Thy Fearful Symmetry - Dark Heresy (IC)

[Destro_Yersul]

Biding his time, Tychon watched the eggs. Loxatl, whatever those were. He'd have to ask Jericus later. Norton would probably make a go at these, or D'Aragnia. They didn't seem like something that would have interested Simeon overly much.

Once the first bid had been placed, the gunslinger stole a sideways glance at the representative of the Constantine Conclave. He was interested to see what, if anything, the hooded man with augmetic hands was willing to bid on. From there, it would all be a matter of what the others wanted to give up for these...

[LCP]

The guardsman froze, and intently scanned the room.
Anybody watching him, or were their eyes on Max's show?

Most of the other auction-goers had their eyes on the stage. The only exception was Rhodes. Like Red, the nobleman had taken a seat near the back, keeping the rest of their fellow guests in view; also like Red, he appeared to be watching the backs of the others’ heads.

Rhodes was watching the representative of the Constantine Conclave when Red looked, but he seemed to feel the soldier’s gaze. Looking over his shoulder, he met Red’s visored stare.

Beside Tychon, Jericus had no luck at intercepting the transmissions Red claimed Millie was receiving – it wasn’t a task the tech-priest’s data-slate was designed for. Tychon, meanwhile, was nudging Tauron into readiness as the bidding for the eggs began.

Norton led the bidding, but he was far from alone. Simeon joined the contest in earnest, and soon enough, he and Tauron were rivals in a bidding war that saw Norton pushed to the sidelines.

The representative of the Constantine Conclave was as silent as before – as, for that matter, was Rhodes. In their isolated group, Millie and her confederates were conferring in not-so-hushed voices.

The bidding passed the two hundred mark, and for the first time Simeon displayed signs of caution. Looking straight at Tychon with his strange eyes, the slight gentleman raised the stakes to two hundred and thirty, watching for the next move.

Tauron bid two-forty, and there was a long pause as Simeon considered his options. The auctioneer seemed about to call it when another voice called out.

“Two-fifty!”

Millie had joined the bidding, a fierce grin on her face. A couple more bids, and the hiver raised the stakes straight to three hundred. Conceding defeat, Tauron backed out.

“Lot Five is sold, for three hundred thousand,” said the auctioneer, conclusively. As his associates removed the heavy incubator from the stage, Millie leaned even further back in her chair, throwing both her arms up over her head in a gesture of victory.

“Boom!” she shouted. “Suck on it, gakwads.”

The other guests pointedly ignored her, although the auctioneer subjected her to three seconds’ worth of silent stare from behind her mask. She seemed to think better of any further pronouncements.

“We move on,” said the auctioneer, pointedly, “to Lot Six. From the world of Pulchressima, three Gilded Lyrebirds.”

“That’s the three Gilded Lyrebirds, here or anywhere, ladies and gentlemen,” said Max, resuming his patter. “Endangered isn’t the word. The Pulchressian authorities will not have been happy when they realised these three were missing.”

A ripple of laughter went around the room. The auctioneer, as always, seemed unmoved.

“Bidding begins at seventy-five thousand,” he stated. “The floor is open.”

[Thanatos 51-50]

Red held Rhodes' gaze for a long moment, flipping up his visor and looking pointedly at the Conclave representative, then back at the Noble, letting the obvious question in his gaze shine through before returning his gaze to Millie and back to Rhodes.
The solider jerked a thumb curtly over his shoulder to indicate Millie's data-slate, and waited for a reaction.

After getting it, Red slid the yellow-taped frag shell into his grenade pocket before replacing it with a red-marked, incendiary shell and finishing the reload.

Spoiler

Show

Straight Fellowship test? There really is no "Innuendo" skill.
(1d100)[11]

[Destro_Yersul]

Now the birds, Tychon actually wanted. They didn't look dangerous, and the Inquisitor might want to restore them to their proper owners, if they had indeed been stolen. They'd lost the eggs, but that only meant their reserve of money was still technically untouched. Taking advantage of that, Tychon decided on a price and hoped that this time, Millie wouldn't jump in right as he was about to win.

Spoiler

Show

Going with an upper ceiling of 450,000 for the birds. Tychon doesn't actually expect it to get that high, if the other lots in the auction are any indication, and will be increasing his bids by 15 - 25 thousand at a time.

Dunno if you want to do the roll again?

[LCP]

Rhodes seemed to take Red’s meaning – however, he was almost immediately distracted by the auctioneer’s announcement of Lot Six. Something about the word ‘endangered’ seemed to make the nobleman prick up his ears.

His sole competition was Eustacia. The Margravine led strongly, and continued in the same vein. A three-way contest from the outset, Tauron and Eustacia were clearly drawing on deeper pockets than Octavian: soon enough, the man from Cantus bowed out, and two remained.

“One hundred and forty.”

“One hundred and fifty-five.”

“One hundred and seventy.”

Tauron’s bid seemed to give D’Aragnia pause. There was a moment of hesitation where the auctioneer waited on the Margravine’s next bid – then, with a gracious nod of her head, she ceded the contest to Mr Kastor’s capable representative.

“Sold,” said the auctioneer, “to Mr Kastor, for one hundred and seventy thousand thrones.”

The fluting birds were carried back off the stage. Max looked a little disappointed that they had fetched so little, but the auctioneer pressed on with emotionless precision.

“Lot seven,” he said. “Twelve Euphoria Worms.”

“You may not have seen these before,” said Max. “Native to Talassar, if you know where that is. They secrete a contact narcotic that is illegal across half of Ultramar. Just holding one in your hand is enough to give a powerful hit. Lethal, of course, in concentrated doses... by all accounts, a very pleasant way to die.” He slapped the side of the tank like a father congratulating a high-achieving child. “Great breeders, too. I’m sure I don’t need to spell out the implications.”

“Bidding begins at one hundred thousand,” said the auctioneer. Almost immediately, the bids began to fly. Tychon motioned for Tauron to stay out of it, having no desire to add to his worm collection. When the dust settled, Millie was victorious, taking the worms for only slightly less than she had bid for the Loxatl eggs. She seemed insufferably smug about it. Rhodes, Red noticed, was paying closer attention to the hiver than before.

Lot Eight rolled around, and Millie was victorious once again, beating both Norton and strange-eyed Simeon out of the arena with an eye-watering final bid to claim the grunting Ambulls as her own. She taunted the little gentleman from Solomon remorselessly, drawing pointedly to his attention how he was yet to win a single item – he suffered her abuse in icy silence. Meanwhile, the representative of the Constantine Conclave remained in undisturbed silence, still yet to place a single bid.

With the Ambulls sold, Lot Nine was brought up onto the stage, one cage at a time. The translucent hounds snapped their fanged jaws at the bars, rattling their cages – a jab of the Ogryn’s shock-prod set one spasming with a crack of electrical discharge, and the others quietened down.

“Glasswolves, ladies and gentlemen. Cave predators, from one of the moons of Circe. Hunt by scent and sound alone, and bite like bastards.” Max batted the side of one of the cages, and the animal within snarled and snapped in reply. “What we’ve got here is two males, and one alpha female. Suitable for breeding, or for putting straight into the pits.”

The auctioneer looked at the savage, transparent things for a few long moments before setting a starting price. Though they were certainly impressive, they seemed to command less interest than the items preceding them, Norton starting the proceedings by declaring that they were too grotesque even for the fighting pits. Tychon’s instructions to Tauron to drive up their price were of limited effect: they eventually passed to Simeon for the sum of one hundred thousand.

“Lot Ten,” said the auctioneer, moving on. “The Fensea Basilisk.”

The grey eel stirred from its murky lair, pressing its smooth snout against the glass that confined it. It seemed to have rows of vestigial legs protruding from its pale belly, wriggling like fins as it explored the soupy water of its glass prison.

The Basilisk, Max claimed, was an innately psychic organism. Otherwise defenceless, it was capable of inducing a fear response powerful enough to cause cardiac arrest in weaker subjects. Fantastically rare, it was a zoological curiosity in itself – and also an extremely effective tool of interrogation against those conditioned to resist more conventional forms of interrogation.

The bidding for the Basilisk was rapid and fierce. Millie made an early play, and no mysterious messager appeared to rein her in. This time, however, Simeon matched her bid for bid, quickly leaving the others behind. The hiver’s enraged sulk returned more strongly than ever when the message finally arrived on her mysterious data-slate to stop her from bidding any higher, leaving the gentleman from Solomon to take the little creature for the price of a hundred and ninety thousand.

“And so,” said the auctioneer, “we move onto Lot Eleven.”

Taking care with its thrumming cables, the Beast House handlers manoeuvred the stasis coffin delicately onto the stage. It squatted there like a monolith to some steel god, casting its shadow over the auction-goers in the foremost seats.

Leaving his podium behind, the auctioneer walked to the front of the stage.

“Since you are here, I trust you all know what this contains,” he said, slowly. He held up a gloved hand to cut off Max’s habitual salesmanship before it could begin. “Captain Vyres has told me that he lost seventeen of his best men capturing it. It goes without saying that should the House not be satisfied that the winner of this auction can properly... contain it, once it has been delivered, then the transaction will be considered void. A surcharge will also have to be paid for the coffin, since we do not consider it safe to allow the contents to be removed before time.”

The coffin remained still and silent, the humming of its pipes the only accompaniment to the masked man’s ominous words.

“The minimum bid for this item will be one million thrones,” said the auctioneer. He clasped his hands behind his back. “You may begin.”

There was a long pause as the other auction-goers looked around at each other, waiting to see who would be the first to bid. Giving them all a lazy stare, Millie spat onto the metal deck.

“One mil? Weak,” she said. She stuck one tattooed arm up in the air. “Two million, right here!”

[Thanatos 51-50]

Red forced a laugh up from his belly, and tightened the muscles in the back of his neck. The Guard teaches you many things - and one of the tricks you pick up is how to make your voice carry out across the din of battle without hurting your throat.
The Guardsmen laughed as loudly as he could. Loud enough to feel his own teeth vibrate.
"What Spire are you from, Stubbs?" he asked out loud, leaning forward in his chair again to disguise that his right hand curled around Abagail's pistol-grip.
"Where I'm from, Boss, a man who doesn't show you the goods is running a shell-game." the 'Bodyguard' said loudly, the implication ringing clearly. "Stubbs' folk may be more good-natured, but a man with a fox-mask ain't usually the most trustworthy of specimens."

[Destro_Yersul]

"Now, Mr. Bosc," Said Gideon Kastor, raising his own voice to be heard just as well as Red's. In the manufactorums of gunmetal, it was often necessary to know the same trick. "I trust Captain Vyres has indeed procured the... special... item, or we would not all be here, no?" With a smile, Tychon stood and bowed to the Captain.

"Surely, Max, you have a pict-record of some kind that would suffice for display of the contents? Naturally it would be too dangerous to open the coffin, but I have yet to meet something that can leap out of a recording. Let's have a picture, and you'll have two and a half million, from me."

[LCP]

Heads turned at Tychon's words. There was a long silence.

Simeon broke the silence, speaking in his quiet, high-pitched voice.

“Is it possible,” he asked, “that Mr Kastor does not know why we're here?”

The Margravine gave a little laugh. Up on the stage, the auctioneer remained silent, looking left to where Max was standing. The captain looked a little uncomfortable at being the subject of such sustained attention from his confederate.

“Someone carrying a pict-corder would have been a liability,” he said, at last. “But even if we did have picts, you wouldn't see much, Mr Kastor. That's the nature of this... particular beast.”

When he was satisfied that the captain was finished, the auctioneer looked back to Tychon.

“There you have it,” he said, softly. “Now, if we may proceed. Mr Kastor, if you are not satisfied with the conditions, you are not obliged to bid.”

[Destro_Yersul]

"I confess, Simeon, that I don't know why you're here. I know why Madame D'Aragnia is here. I know why Mr. Norton and Lord Rhodes are here. I'm here because I heard there would be some interesting items up for auction. Indeed there have been, though what truly interests me is the contents of that coffin. My offer stands, two and a half million, unless you would like to beat it?" Still standing, Tychon fixed the little gentleman from Solomon with his most level stare.

[LCP]

Simeon simply returned Tychon's stare. His modified eyes were good for that sort of thing: Tychon could swear the little man wasn't blinking at all. Like a snake.

"Two seven fifty," said Simeon, simply.

"Two eight," chipped in Norton, not to be outdone.

"Three!" snapped Millie.

[Destro_Yersul]

Satisfied that he had at least avoided answering Simeon's question, Tychon settled back into his seat. He'd lost face there, and he knew it, but there was nothing for it now. Damn Red for speaking up like that. "Three two fifty," he said.

[LCP]

"Three three," drawled the Margravine, making her entrance into the contest.

"Three five!" shouted Millie, aggressively.

"Three six five," came Simeon's voice once again...

[Destro_Yersul]

"Three eight." Tychon leaned forwards, watching the others. They were getting alarmingly close to the amount of money he had left in reserve. At the rate things were going, it looked like another million thrones wouldn't take long to go by. And then? Well, he'd be forced to bow out...

[LCP]

"Three nine," replied Simeon in an even voice. Norton and the Margravine were looking uncertain about staying in the contest as it climbed.

"Four!" said Millie. "Four mil."

[Destro_Yersul]

"Four million, two hundred!" The gunslinger was, at this point, sincerely hoping that the surcharge for the coffin wasn;t going to be too steep.

[LCP]

There was a frantic muttering from some of the gangers with Millie, particularly the one with the message slate. She ignored them, looking Tychon straight in the eye.

"Four four," she said, with blunt aggression, "and let's call it."

[Destro_Yersul]

Tychon held her stare, doing some mental arithmetic. Four five plus the one seventy for the birds would put him at four six seventy. Only another three thirty from their max, and that coffin looked incredibly expensive. Still, they could probably make it. The gunslinger cleared his throat, the picture, he hoped, of a man who was not in the slightest bit ruffled by her attempts at intimidation.

"To you, then, Millicent Stubbs."

Three thirty margin was not a chance he wanted to take.

[LCP]

“Yes!” said Millie, a savage grin slashing her face. Twisting round in her chair, she pointed a finger at D'Aragnia. “You can suck it,” she said, before pointing to Norton, “and you can suck it,” - she pointed to Rhodes, “and you can suck it,” - she pointed to Simeon, “and you can suck it twice.”

“Five million,” said Simeon, quietly.

“What did you say?” demanded Millie.

“I bid five million thrones,” he said. The little man turned his yellow eyes on the hiver, as her face began to darken. “Your bid.”

“You son of a...” began Millie – behind her, her associates were conferring frantically over the message slate. Shaking her by the shoulder, they got her to look round: whatever torrent of abuse she had had planned evaporated, replaced by a huddle of murmuring voices. Whatever Stubbs' friends were showing her, she did not sound pleased.

“Any further bids?” said the auctioneer, waiting patiently. There was no response: Milicent was lapsing slowly into a furious, scarlet-faced silence. “If there are none, then we will say -”

The silence was broken by a tiny, tinny noise – the churning, whirring sounds of a small printing device. Up in the front corner of the seats, the cowled representative of the Constantine Conclave was printing a spool of shiny paper from some kind of handheld machine. Tychon watched as one burnished metallic hand broke the print-out off at the seam, and handed it to one of the Beast House attendants.

The man who had taken it looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, and carried it quickly to the auctioneer. Looking down at the little white slip, the masked man hesitated before returning his attention to his audience.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “we have a winning bid.”

He folded the paper carefully in half. A muttering wave of discontent swept across the room, culminating when Millie jumped to her feet. As she did so, she knocked over the chair she had been resting her boots on with a bang.

“This is grox-****!” she called out. “How much?”

“We are satisfied that no party in this room can match the gentleman's bid,” said Fox Mask, pocketing the slip of paper. His voice carried a ringing note of command, now – a strong current of order amidst the rising tide of confusion and anger before him. “We would like to thank you all for attending this auction; if you will please remain seated, arrangements have been made for the transfer of funds -”

“Grox! ****!” shouted Millie in reply. “We all saw that fraghead come in with you. How much did he pay you, huh?” The representative of the Constantine Conclave sat silently, barely even seeming to notice the woman's tirade. “Or is he one of yours? Yeah, that's it. Shoulda known, shouldn't we? The House always wins.” She looked around the hall, looking for support. “Why even bring us here, if you're gonna pull a stunt like this? To sell your gakking birds and beetles?”

“I too would appreciate knowing what the... honourable representative has bid,” said Simeon, his soft tones in stark contrast to Millie's angry shouting. With an affirmative grunt, Lazerus Norton leant forwards in his chair. “Me too.”

The hands of Millie's associates, Red noticed, had crept ever-so-slightly nearer to their guns – and the Beast House handlers had seen it too, spreading out across the back of the room. Next to the stage, the Ogryn lumbered rather less subtly forwards, drawing himself up to stare menacingly at Stubbs and her gang of hangers-on...

[Destro_Yersul]

"If I may?" Put in Tychon, rising to his feet once more. Once again, his voice was calm, but loud. "The Number, Mr. Fox, is just a number. Satisfy our curiosity? Surely one minor declaration to quell any potential... unrest..." with that, he was looking at Millie, "is a small concession to make."

[LCP]

“The conduct of this auction is the domain of the Beast House, Mr Kastor,” said the auctioneer. “Your opinion is not relevant.”

Tension tautened like tendons in the air. Still pent in their cages, the glasswolves bayed and snapped their jaws – the knuckles of Grum’s ham-sized fist whitened as the Ogryn tightened his grip on his shock prod.

“I’d quite like to see...” began Max, but the auctioneer froze him out too. Beast House handlers were walking forwards out of the shadows that gathered in the cage-cluttered corners of the room, making their presence known. Even before factoring in the Ogryn, it was becoming clear that both the captain’s men and Stubbs’ armed band were heavily outnumbered.

Spitting onto the deck, Millie stood her ground.

“You don’t scare me, foxface. We were warned that you Beast House ladies were twisty bastards.” Brushing back her jacket, she rested her hand on the grip of the huge hand-cannon that was holstered at her hip. “So the question is, are you gonna tell us what your friend there’s bid, or are we gonna have to make a scene?”

“The auction is concluded,” repeated the auctioneer, with icy force. “Lot Eleven has been purchased by the Constantine Conclave. Take your seat, and arrangements will be made for your purchases to be transferred.”

Millie showed no signs of being about to sit down. Norton and D’Aragnia’s bodyguards looked on edge, hovering on the edge of the confrontation: only the member for the Constantine Conclave himself seemed unconcerned, sitting in place as if nothing untoward has happening at all. Glancing over his shoulder, Nova noticed that Rhodes’ seat was empty. The nobleman had risen silently from his chair, extricating himself from the escalating stand-off – he looked to be headed for the corridor...

[Destro_Yersul]

Of course. Of course Mr. Fox would be too arrogant to take the simple way out, invent a huge number, and save some face. That would be too easy, especially with Tychon giving him the perfect set up like that. With a shrug, The gunslinger sat back down, draping his arms over the back of the seat in such a way that his hands ended up right next to his pistols.

"Mr. Bosc," he said in a lowered voice, "No violence unless someone takes aggressive action towards us specifically."

The final exchange was giving him a lot to think about. He had initially discounted the conclave member, but the man had outright purchased the most expensive lot in the auction. Phaestus was very likely not the sort to leave something like this to chance. He would have to keep a very close eye indeed on where the hooded figure ended up going.

[Thanatos 51-50]

"Mr. Bosc" swung out of his chair. And proceeded to the nearest exit.
"Rhodes is on the move. Electing to pursue." he whispered into his commbead, swinging the assault rifle to his shoulder as he crossed the exit threshold.
As soon as the nobleman drew in sight, Red pitched his voice to carry only as far as the Noble.
"Oh, is this a repeat of Fedrid, Octavian? Heading for the hills the moment things get tense?"

[Rizhail]

Nova took to her feet, her hands resting on the hilts of her blades. She held back from drawing her swords at Tychon's orders to Red, merely keeping herself ready should the inevitable occur and a fight break out.

"What's the plan, Gid?" she whispered, sizing up the ogryn and the handlers while waiting for his reply.

[Etcetera]

Erasmus emulated the actions of his betters, placing a hand on the comfortably oversized grip of his Tranter and sidling backwards towards the door.

[Destro_Yersul]

"Simple. We keep an eye on things, pay for our birds, and then we go take care of a few last things before leaving the station." Tychon was watching Millicent with interest. If the ganger got herself killed, he wondered, who would take possession of the lots she had won? "I want no new enemies right now."

Nova was smart enough, he thought, to know what he meant by 'a few last things.' They had a mission, after all.

[LCP]

Red

On the other side of the back door, a narrow corridor led to a sharp right turn – by the time Red had hurried out of the auction chamber, Rhodes had already disappeared around the corner.

Red followed hard on his quarry’s heels. Turning the corner, he saw a long, narrow corridor stretching out ahead, between high walls of machinery – dead ahead was the nobleman’s receding back. He was moving fast – and appeared to be speaking into his cuff.

"Oh, is this a repeat of Fedrid, Octavian? Heading for the hills the moment things get tense?"

At the sound of Red’s voice, Rhodes’ head snapped round – in the blink of an eye, he had whirled round, the Nomad leaping into his hands with startling speed.

“On the contrary, my dear boy. I’m just beginning.” Though he was facing Red now, he was still pacing steadily backwards down the corridor. “Good to see you’re learning enough to excuse yourself from the crossfire, too.”

“Our mysterious Mr M showed his hand the moment that underhive whore walked into the room,” he said, taking another step back. “No-one sends an attack dog like her to make a legitimate bid. She’s here to take the prize by force, and that means she has backup. I’d rather not be penned in there with the others when they find out what it is.”

He stepped back again, and the barrel of the Nomad rose by a fraction.

“Speaking of which, Mr Red... you appear to have left your friends behind.”

---

1

Not Red

“Lot Eleven has been purchased by the Constantine Conclave. Take your seat, and arrangements will be made for your purchases to be transferred.”

“Yeah, I don’t think we’re going to do that,” said Millie, her voice dripping with barbed, heavy-handed sarcasm. Her associates were on their feet around her, D’Aragnia and her bodyguard sidling out of the space directly in front of them. “I think this whole auction is a fix. You think it’s just this nerk?” she asked, gesturing in the direction of the Constantine representative as she addressed the rest of the guests. “I’ve got your number too, gakhead,” she continued, fixing on Simeon. “You think we’re stupid? You ought to know, anything that’s worth knowing, Mr M knows it.”

With one swift motion, she popped the fastener on her holster, and the hand-cannon was in her grip – sweeping the room with it, she used it to point to Verenwyn, to the man with the brass hands, to the auctioneer. There was a scramble of movement from the Beast House men in response, some of them producing brutal-looking shotguns. The animals in the cages were howling and chattering.

“You’re all in this together!” she yelled. “That box belongs to us!”

“You’re out of your depth, Miss Stubbs,” replied the man behind the fox mask, with icy calm. “Put the weapon away and you might be allowed to leave.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. She took a single step back with the pistol still raised, and her men unslung their autoguns. “I think we’re gonna to take what’s ours, and then we’re gonna leave.”

One of her companions raised a whistle to his mouth, and blew. From the direction of the ceiling, there was a heavy, reverberating thump of metal . The guests looked up as one, their eyes drawn immediately to the rectangular ventilation ducts that tangled with the ceiling girders above...

A metal grille dropped from the centremost duct, falling to the floor with an echoing crash. Swinging himself half-out of the hole it left behind, a huge, heavily-muscled man dropped into sight on some kind of harness. He was one of the workers they had seen in the corridors outside, on their way here – looking at the snaking luminum tats that etched his skin, Tychon realised now that they were the same savage designs that adorned Millie and her friends.

The man was holding a heavy stubber. As the situation began to sink in, more clangs of falling metal rang out – tattooed faces were appearing high up in the walls, men and women with battered autoguns taking aim at the guests and Beast House personnel down below. They were in the ducts...

[Destro_Yersul]

No sooner had he heard the clangs from above than Tychon was on his feet, his twin fatebringers practically leaping into his hands. He took quick stock of the situation, silently thanking the Emperor for the reflexes borne of Gunmetal. Six gangers with autoguns, one man with a heavy stubber, and Millicent Stubbs. Against? Norton's bodyguard, Eustacia's bodyguard, Max and his crew, the Beast House... six of them, plus the Ogryn and Kyrie. And Mr. Fox, couldn't forget him.

Discounting the malfian noble, the circus owner, Simeon and the Constantine Conclave's man (What was his name, anyways?) It still wasn't very good odds. "Titus. Erasmus. Get after Mr. Bosc. Nova, gangers." The gangers had a straight shot down their aisle. He had to count on Nova to be faster than them. The chairs would be terrible cover, but it was better than he was likely to get anywhere else in the room, unless...

Pushing past his own chair, Tychon let it clatter to the floor. Sliding around the corner of the row behind them, he made for the door Rhodes had left through. The heavy metal would make much better cover than the chairs would have, and he would still have a good view of the auction hall.

[Thanatos 51-50]

Red danced the laser sight over Rhodes' chest ominously, unaware of the clamour in the next room.
"Take one more step, Octavian, and I prove that the Underhive raises men of action with a surprising consistency." he threatened, "Don't forget everything you learned on Prol."
Red paused for a half-breath to let the threat sink in, and to move his finger to the secondary trigger - the one that would launch a firebomb straight into Rhodes' chest. "It may not surprise you to learn that I don't want Stubbs to get her hands on Lot Eleven either, much less her mysterious benefactor. Your world is worth less than a Ratling's to me, and you know it, but it seems Fate conspires to make us allies of convenience again."
Red looked disgusted under the smoked armourglass as he realized what he was saying. "So, you tell whoever you have on the comm that you're joining the fight in there - and to take Millie and old Brass-hands alive - or you tell them to bring buckets of water."

Spoiler

Show

Half-Action: Aim
Ready Action: Launch Firebomb at Rhodes if he A) steps away, B) Takes an aim action or C) Takes an attack action

There's no combat map, but I assume he's at least five meters away and less than 22 meters away? That's a short range bonus for the Aux Launcher and puts me out of the blast radius of the firebomb.

[Etcetera]

Erasmus obediently followed Bosc out the door, sidling round Tauron.

[LCP]

Red

“My dear... ‘Red’,” said Rhodes. There was something Red didn’t like about the man’s graciously condescending smile. “They’re already on their way. In fact, I’m just on my way to meet them. Why don’t I go and collect my friends, and you can run and fetch yours?”

Echoing down the corridor behind Red, a deafening storm of sudden gunfire assailed their ears.

“They sound like they might be in need of some assistance.”

---

1

Not Red

Tychon was on his feet like a thunderbolt, diving for the door – before the others had even had time to parse his words, the gangers in the ceiling opened up.

A hailstorm of bullets blitzed the floor around Nova, Tauron and Jericus, punching through plastic chairs and striking corkscrew slivers of steel from the deck. Up ahead, a woman with a luminous skin-wing tattoo over her left eye was giving a similar treatment to the Beast House men hunkering in the Ogryn’s shadow, her bullets sending the first man running for cover as the second was hit repeatedly. Blood welling up through his filthy leathers, the man staggered back against the cages, the glasswolves within snapping and snarling in reply.

The Ogryn himself seemed not to care. Beady eyes glittering in his sunken eye-sockets, Grum cast around to find the source of the shooting, veins bulging in his massive neck. Seeing the woman dangling from the duct, he bared the rotten stubs of his fang-like teeth, giving voice to a growl that was audible even over the chatter of the guns. Even the abhuman could not reach her up there.

Behind him, a deeper beat joined the rattle of gunshots as the heavy stubber opened fire. Heavy-calibre rounds chewed across the floor towards the Ogryn, sending Grum stumbling sideways with one hairy forearm raised to protect his face. Accuracy didn’t seem to be the gunner’s strong point – as the Ogryn stepped simply out of the bullets’ path, they found one of the caged glasswolves instead, smashing it back against the bars of its cage in a whimpering mess of weeping, translucent ichor.

On the other side of the auction chamber, another burst of autogun fire sent one of the handlers reeling with blood running freely down his arm. From somewhere in the front seats, Nova heard the throaty roar of Thrax’s chainsword firing up. Millie’s gangers had spent their element of surprise.

OOC:

Spoiler

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The Surprise round is now over. Here begins a full turn, following the initiative order in the OOC (meaning that Tychon gets another full round of actions straight away). Jericus’ post above is good for this round, but he still needs to make a Pinning check, same as Nova and Tauron.

For those of you who aren't Tychon, you are fairly high up in the initiative order, but remember that Eustacia, Phipps, Millie and the Auctioneer will be getting a chance to act before you.