created for them, she nevertheless was beginning to grow weary of the effort it took to counter the hurricane's imminent approach. Never before had she fought with a storm this swollen, this strong. Every effort she gave was soon made null by the magic ritual's effect, and while perhaps the bokor had a never-ending source of power with which to drive the storm, she did not. Soon she would run out of energy, and when that moment came, she would fail. The storm would win.
It seemed like pure strength of will that she threw against the advancing wall of wind and water, seeking the weakest points and collapsing them in on themselves. Below the winds the water churned and dashed against the spits of land that jutted towards the Gulf, throwing up an angry spray that Sofia slapped back before it could touch the two women.
Drawing in a deep, almost shuddering breath, Ororo once again plucked at the spots above and below the tunnel of wind, trying desperately to alter the conditions enough to slow the cyclone. While it seemed to work for a minute, she knew that soon it would renew in strength and push forward against them, possibly strong enough to sweep over the jetty. While she could normally survive gail-force winds, the silver-haired woman was weak and tired. Being swallowed up by the storm would surely mean her death, and yet there was no outrunning it now.
Maybe she had bought them enough time. Though it had been a desperate plan, it could work, and she trusted the others to do their best, just as she had. Just because I did not succeed does not mean they will not. Briefly her thoughts turned to her friends, and those she called her family, and lastly to Remy, her heart giving a great wrench at the thought of never seeing them again. Still, she would not turn back, and, with a great effort, she tried to speak, to communicate to Sofia that the time had come. The other woman must be tired as well, but if she had enough strength to retreat from the storm she had a chance. Whatever words she uttered were not strong enough to reach her friend, however, and as the storm once again swelled and strength and resumed its hungry march towards the city, two things happened.
Somewhere, something snapped, and what had been a category-5 hurricane that would have destroyed the city and everything around it was suddenly... not. The wind deflated, the ocean stopped its heaving, and the rain that had been pelting the ground hard enough to dig holes in the mud suddenly became a shower, then a sprinkle. The sudden suck of pressure and atmosphere passed over Ororo, disorienting her as she fought to understand what had happened. It was too much, however, in her already weakened state, and as her knees buckled and her clouded white eyes rolled back in her head, she could only fall to the ground, slipping out of consciousness and into sweet black sleep. One thought did remain, though, and it was enough to touch her pale lips with a smile even as the darkness came.
We won.
More shocks for Belladonna, as the future unfolds.
Belladonna stood stuptified as her home burned behind her. The other assassins held looks of equal shock. The Boudreaux mansion had been the Guild's home for almost two centuries, hiding secrets and history in. Now, it was gone, burning brightly in an increasingly less wild night.
"Dis is where it ends, 'donna." Remy said, lit in the flame light and made a garish red as a result. He settled himself more stably with Amanda's help. There was movement in the crowd, and finally a group pushed themselves forward. It containing many of the Guild members that had fled ahead of Belladonna's purge when she had ruthlessly taken control of all five Guilds, now arrayed behind Tante.
As if seeing ghosts, Belladonna's face blanched, and her hands tightened into fists at her side, nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms. "No!" she screamed, taking a stumbling step backward in the squelching mud. "This is impossible! I planned it... I planned it all so well!"
"Not exactly, ma filles." There was a voice at her ear, and as she turned, the unmistakable face of her brother Daniel. The one she believed she'd killed with her father, to start this entire cycle. "You look shocked, Belladonna. Don you know, dis is were de dead walk."
Daniel Boudreaux had been a handsome man, but the scarring from the explosion had covered a good part of the left side of his face in knobby shiny pink skin. He looked past her to LeBeau. "Dat was my end of de deal, LeBeau. Even since Belladonna got her hands on it, it just a house."
"You ruined it!" With a screech, Belladonna flung herself at her brother, all her training and discipline forgotten as she flailed at him with fists and nails. She was like a wet cat, outraged and bristling and utterly humiliated. She continued to try and rake his face as the men that had flanked her took a step away, obviously sensing the turn in tides as well as anybody else there.
Daniel's punch was fast and vicious. It caught her expertly in the solar plexus, and as she wheezed, Daniel grabbed her by the throat and pulled her close. "You killed our father, Belladonna. Even if he wasn't de Guildmaster it would still deserve death."
"Dat's enough." Remy said quietly, and Daniel dropped her. Belladonna struggled to regain her composure.
With a gulp she straightened, pushing her rain-bedraggled hair back from her face. "I am the head of the Assassin's Guild. Perhaps you don't realize it, but it means that I speak for the other guilds! And you will both face death for what you have done today," she hissed. "Traitors. Salauds. You are both dead men."
"I don't think so." A new voice rose up, as Arlen D'Armade stepped forward. "The murder of a Guildmaster is one of the most serious crimes under all Guild law. One of the elements it specifically prohibits anyone involved in the conspiracy to hold any office in a Guild."
Arlen reached into a duffel bag and pulled out a document pouch. "Over the last year, I've managed to put together convincing evidence that the deaths of all five Guildmasters on that boat was orchestrated by you. Javier Boudreaux made much of the investigation, and his word is unquestioned here."
"Pere D'Armade--"
"It's Mister D'Armade, Mere Baptiste."
"Very well." Ciel Baptiste said, already starting to feel the ground shift under her politically. "You are correct on the penalties but there are two important factors you must consider. As a censured man, you cannot bring charges against a Guild member, and the penalty only takes effect if judged by a Guild court as conclusive. Under the new arrangement, only Mere Boudreaux has the power to call that court to session."
"And that will never happen!" the green-eyed woman declared triumphantly. "I will be dead in the ground before I allow you to take away what is rightfully mine."
"Ah, see, that's where my second folder comes in." Arlen smiled. "The Guildmaster's position isn't rightfully hers. Under Guild law, the first granted advocacy for the position of Guildmaster is the closest heir. Unless that right is observed, the appointment of the new Guildmaster is not valid."
"Belladonna was the closest heir, Mr. D'Armade."
"No, not since she married Remy LeBeau at the age of sixteen. LeBeau had the right to stand for the position as the closest heir by that marriage, which Belladonna never saw fit to annual or break." Arlen's look was pure, vengeful pleasure.
"Don't be ridiculous," Ciel overrode Belladonna's growing fury. "Remy LeBeau is from outside of the Guilds. He has no right to stand, whether married or not to Belladonna."
"See, that's the last thing you're wrong about." Arlen picked out yet another envelope and held it up. "Remy LeBeau is properly Sebastian D'Armade! The child of Louis and Amile D'Armade, who were killed and Sebastian lost three decades ago! A murder that all five Guilds condemned as an ugly blight. Sebastian D'Armade was lost to the streets, and then to the city, but here he stands now under the name of Remy LeBeau! Now Pere LeBeau, the properly elected Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild, and the proper heir to the Assassins." He dropped his voice a little. "And since he's neither censured or an outsider, unless you plan to completely ignore the last two centuries of Guild law, that man has Belladonna sitting in his chair."
There was a stunned silence, broken finally by Ciel. "If what you say is true, there must be an immediate meeting of the Guildmasters, because you are correct, and--" She shot a look at Belladonna. "The question of who runs the Guilds belongs into LeBeau's hands."
Belladonna recieved her second moment of stunned silence. In only a handful of minutes, they'd managed to strip away the entire legitimacy of her control, and now no one would follow her orders. Criminals or not, they all clung to the laws of the Guild because to abandon them would make them nothing but common criminals. No fear or loyalty to her would overmatch that. Suddenly she was very alone, surrounded by people who she'd controled by killing their leaders, included her now alive brother. At least she'd take death with dignity, she thought, as Remy walked forward slowly, to deliver revenge himself.
LeBeau was starting to move more easily, and he came eye to eye with the woman that had done her best to kill him, his friends, and his family. He leaned forward, his voice not much beyond a harsh whisper. "Belladonna,dey all know what you done, and dey al want blood. Guess dat I'm supposed to collect it. So dere's only one thing dat I have to say to you first." He said, and Belladonna looked into those red on black eyes to the only expression she'd never seen in them, and the only one that could truly hurt her the most; mercy. His voice a gravelly hiss. "Run. Dey be coming, wit' all de blessings dat I can give dem. So run now for de rest of you life."
She turned and fled.
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