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Most Nights

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Most Nights

Post by Cairrotine on 7/8/2017, 19:28

"Most nights, I don't know anymore."
-Some Nights, Fun.


It was another sleepless, dreary night. Marco stepped out of the tunnel leading to the Underground and into the cool evening air of Stohess. His face was tired, but the seemingly permanent smile never left his face as he walked along the road of the city. The brunette stuck his hands in the pockets of his worn out pants as he began to hum softly. His long eyelashes gently swept over his cheeks as he stared at the ground. If there were people staring at him, Marco didn't mind. Only his thoughts kept him company that night.

The soldier felt paranoid. He had just gotten back from an expedition a few hours ago, and this experience still had a toll on him, in spite of the fact that Marco had been in the Survey Corps for a while. He was physically tired, but his brain just would not stay silent. Before he had decided to go out, he had been tossing and turning in bed, mostly worrying about titans. He was still worrying, only this time, he was out in the open where people could see him. Marco cast a glance upward, then quickly looked down once again as he met the gaze of a few passing people. He was wary of strangers, as he did not want to start or get involved in a fight.

Why are you so scared?  A small voice in Marco's brain spoke. They're human, just like you. They won't hurt you unless you hurt them.

The brunette stopped in his tracks and shivered in response to the voice inside his head. He wasn't cold, as he had his scarf and his military jacket on. He was scared, though he wasn't sure what exactly was frightening him. The dark was most likely the culprit, as it slowly crept up on Marco, due to the lack of light being given off by the street lamps.

I should find somewhere more bright, the boy thought to himself.

He looked up once again, scanning the horizon for nearby buildings that were not yet closed. Much to his relief, Marco found a tavern. He walked to it swiftly. The moment he entered, the brunette collapsed on a chair by the door. He felt his aqua eyes close as he gave in to exhaustion.
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Re: Most Nights

Post by Alan Katlewande on 11/8/2017, 01:32

"...Yea, I got some. Lotsa hooded people wander 'round here. How am I s'posed to remember all of them?"
"Oh, you'll soon find that there are wonderful reasons to remember them~" said the girl, flashing a tempting smile.

Alan sighed into his drink from the other corner of the room. Hyda pulled the flirtation card too soon - it would give the tavern owner the wrong idea. Too much seduction, too little information.

Alan and Hyda were both taking on one of the smaller cases, one Alan begun long before the squad had taken shape. They were trying to identify the hooded figure from all those nights ago, who sneaked some 3DMGs to the entrance of the underground. Doing that could give them a better lead of what exactly happened that night.
Sadly, the rest of Alan's squad wasn't too keen on assisting with the case. Vindhelm saw no glory in it. Otto made some jest that next they'll be finding stray bunnies and stopping polluters. Peter just gave Alan his unwavering, unblinking stare and whispered no. Not that it mattered, really. It was a small investigation for now, and Alan had wanted to train Hyda for a long time. The young girl had the motivation to help in any way possible, all peppy and excited, but she truly lacked the necessary skill. Alan believed he could, in time, train her to become an excellent soldier.

Alan was sitting near the entrance of the tavern, just close as to hear the conversation the two were having. He was dressed in ragged clothing and his hair was mussed, and to anyone looking he would look like an everyday drunk, enjoying a drink. Not that he touched the vile drink - he detested alcohol.
As for Hyda, she wore a pretty plain dark-blue dress. It was simple, yet slightly charming. She could easily be mistaken for an everyday bachelorette, looking for suitors. The pair gave no sign that they knew each other, or were part of the same Military Police squad.
Alan was already a relatively experienced actor, easily blending into the scene. Hyda, however, didn't fully get accustomed to her role. Alan hoped nothing would surprise her, because then surely she would break character.
Speaking of character...

A soldier wandered into the tavern, then quickly collapsed onto a chair by the door. Alan was taken by surprise by the soldier's long hair, even though it was tied up. The man was seemingly exhausted. It wasn't uncommon for soldiers to roam taverns, especially after a mission, but this soldier seemed different, somehow. As if he was escaping something... or someone.
Alan tensed up. He hoped this soldier won't compromise his investigation by drawing in some ruffians and making the bartender lose focus. Alan decided that hoping wasn't enough - he needed to find out for himself.

The disguised Military Police captain was thankfully close enough to talk to the troubled scout. Approaching him all of a sudden might seem out-of-character for a drunkard out for a drink.
"Ya alright, boy?" Alan asked in a grizzled voice, trying to seem a bit in his cups.

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Re: Most Nights

Post by Cairrotine on 12/8/2017, 15:35

Exhausted as he was, Marco could not sleep as peacefully as he would have liked. Although he stayed relatively motionless, his brain would not be quiet. He was aware of the presence of strangers, of people that could be a potential threat to him. So when a voice spoke to him, Marco jolted awake, his aqua eyes wide with fear.

The first thing that the brunette noticed about the man who spoke to him was his grey eyes, which seemed to hold a soft expression in spite of the fact that he was probably drunk. Those eyes helped soothe the soldier's beating heart, although he was afraid of talking to strangers, especially drunks.

"I'm fine," he answered softly, analyzing the man as he spoke.

Marco noted that the man was seemed younger than him, but was also taller than him, as most people were. He had jet black hair, and yes, those grey eyes. He was dressed raggedly, as most people in the bar were, but something about his face told the soldier that this man was different. Perhaps it was because his features were soft, or -- again -- because of those eyes. The brunette had to look away so he wouldn't be captivated by the man's gorgeous orbs. His gaze flickered from his hands to the stranger. The soldier bit his lip nervously, unsure of what else to say or do.

Suddenly, a thought crossed the brunette's mind -- he had apple juice. He smiled gently, taking out his flask and opening it. He took a swig of the liquid, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the sweet taste that erupted in his taste buds. Then, he opened his eyes and looked at the man in front of him.

"W-what's your name?" he whispered, his long eyelashes fluttering as he stared at his hands.

Marco dared to look up at the man again. There they were again, those mesmerizing grey orbs. The soldier's heart began to beat faster once again. Why was he scared? This man didn't seem to be a typical drunk. What was Marco afraid of? Meeting new people? Making friends? Falling in love? All of the above?

The brunette smiled softly, trying not to seem so intimidated. His gaze flickered to the door of the bar, which had just opened. A blonde woman with her hair tied back in a ponytail was being pulled into a bar by a man in a suit with an undone, slightly rumpled cravat. They seemed drunk, but not as drunk as some of the people in the bar. They headed to the bartender, sitting next to a girl in a pretty dark blue dress. Marco noted that she was quite attractive, and also pretty flirty, judging by the reactions of the bartender.

The soldier returned his gaze to the man in front of him. He parted his lips slightly as he tried to avoid looking into those grey eyes. He took another drink from his flask, then began to play with a piece of his hair, which had escaped his ponytail. His hair was quite long, even compared to most of the girls he had met. He thought about cutting it a few times, but always pushed the thought away. “Different is cool” was always his excuse.

Different is cool, he thought to himself, as he looked at the not-so-typical drunk in front of him. Sure, he’s a stranger and he’s probably drunk, and he could take advantage of me, but he’s different, right?

Marco gave another smile -- a slightly more confident one -- and clasped his hands together.

Hopefully, not the bad kind of different.

The brunette tried to push the negative train of thought out of his mind, but it remained, threatening to consume his confidence.Still, the soldier fought this demon head on as he looked straight into those grey eyes with as much courage as he could muster.
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Re: Most Nights

Post by Alan Katlewande on 13/8/2017, 14:55

Alan quietly grew more and more nervous as he watched the scout's reaction. His words were reassuring enough. Friendly, even. However, his eyes kept darting away, kept escaping. Was something amiss? Could he see through his disguise? Was he not telling the truth?

The man was shy. There was no doubt about that. Everything from his body language, to the tone of his voice, emphasised this. His feminine features helped further strengthen this demeanor.
The way his hands were clamped... A vision of Marian showed up in his mind. Why now?
Alan mentally kicked himself. He needed to focus up.

As far as the young Military Police captain could see, the soldier was troubled, but otherwise fine. It could be that it was Alan who was making him uncomfortable - he did seem awfully shy, after all.
Alan was relieved that the man had not ill means for his operation, but at the same time, it seemed he had taken interest of him. Alan would have to play the part.
For now, at least.

"My name?" asked Alan, quickly tapping into the identity he had prepared beforehand "Name's Mitchell." he said with a dumb smirk, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
The smartest course of action would be to provoke the shy soldier until he grows so uncomfortable that he will leave. But...
Alan felt bad for the poor man. It wasn't his fault that on this specific night, they had to handle an investigation. What right did the Military Police have to disturb the Recon Corps?
Alan's thoughts were cut when he noticed the couple wandering towards Hyda and the bartender. He cursed internally. This could be a problem. Alan hoped the two won't demand a lot of attention, otherwise the bartender will lose interest in the flirtatious girl and the information will be delayed.
It appeared to Alan that he was right - the bartender fell too quickly to the flirtation game, and was getting interested in Hyda from a... Different angle. Alan could see she was getting a bit nervous. She was still playing the part, smiling and laughing and sending sly remarks, but she had trouble working in questions into their conversation.

The soldier. Right. Alan turned his attention back, hoping the soldier did not notice his abnormal interest in the blue-dressed girl. Hopefully he'd think Alan was into her or something shallow like that.
"I see yer a scout" Alan pretended to just notice that he has been talking to a soldier. His smile widened, looking a bit creepy "What's yer name, greencloak?"

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Re: Most Nights

Post by Cairrotine on 13/8/2017, 17:18

Mitchell, Marco took note of the name for future reference. His name is Mitchell.

He noted how the man smirked and wiped his hand on the back of his hand. He seemed a lot like the drunks in the bar, but at the same time, Marco knew he was different. Most people -- especially drunks--  didn’t bother to talk to the soldier, unless he was in their way.

He offered a smile in Mitchell’s direction, trying to maintain eye contact. Knowing his name calmed the aqua-eyed soldier a little. However, he noted that the man was looking at the bartender and the girl in a pretty blue dress. Or was he looking at the couple that had just arrived? The soldier wasn’t too sure. Either way, it was making him uneasy. Marco half expected some rogues to come in and start a fight. He really hoped Mitchell wasn’t one of those people. The brunette had bad experience with such rogues, coming from a home in the Underground, and he really did not want to relive those horrible memories.

He snapped back to reality just in time to notice that the drunk civilian had asked him a question.

“I’m Marco,” the soldier replied, struggling to keep his stutter out. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The brunette took another sip of his apple juice, trying to stay calm. He was smiling, but he was scared. He was pretty sure Mitchell could see through the facade he put up, but the soldier still tried to seem like everything around him was normal. He tried to pretend that he did not think that something was wrong. However, the air was thick with tension. Marco did not like the aura lurking about. He just wanted everything to be okay for one night.

Some nights I stay up cashing in my bad luck,
Some nights I call it a draw.
Some nights I wish that my lips could build a castle
Some nights I wish they’d just fall off.


The soldier did not understand what stimulated the words that had just popped into his head. It sounded a little like the poetry that he often read too much of, but for some reason, even the beauty of the poetry could not capture the emotion that the aqua-eyed boy envisioned. Marco imagined a melody with those words and that repeated phrase -- some nights. He even managed to mentally come up with some sort of harmony that matched the melody. The soldier would have hummed it right there, had he not been wary of the situation at hand.

Marco tilted his head slightly, looking at Mitchell curiously. He tried to study the man; to understand just what went on inside that brain. He spoke and looked like a drunk, but something about his body language was off. Was he looking for someone or something? Was he about to commit a crime? The aqua-eyed soldier tensed up, struggling to stay calm. He had to learn more about this man. He had to understand his intentions, whether good or bad. That way, Marco would know whether he could trust Mitchell or not. He could always run away if things went awry, right?

Right, the brunette told himself.

The soldier opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come out. He was frightened, frozen in place. Those grey eyes were drawing him in, seeming as though they were trying to suck in everything Marco was.

Say something, the boy told himself. You have to break the spell.

The brunette hunched his shoulders, hiding his face in his fringe. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be brave. He was as scared as when he was fighting titans, though this man was nowhere near a titan’s height. Marco bit his lip slightly.

Get yourself together, the soldier scolded himself as he hid his trembling hands under the table. Stop acting like everyone you meet is a titan.
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Re: Most Nights

Post by Alan Katlewande on 16/8/2017, 12:22

Alan watched Marco tense up more and more. He started worrying. Did he say something wrong? Was the scout completely insane? Whatever the case, it seemed the scout was eating himself up. Trying to say something, then obscuring his face. Alan felt such pity and sympathy towards the fellow soul.
And yet...
Even without looking, Alan could hear the drunken shouts of the couple at the bar. He could also hear Hyda's soft voice struggling to get the bartender's attention discreetly. He could hear her voice wavering. She needed help, and soon.

Alan considered the situation. First, he had to calm down the soldier - he was like to burst if Alan were tk make any sudden movement. It may not be the most tactical solution, but Alan felt too bad for the poor lad.
"Hey." he spoke quietly to Marco, in his normal voice. His expression turned from a drunken grin to a reassuring, earnest smile "Relax. Everything's fine. I can leave you be, if you want."
He turned quickly to look at the loud couple at the counter, then turned back to the shy scout.
"I'll need to go for a second. Try to enjoy the show, or ignore it. Whichever you'd preffer, Marco."
And with that, the disguised Military Police captain rose, and stumbled his way to the enfolding scene at the bartable.

"Stop it, Geraldt~" laughed the woman as her man hugged her from behind (Still holding a glass in one of his hands) and kissed her playfully on the neck.
Gerald rolled his head back and his laughter thundered across the otherwise quiet tavern.
The bartender looked at them, rather annoyed. Alan assumed he wanted to get back into the conversation with the blue-dressed temptress, but was far too distracted to do so properly. Alan decided to do the not-so-humble man a favor, and take care of his problem for him.

"Oi!" Alan called out, trying to find the exact right balance between drunk and friendly.
"Hmm?" The couple turned to him, interested in the new character.
Alan pointed a finger at them with his glass-holding hand, holding it up only for a bit before staggering back. "That's a pretty damsel you have there. How 'bout a drinking contest? Winner gets a smooch from that lovely." Alan grinned from ear to ear, like he'd seen Cora do so many times.
"What? No." a baffled look appeared on the drunk man's face as he turned back to the bartender.
"Aren't you man enough to face me in a simple gentleman's game?" shouted back Alan, with a hint of anger in his voice.
Any logical person wouldn't even consider such a proposal, but luckily for Alan the man's judgement was impaired.
"Come on," giggled the woman in his arms "Look how drunk he is! Dear, you'll be able to beat him easily!"
"Yea" responded Geraldt, though doubt was clearly showing on his eyes. Nevertheless, the man's masculinity has been challenged, and so he sloely walked to a table along with Alan, and his girl brought them drinks. As they walked away, Alan caught a quick glimpse of the bartender. He looked relieved enough that the couple was gone, and returned to flirt and chat with Hyda.
Alan smiled to himself. He found little was as satisfying as things going exactly to plan.


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Re: Most Nights

Post by Cairrotine on 17/8/2017, 18:27

Marco relaxed visibly as Mitchell spoke to him. His voice seemed void of any intoxication and was actually warm and friendly.

“Thank you,” the soldier replied more confidently. “I mean, you don't need to go away. I actually appreciate your company.”

The brunette was pretty sure the last part of his reply was drowned out by the loud laughter of the couple by the bar. Mitchell seemed to also be disturbed by them as he stood up and took his leave, approaching the two. Marco watched them apprehensively, clasping his hands together. Fortunately, they only appeared to be having a drinking contest, based on the snippets of conversation that drifted to the brunette's ears. He just hoped they wouldn't get too drunk, or at least not be the violent type of drunks.

Marco watched Mitchell most of the time. He found the man different from the typical drunks he had encountered. Now that he thought deeper about it, the brunette was certain that the grey-eyed civilian wasn't in the bar to drink. But what was his notice for staying? What was his motive for talking to Marco? Why did he seem to want the couple to be quiet?

The questions made the boy’s head hurt. He ran his fingers through his hair, sighing deeply. He was about to drift off once again, when he suddenly heard a chair creak.

“Seems suspicious, huh?”

Marco looked up, meeting the wide blue eyes of a wild-haired female. The patch on her jacket signified that she was a member of the Garrison. She gave a lopsided smile, perching her goggles on top of her head.

The brunette nodded, not knowing how else to reply. The girl continued to ramble, twirling a strand of red hair on her finger.

“That guy seems out of place and so does that girl,” she gestures to the lady in the dark blue dress. “The way they act; the way they talk -- if I didn’t know any better, I’d think that they were spies or something.”

The red-haired garrison girl laughed once more, taking a swig from her glass. She then wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her jacket, then held out her hand to the apprehensive scout.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. My name is Raina Smith. I’m not related to Commander Erwin, don’t worry,” she gave another tipsy smile. “I’m just your regular garrison gal with a little more of this noggin than I let on.”

She pointed to her head, then held out her hand once more. Marco hesitated, before taking her hand with a warm smile.

“M-marco Aberneyth,” he stuttered shyly. “It’s n-nice to meet you.”

“Awe, what a cutie,” Raina gushed, earning a blush from the young soldier. “Don’t worry about anything I just said, okay? I just like to blab.”

The brunette nodded, but continued to watch the redhead in front of him warily. Marco noted that her blue eyes were darting between Mitchell, the couple and the lady in blue. Her face was serious, in spite of her light-hearted tone. This began to make the soldier slightly more uneasy. Was a fight about to break out in the bar?

Raina suddenly stood up. The motion was abrupt, and caused Marco to let out a tiny yelp. The redhead gave a brief smile, placing her hand on the brown-haired boy’s own hand.

“Stay calm. Let me just try something.”

The soldier swallowed harshly, noting the mischievous glint in the garrison’s eyes as she stalked over to the bartender.

“Oi!” Marco cringed as Raina’s voice echoed through the entire bar. “Can’t anyone get good brandy in this ol’ hole?”
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Re: Most Nights

Post by Alan Katlewande on 18/8/2017, 00:53

The act by itself was, naturally, a magic trick. Not that poor Geraldt or his companion expected it. To the viewer, it would seem the two were furiously downing drinks, one after the other. To Alan, it was almost like a dance.
The flick of the wrist, the diversion of the tapping fingers, the hidden container... Alan had practiced for hours as training, and his efforts finally paid off.
In truth, he was filling up a hidden bag around his upper body, covered by his loose and ragged clothes. The drunk couple were none the wiser, and soon Geraldt toppled back in his chair, completely passed out from excess drinking.
The girl looked at her lover with gaping, terrified eyes. She silently turned her sight towards the drunk who she owed a kiss to.

Alan smiled a crooked grin at the lady. His mussled hair and baggy clothes made him look almost intimidating. He leaned in close, enough so he could whisper without anyone eavesdropping, and put his mouth by her ear.
"Get your filthy ragdoll out of here" he whispered coldly, sobriety clear in his voice "...And keep your damn kisses to yourself."
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, the woman grabbed the drunken Geraldt by the arm, and carried him out of the tavern. The stare she gave Alan showed confusion, anger, but more than anything - fear.

Only when they were gone did Alan notice the new nuisance - this time, it was a red-haired garrison soldier at the bar. Alan looked towards Hyda, for a sign that she has gotten the information they came for, but alas - her legs were still crossed. Alan sighed, knowing he had to buy more time. At this ridiculous rate, half of Stohess will grace the humble tavern with their presence before Hyda got what she came for.
Alan gave a quick look torwards Marco, who was still sitting by the entrance. He suddenly felt guilty for trashing the poor scout's night out with the operation, but a job was a job. He sighed and walked up to the loud redhead.

Even before talking to her, Alan could see something in the corner of her eye. She was clever, fox-like. Sharp people were harder to fool, so usually diplomacy was a better tactic than deception. These sort of people would do anything if they figured it was in their best interest... And if they chose to do it.
"Mind keeping yer voice down, luv?" Alan asked with the rough politeness of a drunk. In his head, gears were turning. The operation was getting more and more difficult to pull off. If this kept going, they'll have to call it off for the day. Alan was determined to succeed, and if that meant outplaying the red-haired rosepatch, that is exactly what he will do.

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Re: Most Nights

Post by Cairrotine on 19/8/2017, 02:09

Raina’s answer was a slight scoff and an eyeroll.

“Whacha gonna do about it?” she gave a sarcastic pout, taking a swig from her glass. “You gonna harm a garrison lass who just wants ta have fun?”

The redhead gave the civilian the same lopsided smile she had given Marco. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief and intellect -- the traits which made Raina the woman that she was. She was a troublemaker, but she never caused chaos without a reason. Her mission at the moment was to figure out why the not-so drunk man and the pretty lady in blue were at the bar. If she got into a fight, Raina wouldn’t care. She just wanted to unlock the mystery in the Stohess bar, as she had done in most suspicious situations. It would be hard to outsmart her, considering how the redhead was known for her wits. Her younger self was in the Military Police after all. However, that was all in the past. Present-day Raina now used her intelligence to attain a different goal.

The garrison woman let out a small ‘tch’ sound, folding her arms as she tore her gaze from the piercing grey eyes of the civilian that had just told her off. She went back to her drink, pretending to be more interested in it than in a conversation. But in reality, the redhead’s gears were turning. She had gotten the attention of the not-so drunk man. She just needed to get the attention of the flirtatious woman to test her hypothesis.

Raina pulled out a piece of paper from one of her jacket pockets. She then pretended to examine her other pockets before letting out a disgruntled sigh. The garrison nudged the blue-dressed temptress gently.

“Ya got a pencil?” she asked, flipping her hair with her free hand. “I need to jot down a couple ‘a important things.”

She faced the woman with a huge grin plastered on her face. At the same time, she kept her eye on Mitchell, watching for any violent reaction.


Meanwhile, Marco was still seated by the door, huddled against the wall. He watched Raina and Mitchell warily, praying to Wall Maria that a fight wouldn’t begin now. As it was, the brunette’s mind was already filled with conflict. Why was the grey-eyed civilian interfering with the people in the bar? Why was he interfering with everyone but the gorgeous seductress? As the train of thought ran through the soldier’s mind, he began to realize that Mitchell and the woman could be connected to each other.

“The way they act; the way they talk -- if I didn’t know any better, I’d think that they were spies or something.”

The brunette shuddered at the possibility. Spies meant conflict, conflict meant fighting and fighting meant hell. This was everything Marco wanted to avoid; the reason why he had escaped into the darkness of the night. But he couldn’t have his way -- peace was just not that easy to obtain. Everywhere the soldier went, there was violence of some sort, or at least a possibility. As much as he disliked it, Marco would have to accept that the world was cruel. Yet in a twisted sense, there was beauty in the cruelty.

The soldier thought back to his days before the military. He remembered what it was like to feel protected; to feel loved. As scared as he was of losing someone, Marco longed for that warmth to grace his heart once again. He longed to have a companion, a confidant, a savior… a friend. He longed to love and to be in love. Some people might have argued that love was stupid; that it was nothing more than a child’s game. Not Marco. The soldier knew that love was beautiful; the one consolation in the chaotic world. It was rare; it was a gem, and the brunette was afraid of it. He was afraid of talking to strangers; of building a friendship. How could he love if he was afraid of simple social interactions?

To a passersby, the aqua-eyed boy seemed intently focused on Mitchell and the garrison soldier. However, the brunette’s thoughts were elsewhere; drifting in a fantasy world. He found peace in his thoughts; in his own mind. The memory was bittersweet. Marco was happy on his own, yet he longed for a time when he was much happier.

The Stohess bar was a mix of culture. Different personalities added their own puzzle piece to the jigsaw puzzle that was that night. Each puzzle was unique; each puzzle had a different story. As the brunette soldier closed his eyes and drifted into his dreams, a thought graced his mind. Would tonight have a happy ending for everyone?
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Re: Most Nights

Post by Alan Katlewande on 19/8/2017, 23:29

Alan watched coldly through the veil of the drunk as the red-haired girl played her little game. She was hitting his metaphorical nerves, which made him want to do something... But what?
The Military Policeman did his best to put his emotions at bay. He has already concluded the girl was intentionally getting in the way of their operation. The two questions on hand were why she would do it, and what can Alan do to stop her from doing it. Alan found that breaking scenarios down to their key components helped decision-making immensely.

Alan saw three possible motives for the girl's actions. The most likely is that she noticed peculiar or suspicious actions performed by Hyda and him, and because of that took interest in what it was they were truly doing. She was testing Alan by performing all of these actions, in order to deduce what his true intentions were.
Another scenario, which is less likely but still certainly possible, was that she was somehow connected to the group they were researching - perhaps she was even the person they were looking for all along. She was doing what she was doing because she knew they were investigators looking to question her and possibly arrest her. While this made the clearest motive, Alan doubted anyone would know about the investigation to such lengths.
The final possibility was that... She was simply a prick, and getting in people's way brought her some form of satisfactions.

As for dealing with these motives...
If she was in fact part of the criminals they were investigating, arresting her, interrogating her or even getting her to become a double-agent would be very useful. That would even be useful enough to excuse the complete destruction of subtlety or cover - Alan wouldn't mind chasing her down and catching her if it meant finally having a real lead.
If she was just a curious sly fox, then an answer is all she will need. Thing is, the answer didn't even have to be true. He could take her aside and lie to her, and as long as the story made sense, she'd have no reason to believe he was lying.
And of course - if she was just an annoying prick, there was very little he could do, and he'd probably have to delay the operation for another day.

Now, it was just a game of figuring out who SHE was.
Thankfully, Alan's thoughts were abnormally quick as usual, so he already concluded this plan before she even approached Hyda.
When she nudged the incognito soldier, she jolted up in surprise. Hyda was more nervous than she was letting on, and any surprise could possibly make her fumble.
She looked at the grinning soldier with distaste on her face, and panic in her heart. She wasn't done yet. She wasn't prepared for this...
Thr bartender gave the redhead a slightly annoyed stare and left his stand to look for a pencil.
Hyda stood with her mouth open, wanting to say something, but not sure what. The way the girl was grinning, it was as if she was in on a joke Hyda didn't know about.
"I'd like to talk to you outside, please." a voice said quietly, solemn and sure.
Alan stood behind the garrison soldier, giving her a cool stare. The drunken smile was gone, and he stood up straight. Luckily, the bartender was still fetching the pencil, so he could not notice anything unusual with Alan.
Alan waited in anticipation for a response. Whatever the fox will day will give away her motives, or at least help narrow them down.

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Re: Most Nights

Post by Cairrotine on 20/8/2017, 18:58

The red-haired garrison observed the elegant girl’s reaction. She seemed jumpy, like she wasn’t expecting someone aside from the bartender to interact with her. This roused the soldier’s suspicions further -- was she hiding something? Was she a spy? Raina sipped her drink thoughtfully, her eyes darting around the room. She pulled out a stub of a charcoal from one of her pockets and played with it thoughtfully, maintaining her wide smile.

Suddenly, a voice snapped the woman out of her thoughts. She turned, meeting the slightly less friendly stare of the male civilian who had told her to lower her voice. Only, he did not look like the drunk that he had appeared to be. The way he looked at her and the way he stood confirmed Raina’s thoughts -- he was not in the bar for a drink. But what was his motive? The garrison woman decided that there was only one way to find out.

The redhead gave another goofy grin and a shrug, setting her glass on the table and grabbing the piece of paper. She then stood to her full height, towering over the civilian -- who was probably an official, as the woman deduced from his stance.

Raina rested a hand on her curvy structure, doing a little dance. The garrison woman tried to seem nonchalant, but she was silently observing the man in front of her. He seemed familiar; like someone she had known back in her Military Police days. The redhead’s smile faltered for a second, before she quickly plastered the jubilant expression back on, tapping the charcoal on the paper. To a regular onlooker, it would seem like a nervous habit. In reality, the gears of the garrison’s brain were whirring. She pictured the square of the cipher she used, quickly translating it into dots and dashes. Raina wasn’t sure if the Survey Corps used the code, but she hoped that the soldier sitting by the door was at least intelligent enough to decode the first and last half of the message she wrote. It was the most discreet way the garrison knew to convey the information at hand after all. She wrote as she trailed behind the “civilian”, then nudged the brunette soldier as inconspicuously as she could, dropping the note in his lap. Raina gave a brief smile before disappearing into the shadows of the night with the strange man.

Marco felt the red-haired garrison’s not-so-gentle touch on his arm and bolted up, sitting straighter. He looked at the woman just as she gave a brief smile, then opened the door and disappeared. The soldier's heart beat faster as he wondered what the action was for. Was he supposed to do something? He was off-duty, at least for the night. Was he in her way? Most probably. Marco was sitting by the door after all, a place he would have avoided, had he not been as exhausted as he was.

The brunette sighed deeply, closing his eyes as he ran his fingers through his fringe. It was only when he looked up once more that the aqua-eyed soldier noticed Mitchell's sudden absence. Marco crinkled his eyebrows in confusion. He hadn't heard the civilian leave. Was he really that lost in his own thoughts?

The boy bit down on his lip, reaching for his flask. Suddenly, his hand brushed against a texture that had previously not been on his lap before. Marco’s eyes widened and his lips parted. Was this from the garrison girl who had just passed by? Was it intended for him?

The soldier opened the note, quietly sucking on his bottom lip as he did this. He soon saw three lines of what seemed like a series of dots and dashes. Morse code. The aqua-eyed boy began reading, his eyebrows crinkling as he decoded the text.

You are the key, the first line read.

The words were simple, but the subliminal message was not. The soldier’s eyes moved on to the message below. Not only was it smudged, but the words that Marco decoded seemed a lot like gibberish.

nencfq ow od

If it was a language, it was alien to the soldier, even with his early exposure to multiple forms of literature. Was it a code embedded in the code? The brunette thought about this with a thoughtful hum. Even if this message wasn’t meant for him, Marco still took joy in figuring out puzzles. He decided that he would look up these words in the books in the library, once the building opened. With a satisfied sigh, the brunette moved on to the final set of words.  

Le chiffre indéchiffrable.

French. The indecipherable cipher.

What cipher? What could that possibly mean?

Marco stuck the note in his pocket, then took out a piece of paper and a pencil. He began decoding with the Caesar cipher, the only cipher that he did know, hoping to find an answer.
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Re: Most Nights

Post by Mitsuo Shimura on 20/8/2017, 23:17

Mitsuo approached the bar, covered in and smelling of a combination of sweat and grease. He had been tinkering all day and most of the night, doing little bits of work across his various on-going projects.

He was tired which one could seemingly tell by his appearance. The mechanic was not wearing his usual waistcoat or tie, his shirt was scruffy and his hair was a mess.

Mitsuo groggily made his way to the door. He would have entered the bar without stopping however he noticed two people standing outside.
The young Shimura noticed one of the two people looking familiar and, with a lot of squinting and a closer approach, noticed that the familiar person was one of his friends.

Mitsuo lumbered over to the two and raised his hand groggily raised his hand as a greeting which was followed by the words, "hey Alan."
His voice was coarse.

Mitsuo stopped within conversation distance but rocked on his feet as if he was going to pass out right then.
He smiled lazily looking from his friend to the stranger, "who's this?"

The young Shimura, being the exhausted mechanic that he was, did not notice or question the MP Captain's get-up. He did quickly conclude that his friend was here for a drink, just like he was.

//OOC: Hope you don't mind my joining in! ^^;
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Re: Most Nights

Post by Alan Katlewande on 21/8/2017, 11:21

Alan looked on unfliching as the woman stared him down. He had just about enough of unwelcome surprises for one night. When she grudgingly decided to follow him, he didn't sway, though his mind did relax. This greatly increaced the chances she was just a curious creature. If she were a troublesome bugger, she'd have refused anything he offered or tried to do, and if she suspected him of being an undercover cop investigating her, there'd be little reason for her to go to a place where she is more defenseless.
Alan led the red haired woman through the bar, and through the door. He paid little mind to Marco as he passed him, though he did hope his night wouldn't yield any more stressful situations.

When they were outside, Alan leaned on a large crate outside the tavern. The warm-yellow light emitted from the window behind him engulfed his silhouette, though his stern expression was clearly visible.
"I can see you noticed something was off there in the tavern. Very good, that our Military is so well disciplined. I mean, not all of you. That fool by the door wouldn't be able to recognize a titan if he saw one." Alan looked over to the left, more discipline than instinct.
"You likely have questions stirring in that head of yours. I'll explain, as long as you refrain getting in our way."
He took a deep breath, to show how uncomfortable he was with the idea.
"That lady in there... Might have seemed familiar to you. She is Amilia vi Rauco. Yes, THAT vi Rauco." he paused for dramatic effect. He knew Auth wouldn't mind him using his family's name. If anything, he'd find it funny.
"Her family fortune makes her a prime target for kidnapping, made worse by her looks." the disguised policeman explained, cold grey eyes watching for a reaction "It's impossible for her to go and enjoy a night out... Without being undercover. This is why I, Roberto Flecht, her personal bodyguard, trail behind her and get rid of any... Disturbances."
Alan finished his elaborate ruse, and sighed.
"Your final question is probably why I told you." Alan gave the red-head a smile "I could see your brain working, and you would've kept snooping until you got your answer. You're a member of the Garrison. You're not likely to provoke her, and if you should, I know enough about you by now to see you to a cell before day breaks."

Alan stayed silent for a while, brushing his hair back and staring. He wondered if the red-haired girl bought his lies.
"Hey, Alan." a voice called out.
Alan turned, and there was Mitsuo.
His heart sank. Out of ANYONE who could recognize him... It had to be Mitsuo. He was as subtle as a cannonball flying through the air.
Alan's eyes darted from Mitsuo to the redhead. From the look in her eye, Alan could see she already understood what had happened. His lie was caught, and soon so will his cover be completely blown.
He has lost the game.
Alan sighed and looked at Mitsuo, fuming with anger.
"Please think twice of approaching me when you see me UNDER COVER, Mitsuo." Alan said through gritted teeth. His only hope was that he managed tk buy Hyda enough time.

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Re: Most Nights

Post by Cairrotine on 21/8/2017, 15:10

Raina raised an inquisitive eyebrow as she listened to the civilian talk. The more he talked, the more she was certain that it was a ruse. This man, who claimed to be a certain Roberto Flecht, seemed to be neither a civilian nor bodyguard. He seemed far too intelligent -- the garrison girl could see it in his eyes. He was probably an official, or at least a soldier. He was not from the garrison, as Raina would know if she saw anyone like that in the drunken mess that was her division. Yet a thought contradicted the redhead’s thoughts -- he seemed far too familiar. Suddenly, a voice spoke, breaking the tense and slightly poetic atmosphere.

“Hey Alan.”

The woman turned to see the silhouette of a young man, who she recognized as the son of the Survey Corps mechanic, Arata Shimura. Talk about them drifted around town to the point that even Raina’s disconnected mother knew the family. Not that the redhead knew him personally. Alan, on the other hand…

The garrison’s smile morphed into more of a smirk as she returned her gaze to the man, who was now telling the young Shimura off for blowing his cover. Although the lighting was dim, Raina had a good image of his face in the bar. Soft-featured, almost innocent, with a look of intelligence dancing in his light grey orbs. The garrison woman knew him, not only because they were both Military Police, but also because she watched him train. As creepy as it sounded, it was the truth. Raina knew the Unicorn. The question was, did Alan know her?

The woman let out a chuckle, which quickly morphed into a full blown laugh. Even as the door of the bar opened and a weary, long-haired soldier stepped out into the night, Raina’s laughter could not be interrupted. She held on to her stomach, seeming to be demented by her jubilance.

“Alan Katlewande,” she spoke in between bursts of laughter. “What a pleasant surprise.”

The words the garrison woman spoke surprised and slightly frightened Marco. His eyes widened as he let the door close behind him with a bang. He jumped as his own motion scared him, then stuffed his shaking hands in his pockets, processing what he had just heard.

Alan Katlewande? Who is that? the brunette thought to himself.

The brunette looked at the three silhouettes before him. The closest one to where he was standing was Mitchell, the civilian who had spoken to him a while back. The loud one who towered over everyone was probably Raina, judging by her rough voice. The third person was further away, making it harder for the soldier to see them. He moved closer, so he was right behind Mitchell and almost concealed by the large crate the man was leaning on.

“So, little unicorn,” the garrison woman continued, moving closer to the man near Marco. “Undercover, eh? One o’ those silly missions the MP likes to give their soldiers?”

The woman no longer seemed like the relaxed garrison soldier Marco had met in the bar. While he knew she was intelligent -- she had written the note, part of which he could not decipher -- her current expression portrayed more than that. It was beyond sly; almost devilish. It was as if she knew something no one else did, and it scared the brunette.  

Marco assumed an alert stance, trying to blink the sleepiness from his eyes. He had to be ready for conflict, should the need arise. Not that it was likely to happen, since based on what he heard, the soldier knew that a member of the Military Police was there. In fact, Marco had spoken to that man. He was the one with an innocent face and captivating grey eyes. His name was Mitchell, or at least that’s what he told the boy. But the soldier suspected that he had lied about that, as he had faked the fact that he was a drunk civilian as well.

Mitchell, the brunette thought, as he gazed at the back of the man in front of him. Who are you, really?
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Re: Most Nights

Post by Mitsuo Shimura on 21/8/2017, 15:43

Mitsuo flashed an expression of confusion as Alan started telling him off.
He was about to speak but was cut off by Raina's laughter.
The young Shimura's face expressed confusion again but this time for a little longer.

The mechanic took a moment to regain his sleepy thoughts and was about to start speaking again, only to be cut off once more by the slamming of the door.
Mitsuo looked at the tavern enterance and noticed Marco, only being able to notice some of his features in the dark.

"Ok, seriously," Mitsuo bursted out, "who are these guys? Or are they irrelevant to you, Alan?"
He glanced at his friend for an answer as he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, "also, you're undecover!? When did you start doing that? And what for?"

Mitsuo shifted his eyes to look at every individual around him. His eyes squinted as he tried to focus in the dark but made him look somewhat threatening with his scruffy appearance, as if he just came from a fight.

The mechanic sighed, "I apologise Alan for blowing your cover. I was too tired and didn't realise your costume. It didn't cross my mind."
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Re: Most Nights

Post by Lingwasta Manager on 22/8/2017, 08:01

//OOC: Ayyy~ You guys don't mind me jumping in, right?

He would've been sleeping, but he couldn't. The last letter he had received from his family concerned him. He'd force his eyelids shut, but they'd just slowly peel open again. He tried many things to help him sleep. Covering his ears with his pillow to drown out any outside noises proved useless. Changing his sleeping position never worked. Hell, the man even tried counting sheep, but of course, it was futile. And he gave up all hope after listening to his mother's music box, which didn't send him into slumber, despite it working every other sleepless night.
His grandfather fell ill. They think it's influenza. The man that taught him almost everything he knew is sick. And there is a high chance that it was to be passed on to the rest of the Nevnski family.
Kir sat in his bed, leaning forward with his hands holding up his head. He was worried half to death, needless to say.
"Damn," he cursed under his breath. There was always one more option available. It had to work. Kir reached over to the wooden nightstand next to his bed. The darkness around him prevented him from seeing his surroundings. He awkwardly, yet cautiously, groped around. His fingers bumped into something cold and metallic, almost sending it off the table. It had a tall, curved shape. The corners of his mouth curled up. Perfect, he thought.
His fingers wrapped around his flask. He lifted it from the stand. It felt a little light. He shook it, feeling the sloshing of the content inside. It was nearly empty.
His smile faded. Damn. Now he had to leave the comfort of his room to get a drink.

The taps of his knee-high boots against the stone road echoed throughout the street. Kir didn't see anyone out, save for the few local drunks staggering home. But those were only guesses. The unsteady light emitted from the street lamps just illuminated bright enough for him to make out silhouettes.
He exhaled through his nose. Every booze joint he knew was closed for the night, forcing him to travel along roads he was foreign to. He only knew his usual patrol route.
The lamplight shone upon his uniform every time he walked by a light post. The green unicorn on his tan waist jacket glimmered in the weak glow. The shiny green thread faintly reflected the soft light.
Kir only adorned his MP outfit to (hopefully) get a discount on drinks. Not like he brought a lot of money with him anyway.
His hazel eyes wandered the buildings lining the street. The windows were blocked by curtains and shutters. No light seeped out. Almost everyone was sound asleep. The shops and bars he scanned all bore a sign of its own. All with the same word on it.
Closed. Closed. Closed.
Kir sighed. He ought to give up his search. No one was open. He kicked an empty bottle on the ground. It slid across the hard road. He took it as a mockery. The discarded wine bottle was laughing at him, telling him that he was never going to get a drink. Never going to fall asleep.
The bottle slowly spun to a stop at the center of a crossroad. The neck pointed down the road heading left. Kir looked, as he felt compelled to. His eyes lit up at the sight of lights coming from a building. The bottle wasn't cackling at his meaningless journey. It was cheering him on and giving him directions. Kir thanked the glassy gods and made his way down the dim street.

Kir neared the tavern. It was still open, to his luck. Even if the sound of shouting - between what, a few guys and a girl? - seemed like something was going down between some hooligans. He didn't listen to anything they were saying. It wasn't his business. He was off-duty, anyway.
God, he hoped he didn't have to intervene.
Kir paid them no mind, not even giving them as much as a glance over the shoulder, as he pushed open the front doors and walked into the shining beacon of hope.
He squinted. The light was too bright for this time of night. His eyes quickly adjusted. His hand reached up toward his forehead and slid it along his cranium, slicking any loose strands of hair back into place. His nearly-white locks shone in the light. Once again, a tiny smile graced his lips; one of gratitude.
The place was relatively empty. Perfect for a quiet night. The Nevnski boy's feet seemed to move on their own, toward the bar. He patted his jacket's chest pocket, confirming his empty flask was still there.
He seated himself on a stool in front of the bar, eyes focused on a girl in a blue dress. Kir slouched forward, using his elbows to support his upper body. He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the counter's top, intending on getting the bar owner's attention.

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Re: Most Nights

Post by Alan Katlewande on 22/8/2017, 18:50

It was the hair. The hair was the thing that bothered Alan the most. The red bouncing merrily around the goggles as the sly woman in front of him laughed at his misfortune.
Or at least, so he thought. As much as Alan would hate to to admit, his emotions got the better of him. He was angry at Mitsuo for blowing his cover, and the Garrison wench was fanning the flames higher.
The sad truth was, that above all else Alan was angry at himself for losing. He didn't feel responsible for it, but regardless he felt mad that he wasn't able to outsmart the witty Garrison soldier. How was he supposed to outsmart criminals and the corrupt if he couldn't do this basic thing?
As Alan stared at the woman taunting him, a quiet grey storm brewed in his eyes. Blood rushed to his otherwise pale face, yet the captain made no move.
Alan may have been young and naive, but he was wise far beyond his age. Even if the game was lost, they still needed to pick up the pieces. Far easier to do that when he doesn't flip the game board.
It was time to admit defeat.

"Yes, I was undercover." Alan answered quietly, glaring at the approaching redhead with a sullen stare, but looking her in the eyes nonetheless "And this mission was one of my personal investigations."
Alan did not like her mocking tone, but did not feel that berating her would help him in any way.
He looked past her, at Mitsuo. He was still angry with him, but he couldn't blame his friend for his own poor disguise.
"This lass is just a soldier I met in the bar." he stated, looking pretty gloom.
"And if you were to know when and why I go undercover, it wouldn't be much of a secretive operation, now would it?"
It was only then that Alan realized Mitsuo had said 'These guys'. There must be someone else here.
The young captain looked over his shoulder, and noticed the brunette from before.
"Oh, great" he muttered.

"I'm just going to assume you heard all of that" the captain re-adjusted his glasses "I do apologize for earlier, but I fear we have not been properly introduced yet."
Alan brushed up the rags he was wearing, then stuck out a hand "I'm Captain Alan Katlewande of the Military Police, and I am sorry for disturbing your otherwise calm night."
It was then that Alan caught sight of another figure approaching the tavern. When he entered, he paid them no mind, but to Alan it was unmistakable - the MP jacket, that beautiful medium-lengthed blonde hair. Kir was out again for a drink.
Alan frowned, the databank of Military Policemen in his head ticking. Kir was one of the better soldiers to grace the Military Police, but his drinking habits were becoming more and more of a problem.
Regardless, no doubt he was looking for a drink, which meant he'd be chatting up the bartender. Alan thought it'd be best to check that he isn't taking too much attention - not that he'd be able to really stop him. Kir would recognize him faster than Mitsuo.

"Excuse me, if you would" Alan gave an apologetic smile to Marco and trailed the blonde Policeman. Alan quietly entered the bar a few moments after Kir, taking great care to draw no attention.
However, he stopped at the doorway, a smile appearing on his face. It was the first genuine smile on his face that night.
Hyda's legs were parallel. She got a lead. They were done for the night.
Alan stepped back out of the tavern, straightening up his ragged clothes. He pulled a ribbon out of his pocket and began tying it back up in a ponytail, like he normally does.
"As much as it was fun talking to you, I do have other matters to attend to tonight, so I will see you around."
Alan gave the group a small bow, looking into the redhead's eyes. His stormy eyes gave no sign, but in truth he'd been impressed by her sly capabilities. Perhaps he'd visit her some time for... Other business.
And with that, the young captain turned and sunk into the darkness, his head lost in thought.

Hyda was toying with her drink, a small smile on her lips. She got what they came for - a name. But why stop here? The night was still young, and the tavern was warm and cozy. She was done with work for the night, and the captain told her she could take the day off tomorrow.
To her left, a soldier sat down and tapped the table. She turned, and smiled. She has seen this soldier before, passing by in the corridor of the MP headquarters. She always liked build.
"Brew's pretty good." she said simply, as a conversation starter. She looked at him with a relaxed expression.

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Re: Most Nights

Post by Lingwasta Manager on 23/8/2017, 01:03

His eyes quickly shot forward.
Oh god, he thought, she better not have seen me look at her.
He swore he saw that face before, at least once. Where? The HQ? She couldn't be an MP. Kir shook the thoughts out of his head. He just assumed that she was a stranger that looked alike to a soldier. Yeah, that had to be it.
Kir's fingers were now tapping the counter at a faster rate. He came here for one thing and one thing only. And he wanted to get out as soon as he could.
He never really was good with women. It made him nervous, actually. And not in a cute way.
Dear god, she's looking at him. His fast finger tapping turned into an impatient knock on the wooden bar top.

"Brew's pretty good," she said.

Kir only nodded and grunted in acknowledgment to her comment. He just wanted to get something and pass out back in his warm bed.
"Something stiff, please," he rudely demanded to the man behind the counter. "And leave the bottle."
One of his hands went up to his chest pocket and fished out his flask. He unscrewed the lid and placed it on the bar. Next, he dug in his other pocket, pulling out a little funnel, no doubt for refilling his booze-holding friend. He fiddled with it, rolling it between his fingers and  clasping his hand around it.
Kir sat with a straight face, looking down at the wooden surface in front of him. Only the calming chimes in a melodic tune of his music box filled his mind.

Granddad's sick, he mentally told himself for the hundredth time. He could always find a clinic and ask for a prescription of whatever and send it to his family. If he wasn't too hungover the next day, that is. Ivan was why he drank. The crazy old man gave him some hard liquor during one of his birthdays.
His habit turned into a slight problem after he left home. But then, it's only a problem when he runs out.

Once again, Kir tapped his fingertips against the bar, doing his best to wait patiently.

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Re: Most Nights

Post by Cairrotine on 24/8/2017, 14:32

Alan Katlewande, the name whirled around Marco’s head like a never-ending cyclone. Alan Katlewande, Military Police Captain.

The soldier was in a slight stupor of confusion. The amount of information he had just received in the course of less than a hour stunned him. But he managed to keep enough touch to reality to process the captain holding out his hand. He smiled, shaking Alan’s hand with a warm smile on his face. It felt good to know the truth. More importantly, it was a relief for Marco to know that his new acquaintance was a figure of authority. It made the soldier feel safer around him. Not that Alan gave him a reason to be frightened, but how else could the soldier explain his increasing heart rate and flushed face? How else could he explain the stutter that came out far too much? Marco was awkward around strangers, but never to this extent.

Why? He asked himself. What is this feeling?

It's lo--

Nope. Nu-uh. Not at all, Marco cut his own thoughts off with a shake of his head. I barely even know him.

The brunette had never felt attraction, but he had been in love. He loved his parents, though he barely knew them. He loved his sister -- in fact, the memory of her still remained in the 3DMG that he used. He loved Louisa. He trusted her more than he trusted himself. For Marco, to love someone meant to commit himself to them. How could he commit himself to a stranger?

He's not a stranger, you know his name.


But do I know anything else? Do I know his past? Do I know his personality? Do I even know if he will kill me within the next hour? No. Therefore, I don't know him.


The soldier watched as Alan took his leave and returned to the bar. The smile on his face had faded and his eyebrows were now scrunched together. He was arguing with himself, and the disagreement was far from over.

I don't want to love him. I can't love him!

Marco closed his eyes in an attempt to sort out his thoughts. His subconscious brought him back to the door and to the chair where he had been sitting. The brunette sat as stiff as a board, hands gripping the table tensely. To think of doing something that he was absolutely terrified of scared him senseless.  

Please stop. You're scaring me.

You're the only one scaring yourself. You're just afraid to admit that you are in love again.


Marco opened his eyes, staring straight ahead.

You know that it's true. Falling in love… trusting someone is your greatest fear. This is why you're alone. This is why you can't maintain a relationship with anyone.

I can. I will. I'm not afraid!

Then get up and prove it!

Marco stood up, struggling to maintain balance on his shaking limbs. He turned his attention to the busier part of the bar. He observed the people sitting there and the general atmosphere. It seemed peaceful, almost homey. The soldier took one step closer. Then another. And another. He just kept in taking steps until he was close enough to hear the conversation taking place. Then, he hesitated.

I don't drink, the thought suddenly crossed his mind. What reason do I have for being here?

Think of something.

Marco’s hand rested on his flask of apple juice. A small smile appeared on his face as he approached the counter and slid into a chair.

“Apple juice, please,” he said, placing a coin on the counter.

Meanwhile, Raina was still standing outside the tavern. Her arms were folded and her mind was vacant. Her features were neutral; not betraying anything she was thinking or feeling. She thought about the way Alan held her gaze before he entered the bar. She thought the past, namely the days when she watched him train. She wondered how he had ended up becoming a captain at such a young age.

The garrison woman let out a sigh, uncrossing her arms. She was done with her “investigation” and she just wanted to have a good night. She turned to the only other person who remained outside with her -- the young Shimura. The redhead decided to start a conversation.

“Name’s Raina,” she approached him and held out a hand. “What brings you here on this fine evening?”
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Re: Most Nights

Post by Mitsuo Shimura on 26/8/2017, 00:24

Mitsuo shook Raina's hand and have a goofy smile, "Mitsuo Shimura, nice to meet you."
He paused for a moment.
"I'm here to have a drink to relax myself from working most of the day, care to join me?"
He used a hand to direct his new acquaintance to the tavern door.
He took another pause before heading into the tavern himself.
He continued speaking to try and keep the conversation going, "I work as a mehanic, you see. At Shimura Works, if you've heard of it. I'm a very busy man with the amount of projects I have to work on."

Mitsuo opened the door to the tavern to allow the sound to fill out into the street. The young Shimura stood in the doorway, looking at Raina and waiting patiently for her.
"You coming?"
He spoke with a tired tone.
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Re: Most Nights

Post by Alan Katlewande on 26/8/2017, 14:14

Hyda couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed by Kir's response. From the way he ordered a drink, to the lack of eye contact, it all seemed to scream 'Go away, you ugly cow'. Hyda didn't like being called ugly, even if it was her head saying that.
Kir has officially been labeled 'a dick' by her.
She returned to her drink, only to see the bartender. His sly smile and suggestive eyes repusled her. Needless to say, she probably had flirted with him far more than she should have.
The young policewoman figured it'd be best to leave before anything bad happens. Her buzz was almost immediately killed by the unfriendly drinker and the slimy bartender.
She gave one sullen look at Kir before turning snd leaving the stool. Why did he reject her? Was she not good enough? Were her good lucks also a fabrication of her mind, just like all her life achievements?
It was her dad's fault. He always worked behind the scenes, tipping people off and bending rules in order to make her feel special. Well, she did feel special. She felt like she had a special grudge towards her dad.

Hyda shook her head as she stood up, and downed the rest of her drink in one fell swoop. She elegantly made her way out of the bar, passing by a strange long-haired soldier. It was, however, the person behind him that drew her attention...
The grease on his arms. The peculiar clothing. There was no doubt about it - it was the Young Shimura.
Hyda never cared for tinkerers, but she did know that Mitsuo was a friend of Alan's. Perhaps she could finally get some dirt on who her mysterious captain really is? What is his story, what are his motivations.
"Hey," she flashed a smile at the young mechanic, throwing her hair back with one hand "You're that Shimura lad, aren't you?"
She really hoped he'd answer her call. She wasn't ready to deal with more rejections today.

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Re: Most Nights

Post by Cairrotine on 28/8/2017, 13:03

Raina smiled back at Mitsuo as they shook hands. He seemed like the kind of person which she would quickly take a liking to, with his easygoing nature. She followed him inside the tavern, where she saw the pretty lass from earlier.

“You’re that Shimura lad, aren’t you?” she asked, flashing a smile at Mitsuo.

“You’re that pretty girl, aren’t you?” the garrison girl answered, giving a lopsided smile back.

Raina laughed slightly, folding her arms. She let her vision wander around the bar to wear Marco, Alan and Kir were sitting.

The brown-haired soldier was clutching the glass of apple juice that he had received from the bartender. He was relieved to find the drink sweet, since the apple juice that usually came whenever he ordered it in the bar was usually sour, or laced with alcohol. However, he found that another thought was bothering him, and that was the fact that he was in close proximity with the object of his affection, Alan Katlewande. His mind was tormenting him with words that he never was going to say and feelings he would never admit.

Go away thoughts, go away emotions. Go away!

Marco jumped at the sound of his own voice. His cheeks quickly transformed into a shade similar to the rose on the garrison patch as he realized that he had voiced his thoughts. He quickly avoided the gaze of everyone in the room, focusing on the drink in his hand.

“I don’t mean that you should go away, of course,” Marco quietly mumbled, hiding his face in his hair. “I just mean… never mind.”

The brunette cursed at himself for being so careless. In the course of one night, he had managed to embarrass himself multiple times. To make matters worse, it had to be for the stupidest of reasons -- an emotion that he had never felt before that night. He had never felt that way until he had looked into those pale grey eyes. He had never felt that way until he shook that soft, warm hand and came to a realization. He realized that it didn’t matter if the soft-featured man was Alan, Mitchell or whatever name he chose to use at the moment. It didn’t matter if he was a drunk civilian or a dignified Military Police. Who he was to Marco was more than a name, more than a title. It was perhaps even more than anything the walled world could offer the brunette. It was like fighting a 60 feet colossal titan -- heart-racing, earth-shattering and life changing.

Marco realized that he was transformed into another being, much like the identity he struggled to be whenever he was on a mission. Only this time, the titan was only a few inches taller than the brunette. Only this time, the titan was, without a doubt, less hostile. But the concept was still similar. Marco was afraid, amazed, captivated, appalled, stricken -- he could use his entire vocabulary up and he still wouldn’t be able to find the right word for it.  The closest he had come was the word ‘paradox’.

There is another word, his mind argued. You are in love.

No, I most certainly am not!

It was half true. To love meant to trust someone. To love meant to know someone like the back of one’s hand. To love meant to be comfortable around someone. To love meant that he would not be able to let go of that person easily.

Marco trusted Alan. The man was a Military Police after all. The brunette knew that he was safe under the watch of the unicorn-patched men. But he did not know the young man. They had just met, after all, and were virtually strangers to each other. The soldier was also not at all comfortable around Alan. His heart beat way too fast and he always stumbled over his words. Yet he was attached to the young man. The aqua-eyed boy knew that he wouldn’t be forgetting the grey-eyed Military Policeman any time soon. He would look for him in every crowd; in every group of unicorn-patched men that he would come across. Alan’s soft features, his friendly but stern expression and those grey eyes were unforgettable.

Marco was in love, but at the same time, he was not in love. He was in paradox with Alan, he decided, as he took a huge gulp of apple juice. It sounded stupid; it sounded wrong, but it was true. There was no other word that could describe how the confused soldier felt.  

Paradox, the word fluttered around Marco’s mind as he looked over at the Military Police Captain. I’m in paradox with you, Alan Katlewande.
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Re: Most Nights

Post by Mitsuo Shimura on 2/9/2017, 20:33

Mitsuo glanced at Raina as she shot the question back at the girl in blue.

When a silence started to hover, Mitsuo coughed and began to speak.
"Yes, I am. Mitsuo Shimura, at your service, and who may you be?"
Mitsuo gave a jokingly slight bow when he said 'at your service' for conversational effect.

"Me and my acquaintance here were just about to head in for a drink if you would like to join us."
The young Shimura pointed inside, towards the bar before slowly making his way over to it.

"I have a a couple of questions for each of you but I think a chat over a drink would be better, no?"

At that exact moment Mitsuo had arrived at the bar and gained the bartender's attention by a small wave.
"Glass of whiskey, please. Accompanied by the bottle."

He turned to the girls, "what will you two be having? I'll pay."
He spoke softly.
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Re: Most Nights

Post by Alan Katlewande on 4/9/2017, 02:42

Hyda's smile faltered as the red-haired girl replied. She may have called her 'pretty', but her smile spoke of a different song. The young policewoman couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something she just didn't like in the Garrison's eyes. She found them... cloudy.
That reminded her of Alan. He too had rather 'cloudy' eyes, but with him it was different. He may be mysterious, and manipulative, and plotting, but he always wanted to do the right thing. Hyda felt that she could trust he captain, even if she never truly understood him... or even learned of his story.
But now things were different. Mitsuo was here. He could spill the beans, finally shed some light on the secretive, stormy-eyed captain.

Hyda glared at the two for a brief moment, caught in a dilemma. It was finally her time off, and she was not intending to spend it with people she didn't like. Her social energies for the night were mostly spent, anyway. And yet, opportunity was so close, she could almost taste it. She couldn't wait to tell the rest of the team. Peter would no doubt find anything regarding Alan very interesting, though it was always hard to tell with his expressionless, silent gaze. Otto would surely make some witty, cynical remark about her obsession with the captain, but would be interested to know all the same, and simple Vindhelm would not even hide his curiosity on the matter. It was one of the team's favorite passtimes to gossip about Alan when he was away.

It was decided. Hyda accepted her fate, and decided to take one for the team. She would reluctantly hang out with the mechanic and his redhaired companion, in order to uncover the secrets of her captain's past.
For the team, of course. It's not like she cared or anything.
"I'm..." Hyda muttered, remembering that she has been using a fake name until now. It would be most unwise to start blatantly using her real name now, because that may catch some unwanted attention.
"I'm... an acquaintance of Alan." she finally replied, simply.
She slowly trailed behind the mechanic, slightly repulsed by his greasy odor. It wasn't a bad smell, just the thought of hard labor that disgusted her in some way. The young blonde eyed the redhead uneasily, feeling slightly threatened. She hoped that she wouldn't ask any questions she wouldn't be able to answer.

Hyda sat by Mitsuo, legs crossed and arms folded above them. Her pale-blue eyes were fully diverted to him, in order to make him feel more comfortable.
"Oh, no drinks, please." Hyda said, smiling shyly.
"So what brings the likes of you out here?" she asked Mitsuo, listening intently. She had to put him at ease before asking about Alan, and people loved to talk about themselves.

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Re: Most Nights

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