#checkandmate

Weariness after missions had become an unfortunate repetition in Daud's later years. Granted, here, he felt better than he had in a long while. It felt good to work again, and test his blade against flesh and magic.

But days underground in a disorienting tomb made of displaced, transpositional rooms, fighting a horde and treating injuries, receiving new medicines...

He'd started to feel ill from the virus Ada had injected cannibalizing the other microbes in his body as well as the fatigue of exertion. Ada had relieved himself and Cahara of their duties temporarily so she could examine the key they received as a reward, and prepare a space for follow up treatments and a physical examination in a few days.

For now, he was content to return to the house he was assigned, little more than a bed and storage area for his notes and trinkets.

Daud quietly turned the knob in the darkness, easing the door open out of habit- and paused when the baseline scent of the air drafting out was twinged with other smells.

Drink. Another person.

Instinctively felt his eyes begin to shift to take in darkness, and the vibrations that emanated from him.

Through the walls, the glowing silhouette of a tall man hunched over and looking at things. Unusual to Daud, the golden glow of the "prey" not only had the lantern glow of its sight-range, but a kind of "aura" around his body.

A different kind of awareness that Daud hadn't seen before. But when the waves of the muted sound of his own footsteps intersected with the aura of the man, he noted a pause, and a shift in attention.

Daud closed the door behind him, keeping attention on the man who was now mutually aware of another in the space.

Fibonacci, House 119. That was where the directory pointed Ada to for Leon S. Kennedy. She wasn't familiar with the name of another person that also occupied the same house, but she'd opted to take her chances there, instead of her own apartment assigned in Golden Ward.

After all, she'd poked far too many bears in this strange place.

Her double, Carla, she'd run into and ended up in a fight that took her from Crimson Lane to the more wealthy corner of the ward, and had to ditch her black jacket to escape, donning bright festive patterns for the season in order to break her pursuer's sight of her.

She'd then decided to follow-up on Helena's intelligence and find Albert Wesker, and re-establish contact. If there was anything she could rely on, she knew that at least he could give her accurate information... and on the flip-side, someone needed to keep an eye on him, and she doubted any of the other captives here knew him as well as she did.

A truce for now. Trust? Not likely ever.

And as easily as she found them, she didn't want to risk being found so easily in turn, especially not without her gear.

Leon was a reliable sanctuary.

Made her way through the lower levels of Fibonacci, and found the placquard for House 119, retrieving her improvised lockpick set made from a dental hook and nail file, and entered in the place. Immediately, the smell of wood, lingering tobacco, and whiskey threw her for a moment.

Did I walk into a lumberjack's home?

Ada mused looking over the remnants of carving, figurines in stages of progress and packages left for winter exchanges.

No sounds of movement, nor breathing, nor any draft. She was alone here.

Ada walked around in the dim light, trying to gauge where Leon's room was- and with the familiar scent of old leather coats and bourbon, made a safe bet that this room was his- despite both of them looking the same: completely unmodified from the move-in staging.

Men.

Three now worked at the gun shop and pawn, and the daily grind of upkeep had lessened for the Merchant. Two apprentices carried on the polishing, sharpening, and labeling of goods in between lessons on how to work their crafts: Helena taking to repairs and smithing, and Rixian sharpening his eyes for appraisals.

The Merchant himself kept to collecting pieces and refurbishing the more complex ones, while keeping an ear to the ground for activity stirring with the gangs. If any fight broke out, it would be good for his business, and bad for everyone else.

That was the way it was with arms dealers.

He leans over the counter, lost in thoughts of potential projects, and of the threat of violence that was looming over Crimson Lane, when the chimes of front door sung someone's arrival.

He lifted his eyes under the shadow of his hood, and then tilted his head back to see someone familiar. Tall, dark blond hair falling in a curtain over his face, pale blue eyes-

"Oh, thank goodness!" Hunnigan breathed a sigh of relief, glancing around herself as the familiar voice answered her. "Yeah, yeah, I'm 'here' wherever that is," she murmurs, "I don't recognize anything around me, and I don't have the right phone." And as calm and collected and stern as she usually made herself sound, it was almost panic-inducing to have felt like she'd lost time and ended up in a forested area that surrounded a giant crater, the bottom of which she couldn't see.

She had reached for her gun first, suspecting some kind of organization abducting her- and found that it had been replaced with a near identical pellet gun with an orange cap.

"Yai! Did ya find it?" There's no answer when Ismael calls out for one of her owls. "Yairie?" Again, no answers. Ismael isn't too worried, considering that Iyana who is perched on top a nearby tree doesn't seem to be in distress.

The collar around the Eastern Screech blinks, indicating that the smaller owl speaks.

I bet she's gotten distracted. There's a guy not too far from us.

Ismael sighs "alright. Lets hurry and go over there." Ismael is NOW worried. Yairie is no small owl like Iyana. The Eagle Owl is sure to cause some form of uneasiness from anyone with her size!

Sure enough..

This giant owl is staring a man down intensely.

You smell suspicious.

just ada wong tailing a target and him stumbling right into the fray.

she knows why already– rumors of young, healthy people being kidnapped and taken to the lowest levels of fibonacci where they are never heard from again. her own intel suggests black market organ deals– a common thing for those who were deemed unimportant by those who lived it up at the highest levels. nobody batted an eyelash at itand while ada wong wasn't known for her 'good deeds', if there was any chance of experiments, she needed to shut it down.

" Always the hero, Leon." amusement colors her voice as she observes the chaos: that aforementioned hero making quick work of the target's bodyguards.

eyes roll– really, would it kill him to try and handle something with stealth once in awhile?– as she finds the grip of her hookshot strapped to her thigh. aim, fire. the hook wraps around a support beam and like clockwork, she's saving him from a right hook from behind of the one guard who still had some fight in him. the crook is sent flying into a pile of trash as she lands with grace, tucking the hookshot back into place.

Welcome!

You'll be staying in HOUSE 119!

You'll keep your vibration sensitivity!

You'll be given a BB Gun!

Enjoy your stay!