maskormenacelogs | (no subject)

WHO: von Hentzau n Saint Lorrant
WHERE: A Heropa museum somewhere
WHEN: Nov 4th
WHAT: That awkward moment when you run into the guy you stole your power from??
WARNINGS: probably none

[ He's planned all of this extremely carefully. He's dug up and memorized the guard schedules, he's found the security office and hub of all the surveillance footage, he's even hacked into their CCTV (security was so lax back in this era). Damian has, as far as he's concerned, accounted for every possibility.

That's why it's with absolute confidence that he stands in front of the temporarily visiting Trojan Gold exhibit, dressed in black leather and a closed motorcycle helmet. There's no need for the outfit, he knows exactly who will be in this building, where they'll be, and has already diverted the cameras, but it's a little bit of extra insurance that he'd never go in without.

Now it's just a matter of collecting his haul. To speed things along, he's already opened several of Rupert's very handy portals, directly into the various displays he intends to borrow from. He's already got two — a headpiece and a golden cup, safely nestled inside the case he'd brought, and his hand thrust through a portal is already working at freeing a matching cup to join the first.

He's not usually one for theft on any scale, but, hell, the world is apparently about to end, so why not. And this is just ... intoxicatingly easy. Who knew? ]

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[ For the second time that night Rupert finds himself facing down a wall of flames, this time even closer than before. He skitters backwards with a primal surge of fear and tumbles to the floor as a leather boot catches badly only a floorboard, sending Rupert sprawling and his pistol skidding away. The fire feels so terrifyingly close that Rupert doesn't even realise he's lost the gun as he scrambles backwards, swearing beneath his breath under the helmet.

But he'd hit the thief, hadn't he? There's an edge of pain in the voice he can hear on the other side of the flames but the name - and the threat - is unmistakable. ]

I'll kill you, [ he snarls in reply, separated by the curtain of fire. ] I swear to God, I will find out who you are...

[ The roar of fire is not quite what one would expect, and Damian can hear Rupert fall. Good. That's good. He heaves himself to his feet with gritted teeth, a hand slipping into his pocket to clutch his silvery switchblade. A gun might be a better idea, but a knife is so much more personal.

A gun, though, that reminds him — he casts his glance around, and yes, there. Having spun out of the range of Rupert's personal little maze of flame, the man's pistol rests innocently abandoned on the ground. Damian flicks a portal underneath it with a quick hand to his chest, sending it to some mentally bookmarked location for later. The portal reseals quickly, and Damian takes a few steps toward the fire. ]

I might've told you. [ His voice isn't quite so singsong now, and once again muffled as he flips the helmet's visor back down. ] I really had no interest in being an enemy. But then you shot me.

[ He has to move quickly, before Rupert discovers the fire is room temperature. The gleaming blade flicks out, and he circles around behind the fire and the dark figure within. He watches for a few seconds, getting a handle on his movements, his speed. And as soon as Rupert goes to stand he'll lunge forward from behind, looking to slide that knife into the man's side. ]

[ Flanked by flames on all sides, Rupert scrambles to his feet. The gun is gone, the thief is... somewhere... but the walls of fire are closing in. He needs to move, now; he can portal back to the museum and spend the whole damn night feeling out the edges of the thief's portals. He can follow the thread back to its source, teasing out the ugly edges in reality that mark where a portal has been carved out of thin air, like a master weaver fingering through the delicate threads of an intricate tapestry.

But then he hears those words, even muffled as they are, and freezes as he tries to identify the source. The wretched thief is still here, and for a moment Rupert lingers, undecided between ripping a portal to freedom and chasing his enemy through fire and flames.

The pause is a mistake, a costly one.

Damian lunges and the impact sends Rupert tumbling to the floor once more, this time with a bellow of pain at the white-hot searing bite of the blade in his flank. One hand breaks his fall as the other flies to his side, grasping at the thick blood that's already streaming from the shallow wound at his side. Not that it feels shallow - Rupert feels like he's been gutted, actually - and he realises with a thick wave of loathing that this is what Rudolf Rassendyll must have felt when Rupert stabbed him: furious and pretty fucking embarrassed.

And Christ alive, it hurts, it hurts so much more than Rupert realised it would. Rupert von Hentzau, at the tender age of 23 and three months, has never really felt any kind of pain. Perhaps in the future he'll look back on this and laugh, call it character building or something, but right at this moment Rupert very much feels like he wants to be sick.

Adrenaline (and a raging desire to survive so that he might stab this thief in return) grants him energy; Rupert rises like a wounded monster, all savage snarls and fury, and he rips a portal from the air with a bloodied hand. The space beyond it is filled with endless darkness, thick as night and twice as cold, but it's safety for Rupert. ]

You stabbed me, [ He gasps, still not quite over the irony of it all as he staggers towards his portal with a hand clamped firmly against his wound. Nobody stabs Rupert von Hentzau. And he can't help but observe indignantly as he topples through the portal and into the darkness: ] God, you didn't even stab me well...

[ In the flurry of movement and bright flame, Rupert pulls away from him. The knife is wrenched from Damian's hand and goes skittering — but he supposes it's no real loss. He doesn't think he'd wanted to actually kill him, despite how that gun had most definitely been leveled at his chest.

He sways where he stands, in absolutely no shape to go chasing after Rupert as the man opens his portal, to finish the job or otherwise. It closes behind him, and Damian spends a few second staring after it, a little dazed. He resists the urge to clutch at his leg, despite the way he can feel blood washing down his knee. Ugh. That hurts. He's not been present for most of his injuries, only the aftermath of them, but it turns out it hurts a lot more to be around for the full duration.

In a mutter, without the put on accent: ] I did it just fine, asshole.

[ The flames wink out of existence in a single instant, and Damian limps to reclaim his bloody knife. And then Damian is gone as well, portaled out to somewhere safer. To somewhere with a healer, ideally. ]