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

[righteously]

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.

Comments

[driven]

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.

[righteously]

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.

[driven]

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.

[righteously]

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.

[driven]

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.

[righteously]

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.

[driven]

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.

[righteously]

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