Fantasy Bound by the Light (Completed)

[ArcticFox]

Margaret Blackwood; 26; Veteran Infiltration Specialist
​

Blinking the dirt out of her eyes she catches a blurred, tilted vision of a Vlaski mech stomping along the bank. Steam pours from its crevasses like fog. The head swivels, the headlights passing over her position, but the feet not stopping its progress. The mech continues on in pursuit of a more attractive target. They are behind enemy lines now. Lieutenant Pierce's body next to her is unmoving, though he still draws breath.

"How many fingers?" She asks, holding up her hand.
"Two...?" He rasps. "Maybe three."

The mission was designed to fail from the start, she realises that now, though it is too late. Breaking into a Vlaski prison. Taking on Lighteaters. For a handful of captured soldiers. No one in their right mind signed up for it. Perhaps she had a deathwish.

"At least I'm dying out here... instead of there..." Lieutenant murmurs, his voice weak and breaking. Perhaps it was worth it. If only to give him this one last moment of peace.

To think that, under the control of Vlaski aristocrats, their serfs are still stuck in superstitious dark ages where they are trained to see the sun-touched as blessed and deserving of reverence. Even when the sun-touched drain the life from their bodies. Thankfully Mercia broke the power of its Sun Temples long ago, otherwise it might have suffered the same fate.

Before she can think what to say to the Lieutenant, artillery roasts almost overhead and she nearly jumps out of her skin. A hail of bullets hits the lip of the ravine. Boulders pour down like waterfall, too fast for her to run or shield the Lieutenant - the last thing she sees before her vision goes black is the cascade of stones striking his fragile form.

Margaret gasped awake, heart hammering, in her own bed in Kingsford, Mercia's capital city. It was only a nightmare. A realistic nightmare. But it was the year of 1885 and the cannons have been silent for almost three years. She was awoken by a very real sound, though. Coming from the doors of her room. A knocking.

"Blackwood? You are late again." It was the familiar voice of her flatmate. Her colleague. David Finch.

Yes. It was the year of 1885 and Margaret was an honourably discharged veteran of the Mercian Imperial Army. At least on paper. In reality her role was far more interesting. Even though the war between Vlask and Mercia had ended, the Vlaski nobles were still not intent on stopping their every effort. But the same went for Margaret. She was still a soldier for her Kingdom, albeit a secret one, working for Woodsworth's Detective Agency, which was more of a spy force in charge of detecting and spoiling Vlaski plots before they were able to poise a real threat for the Kingdom.

"I've sent for a cab." Mr Finch called again. "It will arrive in five. Get dressed."

- Be friendly.
- Be hostile.
- Be dismissive.

 

[Ezri]

It was difficult for Margaret to focus on her flatmate's words as the images from her dream faded away. As easy as it would be to complain about the rude awakening, she was almost glad for it. She sighed and grabbed her glasses from her nightstand, a crease already forming on her brow. It was vexing; she lived through that war once already, so how long would she have to keep reliving it? But a nightmare was just a dream, after all -- nothing worth dwelling on now. The waking world would not wait.

"Don't sound so bothered, Finch!" she called to him through the door, rolling out of bed pulling off her night clothes as fast as possible. Five minutes was barely enough time, but it should be alright if she moved quickly. All she had to do was pull on her work clothes and tie her hair back -- the utilitarian look was more than enough for her job. She attempted to do both at the same time, sounding confident as she spoke despite her questionable success. "No matter how often I'm late, everything always seems to work out fine. Isn't that right?"

 

[ArcticFox]

"No." Came Finch's blunt response through the doors. "Please hurry."

Despite Margaret's determination, her feet still shook as she walked about to get ready. Her ears were certainly not ringing with the sound of artillery, because that was not medically possible, but she started to develop a headache. The nightmares just wouldn't leave her alone.

The soldiers had arrived to find Pierce had bled to death beyond the prison walls, behind enemy mechs and she was unconscious and almost dead due to blood loss herself. As a result she was forcibly retired, despite only starting her army career. Nine months later peace was declared - peace without victory for either side. But she was recruited to Woodworth's irregulars after that, continuing to do tasks that mattered for her country, all was not so bad. Except on mornings like these.

David Finch waited for her by the doors as she continued dressing. Officially both of them were private detectives and he dressed as such. He glanced over her once, then once more, clearly reading the signs of the nightmare her face betrayed. That was his way, he simply had to analyse everything. But he did not speak about it, so it was all good.

--

Nine minutes after he knocked on Margaret's door, the pair of them were rattling through the streets in a cab. The fruit sellers were setting up their stands and the newsagents opening their shutters and the serving girls scrubbing their masters's front steps. They don't know it, but Arthur Woodworth and his operatives stood between them and harm.

- David Finch is your friend.
- David Finch is just a colleague.
- David Finch is a rival.

 

[Ezri]

Margaret set her jaw and stared out the window, her lips forming a tight frown as the cab hit a particularly nasty bump in the street. This was not making her headache any better, which in turn was not helping her keep her mind off of her memories. Finch must have noticed something was off about her, considering his line of work. Although she guessed he would have worked it out even if he wasn't a detective. That was just how he was.

It was something of a relief that he didn't often speak up about things like this, even when he knew. Despite living together, Margaret didn't think they were particularly close and they hardly spoke about their personal lives with each other. He was a little uptight for her tastes and consequently she guessed that she on his nerves just as much, but they got along well enough as colleagues. Finch was a respectable partner, and a little tension between coworkers was hardly a bad thing as far as she was concerned. At least it kept things interesting.

 

[ArcticFox]

"Consumed by your thoughts?" Finch inquired as they rode on the steamer. However, Margaret did not get to respond as they had already reached their destination.

--

Woodsworth always claimed to be nothing more than a minor government official, but it was a miracle if anyone believed him. For one thing, no minor government official could afford suits as finely tailored as his.

"There you are." He greeted the pair of Detectives in his office, stationed at the end of the endless tunnels and corridors of the financial neighbourhood, where all the buildings looked the same. If you wanted to hide your business from plain view, this was where you did it. "Come in, please." Woodsworth called as the two appeared on the doors of the office. There were two more people in there beside him - Mrs Lawrence, his secretary, and an unhappy-looking young man seated in a chair with his hands shackled on his lap and his ankles chained to the legs. It was quite an unusual setup.

Before he or Margaret could say anything, Finch was the one to speak, in his usual cold and deductive manner.

"The shiny marks on the cuffs from the pressure of writing declare he works in an office, and his age and shabby attire suggest clerk rather than a more senior position. He is clearly in a great deal of trouble. Sabotage? Theft? Something related to the government, no doubt. Treason."

"Well, that's why you two are here." Woodsworth sighed, leaning across the table. "He is in custody for theft of important official documents, however he refuses to speak with anyone."

"Indoctrinated by the Sun Temple cultists or blackmailed? You believe he is a spy for the Vlaski Empire, is that correct?" Finch asked, but Woodworth simply waved him off.

"There's the boy. Find out by yourselves."

- Talk to the suspect.
- Talk to Finch.
- Talk to Woodsworth.

 

[Ezri]

As expected, Finch rattled off a list of facts without a moment's hesitation. It was remarkable how quickly he could infer things from even the tiniest details. Woodsworth was impressive in his own right -- his physical stature alone was intimidating. Margaret forced back a smile. That suspect could not be happy at all to be in a room with these people.

Which could be useful, she thought, and she gave Finch a sideways glance. If the boy hadn't been responding to straightforward questioning, it was time to employ a different strategy. Approaching the young man bound to his chair, Margaret leaned forward a little and tried to study his face.

"Sabotage, treason... those are serious charges, aren't they? A simple clerk like yourself couldn't do something like that. Certainly not alone." She said, trying to sound slightly sympathetic. A real spy wouldn't give in easily, she knew, but this guy looked pretty young. Maybe if she gave him some hope he would be tempted to say something. "Are you willing to take all of the blame here? That's what will happen unless you talk to us."

 

[ArcticFox]

"You don't understand!" Mr Easterly burst out. He looked at Woodsworth and Finch briefly before settling his wide-eyed gaze on Margaret. "I-I was being blackmailed. My fiance, she…" He swallowed. "She's a sun-worshiper. She persuaded me. I went with her to a meeting and uh... they're good folk, ma'am. Nothing like what-what people say of them."

Woodsworth rose from his armchair, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "You joined their cult."

"It's not a cult!" Mr Easterly tried to protest, but then sighed. "Yes, I did. And-and... a man with a Vlaski accent stopped me as I walked home from work one night. He said i-if I did not help him, he would see to it my superiors discovered my conversion and you know sun-worshipers may not hold public office or any other position of responsibility. And there was my fiance to think of! We'd be shunned as well as penniless. It was my whole life. What else could I do?"

"You are a public servant. A servant of your Kingdom." Finch hissed in a voice dripping with contempt. "You should have put its welfare above your personal affairs."

"The agent got away." Woodsworth said with another tired sigh. "Hence your presence here. We need to hunt him down. He could not have gone far by now, these are the events of this morning. I agree with Detective Finch however, we cannot afford our sympathy in this matter."

- Agree with Finch.
- Agree and press Easterly further.
- Disagree and encourage Finch to lay off.

 

[Ezri]

Margaret straightened, heaving a sigh of her own. As she thought he wasn't a proper spy, just a frightened man who got in way over his head. It was difficult to feel much genuine empathy for him; it might not be right for her to think so as a military officer, but there was a time when common sense had to take priority over blindly following instructions. Easterly had made his bed, metaphorically, and he would have to lie in it.

"My colleagues are right. You committed a crime against the Kingdom and that can't be ignored." she explained, now matter-of-fact and without a hint of her previous sympathy. Finch's passionate disparaging wasn't unwarranted, but Margaret raised her hand, gesturing for him not to go on. They didn't have time to waste scolding some indoctrinated fool when the real agent was still on the loose. She kept her eyes trained on Easterly, watching him expectantly. "Going along with this plan was frankly idiotic. The only thing you can do now is tell us what you know about this man from Vlaski, and avoid making this even worse for yourself."

 

[ArcticFox]

"I cannot!" Mr Easterly cried out, his eyes tearful. It was clear that he was a broken and frightened man.

"Blackwood." Woodsworth stepped closer to Margaret, then slightly touched her elbow, leading her out of the office. "Let's leave him with Detective Finch for a moment. I have something to talk to you about." His face was grave as he closed the doors of the office behind them, leaning closer to her in confidentiality. "The Nigel-Trevelyan Glass translates electromagnetic waves. To anyone wearing goggles or spectacles made from this glass, Lighteaters will show up as surrounded by an aura of blood red while the rest of the population appears to be surrounded by an aura of golden white. We will be able to identify them with a look only, Detective. You must see what this represents. You of all people must know what's at stake here."

Lieutenant Pierce and a handful of soldiers were kept in a Lighteater prison. They have endured the worst possible torture that could be inflicted on a living being. Their souls were drained little by little. This left no marks on the body, beside making the victim ghostly pale and without any gleam in their eyes, but it slowly took away their happiness, leaving them only the saddest of memories. Until at last it took away their whole being and the prisoners became empty husks, drooling vegetables. Pierce had a smile on his face when he died. Because, despite everything, he was finally away from that horrible place.

But there was another thing to take into consideration. Margaret's great-grandmother was sun-touched. She had the gift of healing, because not all sun-touched were Lighteaters. Her grandmother was a gentle person who took care of the sick who could not afford doctors. Yet people were still afraid of her. And after the war with Vlask Empire, the fear of sun worship grew even worse.

There was a slight possiblity that Margaret had something of her great-grandmother's sun-touched genes, even though she never tried to heal anyone with or without medical equipment. What if her aura would show as blood red under the Glass?

- Be thrilled with the idea of Glass.
- Be afraid of it.
- Be interested with how it works scientifically.

 

[Ezri]

With a nod Margaret followed her superior out of the room, although it wasn't as though she really had a choice. Hopefully Finch would have better luck than she did, but as long as she was taking a break she put those thoughts aside. For now, she was very interested in what Woodsworth had to say.

At least, until he said it. She frowned, just slightly, as she listened to his explanation of this Glass. She knew maybe better than anyone that there were sun-touched who deserved fates worse than death, and sun-touched who didn't. Glass wouldn't make any distinction between the two. Even if she wasn't worried about herself, the dangerous implications here were easy to see. Her concerns rattled at the back of her mind like a chorus along with her persistent memories of Pierce, but for now she would have to swallow them.

"That does sound interesting." She said, crossing her arms and keeping her volume low. Enthusiasm wasn't a feeling she thought she could force at the moment, so curiosity would do. "How does it work, exactly? Is it reliable?"

 

[ArcticFox]

"It's all theoretical for now. The Glass is supposed to detect Lighteaters specifically. Nigel and his student Trevelyan determined that certain habitual behaviors create subtle changes in electromagnetic wave frequency. Specifically, the appalling practice of light-eating will, over a long enough period of time, noticeably shorten the frequency of the practitioner's electromagnetic waves." Woodsworth explained.

Those were good news. It meant that the Glass would be focused on those who abused the power of Sun, and not on those who used it for healing only, or who never used it, but may have the gift.

"May you two return here?" The doors of the office creaked open and Finch peaked out. His top hat was held in his hand and he looked to be a bit out of breath. "I have pacified our traitor." He said impassively.

Back in the office, Mr Easterly was slumped against his restraints but have shown no signs of any injuries. Whatever Finch did to him was not visible. The Detective took the copy of The Times and waved it in front of Margaret's face.

"This is how he communicated with the Vlaski agent. Coded advertisements in the Personals column. You see the one signed with 'D'? That stands for Dmitri. The agent. Now all we have to do is have Mr Easterly here write an advertisement to this Dmitri. A place and time. And we'll have him."

"I will not." Mr Easterly mouthed, his expression suddenly rebellious. Perhaps Finch was not that successful in his efforts after all.

- Speak with Easterly and try to get him to cooperate.
- Offer to write the coded message on your own.
- Let Finch get Easterly to cooperate.

 

[Ezri]

Margaret felt the tension leave her shoulders as Finch called them back, although it wouldn't be good to look too relieved. If what Woodsworth claimed was true, then Glass could actually be a useful tool for them. She would have to keep an eye out for further news, but for now it was just a theory...

After stepping back into the room she looked at Easterly, then at Finch, then back at Easterly again. There was no telling what Finch had done to make him say this much, but as much as she wanted to ask it could wait until later. More importantly, they could just fake a message -- if they referenced the previous ones it shouldn't be terribly hard to make it convincing. If the Vlaski agent had any indication that his plan had been compromised, however, he would certainly abandon it without hesitation. It was a risky move, but it would be better than nothing if Easterly wouldn't cooperate.

"Regardless of your feelings about sun-worshippers, Mr. Easterly, the Vlask Empire does not have good intentions. They were more than happy to blackmail you, after all, and I can assure you that they've done much worse. Do you think they would protect you, knowing what you've told us already?" she shrugged, plucking the newspaper from Finchs' hands and looking carefully over the personal ads. "But you clearly don't care about who could be hurt if you help this agent escape. So, I'll just have to write the message myself."

 

[ArcticFox]

"You talk as though my life still had value to me." Easterly said. "If I do not hang, they will know I helped you. How long do you think I will live then? What do you suppose they will do to my fiance? If I go to a traitor's death, at least they will have no reason to torment her afterward." His gaze was focused on the ground, defeated.

After a long pause, Woodsworth nodded. "Well, I guess we are going with your plan, Blackwood. Detective Finch can help you rummage through the papers. But, do hurry with writing." He fixed Easterly with his cold grey eyes. "He will be transported to prison, awaiting trial."

Easterly looked genuinely frightened with that notion. After a moment he only slumped in his restraints further.

"Thank you, Detectives." Woodsworth said picking up a pen. "Now then. We can get this into the morning editions if we waste no further time."

--

With Finch's help, Margaret was able to study the written messages between the agent and Easterly. It took them a couple of hours to come up with a coded message that would be plausible.

After the column was written Woodsworth dismissed both of the Detectives to go home and wait for his call. Once Dmitri was baited, they would meet again and plan on his capture. In the meantime, Margaret had the whole afternoon to herself.

"Tea?" Finch offered as they stepped out of the agency. He frowned at the gathering grey clouds.

- Spend the afternoon with Finch.
- Walk alone through Kingsford.
- Go home.

 

[Ezri]

The work was more tedious than she had expected. Every word had to be chosen carefully, since any inconsistency could be taken as suspicious. But with Finch's help they were finally finished, and it was a relief to stretch her legs a little as they left the building.

Margaret shook her head at her partner's offer, following his gaze up to the worsening weather. Her eyes hurt, she was more tired than she should be, and she was not in the mood to be analyzed. Besides, she would see him at home later -- even if she thought he was decent company, there was no reason to spend every spare moment with each other.

"Another time." She said, with a nod of acknowledgment and a casual smile. Decided, Margaret stepped onto the sidewalk and went on her way. Some light exercise and time alone would do her good.

 

[ArcticFox]

Finch nodded in acknowledgement and bowed in her direction, before proceeding down the street. Margaret had the whole afternoon to spend on her own. But the clouds gathered quickly and rain started, forcing her to return home faster than expected.

--

That night, Margaret and two other operatives gathered at the empty house Easterly and Dmitri have been using to meet, and settled down to wait. Woodsworth's summons were different than usual, especially because he split Finch and her up. He never did it before.

Now she was forced to sit without a fire, and the night was bitter cold. The rain did not stop falling the whole day. Her feet grew numb within her boots, forcing her to shift gently, silently, trying to keep the blood flowing. Finally midnight tolled, making her get up.

The other operatives were doing the same, although Margaret could not see them. Stevenson waited at the end of the darkened corridor. Morris, the strongest of the three of them, was stationed within the study, behind the door, from which position he would hopefully be able to subdue Dmitri the instant the Vlaskesar steps through the doorway.

Down below, the back door creaked open.

If Margaret did not know that the man climbing the stairs was Finch disguised as George Easterly, she would never be able to guess. The masquerade was perfect. The dark lantern trembled in his deliberately shaking hand, making the light dance in a way that obscured rather than illuminated. Margaret could not really see the Vlaski spy climbing the stairway behind him. Dmitri followed Finch into the study and Margaret suddenly became aware of the metal of the gun at her hip.

Finch unshuttered the lantern fully at the same moment Morris sprung. Morris tackled the Vlaskesar half to his knees, one arm across his throat...

But Dmitri whirled before Morris could establish the chokehold. He was a big man, but Margaret had never seen anyone move that fast, ever. Morris gave an odd little gasp, crumpling, and the Vlaskesar was sprinting for the stairway before the operative hit the floor.

Finch spat a loud curse and following at a dead run. The flash of his lantern as he went by showed a knife sticking out of Morris's chest, the blood welling up around the hilt.

- Run to help Morris.
- Tell Morris not to pull the knife out, then sprint after Dmitri.
- Tell Morris not to pull the knife out, then quietly slip through the back doors, using the shadows to your advantage.

 

[Ezri]

After taking some time to herself Margaret thought she would be prepared for this stakeout, but the whole thing had put her on edge. Her unease had been something of a premonition, it seemed. There was always a chance that their plan could have gone wrong, but it was so sudden -- had Dmitri been onto them the whole time? Those reflexes were too much to believe, even if he had somehow planned the move beforehand. She cursed under her breath.

"Stay still! Don't take that knife out!" she barked at Morris, already chasing Finch and Dmitri as fast as her half-numb legs would move. He would be fine, Stevenson was still here. Her hand moved reflexively over her holster, and she wrapped her fingers around the gun's grip. If that Vlaski bastard thought he was getting away now, he was dead wrong.

 

[ArcticFox]

Morris nodded, a pained grimace on his face, not strong enough to speak. Capturing the enemy was Margaret's first duty, though, she would have to hope that Morris survived long enough to get help later.

She rushed ahead, just in time to see Dmitri running away as Finch was on his heels, flinging the lantern aside, while operative Stevenson followed behind him. Finch threw caution to the wind flinging himself forward, and he and Dmitri clattered and clashed and tumbled to the ground. Stevenson joined the fray and the three men were on the cobbles in a tangle of limbs. It was difficult to discern who was who in the darkness of the alley.

- Aim the gun and shoot at Dmitri.
- Shout to distract Dmitri.
- Fling yourself into the fray.

 

[Ezri]

Those idiots... no matter how good of a shot she was, there was no way she could hit her target in that mess. She would be equally likely to shoot either of her teammates, and that was out of the question. First she would have to try and separate them, and judging by the miserable pile of brawling men in front of her that wouldn't necessarily be an easy task. Unfortunately, trying to intervene physically looked like an impossible task.

"Hey, Dmitri!" Margaret shouted, annoyed that she couldn't do more. Her hand still hovered over her holster. She just had to pray that he would react on reflex, and that that would be enough.

 

[ArcticFox]

A tactic that had worked often for Margaret in the past, but unfortunately it didn't work this time. Dmitri was not even momentarily distracted, as he pushed Stevenson off, sending him clattering against the cobbles.

His hand slapped onto Finch's face and Finch froze instantly. Dmitri looked up at Margaret with a smile that chilled her blood. Time seemed to stop. Finch hung rigid in his grasp, as though paralysed, but Stevenson stirred. Dmitri looked over at him, snarling in annoyance, and releasing Finch. The Vlaskesar sprung to his feet, deciding that there were too many of them to handle and escaping into the night. With a choked sound of rage, Stevenson hurried off in pursuit.

Finch was leaning against the wall, as though dizzy. Visible in the poor light of the lander on the cobbles, livid against the pale skin of his face, was a red handprint. For a moment, in Margaret's eyes, the handprint on Fiches faces merged with the remembered handprint on Pierce's.

- Be angry.
- Be sad.
- Be scared.
- Be thrilled with the challenge.

 

[Ezri]

For a moment that seemed to last forever, everything went way too fast. She was furious, at Dmitri for his attack and at herself for being unable to prevent it. It happened again. For a moment she wished she had just shot, or done something, but rationally she knew those moves could have been just as bad if not worse. She could feel her fingers trembling, and she could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears, but whether it was from fear or anger she wasn't sure.

"Damn it!!" she cursed through gritted teeth at the ground in front of her, finding it difficult to look at Finch. Part of her mind screamed at the rest of her to chase after Stevenson, to stop him, but her legs wouldn't will themselves to move.

 

[ArcticFox]

Finch raised his head to look at Margaret. "It's all right." He spoke barely audible. "I'm all right. He only touched me for a moment. It's already fading." With a grimace of attempted humor, he added. "Did that bastard look like a Lighteater to you? We need that bloody Glass." He pushed off the wall, shaking his head to clear it. "Right. Come on. We can't let him get away."

The two of them continued pursuit, but neither Dmitri nor Stevenson were in sight, though the sounds of their footsteps could heard in the crisp night air. They were coming from dead ahead, but a direct route was covered by a building.

"Split. Go left." Finch instructed in as little words as possible, running off to the right hand passage.

Margaret eased her way down the alleyway, placing her feet so cautiously that the scattered refuse could not trip her. From up ahead, she suddenly heard a sigh and a shuffle, the movements of someone who had no idea that she was near.

She closed the distance with slow, careful steps. A sigh again, much closer this time.

It was Stevenson. His face was paper-white, as he sat on the filthy cobblestones, sagging against the brick wall. His shirt had been torn open, and the handprint was branded on his chest only to confirm what was already obvious by his symptoms.

"I'm all right." He insisted in a voice no louder than a whisper. "Leave me here and go after him. That way. Just be warned. He got my pistol away from me."

- Thank him and go.
- Try to help him.
- Give him your own pistol for protection.

 

[Ezri]

Of course, it was like Margaret had told herself that morning. The waking world would not wait for her, regardless of how angry or afraid she was. If Finch could press on at a time like this, then so could she. She took one deep breath to steel herself and ran with him, following his instructions as he gave them, fueled by pure hatred.

It was both frustrating and a relief to find Stevenson, alive but battered. Seeing the mark on his chest Margaret's expression grew even darker, but she listened carefully to what he was saying. Being the victim of a Lighteater was not something someone could easily brush off, but despite his condition he seemed to know that catching Dmitri was more important for now.

"Good work." she said softly, and she meant it. It might have been foolish to go after Dmitri alone, but she could hardly blame him. Even now Finch might catch up to him before she did, and Margaret didn't want to let that happen. Especially not if Dmitri had a gun of his own now. She straightened again, ready to run, but she hesitated for half a second. "I'll be back." she blurted, firmly, and with that she was off.

 

[ArcticFox]

Her ability to focus her mind on the mission and make cold, hard decision was one of the things Woodsworth appreciated about her.

Margaret emerged from the alleyway maze to a street where gaslight provided a little illumination, at once spotting Finch, partway down the street, back turned to her, moving with his usual catlike grace and listening hard with his head tilted.

And behind him, a larger, bulkier form loomed. Gaslight gleamed off the pistol the Vlaskesar had pointed at Finch's back.

She had only an instant.

- Draw the Lighteater's attention to you.
- Shoot the Lighteater.
- Throw a brick to a nearby window, distracting him.

 

[Ezri]

Margaret felt her heart sink at the scene in front of her, but her determination kept her from freezing up again. Or maybe her military training had simply overridden her unease. Whatever the reason, she felt surprisingly steady, like her body was moving independantly of her mind.

There was only one option as far as she was concerned. She couldn't risk trying to distract him again, not with Finch in that position. If Dmitri saw her he might just decide to kill him right then, or pull the trigger reflexively. Margaret wouldn't risk that, not when she had a chance to end this now. So with a swift motion she drew her gun, her eyes trained on the Lighteater's torso, and fired.

 

[ArcticFox]

A ruthless, yet necessary decision. He was the enemy of her Kingdom. Lighteater filth would never have Kingsford. Not while she was there to defend it.

Her shot pierced the quiet night and the Lighteater dropped like a stone, making Finch whirl around. He did not hesitate, sprinting toward the body and kicking away the Vlaskesar's pistol aside, checking the body with his own pistol drawn. Blood spread over the cobblestones.

"Dead? Good." Finch looked a bit shaken, though he tried his best to conceal it. "That was damned fine shooting. Stupid of me to let him get so close." His hand dropped to Margaret's shoulder. "Lucky you had my back."

- Say something.
- Squeeze his hand.
- Hug him.
- Dismiss him.