Futuristic Wake me up inside (boobs & butts)

[starboob]

To her infinite credit, Tristan does make a point to listen to at least seventy-five percent of what Robin says, finding that much useful. The rest she filters out, occupying herself, instead, with the large floor-to-ceiling window on the other side of the living space. (On occasion she does stand at the window and imagine herself as some super villain with total control of the city. But that’s a private fantasy she will go to the grave with.) When Robin pauses and gives Tristan room to speak, she only grunts. A half hearted, ‘Yeah, I heard you,’ sort of noise.

Then she rises from her seat, walking over to a flat screen posted on the wall. (The chain gives off the energy that’s eyeing her with each new movement. Whatever.) She hits a hidden panel to the side, causing the television to sink into the wall. Two new panels hiss as they close over the newly formed depression. Unsurprisingly, the new panels reveal a small arsenal. (It’s not even the only one hidden in this room. The entire apartment has around eighty-seven weapon caches, give or take.) “You think too small if you’re not at least willing to attempt killing a god.”

No, the weapons she’s currently swiping from the panel and shoving into her pants are not her conveniently stored god-killing weapons. (If only.) These are merely her, ‘It’s going to be a long night and I’ll take the first watch,’ lethal weapons. Pretty standard, she thinks.

“I’m not trying to go down in history as the bastard who did what others have already managed to do. C’mon.” Even Tristan has a hard time figuring out if she’s serious or playing up her role as a jock. It would be sick if she actually managed to kill a god. Nobody would fucking mess with her then and she could probably get at least the mayor to swear fealty to her. “If I can’t be immortal, then make my name immortal, y—”

Alas, her daydreams are rudely interrupted. The lights go out in her apartment. “Fuck.”

She tilts her head back and groans just as the back up generator kicks on. Thirty seconds. That’s all an effective crew would need to cut the rest of her security and while she’d like to believe that RenF or HarP or whoever are dysfunctional idiots, she has a feeling that the dead gods are not smiling up at her right now.

This is confirmed when something cracks against her front door. The wood doesn’t give. Not yet, but it will. That same something hits the door again, this time with more force.

Tristan turns on her heel. “Up, up, up. Get to the roof.” A fairly unhelpful direction for someone unfamiliar with her apartment layout. This does not occur to her. (But it will.) Her attention is on the fast breaking door and making sure to time her grenade with the exact moment the door breaks. Lovely plan, too, if it weren’t for the fact that the fuckers also come from behind, crashing through her great glass window.

She does manage to throw the grenade, but as she turns her face collides with someone’s fist. (Tristan doesn’t get punched. She just runs into fists. There’s a fucking difference!!) 'Oh, shit.'

 

[Buttercup.]

It took all of Sera's self-restraint not to roll her eyes at the grandiloquent speech, which was ironic considering she might've delivered the exact same one under different circumstances. But she didn't make a habit of judging herself by the same standards she did others. Anyway, the weapons in Mik's stash looked impressive enough – an assortment of swords, axes, even what looked like a halberd (or a bardiche? she wasn't enough of a melee weapon nerd to tell for sure) and a repeater crossbow. None of them looked quite like god slaying material but certainly a good start.

This is a good time to mention there was never more than 30 minutes in Sera's life without a 'SHIT. FUCK. WHAT NOW' moment, and well, it had been roughly 30 minutes since she'd almost slipped in the shower and put an embarrassing end to her master plan. She was prepared to chalk the power cut up to Mik skimping on circuit breakers, but the knocks on the door that soon followed made it clear: This was not a drill.

"Up, up, up. Get to the roof."
Wherever the fuck that was!
Sera grabbed a hatchet from the wall panel. A modest choice perhaps, but she'd always preferred smaller weapons she could hide in her oversized cloak. If she was a Dark Souls character, she'd be a DEX/LCK build for sure.

"Yeah, so the roof you mentioned..."
She hoped Mik might take the lead... but no. Instead she stood there hypnotising the door, unresponsive. Just as Sera reached out to grab her by the shoulder, which might have been the last thing she'd ever do—

CRASH!!!

FIGHT OR FLIGHT, BITCHES! And since she still didn't know where the roof access was, flight was off the table.

She narrowly dodged the boot of a rappelling dude and broke his leg with the hatchet. Yeah, she and this thing were gonna be besties.
Steely Dan noticed the commotion too, and this time he seemed interested in helping for once! A massive swing. Three guys knocked on their arses.
"HA! Think you're so clever with your... skylight dropping game, huh?!" Less talking, more fighting, Sera.

There were a lot of these people though, and even the combined forced of Hatchet & Clank couldn't keep them all under control – one managed to hit Mik on her way from the door.
"You... ASS!" Sera yelled as she wedged the axe clean between the bastard's shoulder blades. From the voices above it was clear this hadn't been the last of them, and it was a matter of time before they thought to use a flashbang or something equally unpleasant. They needed to MOVE.

"Come on, get up! I need you to show me to the roof, for gods' sake!" No response. Sera grabbed Mik by the shoulders and shook as hard as she could shake someone considerably bigger than herself. "Stop fucking around, do I have to—"

The sound of something hard hitting something soft. A body flying across the room, hitting Mik square in the face once again. Well, the 'off' button is usually also the 'on' button, right? ...RIGHT?

 

[starboob]

‘Son of a bitch.’ Tristan groans, knocking Robin’s hands from her shoulders. “Don’t touch me.” In another breath she's back on her feet, fists raised even if she's not quite sure where or who she's hitting. Though that matters less when they're surrounded by enemies. Henchman crawl around her home like ants over honey. Fuckity fuck.

"If you don't know where roofs are fucking located—" Her grumble is cut off, one guy coming towards her. She ducks, pivots, capturing him and using his momentum to throw him into a group of assholes. They fall like bowling pins. Idiots. Tristan never gets to finish her sentence, but it goes without saying where it was headed.

All of her mental faculties are focused on the grunts filtering into her apartment. With just a thought, she summons her gauntlets around her fists, knocking them together. It's either her reputation or their arcane knowledge that causes them to balk when they spot her gauntlets. She doesn't give them time to adjust their strategy, throwing her entire weight into her next punch so that when her brass fists hit the next guy, his head flies clean off his shoulders. Heh.

Steely Dan eyes her warily, but seems content enough to not attack her. Though he might later. Ass kicking is always on the table, after all.

The collective shock from the group gives her enough time to spin, look up, and devise a new plan. Roof's now out if they're coming in from the ceiling, and there are still other ways to exit. She grabs onto Robin's collar and pulls her over to the window. "You think Steely Dan can fly?" Her plan isn't banking on that, but the alternative is trying to time a jump with one of the passing flying vehicles below. Not ideal and only something Tristan has ever thought about doing. Though she doesn't really think it can be that hard.