The elevator ride was a journey shrouded in silence. Jo wouldn’t even make eye contact with Hikari as they ascended to the fifth floor of the Dragons Rest. He was too ashamed, too disgusted with himself to even look his new Sennin face-to-face. The floor shifted beneath them as the elevator came to a stop, the bell over the doors chiming as they separated. Jo lead as they entered the hallway, making an immediate left and following it until it came to a dead end at a set of gilded French doors. He reached into his pocket then, and produced a small silver key. The small metal shaft gave some small amount of resistance as Jo forced it into the lock. Jo rapped a knuckle soundly on the key’s head, producing a “click” only audible to the sharpest of ears. While he could’ve gone to the receptionist and rented the room for the evening, Jo hadn’t quite felt up to the hassle (or the expense!). Anyone with a spare blank key, a steel file, and half a brain could make a bump key. It was how Jo had gotten into the suite to assassinate its inhabitant a few days prior, and it worked just as well now. Twisting the handle, Jo entered the room, drawing his pistol as he did.
The Presidential Suite of the Dragons Rest was a lavish affair; done in a western style, all the furniture was of highly polished hardwood and scarlet leather with brass rivets. As Hikari entered the main sitting room (complete with twin couches on either side of a coffee table, four end tables near the arms, and a gas fireplace (which had ignited itself upon their entrance)), she would notice the faint scent of elderflowers and lavender. The maids had done a good job cleaning up the room after the body was removed. They were lucky it had only taken a scrubbing of the carpet where the man had knocked his tray of food off the cart as he fell to the floor in anaphylactic shock. Jo quickly moved room-to-room, performing a textbook “sweep-and-clear” with the obnoxiously large Desert Falcon .50AE he carried as his personal firearm; a memento from the Marsh campaign, the chrome-plated pistolbolter could take down an elephant at close range. Once Jo had checked every room (sitting room, formal dining room, study, bedroom, and bathroom), he holstered his weapon inside his suit jacket.
He wasn’t finished. He then produced a small, battery-powered transistor radio from an interior pocket. The minute plastic device was available for sale at nearly every convenience store for a few yen. When he flicked it on, however, there was no pop-music whose sound could not be truly appreciated in mono; nor did the nasally voice of a sports announcer emit from the sole speaker. Instead, all that was heard was static. Jo cranked the volume up to the maxim the little novelty could emit; then, just as thoroughly as he’d cleared the suite, he went through every room and passed the radio over the furniture, potted plants, light fixtures, walls and doorframes. Had there been any listening devices present, the radio would have picked up its signal as interference, and produced a high-pitched squealing noise. Luckily, no such noise was made, and Jo’s scan was completed in only a few moments.
”Better safe, than sorry…” Jo muttered under his breath, more to himself than Hikari, though she would definitely be able to hear him. Jo returned to the sitting room then and motioned to Hikari to take a seat on one of the couches, then sat himself on the couch opposite her. In the flickering firelight of the gas fireplace and wall sconces (also gas fueled, and wrought of highly polished brass with crystal shades), Jo’s appearance looked less haggard, and more hard. Months of mal nutrition and lack of sleep left the skin on his face stretched taught over cheekbones, forehead and chin; the dark circles under his eyes accentuated by the flickering shadows. The grey three-piece suit hung from wearily slumped shoulders, giving the appearance of being slightly too large for him. Even his eyes, the hazel irises once bright and filled with life, were a muddy grey; though a flicker of determination and hope shone from his pupils. A moment of silence stretched between the two as they sat face-to face, Jo’s eyes never wandering from Hikari’s as he mulled the words in his head, trying to find the best way to tell her his awful secret. Instinctively, Jo reigned in his brain, as he subconsciously began compiling all the ways he could assassinate his Sennin. Two months of constantly hunting targets had left him with the misfortune of being constantly preparing to complete a mission, even if there wasn’t one to perform.
”Well…” he finally spoke. ”There’s no right way to say this… Hikari-sama; I’m guilty of treason.”
{MFT: wc819}
The Presidential Suite of the Dragons Rest was a lavish affair; done in a western style, all the furniture was of highly polished hardwood and scarlet leather with brass rivets. As Hikari entered the main sitting room (complete with twin couches on either side of a coffee table, four end tables near the arms, and a gas fireplace (which had ignited itself upon their entrance)), she would notice the faint scent of elderflowers and lavender. The maids had done a good job cleaning up the room after the body was removed. They were lucky it had only taken a scrubbing of the carpet where the man had knocked his tray of food off the cart as he fell to the floor in anaphylactic shock. Jo quickly moved room-to-room, performing a textbook “sweep-and-clear” with the obnoxiously large Desert Falcon .50AE he carried as his personal firearm; a memento from the Marsh campaign, the chrome-plated pistolbolter could take down an elephant at close range. Once Jo had checked every room (sitting room, formal dining room, study, bedroom, and bathroom), he holstered his weapon inside his suit jacket.
He wasn’t finished. He then produced a small, battery-powered transistor radio from an interior pocket. The minute plastic device was available for sale at nearly every convenience store for a few yen. When he flicked it on, however, there was no pop-music whose sound could not be truly appreciated in mono; nor did the nasally voice of a sports announcer emit from the sole speaker. Instead, all that was heard was static. Jo cranked the volume up to the maxim the little novelty could emit; then, just as thoroughly as he’d cleared the suite, he went through every room and passed the radio over the furniture, potted plants, light fixtures, walls and doorframes. Had there been any listening devices present, the radio would have picked up its signal as interference, and produced a high-pitched squealing noise. Luckily, no such noise was made, and Jo’s scan was completed in only a few moments.
”Better safe, than sorry…” Jo muttered under his breath, more to himself than Hikari, though she would definitely be able to hear him. Jo returned to the sitting room then and motioned to Hikari to take a seat on one of the couches, then sat himself on the couch opposite her. In the flickering firelight of the gas fireplace and wall sconces (also gas fueled, and wrought of highly polished brass with crystal shades), Jo’s appearance looked less haggard, and more hard. Months of mal nutrition and lack of sleep left the skin on his face stretched taught over cheekbones, forehead and chin; the dark circles under his eyes accentuated by the flickering shadows. The grey three-piece suit hung from wearily slumped shoulders, giving the appearance of being slightly too large for him. Even his eyes, the hazel irises once bright and filled with life, were a muddy grey; though a flicker of determination and hope shone from his pupils. A moment of silence stretched between the two as they sat face-to face, Jo’s eyes never wandering from Hikari’s as he mulled the words in his head, trying to find the best way to tell her his awful secret. Instinctively, Jo reigned in his brain, as he subconsciously began compiling all the ways he could assassinate his Sennin. Two months of constantly hunting targets had left him with the misfortune of being constantly preparing to complete a mission, even if there wasn’t one to perform.
”Well…” he finally spoke. ”There’s no right way to say this… Hikari-sama; I’m guilty of treason.”
{MFT: wc819}
