entrancelogs | And Death Follows Him (Except for when everyone gets away and he's a failure)

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And Death Follows Him (Except for when everyone gets away and he's a failure)

Who: Dean & Meg / Dean & Allison
Where: The Bank / The Rooftops
When: The second night of the event
Rating: PG13
Summary: There's a convenient robbery murder combo and then some suspiciousness that follows.
The Story:

Meg

Dean's objective is simple. He's to kill the man who runs the bank. He's pretty sure the bank's mafia sided anyway, and eliminating the man who does the dealing will make their funds run dry. He's not sure who's got beef with the mob, he doesn't particularly care. He's never been much of a details guy, he just really likes getting paid.

Evidently he's not the only one with a mark on this particular bank tonight, though, because when the banker's body drops to the ground, it reveals a figure not far behind him.

...Damn. He's not a fan of company, and a second body isn't part of the contract. It was a very fucking specific contract.

Allison

Getting away from Meg had been a bitch, but he managed it. Granted, it was with tears knitted into his clothes, blood smeared along biceps, all in all not a very incognito picture did he paint. He moves along the rooftops darkly, eyes narrowed to slits, a slight limp in his walk, attracting the attention with anyone with a sharp eye.

(And maybe a bow.)

There's nothing to specifically give away the fact that he's a villain, but the fact that he wears a mask over the lower half of his face covering his mouth probably means he's something worth investigating.

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The bank seems like an obvious place to hit, but considering she's on a legitimate job this time she doesn't have room to complain. It might be a little cliché for her tastes, but the money had been too good to turn down.

All she had to do was sneak in, jack a safety deposit box and be on her merry. That was exactly what she was in the middle of doing when she caught sight of Ninja Boy here.

Meg has an awful habit of being too damn nosy for her own good, but she has a super secret weapon. Manipulating luck keeps her in the world of the living, no matter who she's pissing off, though it's not without her fair share of scrapes and bruises. This makes her bold, and she decides to take a little detour and follow Mr. Mysterious.

There's a part of her that's slightly impressed when he drops the guy. Not like it was that big of a deal - bankers aren't important enough to care about - but it's enough to grab her interest.

Showing herself would be a stupid idea for anyone else, but she considers herself in a whole different category. That luck of hers is a good safety net, even if it has her biting off more than she can chew more often than not.

"Nice." This is said all casual like, her arms folded over her chest as she studies his handiwork. "Kinda boring. I give it a five out of ten stars." She's seen some things in her lifetime, and she doesn't sound upset by the death of this stranger.

The blade lowers, but doesn't disappear. It angles out from his body, still dripping with blood from the banker's neck. It hits once, splatters against the floor near the body, but Ninja Boy doesn't seem to notice.

He's got a problem. He's got to get her the hell out of here before she figures something out, asks questions, contaminates the scene, or otherwise does something stupid. All without actually killing her, which would void his contract. He needs that money.

He doesn't say a word, but his eyes- clearly visible- narrow in annoyance at her. Hard to mask that particular feeling.

He's gonna have to chase her out, isn't he?

Christ, it feels like a monday.

He advances slowly, stepping over the body, bringing his blade back up to the ready, orbiting around her in an aggressive, slow circle.

...Wait a second, what's in the box? Did she friggin' rob the place?

Oh, good. One of those silent killer types. Her expression turns wary as he starts to come close, quickly calculating which way was the quickest to get out.

Not that she's running away, not at all. Having a backup plan doesn't hurt, and she's all about being prepared. Maybe not before her little adventures, but preparing while in the middle of them always works for her, too.

"Not much of a talker, hmm?" Years of practice has taught her the art of appearing more at ease than she really is. Though he is making her nervous as hell. "You got a ridiculous name to go with that outfit, or should I just assume you're crap at creativity?" Because Ninja Boy is about as accurate as she can get.

There's an open window to her left, one he has passed in his orbit of her. Her arm tightens around her prize, and she wonders just how high up she is.

Funny how silent killer types are always so much more disturbing than the talkers. Maybe it's because with voice comes humanity, comes compassion and empathy and the chance for mercy. With the silence, though... Well, with the silence comes precision, ruthlessness, terror.

Which totally wasn't what he was going for when he got into this business, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't use it to his advantage now.

If there's an answer to her question, if he has a name, he doesn't volunteer it. There are no nametags, no signs, no calling cards, and he keeps it that way for a reason. It's how he gets his future business, and he'll be staying that particular course. Matter of fact, the only acknowledgement she gets is narrowed eyes and a slightly antagonistic tilt to his head. Sorry, princess, but he really wants to finish this job.

So he raises his blade and takes a stance, less like a prowling cat and more like one prepared to pounce.

Now!

He strikes out, blade slashing forward, cutting through the air with suddenness.

With the lack of back and forth happening verbal wise, Meg's growing more anxious to just leave. It's no fun at all when they aren't rising to her bait, and she's about two seconds away from just vamoosing out that damn window when he makes his attack.

There is a startled moment where she doesn't move, and it costs her when the blade meets the skin of her upper arm, jump starting her into action. It's hard to move quickly when she's lugging around a safety deposit box, but that doesn't mean she won't try. Her instinct is to drop, roll to the side and away from him.

She knows she doesn't have a second to catch her breath, so while she stands she takes a few steps backward, her back meeting the wall. Muttering a quiet curse, she risks a glance to her right to find that window, her precious escape route. It's not far, but she knows she'll have to barrel past crazy Ninja Boy to get there. Turning her eyes back to him, she keeps him in her sight as she waits for the right moment to take a dive.

If he's proud of the blow, if he's glad it stuck the landing, he doesn't say a damn word about it. It might be visible, though, just for a second in that victorious look his eyes sport.

Damn crazy ass random chick, who does she think she is? Cat woman?

In any case, she doesn't have to wait very long for her opportunity. He's still only for a second as she gets back into position, lugging her stupid safety deposit box with her. As soon as she's upright again, he's surging forward, intent on stabbing straight through her chest.

Wouldn't it be a shame if he hit a stroke of bad luck?

Wouldn't it?

It's instinct, pure and simple, that has her swinging the box to her left, slamming it into the wall. Which manages to jar enough of the plaster to make a huge crack, straight up to the ceiling. Right before his blade reaches its intended target, a huge chunk from the ceiling falls right on his weapon.

Meg takes the chance, ducking down and booking it over to the window in record time to get out of his reach. She perches on the sill, looking over her shoulder at him, box safely tucked under her arm. The hesitation on her part is curiosity, and a need to see what this guy does next. Hard to predict what someone will do when they aren't saying anything.

"Sorry to run out on you, big boy, but I'm a busy girl." It doesn't matter now that he isn't talking - escape is within reach and having the last word is always a priority. "Want my number, in case you're ever looking for a good time?"

How in the-

How in the hell did she--??

The plaster drops, the blade scatters, and his arm throbs with the pain form the force of the impact. It's not broken, but cut a little, bleeding, annoying and impossible and weird and he stares at her, affronted and annoyed and what in the fuck?

Who the hell is this chick?

Even at her question, he doesn't talk, doesn't say a word.

But he does have one message to convey.

He stares her straight in the eyes as he lifts a finger and slowly, deliberately flips her the bird.

The gesture is enough to make her laugh, a throaty sound that doesn't really make an appearance that often. Sneering, smirking, chuckles - those are what she sticks to.

This guy, though, manages to actually make her laugh. Way to go, Ninja Boy.

"You wish," is her good bye as she turns away from him, dropping out of sight and down to the ground. The landing is rough, but not enough to make her stick around.

She drops from the window like she was never even there, and he debates, for a second, about going after her.

He doesn't know who she was, or why she was here. She doesn't know why he was here, his name, why the bank owner is dead, and that's all he really needs.

No other bodies.

No other info.

So he might not ever find out the finer details, but that's fine.

For some reason, though, he's pretty sure he really hates that bitch.

He finishes the job, and he leaves from the opposite side of the building.

...You know, just in case.

She'd had a lead on a possible hit at a bank - mod bank, not too much of a loss, but it was the person who was supposed to do the possible hit that Allison was interested in. She's been tracking someone - someone, because she doesn't have a name. Or a description. Or anything excep for a gut feeling and too many linked but totally not connected murders. There's something there, and she just happened to hear the right things at the right times and this bank job? Was one of those things.

Of course, on the way she got caught up in an almost-mugging. Why teenage girls think it's okay to walk home alone, she'll never know, but it puts her off time-wise just long enough that she misses the actual bank. From her view on the roof-top of the neighboring buildings (two buildings away, actually), she knows he (she assumes he, but it could be a she) is already gone by now. She ends up having to call back to Lydia - sitting at the computer with a few security cameras around town - to see if she's caught anything. In that moment or two that she's not really watching is when a figure leaves the bank, and it's an off-chance that Allison just barely catches him leaving. It's a quick he's running before she cuts off the call and is moving to catch up.

It's easy enough to tail the figure for a few blocks, keeping to shadows and getting around from different buildings, until she somehow over-shoots and ends up in front of him. It works in her favor, getting him to stop, but she can't really think of a reason to hold him there without any evidence.

She has to know, though.

"Cut yourself?"

It's good that she doesn't have a name or a description or anything. That's sort of his calling card, it's what keeps him in business. Do you know how damn hard it is to go an entire career in this business without drumming up talk? Without slipping up, leaving a mark, being obvious? Dean works really goddamn hard at what he does, and it keeps the income flowing. He's more silent than a whisper in actions and in words, and it serves him well.

Usually.

So the fact that she even knew about him to hunt him down is disturbing. It means this week, this shitty week, is going... well, shittily. From the vampire hunter to the bitch in the bank, now this? How could it possibly get any worse? Next thing you know they'll be plastering his face on wanted posters to his friends and family.

Or, you know, one friend, one family. Singular each.

He slows himself to a graceful stop as her figure blocks off the path ahead, and he narrows his eyes at her question. Glances down do the arm that is, indeed, bleeding like a friggin' fountain, and scowls. Glances back up at her again.

...Does he wanna have another tango on a rooftop?

Nope.

He's gonna make her work for it. So a beat after that look he's off, sprinting right and making a leap to the neighboring rooftop. Looks like a good old fashioned game of cat and mouse.

The same thing that keeps him in business is what gave him away. Allison looks for clues, looks for things that people miss. With as many heroes in this city as there are in theirs, the easy targets are taken care of. Taken out. She can appreciate the attention to invisibility, tries to manage the same herself, but it's hard to do with a family reputation following her around. Which is why she was interested in the first place. What's so different about this hitman (can she even call him that?) compared to everyone else? Hero or no?

He piqued her interest, and now she's not letting it go. Or him go, now that she can tell from body-shape that it's either a very masculine female, or male.

Or a shifter. Her mind's trying to put too many pieces together all at once which is why - she tells herself - that he's able to sprint off like that. It's not that it surprises her (surprises her more she was able to catch him in the first place), so she just takes off after him. This is her city, and she doesn't know enough to be able to tell if it's his or not, so she'll try and hold that to her advantage. She knows these buildings, and if it's a chase he wants, it's a chase he'll get.

She keeps up with him without too much issue - his wounded arm probably slowing him down a fraction of enough for her to do so, or it could be something else entirely - which gives her enough room to catch a spot on a roof. Set her feet and pull out her bow and an arrow, shooting one off in his direction (probably a little ahead of him, trying to direct him a certain way) before sprinting to catch up with him again. She can't quite catch up with him, and judging from her research, she's not too keen on catching an up-close and personal interview. Bleeding arm or no, she's not at a place where she could take him on strength along. Better to rely on her weapons and hopefully tiring him out.

Maybe, then, maybe she's the perfect one to discover his secret. If it was gonna be anyone, it wouldn't be one of those big-name assholes like the Guardian or that America kid, the kind with a cult following and press. No, it would be someone that understands, appreciates the silence and the shadow, the invisibility. They'd make a good pair, except for the part where they'd make an awful pair.

He was born and raised in this city, he knows it well, but not this part. His area is to the west, toward the docks, toward the warehouses and smaller mom-and-pop shops, toward the part that feels more like New England than New York, so she'd definitely got a bit of home field advantage. Definitely gives her a birds' eye view, which she uses to fire an arrow that goes whizzing past his right ear. Shit.

He jerks, veering off in the opposite direction like she intends, like a rat in a maze, ducking behind heating and cooling units, behind suspiciously placed rooftop greenhouses (which he'll be back to check out later thank you very much), toward the business end of this section of city.

Maybe she is. They understand each other on that intrinsic level - the power in darkness, the strength in silence. She doesn't do press and followings just like her father didn't, or her grandfather before him. There have been generations of Archers (Argents) who have been protecting this city, and it's only been the recent press on Heroes (with a captial H) that has brought up the idea of her family into the limelight.

And then there was her aunt, her mother. Allison prefers not to think about them while she's working, sticking to the code.

They'd make a fine pair, if they agreed on that simple, defining thing. Which side of the line they're standing on.

It's been part of her training since she was born, learning the city. Every street and corner and section. The bus systems, the train systems, they've all been carved into her brain since before she can remember and if he goes that way she should be able to lead him to the center of the business districts, when the buildings shoot up another twenty stories and he can either go up or down.

If she can keep ahead of him, keep leading him in that direction, it shouldn't be a problem. That's what she tells herself, when her boots land on one of said units he's been ducking behind, firing off another arrow.

See, that's the thing- Dean doesn't want to believe they're standing on any particular side of a line at all. He's met bad people with more honor than some glory-seeking heros, and he's met good people who were bigger douchebags than anyone on the freaking planet, and all it comes down to, all it really comes down to, is admitting you play the hand you were dealt and you have an inflated, puffed-up ego.

He takes jobs nobody else will take. Period.

He goes down.

Her arrows fly true, they direct his movement just as she intends, and he cusses under his breath as he's guided from rooftop to fire escape to pavement with the thudding of boots. It's good though, it is, because if he can get down into the grit and brick of the city, if he can slip into those alleyways and out of the open air, she won't be able to fire off shots at him. Not around corners. Not if he can put on a bit of a speed boost and lose her in the labyrinth of buildings.

So he hauls ass down an alley, knocking over trash cans behind him to slow her down.

Allison doesn't work with publicity - it's Lydia's job to take care of things on the political level. Her family's worked outside the public eye. It doesn't matter to her who considers themselves good and who considers themselves bad. She knows the laws, and she knows the morals she stands by, and that's it. The Reaper has crossed that line with the jobs he takes, and that's why she's following him, chasing him through her city in an attempt to get him into some kind of trap.

He goes down, and Allison has to hold back the smile. Perfect. It'll be harder on her, sure, but he'll have more to deal with as well. Construction zones and people and cops running the street, the normal every day kind of obstacles. She follows him down to the street level, keeping up with him as well as she can, despite the very minor set-backs of the trash cans. Years and years of gymnastics help when it comes to jumping hurdles.

When they make it out into the street, she's a little relieved to find it relatively empty, loading her bow up again to take another shot, still trying to direct him. About ten blocks away, in a diagonal sort of direction, is a construction zone. The last time she checked (which was...two weeks ago) they were started to dig out for an underground parking lot, with an inclined side leading down to three twenty-foot walls.

He's right about the arrows, she can't shoot him from around corners. But he can just as easily lose her when she takes an earlier alley, trying to get around him, make him turn where she wants him to. There are various different routes she can lead him along to get to the site, but her main concern are civilians, so she tries to keep him to alleys as much as she can.

It doesn't take long for him to realize. Not where he's being directed, just that he's being directed at all. That every arrow that flies at him steers him one step closer toward something, something, something he doesn't know about, but it doesn't matter, because whatever it is can't be good. It's her with the advantage, it's him pinned, unfamiliar ground, the possibility of losing.

He can't have that. He has a meeting to attend.

He's got a murderer to exsanguinate.

And so he listens sharply, listens for a twang, listens, listens for-

There it is, the sound of wind, of something fast approaching, something almost bullet fast but not quite, whizzing through air, wizzing to his- to his-

Right.

He whirls, blade coming up, slicing through the air, splintering through the arrow. It's close. It's so fucking close his heart races, shavings of wood pepper his padded protective vest, but he got it, and he knows, now, that she was aiming for him to bank left.

He only hesitates for a second, and then his body's springing in the opposite direction. She took an earlier alley, she shot the arrow and changed course hoping to head him off, maybe he can shake her. Maybe he can lose her, by altering it.

He's got to think fast, and his feet carry him somewhere his mind only processes once he's actually heading that way. He's heading into the open- but not just that, he's heading for people. For civilians. He's heading for the sound of footsteps and chatter. He's masked, he's outfitted, he'll attract attention, but that's good, because it's what neither of them want. She can't shoot arrows at him at the risk of taking out an innocent, and if both of their strategies are to hide in the shadows, it's time to shake things up.

It's time to throw himself out of his comfort zone because she's got the upper hand in it.

Edited 2013-10-15 06:31 (UTC)

She should have known he'd catch on eventually. It was too far to lead him and she was being too obvious about it, and she realizes all of this the moment she comes out of the alley and he's not there. Allison curses, and Lydia chides her in her earpiece for the language, something about an image to upkeep and people to appease, and Allison turns to backtrack. She can't lose him now. Not when she's so close. She makes it back to the mouth of the alley she jumped into just in time to see him turn down the street.

It's instinct that has her sprinting off after him, and it takes a few more moments before her brain catches up, too caught up in the fact she almost lost him and how this would be a week of work wasted if she had. How could she be so stupid?

But then it hits her, right as she makes it to the corner and continues following them. She calls Lydia in asking for some help, but she's busy with something, and Allison curses under her breath. They're headed to a nightlife area, where there will be civilians walking around. Out in the open.

Where are you going?

The thought haunts her for a moment, slows her down a step or two, before she keeps moving. She can't take the time to climb up and go bird's eye view with how much of a head's start he has, so she continues on foot, praying that tonight's one of those nights where people decided to stay inside.

Dean hates the night life. He hates the douchey fist-pumping glow-stickers on their neon flashing bikes. He hates the girls with the up-dos and the six inch pumps giving him looks like he's a street rat. He hates the douchebags in the black silk shirts that smell like artificial leather and paralegal careers. He hates the whole concept of it all, but he loves them tonight. It's the best damn camouflage, the best damn escape he could possibly count on.

He can feel her eyes, he can feel her faltering behind him, a quick glance behind him confirms this, and he can see ahead of him the glowing lights of main street, the lamps and chatter, the open bars in a neat line for crawls. He can hear the pumping bass of techno music, of clubs so exclusive they've got bouncers.

Witnesses.

So viciously pleased with himself about this whole thing, he actually has the audacity to slow to a stop just a few yards short of the passing crowds and bodies to turn back and face her.

And elegantly raise his hand in a one-fingered salute.

For the second time tonight, it's going to have to express everything he can't put into words, and you know what? It feels pretty damn accurate.

Of course it was too much to pray for, and Allison's stupid for even considering the idea that the entirety of the city wouldn't be out and about. Even with the danger and the risk that this city provides, they keep going. Keep moving. Usually, she can appreciate that about her city. Tonight? It's a hindrance. It's a way out, for the Reaper, and it's a roadblock.

But she tries anyway, follows him up until she sees him stop and turn back to her. Allison's heart is in her chest as the Archeress slows to a stop, realizing a moment later that if he hadn't stopped her, she probably would have followed him right into the crowd. Something she can't do.

For half a moment, she wonders if he stopped for a good reason. Maybe he actually wanted to talk (there were villains who did that, who wanted to spill their plans. It was stupid but it happened). So she stops, fifty feet from him and the crowd of the main street, hand poised out over a smaller one of her bows. Just in case he wanted to try something.

But what she gets is his finger, and the anger she feels in response to it temporarily clouds her vision. He's mocking me is all she remembers thinking before she starts off in a sprint again, having completely forgotten the rule.

She'll regret this decision, later, but for now she plans on catching him. Just to prove a point.

Dean was definitely not the plan-spilling type. He wouldn't even really consider himself a villain, not of the traditional variety, anyway. He's not a fan of chaos, of pointless explosions and life-taking and general nefariousness. Granted, the fact that he kills people for a living probably slots him into the category anyway, but something about his fucked up morals make him plead shades of gray. There are fifty of those things, after all, and if it's good enough for a goddamn soccer mom porno, it's a good enough classification for what he does.

Which is all well and good, and he thinks he's beat the system, and he'll go out for beer and strippers or something, until she starts running again.

The look that passes over his face is impossible to miss, it's the most blatant and clear Oh Shit look that has ever crossed a human being's face in the history of Oh Shit.

And then they're off again, and he's hauling ass into the crowd with most of his lead lost to his hesitation and his smartassery, but that doesn't stop him from trying to get it back. He slams through bodies and into crowds, dips and dodges around people who spare him confused and disbelieving glances. Considering the Ninja outfit isn't exactly the most inconspicuous garb, it's not hard to figure out the source of their distress.

As he runs, he tears his mask off. Piece by piece, his outfit gets disassembled into something that blends a little better with society, never stopping long enough to be picked out by a security camera, an iPhone, anything that might catch his face in this outfit. Nobody that would be able to place him, because he's too much of a blurr by the time they notice him.

Nobody but her, who- if she's lucky, might catch a clear shot of his mug, a clear view of his face, between the moving bodies and turning corners and the chase.

Edited 2013-11-08 07:23 (UTC)

But Allison doesn't know that. Doesn't know where Dean's morals are, what his thought process is. All she sees are the facts, and those facts are that he kills people for a living. People who he did not have the right to decide if they lived or died. He isn't even Dean, from what she knows. Just The Reaper, a hired gun, a villain.

The angry part of her that spurred on the sprint in the first place revels in his expression. She caught those wide eyes, that oh shit, and it has her grinning a little. Yeah, you better run. And she'll just keep running right after him, having gained a lot of ground due to the few seconds it took for him to react. It's not close enough to catch him, but it's close enough to keep up with him, considering how thick the crowds are in this area of the city. Allison does her best to dodge through the people, to follow the stream the Reaper leaves behind him when he shoves through the bodies of the crowd.

It's mostly because of the people that she doesn't know what he's doing at first- just keeping her attention on keeping up and not losing him in the crowd. It's not until there's a certain break in the crowd that she sees him tear off another piece of his clothing, turning his head enough that she sees his mask gone, sees the cut of his jaw, his eyes, the whole thing. Just a flash, sure, but she's been trained since birth to recognize a man with less. That? Right there? Signed his arrest warrant.

She doesn't recognize him, but that doesn't mean she won't be able to find him, later. But then, like the crowd is making up for that brief opening shot, it thickens between them and she momentarily loses sight of him- needing to take a moment too long to push through the throngs of people and come out on the other side.

Truth be told, outside of this event? He'd be on her side in a heartbeat. Hell, he'd be chasing after her just as hard to put the bastard down- himself down. Right now, though? The man he is during this event? Sees things a hell of a lot differently than she does.

Before her, the crowd thickens, converges. Dean strips himself of the rest of his costume and blends seamlessly into the flow of the crowd, an average and forgetable face in average and forgetable clothes.

Before her, he disappears. When the crowd thins again, he's nowhere to be found, leaving no trace of himself but the memory of his face.

The End
For now

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And Death Follows Him (Except for when everyone gets away and he's a failure)

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