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norseloki.livejournal.com) wrote in
lt_safe_house2009-11-06 11:49 am
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Entry tags:
A discovery
Date: April 3, 2003, afternoon
Status: Public - complete
Setting: The Manor
Summary: Loki discovers some left-overs from the past. Anyone come play?
Loki returned to his room with a contented smile on his face. He had spend some hours rummaging through things from the manor's past, hoping to find something that would prove interesting and maybe even useful.
What he had found was certainly interesting, while its usability, as well as its usefulness, were still in some doubt. What he did not doubt in the least, however, was that he would find out about both soon enough.
He dragged his low table to the corner from where he could keep an eye on the door. Not knowing quite where his so-called friends and family were would keep him somewhat on edge for a long time, he feared. Or at least until he had enough allies of his own to sleep comfortably again. Not that he slept at all at the moment.
Carefully, he put down the four paintball markers he had been carrying on the table and unslung the bag from his shoulder. Then he laid out the paint cartridges he had collected in it, sorted by color. So now he had some firearms, though admittedly not the type he'd been thinking of when he mentioned them to his other self.
He reached into the box with red paint pellets. Yes, that was definitely his color. He took one out, holding it carefully between him fingers in order not to crush it. The ammunition had gone unused for years, it seemed, and the paint inside seemed to have dried up. Maybe applying a little heat would help.
The first attempt went somewhat awry. The heat flowing from his fingers caused the paintball to swell until it no longer fit into the weapon. It brust when he tried, splashing his hand with red paint.
He wiped it on the inside of the light jacket he wore open without as much as a t-shirt beneath, and tried again. A little less heat this time, and more slowly. He stopped when the outside of the ball started to show the first sign of reaction. This one was much better. Of course he would have to try it out to see if it was truly functional again.
Loading the marker, he went to his open window, sighted on one of the trees on the manor grounds, and pulled the trigger. With a satisfied grin at the result, he went back to his table to put the remaining ammunition into a functional state again, before he collected everything and went downstairs.
In the lobby, he put down three of the markers in conspicuous places, together with the paintfall boxes with yellow, blue and green ammunition. Then he retreated to the doorway to watch if anyone would come in and pick one up. The loaded red marker firmly in his hands and ready for action, he leaned against the wall and waited.
Status: Public - complete
Setting: The Manor
Summary: Loki discovers some left-overs from the past. Anyone come play?
Loki returned to his room with a contented smile on his face. He had spend some hours rummaging through things from the manor's past, hoping to find something that would prove interesting and maybe even useful.
What he had found was certainly interesting, while its usability, as well as its usefulness, were still in some doubt. What he did not doubt in the least, however, was that he would find out about both soon enough.
He dragged his low table to the corner from where he could keep an eye on the door. Not knowing quite where his so-called friends and family were would keep him somewhat on edge for a long time, he feared. Or at least until he had enough allies of his own to sleep comfortably again. Not that he slept at all at the moment.
Carefully, he put down the four paintball markers he had been carrying on the table and unslung the bag from his shoulder. Then he laid out the paint cartridges he had collected in it, sorted by color. So now he had some firearms, though admittedly not the type he'd been thinking of when he mentioned them to his other self.
He reached into the box with red paint pellets. Yes, that was definitely his color. He took one out, holding it carefully between him fingers in order not to crush it. The ammunition had gone unused for years, it seemed, and the paint inside seemed to have dried up. Maybe applying a little heat would help.
The first attempt went somewhat awry. The heat flowing from his fingers caused the paintball to swell until it no longer fit into the weapon. It brust when he tried, splashing his hand with red paint.
He wiped it on the inside of the light jacket he wore open without as much as a t-shirt beneath, and tried again. A little less heat this time, and more slowly. He stopped when the outside of the ball started to show the first sign of reaction. This one was much better. Of course he would have to try it out to see if it was truly functional again.
Loading the marker, he went to his open window, sighted on one of the trees on the manor grounds, and pulled the trigger. With a satisfied grin at the result, he went back to his table to put the remaining ammunition into a functional state again, before he collected everything and went downstairs.
In the lobby, he put down three of the markers in conspicuous places, together with the paintfall boxes with yellow, blue and green ammunition. Then he retreated to the doorway to watch if anyone would come in and pick one up. The loaded red marker firmly in his hands and ready for action, he leaned against the wall and waited.
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revengeteaching others how to properly treat valuable manuscripts.Oh bugger it. Aziraphale was entirely too angry to come up with legitimate justification for why he was about to do what he was about to do.
He wordlessly held out a hand to Gabriel, took the paintball gun, and cocked it loudly*.
--
* Whether or not the gun had been capable of being cocked in the first place is a subject best left alone. Aziraphale didn't change any of the mechanisms behind the gun - he didn't know the difference anyway, best to let freedom fighters use them instead of him - but it got the point across.
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He pressed close to the ground and remained still and unmoving, not wanting to experience any truly painful surprises. He had never tried it, but he did not expect to be bullet-proof or anything.
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The paintball sailed through the air.
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He pulled the trigger of his own gun reflexively as the pellet struck him in the forehead. When his vision cleared, Barnaby found himself flat on his back, with a stinging welt on his head, and, yes, splattered with yellow.
"...ow."
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"Are you alright?" he whispered, wondering how good the ears of angels were.
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"You hit his head?" he hissed. "That's going to hurt."
His own head snapped up as he heard something - in humans, adrenaline heightened the senses, and with angels, who had heightened senses even on normal days, this was more marked.
He aimed at where the whisper had come from and fired.
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He watched Gabriel fire at the whisper. "Do we have a plan?" he asked.
edited
"Er, no. No, we don't," Gabriel admitted. "I think it's more of 'hit them as much as possible and try not to get hit'. He ducked even lower, pressing himself to the ground.
This was almost like training, but more fun.
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A pause, before he shook himself, drawing himself up on one elbow and retrieving his marker. He pressed a finger to his forehead, creating another jolt of pain, but the angry welt began to subside.
"Hello, Loki. Just bruised dignity. I think I owe them some repayment, though."
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So if he was going to lead one of the two sides ad Ragnarök, he mightj ust as well start getting some leadership experience, right?
Using hand-signs that he hoped were obvious to the demon, he indicated to Barbaby that he should move backwards, out of reach of the angels, and then try and round the building without being seen to come out behind the two others. He'd see to the diversion.
That particular plan meant that he was splitting his forces, but if your forces only numbered two people to begin with, splitting them could hardly be avoided.
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But the Kraken Bible was urging him on.
"Well, we need a plan, I think," he said, "We should find someplace higher up, ideally with very few obstructions that we can monopolize." Really at this point he was pulling plans out of his arse: he had been a member of the Host, yes, but not in a tactician role. "That way we can see them and fire at them but be ourselves fairly well protected. If there is such a place on the grounds..."
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Gabriel had been a tactician, of sorts, but he was a little more used to open warfare than this sort of stealthy gunfire. Still, he'd have to adapt.
"I suggest you keep your voice down," he murmured. "Those shots didn't seem particularly well-aimed. I suspect a diversion, but from what?"
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Two objects whizzed overhead; one sailed by harmlessly, the other collided with Aziraphale's large blonde curls and the tree, turning the angel into a redhead.
He stared at his new hair colour and muttered back, "Probably moving positions."
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"Move!" he hissed softly, already moving away on his stomach. "Keep changing position."
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He kept to the undergrowth until he had reached the wall and had ducked around the corner, where he could stand safely and start sprinting around the building.
This was going to look very odd to anyone indoors.
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He didn't like this one bit. "All the shots are coming from one direction," he hissed softly to Gabriel.
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He reached out with his senses, feeling for Baraq's demonic aura, and frowned. The demon wasn't where he should be, where the shots were coming from. "Baraq's not there. I'd say he's going to ambush us. I'm going to see if I can sneak up on Loki. Stay here and cover me, but move around a bit so they don't catch on like we did," he murmured very softly, almost inaudibly, trusting in the other angel's otherwordly hearing.
He began to move again, wriggling on his stomach, in Loki's general direction.
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Thankful he'd decided to wear jeans today - robes would have been difficult to do this in - he moved until there was a slight gap between two clumps of bushes; if he moved forward, Loki might be able to see him. He turned, looking at Aziraphale, silently willing the Principality to process his situation and distract Loki with some shots in the other direction, giving him enough time to dart for cover.
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When he glimpsed something that seemed promising, he shot, hoping that the paint would not be completely deflected by the angels' cover.