Oriphiel

We're now twelve chapters in, and yet a coherent plot has yet to be revealed! Honestly, I don't really know where i'm going with this weird tale of blood and diamonds, but i'm determined to see it through to the end. Or at the very least, I can satisfy my curiosity as to just how far I can get before it becomes too convoluted to salvage. As always, if anyone has any questions, comments, or general feedback, feel free to scribble your thoughts on a paper airplane and throw it my way. You have my apologies in advance for any hilarious errors, typos, or plot-holes you may find throughout my entries, as I have an awful habit of not catching those until days (or even weeks) after posting them.

Chapter Twelve



Cleo was making good time as she navigated her way through the dark hideout, running into relatively few problems. However, every step she took seemed to make her feel progressively worse, as her wound continually flared up in a strange mix of numbness and sharp pain. More than anything, she wanted to find a bed to collapse in, preferably in a genuine hospital, but her curiosity drove her onward. Figuring that the most well defended place in the hideout held the most valuable information, she turned her attention to a certain hallway where two guards were posted, and became determined to find out what was behind the door they were standing beside. Her mind raced with plans and possibilities as she thought of how to get past the two guards. Luckily for her, she didn't have to do a thing; the door swung open, and a man walked out of the room with a distressed demeanor. As he began to walk towards the corner around which Cleo was spying on the guards, she quickly started to withdraw from the scene. However, as she turned to leave, she felt a wave of unease fall upon her. She felt more tired then ever and held back the urge to vomit, all while trying to evade the man walking towards her (who would probably ask her who she was and why she was snooping around the guarded and obviously important room down the hall, and she was currently in no shape to fast talk her way out of trouble). Her fears soon disappeared as the man turned the corner and proceeded to walk right past her without noticing her in the slightest, obviously distracted by something he was tossing around in his mind. Cleo was about to sigh, however as her urge to vomit had returned she suspected that she'd probably end up releasing more than just an exhalation.

She took a few steps back and sat down, pressing her back to the wall and putting her hands on her forehead as she tried to relax. As she did so, she began to hear the guards around the corner talking in low voices. She leaned towards the corner and listened intently: "I don't think so. No way. He's one of the best, you know? I've got no doubt in my mind that he'll pull through." "Oh come on, man. This dank fucking falling apart hideout smells bad enough without you throwing bullshit around. You heard the same as I did; the Boss' three best assassins are on his ass now. He's got no chance." "Did he say three? I thought he said two. Either way, Luke'll beat 'em just like he took down the Jones brothers last year." "Fuck the Jones brothers. And yeah, he definitely said three. I mean, come on, this door is so fucking thin i'm surprised you couldn't hear the fucking beads of sweat hitting the floor." Before the other guard could respond, a voice from behind the door said "You're quite right; the door to my office is rather thin. After this business with Luke is taken care of, I think I'll replace it with something that has a bit more heft to it. That way, I won't be able to hear your screams when you're being mercilessly tortured down the hallway." Both of the guards straightened up, and one of them was deeply frightened by the Boss' words. The other guard shot him a reassuring smirk and said in a very low voice "Don't worry, man. Even if he changes the door, the walls are still thin as fuck. He'll hear our screams just fine."

Cleo stood up and pressed a palm into her forehead. While she was still in pain, she now felt slightly better, and started to take a few steps. She figured that if she could catch up with Luke and follow him without passing out, she might have a chance to make this mission worthwhile. After all, a Blue Shirt being hunted by his own people could easily be persuaded to switch sides. Her steps became quicker and more solid as she looked around for Luke, and she eventually found him near the entrance of the hideout. He was sitting at a sort of make-shift bar, a beer in his hand. Cleo nonchalantly moved through the crowd of Blue Shirts, trying as hard as possible to mask her pain as made her way out of the hideout, looking at Luke one last time before she walked out the door. She figured that he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, and tried to relax as she walked down the street. After stepping out of the Blue Shirts' line of sight, she brought her hands up to her ribs and lifted up the bottom of her shirt. Just as she expected, her wound looked much worse then before, and she now suspected that it was more serious than the "doctor" at the clinic had led her to believe. All she could do now was hope that none of her organs were damaged, and carry on until she could get to a hospital. She reached John's location and shot him a fake smile as he waved to her. He almost immediately noticed that she was nursing her ribs, and stepped forward to help her. "What happened? Did you get in a mix, and have to fuck someone up or something?" he asked. She raised an arm and replied "No. Well, I guess I did fuck up one guy's nose. But this is just from the fight on the metro."

John narrowed his eyes and said "I thought the doc said it wasn't too serious?" Yeah," replied Cleo, "he did say something like that, didn't he? But while the first part of his advice wasn't all that great, I think the part when he recommended that I get to a hospital still has a ring of truth of it. Anyway, before I fall down and vomit to death or something, I've got some news. There's a guy having some drinks in there, Luke, who apparently pissed off his gang. Their boss is sending assassins after him. If you can get to him, I figure you've got a good chance of getting him on our side." "Sure," replied John, "just tell me what he looks like. I'll watch the hideout, and when he leaves, I'll tail him." Cleo nodded, saying "Yeah, alright. He's, uh... well, he's got a few cuts on his face, around one of his eyes. He's got brown hair, some stubble, and..." John's eyes widened when she mentioned the cuts, and he eventually cut her off (pun intended), saying "That's enough. I think I know him. In fact, he's pretty much the reason why I came out here. Right after that war we had with the Blue Shirts, I saw something of the most supremely fucking odd variety, and he's got the answers I need." "Well, that's fantastic," replied Cleo. "Anyway, I think my job here is done. I'm off to find some medical attention. Have fun." "Do you need any help?" asked John. "No," said Cleo, "I can make it. I feel like shit, but honestly, I feel better than I did back in the hideout. Right now, i'm more worried about how much the hospital is gonna charge me." John laughed, and replied "Don't worry about that. When this is all over, just tell me how much they put you back and I'll take care of it. After all, a deal is a deal." "Just don't make me bring a receipt," said Cleo as she walked away, "I always fucking lose those things." As Cleo left, John turned his attention to the hideout, and waited patiently for Luke to emerge. However, just then, there was a banging noise coming from nearby. "Let me out!" shouted the Blue Shirt that John and Cleo had knocked out earlier, as he banged on the locked door of the room they had left him in. As the clanging and shouting continued, John quickly walked over to the room and opened the door. A well placed kick later, John was back at his post, focusing intently on the door of the hideout down the street.