[ One can never have too many swords, especially when facing the end of the world in less than a fortnight. Hentzau's tastes run towards the beautiful and the elegant, and it's hardly as if one can pick up 19th century rapiers from the local store. And besides, liberating the choicest of blades from the safe (boring) confines of an esteemed (boring) museum was an act of mercy - these blades are designed to be used, wielded, with a joyous and expert hand! Rupert is returning these pieces to their proper callings, he tells himself.
Unlike Damian, Rupert doesn't care about CCTV or plans, or guards, or being even remotely careful. In fact he's mostly lost by this point, having given up on portalling from room to room in favour of actually walking (boring!! but necessary) in order to find some kind of helpful map. Why can't these museums just have one handy Sword Room and be done with it? It's a tiring search.
The 'Trojan Gold' exhibit is unlikely to have anything that Rupert wants and he nearly passes straight by when a glint of movement catches his eye. Clothed as he is in the inky black of his Masked Man costumes Rupert effortlessly merges with the shadows, his footsteps quiet and muted against the polished wooden floor as he melts into darkness. He squints through his mask, his breathing feather-light as if the dark figure helping himself to the golden treasures might somehow be able to hear it. And it doesn't take long to realise that this man - this thief - is using portals. Portals that are... distressingly similar to his own, damn it all.
Disappointed and more than a little bit offended by the similarity, Rupert considers his options. Throwing something heavy at the back of this man's head feels like a good one. He'd always fancied that his portals were unique. Apparently not. Rupert creeps closer, prowling in near-silence (only near silence, considering he's only human after all) from shadow to shadow around the edge of the room and slowly, slowly, reaches into the small of his pack for the lethal little pistol holstered there. Just in case. ]
no subject
Unlike Damian, Rupert doesn't care about CCTV or plans, or guards, or being even remotely careful. In fact he's mostly lost by this point, having given up on portalling from room to room in favour of actually walking (boring!! but necessary) in order to find some kind of helpful map. Why can't these museums just have one handy Sword Room and be done with it? It's a tiring search.
The 'Trojan Gold' exhibit is unlikely to have anything that Rupert wants and he nearly passes straight by when a glint of movement catches his eye. Clothed as he is in the inky black of his Masked Man costumes Rupert effortlessly merges with the shadows, his footsteps quiet and muted against the polished wooden floor as he melts into darkness. He squints through his mask, his breathing feather-light as if the dark figure helping himself to the golden treasures might somehow be able to hear it. And it doesn't take long to realise that this man - this thief - is using portals. Portals that are... distressingly similar to his own, damn it all.
Disappointed and more than a little bit offended by the similarity, Rupert considers his options. Throwing something heavy at the back of this man's head feels like a good one. He'd always fancied that his portals were unique. Apparently not. Rupert creeps closer, prowling in near-silence (only near silence, considering he's only human after all) from shadow to shadow around the edge of the room and slowly, slowly, reaches into the small of his pack for the lethal little pistol holstered there. Just in case. ]