Cape Et d'Epée (Closed)


Staff member
Jun 15, 2018
Bunker 48 Factory Area
September 4th
, OE 102
8:18 PM

"Well, if it isn't Alan. To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?"

Thane Ashford's voice echoed through the interior of his "home", the warehouse-like interior littered with his modern-art furniture seeming to almost shrink before its visitors. The former noble leader rose to his feet from where he'd been seated to greet his guest - and immediately, his eyes went to the four armored guards accompanying him.

Cicero came to a stop, looking around at the choreographed mess as his nose wrinkled in thinly veiled contempt before looking back to the prisoner.

"You are being relocated, Mr. Ashford." Reported the Colonist dryly, as the guards began to fan out.

"I hadn't heard anything from the Meyven-" Started Ashford, but his guest cut him off sharply.

"This was not his decision."

Thane was consciously aware of the other men, of distant crashing noises as his belongings were intruded upon. His eyes fell upon the very faint outline of a handgun nestled in the Colonist's blazer - something that would have been all but indiscernible, save for his heritage... and the purpose of this visit slowly began to dawn on him. He needed time. Clearing his throat, he gave a bashful smile to Cicero.

"Sir Ashford." He corrected; "Lord, preferably."

Alan smirked, shoulders rising with mirth as Thane noted - he took the bait. He spread his arms wide, indicating to the collection of scrap metal projects behind him - and Thane winced as he was treated to the distant crash of another of his precious projects being kicked to the ground.

"Lord of what, pray?" Said Circero; "Should we call you "Ashford, Lord of Rubble"? Perhaps "Great King of the Garbage"?"

As he gloated, Thane let his hand drift down to the table he had been seated at - and felt his prize, what that woman had brought to him, reassuringly under his grasp, just out of sight.

"That title is mine, and not for any to take."

At his doubling down, Cicero's eyes narrowed into slits - and he leaned in, his voice low, and harsh, as if he were slowly dragging a knife across the noble's ears.

"Quaint." He said;

"You believe the absurdity that your blood is what gives you the right to rule. You're not a lord of anything here, Thane. You're a joke. Mr. Elhirut might entertain your delusions... but I do not."

Ashford's eyebrows raised in polite indignation - as if someone had made an unsavory comment about his favorite croquet mallet - and took a step back, raising his hands as he gave a good natured laugh, patting the man before him on the shoulder.

"That's alright, Alan." He said, a faux-warmth creeping into his voice; "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

He sighed as Cicero scowled, and brushed his grasp away, but before he could retort, he continued mildly, as if a parent speaking to an unruly child.

"I imagine it all looks the same to you, given... whatever designer-brand, factory-made substitute flows through your own artificial veins."

A flash of surprise flickered across Cicero's features - and that satisfaction only made the noble want to drive the knife even deeper. No matter how well made an android, there were always certain tells - but the ones like him, the ones that recoiled instinctively once they'd been found out, those were the kind that he despised the most. A machine was a machine, a piece of art - but this, before him?

Was an obscenity.

"Efficient... Modern... Sterile..." He continued, dryly.

"Much like you, in fact. Oh, don't give me that look. There's lots of perks to being a Bioroid. Having someone pull your strings, however..."

He sighed, patting the man's arm as he took a step away, turning his back to Alan. There was a kind of electric tension building - he could sense it with all his being. He welcomed it. Reveled in it. As he spoke, he could already see in his mind's eye the man's hand moving into his blazer-

"Is not something I have ever been well disposed to."


The bullet sang past his ear so closely he could feel the heat on his skin as Ashford whipped around, sword in hand, a green wave moving at blistering speed. The bladed edge slashed up and out - and found purchase, the CLANG of metal and a rewarding spray of blood as Cicero's hand was severed, the Bioroid stumbling back in mute shock. He didn't even, Thane registered, have the decency to cry out in pain.

Instantly, he turned back to the morass as the soldiers began to emerge. His grip closed on the Orgone rapier and he forced his thoughts to align, to travel down his arm, into his palm, into the waiting blade, inscribing his thoughts upon its surface. The light on its surface grew brighter in response, and he held it aloft across his chest, counting under his breath. As soon as the first man came into view-


The Orgon blade was thrown from his hand, small crystals forming across its surface as it drove into his foe's armored chest, tearing clean out the back, leaving a fountain of green in its wake that cauterized the wound, a cluster of spikes that shattered as the body hit the floor. The sword swept and danced through the air, descending on the remaining three as it sliced back and forth, almost too fast for the eye to follow - before it eventually snapped back into its master's grasp. His arm shook, and his breathing was heavy - even, he thought, with all the work he had done... a prototype was still just a prototype.

He rounded on Cicero, who was crawling back, clutching the stump of his wrist, eyes wide with surprise and uncertainty as a blade was pointed under his chin.

"You see, Alan..." Said Ashford, breathlessly; "Blood... is more than just vital fluid. It's culture. Class. History. All things you will never be anything more than a pale imitation of."

The bioroid opened his mouth - but this time it was Ashford's turn to cut him off, raising his voice as the point of the sword jabbed his throat, threateningly.

"You came here to kill me. I assume that means you found out from my blood what you needed, yes?"

A minute opening of the eye, a slight pause in breath. That, Thane thought, all but confirmed it. The blood samples they'd taken periodically had served their purpose... and given how there was only one in his immediate vicinity who might have shared in his lineage, the pieces were starting to click together... and he didn't like the picture they made. He crouched down, bringing the sword up, causing Cicero to give a start.

"Tell whoever pulls your strings, puppet-" He said, tersely, "That they won't be safe for long. My honor... will not be sullied by the likes of you."

And with that, he brought the hilt down on the Bioroid's temple, sending Circero to the floor.

After pausing a moment to catch his breath, and wipe the blood from the sword off on Alan's suit, Ashford began to descend into the basement. He wouldn't have long, he knew, before they'd be upon him. He didn't have too much to go on - but, if his hunch was correct, the perpetrators were already so far ahead they weren't going to be bothered with subtlety for much longer. His head was pounding, and his knees were weak, but only one thought was on his mind, keeping him moving forward.

It was time to repay his debt.

Elhirut... Please be safe. You are in terrible danger.