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[center][color=#f3dba8][b][u]Nico's Apartment[/u][/b][/color][/center][center][color=#f3dba8][b][u]Interactions - None[/u][/b][/color][/center]

A cold, sterile interior greeted the two as they stepped into George's workshop. Reminiscent of a movie set reminding an onlooker of the secret, hidden basement riddled with computers and screens, George's most precious space followed along the same theme. Silvery steel rowed walls, floors and ceiling alike, clearly revealing the large man's reluctance to ever move from their apartment. One could only imagine the hours spent on constructing the venue, not to mention the favors he had called in. However, in this sequence, it would be fair to state that Nico and George had been hired by the most obscure and obfuscated parts of the American military to deal with issues otherwise kept at a distance. Payment was issued in the way of technology which George gleefully accepted. This would, of course, dredge the issue of Nico's secret. Indeed, there were a negligible number of officials who knew who the pop star actually was, but a mutual understanding brought the two parties to a leveled field, and it was a beneficial relationship to utter the least. "Welcome to Georgia." Came a joke from the veteran, before Nico scoffed at him.

[color=#f3dba8]"Nerd,"[/color] the boy smirked, [color=#f3dba8]"ey! Don't lick anything!"[/color] Azure's pop star continued and pointed at his dogs who curiously followed them into the workshop. Noting the many screens and panels throughout the room, one could make a guided guess as to what other role George played between himself and Nico. The man was a respectable hacker, offering Nico, or rather Rayne, assistance on the field in the form of Intel. At times, one would be surprised by how organized their outfit was, and it was safe to consider them assassins, with accepted missions from officially non-existent parts of the military. Old friends of George, people he had worked with in the past. [color=#f3dba8]"Ever considered playing anything else than Bob Marley in here?"[/color] The small, pale mutant thinned over his shoulder towards the laptop with 'Three little birds,' paused on the screen.

"Boy, you don't fix what ain't broken," the larger male stated in response. Bob Marley had without a doubt been part of George's life for quite some time, an assumption safe to make following the parafinelia ever so common amongst his belongings.

An initial image to greet whoever stepped into the room was quite clearly the many blades professionally displayed in large, glass cases and illuminated by internal lights. They were the various weapons Nico had used throughout his career as a vigilante, each blade designed with one purpose in mind. Killing. Blades of varying sizes, weight and structure were laid bare beneath the light, each quite unique in its build. One would take into consideration the fact that none of these weapons were designed for normal use, but rather specifically for Nico's abilities. Most lacked handles, rather being a long, slender blade stretching from one end to the other.

Of course, no vigilante armory would be complete without its very own glass display of suits. For Nico, it was mainly a presentation of masks. He quite hated leather and spandex. Some followed along a theme of beauty, others of horror. Some were plain and a few were actually cute, a sense of morbid mockery in the face of chaotic bloodletting.

Each mask offered the same repertoire of functions. They distorted Nico's voice, allowed for constant communication with George back in base, and contained lenses which showed the dark-skinned man exactly what Nico was seeing through a camera. Other than that, Nico quite enjoyed the simplicity of his selection. [color=#f3dba8]"Alright, so where is this beauty of yours?"[/color] The boy asked, slipping his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, a piece of fabric easily swallowing his tiny form.

"Here's our new baby," George stated, pulling out a section of the examination table, as if a drawer, and revealed the sword within. Though somewhat simple in appearance, the blade offered an incredibly elegant build. Double edged, like every sword in Nico's selection, the silver colored surface of this sword interlocked and slithered together along its length as it accumulated in a sharp tip. Entirely straight, the sword lacked a handguard as such an addition would string along complete irrelevance, with how Nico wielded swords. The blade did, in fact, have a handle, as Nico had found himself in a position where he was forced to arm someone else. Though a rare scenario, the difference between life and death warranted preparation. Of course, there were also times where he forced people to fight to the death and he would spare the winner. Nico was somewhat tyrannical when wearing his mask, returning all the wrongdoings of his opponents tenfold, with twisted satisfaction. Also, he didn't often spare the winner. "Let me present to you, The Serpent." George carefully lifted the sword onto the examination table, a silk cloth beneath. "Ninety centimeters," he indicated the blade's length, a finger traveling from one end of the silken cloth to the other as he did not want to touch the perfect surface with his bare skin. "Two pounds, slightly above average for a sword," George continued, "cutting out the excess weight and making it more aerodynamic," he explained, motioning toward the holes in the sword's length. Too heavy and the blade would be difficult to launch effectively. "I designed it from Arctic Steel, army is still testing that stuff."

[color=#f3dba8]"Arctic Steel?"[/color] Nico tilted his head, placing a hand on Lucifer, the most mischievous of the three brothers and kept him from wreaking havoc in the workshop. Where Belial and Mephistopheles were calm, collected and most all, disciplined, their youngest brother was anything but. Nico would have found this infuriating, if he wasn't the exact person Lucifer had learned this from.

"Real damn sturdy. With the force you launch these things, it'll get stuck in a metal wall. Won't cut through it, but you won't be slashing metal anyway," the engineer finished. Nico's swords were launched with fearsome strength, but while the momentum would allow a bullet-like shot from his blades to sink the sword into metal, actually slicing it was another matter. Physics played a large part in Nico's powers. Something he needed to understand, because no one was more aware than him, that without his powers, Nico was powerless. "Finally, it's full tang. Same piece of steel from top to bottom. Handle is bolted on."

Learning about the sword, Nico's dainty, pale fingers carefully traced a path across the rubber handle, followed by gently wrapping his digits around the sword's shape and turned it. One could clearly see the metal between each half of the rubber hilt, the boy's eyes drinking in the sight of this weapon in the process of successful imprinting. He needed to learn about the shape, he needed to lift it to reveal the weight in his hands, and he ever so carefully padded the side of the edge with a finger, growing accustomed to its most immediate danger. [color=#f3dba8]"This thing feels like sex."[/color]

"... Classy," George cleared his throat. With a very dim hue licking past the sword's entirety, George could make the conclusion that Nico had managed to imprint with the weapon, a small smirk edging across the man's lips.

[color=#f3dba8]"Alright,"[/color] the boy carefully lowered his new sword, [color=#f3dba8]"let's go to the festival."[/color]

"Dude, we're two hours early." George raised a brow, as he crossed his arms.

[color=#f3dba8]"Correction, we're two hours Nico,"[/color] the pop star winked, and stepped out of the workshop, leaving George dumbfounded.

Following a bout of silence, the man finally responded. "That makes no sense!" 


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