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The gala was all ready to go. The guests had all but filed in and were in the midst of getting their horderves. With the swiftness and stealth of a master, Willow disappeared into the limited shadows of the hall. She made her way to one of the back rooms and locked it shut. Then the Xocili very quickly undressed herself and took out her new, more extravagant dress-suit. Then with that on, she tossed away the uniform and made her way to the bathroom so that she could fix up her hair, doing her best to primp it in a manner that would help sell her image. Flashing herself a grin and a wink, she adjusted her top so that her cleavage was more on display -- always a good tactic to distract away from who she was -- she waltzed out of the washroom and back into the party.
Luckily, her preparations had proved outstanding, as expected. She blended in with the rest of the partygoers easily; her outfit, her demeanor and her overall presentation as one with the rest. She walked by a waiter carrying flutes of champagne, snatching one as she walked by. A small group of rich snobs had gathered on one side of the main hall, addressing one of the portraits that hung from the wall. As she approached, Willow scanned the picture and ran a search over the lacnet, downloading all the information about it within the blink of an eye and without any outward exertion at all. She slid into the proximity of the group with finesse, sidling up between two of the couples. “I see you’re admiring Madaena’s Whispers on the Wind. Not his best piece but certainly one of his finest when it comes to his expressionism,” she spoke candidly, catching the attention of the group.
“Truly? I believe it’s his finest piece,” one of the men said, surprised at her words.
“I suppose it depends on one’s own viewpoint. But for me, the Veranda speaks to depths I cannot truly put into words. It captures the pain of his childhood, the tragedy of adolescence fading into the past and adulthood racing down upon our heads without warning. You can see it in his brushstrokes; the memories of his earlier years giving him just the slightest of listing, his soul pouring out for all to see.”
“See, a woman of taste! The Veranda is my favorite piece; so much so that I spent nearly a fortune to acquire it,” one of the women stated with a chuckle.
“Well I’ll be. Congratulations are in order; I’d thought I’d had that piece won and acquired but you managed to pull out one last bid to inch me out. I’d never thought I’d meet my rival here but isn’t that just the way of things?” In the span of a few seconds, Willow had pulled artistic expressions and words from several hundred different review sites and databases. Though the words she was speaking meant absolutely nothing to her, she uttered them with the confidence of a person who knew what she was looking at and speaking about. As the woman admitted to purchasing the piece of art, she had then swiftly accessed the history about the aforementioned painting and tracked its movements from owner to auctions and beyond. Humans were way too whimsical with all of their information, barfing it up all over the general web for any to find and see.
The woman chuckled once more. “Rival indeed! Dame Margaret Tennant,” she said, holding out her hand in introduction.
“Lady Cecilia Montague. It’s a pleasure to put the face to the name and one as pretty as yours is worth partaking in,” Willow delivered her fake introduction as well, taking the hand, giving the woman a meaningful, if slightly impish, smile and then leaning down to kiss it.
“This Lady Cecilia may make our Dame swoon in five minutes whilst the rest of us have troubled so to make her swoon in hours,” one of the men said with an amused snort.
“Now don’t be jealous, Reginald. Not many are gifted with silver tongues of praise and honey,” Margaret replied, waving the man off. “Your words are appreciated, Lady Montague. Have you come for any particular piece tonight, my dear?”
“Not quite. I just enjoy the atmosphere of competition.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie; she did like competing. She just hated the prim and proper setting that she had intruded upon. These were men and women who had never put in the grime of the world, born with titles and fine living. They saw competition in bidding wars for trinkets they simply wanted to lock away and never use. Pretty on the outside but Willow could see the ugly, misshapen husks within. The Nazru would have wiped them from existence, proving that brutal strength trumped upper class beliefs any day.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the auction shall be commencing in five minutes. Please gather in the auction hall so that we may begin,” one of the staff announced from the archway nearby.
“Well it seems we must be off. Lady Cecilia, best of luck. After the event, you should come and find me; I’d love the chance to get to know you further. Perhaps even arrange a viewing of the Veranda?” Dame Margaret stated, giving the Xocili a warm smile.
“I would be delighted,” Willow replied with a gentle nod of her head. Too bad; that Veranda thing sounded expensive. And Maragaret seemed ready to party. Unfortunately, Willow only had one thing in mind and she had no intention of letting anyone out alive. Downing the flute of bubbly liquid -- surprisingly tasty! -- the Xocili followed the crowd into the other room. Without a reserved seat, she chose to stand near the rear of the room, keeping to herself as the chairs and room filled up.
Before long the auction was underway. Unsurprisingly, several of the earlier lots were symbolic pieces of art and ‘supposed’ magical items. The mystery was, apparently, part of the fun or so the auctioneer tried to sell. The possibility of power paled in comparison to actual power though and Willow wasn’t going to gamble on grabbing a fraud and missing out on the chance to acquire a real source of magic. Unfortunately, lots continued to sell on without much guarantee or intrigue and the Xocili was beginning to wonder if she’d made a mistake.
But just as she was about ready to give up, the final lot was announced. Two guards came out from behind a drape, carrying a long box covered in red cloth. As it was set upon the auctioning table, both guards took the cloth and lifted it up. Within the glass container were two items; a stone tablet, carved into the shape of a diamond and etched with glowing marks and a golden key with some kind of symbol on its handle.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the rarest of commodities in the magical artifact sea. A genuine God Slayer lacrima and a Zodiac Key. The first is believed to be the Law Godslayer Lacrima, the power of Nomos, the former god-king, infused into stone and given to those that sought to bring law and order. The second is that of Libra, allowing the wielder to bring forth the Zodiac spirit and act as their master and commander. These are genuine articles, authenticated by our experts. And as such, the bidding will start at ten million jewel,” the auctioneer explained quickly, playing up the items as much as one person could.
Jackpot. Willow’s grins spread wickedly across her face. Reaching into her dress, she pulled out a tab and pressed down on it. In her hand appeared her firearm, locked and loaded upon materialization. Swinging her arm around, she quickly ripped out several shots at the guards posted around the room; headshots that brought each and every one of them down instantly. The men and women in the room screamed in surprise at the laser beams that suddenly lit up the area, cowering in their chairs.
Willow approached from the back, firing two more shots at the guards posted on the stage. Giggling to herself and frolicking her way up to the stage, she landed and turned towards the auctioneer, leveling her gun on him. “Say there, handsome; you ain’t jerkin’ us around with these items right? They are really what you say they are?”
The man gulped. “Y-Y-Yes. They are a lacrima and a Zodiac key. Please just take them and go before hurting anyone else.”
Willow cocked her head before pulling the trigger, firing another shot into the man’s head and ending his life as well. “Alright, the rest of you need to just stay where ya are.” she stated, swinging her gun across the crowd. As she reached into her dress once more, she pulled out several tabs from one hand and tossed them into the air. Puffs of smoke exploded into existence, followed by drone-line machines that zoomed through the air. They flew around and took different positions, making sure their weapons were trained on the gathered crowd.
Grinning, Willow turned to the glass case. She swung her weapon into it, breaking the glass easily. She pressed a button on the gun and it disappeared into smoke once more, transforming back into a tablet. With one hand she stored it back into her dress and the other hand reached out and took the key. She looked it over, musing over its usage and then shrugging before she shoved it into her dress as well. Then she took the lacrima and stored it as well. Now with two heavier objects taking up room in her bust, she turned back towards the crowd. She reached into the other side of her dress, walking down from the stage and into the aisle, and pulled out more tabs. Whistling as she went, she gently tossed them onto the ground, almost nonchalantly leaving them in random spots near the chairs. She had almost reached the end of the aisle when she spotted a familiar face.
“Dame Margaret Tennant,” she called out, giving the cowering woman a wave. “How ‘bout you bring your pretty butt over here?”
The rich woman looked around cautiously and then, very hesitantly, moved through the other people hiding. As she approached Willow, she found a sliver of courage. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?” she demanded to know, her voice wavering.
“Ain’t it obvious? I needed the magic items,” she said, patting the key and lacrima stored in her dress. “Now do me a favor and don’t struggle.”
“Wha- Hey!” Willow stepped forward and down, grabbing the woman by the hip and casually tossing her over her shoulder. “What are you doing?! Unhand me!”
“You sure about that? I don’t think you’ll like it if I do!” Willow replied, her voice singing.
Margaret seemed to think better of her protest, most likely from looking towards the stage and seeing the bodies. With that settle, Willow turned and gave the audience a bow. “Thank you all for ya patronage. If ya sit tight for a little bit, I’ll be outta ya hair and ya can feel free to scream and shout all ya want.”
She gave the crowd a half-wave before she dashed through the doorway. Remembering the path she had marked, she turned down the hallway where she had changed and came bursting out the back door, too fast for the guard to turn around and look at her. She was already leaping into the air, delivering a solid kick to the side of his skull and sending him crumpling to the ground without even knowing what had happened. She paused, only long enough to grab the man by the arm and bring him along with her. Now out from the building, she ran several yards away from the building before coming to a stop. There she set Margaret down on her feet.
“What are you planning? Why did you get me out of there?” the woman demanded to know.
“Well because I needed a patsy,” Willow said with a shrug as she brought up a remote. Before the woman could truly take in the sight of the device, the Xocili pressed down on the button. A split second later, the gala building was engulfed in flames and smoke, the bombs that Willow had planted igniting and going off. The ground shook violently as brick and mortar soared all around them. “That and yer just pretty enough that I don’t think you shoulda been vaporized. Call me a bleedin’ heart.”
“Wha-?” Margaret was beginning to say before Willow slammed her head against the rich woman’s. It was light for the Xocili but hard enough for the human to knock her out cold, her body going completely limp and falling over.
She bent over and put the detonator in Margaret’s hand, making sure to press her finger against the now spent button. Luckily for Willow, she lacked fingerprints, having burned them off years ago. With that scene all set, she turned her attention to the guard. Turning him over, she gave him a few slaps to stir him.
“Oh thank god!” Willow cried, breaking out fake tears instantly. “This woman here, she-- I can’t believe it! She came rushing out and attacked you. I was outside having a smoke when I saw her hit you! And when I went over to investigate, she-- It’s awful, sir! She blew up the auction hall! Oh my stars, they are all dead!”
The man, his head still spinning, pushed himself up, his eyes widening and his attention focusing as he took in the flames before him. He turned his attention to Margaret, unconscious on the ground near him. “She was laughing and when I rushed at her, I-I guess she wasn’t expecting me! She fell over and hit her head! Please sir, you have to arrest her! She’s done the unthinkable! So many people were still in there!” Willow blubbered, putting on her best show to date.
The man, now about his senses, took in the situation and nodded. As he moved to grab the pair of cuffs he had been provided, Willow spoke up. “I can’t stay here. It’s all too much. Please, I will go and find an officer of the law and tell him what happened!”
“Y-Yeah, do that, lady,” the man said.
Willow turned and as soon as her back was to him, her wicked grin returned. Now with Margaret set as her fall guy, she took off towards the road, aiming to disappear into the night with her prizes in tow. She rushed off into the treeline, still pretending to be rushing off as she said she would. But the moment she was out of sight, she slowed her gait, sighing pleasantly. She reached into her dress and pulled out the lacrima and key, eyeing them greedily.
Now to see how to use them.
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