2013.10.06 - Warrior Philosophy

Zealot has not been idle since her meeting with Cole. The revelation that there are Kheran weapons in circulation was not welcome news to her to say the least. She has been reaching out to her millennium's worth of contacts, some reputable, others less so. This evening finds her on a rooftop in Brooklyn, her fist wrapped round the throat of an unfortunate thug, holding him several feet off the ground. He is beating his fists raw against the steel of her forearm, though his struggles are becoming weaker. "My patience is wearing as thin as the musculature preventing your skull being separated from the rest of your body. Do *not* test me." Zealot's voice is as cold as the blade she wears sheathed across her back.

For his part, all the thug manages are a few desperate gasps and gurgles, before Zealot releases him to fall butt first onto the cold concrete underfoot. With a few ragged breaths the individual gathers what dignity he has left, staring up at his tormentor in fear. "Gkk. Jesus you are one crazy lady. I don't know nothin'! It was all a gag, see. This guy gave me a hundred bucks if I went around talking about...Kheran stuff, whatever that means. If I knew this would be the heat it brought down, I'd have told him to shove it!"

Shen flies freely, her wings spread out side as she feels the wind against her face. She is heading home right now, or rather to the safe house when she notices with her sharp senses the disagreement on the roof top. Her body leans to the side, wings tilting to bank her, and spend her turning toward the roof top. The clothing she wears is dark red, much like a Buddhist monk's robes, and her wings are brown at the top before fading to white at the bottom tips. She is not overly noticable as a result as she isn't exactly 'bright', but Zealot would see the incoming individual gracefully flying in the New York sky.

Zealot turns her back on the subject of her interrogation, eyes briefly flicking across the New York skyline. "Perhaps this should be an object lesson in why you should not accept money from strangers before you know the task at hand," she offers to the thug, without turning round. The Kheran's gaze alights on the winged form in the sky as it approaches, her hand raising up to grasp the hilt of her katanna, unsure of its intent.

It's then that the thug fancies his chances, pulling a short knife from his boot and jabbing it towards Zealots calf. "Please," she says mockingly, evading the clumsy attack, kicking the blade out of his hand before rendering him unconscious with a snap kick to his chin. "I think you have served any purpose I might have required of you." Zannah turns on her heel, looking up at the winged figure, holding up a hand in what might be a polite greeting. This could be another of Hadrians associates based on her appearance, but with so many supers in the city, it doesn't pay to take any chances.

The figure comes in lower and lower, until she soon reaches the far edge of the roof. As her cloth covered feet lower, she easily does a little race landing, making it appear graceful rather than the expected awkwardness as she moves from the balls of her feet soon to the flats of them as she comes to a halt only two yards from Zealot. There is no fear in those hazel eyes as she examines Zealot before her face turns to examine the injured man.

Her massive wings have folded up behind her back, hugging close to her body. She appears short now that she is on her feet rather than in the air, and with her wings tucked in behind her back she appears small and delicate at first. But it is the way she moves, her carriage that speaks of strength and self-discipline.

The girl says nothing, actually calmly moving toward the unconscious man to reach out and check his pulse. She lets out a soft, pent up breath and brushes his hair from his face. "I assume this violence had a purpose?" Her accent is heavy and exotic sounding, but her words are carefully prounced as hazel eyes flicker up to look toward Zealot where she kneels upon one knee. Her disapproval is mildly put forth, but she gives a chance to explain rather than make assumptions. There is a calmness in her demeanor, and a lack of aggression as there has not been a clear reason to bring it forth as of yet.

Zealot lowers her arm as the winged figure approaches, taking a solitary step back to increase the distance between her and the newcomer, watching her keenly all the while. She pointedly crosses her arms over her chest when no immediate attack or violent action seems imminent. She then lets the winged woman cross to the unconscious man without any interference. Zealot arches an eyebrow as she is questioned. "I was merely showing this human the error of his ways. Had he been brave enough to attack me directly I might have been more gentle with him. Though I admit his dishonesty may have spoiled my mood before that." She slowly crosses the rooftop until she is a couple of paces away, arms still folded. Zannah's head inclines to one side slightly. "Who are you?" she asks rather pointedly.

"Humans are delicate creatures, one should be careful with them if at all possible. In either case, we are all still parts of the whole." The young woman rises from her knee, brushing it off delicately. "My name is Shen Li," the girl hasn't chosen a codename as of yet. "And your name?" Her head tilts slightly, her eyes highly alert, but again no particular violence or aggression seems to come from her. "Also, may I inquire to what dishonesty you were speaking of previously?"

Zealots facial expression softens somewhat and a smile threatens to creep on to her lips as Shen refers to humanities frailty. "Indeed, however my blow was carefully measured. Had I intended to kill him this discussion would not be taking place." The second part of Shens sentence causes Zannah a moments pause, before nodding thoughtfully. "Buddhism. An admirable philosophy, though I found it clashed greatly with my own calling. Though some Buddhist meditative techniques are not without merit."

Zealot unfolds her arms, walking forward gracefully until she stands in front of Shen. "My chosen name is Zealot, for reasons that should be obvious. I believe you might be familiar with an ally of mine. Spartan? Providing you are the 'flight enhanced meta gene carrying monk woman' he was referring to." Zealot looks down at the fallen thug. "This man lead me to believe he was in possession of vital information regarding a personal matter. He was merely a puppet for another." Zannah leans down and begins to rifle through the man's pockets without ceremony.

The woman before Shen is insightful, though the young girl's response is, "Bhuddhism is not meant to clash, but to provide harmony. When one harms another, it comes full circle as we are interconnected. As a result, each action must be carefully measured."

But the girl then smiles softly, "Zealot," recognizing the name. "I do not know what meta-gene is, nor am I a monk though I was raised by them. I was born from an egg, and do not believe I am human though I may resemble them." Meta-human? Not too lately if she was born from an egg for real. However, she does say, "It is a pleasure to finally meet you Zealot. I do know Spartan, he is a good man," though he isn't exactly 'alive'.

But as she weighs Zealot's story, she states, "I see. He misled you with the promise of informing you of something of importance, but he knew nothing. I am sorry. The disappointment must be hurtful and frustrating." Great, putting kind feelings on Zealot! Still, the girl seems to understand why Zealot was so upset and does not blame her.

Zealot looks up at Shen, pausing in ransacking the insensate thug. "That is precisely what I mean. There is little about my past and certain future conduct that could be considered...harmonious." She lowers her gaze, pulling out the mans wallet as Shen continues. "I do not believe you are human either. I have known you for a handful of minutes and you offend me less than the majority of humanity I have encountered. I would take it as a compliment." Zealot even smiles as Shen mentions Spartan. "He is one of the greatest warriors I have had the honour of fighting alongside." *And he is no man,* she adds silently.

Zealot extracts a roll of dollar bills from the thugs wallet, unrolling them, revealing a tiny metal device wrapped up at the centre of the tube. She manages to keep a look of puzzlement off her face, as Shen describes an emotional spectrum Zealot probably hasn't encountered in a long time. "Yes. Terribly hurtful," she replies with an award winning poker face. She holds up the metal device and scowls. "I hope your combat skills are adequate. I appear to have not given this man's employer enough credit." Zealot crushes the transmitter in her hand, before straightening up and drawing her sword with a graceful movement. "We are about to be ambushed."

"A warrior. Something I am having difficulty with at this time, improving my fighting abilities," Shen says softly. She seems to take what Zealot says as a compliment and thinks no more upon it. She already understands she is more patient and forgiving than most humans that are not monks, and thus they can be quite frustrating and confusing. Though she does blink at Zealot's poker face, "Perhaps disappointed would be a better term in this case." Duly noted. "They are adequate, but not at the level that I wish them to be...," and then it hits her, "Ambushed, means surprised, you?"

The girl's demeanor shifts, her wings partially unfolding as her hazel eyes look attentively about with her enhanced sight. Her breathing and the way she holds her body has shifted. Steady and sure, almost like she has entered meditative state; just one made of awareness of her surroundings as all her senses are taking everything in.

To those with enhanced senses, the sound of booted feet climbing a stairwell will be obvious, as will the distinctive noise of several automatic rifles being loaded and cocked. The door leading to the roof space will burst open, admitting a group of four masked men in nondescript blacked out military gear, toting H&K MP5's. "We have the primary. There is an additional contact." A muffled voice comes from one of the armed men. He nods assent at the silent acknowledgement he receives, before all four men open fire at the two women.

Shen makes an almost hissing sound, "Soldiers." There is a tenseness, a stress that goes through her muscles. Must be associated with bad memories. But her eyes take on a predatory gleem and it is like something shifts in the girl. The beautiful movements are still there as she takes only one running step before her wings snap out and beat to lift her up. She only lifts up to the sky far enough for her to come back down again, feet first, wings tucking in to work only to help guide her to try and plant feet into one of the men's chests. If she is successfully, her wings will be snapping open to fling at those about her to knock them aside if they aren't quick enough on their feet. And quick they must be, as her wings span about fifteen feet when fully extended.

"Perhaps mildly inconvenienced," Zealot retorts to Shen as she hears the booted feet come of the stairs. She grabs the unconscious thug by his lapels and flings him none too gently out of harms way. As the door bursts open to admit the armed men, the radio communication between their assailants grants Zealot a moments grace to act. She is already halfway to the door when the group open fire, her Kheran blade spinning wildly in a web of steel, deflecting most of the incoming bullets. However a couple of them find their mark, scoring bloody furrows across her ribcage, which rather than slowing her down, seems to galvanise her into greater action. She swings her blade at the nearest mercenaries weapon and aims a kick at another, taking advantage of any confusion Shen's attack might sow.

These men are clearly well trained and disciplined, however the strafing run of a winged woman probably wasn't in even the most esoteric of training manuals. Shen's feet are planted firmly into the chest of the attacker she divebombed, sending him flying backwards with a high pitched shriek as he tumbles down the stairs. Her unfurling wings cause further confusion, causing another attacker to aim far too low in an instinctive effort to protect his face against the buffeting strike, his rounds chewing up the concrete underfoot.

Zealots blade neatly cleaves one of the assault weapons in half, taking a good portion of its owners right arm with it, causing him to cry out and clutch the severed limb to his chest with his free hand. Her kick sends another assailant flying backwards through the door to join Shen's target in an ungainly heap at the bottom of the stairwell. The lone remaining soldier is left beside his maimed comrade, his gun barrel flicking between Shen and Zealot, unsure of who he's going to try and shoot first.

Shen raises and slams the door shut, her small hand will firmly hold the metal door in place. It will take more than one man pushing on it to get it open again against her one hand. Her eyes flicker to the blade before they turn back to the man with the gun. Her free hand moves, palm outward, toward Zealot to stay her weapon. "Explain your actions, and then we will depart and you can tend to your comrade," her thick accented voice says. "There has been enough violence tonight, let there be no more call for more." A practical stance as well. The man can't hope to take them both out, and she is giving him a way out without injury.

Zealot swings her blade to one side, the blood flicking clean of the blade and splattering over the unpopulated part of the rooftop. She advances on the remaining gunman with her blade at a guard position, ready to strike until Shen's hand stalls her. Zealot holds her ground, but the sword remains bared. "It is unwise to get between a Coda Majestrix and her prey, girl. Do not make a habit of it." Still, she makes no move to power her way past the winged woman. Zealot spares an icy glare towards the now one armed mercenary.

The remaining gunmans finger tightens imperceptibly on his rifles trigger, but at the last second he relents, his shoulders slumping, the guns barrel dropping down, giving his wounded comrade a quick look over his shoulder. "Fuck. They aren't paying us enough for this," his voice slightly muffled by his mask. "Look, we don't do names. You know how it is. We get a targets details, the funds change hands, we do the job. It's nothing personal." He nods towards Zealot. "She's the target." He inclines his head back towards Swift. "You were going to be collateral damage. Fuck. Our rep is going to be ruined after this. I knew something stank about this job. You really going to let us go?"

"Compassion is never ill-advised, and patience can reward one with much," Shen says gently. "Humans are not prey, but sentient beings with souls. In the midst of battle though, it is sometimes difficult to remember, especially when one has something precious on the line," her tone soft and gentle. She killed without remorse to protect the monks at her temple, and she still lost too many of them to bullets. Her pain never seems to dull over time when she remembers those soldiers of the dark gods.

Shen then nods, "Yes, there is no important reason to take your life. But remember; mercy was shown to you once, it would be wise to repay such kindness in kind to someone else in the near future." She then looks toward Zealot, "This is a mercenary job, is it not?" She does not seem familiar with the term, as it does not come easily off her tongue. She's still an innocent in many ways, but she is intelligent at least.

Zealots fury is a cold measured thing though outwardly her expression is as unmoveable as steel as the mercenary attempts to explain himself. She remains tight lipped until Shen addresses her directly, her eyes sparkling dangerously. "Obviously. This is not the first time this has happened, nor will it be the last. You do not live as long as I have without making a considerable number of enemies. I find leaving no survivors makes for a very clear message."

Zealots grip tightens on her blades hilt, regarding the remaining mercenaries. "However I have not experienced such an amateurish and clumsy attempt on my life in fifty years. I feel pity for your employers." With a swift gesture she sheaths her sword into the scabbard at her back. "Take your pitiful lives and get out of my sight. Your friends limb stays here. Consider it the price of failure."

The mercenaries mask regards Shen blankly, though the face behind it shows clear signs of confusion. "Yeah. Yeah. Whatever you say. Thanks. Jesus." The merc grabs a tourniquet and bandage from a utility pouch at his waist, quickly tying off and binding his friends stump. He reaches up to the comms unit in his mask. "Code Black. We need exfiltration, ground level." He helps his friend to his feet, steering him towards the door and unsteadily down the stairs, where the other two members of the team are only just beginning to stir. The battered mercenary team depart, a few furtive masked glances thrown the two women's way. A few minutes later, a van can be seen hurtling away at ground level, weaving its way through the Brooklyn evening traffic.

Shen opens the door so the mercenaries can go down it and depart. She then closes the door behind them and heads toward the edge of the building to assure departure. She is quiet for the entire while. It is only once they are completely departed that she says, "You are used to cruelity." She looks over at Zealot with compassion. "But I thank you for the compassion you showed tonight," and she bows respectfully toward Zealot, showing honor to her. When her eyes lift to Zealot once more, she offers, "Do you need to get back, or are you exploring a little longer tonight?" Apparently, Shen is thinking of offering Zealot a way back home if she needs it.

Zealot wordlessly joins Shen at the rooftops edge, her expression unreadable, though her hands are bunched into fists at her side. She turns her steely gaze on the winged woman when she speaks. "Cruelty would imply I inflict torture. I am merely used to killing. It is a necessity, in my life." Zealot hesitates for a moment, regarding the younger woman as she bows. The Kheran merely nods her head slightly in response. "It will do little to lessen my fearsome reputation. They will not believe the fabled Trophy Kill has gone soft in one night." Zealot shakes her head in response to Shens enquiry. "I believe I will stay out for a few hours yet. It has been enlightening to meet you, Shen-Li." Zealot sketches a bow to the winged huntress, before simply stepping off the rooftop to land silently in the alley below, disappearing into the night.