Patrollogs
(A battle in the Nightmare)
[Sun Mar 31 2024]
In the Darkened Alley behind Haven National Bank
Kept impeccably clean despite the alleyways found in the rest of Haven,
the alleys of the historic district are instead are eerily pristine. Little
gardens are fenced off by little white picket fences, with dark green
dumpsters that have only a faint sour smell when in close proximity to them.
Despite that, it's poorly lit, even in the daytime, casting most of this
space in shadow.
It is morning, about 41F(5C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds.
"Well, who do I have the pleasure of trying to fight off this morning?" Miles drawls out into the darkness around them, peering and peeking.
Peyton says "ah, hello there."
"That's a pretty accent. I think I can place it, but.." Miles allows his sentence to trickle off into mild uncertaincy as they squint toward the south.
Peyton shrugs to herself a little, sighing as she pulls on her gloves a little more tightly. "Ya'll caught me off guard a little here, but I suppose it's rude not to introduce myself. Peyton Bennett." She says, blithely.
"If there's any comfort, I was just as caught off guard as yourself, Peyton." Miles drawls back out in response, and gestures with his free hand, despite likely being unable to be seen. "Miles Hull."
Peyton lift the heavy barrel of her FN SCAR up, clicking off the safety as she cooly lines up a shot of the oversized for her rifle on Miles, already finding him a bit close comfort she nevertheless fires off a shot. Her nose scrunches up with consternation as her aim drifts astray.
Conversation quickly gives way to battle, as it often does in the nightmare. Peyton's first shot may've missed, but that doesn't stop Miles from scrambling for cover, as he treats the gun-wielding woman with the seriousness and wariness she deserves. "Not a bad shot." He calls back toward her, drawing up his own bolt-action weapon to fire back - missing and pinging off a chunk of brick. There's a click of his tongue, and then he charges in closer, trying to kill the distance between them while blasting her with a tranq dart. The less than lethal shot doesn't miss, thankfully.
Peyton growls a little under her breath, grunting with the impact of the small dart and huffing her breath deeply. Whether she notices the effects of thee dart immediately or not is unclear, but something seems to urge her to charge in recklessly swinging with the black blade of her Katana coming in a wide arc as she sprints with shocking speed forward.
There's a wee bit of a look afforded to Peyton as Miles blocks the oncoming blow with the body of his rifle. Not just because it chipped the bloody thing, but also because of her choice of weapon. 'Really?', it seems to say. Reckless or not, the catsuited woman is no slouch, and Miles doesn't try to fight back in close quarters with his rifle. It's dropped to hang by it's strap, while he draws his mace-like club up and swings out in return. "Yah!" He calls out, really throwing his back into it.
Peyton feels the impact of that blow and the line of her jaw sets slightly, dark eyes going darker as she nevertheless doubles her grip on the sword, shifting stance and circling, before she lashes out with another underhand slash.
It's a close thing, that blow, Miles barely manages to catch it before it gets him somewhere uncomfortable. There's a pause, and another raise of the brow before he charges his shoulder into her, attempting to knock her back and disarm her in one rough movement. "You never got back to me, you know? I'm almost hurt."
Peyton blinks a little at that, and if she was going to shrug non-nonchalantly or demure in response it's a bit moot as her parry is blasted back into her chest and knocks the wind out of her for a moment. It seems her grip was too much to contend with though, despite the delicacy of her small manicured hands, and coughs slightly to regain her breath, setting her stance again almost as if she were chopping wood. "Been busy." She says, though it's hardly apologetic in this context. The overhead slice come pretty clumsy and desperate at this point, though not without a surprising ferocity.
"Shame." Miles intones in response, a frown catching at his features as he watches her cough and catch her breath anew. "Unfortunately, I think the previous offer may be off the table, given that the time sensitive nature of it has passed now." He blurts out, stumbling to the side and away from the Miles-chopping motion, as he does his best to avoid ending up stumped. "But hey, doesn't mean we can't have a chat sometime." With that Miles sweeps out and attempts to trip Peyton, and end the battle.
Peyton fades out of the nightmare.
A Battle In The Nightmare 240401
(A battle in the Nightmare)
[Sun Mar 31 2024]
In the Darkened Alley behind Haven National Bank
Kept impeccably clean despite the alleyways found in the rest of Haven,
the alleys of the historic district are instead are eerily pristine. Little
gardens are fenced off by little white picket fences, with dark green
dumpsters that have only a faint sour smell when in close proximity to them.
Despite that, it's poorly lit, even in the daytime, casting most of this
space in shadow.
It is morning, about 41F(5C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds.
"Well, who do I have the pleasure of trying to fight off this morning?" Miles drawls out into the darkness around them, peering and peeking.
Peyton says "ah, hello there."
"That's a pretty accent. I think I can place it, but.." Miles allows his sentence to trickle off into mild uncertaincy as they squint toward the south.
Peyton shrugs to herself a little, sighing as she pulls on her gloves a little more tightly. "Ya'll caught me off guard a little here, but I suppose it's rude not to introduce myself. Peyton Bennett." She says, blithely.
"If there's any comfort, I was just as caught off guard as yourself, Peyton." Miles drawls back out in response, and gestures with his free hand, despite likely being unable to be seen. "Miles Hull."
Peyton lift the heavy barrel of her FN SCAR up, clicking off the safety as she cooly lines up a shot of the oversized for her rifle on Miles, already finding him a bit close comfort she nevertheless fires off a shot. Her nose scrunches up with consternation as her aim drifts astray.
Conversation quickly gives way to battle, as it often does in the nightmare. Peyton's first shot may've missed, but that doesn't stop Miles from scrambling for cover, as he treats the gun-wielding woman with the seriousness and wariness she deserves. "Not a bad shot." He calls back toward her, drawing up his own bolt-action weapon to fire back - missing and pinging off a chunk of brick. There's a click of his tongue, and then he charges in closer, trying to kill the distance between them while blasting her with a tranq dart. The less than lethal shot doesn't miss, thankfully.
Peyton growls a little under her breath, grunting with the impact of the small dart and huffing her breath deeply. Whether she notices the effects of thee dart immediately or not is unclear, but something seems to urge her to charge in recklessly swinging with the black blade of her Katana coming in a wide arc as she sprints with shocking speed forward.
There's a wee bit of a look afforded to Peyton as Miles blocks the oncoming blow with the body of his rifle. Not just because it chipped the bloody thing, but also because of her choice of weapon. 'Really?', it seems to say. Reckless or not, the catsuited woman is no slouch, and Miles doesn't try to fight back in close quarters with his rifle. It's dropped to hang by it's strap, while he draws his mace-like club up and swings out in return. "Yah!" He calls out, really throwing his back into it.
Peyton feels the impact of that blow and the line of her jaw sets slightly, dark eyes going darker as she nevertheless doubles her grip on the sword, shifting stance and circling, before she lashes out with another underhand slash.
It's a close thing, that blow, Miles barely manages to catch it before it gets him somewhere uncomfortable. There's a pause, and another raise of the brow before he charges his shoulder into her, attempting to knock her back and disarm her in one rough movement. "You never got back to me, you know? I'm almost hurt."
Peyton blinks a little at that, and if she was going to shrug non-nonchalantly or demure in response it's a bit moot as her parry is blasted back into her chest and knocks the wind out of her for a moment. It seems her grip was too much to contend with though, despite the delicacy of her small manicured hands, and coughs slightly to regain her breath, setting her stance again almost as if she were chopping wood. "Been busy." She says, though it's hardly apologetic in this context. The overhead slice come pretty clumsy and desperate at this point, though not without a surprising ferocity.
"Shame." Miles intones in response, a frown catching at his features as he watches her cough and catch her breath anew. "Unfortunately, I think the previous offer may be off the table, given that the time sensitive nature of it has passed now." He blurts out, stumbling to the side and away from the Miles-chopping motion, as he does his best to avoid ending up stumped. "But hey, doesn't mean we can't have a chat sometime." With that Miles sweeps out and attempts to trip Peyton, and end the battle.
Peyton fades out of the nightmare.