[hider=...With all the madness in my soul.] [hider=Tsuntsun][youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c6vsHF3E9NU[/youtube][/hider] Being trapped in a vehicle with this Southern lout was the closest thing to the pain of prostate cancer that Vivianne Laurent would ever feel. It was everything. Everything about him made her realize that they were the worst possible combination since a tryst between bleach and ammonia. Everything down to the cellular level made Vivianne want to toss her smirking partner from the VTOL - or have him bled dry and have the pints sold piecemeal as jars of Ragu. If it wasn't the puns (and it was ALWAYS the puns, but on the off chance it wasn't) it was his attitude. If it wasn't his attitude, it was his accent. Always [color=FADA5E]"Signorina this, Signorina that, don't be such a 'head case, Signorina, vive and let die, Signorina..."[/color] She hated how glib he was. She hated his accent. She hated being his Signorina. ... Not his. [i]Not[/i] his. Grr. [i]She was not his,[/i] you understand? This was the danger of Napoli Fiordilatte. His rambling was such...such [i]merde[/i] that you grew complacent. Too much time exposed to the cheese-boy's toxic, incoherent drivel left you too comfortable around your [i]own[/i] thoughts. He would talk for so long, about [i]nothing at all,[/i] that it had a way of slipping past you like a blood clot in an artery. She could have dealt with one of her own teammates - Pressman and Sparr were too engrossed in cooking each other by day and warming each other by night to pay any attention to Vivianne, and Iris would be pleasant enough conversation at least. One of the Vale transplants would have served well for this mission - she understood that one of them in particular had more than ample reason to bring justice to the jewel thief they had been assigned to take down. She could have even dealt with Mindaro, savage beast that she was. At least Mindaro didn't talk until Vivianne's head ached. And she didn't wear her hair over her eyes, hiding how big and blue th--[color=39b54a][i]NOOOOOOO, God damn it, stop that thought![/i][/color] The devil returned from the back of the airship, with her lunch order in his hand. It had taken him ten minutes longer than it had taken her, and from the look of the other submarine sandwich in his hand, he had not even stopped to eat his on the way. The lethargic pace at which he moved through everything made her heart jump beats in...in anger. In pure disgust. She would never accept such nonchalance from a member of her team. Regardless, she couldn't fault him for this. It was him that had volunteered to go grab their sandwiches anyway. [color=39b54a]"Grazie,"[/color] she said numbly as she began unwrapping her sub. Her mouth had not yet closed from the force of the final syllable when her jaw went uncharacteristically slack. As if waiting for a jump scare, her gaze slowly drifted up to meet his...and found him grinning, more hyena than boy, as he slumped down onto his seat again. The golden choker on his neck gleamed mischievously. He knew she had slipped. He must have known. How much did he know? Would he require action? Elimination? [color=39b54a][i]What do I do-[/i][/color] [color=FADA5E]"De rien,"[/color] he replied, before adding a nonplussed: [color=FADA5E]"Signorina."[/color] What a beast. Only the uncouth mixed dialects so shamelessly. Vivianne could take it no more. Even as she cast her sub aside and went for Antoine on the bench beside her, the intercom crackled to life with orders: [i][color=662d91]"Laurent, Fiordilatte, prepare to drop. You're on the ground in five."[/color][/i] Napoli was scooping up his effete weaponry and walking past her, tossing his full lunch into the nearest disposal unit. The Vignoble member moved past her with a grin and a cheerful shrug. He had too much awareness in those blue calico eyes of his not to know about how he tortured her at nights, whether he was ranting about that bitch Gratia, trying to get a rise out of her. Even the sight of him sleeping infuriated her. Here she was, constantly tossing and turning for rest, and the golden boy had the sheer [i]arancini[/i] to lay there and sleep peacefully...finely drawn angles of his face smooth and unassuming, whenever there was nothing for him to ramble about...resting deeply enough that if she reached out to push his hair away from his breathing mouth, he may not even notice... [color=FADA5E]"...lunch, Signorina."[/color] She snapped to, almost audibly. She felt her blood boiling. [color=39b54a]"What?"[/color] she forced out, trying to be polite. A wider grin was her only answer. It was the last response in the world she wanted. [color=FADA5E]"I said, don't worry about lunch, Signorina,"[/color] Napoli repeated with the patience of someone waiting for a friend to grasp a punchline. [color=FADA5E]"The food on this bird is [i]subpar[/i] anyway."[/color] Vivianne put every ounce of gusto she had into a groan. She had no idea why she heard someone faintly laughing instead. She followed in his wake, tossing her own sub into the garbage atop his. After all, where she was going, she had no need of a Spicy Mistralian with extra cheese anyway. ... Wait, hadn't she ordered a BLT with black olives...? When she arrived at the hangar, seething, Napoli was gearing up to make his descent. They would only be landing about a block out from the sting op, meaning this would be the best chance they had to capture Emerald Sustrai, thief, murderer, and wanted associate of the terrorist behind the fall of Beacon Academy and the loss of its headmaster. It was a fight worth losing one improperly ordered lunch for - a lifeline to a cabal that threatened the safety of all Remnant. When she decided to try and engage her tormentor in casual conversation as they geared up, however, he turned even a potential point of agreement between them into something inane. [color=FADA5E]"Yeah, they're just sandwiches. This is gonna be a fight we can relish."[/color] Vivianne stiffened and turned to face him. Napoli's back was to her as he joked, head slightly bent to disguise his errant grin. [color=FADA5E]"Olive if you will."[/color] She could kick him out of the VTOL right now. His parachute wasn't completely on yet. He wouldn't have time to pull it. Napoli Fiordilatte would end his life as a stain on the pavement of Mistral, and no one would know what became of him. Only her. [color=FADA5E]"Signorina, what's taking you?"[/color] She could do it if she really wanted to. [color=FADA5E]"C'mon. Ketchup albready."[/color] Vivianne turned her head away from him, and suited up obediently. ***** She felt much better now. There were no puns being bandied about in the lobby of a held-up jewelry store. There was no chance of her wasting her focus on how best to assassinate her partner for this mission, or what on a VTOL could best be suited for gagging him, or what kind of places he liked to go whenever he wasn't in Beacon or Haven... [color=39b54a][i]No.[/i][/color] She was the Godhead. The Supreme Being. Leader of VIVE and standard bearer for the land of Mistral. She did not focus on boys. Gunshots. Axeplay. The sound of her fist cracking a thief's jaw. These were the Godhead's passions. Emerald Sustrai skidded to a halt, her sickles screeching on the gilded marble floors as she slowly dragged her momentum to a halt. Napoli was set up at a sniper position outside, where he was best suited, while Vivianne duked it out with the thief from within and worked on inching her closer to the windows, to where Napoli could take his shot. Thus far, Vivianne was performing with as much aplomb as ever. The thief was skilled at sleight of hand, as all thieves must be, but Vivianne never erred. No machine had ever performed its job as effectively as Antoine had - and the axe's owner considered that excellence a two-way street. Parry the sickles. Deflect that gunshot. Parry the sickles. Grab her wrist, toss her. Through the lens of Godhead, the whole world seemed to move slowly for her, and Emerald's moves were easily telegraphed to one who read as fast as-- [color=00a651]"[i]Mercury![/i]"[/color] she heard, dimly, as though listening through a door. [color=00a651]"Now!"[/color] Vivianne's eyes never left Emerald's, but Godhead did not apply to her sight alone. VIVE's leader had attended every fight of the Vytal Festival, and remembered with clarity every one of the top fighters that she had watched from the stands while her team rambunctiously hooted and hollered for their favorites. She remembered the sound of the metallic greaves, holding up against weapons as large as a man. She remembered the dizzying martial arts, the flamboyant special attacks, the sound of bullets whistling from heels... She heard a loud pop outside, and she heard Napoli groan. Her eyesight diverted to the glass window, away from the choreographed maneuvers she was using to thrash Emerald, to see that her erstwhile partner had been receiving a thrashing of his own outside. She saw him go for his rapier, only to have it kicked from his hand. She saw a punch fly in the face of Mercury, only for Fiordilatte's ribs to give way underneath a ferocious kick-and-shoot combo from an assailant outside. Too late, she remembered the long weekend she had spent trying to glean information from the dossiers Haven had forwarded them. She had remembered everything about the combat styles of Emerald [i]and[/i] this Mercury boy...except for the fact that they fought together. That, she had remembered a second too late. A boot met the back of Napoli's head with a loud crack, and the cheese-boy's beautiful face lolled forward to meet her. He looked...so peaceful. ... The Godhead had been her most powerful tool since she had unlocked it at the age of thirteen. It allowed her to filter out the whole world except her objective, and it was suited for a young woman who had never taken her eyes, ears, and mind off the prize. But Godhead, as aptly named as it was, held two weaknesses: First, it was only a tool in the hands of a woman with the serene, otherworldly calm to wield it. This was a criteria Vivianne Laurent could no longer meet. Second, no god, in any pantheon, could stand against the sheer brutality asleep inside every young woman - and nothing awakens that savage instinct faster than a young woman losing the thing she loves. Later on, long after the battle, Vivianne Laurent would be startled to realize that she didn't remember grabbing Emerald by the face. She remembered the feeling of wind on her face, and the feeling of flying, but anyone watching would witness a screaming Mistralian girl carrying her target into hell, pouncing so high that they got hang time before Vivianne landed atop Emerald and began to pulverize her. No parrying or gunshots this time - just old fashioned hand to hand, chops meeting larynx, head meeting pavement, punches meeting face... The red in Emerald's irises was starting to spread into the whites of her eyes when a hand grabbed Vivianne from behind. She shook the talon off her shoulder and cast a derisive elbow at whatever it was, intent on maiming her prize while she had the chance. [color=39b54a]"You next, you fucking cunt,"[/color] she growled, [color=39b54a]"after her. I'm going to make you pay. You're going to fucking [i]pay,[/i] you bastard sons of whores--"[/color] [color=FADA5E]"Well, now, that's too close to home,"[/color] she heard the voice say. She almost couldn't understand it through the accent. [color=FADA5E]"All I did was make some puns, Signorina."[/color] Vivianne paused in the middle of dashing Emerald's head on the bottom of the jewelry store's marble steps. It must have looked almost comical, in a brutal sort of way, to anyone who was watching the scene - Vivianne dropping the head as easily as she would a textbook on a desk and kicking the limp, unconscious body of Emerald Sustrai aside in her haste to turn around. The limp mass on the steps that she had thought was a Southern Mistralian...was a Southern Mistralian's well-loved leather jacket. What she had thought was Mercury...was Napoli, big blue beautiful eyes and all, doubled over and wheezing, no smile on his face. What she had thought was wind...was wind, alright, wind that was now blowing freely through the jewelry store thanks to the pane of glass Vivianne had charged through. [color=39b54a]"You're...but...Napoli..."[/color] Too late, Vivianne remembered something Napoli must have realized she'd forgotten. Emerald Sustrai didn't steal via sleight of hand. She stole via illusions. She played tricks with your eyes and ears right in front of you...and had watched Vivianne at Beacon long enough to know what she'd focus on. [color=39b54a]"I...I...I didn't..."[/color] [color=FADA5E]"Didn't read the dossier?"[/color] For a second, after he finished her nonsensical sentence fragment for her, Napoli's face didn't change. Slowly it split into a cocksure smile. [color=FADA5E]"It was on your phone the whole time. What, did you Scroll past it? What were you [i]focusing[/i] on the whole weekend?"[/color] Crouched on the pavement, with her jaw as slack as Sparr's when handed a multiplication table, Vivianne started to chuckle. Then, in a storm of post-adrenal bliss, she started to laugh. And laugh. And [i]laugh[/i]. The rational part of her, the one that had taken a backseat to this giggling mess, would have been satisfied to see the faint look of surprise on Napoli Fiordilatte's face. ***** [hider=Deredere][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f3t9SfrfDZM[/youtube][/hider] Emerald would live. Probably. But Vivianne had been a little zealous with her charge for vengeance, and any questions regarding her employer or the (real) whereabouts of her partner would have to wait for her to exit catatonia. Now that the high of her epiphany had worn off, she was starting to feel more and more chagrined. Napoli had been on the phone with a succession of people from Haven nonstop - a few of the Beacon transfers first, from the sound of it, and then maybe with their Combat Training professor. She winced. Beating a target into total submission was one thing. But Napoli was much harder to subdue. He had to know about her...her...[i]weakness[/i] now. There was nothing to do but confront it with the same zeal that she had confronted a solid sheet of glass and an eight foot jump, and hope that the ending would be far less bloody on a repeat attempt. On cue, Napoli slumped beside her, holding his Scroll before him like there was C4 in the battery compartment. Though he'd been confident enough when the Mistralian police had come in to subdue Emerald, get their statements, and hook them up with their superiors at Haven, he seemed unsure now. Like he was in unfamiliar territory. [color=FADA5E]"That was..."[/color] Napoli started. [color=39b54a]"...a smashing success?"[/color] Vivianne finished weakly. Had she done it correctly? The twinkle in Napoli's eyes told her yes, and her heart beat. Just the once. [color=39b54a]"I didn't mean to call you a bastard, Fiordilatte,"[/color] she continued. [color=39b54a]"I was...not in my right mind."[/color] [color=FADA5E]"Hey, neither is Gratia, and she means it all the time. I think I can survive you slipping up once, Signorina."[/color] Vivianne smiled with a bit more strength, but Napoli continued: [color=FADA5E]"Let me tell you, I am looking forward to the nap of a lifetime. A real nap. Not a fake nap or..."[/color] [color=39b54a]"...a dirt nap?"[/color] Napoli turned to look at her. [color=FADA5E]"What's gotten into you? That doesn't sound anything like Signorina Vivianne. There's not even a [i]Semblance[/i] of contempt there."[/color] [color=39b54a]"Maybe...I do not want you to die,"[/color] the VIVE leader conceded. It felt like a load off her chest, but she knew that wouldn't have the significance that she wanted it to. He didn't know her well enough to get her meaning. Getting to know him - getting to know [i]people,[/i] she supposed - required...being...casual. Friendly. It required...asking for something. [color=39b54a]"I have been going to a karaoke bar around here for the last couple years. They do...a mean deep dish pizza. There are endless fry baskets. Consider it a...'sorry for being crazy...'"[/color] [color=39b54a][i]Engagement. Date. Call it something. Give it a name, Laurent, you spineless slag.[/i][/color] [color=39b54a]"...thingy."[/color] Even under a thin layer of freckles, dust, and blood, Vivianne found it in herself to pale in horror. She mouthed the word again to herself, to make sure she was foolish enough to have actually said it. [color=39b54a][i]Thingy.[/i][/color] Napoli's face was inscrutable. Vivianne tried focusing on something, anything - the way his dirty-blonde eyebrows were crinkled in thought, the searching look in his eyes, the straight line that had become of his Cupid's-bow mouth... [color=39b54a][i]Kiss him. That's how Sparr broke the ice.[/i][/color] Vivianne didn't know how to kiss. [color=FADA5E]"I think,"[/color] he started slowly, [color=FADA5E]"you might be the first person in a long time to [i]apologize[/i] for being crazy. That's the craziest thing of all."[/color] She released a long breath and fingered the stud in the side of her nose self-consciously. [color=39b54a]"I suppose it is not something the truly crazy often do,"[/color] she started. [color=39b54a]"It's why I have a hard time admit--"[/color] The C4 went off with aplomb, destroying Vivianne's regained confidence in a fell swoop. Napoli looked to the Scroll in his hands, and she watched the opaque facade on the pretty boy's face shift into one of budding irritation already. Despite the jokesy facade and how understanding he was being, this really wasn't his day. And the craziest bitch of all was in the mood to exacerbate the situation, apparently. [color=FADA5E]"Gratia, I don't need to hear it,"[/color] he started. His next words were even louder. [color=FADA5E]"No, I didn't just [i]stand there.[/i] Where did you see it on television? I didn't see any television cameras. Get off my Scroll, you nagging bitch--"[/color] Vivianne had cast her head down to her knees, but Napoli tapped her shoulder once. Full of hope, she looked up...only to find that he had stood, and his beautiful blonde head was drinking most of the sun's light for his own use. [color=FADA5E]"This is kind of a private thing, Signorina. I'll [i]give you a ring[/i] some other time if you really want to apologize. Later."[/color] He didn't wait for a reply, not really. Cursing at Gratia took too much of his attention. He just channeled all that energy from the sun into his grin and sidled off behind an emergency vehicle, where he could lambast the Mistralian girl on the other end of the line more fully. That was it in a nutshell, really. She smiled ruefully to herself and picked a shard of glass from the knee of her jeans. Even if it only ever put energy into loathing her, his heart was still Gratia's at the end of the day. [color=39b54a]"Arrivederci,"[/color] she said to herself. She smiled more widely after a second, trying to get the hang of the motions, then added a soft [color=39b54a]"Mon cher."[/color] It had such a ring to it that she grinned to herself. It was a small victory atop a day of defeats. If nothing else, she could thank the cheese-headed idiot for that much. Thanks to him, now she knew how to grin like an idiot.[/hider]