Apocalypse H-2: Komm, süßer Tod

[Eva]

It was a day of celebration.

Three young girls and several men were seated, drinking and playing some sort of silly game. One of the girls, the one seated at the head of the table, was talking in rapid German. She took a breath from her giggling and smiled. "Okay, das ist rund ... berühmten Fußballer!" she announced. The others at her table nodded. The girl took out a pen and wrote a name on a napkin in front of her. "Michelle!" one of the men called out. The girl looked up. "All of the famous football players...they are dead!" he shouted. Everyone at the table burst into laughter. Michelle lifted her finger. "The apocalypse may have killed them all, but we still remember them, nein?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. The table quieted.

Several more rounds ensued, each one causing more outrageous behaviour than the last as the players became increasingly inebriated. Only Michelle seemed totally sober, although everyone had seen her take her fair share of drinks. Of course, none of these people knew each other, so they assumed she merely had great capacity. As the trivia game entered another round, the door to the bar flew open. A strained quiet fell over the group. Heavy, loud boots stomped the ground as a group of Britannican policemen entered. The one at the head had a clipboard in his hands. "Is something wrong, herren?" one of the men asked. The officers swept their eyes over the group.

"We're looking for a young lady." the leader said, laying his clipboard down on the table. "Have any of you seen her?" he demanded. Everyone looked down at the picture solemnly. They all recognized her. "Nein." Michelle said. "Nein." the others agreed. The officers looked at Michelle, and then at the other young ladies. Michelle smiled and looked down at the cigarette in her hand. She placed her index finger on the girl in the picture. "The Bitchfuhrer of the Insurrectionists. Micaiah Zoller." she said. The leader nodded. "Known for her hit-and-run techniques and her...long, flowing silver hair." Michelle added, taking a puff of her cigarette. "Without it, she might...blend in." the leader said, his eyes on Michelle's honey blonde hair. Or, rather, the strand that stood out among them. Peeking out through her bangs.

Silver.

It happened in but a few seconds. Two of the men behind Michelle drew the pistols hidden in their jackets and began firing. The officers tried to react, but it only took a few shots to bring them all down. The other people present began to flee from the bar, their footsteps frantic.

"Officer Daman Cavil." Michelle read the ID card of the leader, her blue eyes blazing. "Utterly mediocre nephew of the famed admiral." She twirled her blonde wig on her hand as her allies searched the other bodies. "A rousing success." she said, looking over at them. The two men smiled. "Call everyone. We've just started this war for real." Michelle put the card in her pocket and walked over to a mirror that was hanging on the bar wall. Now that the wig was off, her straight silver hair was allowed to flow down to her back. "Someone will have reported the shooting. We should leave now, Micaiah." one of the men said. Micaiah turned around and smirked. "Then let us be on our way."

Brittanican Military Profile

The Insurrectionists
Member Number 0- Micaiah Nonette Zoller
Status: At Large
Risk: High
Race: Mixed human/demon descent
Nationality: German. Immigrant.
Title: 'The Bitchfuhrer'

[Gafe]

Rumaging through other people's clothes wasn't an activity the dark-auburn haired man carried out on a normal basis. He considered it something abnormal to do, something that potentially violated another's deserved privacy. It was right around the top of his 'Things that people with no morals do' list - which he did, in fact, possess. He would be one of the first people to agree that if there was something people deserved in times of hardship such as the one they were living in, it was personal space.
"Look it, this here bloke had a 10 on him." Then again, the person lying on the floor was an underling of Admiral Cavil's, a soldier of the Brittanican army; and that, well, that made the rumager's morals susceptible to change. They had just declared themselves as enemies, the no remorse policy should be starting around. . . right that minute. 'Sides, money was something anyone needed these days, most of all The Insurrectionists.

And that simply made Pax smile.

Getting to his feet, Pax's moderately curly hair jumped a little, especially the ponytail he kept. And he was quick to hear the conversation that developed around him. "Call everyone. We've just started this war for real." Followed by, "Someone will have reported the shooting. We should leave now, Micaiah." And concluded with, "Then let us be on our way."
Pax allowed himself a stretch, which was partly inhibited by his little-too-tight green jacket. "Suppose we don't have time for these parties no more, yeah?" With a longing sigh, he followed Micaiah and his colleague out of the bar. But he could not resist the urge to turn his head and stare at what damage they'd done. Cavil's not going to be happy And he could definitely not supress two chuckles after his thought.

Pax brushed his left hand with his left fingers alone and moved his wrist in circles. A small purple ball of energy that emitted little luminosity was quick to appear in his palm. Similar to any common rubber ball, the man bounced it as he caught up with Micaiah. Shortly thereafter, his right hand searched for a mobile communicator.

"Yes, hello. Everyone, it's started. Commencing phase is complete."


Brittanican Military Profile

The Insurrectionists
Member Number 1- Abbott Paxino Sutherland
Status: At Large
Risk: Medium
Race: Mixed human/demon descent
Nationality: Scottish.
Title: 'The Charmer Wisp'

[GnomesAteMyCake]

It was a normal apartment; small, quiet and out of the way. Lights out, the only inhabitant getting some well-earned rest. It was the only night off she'd had in a month, and she was going to use it for what she needed most; un-interrupted sleep.

But even with a supposed night off, there was always the chance of The Inserrectionists requiring something.

A small mobile on a bed-side table lit up, a loud obnoxious ringer waking the sleeping woman, jolting from sleep with a small gasp, a line of drool on her chin. Groaning, she rubbed her face and reached for the phone.
"H'lo?" she muttered into the phone, her yellow eyes blurry as she shook her head to break the sleep. Her eyes widened as she heard the message. "Done, huh? So we're all ready to kick this into action....yeah...at the meet-point? Yeah, I'll be there as soon as. 'Kay, later."

She hung up, and sighing heaved herself from her bed, running a hand through her natural white hair, which was cut short in a pixie style with her left eye covered by a side fringe. Whistling tunelessly, she riffled through her wardrobe as the sound of the city rattled past her window. She dressed hastily, dark clothing that would hide her in the darkness from those who would harm her because of her golden eyes and her demon heritage. Zipping her jacket, she quickly stuffed her phone into her pocket and grabbed a set of keys from her desk. The meet-point was on the other side of the city…might take her a while to get there by walking…

“I’ll take the van,” she said to herself, locking her apartment behind her and heading out of the apartment building and to the parking lot. That would definitely cut the time in half. Hold on tight, boys and girls, she thought to herself as she started the engine of her black van and pulling away from her home, still feeling slightly drowsy. Churchy’s on her way.




Brittanican Military Profile

The Insurrectionists
Member Number 2- Briony Alexandra Church
Status: At Large
Risk: Medium
Race: Mixed human/demon descent
Nationality: English
Title: "White Static"


(( I know it's ages in, but this pic is PERFECT ))

[Aubs]

As a heavy breeze blew over the city, out of an extremely dark alleyway emerged a woman from the shadows. Clad in only a black tubed swimsuit top, bikini bottoms, and tall high-heels, a look too risqué for any woman even prostitutes, slowly walked seductively alongside a brick building. She would have appeared to look almost similarly to a shadow her skin had been so dark, but one element of her clothing had stood out too much to cause her to appear as so. Draped against her jet black body had been a large and quite luxurious polar bear fur, the head of the dangerous wild animal included, contrasting marvelously from her skin as it hung with ease around her shoulders.

Within more time, the sound of her heels clicking and clacking on the hard pavement seemed to fade in and out as her long legs tromped down the sidewalk. She moved with much grace, almost like a ballerina or some runway model blessing the ground as if it were her very own catwalk.

Coming to a quick halt, the woman glanced up to take a stare at the midnight sky when a ring of her communicator had gone off letting her know she’d received a message. She listened as a man’s voice spoke from the other end for a while. “Complete? How divine! Where do you suppose we all meet? The warehouse? Lovely, I should be arriving shortly.”
She hung up, placing the phone back inside of a pocket of her fur and turned toward a brick wall. Without hesitation, she proceeded to walk through the wall, into the building. A few moments later, she appeared on the other side of the building as if she hadn’t even gone through it. Further development would prove that phasing through solid objects was a skill of hers and she did it effortlessly as if the walls were not there at all.

The thing about her was no one could ever recall seeing her. Even though she had remarkably dark skin, wore dramatic clothing, and had the presence of a rather intriguing individual she was able to fade into the background in the seconds it took a normal being to blink. It was almost as if she had been a figment of people’s imaginations. Thing was, she was as real as you or I. As real as a shadow being cast against a brick wall.



Brittanican Military Profile.

The Insurrectionists.
Member Number 3- Coutha Mutumb-Bok.
Status: At Large.
Risk: Medium.
Race: Mixed. Human/Demon decent.
Nationality: Dinka [Sudanese]/English.
Title: 'The Silk Shadow.'

[GnomesAteMyCake]

Whistling tunelessly to a random song on the radio, Briony pulled into the carpark at was next to the meetpoint; an old warehouse where it was unlikely they would ever attract attention or get caught. Killing the engine, she reached over to the glove compartment and grabbed her gun and a pack of cigarettes, before jumping out and heading for the warehouse entrance, locking the van with the press of a button.

Briony pulls on the side door, but found it to be locked, indicating that she was the first to arrive. She had a key to get in, but dammit if it wasn't creepy in there alone. Better to wait for everyone else outside. Leaning against the wall, she pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit it, sighing out a puff of smoke which she watched spiral into the sky. Shivering slightly, she looked out over the area; no doubt someone would arrive shortly. In fact, there was a shadow just across from her...shadow..

"Speak of the devil," she muttered to herself, her cockney accent strong and biting as she stood up properly and raised a hand in greeting. "Alright Coutha? I see you got the message too." Taking another drag of her cigarette, Briony leant against the warehouse once more and held the small stick between her lips as she spoke. "Any idea what it is that Micaiah will want? I know she said that everything was kicking off, but we haven't been given that much info about it, you know? I dunno, we'll know soon enough, eh?"

[Grimn]

The little boy sat on the street corner, his fingers working furiously to untangle a string that was laced intricately between his hands. His face was furrowed in concentration and if you looked closely you could just make out the tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth. The boy seemed to be about seven or eight years of age and wore a traditional English school uniform, navy trousers, a white undershirt with a navy coat overtop, and a pair of loafers. His short brown hair hung just short of his eyes and a few freckles were present on his nose.

The little boy continued to work furiously on his task under the watchful gaze of another man that leaned against the building behind him. This man was fully grown and wore a much different outfit. He had an overcoat that had patches at the elbow and a hat that was pulled down on his head. He had dark brown hair and a face that seemed to mistrust everything he saw. The street was alive with movement, people bustling all around them to get to the numerous shops that were nearby. A small movement in the man’s pocket drew his attention from the streets around him. The man reached into his corduroy pants and looked at the device that was held within. “We need to go” spoke the man quickly, getting off of the wall and beginning to walk down the street.

After a few steps the man turned around and saw the little boy hadn’t moved an inch and was still attempting to solve the puzzle that lay between his hands. “In a second, I almost have it” pleaded the little boy. “You know we don’t have time” remarked the man. “Got it” cheered the little boy happily, his face lighting up in a smile. The little boy bounded down the sidewalk after the older man. “We going to the usual place” asked the little boy, looking up at the man. The man continued to look straight ahead, murmuring a short “yes” to the boy. “Yay that means we get to have fun again” squealed the little boy, beginning to skip beside the man.

After a short while the two made it to the large warehouse that marked the meeting point for the group. Already two members were there and waiting for the rest of the group. The little boy's smile was as wide as his mouth could stretch. "We get to have fun again" he said with excitement to the two members already present, before rushing into the warehouse. Geoff nodded his greetings to the two members aready there and then followed the boy into the warehouse.

Brittanican Military Profile
The Insurrectionists
Member Number 4- Geoff Thomas Kingley
Status- At large
Risk- Medium
Race- Mixed human/demon descent
Nationality- English
Title- The Hands of Judgement

Member Number 5- Oliver Maximillion Vanderbilt
Status- At large
Risk- Medium
Race- Mixed human/demon descent
Nationality- English
Title- The Hands that Bind

[Eva]

Micaiah, Pax, and the second man with them walked out of the tavern, their faces concealed. Micaiah took a compact mirror from her pocket and handed it to the man. "Do what you do, Faval." she said. Faval nodded and looked into the mirror. He gazed deep into the glass and began to chant to himself. "Stephenie Malone, Stephenie Malone, Stephenie Malone." he said quietly, so as to not attract attention. The mirror began to glow, softly, and Faval smirked. "Okay. She's going to let us pass through." he said, clearly relieved. Micaiah grabbed Pax's hand, and let Faval hold hers. "Let us be in." Faval said, and instantly, they disappeared.

The trio materialized in the warehouse, in front of a glowing mirror. After reorienting himself, Faval grabbed a white towel from his pocket and wiped it on the mirror, collecting the grease that was smeared on it. Micaiah threw her wig onto the table and looked over to see two members. "Good evening, Geoff." she said. Micaiah smiled at Oliver and walked over to him. "I took this from the place we came from. There's mint in it." she said, handing the boy a foil-covered chocolate. Micaiah straightened up and looked over at Pax. "I sense there are others outside. Bring them in." she ordered.

"It's Coutha and Briony." a voice said. A woman entered the room from an ajacent door to the left. Her wavy blonde hair was tied back, and she looked rather tired. "I saw them in the window." she said. Micaiah nodded. "We'll start now, then." she replied.

Brittanican Military Profile
The Insurrectionists
Member Number 6- Alexei Faval
Status- At large
Risk- High
Race- Mixed human/demon descent
Nationality- Russian
Title- The Mirror's Edge

Brittanican Military Profile
The Insurrectionists
Member Number 7- Stephenie Jeanette Malone
Status: Accounted for but free
Risk: Medium
Race: Mixed human/demon descent
Nationality: New Gaian
Title- The Gaian Rose

[Gafe]

"Don't mind if I do," Pax winked at Micaiah. If anyone would ever argue that he should treat his leader with respect, he'd be the first to agree. But it was fun and a little fun never hurt anybody, right? With an airy wave of his hand he greeted Stephenie, Oliver and Geoff. He looked almost desinterested. Indeed he was more interested in those people he was to let in.

As he opened the door, Pax absorbed his purple energy-ball. Thinking over his mildly planned salutation, he walked out the open door. He found himself facing two women, Insurrectionists members, and two striking beautes.
He crossed his arms. "Well, well, if it isn't attractive Coutha and cute Churchy." He grinned with appreciativeness. "Surely I must be dreaming." The man stood there for a long moment, looking at the two women, each almost ocmpletely different from the other.

"Mickey is calling for the meeting to start. Come in, now, fair maidens." And he reentered the warehouse, followed by his two colleagues.

"Here they are, Micaiah."

[Gafe]

In the far side of a cell, one pale-faced man sat down, staring ahead with deep blue eyes. He didn't blink. He didn't move. He hadn't moved for days now. For all anyone could guess, he was a lifeless corpse that had been left a little too long in the humid environment, so much his skin had lost all color. Except his position was too perfect, somewhat graceful even.
Truth was, however, the man in the cell was very much alive. He was unlike the people in adjacent cells in the sense that he required no distractions, he didn't need to shift his balance from one foot to another, he needn't stretch his legs for the smallest while. The man lacked any need for physical comfort, his body didn't get sore or tired. Not generally, anyway. Something similar occurred in his mind.

Deep inside, behind those blue eyes of his, all he did was analyze. He refused any kind of mundane, superficial thoughts into his head. Instead, his mind toyed around with plans and strategies. Possiblily for actions and consequences. His interest centered solely on what the group he belonged to could do. What it could accomplish. How it would accomplish. Micaiah and everyone else probably knew where he was at the moment. He hoped for them not to make any move towards his position.
He wanted some alone time.

His pondering was cut short by a banging on the reinforced steel bars. "Ahm, what's this? Fee... Fear one Petska?" The guard read, presumably from a checklist of sorts. "You refused midday meal again."

The prisioner looked up (he moved) and stared with his neverchanging eyes at the guard. Since changes in them were so rare, few would be able to tell if the eye contact was aggressive, understanding or apologetic. Regardless, the pale-faced man said nothing.
Then.

"It's pronounced Fi-ear-ohn."


Brittanican Military Profile

The Insurrectionists
Member Number 8- Fierön Petska
Status: Captured
Risk: Low
Race: Andromeda demon descent
Nationality: Panslavic
Title: 'The Moonlit Sentinel'

[GnomesAteMyCake]

Rolling her eyes, Briony reached forward and pinched Pax's cheek. Hard.

"Awh, look at the little Scottsman flirting with ladies so out of his league," she cooed, smiling at him as she sauntered past, putting a little extra swing in her step. "You'll have to up your game if you want any of the girls here, sweety." Still grinning to herself, she ducked into the main room, where the Inserrectionists were all gathered around a table.

She clocked their leader, Micaiah, and nodded her head with the respect that she reserved solely for her and no-one else. She raised a hand in greeting to the other four members, and made a beeline straight for Oliver, whom she had always treated like a little brother.

"Hey Ollie!" she said cheerily, crouching down by the boy and ruffling up his hair slightly. "How you doing? Has Micaiah been giving you chocolate again?" She tutted before reaching into her own pocket and pushing a bar into his hands. "One more won't hurt then, will it?" She winked at him before rising to her feet and taking her place at the table.

"Right, so what's business?" she said shortly, propping her hands on the table. She watched Micaiah for a short while without an answer, a strange and uncomfortable feeling growing in her stomach. "Bit quiet, Ma'am. Surely there's-" Churchy stopped short, looking around the table once more, a look of trepidation growing on her face as she began to knaw at her lip. "We ain't all here; Where's Fierön? I know he hates meetings an' all, but if we're getting ready to start, he should be here, right?" She looked at Micaiah for reassurance, afraid that for the first time ever, her leader wouldn't be able to put her mind at ease.

[Aubs]

Folding her arms across her chest, Coutha entered the warehouse alongside Churchy. As Churchy spoke to their counterparts, Coutha smugly smiled and gave a quick nod of acknowledgment on her way into the middle of the room where the seating had been placed.

Most of the members had been in their seats, but Coutha had taken her time. Standing above her chair still, she glanced over to the gentlemen in the room. Everyone had immediately stopped talking and glanced over to her.

“Are one of you,” she spoke eying all the men with her captivating black eyes. “going to take my coat and get my chair for me? I’m highly offended that I even have to ask. I’d assume most of you all are aware of proper etiquette and chivalry, yes?” Coutha had been raised with a devout respect for refinement and elegance. It wasn’t something she had just picked up off the streets. A man was supposed to be a gentleman towards a woman, no matter what part of town they came from. Not only were royalty supposed to be accustomed to this act, peasants were as well.
Taking off her long bear fur, she held it out and waited for someone to perform her request.

After no one moved, she grimaced. “I’m waiting.” She definitely saw herself as being better than her colleagues, but this wasn’t the reason as to why she was behaving the way she was. Expecting a man to be chivalrous was something any woman with class was willing to go through.

[Eva]

Micaiah raised her eyebrow at Coutha. "Meaning no disrespect, but I don't think any man here qualifies for the title of gentleman. Nevertheless, Faval..." she said, motioning to Coutha. Faval nodded and took her jacket and pulled her chair out for her before taking his seat next to Micaiah once more. With that taken care of, Micaiah stood up and looked at everyone around her.

"Right. As you know, today we performed a stakeout of sorts. We caused a ruckus in a tavern while one of Admiral Cavil's relatives, his nephew to be precise, was on patrol. He made the unfortunate choice of stopping to see what we were doing. He is dead." Micaiah tossed his I.D. card casually onto the table before resuming. "As you do not know, Fierön was arrested. With Daman Cavil's high-level clearance, we can figure out where he is being kept." Micaiah looked around at her followers. "There is also news from over the pond. Master Light is pledging more resources to our efforts here, so we will not be forced to steal supplies as often as we do." Micaiah's voice lit up upon saying Light's name, a worshipful awe tinging her speech. "This is further proof that our cause shall soon become more important. Once Master Light's takeover of New Gaia is complete, demons will be more accepted there. It won't be long before the same happens here."

[Grimn]

Oliver greedily held his two chocolates in his arms, glancing from one to another. “You both spoil him” Geoff said to the two women. He couldn’t help but smile at the small boy though as he ripped the tin foil off the chocolate and proceeded to stuff his face. Soon a ring of chocolate had formed around Oliver’s mouth as he beamed with joy. “Thanks miss Micaiah and miss Briony” squealed the little boy. Geoff looked at the small boy and thought back to how hard he had tried to shelter him from all that encircled him in this world. “I really do hope he can have a somewhat normal life” thought Geoff more to himself than anything. “What was he worried about anyways? Oliver was oblivious to it all. He was nothing but a happy little boy who was more concerned with having fun than any of the political views that this particular group shared. The mood of the room changed when Micaiah informed them that one of their members had been captured. “Well if Mr. Fieron is in time out then we should go get him so he doesn’t miss the fun” said Oliver, saying the words between bites of chocolate.

[Gafe]

Pax brushed his gaze from Oliver to Churchy, and was unable to supress a delicate smile for her. They'd both raised the same question - a bit conflicting with Micaiah's - one to which he had the answer. He thought so, anyway.
"I'm not that worried 'bout him, 'know?" He began, with a consecutive flick of his left wrist. "Man doesn't look it, but he can take proper good care of himself."
He turned his head toward his leader, winking an eye at Stephenie, ever so discreetly, as his stare passed her. "I, for once, am more concerned with out state of affairs. If mini-Cavil is dead, we should be lookin' out for our selves and our next move. The quicker the better. Now much more so since Light is lending a bigger hand."

The back of his chair screeched as Pax leaned in it. Gracefully, he rested his legs on the rable, showing off some fancy shoes. Again, he spoke to Micaiah, who he called Mickey when she wasn't around, "I don't know, you tell me, but I thought Fierön wanted some alone time."
He crushed his hand against his auburn curls. "I'm not thoroughly acquainted with him, I'll trust him as far as I can throw him. Still, he's proved loyal enough, I'm positive he won't spill the beans about us." Here, Pax made a reference to how Fierön was the newest member of the Insurrectionists, but a clear defender of demon rights.
"Micaiah, we're finally getting grand support, lets not blow it off with the petty troubles of one of us." Now, if it was Coutha who was being held captive...my thoughts would be diametrically different.
He looked at the Sudanese woman, "That's what I think, see?"

[GnomesAteMyCake]

"Pax, how can you say that?" Briony asked, sounding shocked. "How can you even suggest we leave one of our own behind? Sure, he's a new lad, but that's 'ardly the point, is it?" She stared at the scottsman, her thoughts racing. She'd known Pax for a while; she knew he was a loyal and caring person, if a bit over-flirtatious at innapropriate times; it added to his charm. But he'd never struck her as someone who'd leave one of their own behind.

"If we can find where he is, then surely we'll bust him out! We need every Half-Blood we can- and don't you look at me like that," she snapped, adressing the whole table as she felt them recoil at the phrase 'Half-Blood,' "If those humans wanna call us that, then we should go with it; getting pissed off or upset only shows that they're getting at us. I'm not ashamed of what I am." Briony crossed her arms across her chest defiantly as she glared down at the table, embarrassed at her sudden outburst in front of Micaiah.

"If you don't wanna help 'im, then don't. There's loads of things we need to sort out, Pax, so it's not like you'd be useless, is it? We can't leave anyone behind," she repeated quietly, half-hugging herself. Briony's fierce loyalty to The Insurrectionists often lead to outbursts at meetings, so it was nothing unusual. The lack of interest from her fellow, however, disturbed her. What made it even worse was the thought that Macaiah might be on his side aswell; he was second-in-command after all.

"Macaiah, I'm sorry. What are we going to do?" she asked shyly, chancing a look at their leader. "If you don't think it's a good idea to rescue him, then I won't go on about it anymore. But... I think we should try."