Scion (Pulp) - The Atlantis Affair - Prologue
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: HairyHeretic on 12-08-2015, 01:56:41</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Scion (Pulp) - The Atlantis Affair - Prologue</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>HairyHeretic</strong> on <strong>12-08-2015, 01:56:41</strong>
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				<em>Every story has a beginning. What happens before the beginning? Well, that's another story entirely ...</em>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Scion (Pulp) - The Atlantis Affair - Prologue</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AndyZ</strong> on <strong>12-08-2015, 03:05:53</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/1/17/Aori_Kisaragi.jpg)</div><strong>Aori Kisaragi - Random French Bar</strong><br><br>The great thing about never really getting lost was that you could travel all over the place and always find your way back home.&nbsp; Aori hadn't honestly stopped to check the name of the place before walking inside.&nbsp; The sounds of revelry and the smell of alcohol were more than enough to catch her attention and draw her through the door.<br><br>Her current outfit had been picked up only a few days ago after her last set of clothes had been destroyed.&nbsp; An indigo turtleneck matched her jeans, only recently stocked in the women's section but not perfectly designed for a woman's body yet.&nbsp; Consequently, they were quite comfortable from Aori's perspective, though it seemed a bit less fun to wear something that would eventually be in style.<br><br>Eyes often turned for a pretty girl of any nationality, but Aori was used to it.&nbsp; She sauntered her way up to one of the waitresses, giving a smile.&nbsp; "What's good for getting drunk here?" she asked in decent but Japanese-accented French.<br><br>Confusion danced through the waitress' eyes, looking Aori over before deciding that she must be from a place with far different customs.&nbsp; "Are you looking for work, or..."<br><br>Aori waved off the question with a look of something close to humor.&nbsp; "Already got money, looking to get some alcohol in me."&nbsp; She pulled out a large note, then reached up and stuffed it into the waitress' brasserie with a smile.<br><br>The waitress was shocked, but she also noticed the number on the note and decided to let it go.&nbsp; She started to leave as Aori grabbed a seat, but others had noticed as well, and were watching.&nbsp; "Maybe you should get going, little cabbage head," the waitress gently warned.<br><br>Aori winked to her with a smile, "Only if you come with me."<br><br>"Can you even see much," one of the men asked, "with those slanty eyes of yours?"<br><br>A sharp reply jumped to her lips, "I can see your mom from here.&nbsp; She's so short her head smells like feet."<br><br>Two of the nearby stools scoot out as his friends jump to their feet.&nbsp; "Lady or not, you insult one of us, you insult all of us."<br><br>Aori grinned, hopping up to her feet as well.&nbsp; "Oh, I hate when people treat me like a lady."&nbsp; As the waitress came by with the bottle, Aori grabbed it and chugged half the contents.<br><br>One of the men came by to grab her, and Aori swung the bottle, smashing it over his head and sending bits of broken glass everywhere.&nbsp; Somehow her swing sent the liquid flying in his direction without spilling a drop on herself.&nbsp; The others approached, but Aori smiled to the waitress.&nbsp; "Keep them coming, darling."<br><br>It was hardly a fair fight, even when the rest of the group joined in.&nbsp; Fearing the worst, the waitress hid in the back room, panicked for what might happen to the crazy young woman.&nbsp; Yet, as the fighting died down and she finally peeked out, Aori was sitting impatiently at the bar while everyone else was unconscious.<br><br>"So the rumors of the Eastern unarmed combat styles are true!" the waitress remarked in awe.&nbsp; Aori just giggled.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Scion (Pulp) - The Atlantis Affair - Prologue</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>HairyHeretic</strong> on <strong>14-08-2015, 01:30:27</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/43/Bfi-00n-g67.jpg)</div><strong>Who:</strong> Juan Sánchez Villa-Lobos Ramírez<br><strong>Where:</strong> San Francisco<br><strong>Tags:</strong> Any<br><br>"I say ... have you seen my dragon?"<br><br>As conversation starters went, that was a new line on Ramirez, even in the now much stranger world he found himself in. He paused with his coffee cup raised to his mouth, and turned his attention to the source of the somewhat outlandish remark.<br><br>The man who stood before him was old, perhaps in his 70s or even 80s, with skin that showed a lot of exposure to the elements. His beard and what remained of his hair was grey and scraggly, and neither appeared to have more than a casual relationship with a comb in some time. The bright red smoking jacket he wore had also seen better days.<br><br>"Yes, I ... I seem to have misplaced her." the old man continued, smiling warmly at him. "She shouldn't go wandering off on her own you know, she's quite small." He held up his hand, thumb and forefinger perhaps an inch apart. "Except when she isn't of course." He blinked a few times, looking around the coffee house and shouted out. "LUNG QIUYUE! If you don't get back here this instant I shall be most perturbed." His outburst drew puzzled looks from most of those sitting around, and an irritated one from the owner.<br><br><em>Perhaps if I ignore him he'll go away and find someone else.</em> Ramirez thought, a hope that was quickly dashed as the old man sat down opposite and began to help himself to Ramirez's breakfast. <br><br>"You can help me find her." he muttered around a mouthful of warm, buttery toast. "You're real. Not like those others. Yes, you're real and all tangled up in string and her string and your string and this toast." <br><br>Ramirez's brow furrowed as crumbs of toast sprayed over his shirt, and suppressed a sigh. He fished a few small coins out of his pocket and set them onto the saucer his coffee had rested on. Noting the dirty look the owner was giving, he added a couple more to be on the safe side and then rose. "Come along, Grandfather." he said, resignedly. "Let's go see if we can't find your dragon."
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				Title: <strong>Re: Scion (Pulp) - The Atlantis Affair - Prologue</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Muse</strong> on <strong>16-08-2015, 04:06:47</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/thumb/2/2d/1422192593064.jpg/450px-1422192593064.jpg)<br><strong>Kendra McCray</strong> (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=233968.msg11513303#msg11513303)<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Tall, elegant and curvacious with ebony skin, wearing a snug white blouse and calf length skirt, with a dress jacket over one shoulder.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;She stepped into a random french bar in time to duck as a drunken tough flew over her head and smashed into a table.&nbsp; The black girl blinked, then--while looking around to get a handle onthe situation, found herself smiling.&nbsp; She wanted to offer to help the asian girl, but the grin on the other girl's face was so broad that the black girl didn't think she needed it.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As the fight ended, the black girl burst into giggles to hear the waitresses comment.&nbsp; She crossed to the asian girl and rested one hand on the chair. "That looked like fun.&nbsp; My name's Kendra, mind if i join you?"&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Liquid black eyes danced as Kendra added, "While what I just saw looked al lot like a kung fu movie, I think I recognize your style.&nbsp; Studdied in the School of Hard Knocks?&nbsp; MAster of Whatever Works Best technqiue?"&nbsp; </div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Scion (Pulp) - The Atlantis Affair - Prologue</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AndyZ</strong> on <strong>17-08-2015, 02:15:30</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/1/17/Aori_Kisaragi.jpg)</div><strong>Aori Kisaragi - Random French Bar</strong><br><br>Another woman came in just as Aori was finishing up - quite a beautiful one at that - and Aori couldn't help but gently grin.&nbsp; "My grandfather knows Jujitsu, but what fun would it be if I actually had training and knew what I was doing against a bunch of ordinary people?"&nbsp; She shrugged.&nbsp; "I'm Aori."<br><br>The waitress - Nicole according to her nametag - simply glanced around in an attempt to figure out what to do.&nbsp; Aori looked back to her with a reassuring smile.&nbsp; "So, looks like you got the rest of the night off.&nbsp; I'll help bring everyone outside so you can lock up?"
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				Title: <strong>Re: Scion (Pulp) - The Atlantis Affair - Prologue</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Keidance</strong> on <strong>17-08-2015, 17:34:44</strong>
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				<span style="font-size: 10pt;" class="bbc_size"></span><div class="floatright">(http://i87.photobucket.com/albums/k132/BriBla/454a23a1-68d1-4e94-80cf-f6831337e4f1_zpstunwppnx.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>:&nbsp; Maria Lucia &nbsp;(https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=233968.msg11550235#msg11550235)<br><strong>Location</strong>: A small village in Italy near the sea<br><strong>Tagging</strong>: N/A<br><strong>Content</strong>: Prologue[/size]<br><br><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">The dark haired woman who rather seemed to be nothing more then diminutive doll perhaps brought home as a reminder of a time spent in a more exotic locale settled into her chair. Hands seemed uncomfortable as they smoothed the the dove grey trouser line giving the perception that perhaps she had exchanged bright colored home spun skirt and blouse for the outfit just to not look so stunningly out of place. The tapered fingers raised as she swept the line of dark hair back, to lock behind one ear as if to hear the man she was settled across from better. Lips curved into something that whispered of a smile, but was the furthest thing from it as nostrils gave such a light flare, as if the scent of his breath offended her delicate sensibilities.<br><em><br>"You have mastered the art of circumlocution, Father Ignacio."</em> The intonations of her voice met the air, with the faintest trickle of accent, as those eyes met the Father's own blue ones. Fingertip, just the nail of index finger played along the line of the teacup tracing back and forth as if the idle motion soothed some perturbed part of her brain. <em>"Perhaps it is my fault and you feel you can. Perhaps I have inadvertently lead you to believe I wish to to assuage my impious proclivities towards your beliefs."</em> the lightest rotation of her wrist brought the tea cup to her lips so that a small sip of the bitter liquid she preferred to tea could coat the tongue in acidic bite. <br><br>Only when the cup was laid back to rest to saucer and eyes had turned to gaze not at the Father whose jaw tensed as the veins slightly pushed out on his forehead, would words come from her lips once more. Of course, the fact she turned her head to look past him to the smaller park where children played their games brilliantly happy in the sunlight and air, was far from lost upon him. <em>" I believe the term you were looking for is mercenary. Don't you find it a bit amusing, Father, that it holds merce in it? And while I have an understanding that what I am demanding seems to you as a rather large bit of effrontery&nbsp; to your system of beliefs that leads you to believe.."</em> A pause there, as a dark brow knitted before smile warm retook the lips, and yet never reached the eyes. <em>" well to be polite, that leads you to believe whatever it is that brings you comfort from the offal you know is spewed out like truth, and swallowed down by those so in need of something to hold fast too</em>." <br><br><em>"May God find it within his heart to.." </em> The raise of the woman's body from the chair before the good Father even had time to finish the words that were flowing so naturally to his tongue as if they were their own 'magic' spell to be cast when he needed to steel his own belief. Just a few steps of comfortable shoes to the ground and she was beside him, her hand reaching to touch the black cloth that covered his shoulder. Eyes closed as she pulled in breath tainted with the burning bitterness of her drink, letting her own small shoulders pull back as she pushed just a bit, just enough for him to feel the slow display of 'something' within. Man of the cloth, and one who knew the Pariah's talents shuddered as his head turned and panic made eyes widen just a bit. Sign of the cross, oh he made it with calloused fingers as if to ward off some brujah, or some other primitive evil. <br><br>The sadness in the doll's face as she slipped her hand from his shoulder to his pocket almost bittersweet in it's reflection. "<em>You are good man, Ignacio. And I know that the things I need will be delivered to the arranged place before weeks end. In return you can tell your superiors that I will see to assuaging Frau Aster's regrettable heaviness of heart." </em>The sweetness and warmth that accent gave to her voice as she lowered her head could be seen as tenderness even as the Priest shuddered when her lips brushed his brow and allowed her fingers to pluck the small envelope coded just for her.<br><br><em>"Go with your God, Ignacio, and may he be strong enough to protect you. Out of all of the ones they send to speak to me, you are my favorite. I think it is that inside, somewhere you don't even want to admit too, you know the truth. And it scares you, as it should. Or maybe it's because you do not treat me like a mad dog, on the short chain never allowed in the house, but kept alive just to drive fear into the hearts of the neighbors. Either way thank you for the company, and the dossier.&nbsp; </em>" <br><br>As if she were merely part of some propaganda set, a random face in a background where everything blended so that the real story could be watched by attentive eyes she moved. A faint sound rising from her lips as she placed scarf over her head so that wind would not muss the line of those dark curls, tied off rather smartly underneath her chin. The children, those sweet darlings at place they received a truthful smile from her delicious and warm. Or perhaps it was the realization that she had played her hand and if everything moved as it should, then she would be not only a thousand miles away, but a few steps closer to where she needed to be. <br></span>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Scion (Pulp) - The Atlantis Affair - Prologue</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Tinkertoy</strong> on <strong>18-08-2015, 13:26:12</strong>
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				<div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="floatright">(http://i238.photobucket.com/albums/ff218/DarlingMissD/bryce.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> &nbsp;Anasztaizia Szarka &nbsp;(https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=233968.msg11548661#msg11548661) <br><strong>Location:</strong> London, England, Brompton Road Underground Station<br><strong>Thread Summary:</strong> Playing hide and seek in expensive heels<br><strong>Tag:</strong> Viktor Grekov<br><hr> <br>Grey.<br>The entire city was grey. The closely huddled buildings that crouched like well-dressed beggars were clad in tones of grey. The darkening sky was devoid of the usual bruise shades of violet, blue and magenta in favour of the dour steel of grey. The people rushing under their umbrellas, with their stern faces and structured clothing were all grey. The waitress that had brought her Earl Grey had curtsied slightly, but still…her face, her uniform, even her aura were all grey. Anasztaizia felt as if she were caught amongst the flickering celluloid of a film reel projected on a large screen, the entirety of her surroundings locked into the perpetual monochrome of the silver screen as she shone out in the vast contrast of full colour.<br><br>The steaming cup of tea was lifted to her lips where the aromatic vapor of bergamot brought a blessed streak of colour back to Anasztaizia’s senses. The brilliant peridot of her eyes was veiled by the smudged mocha of her lids and the merest suggestion of a smile touched her merlot lips. This moment of silence was well earned. The glum scene outside of the window jeweled with raindrops did not lessen the sanctity of the moment, if anything, the grim landscape and her people served as a neutral backdrop to the vibrant state of her mind. <br><br>London had been a gift. One would think a city so steeped in history and death would be a cacophonous nightmare, but her attendance had been for one séance, a single evening and the prize was a week of luxuriating at the Savoy with all expenses paid. The bland white noise of the city had been a welcome change to the constant chaos that was the maelstrom of the west coast of Northern America. The English metropolis was a community of polite, well-spoken and almost apologetic&nbsp; spirit that would feel more comfortable avoiding you rather than bothering you for a second of your time…for the most part.<br><br>A soft voice, barely a whisper, teased her preternatural auditory system. The delicate bone china cup was gently returned to its saucer and her head titled slightly to pull that tiny voice forward. The merest suggest of a smile touched those wine coloured lips and her own voice called back in the faintest of whispers, “Come closer, child. I am listening.”<br><br>That tiny voice answered in a childish giggle and the whisper implored her attendance, to follow, to seek. The smile climbed higher on cheeks of the palest peach and Anasztaizia nodded. “Aaah, you wish to play do you?” her gently rolling Slavic accent had crept just a decibel above a whisper and had caught the waitress’ attention.<br><br>“I’m sorry, Miss. I didn’t quite catch that.” The feminine voice was of a local flavour, possibly a native born within the sound of bow bells.<br><br>Anasztaizia turned to the living and shook her head, “No harm. It was merely my own quirked proclivity of speaking to myself to organise my thoughts, please forgive me.”<br><br>Her smile was warmth and comfort and it inspired the first sign of colour that kissed the girls cheeks in the form of a blush. The waitress’ laugh was coquettish and nervous, “Of course, Miss.”<br><br>Anasztaizia chuckled and shook her head, “Pay me no mind. I should be on my way now, anyway.”<br><br>A hand that looked as if it were cast from porcelain dipped into a silk purse of a deepened emerald and produced a handful of silver coins. Her smile was infectious, a gift from the heavens that seemed to clear the rain and the gloom. A golden ray that satiated the need to feel validated, such was the power of that simple expression, “Here you are my darling, for the tea and a little something for yourself.”<br><br>The change was dropped into the girl’s hand with a slight bow. Anasztaizia’s head tilted curiously and a soft smile lit up her eyes in shades of fox fire. A slight, chilled hand took the girl by the chin with a familiar tenderness, “Your Grandmother, Betty, she is very proud, but she says that you must avoid Terrance. You are better than that, darling…so much better.”<br><br>Anasztaizia turned then, a flutter of peacock wings and she was gone, leaving the waitress wide mouthed and misty eyed. Her small feet moved with a sense of purpose, the heels of the sliver shoes rang with a barked precision as her keen senses zeroed in on the paranormal game of hide and seek. Skipping over cobbles and hopping over paving slabs, one hand trailed along the building faces over sandstone and rough brick to keep grounded and focused on the call.<br><br>At a compass point between Knightsbridge and South Kensington Anasztaizia paused. Her search light eyes rose to the sign and a smile touched the very corners of her lips as she read the two words, Brompton Road. The building was still intact and looked to be of some importance. The red brick was flawless and glossy smooth, but the looming stygian doors were locked and bound tight with a heavy chain and an equally impenetrable padlock. That heavy, metal lock was taken into her small hand and she shook her head with a sense of amusement, “You led me to a fortress, little one. I cannot break…”<br><br>The lock popped open in her hands and the chorus of heavy barricades shifting within the doors could be clearly heard. Her quiet laughter was the peal of a thousand tiny, golden bells that signalled the end of winter, “Oh, I see. Thank you, little one. Well I guess it would be rude to deny the invitation now, very well…very well, I will continue.”<br><br>The padlock was slipped into her purse and one large door was hefted open wide enough to give the petite redhead passage between the wooden jaws and into the darkness of the abandoned station. “Ready or not, here I come…”<br></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Scion (Pulp) - The Atlantis Affair - Prologue</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Joel</strong> on <strong>20-08-2015, 00:49:08</strong>
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				<div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="floatright">(http://i.imgur.com/EvdL7E6.jpg)</div><strong>Who:</strong> Viktor Grekov (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=233968.msg11513440#msg11513440)<br><strong>Where:</strong> London, England, Brompton Road Underground Station<br><strong>Thread Summary:</strong> <br><strong>Tags:</strong> Anasztaizia Szarka<br><hr><br>For six days they had been subsisting on paper wrapped fish and chips, boiled peanuts, salted crackers, and cans of spinach, warmed by candle, that were eaten between bottles of vodka or gin or whatever else they had brought up to them.&nbsp; Their bland rations were packaged with the day's paper and a week's supply of cigarettes, which the men smoked up end to end from day break to sun down and sun down to day break again.&nbsp; There were two groups of them, six all together, posted in attic apartments on either side of her hotel, and as much as they attempted to launder their clothes in the tiny bathing rooms available to them, the men had inevitably degenerated into a state of dishevelment reminiscent of the trenches.<br><br>"Leave the window open..." He'd say, striking a match against door frame and lighting the cigarette perched at the corner of his mouth.<br><br>It was too much of a risk to simply be in the hotel with her.&nbsp; Certain that any kind of unnecessary contact would tip her off to their plans, Viktor had deigned to conduct this operation using the most precautionary and as such, tedious measures possible.&nbsp; It was demanding and by the sixth day, becoming untenable.&nbsp; <br><br>The hired men involved were a crack team, assembled on the fly from available associates in London.&nbsp; Communist supporters or labor organizers, they were ideologues than soldiers, but Viktor did not expect Ms. Szarka to give them much resistance.&nbsp; <br><br>Aside from Viktor there was only one other Soviet agent with them.&nbsp; A man by the name of Mikhail Kurylenko, Russian expatriate cum English engineer, and recruited agent of the NKVD by Soviet headhunters out of the London consulate.&nbsp; The other men were either Englishmen or Irish, though more so the later.&nbsp; Viktor let them beat him terribly at cards, and he also paid them incredibly well.&nbsp; Yet, even he knew that unless they acted soon that there was no guarantee that he could hold them beyond week's end.<br><br><div align="center">***</div><br>"She is on the move," advised one of sentries, an Irishman by the name of Patrick O'Donald, hard nosed and a pugilist, his family was amongst the many that fled during the famine.&nbsp; Although economically stranded in London, he was by no measure a British loyalist, and yet, unable to participate in the more direct independence fight in Ireland, he instead turned to sedition and crime in London.&nbsp; Those qualities made him an easy target for the communist party, which found fertile ground in all the many malcontents and unfocused young men scattered everywhere in the working class.<br><br>Viktor took the binoculars from Mr. O'Donald and watched Ms. Szarka walk away from the safe zone where abduction would be impossible for them.&nbsp; This was going to be their only chance he knew.&nbsp; <strong>"Signal the others,"</strong> Viktor gave a nod the third man in his group, a man by the name of Joseph Atwater, an unemployed factory worker and drunk.<br><br>Mr. Atwater removed a flashlight from his gear and shone it out of the window at the other watching post.&nbsp; It did not take long for the other group to respond in kind.&nbsp; Mr. Atwater turned back to Viktor, who was pouring over a map of the city, with his finger tracing the route that Ms. Szarka appeared to be taking.<br><br>"Can't see her no more, she gone down Brompton." reported O'Donald.<br><br><strong>"Okay, then we rendezvous at the bottom of Brompton before Williams Bridge."</strong>&nbsp; Viktor said to Atwater, who nodded in affirmative before morse-coding the message across the distance to the others.&nbsp; There would be a vehicle waiting and beyond that a ship to ferry Ms. Szarka out of London via France and then ultimately Petrograd, Russia.<br><br><strong>"We leave now.&nbsp; Stay and confirm and join us on Brompton"</strong> He said to Atwater before giving a jerk of his head to O'Donald.&nbsp; Viktor holstered a pistol into his side harness while O'Donald tucked a billy club into his trousers and dropped a vial of chloroform into his coat pocket.&nbsp; This should be easy as shooting wolves on the tundra.<br><br>When they were outside, Viktor and O'Donald quickly cut through the alley to make up lost distance between them and Anasztaizia.&nbsp; But when they neared the abandoned Underground station, Viktor signaled O'Donald to stop.&nbsp; The pair obscured themselves around an alley corner, and watched obliquely as Ana unlocked the barricade.<br><br><strong>"Stay back,"</strong> Viktor instructed O'Donald, <strong>"wait for Atwater and then come in after me."</strong><br><br>Into the dark station, Viktor would follow Ana.</div>
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