Espionage And Bladeworks

Nodding to himself and letting his eyes flick around at the forestry around him. The fidgeting he gave into involved tightening and releases his hands grip against his side, or idly rolling his shoulders. It wasn’t wrong to think it odd or assume the Matoran was a bit out of it.

He was uncomfortable, beyond the wall of his mentally fortified mind his thoughts clashed against one another like bolts of fierce lightning. He wasn’t comfortable with just talking, having a chat, and it was beginning to show piece by piece.

“Herbs?” His eyes narrowed and shot back to the Makuta.

“Plants... You have some kind of plant that interferes with mind reading?” Repeating the words over it felt foreign in his mouth, and it didn’t take long for him to fixate on this detail.

Answering on the dot

Though despite appearing to stonewall he took his right hand and fixed it onto the crook of his mask, stroking what should have been a spot for facial hair. Luckily it was light enough offending noise wasn’t produced, that green light of his with the hints of pupils did appear to lose focus. 

Suddenly, quickly, they snapped back into focus and his hand dropped to his side. 

“I was looking for something else. Something that would’ve been a problem, something that as far as i can tell you’re not,”

“A rift only grows larger as time passes, one day might turn into never. I know... more than anyone how much pain and hatred Makuta can attract-- but if you let a wound set won't it get infected?” He attempted to make a medical analogy doing his best to frame it in a way that would be even more relevant to the Makuta. 

Mazeka didn’t even wince when the whole display happened, his eyes flashing to the warriors weapons and then her bodies center. Leaning forward and jolting into a sprint when she shielded her eyes. Closing his own he exploited the same heightened senses she was doubtlessly using. A lattice of organic and mechanical muscles screamed to life firing surge after surge of fuel to vault the matoran into a run, eyes cracking open when the last of the molten chandelier dribbled onto the ground. 

A glint of sinister silver brought a near halt to his running. At his current velocity he was maybe a few arms length from his opponent, it gave a front row seat for the near bolt-like appearance of those thrown daggers. Silently whistling through the air seconds that could have been spent poking holes in his enemy were diverted to snapping low to the ground and bending his knife in a reverse grip against his fore-arm. 

In the process of forcing his body to the side he felt it. The air distorting as a projectile kited through the pitch black of the room, not even inches from points on either arm. He sprung up from his tactical maneuver with a bit of a jagged finish making the tiniest of a thump, it was doubtless Lariska would be able to criticize him for it in the dark either. 

So that was a bonus, maybe. 

Relying on his own ability to fight in the dark he began to deftly walk on the tips of his toes, making sure to evenly distribute his weight. He got perhaps maybe an arms length from his screw up and prepared to stab at whatever came into range. At some point he jabbed into the darkness thinking he caught sight of her, instead an ominous barely audible whooshing was let out as empty air parted. 

@ask-mazeka

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Chalking it up to yet another discriminating feature that seperated each Makuta from the last the Matoran continued walking uninterrupted. His posture clarified nothing about his mood at this point, he had hardened himself and took special care to keep up his focus. For what little information or empathetic response Takarrah came across there was so much more locked under a tight watch. It was as if her mental prowess was water hitting against a cliff face, splinters of information being swept away while the monolithic shape loomed. 

Perhaps it was a surprise that this kind of mental fortitude was afforded to someone like a Matoran? 

Steps were silenced as the spy continued and his gaze swept from tree to tree keeping a mental tally of whatever rahi composed this ecosystem. For those Mazeka didn’t know by name he would recall through process of elimination-- the small details like colors or prickly spines. 

There was no obvious desire to hurry the tour along and for the most part the Matoran seemed fixated on pinning his gaze every which way while he was walking. 

“Turaga  Whenua would’ve loved this place. Maybe even the locals,” Mazeka began. 

“But,

Rumor was this hideaway was dangerous...” Feet padded against soft earth as the small spy rounded infront of Takarrah and looked up at her. 

“You really should introduce yourself. Hiding away like this is only going to make those rumors get even more ugly,” A second spent backpedaling allowed the duo to continue their adventure deeper into the nature preserve. 

Where there might have been questions there was none, where there may have been clarification and restated threat... silence instead. Mazeka was not the kind of personality to consistently repeat himself or press an issue to someone. If it came to push, to shove, his blade and a very merciless death would serve as a lasting reminder to whatever happened to survive. More than often the only witness was a verbal report to Helyrx or whatever elder was skulking the deployment bay. 

At every instance where Takarrah met the small warrior there was no compromise. That stark green was staring kio behind the biologist, it was a hollow kind of feeling not too different from a camera or corpse. 

During the journey to the heart of the facility Mazeka fell back and let Takarrah lead the way, there was little reason to this other than the agent acknowledging who had seniority here. The towering golden, blue and winged figure had practically brought this place from the ground up. It would be foolish for him to distance himself in this manner, and the mission was still a priority. 

Sooner finished sooner to leave, a mantra repeated once or twice. 

It wasn’t hate motivating the agents haste, on the contrary. The lack of threats and anything overtly menacing meant Mazeka was quite calmed. It was in this pocket of brief rest that his dry, sarcastic and mildly scalding comments could flourish.That tense body language was purposefully kept up as a red herring. Even without mental interrogation, something as long lived as a Makuta is clever enough to read a disposition at a glance.

The distinction just then of course was more for the Matorans benefit, what he lacked for in size he could puff up in spouting off something the Makuta had no way of knowing. Nor checking thanks to the mental blockades kept strong in the stout warriors cranium. There was more to it than posturing, you needed to show you too were willing to talk about precious information. 

The Agent however made no more moves, no more steps and aimlessly peered at the treeline, the structures and back to the Makuta. It wasn’t to confirm whether she really was a Makuta, like the rumors that had dragged him here had said, she confirmed that with the way she talked and acted. Ce-Toa were one in a million to meet in this setting and her Kanohi wasn’t built for telepathy from the looks of it. Somnus, that was a Kanohi responsible for forcing targets into either a willing or unwilling sleep. 

“The Order has eyes and ears everywhere, 

A new world requires an even closer watch. Plenty of criminal scum, mercenary dogs and crackpot despots see this as a fresh start. 

For check in’s, I’m enough. But if you were amassing an army of Visorak? You’d have quite the heavy knocks on your door. Order of Mata Nui grunts tend to have heavy hands,” The Ko-Matoran finished and finally sheathed his rather sharp dagger into some kind of mechanized loop nearest to his right hip followed by a hiss and a disappearance of the shape behind a mobile panel. 

Cocking his head to the side for a phantom of a second Mazeka quickly added onto his little warning and answer.