Plotlogs
You Have Been Invited Sr Noah 240303
Yasmin Ahmed and Deputy Miles ventured into a perilous situation deep beneath the waves, finding themselves amidst a party none would wish to attend. Upon discovering a gathering of vampires indulging in their cruel festivities, our duo opted for a hasty retreat, aiming to escape the dreaded underwater resort that hosted such horrors. Their plan involved commandeering a submarine, a task far easier said than done given neither possessed the necessary piloting skills. Amidst their hasty escape effort, they confronted a heavily armed guard. Despite the danger, quick thinking and a bit of improvised combat saw them incapacitate the soldier, though not without gunfire alerting others to their position.
Their escape was fraught with peril, their submarine responding unpredictably to Yasmin's frantic manipulations of its controls. In a moment of sheer chaos, the submarine flipped and began to sink once more, leaving Yasmin and Miles to fight for survival in the cold grasp of the ocean's depths. Through teamwork and desperation, they managed to escape the doomed vessel, surfacing in a life raft they had wisely grabbed in their escape. The return to dry land was not solely their achievement; they were aided by familiar faces, including Tomas, who had previously escaped in another submarine.
Back on solid ground, the struggle was far from over. The local police, compromised by the shadowy forces behind the resort, were of no help. The FBI and The Temple, however, took keen interest in Yasmin and Miles's harrowing tale. Surviving such an ordeal was a feat in itself, marking the end of their immediate danger but perhaps just the beginning of their fight against the darkness they had glimpsed beneath the waves. Their lives preserved, Yasmin and Miles could at least take solace in their freedom, though the memory of what transpired deep underwater would not soon fade.
(You have been invited!(SRNoah):SRNoah)
[Sat Mar 2 2024]
At a dock by the beach
The dock seems quite well maintained, with red carpet laid out over perfectly polished wood, connected to the road with a cobblestone path. Conspicuously, a submarine featuring glass windows is lined next to the end of the dock, festive balloons and signs of welcome spread around it.
The perfect sands and endless waves breaking on the stone make for a stunning vista, oddly entirely devoid of tourists.
It is dusk, about 26F(-3C) degrees,
OOC: As a preface, there may be people still coming or coming later (mid plot or so). In general, when 2 others emoted, you can emote. This includes the SR - so feel free to skip me sometimes opposed to letting things slow to a crawl when I am preparing. Since this plot has some one-way movement, I'll occasionally change this room desc or add places for new locations opposed to adding many rooms. So keep a look out for that. Have fun!
One way or another, a rather diverse group of people has received an invitation to a new, underwater resort. A strange amount of these seem fairly young, but perhaps that is simply a marketing stunt of sorts.
People are brought in by a variety of busses and are quick to call out to each other, recognizing others from their town or city. It seems the invitations went to many familiar to one another - convenience, perhaps.
By the dock, a friendly looking woman waves around. "Attention! Everyone!" There is a natural air to her voice, and most quiet, "We'll be taking the submarine in groups divided by town of origin. So please wait until your town is called." An impatient kid starts to complain to their mother, "...First off, Worcester! Everyone for Worcester please!"
Meridith sticks a hand in her pockets. Her eyes trace the horizon. She nods to Yasmin and to Tomas. Then stretches out. Whatever her reasons for being here, or intents, seem quietly held to herself right now.
"Didn't realise there'd be so many people turning up," Tomas mutters quietly to Yasmin. "There's Meridith, too. Wonder how she got an invite." When Martin comes shuffling in just a little bit late, though, his features seem to light up - he's pleased. "Lowe," he calls out, raising a gloved hand in greeting. "Didn't realise you were much of a swimmer." He gives Yasmin's shoulder a little squeeze and moves over to link up with the other two Havenites, offering patented Inigo-brand smiles. "I'll be real with you guy," he confers. "I was thinkin' about buying a wetsuit for this trip, but I got too lazy. Good to see you."
Meridith says "The ideal scenario with a submarine is to not get wet."
Martin seems to be late to the party as he climbs out of a taxi and offers a bright smile to anyone whose eyes might wander unto him. He brushes off his coat and clears his throat as if preparing for a speech instead of a normal field trip, and that is when he hears Tomas. His smile immediately brightens as he turns towards the source of the sound, "Inigo!" He greets back and raises an ungloved hand to wave, "I decided to learn on the job. On the trip. Whatever counts," He replies in a joking tone, slowly walking towards the Haven crowd.
Yasmin, on the other hand, is busy not paying the crowd too much attention and instead trying to get a signal on her phone - nope, alas. She is left wanting. It's only when Tomas's hand squeezes down upon her shoulder that she blinks back to awareness, following him around instinctively until she too is a part of the 'Haven' crowd. "It's nice to see you, Mister Lowe," comes the greeting with a flash of a smile at Martin, and then a blink at Meridith - her eye, to be more specific. "Hi," That greeting is a tiny bit more subdued, like she's still trying to figure out a way to ask her if she's okay without being offensive.
Hopefully they'll be called away before she has to figure out social niceties.
Before long, the submarine is filled with people, a different one taking its place. Group after group of people are called - and leave. Security guards walk near the groups somewhat quietly, giving some a green band wrapped around their wrist, leading to excited calls of 'Do I get free drinks?!'
"We gotta get you an eye patch," Tomas agrees, grimacing a little at Meridith's injuries and surely not making her feel any the worse for his fussing. "You can be the anime girl of your dreams. Eyepatch sword girl. You'll need to switch out for glorious Nippon steel," he teases. As the groups are processed and the Havenites make their slow-paced advance towards the submarines, though, he scrunches his nose at the unpleasant tang of the guardsmen on the air. "Well, that's not a warm start," he mutters. He'd been hoping to at least enjoy the descent. "Her, Meridith, you're with the Spears, yeah? Maybe you should take some notes for 'em."
Meridith has both eyes!
Meridith giggles softly at both Tomas and Yasmin. "No no, full recovery," she explains. She does perhaps have some bandage covering it. She endured quite a severe injury in and around her socket, and some nasty scarring suggests the worst. "Though, maybe I'll wear the eyepatch anyway?" she grins. "Just for the aesthetic."
Finally, a familiar word is called out; "Haven!" A blessing, perhaps, for Yasmin, a rescue from social niceties. A woman, who may be recognized by locals as Barbara Robinson, a resident of the trailer park with her child - little Jonas - in tow. Not the most talkative one, she is, mostly trying to keep her child under control as she leads him towards the submarine with the kid practically jumping up and down in his excitement. A smile and a nod is given to an impeccable-looking attendant, and they step onto the floating construct, then climbing down the hatch.
Martin flashes that smile right back to Yasmin, hand once again going up in a small wave, "Likewise, Ahmed." He replies in a sincere, polite tone. Then he turns towards the general direction of whoever might be the closest and says, "Remember that little commercial submarine? OceanGate, I think it was called. It split open and sunk during its Titanic Expedition, killing all the passengers and crew on board. Just a fun little factlet," He does say to no one in particular, barely holding back a snicker all the way through. He does squint towards the security guards for a brief second and mutters under his breath, "Please let this be a normal field trip..." , A slight smirk etching itself onto his features as he does. Then, his town is called out by the staff and he rolls his shoulders in a warming-type move before starting to move.
Well, /does/ she get free drinks?! Yasmin accepts the ribbon being offered to her with a quiet 'thanks', even if there's a Look passed over to Tomas - there's definitely something off here already, right? - but the ribbon goes around her right wrist after a moment of consideration and no further questioning. "Oh, good," she tells Meridith. "That thing was nasty. I am sorry you got caught up in it." Very careful to keep mentions of the 'thing' censored for the mundane people around. And then, blessed reprieve from small talk, even if it does come with being cooped into a death machine under the sea. Yasmin looks a little pale. Martin isn't helping.
Meridith follows along with the others. She studies those with her, with the others and more. Anyone paying attention would see a calculation running in the back of her mind as if looking for something. "I wonder if sanctuary protects against explosive decompression?" she says mostly to herself. To Martin, realizing they will be copassengers, she offers a nod and a 'Meridith'. Then to Yasmin. "It's fine, we killed it, burned it up. Alls well that ends well," she insists.
"Our submarine won't go the same way," Tomas assures Martin. "It's built different. Literally." The Inigo gives the matronly Barbara Robinson a brief nod - he'd spent enough time in Westhaven to recognise its residents, then shoots Meridith a sharp glance as she reminisces on the magical workings of their hometown. "Try not to namedrop in public," he grunts, then says, "That's just back home, anyway. Let's remember we're not around people who'll get the small town in-jokes, though." He grunts with a bit of disapproval, then follows approaches an attendant in turn, eager to get inside and experience a true Underwater Adventure.
The attendant leads people inside one by one helping them get into the hatch if needed, with a welcoming sway of their arms. Tomas gets a particularly friendly smile, in recognition, perhaps, of his eagerness, while Yasmin gets a comforting gaze. Practiced, most assuredly.
One guard though, furrows his brow, looking in Meridith's direction. Surely too far to hear what she said, yet still seeming unsettled, watching her whenever she looks away, keeping a bit closer than before.
"Security? No, I am pretty sure such incidents are above their pay grade," Martin replies to Meridith, conveniently misinterpreting 'sanctuary' as 'security', although he seems greatly amused by his own words as usual. He offers a nod to Tomas afterwards, "You could record the entire trip, as cameramen tend to always survive. Just to be safe," He then replies, then rolls his eyes, "It is a shame that they will never know the tale of the Shrimpnog," He has to say wistfully as he gets into line, then gets helped into the hatch.
Meridith waves a hand dismissively toward Tomas. "I'm allowed to talk about video games in public," she insists. Her usual lazy cover. To her, those who don't know usually had a pretty good talent for pretending not to notice things. But it's no doubt she's one of the least careful people in Haven who hasn't been blackbagged and disappeared. Perhaps it's a matter of time. "You're supposed to give your name back," she murmurs at Martin. She follows everyone along, not noticing, perhaps, the guards furrowed brow.
"Right. Built different." Yasmin repeats, eying the hatch for a long moment. The attendant gets a faint, too-thin smile; she's too busy bemoaning her fate even as she follows the others' cues and climbs into the submarine. "No talking about shrimpnog," she tells Martin along the way. "Shrimpnogs are banned. This is a fun trip." It's supposed to be, anyway. Probably. She doesn't look like she's having fun, with all the talk of OceanGate in her head already.
Horrifically shameless about blatant PDAs, when Tomas takes his seat - central on one of the couches, of course - he makes sure to present his lap as a comfortable option for Yasmin as the nervous young woman wanders in after him. "Hey," he murmurs. "Nothing to worry about if I'm right there, right?" Of course, his 'murmurs' carry clearly through the confined interior of the submarine - but maybe a little shy embarrassment might help take the edge off her claustrophobia.
"It's good to see you, Lowe," he continues. "Looks like our schedules fell out of whack for a while. Missed havin' a homeboy to practice with. We should ball again some time soon. Gotta shape up if I want to stay in competition."
Meridith takes a position on the edge of a couch, taking in her surroundings with an intent and focused expression. She gazes at Yasmin as she speaks but doesn't respond. Then to Tomas as he sits down and gestures Yasmin over. Then at last on Martin. Uncharacteristically quiet.
Not long after the group makes its way into the submarine, plush couches offering a minimal comfort at least in this oceanic death trap - be it from slow suffocation or instant implosion - the submarine is quick to leave. A casual-looking attendant steers from a console, giving them one, quick look. Sealife swims by the windows as the view gets darker and darker. For such a fancy submarine, the lack of a floodlight may be somewhat jarring.
Martin blinks with Meridith's words, "Oh, sorry, I did not hear you. I am Martin," He introduces, flashing a sincere little smile to the gal as he proceeds into the submarine. "Aww. How do you say 'No fun allowed' in Arabic?" He then asks Yasmin before tuning in to listen to Tomas. A faint, genuine little smile takes its place on his face, "Likewise, Inigo. You know how work is, things are pretty busy. I'll be glad if I am around, though," He replies to the man as he seats himself. He does glance up at a window, observing the fauna for a little, "Disappointing lack of visible sh... crustaceans. One star, so far," He jokes, calculating Yasmin's restrictions into his words even if a little too late.
"Bennett did bad things to your mind," Tomas observes of Martin, then throws his arms out alongside the back of the couch. The manspreading is almost unreal, the demonborn asserting his dominion over his couch and all those who share of it with him. "I want to see a starfish, though. Or a big octopus. Shrimp are tiny and boring."
Yasmin does not, in fact, take a seat upon Tomas's lap, but the momentary embarrassment /does/ help a little, so maybe he knows what he's doing after all. There's a short, singular glare over at him when she goes to take an aisle seat next to the Inigo, and there's a quick murmur of, "If I die here I am going to come back as a ghost and haunt you." She means it. There's absolutely no attention paid to the attendant - there's more important things to worry about at the moment. Like how she's going to die in an underwater death trap.
"Sakkir timmak wa-khras," she tells Martin belatedly. It may or may not mean what he'd asked for. And then a glance back at Meridith, to ask, "Are you doing okay, Meridith?"
Meridith nods to Martin in appreciation. She bites her lower lip a moment studying with some kind of uncertainty as Tomas and Martin goof around. When Yasmin addresses her she tips her head. "Yes, thank you. I've never gone diving before," she notes.
The submarine creaks and clings as it glides through the dark seas, the metal plates screeching in complaint under growing pressure. A dark shadow can be spotted going by the window, far larger than anything underwater has any right to be, then followed by a high pitched whistle from behind the undersea ship.
"It won't be long now." The attendant calls in a low, almost hesitant voice. "We're not far from the resort at all..."
"Even if I am strongly inclined to disagree, I respect your opinion." Martin shares with Tomas along with a smile. He seems comfortable so far, not a hint of discomfort as the metal crustacean that they are in descends into the depths, he crosses his legs at the ankles before repeating after Yasmin, "Sakkir tim mak wakh ras. Sakkir tim-mak wahras. Sakkir timmas wa-kras." It becomes quite obvious to any Arabic speakers that Martin is indeed, not an Arabic speaker.
Every single creak and groan of metal makes Yasmin shrink in closer to Tomas, the woman flashing him increasingly worried looks. She's barely glancing outside the windows at all, instead just staring straight forward. An incredible waste, really, to miss all the good views. "Do you think they have diving gear?" she murmurs as an aside, "To go... swimming, or something." Or to find glorious freedom from the tyrannous oppression of luxurious and definitely not suspicious submarine. She also flinches every time Martin attempts to butcher her language further. It's an assault from all fronts, really.
Meridith gazes at the someone. And she climbs to her feet, hand on a wall. Braced or maybe she just wants a better view of the glass? She humms to herself, then back to Martin, then Yasmin. She just shakes her head, a flat smile on her lips.
Meridith gazes at the attendant. And she climbs to her feet, hand on a wall. Braced or maybe she just wants a better view of the glass? She humms to herself, then back to Martin, then Yasmin. She just shakes her head, a flat smile on her lips.
"Hey, how deep are we?" Tomas speaks up, looking to the same sheepish attendant. "Is it a 'if you wander off from the resort you are going to die of pressure sickness' kind of situation?" He pulls out a little pocket-sized packet of chips from his jacket, which hasn't inflated or deflated at all due to the pressurised cabin, leaving him looking bereft and disappointed. "I thought these were supposed to pop with the pressure." As he speaks, though, his free hand snakes out to squeeze Yasmin's knee comfortingly. Maybe his antics would amuse her instead of annoying her, and keep her mind off things.
The attendant seems focused on whatever he's doing to the console, the sea ahead of them lighting up ever so slightly as he speaks passively to his side. "About 150 feet. Not a save place to take a swim." he manages to respond before, finally, the submarine *bops* up, surfacing in some sort of hangar. The attendant sighs, "...The last bit always makes me nervous. Damn cliff right at the entrance..." he shares in a low tone, more to himself than anything. The hatch opens not long after, letting in sweet, sweet... and also rather stale, air.
"I am pretty sure that the internal pressure is kept at a constant." Martin tells Tomas as he gets even more comfortable where he sits, "I have got a degree in Emergency Management, I would know." He then boasts with a wide smile before telling Yasmin, "You could always ask them, or even borrow one if they have any." He suggests helpfully. He then squints just slightly and sniffs, "Smells kind of like rust in here. Assuring."
"I'm sure that's just the kitchen I'm smelling," Tomas frowns, slanting an unimpressed look at the attendant again as the hatch pops open. Loath as he is to depart the fiefdom of his couch, he also kind of wants to be the first person out the door, and he heaves himself up onto his feet. Hey; sneakers instead of his boots, for once. Maybe he was worried they'd make him sink. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a little thermos flask, swallowing down a measure of tea - mandrake tea, going by the smell, and takes a look around the hangar with eyes that pierce the nightmare's veil. Just looking, of course. Just looking.
Martin may be intent on living in the submarine for the rest of eternity, with the way he's making himself comfortable. Yasmin, on the other hand, leaves Tomas's side to chase after the sweet, sweet smell of rust-scented(?) freedom and is upon her feet first thing after the hatch flips open. Finally something to look forward to. She'll be first in line to be helped up the hatch, thank you, sorry not sorry Tomas.
Martin sighs as the hatch is unsealed and the familiars start getting up one by one, all-too-reluctant to leave his warmed-up couch, but he seems to be out of options after even Yasmin gets up. Slowly standing up, he proceeds towards the hatch in an orderly fashion, letting pretty much anyone surpass him. After he is helped out of the hatch, he places his hands on his waist and takes a look around, "This must be the hangar made for submarines," He provides his expert opinion that was definitely a leap in judgment and quite revolutionary.
Meridith steps into the hangar. Hands still in her pockets, warily gazing around. Martin's comment, so dumb, completely stops her and she just stares at him before murmuring. "...Yeah, probably."
On the other side of the hatch, there is a surprisingly large amount of attendants guiding the way, Barbara before long already half-way into a hallway. Most of the resort seems blocked off for now, one, spotting the group, then giving an explanation, "We're all focused on giving you the best of welcomes right now. If you will please follow to your room..." She instructs with a smile. The place looks impeccably clean and once exiting the hangar, the red carpet makes its way for gorgeous marble, surrounded by adorned wooden walls and somewhat steampunk-looking windows into the waters. More of an underwater palace, almost, than a resort.
"I wonder how they put the windows in the walls without getting everything wet," Tomas hums, seeming to take a mild but genuine enjoyment in the architecture of the place. For all that he might be a mean bastard, he can still be a tourist. "Hey, Meridith," he says. "You know water stuff better than the rest of us, right?" Apart from maybe the minutiae of shrimp biology and cuisine. "What's your vibe right now?" He does follow along with the attendants leading the way, but he's slow, listening for the young woman's response. Then, to Yasmin, he smiles and beckons her closer, butchering some Arabic with a fond smile: "Hunak khata," he says. To anyone who speaks the language - something's wrong.
"The same way they build the walls and make the things inside ... not wet, I'd presume," Martin replies to Tomas, sliding his hands into coat pockets as he bows his head before Meridith with her agreement and then smiles genuinely towards the attendants, "My, such great service." He does say, seeming quite oblivious to anything being possibly wrong.
"I mean, I'm a Spear but I'm not a," she gestures, making arm wavy motions? God knows what that means. Meridith follows alongside their guides. "The vibe is trouble based," she notes, vaguely? Still she looks excited. "Hakuna matata," she murmurs in response to Tomas.
Who knew, being out of the death machine really does brighten Yasmin's mood up a fair bit. She waits for the rest of the Haven gang to be out of the submarine before finding her way back to Tomas's side, eyes trailing around the place and the impressive architecture. It's still debatable whether getting into a submarine was worth it. There's a faint twitch of her eyebrow at Tomas's butchering of the pronunciation, but she does reach up - and up, and up, goddammit why is he so tall - to give the man a peck on the cheek. She knows. "I hope they have good coffee," she muses along the way.
The group is lead further into the snaking hallways, a downright maze really. Though with surprisingly few doors - as if the place is built around a series of very large rooms, opposed to a multitude of cabins. An attendant calls out a quick explanation to Tomas, "The place was constructed wholly above sea level, and then lowered using ballast and anchored." Is explained without a hint of sympathy to Yasmin, and the idea this whole place is, basically, a giant submarine without an engine. They pass by a rather solid looking door, plated with metal, and sided by an attendant who quite clearly gestures everyone further through the hallway, away from the door.
Meridith continues to move along. Her tongue flicks across her lips, she takes a slow breath and humms to herself very quietly. She's got something on her mind, certainly.
Just because it's a slightly bigger death trap machine doesn't mean it can't still have good coffee. Yasmin is holding on to hope, even if God is not on her side today. "/Really/," she mentions to the attendant, remarkably cheerily, "So, uh. Just out of curiosity, what happens when there is an emergency?" When, not if. There is definitely going to be an emergency here. "There is some sort of... failsafe to make it go back up without anyone dying, yes? In case a window breaks and all the water comes in and everyone starts dying?" She looks very hopeful. Say yes.
Meridith says "What an insane thing to say outloud right now."
"This place is very well-built with the latest safety standards in mind, there is no real risk of an accident." The attendant assures Yasmin as little Jonas starts to aggressively tap one of the windows using his fist, his mother trying to scoot him to keep moving along with an apologetic look granted to the attendants. "...But Yes? Sort of? I mean, if the window would break, it'd be... quite some trouble..." They hesitate. "...But so long as the anchors and ballasts would be released, theoretically the place would float back up, though the sudden movement may be catastrophic..." Not much of an assurance that, and before long they're waving their hands around, "It is nothing to be concerned about! Really! It'd be more likely for the place to run out of oxygen." Pause. "...Which is also very unlikely."
Martin mostly keeps quiet as he looks around and inspects the walls and the hallways with his brown eyes, Yasmin's question seems to catch his attention, however, "I'd suppose emergency airlocks and shutters for the windo-" He is about to say, but he opts to listen to the attendant instead. Then he is squinting, "Does this place even comply with OSHA regulations?" He then asks, stiiill squinting, "Having your only emergency plan be 'just empty the ballasts and wait to float back up' does not sound very convenient. Or safe."
Meridith swirls her finger very sarcastically and murmurs, "Whoo..." If they don't die from the pressure, they could suffocate. "OSHA doesn't really cover monuments to the hubris of man, I think."
That's a strong 'theoretically'. Yasmin, who is certainly not a submarine engineer, is placated enough to nod slowly along with the attendant's words, though Martin's - very reasonable - questions catch her attention in return. "He has a degree in Emergency Management, he would know," she tells the attendant with a flash of a smile, before Martin can do it himself, and waits for the answer.
"Are we expecting dinner invitations?" Tomas asks, "Or is it more of a room service deal, with all of us eating separately?" Not that he seems to mind. He does focus on the pressurised architecture for the most part, and the relative absence of other people, otherwise. "I'm surprised you keep it so dark. Where'd all the Rochester folk end up?"
"I assure you, it is most safe." The attendant claims to Martin with what almost seems like a flash of condescension before they finally arrive to a large door. The attendant puts a key into the door, then turns it, opening it before gesturing the others inside. "Dinner will be... arranged... later." She tells, "It is... a bit of a buffet." She keeps the door open, key in her hands. Before long, another attendant rushes in with an irritated expression, whispering something in her ear. "..Mmm... I suppose for the sake of organization, it's best to bring them here, too. Before the doors close."
ooc: Please move north, this room broke while I was deleting the places and adding the extras. Oops.
"Yes, I'm sure you'll love to have us for dinner," Meridith murmurs. She waggles her eyebrows towards Yasmin and Tomas.
Martin rolls his eyes a little with the attendant's reply, "I suppose you are just doing your job," Are his words as he realizes the futility of the argument that was just shut down. He focuses back on his entourage, then, "They probably have those minifridges filled with overpriced snacks." He tells Tomas jokingly, then bows his head to Yasmin for confirming his credentials.
"Before the doors close," Tomas repeats, deciding to bite down at the little nuggets of worry the staff keep dropping. "What does that mean? 'Cause I did not agree to get locked into any rooms, not a hundred and fifty feet under the damn sea." He puffs up a bit, surely setting a wonderful example of good tourism for young Jonas Robinson.
An attendant comes along, pushing in another Havenite - Miles, with an annoyed expression, any hint of professionalism gone. "Please do not cause further problems, you're lucky there were still submarines leaving." They accuse before closing the door behind them.
Meridith waves to Miles, cheerily.
"I'm a lucky sort, to be fair." Miles notes back to the attendant as he's pushed and shoved, allowing it to happen. There's a mild sort of humour about the man as wanders into the place, late. Hopefully fashionably so. "Alright, folks? Sorry I'm late, I had a wee bit of a headache." He offers a terrible excuse of sorts as he nods towards the others, and tucks his hands into his jacket.
...The attendants seemed to be entirely set on ignoring Tomas' last question. Rude, that.
Yasmin makes a face at Martin's joke - she's going to find a way to swim out of here if they're fed overpriced snacks out of minifridges, dammit. Still, arguments have been made, and at least the cage is golden enough to keep her placated... for the time being. The door slamming shut does catch her attention though, and there's a, "Hi deputy," chimed out at Miles before she process to stare at the door with a tilted head, eyes slightly narrowed. "There is a party going on /somewhere/, at least..." she mumbles under her breath.
Yasmin also proceeds* to.
Yasmin also peers briefly at Miles's wrist to see if he's one of the lucky ones too - or is she the only one who gets free drinks.
Martin offers a small wave and smile to Miles, then he turns to Tomas to say, "Well, at least it is free," He makes the argument with a bit of a smirk on his face, but does not say much else as he looks around, then back at the door as it closes, then clicks shut, "Oh, so they meant *those* doors."
Meridith scratches her chin a little bit. "I mean, it's a pretty view for a trap but..." She says somewhat openly
"Alright, Yasmin. Always a pleasure to see you." Miles intones to Yasmin, and despite the way they'd first met, he largely means it. She does come across as a pleasant sort. There's an easy turn of the lips afforded to Martin as well, before the man glances aside to Meridith, giving her a bit of an eye. The fellow glances amongst the gathered party then, taking note of their ribbon or unribboned states.
Barbara turns around, hand going over someone' head as she faces the rest of the group, blinking. "...Trap? That's not a particularly nice way to talk about these nice people who let us stay here for free..." She scolds without malice in that typical westhaven accent. 30/ trailer, 10/ trash, 100/ the Matron.
Barbara turns around, hand going over Jonas' head as she faces the rest of the group, blinking. "...Trap? That's not a particularly nice way to talk about these nice people who let us stay here for free..." She scolds without malice in that typical westhaven accent. 30/ trailer, 10/ trash, 100/ the Matron.
Miles gets a little nod of greeting from Tomas once he catches up with the group, but he's paying too much attention to the marbled architecture to go in deep on the fake Australian accent, this time. "G'day, copper," he murmurs, then side-eyes the attendants and their avoidance of his questions. "So, what have you got in the heart of this place?" he asks. "For electricity, ventilation and all that. You got a big processing center, or is everything piped in from the surface?"
"She has a point, you know. My ma always said, 'Free vinegar is sweeter than honey'." Martin says in agreement with Barbara, nodding subtly. He slides his hands into coat pockets afterwards. "Well, I suppose I will be off inspecting ... yeah," He says uncertainly, slowly turning around. The first thing that he inspects is, of course, the door, especially the lock. He squints and examines the lock first, then the hinges, then the structure and the possible sturdiness of the door itself, noticing the scratch marks. "Peculiar.." He mutters under his breath, the gears in his head turning.
"We have frequent deliveries, but we do have our own power generator, of course." The remaining attendants answer with a rather shallow smile. Whatever true friendliness was had outside, it seems completely gone now that everyone is firmly locked into the dormitory. A glance is given to Jonas, and Yasmin's band, before the attendant knocks on the door, "If that will be all, we will leave you people to... get settled." She then looks at Yasmin, "Those with green bands - and those under the age of 16, will be invited for a special arrangement a tad earlier, so please stay prepared to be called away very soon."
"What's all that about, by the by?" Miles wonders of Yasmin, gesturing at the pretty little ribbon wrapped about her itty bitty wrist. "Some sort of under twenty-one thing?" He ventures, unsure of just how old the young woman is. She's very small, he could be forgiven for being mistaken, surely. Only for the attendant to half-answer his question of sorts, "Huh." She was young, but under sixteen? That was a surprise.
Martin slooowly turns around once again, "Dear God, this better not be Epstein Island Two." He jokes with the attendant's words, smiling innocently afterwards knowing the, possibly tremendous backlash that he might be about to get, but he seems preemptively amused. He looks at his wrist just to check and lets out a sigh of relief as he confirms that he indeed does not have a band.
"I am not a child," Yasmin claims first of all, and lifts her eyebrows - both, this is a two-eyebrows-raised moment - at Tomas after hearing the attendant's words, stalking her way over to the man and tugging at his sleeve until he acquiesces to her demands and leans down enough for her to whisper to him. "Do you think they'll let you have my ribbon? I am, uh." A glance at the attendant, back at Tomas, before she states, louder, "Allergic. Very allergic to seafood. I could die from smelling it, actually. Also I'm pregnant."
Meridith gazes at the woman and shrugs helplessly. She then looks to Martin. She looks down, she doesn't recall a band of any kind given to her. "God this is just the most..." she grumbles to herself, and begins searching the room for anything she can use. She begins to ignore the others quietly.
Meridith says "With twins."
Meridith doesn't COMPLETELY ignore everyone it seems.
Yasmin says, of course, "With twins."
The attendant blinks several times at Yasmin, "You are /pregnant/?" The attendant repeats after the woman, seeming utterly confused, staring at the ribbon, "That- that isn't very likely..." They scratch at their neck. "Under no circumstance must the band be given away but, if you're pregnant..." They furrow their brow, "...We'll send someone to see if it's... safe.. later." She assures before the door opens letting the final attendants out - and leaving the group alone with each other. And, well, Barbara, who seems to be positively glowing at Yasmin's news, as if about to declare herself Godmother then and there.
Miles shares a private little smirk with himself, like he'd just thought up a joke and doesn't deign to share it. That expression falters somewhat at Martin's comment, "I don't know if they'd invite all of us if that were the case. Just the kids." The kids, in this case, being Meridith and Yasmin, judging by the way he gestures at the pair.
"Martin," Tomas grunts, opting to ignore the momentary flare of panic he feels at Yasmin's sudden pronouncement. "You've put on some muscle, right?" He's eyeing the door, though with the attendant right there, he doesn't seem to be making an immediate break for the freedom to snoop around. "I'm just thinkin' we could probably make use of that, you know. If necessary." He's not very subtle about it; if the attendants being on guard helped his group not be immediately devoured by some Charibdean monstrosity or /whatever/ might be lurking in the bowels of the undersea palace, then all the better. Really, though, he seems most wary for Miles, Jonas, and Barbara - not Yasmin or Meridith, irrespective of any allegations of childhood.
"It's going to be a real effing problem if it turns out she really isn't..." Martin mutters under his breath, squinting after the attendant, "This is all getting a little too sketchy for my comfort. And by God, I love my comfort," He does say, then nods to Tomas, "Well, I can do wonders when called upon, but materializing a battering ram into existence isn't one of those 'wonders'," He answers vaguely, then lets out a 'Hah' with Miles's reply, "You never know what those billionaires are up to, really."
Those are all interesting details, that's for certain, but the first thing that Miles checks once they're alone for several moments is the door. The deputy meanders over towards it, pressing an ear against it at first, before testing the handle, or whatever sort of opening mechanism is built into the thing.
Oh, huh, that worked. Kind of. Yasmin seems surprised, like she hadn't quite expected it, and there's a relieved exhale sighed out once the attendants take their leave. There's a brief glare at Barbara, as though daring her to say anything at all about Yasmin's purported pregnancy before she turns to the rest of the Scooby gang. "I can hear music somewhere, out there. Probably where the rest of the people are?" she tells Tomas, in case they really do make a break for it. "I can, uh..." A glance over at the more mundane people in the room, then at Miles who's messing with the door, and the woman gestures up at the pin in her hijab before shrugging over to Tomas. Hopefully he gets it. She's not explaining any further, instead opting to wander over to the vent in the corner and peering into it.
Meridith takes a deep breath and does her best to remain calm, she leans against the wall opposite the door and tries to rest, for the moment.
That sort of force can be a dangerous thing. It leaves behind evidence, after all. Rather than attempting to force the lock, Miles kneels down to eye-level with it, and reaches into his coat to produce a small set of lock picking equipment. The man pauses then, turning back to the face the others in an almost sheepish manner, "..I just can't stand a locked door, you know? What if there was a fire?" He offers a lame excuse, before attempting to persuade it to open with a gentle thrusting and turning of his tool, making sweet love to the lock all the while. "Come on, baby." He even utters under his breath. It's nearly embarrassing.
Tomas nods his head at Yasmin and tilts his chin towards the vent. "Get that open," he says. Then, since the cop is doing his own investigations, he speaks to the trailerfolk. "Alright, Robinsons. Something's not right here. Don't worry - me and Miles are going to keep you safe. This is Martin Lowe, here," he says, indicating Martin with a finger. "He's real good with handling emergencies, which I know you just heard twice, but it's a very pertinent skillset. He's going to be the guy we listen to for organising, right?" Nevermind the fact the Inigo has already started delegations; that's just a family right. "The girl with the scar is Meridith Walker. She's going to stay close with you and make sure no one does anything weird with Jonas or you, Barbara." He glances Meridith's way, raising an eyebrow - is she good with that? "Yasmin's going to get the way open, and the deputy and I will deal with the attendants as much as possible. Miles technically doesn't have jurisdiction out here, so I'm backing him up. Granddad knows some people in New York, as you can imagine."
Meridith offers a thumbs up to Tomas. Content with protection detail.
Martin seems completely and perfectly content to let everyone else try and find ways out of the dormitory of the suspicious underwater resort as he checks out the cabins almost as if he is planning to stay the night, being very useful and doing no work. His attention does settle on the cabin with the painting. He pauses with Tomas's words, "Oh, yeah, totally," He replies positively without still showing any intent to be useful in this possible emergency. Another pause as he turns around and says, "I implore you to not touch the windows until certain and imminent doom is confirmed with no way out at all, which is a bit of an extreme scenario. In that case, just go hog wild and ignore any concerns about structural integrity and internal pressure," He does say before starting to examine the painting.
Nothing on one. Binding on two. A little click... It might have been mildly less embarrassing to Miles that way, but he seems to be making progress at least, the lock slowly... well, unlocking. There are no footsteps immediately outside as a final, loud click is heard - success.
Barbara stares at Tomas, seeming about to protest before realizing something, pulling Jonas closer against herself. "...If an Inigo says so..." The woman decides with a furrowed brow, "Is there some kind of issue with the water supply?" The one thing that is definitely rare underwater, but she seems to think little of it. "...We can stay, can't we-" And then Martin drops his bomb and she is left wide-eyed.
So much for relaxation.
There's a huff over at Tomas - sure, make the (allegedly) pregnant lady do the heavy lifting. Not even a please or a thank you, rude. Yasmin's already reaching for the vent in an effort to pry the already-damaged screws free, though, keeping an ear out for the ongoing conversation while she tugs and pulls and yanks. Slow and steady. "Nobody break any windows!" comes the immediate, slightly alarmed back-up to Martin's words.
"There we.. go." Success. Miles grins to himself, as the latch comes loose and easy. Then he slightly draws the door open, peering through the tiny little gap to see what awaits outside of the room. He breaks off a spare pin, stuffing it between the latch and the locking mechanism in an attempt to prevent it from locking anew. "Don't even look at the windows too hard." He turns to hiss back then, joining the chorus.
"Nevermind," Tomas calls over to Yasmin. "Miles got the door. Didn't think that'd be the way. My bad." He walks up to Miles and gives the Anglo-Something man a clap on the back, before leaning in to confer more quietly with the deputy. "Hey, so," he murmurs quietly. "None of us are hypnotists, and there are other normies here, so we want to go subtle, which means your badge is probably more powerful than anything we can provide. Just move behind one of us if you're going to get shot, alright?" He pauses, glancing back at someone doing his own thing in one of the cabins - taking the time to admire the art? God damnit, Martin. "Lowe's extremely tough, so he's as good a shield as me." A reassuring nod is offered to the surprisingly larcenous law enforcement, and then the Inigo returns to reassuring the Robinsons. "I think we've fallen for a prank show," he informs them. "You know kids have special media rights, which is probably why they're bein' separated out. I don't trust these things, though. They always go too far. We're going to get ourselves out of here, alright?"
"Nevermind," Tomas calls over to Yasmin. "Miles got the door. Didn't think that'd be the way. My bad." He walks up to Miles and gives the Anglo-Something man a clap on the back, before leaning in to confer more quietly with the deputy. "Hey, so," he murmurs quietly. "None of us are hypnotists, and there are other normies here, so we want to go subtle, which means your badge is probably more powerful than anything we can provide. Just move behind one of us if you're going to get shot, alright?" He pauses, glancing back at Martin doing his own thing in one of the cabins - taking the time to admire the art? God damnit, Martin. "Lowe's extremely tough, so he's as good a shield as me." A reassuring nod is offered to the surprisingly larcenous law enforcement, and then the Inigo returns to reassuring the Robinsons. "I think we've fallen for a prank show," he informs them. "You know kids have special media rights, which is probably why they're bein' separated out. I don't trust these things, though. They always go too far. We're going to get ourselves out of here, alright?"
"In fact, screaming loud enough could, theoretically, break the windows," Martin adds behind his shoulder for no one in particular as he continues his examination of the painting in the cabin. Truly an admirer of the fine, refined arts. He steps out of the cabin with Tomas's words to check out the progress of the 'gang', "Excellent work, everyone," He praises with a wide smile, then nods, "If all else fails, remember that a gun is the greatest tool in any negotiation, and no 'prank show' nor 'prank' lasts any longer than it has to when you are staring down the barrel of a point thirty eight snub-nose revolver." He continues his needless speaking in a tone of voice that has to be the calmest in the world, as if his vocal chords are constantly on opiates.
"Unf." The clap upon Miles's back takes the man somewhat off guard, throwing off his balance and forcing the air from his lungs. Tomas quiet words to him are further muffled by the soft cough that escapes him as he listens, and nods in agreement, "I was thinking the same." His response is a little throaty before he clears it, and pushes up to his feet. "Before we get too carried away, and run out like a bunch of wild folk. Let's have a further squizz in here, see if there's anything we might've missed." There's a pause at Martin's words, and the deputy cannot help but add, "..but let's try not to shoot anyone that we don't need to, yeah?"
Meridith is keeping her head on a swivel. She gives Martin an intense scowl as she deems him 'trolling' the normies. She gazes over at the duo. "Worry not. We've got this well in hand, just stay calm and enjoy the fish!"
The mention of guns send someone reeling, now protectively putting her arms around Jonas as she steps away from the others. Footsteps arrive near the door, stopping for a moment. "...C right?" A voice asks, "B first." comes in answer and the footsteps continue further, and then fade out once more.
Meridith's assurance helps, a little bit, and Barbara rewards it with a faint smile.
The mention of guns send someone reeling, now protectively putting her arms around Jonas as she steps away from the others. Footsteps arrive near the door, stopping for a moment. "...C right?" A voice asks, "B first." comes in answer and the footsteps continue further, and then fade out once more.
Meridith's assurance helps, a little bit, and Barbara rewards it with a faint smile.
The furniture in the 'living' space is impeccable, seeming to be entirely new - and even smelling so, from up close. While certainly people have been here before, it seems they quite frequently replace anything that isn't tied down.
The mention of guns send Barbara reeling, now protectively putting her arms around Jonas as she steps away from the others. Footsteps arrive near the door, stopping for a moment. "...C right?" A voice asks, "B first." comes in answer and the footsteps continue further, and then fade out once more.
Meridith's assurance helps, a little bit, and Barbara rewards it with a faint smile.
The furniture in the 'living' space is impeccable, seeming to be entirely new - and even smelling so, from up close. While certainly people have been here before, it seems they quite frequently replace anything that isn't tied down.
Did Yasmin speak too loud? No, absolutely not. She's quiet as a mouse, thank you for sharing your riveting facts regarding the (lack of) strength of glass windows with the class, Martin. And hey, did the vent really need to be opened, if Miles got his lovemaking with the door done? No, but it is anyway. Backup plan in case someone wants to /really/ ramp up the claustrophobia to 11. "I don't have a gun," she adds reassuringly, moving back over to the rest of the group near the door after a quick, cautious peer down the vent.
"..You know, on that note, who is and isn't armed?" Miles queries of the group at large, but only the voices and footfalls from outside of the room have faded away. That brief overheard comment seems to be enough of a push for Miles to decide they oughta get ready to start moving.
"I'm unarmed," Tomas says, moving up to crowd the doorway again now that Barbara's looking more to Meridith for reassurance than himself. "Yasmin has a pocket knife, far as I know."
Meridith shrugs. "You see a sword on me?" she demands.
"You know the rules of lethal engagement better than I do, deputy, I'll trust your judgment on that one," Martin replies to Miles with a faint smile as he reapproaches the group after inspecting the gothic painting, but otherwise not really doing anything. "I am armed only with my qualification," He has to admit, "If we got that door open, it might be a good course of action to go through it, but you can grab some ... improvised tools if you want, beforehand. Speaking of..." He then says as he looks around for a chair or anything he can just smash-and-grab or disassemble.
Yasmin/does/ have a pocket knife, and she nods her head affirmatively at Tomas's words, keeping an ear out in case of further footsteps. "And a pocket..." A pause, peering at Barbara, before she says, very slowly, "Lighter." It may not be a lighter.
More footsteps pass by the door - a larger group, this time. "Excuse me, uhm, why isn't my boyfriend allowed with me?" Someone asks, "Green bands only." Is returned curtly as they pass further, once more creating silence on the other side of the door.
Armor and weaponry was apparently not on the list of suggested items to bring - but neither was anything else. Thankfully for Martin, there's plenty of chairs about, beautifully crafted from polished oak.
With both, vent and door open, the group is left with a tad of a choice, now that the hallway is quiet again.
Miles just sort of stares at the Americans for several long seconds, before shaking his head. He starts to reach into his coat then, ducking away from the voices despite the door between them and him. "This bloody country is rubbing off on me." He complains under his breath, slipping a knife toward Meridith, and pulling a backup piece out of a hidden pocket in his jacket. His service weapon remains in the holster beneath his heavy jacket. He reaches for his taser then, only to finding it missing. Oh, look, he's becoming an American cop already. "Don't stab, hit. With the blunt end of it." He hisses to Meridith, as if she needed to be reminded not to murder folks - only for a second blade to extended toward Martin, by the handle.
Meridith frowns. "Couldn't have snuck in a long bow?"
"..You are all acting -deputy- deputies for the purposes of me arming you." Miles covers his back, legally speaking, with a clearing of his throat.
Meridith says "Oh yeah I bet they'll love to read your report on this one."
Martin's search for improvised weapons seems to be cut short as he is handed a small hunting knife, he flashes a smile to Miles and bows his head briefly, "Thanks, mate," He says, apparently trying his best to replicate the Aussie accent, but failing pretty badly. He reverts to the good old near-Boston accent not too long after, "Just turn the body cam off," He then jokes as he attempts to flip the knife in his hand, "I suppose that makes us the first Haven Militia this decade."
As the other token non-American, and also the other pre-armed individual, Yasmin is spared Miles's judging stare, obviously. She does lift an eyebrow at the choice of weapon handed over to Tomas though, as she watches the exchange of weaponry - and really, where the hell did he pull all those knives out of? Yasmin looks impressed. "I am also an acting deputy, yes?" comes the hopeful question. Hopefully they don't have a height requirement in the HSD.
Tomas stares down at the gun in his hands for a moment, then slips it back to Miles, shaking his head gently. "I'm not allowed to carry firearms," he says. At least he was honest. "I have an assault on my criminal record." For Jonas' sake, he stresses the next point: "Biggest mistake I ever made. But still - I'm good with my hands. Appreciate it, though." That said, he opens the door more fully and steps out into the hallway, looking towards where he'd last been able to pick up some of the trailing voices. He did /not/ have a green armband.
"Just.. last resort. Last resort." Miles imparts with some mild concern, accepting Martin's thanks with a nod, even as he takes the weapon back from Tomas. "I should probably know that already.." He notes with a mild frown, "Remind me to look up your records when we get home, mate." There's a glance back over to Yasmin then, and Miles affixes her with a long, assessing gaze. He holds it just long enough for doubt to set in before nodding, just the once, "You are, of course. Just remember. Self-defence only. Let's not make a mountain out of what might be a semi-kidnapping-locked-in-a-room situation." There's a check, and double-check of the handgun then, before he rises to shift after Tomas.
There is a smirked little comment offered aside to Meridith though as Miles movees.
Meridith sticks out her tongue and scowls at Miles.
As the group takes care of arming themselves, and the legalities of arming themselves, which at least may set a decent example to the confused-looking Jonas, who gives his mother a questioning look, Tomas finds the snaking hallways to, for now, be quite empty. No attendants, this time. The music is louder than it was before, a somewhat tragic piano tune that carries itself throughout the result's hallways. The path forks right outside of the entrance - one leading the way they came, and the other the way the footsteps went to and from before - 'Dormitory B'.
Martin tucks the knife in the sleeve of his coat for quick retrieval before nodding to Miles. He keeps quiet and follows the trio out slowly out into the hallway afterwards, brown eyes slowly scanning it for any 'unarmed combatants' that might need to be dealt with in 'self-defense'. "Seems clear.. so far." He then mutters quietly, waiting for the directions of the squad lead as he obviously does not step up to delegate nor take command.
"Right," Tomas mutters, peering both ways before sticking his head back in the room. "Halls are clear. Decide quickly: are we goin' to beeline for an exit, or are we headed in to figure out what's waiting for us?" He eyes the child in their midst. He wouldn't be discovering anything useful if he just got the kid out of there, but even the demonborn didn't delight in the suffering of children. He did have some standards.
Yasmin peers at Tomas for a long moment before stating the obvious, "Does anyone know how to drive a submarine?"
Tomas peers at Meridith in turn.
Yasmin also shifts her peer to be peering at Meridith instead.
"..Do you drive a submarine? Or pilot it?" The question probably makes it clear that Miles doesn't quite know how to do either. He also peers toward Meridith, before shaking his head. "Look, if we're concerned that there is weird stuff afoot? We can't just leave whomever else is here, well, down here. Worst case scenario? We poke our noses where they don't belong, and get a little scolded." That's definitely not the worst case scenario. There's no Sanctuary here, Miles.
Meridith slaps her forehead. "Dorks," she declares. "Yes, you don't need to pilot it, you just need it to become buoyant."
"I think the word is 'Commandeer'..? I mean, ships have captains, planes have captains, submarines have captains." Martin wonders philosophically, then adds quietly, "I am not Submarine Certified." He then hums before opining, "I think we should save our own hides, we are clearly not adequately equipped to deal with this situation." He opines.
As Meridith makes her bold statement on the requirements for surviving in a submarine, their time seems rather 'up' as two attendants, rather irritated looking men, round the corner from the direction of the submarine. Then blinking at the group. "What the fuck are you doing out of...?" One questions as he reaches for his walkie talkie, scraping his throat. "...Was there an issue with the door? Please wait patiently for us to pick you up for your dinnertime amenities." He declares in his best attempt at politeness, then bringing the walkie to his mouth
"Isn't it just an underwater car?" Yasmin questions Miles right back; she's no submarine expert. There's a pause to consider the options - for real this time - before she slowly concedes with the deputy. "We should follow the music. If we are caught, I can just say I got lost and you were helping me find the place." A wave of her beribboned hand. "Or, maybe we can split-"
Whoops, out of time just before Yasmin can suggest the worst thing to do in a horror movie scenario. "I got lost." she lies. Look, green band. "They were helping me find the place."
Well, that solves the hold-up, at least. Tomas steps briskly towards the uniformed men, forcing a too-white politician's son smile onto his face - and then Yasmin's stepping up first, causing him to lift his eyebrows at her quick thinking. "Yeah, where are all the guys with green bands being taken?" he asks. "I feel like we're being filmed. Are we being filmed?" He lifts a finger, then alleges, "That's unconstitutional, man. What's up?"
The little adventuring group probably should've discussed what they'd do and say if they were caught beforehand, because Miles too leaps into an action of sorts. He raises a hand, jabbing over behind the fellas shoulders, and even as Yasmin offers an explanation, and Tomas shows off his pretty, pretty teeth before giving his own excuse, Miles just yells out, "Fire!"
Martin's eyes open wide as the man reaches for his walkie-talkie, and as Miles springs to action, he does not seem far at all behind. No communication or anything is attempted as he swiftly retrieves the small hunting knife from a collar, grabs it by the handle and throws it at one of the attendants like a throwing knife.
Meridith did not sign up for stabbing maybe normal people. She hangs back protectively amongst the normies.
The attendant blinks, trying to process the onslaught of information before looking behind himself along with the other. "...There's nothing there...?" He murmurs before a questioning tone comes from his walkie talkie, right as he makes to speak into it, a deathly gurgle is heard as the man finds himself pierced in the chest, blood escaping from his lips. The other man's eyes widen before he weaves backwards, grabbing for his own radio.
Martin//apparently can't drop the knife.
Tomas's stunned at this demonstration of Martin's Emergency Management Technique, staring at the dying man as he collapses down at the floor. "Lowe," he murmurs. "I think he was trying to say there was a fire in the cabin." He looks slowly back up to the second attendee, then says calmly, "Drop the walkie talkie and get on the floor with your hands above your head."
"Self-defense!" Yasmin yelps, backing away closer to Meridith as Martin decides to stab some poor fucker. That was entirely Miles's fault, honestly. He should've yelled 'leak!' or something. There's a worried glance at the man upon the ground - is he dead? dying? was he even alive? There are many questions to be asked here.
There's a split-moments decision where Miles begins to draw his weapon, but Tomas steps up, and in the heat of the moment the deputy decides to rely upon him. He gives up on being a threat, and skitters over closer to the injured man. "Fuck. Fuck." He blurts out, rummaging inside of his coat for bandages, and coming up dry. He'd spent all of his first aid supplies running around in the wilds like an idiot. Miles grabs the downed man's radio, tucking it into his jacket and then goes about tearing at his clothes, trying to get some sort of make-shift gauze to press against the wound, and apply pressure. He does not pull out the knife.
The man stares at Tomas, scared, before giving a slow nod, making onto his knees, radio falling besides him as a voice continues to ring through the crackle - likely asking why people keep opening communications, only not to speak. Going by the bloodpool on the floor, the man /was/ very much alive, his companion seeming terrified of his own future.
Barbara puts her hands over the eyes of her son as footsteps come from the direction of the 'B' dormitory - not quite where they're headed.
Martin scrunches up his face as his throw that was supposed to be less-than-lethal straight up incapacitates the man and leaves him looking much less-than-healthy. A 'fssh' sound escapes his mouth as if he just spilled some boiling hot water onto his hand, "On the bright side," He says as he springs to his feet to prevent any more walkie-talkie shenanigans, then pauses, apparently not being able to justify accidentally eliminating a witness, he then rubs at his eyes, "I am not operating at peak performance this early in the morning, I apologize." Come his words as he attempts to retrieve any walkie talkies, "He'll survive, I am sure." He seeks to assure the small group. He then starts to collect all the radios, walkie-talkies, phones, any communication equipment that the duo of attendants might possess.
There's footsteps approaching, there's a man dying, and not even Yasmin's quick thinking gives her an answer for what to do under these circumstances. Damn. She reaches up to pinch at the bridge of her nose, then lowers herself down on the ground near Miles to see if there's anything that can be done to help. "I can cauterize him, to... stop the bleeding." she whispers over to the deputy. She definitely does not look trained for /any/ medical procedures in the least.
"Make him explain. Or he's next." Miles barks over towards Martin, gesturing toward the remaining fellow with a bloody hand. It's a hollow threat, but surely it doesn't seem to be as much while his mate is bleeding to death. There's a nod aside to Yasmin, as the deputy relents to her superior medical advice. At least, he assumes that is the case. He'd sort of assumed she was pre-med along with Meridith since they'd first met, likely due to the circumstances of said meeting. "Better a bung lung, than being dead." He reasons, doing his best to stem the blood until she's ready.
Martin has to 'shh' down Miles as his bark probably echoes throughout the hallway, "A little quieter," He has to politely ask in a whisper before kneeling down in front of the second attendant. He smiles faintly and places two hands around the man's head, his thumbs seeking his eyes, "You need to tell me everything that you know, mister," He says in a calm, quiet tone, his thumbs slowly starting to press in with greater and greater force, but not enough to cause any *real* damage yet, "You would like to see your loved ones again, would you not? There are fates worse than death," He then coos out as his thumbs slowly press deeper and deeper into the cranium, unstoppable if no one else intervenes.
Damn, he's actually taking her up on it. Yasmin looks like she may be regretting the offer mildly, but hey, if it keeps an innocent(?) man from dying. She shifts off to a side after a nod to Miles, pulling out her knife and keeping her hands out of view of the normies - just a lighter being used here, Yasmin is certainly not conjuring fire out of nowhere, nothing to see here - until the flat of the blade grows hotter, glowing, brighter and brighter until it's a red-hot, at which point she makes her way back to the deputy. "Okay," she exhales, waits for Miles to pull the knife out, and then there's a sizzling of burning flesh as the red-hot metal meets skin. Mm, barbecue.
... Martin better not be killing another man back there.
A small nod is all Tomas gets for his attempt at assuring the 'poor' tied man, who seems to be occupied with glancing at the bleeding attendant. Being caring with the hurt is, of course, a very caring thing to be doing - especially with the approaching footsteps. The attendant shakes under Martin's threat, glancing towards Miles. "...P-Party." The man explains in a stutter, "W-we're b-bringing p-people to the p-party. T-That's all I know!" He manages as the source of the footsteps finally becomes known -- faces. Three, this time, coming from the other hallway. They quickly retreat, one holding a radio. A crackle from Martin's revealing the cause; 'Escapees, Dormitory B, violent.'
"Ah, christ." Miles exhales under his breath as he glances over towards where Martin is engaging in some very polite questioning. But he can't attend to that, he needs to focus on the task at hand. While Yasmin heats up her blade, he waits, trying to hold the man still and keep his insides, well, inside. There's a slow count, "One, two.." Upon three he tugs the blade out, stuffing as much makeshift gauze about the wound as he can before Yasmin's knife is sinking into him, ruining that lung as flesh and fat, and membrane melt - but potentially, and hopefully, saving his life.
"The Party, where is it?" Martin then asks quietly as his thumbs drive a little deeper inside. He glances behind his shoulder with the sounds, then glances at the radio in his pocket and footsteps and mutters a quiet curse, "Since when are we escapees?" He asks in a hushed whisper to Tomas, then asks him, "Alright, can you grab that radio in my pocket and mislead the nice security fellows as I extract some information over there?" He asks, then focuses back on the task at hand, "The Party. Where is it, mister? The next three seconds decide if you have perfectly healthy eyes or some mush in your eye-sockets."
"A-All the way b-back a-across the hangars!" The man claims to Martin before gulping "I-I n-never use the r-radio, L-Leeroy was t-the Radio guy..." He returns to the questioning, was. Not much faith in Yasmin and Miles' medical skills, it seems.
"All the way back across the hangars." Martin repeats after the man, then takes in a deep breath before letting it back out, he turns back towards the other two, "We are not equipped to deal with any of this. We should leave whoever is here to tend to their own and retreat, one pistol and two knives won't get us to the bottom of this." He once again urges, slowly taking his thumbs off the man's eyes to make him face the floor this time.
"I have a second pistol." Miles remarks back without tearing his eyes away from the unfortunate stab victim. Leeroy. Great, now he's got a name. A lame name too. The meme echoes in the man's head as he tries to hold the fellow still beneath Yasmin's burning blade. "Ask them if they're armed, Martin!"
He's right to have no faith; Yasmin doesn't either. She holds the flat of the knife down way too long, until the sickening smell of burning flesh fills the enclosed space - or until Miles pulls her hand away, one of the two, whichever comes first, and then there's a long stare over at the deputy. She's trying not to look down at all the blood and charred flesh. "... is he alive?" she questions, as though he knows all the answers. Please know all the answers, Miles. There's a glance back at Martin's words, the girl biting down on her bottom lip worriedly. No decision is forthcoming.
"Right." Martin says after Miles, "Do note, though, we've been spotted. Expect cavalry soon." He says before facing down the man that he is manhandling and was just interrogating, "Weapons, have you got any? What about your friends? This place must have some security," He asks, then presumes as he gets to patting the man down for any weapons and such before waiting for an answer.
"...B-Boss says security would be u-useless against our guests..." The attendant explains to Martin in what should, perhaps, be mildly alarming. "...Maybe in t-the office..." The man seems to have gone from 'about-to-soil-himself' to 'gave up on life', a hollowness left after the source of fear - Martin's thumbs, finally found itself removed.
"We're (...) a team (...) 15 minutes (...)" crackles from the radio.
"He's fine, he's fine." Miles blurts aside to Yasmin as he goes about bundling up the terrible wound they'd inflicted, and then tried to heal with fire. The man's head turns this way and that as he glances between those around, and makes an assessment. The ongoing chatter on the radio helps. "Right. This is what we're doing." He seems to decide for the group, "We're heading back to the boat- submarines. We're throwing Leeroy, and this dickhead here-" There's a jab of a bloody thumb toward the other guard, "Into one, along with Meridith and the kid, and.. Rebecca?" He'd never really bothered to learn her name. There's a glance aside to Meridith too, as if expecting her to argue back, "Then the rest of us, with Tomas guarding out way out, we go free as many folks as we can- or get to their office and grab as much shit as we can. Worst case scenario? We get out of here with these two goobers, and beat a little information out them."
The man is almost definitely -not- fine, but Miles tries to both assure Yasmin and bend reality with his statements.
If Yasmin doesn't look down, she doesn't have to figure out if the man is dead or alive for herself; it's a real Schrodinger's cat situation. But, hey - plans. Those sound like solid plans, and she bobs her head at Miles in silent agreement, nodding alone while she rises to her feet, then realizes, "... what are we doing with them? This one needs a doctor." The other one needs a psychiatrist for his PTSD. Or the TSD, since it's yet to be over. And then, "Let's not beat up too many people... I can sneak around, see what I can find." Hopefully not with her bloodied hands, but hey, green band. Even if splitting up is most likely to be an awful idea. One thing is for certain, though: "Let's go clear the way." That sounds like it's directed at Martin.
Martin glances towards his pocket once again as the radio in it crackles and says something, he huffs, "ETA is fifteen minutes, they are probably calling help from the surface, I would expect at least four guys with firearms." He tells Miles, "That guy won't last longer than a few hours without medical attention, I'd say, and we don't have that many people that can commandeer a submarine. Your call, though, deputy," He does notify, then nods to Yasmin, "We need to slowly clear a way to the hangar... by slowly, I mean quickly."
"Meridith, and the woman, and the kid, are going to take them to the surface, and keep old mate alive." Miles elaborates as he pushes up to his feet, gesturing to Tomas to carry the downed fellow. He reaches into his duty belt, producing some handcuffs and tossing them Martin's way. Fellow really does carry a lot of crap around with him. But when you're only human? You kind of have to. "If people can pilot a submarine with a game controller, we can figure it out - but for now? Let's get to the hanger."
Martin nods to Miles, but does not comment on the fate of the submarine controlled with a game controller, not this time. "The plan it is, I'll lift the injured fella, you can have the healthy one. He can walk, I believe." He says, "Take any keys and such that he might have, might be useful." He says before moving towards the aforementioned injured man.
Yasmin is not helping to lift any full-sized men, that's for sure. That part gets left for Martin and Tomas, thereby dubbed The Muscle, while she lingers behind to help Meridith with getting Barbara and Jonas over to the hangar. "I will keep an eye out behind us," she assures the others, knife close by just in case any 'self-defense' is required, all of her supernatural senses attuned towards watching for any incoming threats. "... try not to drop him." she mentions to Martin in the meantime. Miles, presumably, is left to lead the group, a perfectly balanced formation.
Thankfully Tomas is more than capable of doing the carrying work, leaving the others relatively free. Barbara being a Havenite seems fairly used to 'Not asking questions', following along, though visibly disturbed by the happenings. A problem for layer, mayhaps. The music, however, still calls. The party still very much in gear - even with all that is happening, for whatever reason, the attendants seem to have opted not to cancel the 'amenities'.
Time runs out, however, with roughly 10 minutes remaining of those 15 radioed in.
Snicker-snack. Handcuffs are clasped around the not-dying guards wrists before Miles leaves him in Tomas' capable hands. He considers Yasmin and the knife for several seconds, before extending his spare pistol in her direction. "Here." He doesn't accept no as an answer, figuring she might at least -look- a little more threatening with a gun. With that said, and done, he turns to exactly what he'd suggested - leading the party back towards the hanger, intent to get Meridith, Barbara and Jonas, as well as the two guards, out of there.
Martin kneels down and picks up the bleeding man from the ground with relative ease, carrying him bridal style as opposed to fireman, perhaps he is not in a mood to get blood and lungs spilled all over onto his back, but his hands are quite literally occupied with the man now. "Alright, I am ready now. Stay frosty," He signals along with a nod, following Miles who happens to lead the group.
Yasmin scrunches up her face at Miles - does she look like she knows how to use a gun? "I'm not firing this," she hisses at the man but ends up holding the weapon loosely in one hand anyway, in the way of someone who really should not be trusted with a gun. At least it'll be useful to bludgeon someone over the head with, worst case scenario. And what does stay frosty mean anyway? Martin is shot an incredulous look - she's shooting those looks all over, really. There's probably nobody coming up behind them so far, if she hasn't sounded an alarm yet.
The hallways thankfully (or perhaps alarmingly) are quiet on the way back to the hangar, that same metal-plated door still very much closed on the way there. While Martin's back may be safe from the wounded 'princess', his chest definitely gets its parts, bits of blood with every sickening gurgle.
"I'd prefer that, to be frank. Just try and look mean." Miles suggests in response to Yasmin, and affords her a slight double-take, "..Maybe go for crazy instead, yeah?" That seems more believable. He pauses by the metal-plated door, checking to see if it's locked, and if it is? He goes about trying to convince it not to be.
Martin takes in a deep breath, a lungful of that stale, bloody air before whispering a quiet 'Sorry.' to the critically injured man that comes closer to dying every second. His eyes slowly float over the door, then, "Alright, how do we open this?" Comes his million dollar question as he holds the injured man in his arms.
Pandora's box was opened by curiosity and it seems this rather ominous door is earning itself the same fate. It could be the door to the party, though the scratch marks on the doorframe, clearly visible up close, may be a bit of a warning.
Yasmin doesn't have to try for crazy; she's halfway there already, and she stops by Miles, an eye on the hallways and the other on the door. "How good are you at that?" she murmurs over to Miles during his lock-picking efforts, seeming ready to take over if need be. "I can try too, or we can break it open." And by 'we', she clearly means The Muscle.
"..Mildly?" Miles ventures back in turn, pausing for a moment or two as he considers the doorway. It finally dawns on the man that this wasn't the way he'd come, and he steps back, promising it, "We'll be back for you shortly." With that said, he turns to lead them onwards and into the hangers, gesturing madly at the nearest submarine.
"A concern for later," Martin has to agree with Miles there as he decides to move on, a decision probably influenced by the man still dying in his arms, if he isn't dead already, "I am more of a proponent of calling for reinforcements before those 'fifteen minutes until a team arrives' limit is up, God knows what kind of PMCs can be hired by someone who built this," He says, head cocking forth as he says this, walking along.
The nearest submarine --being the service submarine, without nice windows and probably without nice plush couches too -- seems to be abandoned for the taking, the hatch apparently not coming with a lock. Two other submarines of the type that brought them here, more glass than metal wait patiently next to it.
...5 minutes.
Yasmin is also a proponent of there being no dead people, whether it be the poor guy in Martin's loving arms or, well, themselves. "If we get stuck in this death trap and die..." she can be heard mumbling under her breath, the rest of the threat going unspoken as Miles gestures them towards the nearest submarine. Hopefully they're going to choose one that smells least like death. Or the one without the windows that might break and bring in all the water, that one works too. "That one," Yasmin decides, pointing at the service submarine.
"..You'll haunt us all, I'm sure. A pint-sized phantom." There's something about the stress of the situation that has Miles leaning right into dry humour as he rushes toward the submarine gestured at by Yasmin. "Meri. Woman. Boy. Guard. Dying man." He jabs at each person in order, and then jabs at the submarine. "Get in, get out." He orders them, and once they're settled - should they do so, he'd turn back to those remaining. "I'm guessing I'm the only mundy here. What can you do?" The deputy near demands of Yasmin and Martin, before turning to jog back the way they'd come. He draws his service weapon, filling his right hand with it. A neutralizer is palmed into the left, "Jog and talk. Jog and talk. Let's see if we can't find something."
"Right now?" Yasmin holds up her knife, deciding figuring out whatever the fuck is going on here sounds better than getting in a submarine. "Knife." The knife gets set on fire. "Fire." Hey, at least she's being quick and concise about it, Miles surely has to appreciate that while they're jogging back to the scene of the crime. Or the metal door, whatever. "I can pick locks, and run fast, if needed." He's not allowed to use that information against her in the court of law. "A bit of hypnotic persuasion. No actual hypnosis. Uhh..." A pause, to figure out if she's missing anything. "Good senses. And light, if you need it." She's a whole utility kit in herself, torch /and/ lighter and an alarm.
Martin moves towards the service submarine, descends down and leaves the man on the most suitable surface before climbing back up, he does face Miles to address him this time, "Again, deputy, every passing minute we spend here, we come closer to certain death." He says, "A few of us with pistols and knives can't fight a possible team of mercs with God-knows what, and with us, there would be not much hope of anyone that can do anything learning about this place. I must report back to HQ and explain the situation, I can not risk any more," He does attempt to explain, then cocks his head down towards the injured man, "Plus, I will have quite a bit of explaining to do."
"Head back." The response to Martin is as succinct as it is direct. He can't ask the fellow to risk his life any more than he already has, can he? Plus, you know, he's got a point. But Miles isn't always a smart man. I don't mean he's unintelligent, but he sure can be dumb. "Fire. Light. Locks. Pretty face. Got it." He snaps aside to Yasmin, turning to lead her on - though pausing just long enough to wave at Martin, "Toss us a radio, mate! See the others out safely!"
Martin nods to Miles, then heads back and starts climbing down the hatch, he does say, though, "When all is said and done, I'll mail you your knife back. Preferably washed clean of any blood." He does smile faintly, "Good luck and Godspeed, you three," He says, offering them a two-finger salute before descending down the hatch, then it is sealed as the rag-tag 'crew' inside try to figure out how to pilot the thing.
Martin unseals the hatch and pops out for just long enough to toss a cheap walkie-talkie at Miles, then back in he goes.
Whilst the service submarine's interior is lined with boxes containing who-knows-what, there is thankfully ample space left for those deemed to be left behind -- or those leaving. Whatever decision the group wished to make - they're far out of time for it. Rippling can be seen on the water's surface, the coming of another submarine most assuredly.
Piloting a submarine isn't, exactly, the easiest job in the world, but the sturdy metal walls of the service submarine can survive a few scrapes - thankfully - and they make it out fine, leaving only the glassy submarines - and increasingly aggressive ripples in the water.
"No imploding," Yasmin demands of the others - though mostly Martin who's been talking about imploding submarines way too many times to be perfectly innocent - before the hatch is sealed shut, and with the group lessened to just a couple of people, she points out, "We can use the vent, to hide and look around, if there's not enough time to get the door open."
"That's a great idea." Both the lack of imploding and the hiding, really. With that said and done, Miles darts up the corridor, and back toward the strange door they'd found earlier. He tucks away his neutralizer, and raises the radio up to his mouth, "Oh, shoot." The man drawls out in best approximation of an American accent, "They all got away! They disappeared into nothingness, ya hear?"
Miles lowers the radio, and gestures toward the door, "You can't path, by any chance?" He asks at the same time.
"No," comes the succinct answer, and Yasmin sounds a /tad/ more alarmed now with the coming of the next submarine. "We need to be /fast/," she hisses to the man, and for all that she may be fun-sized, the girl sure can run when she needs to, taking liberties with Miles's sleeve to drag him along. "Vent, now." Or vent five minutes ago, probably.
The radio sees no response for the longest time, then finally crackles to life, "Who (...) fuck (...) you?"
Perhaps to be expected when hearing a voice you don't recognize mid crisis.
"It's Leeroy, I got a sore throat! From all the screaming! You ain't been hearin' me?" Miles just manages to avoid throwing a 'pardner' in there as he lies over the radio, which probably isn't helping their case. He does his best to keep up with Yasmin, even as she drags him along somewhat, like a toddler tied to a parent in a three-legged race. He justifies her increased speed as a side effect of her height. When you're that little your legs barely need to move to, well, move, right? Gravity just doesn't effect you as much.
Water splashing can be heard from behind as the two run, the hallways thankfully quite devoid of life - no wonder, considering what the attendants saw. The radio gets no response, perhaps the falls it took just did that much damage.
Perhaps Miles' Leeroy impression isn't that effective, especially considering some of the attendants saw him bleeding on the ground before.
Miles isn't even the tallest guy, he has no right to make fun of Yasmin's height - or lack thereof. She slams the door he'd so meticulously picked closed behind them as they find their way back to the quarters with the still-open vent, pausing for a second near it. "Close the vent behind you, I will go in first in case it gets narrower. I will go towards the music. Tell me now if you want to go a different way." Yasmin tells him, with the other threat going unspoken with her gaze narrowed - don't stare at her butt, or else. And then, no time to waste. In she goes, after tucking the gun Miles handed to her in her waistband. Hopefully the vents are clean, for the sake of her white clothes.
Like a cartoon character, Miles slides a little as Yasmin slams the door closed and tries to yank it back open, hoping that his earlier sabotage had left it damaged enough that it didn't clasp, "We don't want them to think we found another way out!" He explains this as he jogs behind the smaller woman, in his giant, huge and totally big body. "Go towards the music." It's agreed, and there's a foot up offered to her, though, it may not be needed, judging by the way she scrambles up, and inside. Like a little critter.
Unfortunately for Miles, the door seems entirely locked now. Or perhaps, unfortunately for Yasmin, as that leaves the only way out through the vents. They are blessedly fairly large, enough for a giant, huge body to fit through without issue. The airflow within is high - a constant wind rushing past the gaps and from within - the music can be heard, faintly. A path within the network of oxygen-providing tunnels.
That was smart, and that's totally why Miles is the cop with definite criminalistic tendencies, even if the door is automatically-locking. Whoops. Yasmin pauses just long enough to ensure he finds his way into the vent system before she takes in a deep breath, declares (quietly), "I hate this place. Today sucks." And sets off crawling towards the source of the music without a glance back. To the music it is!
"It could always be worse." Miles intones in response to Yasmin, searching for the silver lining on this underwater resort cloud. His own entrance to the vents is far less smooth, and involves a fair bit more grunting. Not to mention his groans as he twists about to pull the grate back and into place - jerking it hard to try and keep it there. Then he's scrambling after Yasmin, switching off the radio and ensuring his phone is on silent, "Phone.. silent.." He whispers through the vent toward her, army crawling behind her, and definitely looking at her butt. How could he not? It's all that's in front of him!
The grate loosely hangs in its place, just about hanging on the remnants of a single screw. Unlikely to hold up for long inspections, but it hangs. The vans are relatively dark, and Yasmin's long coat doesn't help much, only interrupted by the occasional reflections of light throughout a grate. It isn't long before the music gets closer - in addition to other sounds. The clinking of glasses - the speaking of voices, and the occasional, horrified, whimper.
Miles may need a lesson or two or three in stealth. Yasmin is unimpressed while she glances over her shoulder at him, hissing out, "It cannot be worse unless we die." That's how the progression of bad things goes, obviously: crawling through a network of vents is only one step behind straight up fucking dying. "There's no signals here anyway." she points out to the man; as a youngster barely in her twenties, of course she would have tried to text someone immediately after getting here.
And then blessed silence from Yasmin's complaining, at least, as the music gets louder. She pauses at the vent leading into the room the music originates from, taking advantage of her much smaller stature to move past it and then turn around so she can Miles can behold whatever fresh horrors lie beyond it together.
Miles doesn't offer a response, not trusting himself to be as quiet in this small space. His vocal cords are so much larger than Yasmin's after all. He simply continues to crawl behind her, moving a little slower in an attempt to make less noise, until they finally reach this vent and the complaints cease. He slinks closer, glancing towards the young woman, and then down into the space beneath them.
Horrors? It seems to be an actual party. A bunch of masked figures dancing around, others drinking red liquid - presumably wine - from glasses, talking to each other and making merriment. Dressed in formal clothes, at the first sight, nothing seems too odd about it. On a second glance, however, between the dancers and talkers, there are others - people wearing entirely normal clothes. Some stare ahead hazily, others visibly shiver as they watch the going ons, trying to hide away in corners.
A blink. Two. Yasmin reaches down to tug at the green band around her wrist, then glances over at Miles, as though expecting him to come to the same conclusion she has without having to say it out loud. 'Vampire party?', she mouths over at the man, eyebrows raised. He better be good at lip-reading, otherwise this is going to get awkward. There's a tap at her nose; whatever she's smelling, it's not good. Damn vents need to be doing their job better. Totally unrelated to the people currently blocking them, of course.
Ironically, Miles was in the midst of communicating the very same idea back to Yasmin. His method is, perhaps, less clever. When she looks back over to him he has a hand up to his mouth, two fingers extended in a mockery of fangs. He pauses, reads her lips, and drops his hand. Then nods. Yes, they're on the same page. There's a long glance afforded to the ribbon about her wrist then, before he squints down in the party room in search of anyone else wearing as much.
Whatever plan Miles is cooking up, it'll have to wait for a better place; Yasmin doesn't look like she wants anything to be said out loud. If they really /are/ vampires, chances are high there's going to be at least some supernaturally keen ears in that room, and both of them are going to be drained dry in a very non-fun way very fast if they get caught. She glances back towards the darkness of the vents, and beckons the man on with a gesture of her head, turning back around the right way to continue on the vent-adventure. Onwards, to the next empty, not full of vampires room they can find to talk in without their voices carrying like a death sentence. If, by chance, that happens to be the room with the locked metal door, all the better for it.
One would be forgiven for noticing every clink of knee on metal on the way through the vents. It is lucky, perhaps, the music plays unceasingly, even with the ruckus they caused before. Unwilling to piss off their guests, perhaps. There's thankfully plenty of rooms that can be found from the network of vents - likely every room accessible to mortals. Not, however, whatever is on the other side of that metal door.
That's okay, Yasmin will settle for any room that fits the criteria of A. being empty, and B. being open-able from this end. Whatever gets her out of these infernal vents, really.
Miles is beckoned, and he comes. Those sounds don't escape his attention in the least, as the constant anxiety that each triggers results in a bead of sweat forming upon his brow and the back of his neck. Vampires. God damn it. Vampires. Why couldn't it be something easier to deal with? Like Russians, or a bunch of eco-terrorists? Maybe just a Mad Hatter style fae who doesn't want the party to ever, ever end. He drags himself after Yasmin, checking each room and vent as he builds a mental map of where they are, and where they've been. There's glances for other patrols as well, not to mention the reinforcements that were due to arrive.
The hallways seem roamed by attendants once more -- perhaps thrown off by the stolen service submarine. They seem quite busy, walking quickly back and fro. In one room, one can be spotted in a conversation with someone who looks /rather/ well armed, dressed in full tactical gear with a machine gun held lazily in one hand, seeming to be under some sort of interrogation. Words about what the escapees look like, answered with 'I don't knows', leading to further irritation. It wouldn't take long to find a room they can enter - a bathroom not far from the hangar, the vent for it mostly loose - a remnant of a failed escape attempt, perhaps.
"Right," Yasmin starts once they're far away enough from the partying and she's found the nice, convenient bathroom to see if they can find their way out into the freedom of open, non-vent space. She's quiet now, the claustrophobia taking a back seat to the nauseating truth of what they've found in this place, and she only speaks up after closing her eyes and trying her best to figure out if there's anyone nearby who could overhear them. "Do you have a plan?" she asks Miles in a whisper, glancing over his way for only a brief moment before she returns to her vent-opening efforts, muscles straining against the metal without trying to make any loud noises. "Fifty stakes and a stake-firing crossbow?" Please say yes. "Anything?" She's not lost hope /entirely/ though, surely they can still find something if they look around enough.
The Deputy really takes his time in climbing out of the vent and into the bathroom, his shoulders hunched and lips peeled back into the sort of grimace you'd normally adopt when sneaking past your parents room after breaking curfew. Miles slinks over towards one of the sinks, raising a hand toward the faucet before thinking better of it, and just leaning over it instead. Both hands rest on the porcelain as he shakes his head slowly. "I've got an idea." Not a plan though, "Sink the place.", not a particularly good idea either. He eyes the reflection of Yasmin in the mirror, gauging her reaction.
Sinking the place would probably more effective if it was a supernatural type who was, well, alive, but plans are plans. The grate comes off with a pop, causing the cover to pop up, though not without giving Yasmin a chance to catch it if she wishes to. The inside of the bathroom is basic - porcelain throne, two stalls, a place for washing, nice electronic hand dryer. The only thing is lacks is an inside lock.
OOC Miles - Oops, I misread earlier. I thought we'd already gotten in, my bad.
Yasmin is being very careful to not make any noise - no noisy vent covers here - and she moves over first of all to check the lock upon the bathroom door after being free, finds it missing, and slumps against the door as though she can hold anyone back with sheer strength should they decide to break in. Just in time to hear Miles's idea; that sure is /a/ plan for a deputy who should be thinking about saving people. Yasmin makes an unimpressed face. "Can't they just... swim back up, if they don't need to breathe? We will just be killing the humans." And themselves. It's a valid question, really. "And they will find somewhere else to party." There's a sigh, and she reaches up to rub at her temples in slow circles. "I think we need to find proof, and find a way to leave. They have guns. I heal fast, but I am not bulletproof."
"..Yeah." It wasn't a great plan, but Miles was on the spot! "I suppose in my head, I sort of imagined the whole place going all presure-crushy? Like the submarine? From the news? With the rich people?" He half-explains aside to Yasmin, raising a hand to run fingers through his hair in slow, self-soothing motions. "Alternatively, we check the metal door we couldn't open. Creep about. There were claw marks on it, yeah? You saw that? Maybe we're lucky and there's a whole bunch of friendly werewolves inside who wanna help us rescue people and escape?" His voice raises in pitch as he speaks, indicating his own doubt as he makes the suggestion
Going off the sudden paleness of Yasmin's face, imagining the place going pressure-crushy with her inside it isn't something she had signed up for today, and she glowers at Miles for putting it in her head for the sixth time in as many hours. "... there are people around now," she says, slowly. "That means we probably can't get to the submarines easily." She's displeased. There is a lot of displeasure going on here. "Fine. If we get caught, I needed to use the toilet and you are escorting me." Hopefully nobody notices the lack of bite marks upon Yasmin's person in such a scenario.
And then, slowly, /very/ slowly, Yasmin cracks the door open to take a look outside at the hallway; how much trouble are they in?
"Wait, wait. Wait." Miles reaches over to prevent the door opening, at least immediately. He stares at Yasmin for several seconds, and at her neck. "..Let's give you a bite mark." The suggestion is given several moments to breathe, and settle in, before the man makes a little so-so gesture, "Not with my mouth. Use a knife. Tick. Tick. Bleed a bit, and maybe, take off your.." There's a wave toward the hijab, "And rough up your hair a little? Look like you've been supped upon?"
Occasionally, people do walk out in the hallway, but not all the time, at least. The submarines aren't all that far away, truth be told. Perhaps they weren't expecting people to actually stick around the cadre of vampires after finding a perfectly good escape. Surprise may well be on their side, until they start looking too closely. The people who do walk through the hallway are attendants, at least.
It's a good thing Miles specified not with his mouth, because there was certainly going to be a knife used here otherwise. Whoosh, go Yasmin's eyebrows flying up, and she opens her mouth for an immediate protest, then shuts it closed again. "I am not taking off my hijab," she whispers back to the man, but she /does/ shrug off her coat, hand it to the deputy - good luck figuring out where to put that one, but surely he's got space amidst his thousand other doodads for one more item - and unbuttons the very top button of her blouse for an attempt at casual dishevelment - and also at not getting blood over her pristinely white coat. Then, the drape of her hijab pulled to a side and a careful look in the mirror, tick, tick, goes her knife, with a wince and a glare over at Miles through the mirror before she turns back to him, rubbing at her neck. A few drops of blood stain her collar, and her hijab is /just/ on the side of mussed. That's as far as she's willing to go for this undercover mission. "You lead." It only makes sense, surely. Off into the hallway they go, if there's no further complaints.
"..Alright." It takes a few moments for the word to escape Miles, as he watches Yasmin's attempt to vamp-victimize herself. It'll work, surely. These Vampires appear to be playing at sophistication, so a little muss, fuss and blood oughta serve. He glances at the coat, and ends up tucking it half up and along his shoulder, giving his profile a light hump. The man plucks out his hairband, then, and styles his hair a little to afford it a little more chaos too. "I'll play as a thrall, I suppose, worst case scenario. Or something, you know, brain-fucked." They're playing to their strengths then, hopefully.
With that said and done, Miles reaches over to grasp at Yasmin's upper arm, as if he were escorting her by force, and slinks out into the hallway with her - heading toward the metal door, and the submarine hanger both.
Heading back to the sweet release - and the tempting door of curiosity - is thankfully a relatively smooth affair. One attendant walks past them, blinking, apparently not quite used to seeing people like Miles go around with a 'bloodbag', but seems to have better things to do, rushing on instead. Or better things to die for, at least. The docks go unguarded, mostly, aside from one, single soldier.
...A perhaps insurmountable blockade.
A man stands in full tactical gear in-front of another service sub - noticeably in worse conditions than the last, the metal looking rather scuffed up, lazily leaning back and forth, spending more time looking at his gun, inspecting the grooves with his fingers, than looking around the docks.
A flash of indignation crosses Yasmin's features before she plasters on her best dazed, 'recently turned anemic' expression and stumbles along with Miles's longer strides as she's dragged by the arm. There's a stiffening of her form at catching sight of the soldier in the tactical gear, and an alarmed look over at the deputy before she decides to keep her head down and keep walking until they reach the metal door. She's just a bloodbag, juuuust a bloodbag... Surely nobody's going to stop them... right?
... hopefully he doesn't do his job and notice the gun poking out from Yasmin's waistband that she'd definitely forgotten about.
At the least, Miles tries his best not to jostle Yasmin about while they're alone, though his hand never quite leaves her upper arm. The man's lips twist into a thin, harsh line as he notes the soldier, and extends a look back toward Yasmin in turn. There's a motion as he slips the lock picking kit from his jacket, and presses it into her front - while yanking her toward the metal door. "Get it open." He hisses aside to her, plucking the radio from his coat then and moving to cover her very petite form with his own - while holding the device up and miming that he's speaking into it. It's an attempt at cover, though it may not be the best.
The soldier doesn't seem particularly interested in what goes on beyond the docks and Miles and Yasmin manage to pass without conflict. The use of this though, raises other questions. There's certainly /some/ music on the other side of the door, though it's more muffled - either the door is soundproof, or it's not quite the party room, at least, even if close to it.
Say no more. Yasmin was already reaching for the pin in her hijab, but hey, whatever finds her hands first. She nods to Miles before crouching down just slightly for a better view at the lock and getting to work. In goes the pin, a bit of jiggling and a bit of nudging and some very professional wedging taking place while she attempts to get the door open. There's another worried look at Miles's back here - hopefully they're not going to be walking right into the vampires' den. Surely their luck can't be that bad.
...click.
The door unlocks, the mechanism not really living up to the door itself, it seems.
There's an apologetic sort of expression afforded to Yasmin as she works at the door, the closest that Miles can offer to a 'sorry for man-handling you a wee bit there' for the time being. The click of the door sends some more tension through his frame. He raises a hand aside to his pint-sized compatriot once more, and edges it open to peer inside, taking the risk of this first look upon himself.
Yasmin totally didn't work hard getting manhandled and then picking locks to have the second look. She's also gonna try to take a peek at the same time, from behind Miles the squishy human who definitely shouldn't be going up first. Yasmin doesn't point that fact out loud yet.
Honestly, there's probably room for Yasmin to just squeeze in and look from beneath Miles, like something out of a comedy film .
It is dark beyond the door, very dark. And very, very stale, like a cave untouched for many decades, yet seeped in one particular smell. Blood. Outlines of cages can be seen on the walls, within which bodies unmoving. Dead, dying or at the very least, passed out, surrounding comfortable-looking couches, tall figures given to quiet conversation on the lounge seats.
Less of a vampires' den, more of a lounge. The music, far less loud here, does little to mask the sound of the opening door to a keen enough ear - the creak as an announcement of the intruder's arrival. Some of the voices quieting. A tension palpable in the room's atmosphere.
There's a few moments of stunned silence, as Miles's lips peel back into a grimace, and he sucks in a breath through his teeth. The man swallows a lump in his throat then, before starting to slowly, slowly push the door closed again, peering aside to Yasmin as he does as much.
Here's hoping they can put the cork back into this bottle.
Oh. Well. Shit. Fuck. Yasmin's eyes are wide as soon as the overwhelming stench of blood reaches her nose - instantly, by the way. It reaches her nose instantly. It is not great for the morale. Or the general spy vibe they had going. She flashes Miles a panicked look, a quiet step taken backwards out of instinct - with what she looks like, she could certainly pass as 'refreshment', but /does he have a plan/ that doesn't get her killed after that?! Yasmin's eyes trail to the soldier by the submarines. Suddenly, fighting their way past a fully-geared man to get themselves the hell out of here sounds like a great idea. Assuming the figures inside aren't going to be following them out of their lounge of deathiness.
The door closes, none of the beings inside seeming particularly keen to do anything with the opening. Though who knows how long that lasts.
There's nearly no time to think, there's certainly even less time to think. What Miles was hoping for behind that door? Something that could help them? They got the exact opposite. He reaches over to snatch at Yasmin' upper arm again with his left, while his right unholsters his service weapon and stuffs it into the outer pocket of his coat. There it remains for the time being. "We'll offer refreshment to the fella, and then surprise him. If we have to." That's the plan, as it stands. Again, not a good one. Though there's a pause then, and a slow furrow of Miles's brow. The submarines were filled with glass, right? Is a glass close enough to a mirror? Were there any mirrored surfaces in the subs, or the hanger?
There's a shudder that wracks its way down Yasmin's spine, her eyes suddenly wider than they were before at something unheard - at least by Miles. "We need to leave," she whispers over to him as if it wasn't obvious enough yet, reaching up to rub at the fake bite upon her neck, half healed over already. "Whatever works. I will try talking." It'd better work, or they're absolutely fucked. Her hand stays close to her pocket, and she tells Miles, "I have my knife close." while they begin to make their way over to the fella in question, vampire-refreshment face back in full force, even if it's a little strained.
No mirrors? In that case, operation Yasmin-is-a-snack is go. With her vampire-refreshment face back in place, and Miles's attempt at a blank thrall face operational, the fellow drags her over towards the armed and armoured man. Moving at a pace that while seemingly unhurried, is definitely doing it's best to remain as much. "I brought her as quick as I could!" He calls over toward the guard, trying to keep his voice largely monotone.
Would they round the corner back to the docks, they would find the soldier looking quite baffled, fingers taped to his head as he listens to something on his radio before shaking his head, putting it down. Spotting Miles and Yasmin, he blinks incredulously, cocking his head at the two. "...What the fuck?" He seems taken aback. "I literally just told you corporate assholes to solve your own goddamn problems. If the guests are pissed, that's not my fucking problem. Problems in the ballrooms? Not for me they ain't. Whatever happens in that fucked up lounge of yours?! Not /my/ fucking problem!" He spittles at the end, his face a healthy hue. "If this broad is being a problem for the guests, deal with her your fucking self." He commands, looking irritated, "I do security, /thats it/."
And she tried so hard to be a good snack, too.
The good-snack-face is gone somewhere during the middle of that rant to make way for incredulity, and Yasmin isn't unable to help herself from glancing over at Miles with her best 'what the fuck' face. Probably not good for whatever they were trying to accomplish here. But, hey, she /did/ say she'd speak first, and there's a step taken towards the security guard, her hands lifting in a show of helplessness. Surely she can't do anything to him. "Please calm down, sir," that's her best placating voice, with a tinge of psychic persuasion attached. "There has just been a misunderstanding; they need me back on the mainland for a special guest." A blink of wide eyes, turned up at the guy. "The servant here was just escorting me." The servant, of course, being Miles, whose name she definitely does not know. Surely that's a foolproof argument and they'll be allowed to leave on a submarine, no questions asked. Surely. One can hope.
It's fortunate that Yasmin reminded Miles of the plan with that looks of hers, even if it wasn't entirely her intent. The deputy was only moments away from rushing the other man, closing the distance to rob him of any advanges a longer barrel might bring. It's hard work shooting a machine gun or a rifle in close quarters, after all. Instead he simply adopts his best servant face. Mostly bland, and blank with an almost timid and dumb sort of half-smile. He just stands there and waits, hands in his pockets, and one wrapped about his pistol.
The soldier stares at Yasmin for a moment, seeming thoroughly confused, albeit calming down as requested before giving a long, exhausted sigh. "You know there's no way I can do that." He explains as he visibly relaxes, "Whatever the fuck you corpo's have to do can wait until the lockd-" A pause, he looks Yasmin over more closely as if seeing her again for the first time. "...You're not wearing appropriate clothes for an attendant..." The genius murmurs before glancing at her hijab. "...Didn't one of the described escapees..."
BANG. One moment that genius soldier is quizzing Yasmin about her attire, attire that Miles had request she should remove, in fact, and the next he's been shot in the thigh. The initial shot is followed up by another, and another as Miles charges in closer to crash into the man, attempting to shove his gun up and into his own face. The attempt to turn the man's weapon against him is met with a snarl.
Ah, hell. Yasmin really should've taken the hijab off. Too late now; there's a single, startled moment of panic, and then - nope, whatever she'd planned to do is gone, because Miles just rushed the man. "/Don't get shot/," she hisses over at him - if they were trying to keep a low profile, that's probably gone down the drain now, because there's just been goddamn gunshots here. While Miles is attempting to tackle the soldier, she goes in for the radio instead, trying to get that out of his reach so reinforcements won't be called.
The shot is not the cleanest of hits - more scraping than piercing, but at this distance, it does the job of distracting him with the pain, at least. The second is a miss, the third hitting a leg as the soldier aims for Miles. Right as Miles crashes into the soldier, he lets loose, the loud sound of his machine gun letting its bullets ricochet off of the walls - and hitting one of the recreational submarines - before he lets go of his gun and instead tries to grapple Miles, without much success.
"I'm trying!" Miles barks back at Yasmin as he wrestles, and grapples against the soldier. The deputy may just be a mortal man, but he's fairly fit, and better yet, he actually knows how to throw a punch. Not being able to rely on super strength means you've gotta have technique instead, after all, right? Once the machine gun has been pulled out of the fight, thank god, Miles plucks his handgun gripping hand out of his jacket. There's a twist of the hips, and then he launches forward, using the weapon as a pair of knuckles as he tries to bash the soldier right in the kisser.
Aaaaand that's more noise. Yasmin winces, but hopefully she's managed to kick the radio away far enough that it won't find its way into the soldier's hands anytime soon. "People coming," she tells Miles, voice rife with panic. "We have to /go/," Except, no, they can't go because Miles is busy wrestling. There's a worried look back, and then she reaches for her knife, and slams the blunt hilt of it behind the soldier's neck with full force in an attempt to knock him out. Hopefully non-lethally.
Super or not, Miles packs a punch. Be it his strength, technique, the soldier's wounds, or sheer force of will, he's reeling under the pressure, barely managing to protect himself with his arms as Yasmin adds her own strength to the mixture - a sickening crunch, and he goes limp.
...Sleeping peacefully, right?
With the soldier downed by the force of teamwork, nothing is left keeping them from the submarine. Though time most certainly isn't on their side - with shouts heard from the hallways. People are closing - and fast.
"Yasmin Ahmed, I could kiss you!" Miles blurts out in relief as the pint-sized warrioress comes to his rescue. He doesn't even bother assuring her that it's just a saying this time, too busy moving. The man is pat down, machine gun and a magazine or two pinched from him before the deputy turns and darts over towards one of the submarines, following Yasmin' lead on this. Jolly cooperation is a hell of thing.
Upon reaching their escape vessel of choice, Miles flicks the automatic weapon toward the others, those with the glass windows. So delicate. It's with careful, measured shots (after reloading the weapon if need be) that Miles peppers each of them, attempting to shatter and break the other methods of chasing after them. Then he's leaping into the submarine, hoping that Yasmin has found a way to get it started.
"Shut up," Yasmin lingers just long enough to give the passed-out-and-definitely-not-dead man a pitying glance before it's her turn to do the manhandling - or womanhandling, as the case may be - and she reaches for Miles's sleeve again to pull him along. Certain death versus death trap machines? The submarines are looking very inviting right now. Definitely not going to go for any of the luxurious, fancy-looking ones they'd arrived in, though. No, she goes straight for the newest arrival, finding her way over to the one the backup soldiers had come through. It has to be sturdy, surely. The hatch /hopefully/ isn't any trouble, and she leaps through to figure out what the fuck one does with a submarine while Miles is taking his time sabotaging the rest of the death trap machines. It can't be that hard, right?
There's no satisfying explosions or shattering glass to reward Miles, but there seems to be some effects, at least - stars on windows, much like cars hit by a pebble. Strong glass. But still damaging to their structural integrity. Inside the submarine is a distinct lack of boxes compared to the other service sub, instead, the walls are... well, rusty. Not getting the same care as the service sub seen by the public. There's buttons and levers and a conspicuous lack of x-box controller in the submarine. Still, the basics seem simple enough - the engine, at least, starts with the simple turn of a knob from 'off' to 'on'. That steering is a lever opposed to a wheel, well...
As if on cue, the sound of gunfire can be heard, bullets bouncing of the submarine's metal hull.
"Jesus." Miles yips out in alarm as the bullets begin to ricohet off of the body of the submarine. Thank god Yasmin had chosen one that can handle a shot. He reaches up and tugs down the entry portal, sealing it shut and ensuring the vessel is sea-worthy. "Get us out of here, Yasmin!" He calls out, just in case she'd forgotten that was the goal.
"Do you think I know how to drive this thing?!" Yasmin yells back - she's trying her best, goddammit, brow furrowed in utmost concentration while she tries to give herself a quick crash course on submarine driving 101. This would be so much easier with an xbox controller. Still, the knob for the engine gets turned on, and Yasmin gets to messing with literally every other lever, knob, button, and everything in between she can find to get the thing moving.
Perhaps Miles shouldn't have left Yasmin on knob duty, given her apparent lack of experience. Har har. "Yes!" The fellow calls back at her, scrambling over to her side to try and assist. You know how men are. "You're studying at, like, Hogwarts crossed with Xavier's school! I figured you'd-" He just cuts the sentence off, shouting and snapping at one another isn't going to help. Instead he goes about trying to assist her, taking note of any changes that occur with each experimental touch and twist, while fishing around for an operating manual or something.
The thing starts moving alright - forwards, and right against the metal shroud of the resort, bouncing, down against a rather sharp cliff, making a screeching noise against the metal. A cliff Yasmin may remember the person who brought them here complaining about. The metal dents, then dents further...
Bending inwards with a nasty sound, as if about to break...
...And holding.
...Until, with the administration of the knobs, the ship turns just slightly, bouncing off of something else. The fatigued metal tears, water starts spraying into the submarineat high speed.
Yasmin's conjuration of fire /may/ have been just enough to cauterize a human being to a debatable degree of success, but it's /certainly/ not enough to weld together a whole ass submarine. "Fuck!" Yasmin says - Tomas has been a bad influence, and there she goes, more fiddling with the knobs. Miles is given a panicked nudge away from the knobs; girl needs to get experience somehow. He's given the task of finding out, instead: "Is there diving gear? Oxygen tank? /Anything/?"
"Couldn't you fir-" The question on Miles's lips is interrupted by Yasmin's cursing, and the nudge that follows. You know, she's got a good point though. The man darts away from the controls and starts going through any cupboards and lockers inside of the vessel, searching for breathing apparatus, or hell, wielding equipment.
As everyone knows, fiddling with the knobs solves issues. The submarine reels and lurches, pushing away from the docks at least, though going /down/ opposed to up. 160 feet.... 165...
The display seems to cap out at a red line - 200 feet, the needle making an unfortunate approach to it - best case, one of the levers in the wrong direction.
Worst case, the weight of the water.
There's no diving gear or oxygen tank for Miles' hands, there's a gun and what seems to be a rescue boat.
The water is slowly filling the device, now reaching above the ankles, spraying in more and more.
Levers, knobs, buttons. All of them, but slower this time. Yasmin is trying not to hyperventilate, and her hands are definitely shaking, but at least she's taking her time - at least five full seconds of it - after each pull of a lever, each press of a button, just to see what makes it go /up/ instead of down. She may also be quietly praying under her breath, so maybe she doesn't have that much faith in her piloting capabilities either. "Who even made this thing?! Aren't they supposed to be /safe/, oh God where's Mister Lowe when you need him for emergency management-" Okay so maybe her mind is wandering just a tad, but at least she's not given up hope yet. Nor has she noticed the rescue boat. Nope, she's instead hyperfocused upon the levers; one with a tag donating it as something to do with ballast gets pulled at some point.
"There's near nothing in here!" Miles calls back over to Yasmin, which probably isn't the news she was hoping for. At the least he tugs out the inflatable, sling it over his shoulder as he rushes over closer toward their brave pilot/driver/captain. "We just need to get up, as close as we can, to the surface. Worst case scenario?" Here comes his favourite phrase for this misadventure so far, "We gotta let it fill with water, open the top and swim out with the inflatable." A pause, "Can you swim?"
Another brief pause results in Miles's indicating at a lever with 'Pitch' titled upon it, "That's what they call it in planes, for the upping and downing!"
180
185
190
As Yasmin gets her free, practical course on submarine piloting, the numbers just seem to get worse and worse, mostly, with brief respites offering false hope.
195
198
198
"Balast" Seems to have been a key here, the depth stalling.
197
...Or improving, ever so slightly.
195
190
...
100
The water almost reaches to the knees now, the submarine struggling, even without its balance, to keep going up. Its speed stalling.
...balast
Pitch, balast, same thing really. "I can swim." Small mercies. Yasmin is watching the depth gauge with intense focus, and there's an effort made to take in a deep breath, despite that she's really, really struggling here. "The moment it starts going down, we take the boat," she points out to Miles, in case he's not watching it as intently as she is. "Deep breaths." She really needs to take her own advice.
"..Are you sure you can't squeeze a bit more out of it? Yards, feet, miles, or metres. One hundred is a lot, and Miles is just a wee little human. He stares at the controls, as if he might be able to wither them into functioning as intended. "How strong are you? Really? Yasmin? Please tell me you got a little Hercules in you." "
"..Are you sure you can't squeeze a bit more out of it?" Yards, feet, miles, or metres. One hundred is a lot, and Miles is just a wee little human. He stares at the controls, as if he might be able to wither them into functioning as intended. "How strong are you? Really? Yasmin? Please tell me you got a little Hercules in you."
There's certainly a lever named 'pitch' besides the one titled 'balast'.
80
The submarine has slowed to a crawl, but it's still going... for now. Even as its weight increases.
"What do you want me to do?! I can't just beat this stupid machine into going up," And whoops, she's lashing out again. Yasmin was never cut out to be a submarine pilot. There's another grab made for the levers; balast, pitch, they're all going down. Or up. Whichever direction makes the submarine float up instead of down, they're going that way, even as the water rapidly climbs to 'covering the controls' levels soon.
"No, no. No." There's a cold calm that creeps into Miles's tone. The stress has reached such a peak in the man that his adrenaline reserves must be running low. He reaches over to grasp at her shoulder, gently, "I'm asking, because there's a chance that when we try and leave this thing? It may be lights out for me. If the water comes in and punches me? I might be out. Hell, the sheer water pressure might knock me loose. I just need to know if I'd be a dead weight to you or not."
For a moment a quiet falls at Miles' words, the pitch lever seeming not to work as the submarine only wiggles ever so slightly, the knobs increasingly unresponsive as if making peace with its sure faith.
Then something changes, enough so disturb what may be an important conversation, a moment of heroism perhaps, even.
The pitch lever kicks in...
The submarine flips.
The back becomes the bottom, the top becomes the front becomes the top. Grafiti plays games as the weight of the water and the pitch cause the thrust to point straight down. It shakes the contents - and the unfortunate passengers around, before breaking the water's surface, falling flat, for a moment, sweet freedom in sight. A moment, before the submarine starts, slowly, sinking.
"No." Yasmin says in return, as stubborn as Miles is calm. That is to say, thinly veiled and the only thing keeping her from outright panic. "If we open it when the submarine is full of water and the pressure is equal to the outside, it will be fine. That is how physics works. We just have to /wait/--" There will be no waiting here.
Yasmin screams as gravity suddenly decides it doesn't want to play with them anymore - and hey, upside down time, Miles must be used to that, something something Australia joke - and she surfaces above the water level just for a second to suck in a lungful of breath before she's going for the hatch in an effort to pry it open - upside down means there's no water pressure that's going to be knocking Miles out, and she refuses to die here, dammit. They will have freedom or they will have... well... death.
"I'm just saying, if you have to choos-" The very brave and heroic words are swallowed up by chaos and water both, as the world goes topsy-turvy. Unfortunately, given that he's living in the northern hemisphere now, Miles hasn't brought his ground harness along - not that it would help in this particular case. The man curls into a man, protecting the important parts by covering his head with his arms as he's thrown about, and it's only when the sloshing and throwing has stopped that he pushes up to the surface, breaking it and sucking in his own lungful of breath.
Only then is Miles diving back under and toward Yasmin, eyes stinging in the assumed salt-water as he joins her, and grapples with the hatch - tucking the raft between his legs to free up his hands.
Should it open, he would have push, half drag Yasmin through first, and then pull himself after her.
The inflatable rat is pushed forward by Miles, and it's only when he and Yasmin have cleared the corpse of the flailing submarine that he shoves it toward her, extending a grip, and then tugs the cable that brings it to life.
Inflatable raft, rather. The inflatable rat isn't here, it's waiting back at Miles's place for Asad.
The hatch opens and...
Sweet air. Liberty. It doesn't take long to deploy the rescue boat and after a short wait, they find themselves brought in - by some of the very people who escorted out the wounded attendant, including Tomas.
Turns out, escaping the resort and finding land is one part - but finding the resort again in the open ocean is an entirely different sort of challenge.
As such they find themselves once more safe, and then once more on solid ground. The police, of course, is firmly in the pocket of these ne'er-dowells, though the FBI is far more interested in the matter. The Temple, of course, would be highly interested as well.
Whatever path is chosen, for today, they achieved what matters.
They lived.
Their escape was fraught with peril, their submarine responding unpredictably to Yasmin's frantic manipulations of its controls. In a moment of sheer chaos, the submarine flipped and began to sink once more, leaving Yasmin and Miles to fight for survival in the cold grasp of the ocean's depths. Through teamwork and desperation, they managed to escape the doomed vessel, surfacing in a life raft they had wisely grabbed in their escape. The return to dry land was not solely their achievement; they were aided by familiar faces, including Tomas, who had previously escaped in another submarine.
Back on solid ground, the struggle was far from over. The local police, compromised by the shadowy forces behind the resort, were of no help. The FBI and The Temple, however, took keen interest in Yasmin and Miles's harrowing tale. Surviving such an ordeal was a feat in itself, marking the end of their immediate danger but perhaps just the beginning of their fight against the darkness they had glimpsed beneath the waves. Their lives preserved, Yasmin and Miles could at least take solace in their freedom, though the memory of what transpired deep underwater would not soon fade.
(You have been invited!(SRNoah):SRNoah)
[Sat Mar 2 2024]
At a dock by the beach
The dock seems quite well maintained, with red carpet laid out over perfectly polished wood, connected to the road with a cobblestone path. Conspicuously, a submarine featuring glass windows is lined next to the end of the dock, festive balloons and signs of welcome spread around it.
The perfect sands and endless waves breaking on the stone make for a stunning vista, oddly entirely devoid of tourists.
It is dusk, about 26F(-3C) degrees,
OOC: As a preface, there may be people still coming or coming later (mid plot or so). In general, when 2 others emoted, you can emote. This includes the SR - so feel free to skip me sometimes opposed to letting things slow to a crawl when I am preparing. Since this plot has some one-way movement, I'll occasionally change this room desc or add places for new locations opposed to adding many rooms. So keep a look out for that. Have fun!
One way or another, a rather diverse group of people has received an invitation to a new, underwater resort. A strange amount of these seem fairly young, but perhaps that is simply a marketing stunt of sorts.
People are brought in by a variety of busses and are quick to call out to each other, recognizing others from their town or city. It seems the invitations went to many familiar to one another - convenience, perhaps.
By the dock, a friendly looking woman waves around. "Attention! Everyone!" There is a natural air to her voice, and most quiet, "We'll be taking the submarine in groups divided by town of origin. So please wait until your town is called." An impatient kid starts to complain to their mother, "...First off, Worcester! Everyone for Worcester please!"
Meridith sticks a hand in her pockets. Her eyes trace the horizon. She nods to Yasmin and to Tomas. Then stretches out. Whatever her reasons for being here, or intents, seem quietly held to herself right now.
"Didn't realise there'd be so many people turning up," Tomas mutters quietly to Yasmin. "There's Meridith, too. Wonder how she got an invite." When Martin comes shuffling in just a little bit late, though, his features seem to light up - he's pleased. "Lowe," he calls out, raising a gloved hand in greeting. "Didn't realise you were much of a swimmer." He gives Yasmin's shoulder a little squeeze and moves over to link up with the other two Havenites, offering patented Inigo-brand smiles. "I'll be real with you guy," he confers. "I was thinkin' about buying a wetsuit for this trip, but I got too lazy. Good to see you."
Meridith says "The ideal scenario with a submarine is to not get wet."
Martin seems to be late to the party as he climbs out of a taxi and offers a bright smile to anyone whose eyes might wander unto him. He brushes off his coat and clears his throat as if preparing for a speech instead of a normal field trip, and that is when he hears Tomas. His smile immediately brightens as he turns towards the source of the sound, "Inigo!" He greets back and raises an ungloved hand to wave, "I decided to learn on the job. On the trip. Whatever counts," He replies in a joking tone, slowly walking towards the Haven crowd.
Yasmin, on the other hand, is busy not paying the crowd too much attention and instead trying to get a signal on her phone - nope, alas. She is left wanting. It's only when Tomas's hand squeezes down upon her shoulder that she blinks back to awareness, following him around instinctively until she too is a part of the 'Haven' crowd. "It's nice to see you, Mister Lowe," comes the greeting with a flash of a smile at Martin, and then a blink at Meridith - her eye, to be more specific. "Hi," That greeting is a tiny bit more subdued, like she's still trying to figure out a way to ask her if she's okay without being offensive.
Hopefully they'll be called away before she has to figure out social niceties.
Before long, the submarine is filled with people, a different one taking its place. Group after group of people are called - and leave. Security guards walk near the groups somewhat quietly, giving some a green band wrapped around their wrist, leading to excited calls of 'Do I get free drinks?!'
"We gotta get you an eye patch," Tomas agrees, grimacing a little at Meridith's injuries and surely not making her feel any the worse for his fussing. "You can be the anime girl of your dreams. Eyepatch sword girl. You'll need to switch out for glorious Nippon steel," he teases. As the groups are processed and the Havenites make their slow-paced advance towards the submarines, though, he scrunches his nose at the unpleasant tang of the guardsmen on the air. "Well, that's not a warm start," he mutters. He'd been hoping to at least enjoy the descent. "Her, Meridith, you're with the Spears, yeah? Maybe you should take some notes for 'em."
Meridith has both eyes!
Meridith giggles softly at both Tomas and Yasmin. "No no, full recovery," she explains. She does perhaps have some bandage covering it. She endured quite a severe injury in and around her socket, and some nasty scarring suggests the worst. "Though, maybe I'll wear the eyepatch anyway?" she grins. "Just for the aesthetic."
Finally, a familiar word is called out; "Haven!" A blessing, perhaps, for Yasmin, a rescue from social niceties. A woman, who may be recognized by locals as Barbara Robinson, a resident of the trailer park with her child - little Jonas - in tow. Not the most talkative one, she is, mostly trying to keep her child under control as she leads him towards the submarine with the kid practically jumping up and down in his excitement. A smile and a nod is given to an impeccable-looking attendant, and they step onto the floating construct, then climbing down the hatch.
Martin flashes that smile right back to Yasmin, hand once again going up in a small wave, "Likewise, Ahmed." He replies in a sincere, polite tone. Then he turns towards the general direction of whoever might be the closest and says, "Remember that little commercial submarine? OceanGate, I think it was called. It split open and sunk during its Titanic Expedition, killing all the passengers and crew on board. Just a fun little factlet," He does say to no one in particular, barely holding back a snicker all the way through. He does squint towards the security guards for a brief second and mutters under his breath, "Please let this be a normal field trip..." , A slight smirk etching itself onto his features as he does. Then, his town is called out by the staff and he rolls his shoulders in a warming-type move before starting to move.
Well, /does/ she get free drinks?! Yasmin accepts the ribbon being offered to her with a quiet 'thanks', even if there's a Look passed over to Tomas - there's definitely something off here already, right? - but the ribbon goes around her right wrist after a moment of consideration and no further questioning. "Oh, good," she tells Meridith. "That thing was nasty. I am sorry you got caught up in it." Very careful to keep mentions of the 'thing' censored for the mundane people around. And then, blessed reprieve from small talk, even if it does come with being cooped into a death machine under the sea. Yasmin looks a little pale. Martin isn't helping.
Meridith follows along with the others. She studies those with her, with the others and more. Anyone paying attention would see a calculation running in the back of her mind as if looking for something. "I wonder if sanctuary protects against explosive decompression?" she says mostly to herself. To Martin, realizing they will be copassengers, she offers a nod and a 'Meridith'. Then to Yasmin. "It's fine, we killed it, burned it up. Alls well that ends well," she insists.
"Our submarine won't go the same way," Tomas assures Martin. "It's built different. Literally." The Inigo gives the matronly Barbara Robinson a brief nod - he'd spent enough time in Westhaven to recognise its residents, then shoots Meridith a sharp glance as she reminisces on the magical workings of their hometown. "Try not to namedrop in public," he grunts, then says, "That's just back home, anyway. Let's remember we're not around people who'll get the small town in-jokes, though." He grunts with a bit of disapproval, then follows approaches an attendant in turn, eager to get inside and experience a true Underwater Adventure.
The attendant leads people inside one by one helping them get into the hatch if needed, with a welcoming sway of their arms. Tomas gets a particularly friendly smile, in recognition, perhaps, of his eagerness, while Yasmin gets a comforting gaze. Practiced, most assuredly.
One guard though, furrows his brow, looking in Meridith's direction. Surely too far to hear what she said, yet still seeming unsettled, watching her whenever she looks away, keeping a bit closer than before.
"Security? No, I am pretty sure such incidents are above their pay grade," Martin replies to Meridith, conveniently misinterpreting 'sanctuary' as 'security', although he seems greatly amused by his own words as usual. He offers a nod to Tomas afterwards, "You could record the entire trip, as cameramen tend to always survive. Just to be safe," He then replies, then rolls his eyes, "It is a shame that they will never know the tale of the Shrimpnog," He has to say wistfully as he gets into line, then gets helped into the hatch.
Meridith waves a hand dismissively toward Tomas. "I'm allowed to talk about video games in public," she insists. Her usual lazy cover. To her, those who don't know usually had a pretty good talent for pretending not to notice things. But it's no doubt she's one of the least careful people in Haven who hasn't been blackbagged and disappeared. Perhaps it's a matter of time. "You're supposed to give your name back," she murmurs at Martin. She follows everyone along, not noticing, perhaps, the guards furrowed brow.
"Right. Built different." Yasmin repeats, eying the hatch for a long moment. The attendant gets a faint, too-thin smile; she's too busy bemoaning her fate even as she follows the others' cues and climbs into the submarine. "No talking about shrimpnog," she tells Martin along the way. "Shrimpnogs are banned. This is a fun trip." It's supposed to be, anyway. Probably. She doesn't look like she's having fun, with all the talk of OceanGate in her head already.
Horrifically shameless about blatant PDAs, when Tomas takes his seat - central on one of the couches, of course - he makes sure to present his lap as a comfortable option for Yasmin as the nervous young woman wanders in after him. "Hey," he murmurs. "Nothing to worry about if I'm right there, right?" Of course, his 'murmurs' carry clearly through the confined interior of the submarine - but maybe a little shy embarrassment might help take the edge off her claustrophobia.
"It's good to see you, Lowe," he continues. "Looks like our schedules fell out of whack for a while. Missed havin' a homeboy to practice with. We should ball again some time soon. Gotta shape up if I want to stay in competition."
Meridith takes a position on the edge of a couch, taking in her surroundings with an intent and focused expression. She gazes at Yasmin as she speaks but doesn't respond. Then to Tomas as he sits down and gestures Yasmin over. Then at last on Martin. Uncharacteristically quiet.
Not long after the group makes its way into the submarine, plush couches offering a minimal comfort at least in this oceanic death trap - be it from slow suffocation or instant implosion - the submarine is quick to leave. A casual-looking attendant steers from a console, giving them one, quick look. Sealife swims by the windows as the view gets darker and darker. For such a fancy submarine, the lack of a floodlight may be somewhat jarring.
Martin blinks with Meridith's words, "Oh, sorry, I did not hear you. I am Martin," He introduces, flashing a sincere little smile to the gal as he proceeds into the submarine. "Aww. How do you say 'No fun allowed' in Arabic?" He then asks Yasmin before tuning in to listen to Tomas. A faint, genuine little smile takes its place on his face, "Likewise, Inigo. You know how work is, things are pretty busy. I'll be glad if I am around, though," He replies to the man as he seats himself. He does glance up at a window, observing the fauna for a little, "Disappointing lack of visible sh... crustaceans. One star, so far," He jokes, calculating Yasmin's restrictions into his words even if a little too late.
"Bennett did bad things to your mind," Tomas observes of Martin, then throws his arms out alongside the back of the couch. The manspreading is almost unreal, the demonborn asserting his dominion over his couch and all those who share of it with him. "I want to see a starfish, though. Or a big octopus. Shrimp are tiny and boring."
Yasmin does not, in fact, take a seat upon Tomas's lap, but the momentary embarrassment /does/ help a little, so maybe he knows what he's doing after all. There's a short, singular glare over at him when she goes to take an aisle seat next to the Inigo, and there's a quick murmur of, "If I die here I am going to come back as a ghost and haunt you." She means it. There's absolutely no attention paid to the attendant - there's more important things to worry about at the moment. Like how she's going to die in an underwater death trap.
"Sakkir timmak wa-khras," she tells Martin belatedly. It may or may not mean what he'd asked for. And then a glance back at Meridith, to ask, "Are you doing okay, Meridith?"
Meridith nods to Martin in appreciation. She bites her lower lip a moment studying with some kind of uncertainty as Tomas and Martin goof around. When Yasmin addresses her she tips her head. "Yes, thank you. I've never gone diving before," she notes.
The submarine creaks and clings as it glides through the dark seas, the metal plates screeching in complaint under growing pressure. A dark shadow can be spotted going by the window, far larger than anything underwater has any right to be, then followed by a high pitched whistle from behind the undersea ship.
"It won't be long now." The attendant calls in a low, almost hesitant voice. "We're not far from the resort at all..."
"Even if I am strongly inclined to disagree, I respect your opinion." Martin shares with Tomas along with a smile. He seems comfortable so far, not a hint of discomfort as the metal crustacean that they are in descends into the depths, he crosses his legs at the ankles before repeating after Yasmin, "Sakkir tim mak wakh ras. Sakkir tim-mak wahras. Sakkir timmas wa-kras." It becomes quite obvious to any Arabic speakers that Martin is indeed, not an Arabic speaker.
Every single creak and groan of metal makes Yasmin shrink in closer to Tomas, the woman flashing him increasingly worried looks. She's barely glancing outside the windows at all, instead just staring straight forward. An incredible waste, really, to miss all the good views. "Do you think they have diving gear?" she murmurs as an aside, "To go... swimming, or something." Or to find glorious freedom from the tyrannous oppression of luxurious and definitely not suspicious submarine. She also flinches every time Martin attempts to butcher her language further. It's an assault from all fronts, really.
Meridith gazes at the someone. And she climbs to her feet, hand on a wall. Braced or maybe she just wants a better view of the glass? She humms to herself, then back to Martin, then Yasmin. She just shakes her head, a flat smile on her lips.
Meridith gazes at the attendant. And she climbs to her feet, hand on a wall. Braced or maybe she just wants a better view of the glass? She humms to herself, then back to Martin, then Yasmin. She just shakes her head, a flat smile on her lips.
"Hey, how deep are we?" Tomas speaks up, looking to the same sheepish attendant. "Is it a 'if you wander off from the resort you are going to die of pressure sickness' kind of situation?" He pulls out a little pocket-sized packet of chips from his jacket, which hasn't inflated or deflated at all due to the pressurised cabin, leaving him looking bereft and disappointed. "I thought these were supposed to pop with the pressure." As he speaks, though, his free hand snakes out to squeeze Yasmin's knee comfortingly. Maybe his antics would amuse her instead of annoying her, and keep her mind off things.
The attendant seems focused on whatever he's doing to the console, the sea ahead of them lighting up ever so slightly as he speaks passively to his side. "About 150 feet. Not a save place to take a swim." he manages to respond before, finally, the submarine *bops* up, surfacing in some sort of hangar. The attendant sighs, "...The last bit always makes me nervous. Damn cliff right at the entrance..." he shares in a low tone, more to himself than anything. The hatch opens not long after, letting in sweet, sweet... and also rather stale, air.
"I am pretty sure that the internal pressure is kept at a constant." Martin tells Tomas as he gets even more comfortable where he sits, "I have got a degree in Emergency Management, I would know." He then boasts with a wide smile before telling Yasmin, "You could always ask them, or even borrow one if they have any." He suggests helpfully. He then squints just slightly and sniffs, "Smells kind of like rust in here. Assuring."
"I'm sure that's just the kitchen I'm smelling," Tomas frowns, slanting an unimpressed look at the attendant again as the hatch pops open. Loath as he is to depart the fiefdom of his couch, he also kind of wants to be the first person out the door, and he heaves himself up onto his feet. Hey; sneakers instead of his boots, for once. Maybe he was worried they'd make him sink. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a little thermos flask, swallowing down a measure of tea - mandrake tea, going by the smell, and takes a look around the hangar with eyes that pierce the nightmare's veil. Just looking, of course. Just looking.
Martin may be intent on living in the submarine for the rest of eternity, with the way he's making himself comfortable. Yasmin, on the other hand, leaves Tomas's side to chase after the sweet, sweet smell of rust-scented(?) freedom and is upon her feet first thing after the hatch flips open. Finally something to look forward to. She'll be first in line to be helped up the hatch, thank you, sorry not sorry Tomas.
Martin sighs as the hatch is unsealed and the familiars start getting up one by one, all-too-reluctant to leave his warmed-up couch, but he seems to be out of options after even Yasmin gets up. Slowly standing up, he proceeds towards the hatch in an orderly fashion, letting pretty much anyone surpass him. After he is helped out of the hatch, he places his hands on his waist and takes a look around, "This must be the hangar made for submarines," He provides his expert opinion that was definitely a leap in judgment and quite revolutionary.
Meridith steps into the hangar. Hands still in her pockets, warily gazing around. Martin's comment, so dumb, completely stops her and she just stares at him before murmuring. "...Yeah, probably."
On the other side of the hatch, there is a surprisingly large amount of attendants guiding the way, Barbara before long already half-way into a hallway. Most of the resort seems blocked off for now, one, spotting the group, then giving an explanation, "We're all focused on giving you the best of welcomes right now. If you will please follow to your room..." She instructs with a smile. The place looks impeccably clean and once exiting the hangar, the red carpet makes its way for gorgeous marble, surrounded by adorned wooden walls and somewhat steampunk-looking windows into the waters. More of an underwater palace, almost, than a resort.
"I wonder how they put the windows in the walls without getting everything wet," Tomas hums, seeming to take a mild but genuine enjoyment in the architecture of the place. For all that he might be a mean bastard, he can still be a tourist. "Hey, Meridith," he says. "You know water stuff better than the rest of us, right?" Apart from maybe the minutiae of shrimp biology and cuisine. "What's your vibe right now?" He does follow along with the attendants leading the way, but he's slow, listening for the young woman's response. Then, to Yasmin, he smiles and beckons her closer, butchering some Arabic with a fond smile: "Hunak khata," he says. To anyone who speaks the language - something's wrong.
"The same way they build the walls and make the things inside ... not wet, I'd presume," Martin replies to Tomas, sliding his hands into coat pockets as he bows his head before Meridith with her agreement and then smiles genuinely towards the attendants, "My, such great service." He does say, seeming quite oblivious to anything being possibly wrong.
"I mean, I'm a Spear but I'm not a," she gestures, making arm wavy motions? God knows what that means. Meridith follows alongside their guides. "The vibe is trouble based," she notes, vaguely? Still she looks excited. "Hakuna matata," she murmurs in response to Tomas.
Who knew, being out of the death machine really does brighten Yasmin's mood up a fair bit. She waits for the rest of the Haven gang to be out of the submarine before finding her way back to Tomas's side, eyes trailing around the place and the impressive architecture. It's still debatable whether getting into a submarine was worth it. There's a faint twitch of her eyebrow at Tomas's butchering of the pronunciation, but she does reach up - and up, and up, goddammit why is he so tall - to give the man a peck on the cheek. She knows. "I hope they have good coffee," she muses along the way.
The group is lead further into the snaking hallways, a downright maze really. Though with surprisingly few doors - as if the place is built around a series of very large rooms, opposed to a multitude of cabins. An attendant calls out a quick explanation to Tomas, "The place was constructed wholly above sea level, and then lowered using ballast and anchored." Is explained without a hint of sympathy to Yasmin, and the idea this whole place is, basically, a giant submarine without an engine. They pass by a rather solid looking door, plated with metal, and sided by an attendant who quite clearly gestures everyone further through the hallway, away from the door.
Meridith continues to move along. Her tongue flicks across her lips, she takes a slow breath and humms to herself very quietly. She's got something on her mind, certainly.
Just because it's a slightly bigger death trap machine doesn't mean it can't still have good coffee. Yasmin is holding on to hope, even if God is not on her side today. "/Really/," she mentions to the attendant, remarkably cheerily, "So, uh. Just out of curiosity, what happens when there is an emergency?" When, not if. There is definitely going to be an emergency here. "There is some sort of... failsafe to make it go back up without anyone dying, yes? In case a window breaks and all the water comes in and everyone starts dying?" She looks very hopeful. Say yes.
Meridith says "What an insane thing to say outloud right now."
"This place is very well-built with the latest safety standards in mind, there is no real risk of an accident." The attendant assures Yasmin as little Jonas starts to aggressively tap one of the windows using his fist, his mother trying to scoot him to keep moving along with an apologetic look granted to the attendants. "...But Yes? Sort of? I mean, if the window would break, it'd be... quite some trouble..." They hesitate. "...But so long as the anchors and ballasts would be released, theoretically the place would float back up, though the sudden movement may be catastrophic..." Not much of an assurance that, and before long they're waving their hands around, "It is nothing to be concerned about! Really! It'd be more likely for the place to run out of oxygen." Pause. "...Which is also very unlikely."
Martin mostly keeps quiet as he looks around and inspects the walls and the hallways with his brown eyes, Yasmin's question seems to catch his attention, however, "I'd suppose emergency airlocks and shutters for the windo-" He is about to say, but he opts to listen to the attendant instead. Then he is squinting, "Does this place even comply with OSHA regulations?" He then asks, stiiill squinting, "Having your only emergency plan be 'just empty the ballasts and wait to float back up' does not sound very convenient. Or safe."
Meridith swirls her finger very sarcastically and murmurs, "Whoo..." If they don't die from the pressure, they could suffocate. "OSHA doesn't really cover monuments to the hubris of man, I think."
That's a strong 'theoretically'. Yasmin, who is certainly not a submarine engineer, is placated enough to nod slowly along with the attendant's words, though Martin's - very reasonable - questions catch her attention in return. "He has a degree in Emergency Management, he would know," she tells the attendant with a flash of a smile, before Martin can do it himself, and waits for the answer.
"Are we expecting dinner invitations?" Tomas asks, "Or is it more of a room service deal, with all of us eating separately?" Not that he seems to mind. He does focus on the pressurised architecture for the most part, and the relative absence of other people, otherwise. "I'm surprised you keep it so dark. Where'd all the Rochester folk end up?"
"I assure you, it is most safe." The attendant claims to Martin with what almost seems like a flash of condescension before they finally arrive to a large door. The attendant puts a key into the door, then turns it, opening it before gesturing the others inside. "Dinner will be... arranged... later." She tells, "It is... a bit of a buffet." She keeps the door open, key in her hands. Before long, another attendant rushes in with an irritated expression, whispering something in her ear. "..Mmm... I suppose for the sake of organization, it's best to bring them here, too. Before the doors close."
ooc: Please move north, this room broke while I was deleting the places and adding the extras. Oops.
"Yes, I'm sure you'll love to have us for dinner," Meridith murmurs. She waggles her eyebrows towards Yasmin and Tomas.
Martin rolls his eyes a little with the attendant's reply, "I suppose you are just doing your job," Are his words as he realizes the futility of the argument that was just shut down. He focuses back on his entourage, then, "They probably have those minifridges filled with overpriced snacks." He tells Tomas jokingly, then bows his head to Yasmin for confirming his credentials.
"Before the doors close," Tomas repeats, deciding to bite down at the little nuggets of worry the staff keep dropping. "What does that mean? 'Cause I did not agree to get locked into any rooms, not a hundred and fifty feet under the damn sea." He puffs up a bit, surely setting a wonderful example of good tourism for young Jonas Robinson.
An attendant comes along, pushing in another Havenite - Miles, with an annoyed expression, any hint of professionalism gone. "Please do not cause further problems, you're lucky there were still submarines leaving." They accuse before closing the door behind them.
Meridith waves to Miles, cheerily.
"I'm a lucky sort, to be fair." Miles notes back to the attendant as he's pushed and shoved, allowing it to happen. There's a mild sort of humour about the man as wanders into the place, late. Hopefully fashionably so. "Alright, folks? Sorry I'm late, I had a wee bit of a headache." He offers a terrible excuse of sorts as he nods towards the others, and tucks his hands into his jacket.
...The attendants seemed to be entirely set on ignoring Tomas' last question. Rude, that.
Yasmin makes a face at Martin's joke - she's going to find a way to swim out of here if they're fed overpriced snacks out of minifridges, dammit. Still, arguments have been made, and at least the cage is golden enough to keep her placated... for the time being. The door slamming shut does catch her attention though, and there's a, "Hi deputy," chimed out at Miles before she process to stare at the door with a tilted head, eyes slightly narrowed. "There is a party going on /somewhere/, at least..." she mumbles under her breath.
Yasmin also proceeds* to.
Yasmin also peers briefly at Miles's wrist to see if he's one of the lucky ones too - or is she the only one who gets free drinks.
Martin offers a small wave and smile to Miles, then he turns to Tomas to say, "Well, at least it is free," He makes the argument with a bit of a smirk on his face, but does not say much else as he looks around, then back at the door as it closes, then clicks shut, "Oh, so they meant *those* doors."
Meridith scratches her chin a little bit. "I mean, it's a pretty view for a trap but..." She says somewhat openly
"Alright, Yasmin. Always a pleasure to see you." Miles intones to Yasmin, and despite the way they'd first met, he largely means it. She does come across as a pleasant sort. There's an easy turn of the lips afforded to Martin as well, before the man glances aside to Meridith, giving her a bit of an eye. The fellow glances amongst the gathered party then, taking note of their ribbon or unribboned states.
Barbara turns around, hand going over someone' head as she faces the rest of the group, blinking. "...Trap? That's not a particularly nice way to talk about these nice people who let us stay here for free..." She scolds without malice in that typical westhaven accent. 30/ trailer, 10/ trash, 100/ the Matron.
Barbara turns around, hand going over Jonas' head as she faces the rest of the group, blinking. "...Trap? That's not a particularly nice way to talk about these nice people who let us stay here for free..." She scolds without malice in that typical westhaven accent. 30/ trailer, 10/ trash, 100/ the Matron.
Miles gets a little nod of greeting from Tomas once he catches up with the group, but he's paying too much attention to the marbled architecture to go in deep on the fake Australian accent, this time. "G'day, copper," he murmurs, then side-eyes the attendants and their avoidance of his questions. "So, what have you got in the heart of this place?" he asks. "For electricity, ventilation and all that. You got a big processing center, or is everything piped in from the surface?"
"She has a point, you know. My ma always said, 'Free vinegar is sweeter than honey'." Martin says in agreement with Barbara, nodding subtly. He slides his hands into coat pockets afterwards. "Well, I suppose I will be off inspecting ... yeah," He says uncertainly, slowly turning around. The first thing that he inspects is, of course, the door, especially the lock. He squints and examines the lock first, then the hinges, then the structure and the possible sturdiness of the door itself, noticing the scratch marks. "Peculiar.." He mutters under his breath, the gears in his head turning.
"We have frequent deliveries, but we do have our own power generator, of course." The remaining attendants answer with a rather shallow smile. Whatever true friendliness was had outside, it seems completely gone now that everyone is firmly locked into the dormitory. A glance is given to Jonas, and Yasmin's band, before the attendant knocks on the door, "If that will be all, we will leave you people to... get settled." She then looks at Yasmin, "Those with green bands - and those under the age of 16, will be invited for a special arrangement a tad earlier, so please stay prepared to be called away very soon."
"What's all that about, by the by?" Miles wonders of Yasmin, gesturing at the pretty little ribbon wrapped about her itty bitty wrist. "Some sort of under twenty-one thing?" He ventures, unsure of just how old the young woman is. She's very small, he could be forgiven for being mistaken, surely. Only for the attendant to half-answer his question of sorts, "Huh." She was young, but under sixteen? That was a surprise.
Martin slooowly turns around once again, "Dear God, this better not be Epstein Island Two." He jokes with the attendant's words, smiling innocently afterwards knowing the, possibly tremendous backlash that he might be about to get, but he seems preemptively amused. He looks at his wrist just to check and lets out a sigh of relief as he confirms that he indeed does not have a band.
"I am not a child," Yasmin claims first of all, and lifts her eyebrows - both, this is a two-eyebrows-raised moment - at Tomas after hearing the attendant's words, stalking her way over to the man and tugging at his sleeve until he acquiesces to her demands and leans down enough for her to whisper to him. "Do you think they'll let you have my ribbon? I am, uh." A glance at the attendant, back at Tomas, before she states, louder, "Allergic. Very allergic to seafood. I could die from smelling it, actually. Also I'm pregnant."
Meridith gazes at the woman and shrugs helplessly. She then looks to Martin. She looks down, she doesn't recall a band of any kind given to her. "God this is just the most..." she grumbles to herself, and begins searching the room for anything she can use. She begins to ignore the others quietly.
Meridith says "With twins."
Meridith doesn't COMPLETELY ignore everyone it seems.
Yasmin says, of course, "With twins."
The attendant blinks several times at Yasmin, "You are /pregnant/?" The attendant repeats after the woman, seeming utterly confused, staring at the ribbon, "That- that isn't very likely..." They scratch at their neck. "Under no circumstance must the band be given away but, if you're pregnant..." They furrow their brow, "...We'll send someone to see if it's... safe.. later." She assures before the door opens letting the final attendants out - and leaving the group alone with each other. And, well, Barbara, who seems to be positively glowing at Yasmin's news, as if about to declare herself Godmother then and there.
Miles shares a private little smirk with himself, like he'd just thought up a joke and doesn't deign to share it. That expression falters somewhat at Martin's comment, "I don't know if they'd invite all of us if that were the case. Just the kids." The kids, in this case, being Meridith and Yasmin, judging by the way he gestures at the pair.
"Martin," Tomas grunts, opting to ignore the momentary flare of panic he feels at Yasmin's sudden pronouncement. "You've put on some muscle, right?" He's eyeing the door, though with the attendant right there, he doesn't seem to be making an immediate break for the freedom to snoop around. "I'm just thinkin' we could probably make use of that, you know. If necessary." He's not very subtle about it; if the attendants being on guard helped his group not be immediately devoured by some Charibdean monstrosity or /whatever/ might be lurking in the bowels of the undersea palace, then all the better. Really, though, he seems most wary for Miles, Jonas, and Barbara - not Yasmin or Meridith, irrespective of any allegations of childhood.
"It's going to be a real effing problem if it turns out she really isn't..." Martin mutters under his breath, squinting after the attendant, "This is all getting a little too sketchy for my comfort. And by God, I love my comfort," He does say, then nods to Tomas, "Well, I can do wonders when called upon, but materializing a battering ram into existence isn't one of those 'wonders'," He answers vaguely, then lets out a 'Hah' with Miles's reply, "You never know what those billionaires are up to, really."
Those are all interesting details, that's for certain, but the first thing that Miles checks once they're alone for several moments is the door. The deputy meanders over towards it, pressing an ear against it at first, before testing the handle, or whatever sort of opening mechanism is built into the thing.
Oh, huh, that worked. Kind of. Yasmin seems surprised, like she hadn't quite expected it, and there's a relieved exhale sighed out once the attendants take their leave. There's a brief glare at Barbara, as though daring her to say anything at all about Yasmin's purported pregnancy before she turns to the rest of the Scooby gang. "I can hear music somewhere, out there. Probably where the rest of the people are?" she tells Tomas, in case they really do make a break for it. "I can, uh..." A glance over at the more mundane people in the room, then at Miles who's messing with the door, and the woman gestures up at the pin in her hijab before shrugging over to Tomas. Hopefully he gets it. She's not explaining any further, instead opting to wander over to the vent in the corner and peering into it.
Meridith takes a deep breath and does her best to remain calm, she leans against the wall opposite the door and tries to rest, for the moment.
That sort of force can be a dangerous thing. It leaves behind evidence, after all. Rather than attempting to force the lock, Miles kneels down to eye-level with it, and reaches into his coat to produce a small set of lock picking equipment. The man pauses then, turning back to the face the others in an almost sheepish manner, "..I just can't stand a locked door, you know? What if there was a fire?" He offers a lame excuse, before attempting to persuade it to open with a gentle thrusting and turning of his tool, making sweet love to the lock all the while. "Come on, baby." He even utters under his breath. It's nearly embarrassing.
Tomas nods his head at Yasmin and tilts his chin towards the vent. "Get that open," he says. Then, since the cop is doing his own investigations, he speaks to the trailerfolk. "Alright, Robinsons. Something's not right here. Don't worry - me and Miles are going to keep you safe. This is Martin Lowe, here," he says, indicating Martin with a finger. "He's real good with handling emergencies, which I know you just heard twice, but it's a very pertinent skillset. He's going to be the guy we listen to for organising, right?" Nevermind the fact the Inigo has already started delegations; that's just a family right. "The girl with the scar is Meridith Walker. She's going to stay close with you and make sure no one does anything weird with Jonas or you, Barbara." He glances Meridith's way, raising an eyebrow - is she good with that? "Yasmin's going to get the way open, and the deputy and I will deal with the attendants as much as possible. Miles technically doesn't have jurisdiction out here, so I'm backing him up. Granddad knows some people in New York, as you can imagine."
Meridith offers a thumbs up to Tomas. Content with protection detail.
Martin seems completely and perfectly content to let everyone else try and find ways out of the dormitory of the suspicious underwater resort as he checks out the cabins almost as if he is planning to stay the night, being very useful and doing no work. His attention does settle on the cabin with the painting. He pauses with Tomas's words, "Oh, yeah, totally," He replies positively without still showing any intent to be useful in this possible emergency. Another pause as he turns around and says, "I implore you to not touch the windows until certain and imminent doom is confirmed with no way out at all, which is a bit of an extreme scenario. In that case, just go hog wild and ignore any concerns about structural integrity and internal pressure," He does say before starting to examine the painting.
Nothing on one. Binding on two. A little click... It might have been mildly less embarrassing to Miles that way, but he seems to be making progress at least, the lock slowly... well, unlocking. There are no footsteps immediately outside as a final, loud click is heard - success.
Barbara stares at Tomas, seeming about to protest before realizing something, pulling Jonas closer against herself. "...If an Inigo says so..." The woman decides with a furrowed brow, "Is there some kind of issue with the water supply?" The one thing that is definitely rare underwater, but she seems to think little of it. "...We can stay, can't we-" And then Martin drops his bomb and she is left wide-eyed.
So much for relaxation.
There's a huff over at Tomas - sure, make the (allegedly) pregnant lady do the heavy lifting. Not even a please or a thank you, rude. Yasmin's already reaching for the vent in an effort to pry the already-damaged screws free, though, keeping an ear out for the ongoing conversation while she tugs and pulls and yanks. Slow and steady. "Nobody break any windows!" comes the immediate, slightly alarmed back-up to Martin's words.
"There we.. go." Success. Miles grins to himself, as the latch comes loose and easy. Then he slightly draws the door open, peering through the tiny little gap to see what awaits outside of the room. He breaks off a spare pin, stuffing it between the latch and the locking mechanism in an attempt to prevent it from locking anew. "Don't even look at the windows too hard." He turns to hiss back then, joining the chorus.
"Nevermind," Tomas calls over to Yasmin. "Miles got the door. Didn't think that'd be the way. My bad." He walks up to Miles and gives the Anglo-Something man a clap on the back, before leaning in to confer more quietly with the deputy. "Hey, so," he murmurs quietly. "None of us are hypnotists, and there are other normies here, so we want to go subtle, which means your badge is probably more powerful than anything we can provide. Just move behind one of us if you're going to get shot, alright?" He pauses, glancing back at someone doing his own thing in one of the cabins - taking the time to admire the art? God damnit, Martin. "Lowe's extremely tough, so he's as good a shield as me." A reassuring nod is offered to the surprisingly larcenous law enforcement, and then the Inigo returns to reassuring the Robinsons. "I think we've fallen for a prank show," he informs them. "You know kids have special media rights, which is probably why they're bein' separated out. I don't trust these things, though. They always go too far. We're going to get ourselves out of here, alright?"
"Nevermind," Tomas calls over to Yasmin. "Miles got the door. Didn't think that'd be the way. My bad." He walks up to Miles and gives the Anglo-Something man a clap on the back, before leaning in to confer more quietly with the deputy. "Hey, so," he murmurs quietly. "None of us are hypnotists, and there are other normies here, so we want to go subtle, which means your badge is probably more powerful than anything we can provide. Just move behind one of us if you're going to get shot, alright?" He pauses, glancing back at Martin doing his own thing in one of the cabins - taking the time to admire the art? God damnit, Martin. "Lowe's extremely tough, so he's as good a shield as me." A reassuring nod is offered to the surprisingly larcenous law enforcement, and then the Inigo returns to reassuring the Robinsons. "I think we've fallen for a prank show," he informs them. "You know kids have special media rights, which is probably why they're bein' separated out. I don't trust these things, though. They always go too far. We're going to get ourselves out of here, alright?"
"In fact, screaming loud enough could, theoretically, break the windows," Martin adds behind his shoulder for no one in particular as he continues his examination of the painting in the cabin. Truly an admirer of the fine, refined arts. He steps out of the cabin with Tomas's words to check out the progress of the 'gang', "Excellent work, everyone," He praises with a wide smile, then nods, "If all else fails, remember that a gun is the greatest tool in any negotiation, and no 'prank show' nor 'prank' lasts any longer than it has to when you are staring down the barrel of a point thirty eight snub-nose revolver." He continues his needless speaking in a tone of voice that has to be the calmest in the world, as if his vocal chords are constantly on opiates.
"Unf." The clap upon Miles's back takes the man somewhat off guard, throwing off his balance and forcing the air from his lungs. Tomas quiet words to him are further muffled by the soft cough that escapes him as he listens, and nods in agreement, "I was thinking the same." His response is a little throaty before he clears it, and pushes up to his feet. "Before we get too carried away, and run out like a bunch of wild folk. Let's have a further squizz in here, see if there's anything we might've missed." There's a pause at Martin's words, and the deputy cannot help but add, "..but let's try not to shoot anyone that we don't need to, yeah?"
Meridith is keeping her head on a swivel. She gives Martin an intense scowl as she deems him 'trolling' the normies. She gazes over at the duo. "Worry not. We've got this well in hand, just stay calm and enjoy the fish!"
The mention of guns send someone reeling, now protectively putting her arms around Jonas as she steps away from the others. Footsteps arrive near the door, stopping for a moment. "...C right?" A voice asks, "B first." comes in answer and the footsteps continue further, and then fade out once more.
Meridith's assurance helps, a little bit, and Barbara rewards it with a faint smile.
The mention of guns send someone reeling, now protectively putting her arms around Jonas as she steps away from the others. Footsteps arrive near the door, stopping for a moment. "...C right?" A voice asks, "B first." comes in answer and the footsteps continue further, and then fade out once more.
Meridith's assurance helps, a little bit, and Barbara rewards it with a faint smile.
The furniture in the 'living' space is impeccable, seeming to be entirely new - and even smelling so, from up close. While certainly people have been here before, it seems they quite frequently replace anything that isn't tied down.
The mention of guns send Barbara reeling, now protectively putting her arms around Jonas as she steps away from the others. Footsteps arrive near the door, stopping for a moment. "...C right?" A voice asks, "B first." comes in answer and the footsteps continue further, and then fade out once more.
Meridith's assurance helps, a little bit, and Barbara rewards it with a faint smile.
The furniture in the 'living' space is impeccable, seeming to be entirely new - and even smelling so, from up close. While certainly people have been here before, it seems they quite frequently replace anything that isn't tied down.
Did Yasmin speak too loud? No, absolutely not. She's quiet as a mouse, thank you for sharing your riveting facts regarding the (lack of) strength of glass windows with the class, Martin. And hey, did the vent really need to be opened, if Miles got his lovemaking with the door done? No, but it is anyway. Backup plan in case someone wants to /really/ ramp up the claustrophobia to 11. "I don't have a gun," she adds reassuringly, moving back over to the rest of the group near the door after a quick, cautious peer down the vent.
"..You know, on that note, who is and isn't armed?" Miles queries of the group at large, but only the voices and footfalls from outside of the room have faded away. That brief overheard comment seems to be enough of a push for Miles to decide they oughta get ready to start moving.
"I'm unarmed," Tomas says, moving up to crowd the doorway again now that Barbara's looking more to Meridith for reassurance than himself. "Yasmin has a pocket knife, far as I know."
Meridith shrugs. "You see a sword on me?" she demands.
"You know the rules of lethal engagement better than I do, deputy, I'll trust your judgment on that one," Martin replies to Miles with a faint smile as he reapproaches the group after inspecting the gothic painting, but otherwise not really doing anything. "I am armed only with my qualification," He has to admit, "If we got that door open, it might be a good course of action to go through it, but you can grab some ... improvised tools if you want, beforehand. Speaking of..." He then says as he looks around for a chair or anything he can just smash-and-grab or disassemble.
Yasmin/does/ have a pocket knife, and she nods her head affirmatively at Tomas's words, keeping an ear out in case of further footsteps. "And a pocket..." A pause, peering at Barbara, before she says, very slowly, "Lighter." It may not be a lighter.
More footsteps pass by the door - a larger group, this time. "Excuse me, uhm, why isn't my boyfriend allowed with me?" Someone asks, "Green bands only." Is returned curtly as they pass further, once more creating silence on the other side of the door.
Armor and weaponry was apparently not on the list of suggested items to bring - but neither was anything else. Thankfully for Martin, there's plenty of chairs about, beautifully crafted from polished oak.
With both, vent and door open, the group is left with a tad of a choice, now that the hallway is quiet again.
Miles just sort of stares at the Americans for several long seconds, before shaking his head. He starts to reach into his coat then, ducking away from the voices despite the door between them and him. "This bloody country is rubbing off on me." He complains under his breath, slipping a knife toward Meridith, and pulling a backup piece out of a hidden pocket in his jacket. His service weapon remains in the holster beneath his heavy jacket. He reaches for his taser then, only to finding it missing. Oh, look, he's becoming an American cop already. "Don't stab, hit. With the blunt end of it." He hisses to Meridith, as if she needed to be reminded not to murder folks - only for a second blade to extended toward Martin, by the handle.
Meridith frowns. "Couldn't have snuck in a long bow?"
"..You are all acting -deputy- deputies for the purposes of me arming you." Miles covers his back, legally speaking, with a clearing of his throat.
Meridith says "Oh yeah I bet they'll love to read your report on this one."
Martin's search for improvised weapons seems to be cut short as he is handed a small hunting knife, he flashes a smile to Miles and bows his head briefly, "Thanks, mate," He says, apparently trying his best to replicate the Aussie accent, but failing pretty badly. He reverts to the good old near-Boston accent not too long after, "Just turn the body cam off," He then jokes as he attempts to flip the knife in his hand, "I suppose that makes us the first Haven Militia this decade."
As the other token non-American, and also the other pre-armed individual, Yasmin is spared Miles's judging stare, obviously. She does lift an eyebrow at the choice of weapon handed over to Tomas though, as she watches the exchange of weaponry - and really, where the hell did he pull all those knives out of? Yasmin looks impressed. "I am also an acting deputy, yes?" comes the hopeful question. Hopefully they don't have a height requirement in the HSD.
Tomas stares down at the gun in his hands for a moment, then slips it back to Miles, shaking his head gently. "I'm not allowed to carry firearms," he says. At least he was honest. "I have an assault on my criminal record." For Jonas' sake, he stresses the next point: "Biggest mistake I ever made. But still - I'm good with my hands. Appreciate it, though." That said, he opens the door more fully and steps out into the hallway, looking towards where he'd last been able to pick up some of the trailing voices. He did /not/ have a green armband.
"Just.. last resort. Last resort." Miles imparts with some mild concern, accepting Martin's thanks with a nod, even as he takes the weapon back from Tomas. "I should probably know that already.." He notes with a mild frown, "Remind me to look up your records when we get home, mate." There's a glance back over to Yasmin then, and Miles affixes her with a long, assessing gaze. He holds it just long enough for doubt to set in before nodding, just the once, "You are, of course. Just remember. Self-defence only. Let's not make a mountain out of what might be a semi-kidnapping-locked-in-a-room situation." There's a check, and double-check of the handgun then, before he rises to shift after Tomas.
There is a smirked little comment offered aside to Meridith though as Miles movees.
Meridith sticks out her tongue and scowls at Miles.
As the group takes care of arming themselves, and the legalities of arming themselves, which at least may set a decent example to the confused-looking Jonas, who gives his mother a questioning look, Tomas finds the snaking hallways to, for now, be quite empty. No attendants, this time. The music is louder than it was before, a somewhat tragic piano tune that carries itself throughout the result's hallways. The path forks right outside of the entrance - one leading the way they came, and the other the way the footsteps went to and from before - 'Dormitory B'.
Martin tucks the knife in the sleeve of his coat for quick retrieval before nodding to Miles. He keeps quiet and follows the trio out slowly out into the hallway afterwards, brown eyes slowly scanning it for any 'unarmed combatants' that might need to be dealt with in 'self-defense'. "Seems clear.. so far." He then mutters quietly, waiting for the directions of the squad lead as he obviously does not step up to delegate nor take command.
"Right," Tomas mutters, peering both ways before sticking his head back in the room. "Halls are clear. Decide quickly: are we goin' to beeline for an exit, or are we headed in to figure out what's waiting for us?" He eyes the child in their midst. He wouldn't be discovering anything useful if he just got the kid out of there, but even the demonborn didn't delight in the suffering of children. He did have some standards.
Yasmin peers at Tomas for a long moment before stating the obvious, "Does anyone know how to drive a submarine?"
Tomas peers at Meridith in turn.
Yasmin also shifts her peer to be peering at Meridith instead.
"..Do you drive a submarine? Or pilot it?" The question probably makes it clear that Miles doesn't quite know how to do either. He also peers toward Meridith, before shaking his head. "Look, if we're concerned that there is weird stuff afoot? We can't just leave whomever else is here, well, down here. Worst case scenario? We poke our noses where they don't belong, and get a little scolded." That's definitely not the worst case scenario. There's no Sanctuary here, Miles.
Meridith slaps her forehead. "Dorks," she declares. "Yes, you don't need to pilot it, you just need it to become buoyant."
"I think the word is 'Commandeer'..? I mean, ships have captains, planes have captains, submarines have captains." Martin wonders philosophically, then adds quietly, "I am not Submarine Certified." He then hums before opining, "I think we should save our own hides, we are clearly not adequately equipped to deal with this situation." He opines.
As Meridith makes her bold statement on the requirements for surviving in a submarine, their time seems rather 'up' as two attendants, rather irritated looking men, round the corner from the direction of the submarine. Then blinking at the group. "What the fuck are you doing out of...?" One questions as he reaches for his walkie talkie, scraping his throat. "...Was there an issue with the door? Please wait patiently for us to pick you up for your dinnertime amenities." He declares in his best attempt at politeness, then bringing the walkie to his mouth
"Isn't it just an underwater car?" Yasmin questions Miles right back; she's no submarine expert. There's a pause to consider the options - for real this time - before she slowly concedes with the deputy. "We should follow the music. If we are caught, I can just say I got lost and you were helping me find the place." A wave of her beribboned hand. "Or, maybe we can split-"
Whoops, out of time just before Yasmin can suggest the worst thing to do in a horror movie scenario. "I got lost." she lies. Look, green band. "They were helping me find the place."
Well, that solves the hold-up, at least. Tomas steps briskly towards the uniformed men, forcing a too-white politician's son smile onto his face - and then Yasmin's stepping up first, causing him to lift his eyebrows at her quick thinking. "Yeah, where are all the guys with green bands being taken?" he asks. "I feel like we're being filmed. Are we being filmed?" He lifts a finger, then alleges, "That's unconstitutional, man. What's up?"
The little adventuring group probably should've discussed what they'd do and say if they were caught beforehand, because Miles too leaps into an action of sorts. He raises a hand, jabbing over behind the fellas shoulders, and even as Yasmin offers an explanation, and Tomas shows off his pretty, pretty teeth before giving his own excuse, Miles just yells out, "Fire!"
Martin's eyes open wide as the man reaches for his walkie-talkie, and as Miles springs to action, he does not seem far at all behind. No communication or anything is attempted as he swiftly retrieves the small hunting knife from a collar, grabs it by the handle and throws it at one of the attendants like a throwing knife.
Meridith did not sign up for stabbing maybe normal people. She hangs back protectively amongst the normies.
The attendant blinks, trying to process the onslaught of information before looking behind himself along with the other. "...There's nothing there...?" He murmurs before a questioning tone comes from his walkie talkie, right as he makes to speak into it, a deathly gurgle is heard as the man finds himself pierced in the chest, blood escaping from his lips. The other man's eyes widen before he weaves backwards, grabbing for his own radio.
Martin//apparently can't drop the knife.
Tomas's stunned at this demonstration of Martin's Emergency Management Technique, staring at the dying man as he collapses down at the floor. "Lowe," he murmurs. "I think he was trying to say there was a fire in the cabin." He looks slowly back up to the second attendee, then says calmly, "Drop the walkie talkie and get on the floor with your hands above your head."
"Self-defense!" Yasmin yelps, backing away closer to Meridith as Martin decides to stab some poor fucker. That was entirely Miles's fault, honestly. He should've yelled 'leak!' or something. There's a worried glance at the man upon the ground - is he dead? dying? was he even alive? There are many questions to be asked here.
There's a split-moments decision where Miles begins to draw his weapon, but Tomas steps up, and in the heat of the moment the deputy decides to rely upon him. He gives up on being a threat, and skitters over closer to the injured man. "Fuck. Fuck." He blurts out, rummaging inside of his coat for bandages, and coming up dry. He'd spent all of his first aid supplies running around in the wilds like an idiot. Miles grabs the downed man's radio, tucking it into his jacket and then goes about tearing at his clothes, trying to get some sort of make-shift gauze to press against the wound, and apply pressure. He does not pull out the knife.
The man stares at Tomas, scared, before giving a slow nod, making onto his knees, radio falling besides him as a voice continues to ring through the crackle - likely asking why people keep opening communications, only not to speak. Going by the bloodpool on the floor, the man /was/ very much alive, his companion seeming terrified of his own future.
Barbara puts her hands over the eyes of her son as footsteps come from the direction of the 'B' dormitory - not quite where they're headed.
Martin scrunches up his face as his throw that was supposed to be less-than-lethal straight up incapacitates the man and leaves him looking much less-than-healthy. A 'fssh' sound escapes his mouth as if he just spilled some boiling hot water onto his hand, "On the bright side," He says as he springs to his feet to prevent any more walkie-talkie shenanigans, then pauses, apparently not being able to justify accidentally eliminating a witness, he then rubs at his eyes, "I am not operating at peak performance this early in the morning, I apologize." Come his words as he attempts to retrieve any walkie talkies, "He'll survive, I am sure." He seeks to assure the small group. He then starts to collect all the radios, walkie-talkies, phones, any communication equipment that the duo of attendants might possess.
There's footsteps approaching, there's a man dying, and not even Yasmin's quick thinking gives her an answer for what to do under these circumstances. Damn. She reaches up to pinch at the bridge of her nose, then lowers herself down on the ground near Miles to see if there's anything that can be done to help. "I can cauterize him, to... stop the bleeding." she whispers over to the deputy. She definitely does not look trained for /any/ medical procedures in the least.
"Make him explain. Or he's next." Miles barks over towards Martin, gesturing toward the remaining fellow with a bloody hand. It's a hollow threat, but surely it doesn't seem to be as much while his mate is bleeding to death. There's a nod aside to Yasmin, as the deputy relents to her superior medical advice. At least, he assumes that is the case. He'd sort of assumed she was pre-med along with Meridith since they'd first met, likely due to the circumstances of said meeting. "Better a bung lung, than being dead." He reasons, doing his best to stem the blood until she's ready.
Martin has to 'shh' down Miles as his bark probably echoes throughout the hallway, "A little quieter," He has to politely ask in a whisper before kneeling down in front of the second attendant. He smiles faintly and places two hands around the man's head, his thumbs seeking his eyes, "You need to tell me everything that you know, mister," He says in a calm, quiet tone, his thumbs slowly starting to press in with greater and greater force, but not enough to cause any *real* damage yet, "You would like to see your loved ones again, would you not? There are fates worse than death," He then coos out as his thumbs slowly press deeper and deeper into the cranium, unstoppable if no one else intervenes.
Damn, he's actually taking her up on it. Yasmin looks like she may be regretting the offer mildly, but hey, if it keeps an innocent(?) man from dying. She shifts off to a side after a nod to Miles, pulling out her knife and keeping her hands out of view of the normies - just a lighter being used here, Yasmin is certainly not conjuring fire out of nowhere, nothing to see here - until the flat of the blade grows hotter, glowing, brighter and brighter until it's a red-hot, at which point she makes her way back to the deputy. "Okay," she exhales, waits for Miles to pull the knife out, and then there's a sizzling of burning flesh as the red-hot metal meets skin. Mm, barbecue.
... Martin better not be killing another man back there.
A small nod is all Tomas gets for his attempt at assuring the 'poor' tied man, who seems to be occupied with glancing at the bleeding attendant. Being caring with the hurt is, of course, a very caring thing to be doing - especially with the approaching footsteps. The attendant shakes under Martin's threat, glancing towards Miles. "...P-Party." The man explains in a stutter, "W-we're b-bringing p-people to the p-party. T-That's all I know!" He manages as the source of the footsteps finally becomes known -- faces. Three, this time, coming from the other hallway. They quickly retreat, one holding a radio. A crackle from Martin's revealing the cause; 'Escapees, Dormitory B, violent.'
"Ah, christ." Miles exhales under his breath as he glances over towards where Martin is engaging in some very polite questioning. But he can't attend to that, he needs to focus on the task at hand. While Yasmin heats up her blade, he waits, trying to hold the man still and keep his insides, well, inside. There's a slow count, "One, two.." Upon three he tugs the blade out, stuffing as much makeshift gauze about the wound as he can before Yasmin's knife is sinking into him, ruining that lung as flesh and fat, and membrane melt - but potentially, and hopefully, saving his life.
"The Party, where is it?" Martin then asks quietly as his thumbs drive a little deeper inside. He glances behind his shoulder with the sounds, then glances at the radio in his pocket and footsteps and mutters a quiet curse, "Since when are we escapees?" He asks in a hushed whisper to Tomas, then asks him, "Alright, can you grab that radio in my pocket and mislead the nice security fellows as I extract some information over there?" He asks, then focuses back on the task at hand, "The Party. Where is it, mister? The next three seconds decide if you have perfectly healthy eyes or some mush in your eye-sockets."
"A-All the way b-back a-across the hangars!" The man claims to Martin before gulping "I-I n-never use the r-radio, L-Leeroy was t-the Radio guy..." He returns to the questioning, was. Not much faith in Yasmin and Miles' medical skills, it seems.
"All the way back across the hangars." Martin repeats after the man, then takes in a deep breath before letting it back out, he turns back towards the other two, "We are not equipped to deal with any of this. We should leave whoever is here to tend to their own and retreat, one pistol and two knives won't get us to the bottom of this." He once again urges, slowly taking his thumbs off the man's eyes to make him face the floor this time.
"I have a second pistol." Miles remarks back without tearing his eyes away from the unfortunate stab victim. Leeroy. Great, now he's got a name. A lame name too. The meme echoes in the man's head as he tries to hold the fellow still beneath Yasmin's burning blade. "Ask them if they're armed, Martin!"
He's right to have no faith; Yasmin doesn't either. She holds the flat of the knife down way too long, until the sickening smell of burning flesh fills the enclosed space - or until Miles pulls her hand away, one of the two, whichever comes first, and then there's a long stare over at the deputy. She's trying not to look down at all the blood and charred flesh. "... is he alive?" she questions, as though he knows all the answers. Please know all the answers, Miles. There's a glance back at Martin's words, the girl biting down on her bottom lip worriedly. No decision is forthcoming.
"Right." Martin says after Miles, "Do note, though, we've been spotted. Expect cavalry soon." He says before facing down the man that he is manhandling and was just interrogating, "Weapons, have you got any? What about your friends? This place must have some security," He asks, then presumes as he gets to patting the man down for any weapons and such before waiting for an answer.
"...B-Boss says security would be u-useless against our guests..." The attendant explains to Martin in what should, perhaps, be mildly alarming. "...Maybe in t-the office..." The man seems to have gone from 'about-to-soil-himself' to 'gave up on life', a hollowness left after the source of fear - Martin's thumbs, finally found itself removed.
"We're (...) a team (...) 15 minutes (...)" crackles from the radio.
"He's fine, he's fine." Miles blurts aside to Yasmin as he goes about bundling up the terrible wound they'd inflicted, and then tried to heal with fire. The man's head turns this way and that as he glances between those around, and makes an assessment. The ongoing chatter on the radio helps. "Right. This is what we're doing." He seems to decide for the group, "We're heading back to the boat- submarines. We're throwing Leeroy, and this dickhead here-" There's a jab of a bloody thumb toward the other guard, "Into one, along with Meridith and the kid, and.. Rebecca?" He'd never really bothered to learn her name. There's a glance aside to Meridith too, as if expecting her to argue back, "Then the rest of us, with Tomas guarding out way out, we go free as many folks as we can- or get to their office and grab as much shit as we can. Worst case scenario? We get out of here with these two goobers, and beat a little information out them."
The man is almost definitely -not- fine, but Miles tries to both assure Yasmin and bend reality with his statements.
If Yasmin doesn't look down, she doesn't have to figure out if the man is dead or alive for herself; it's a real Schrodinger's cat situation. But, hey - plans. Those sound like solid plans, and she bobs her head at Miles in silent agreement, nodding alone while she rises to her feet, then realizes, "... what are we doing with them? This one needs a doctor." The other one needs a psychiatrist for his PTSD. Or the TSD, since it's yet to be over. And then, "Let's not beat up too many people... I can sneak around, see what I can find." Hopefully not with her bloodied hands, but hey, green band. Even if splitting up is most likely to be an awful idea. One thing is for certain, though: "Let's go clear the way." That sounds like it's directed at Martin.
Martin glances towards his pocket once again as the radio in it crackles and says something, he huffs, "ETA is fifteen minutes, they are probably calling help from the surface, I would expect at least four guys with firearms." He tells Miles, "That guy won't last longer than a few hours without medical attention, I'd say, and we don't have that many people that can commandeer a submarine. Your call, though, deputy," He does notify, then nods to Yasmin, "We need to slowly clear a way to the hangar... by slowly, I mean quickly."
"Meridith, and the woman, and the kid, are going to take them to the surface, and keep old mate alive." Miles elaborates as he pushes up to his feet, gesturing to Tomas to carry the downed fellow. He reaches into his duty belt, producing some handcuffs and tossing them Martin's way. Fellow really does carry a lot of crap around with him. But when you're only human? You kind of have to. "If people can pilot a submarine with a game controller, we can figure it out - but for now? Let's get to the hanger."
Martin nods to Miles, but does not comment on the fate of the submarine controlled with a game controller, not this time. "The plan it is, I'll lift the injured fella, you can have the healthy one. He can walk, I believe." He says, "Take any keys and such that he might have, might be useful." He says before moving towards the aforementioned injured man.
Yasmin is not helping to lift any full-sized men, that's for sure. That part gets left for Martin and Tomas, thereby dubbed The Muscle, while she lingers behind to help Meridith with getting Barbara and Jonas over to the hangar. "I will keep an eye out behind us," she assures the others, knife close by just in case any 'self-defense' is required, all of her supernatural senses attuned towards watching for any incoming threats. "... try not to drop him." she mentions to Martin in the meantime. Miles, presumably, is left to lead the group, a perfectly balanced formation.
Thankfully Tomas is more than capable of doing the carrying work, leaving the others relatively free. Barbara being a Havenite seems fairly used to 'Not asking questions', following along, though visibly disturbed by the happenings. A problem for layer, mayhaps. The music, however, still calls. The party still very much in gear - even with all that is happening, for whatever reason, the attendants seem to have opted not to cancel the 'amenities'.
Time runs out, however, with roughly 10 minutes remaining of those 15 radioed in.
Snicker-snack. Handcuffs are clasped around the not-dying guards wrists before Miles leaves him in Tomas' capable hands. He considers Yasmin and the knife for several seconds, before extending his spare pistol in her direction. "Here." He doesn't accept no as an answer, figuring she might at least -look- a little more threatening with a gun. With that said, and done, he turns to exactly what he'd suggested - leading the party back towards the hanger, intent to get Meridith, Barbara and Jonas, as well as the two guards, out of there.
Martin kneels down and picks up the bleeding man from the ground with relative ease, carrying him bridal style as opposed to fireman, perhaps he is not in a mood to get blood and lungs spilled all over onto his back, but his hands are quite literally occupied with the man now. "Alright, I am ready now. Stay frosty," He signals along with a nod, following Miles who happens to lead the group.
Yasmin scrunches up her face at Miles - does she look like she knows how to use a gun? "I'm not firing this," she hisses at the man but ends up holding the weapon loosely in one hand anyway, in the way of someone who really should not be trusted with a gun. At least it'll be useful to bludgeon someone over the head with, worst case scenario. And what does stay frosty mean anyway? Martin is shot an incredulous look - she's shooting those looks all over, really. There's probably nobody coming up behind them so far, if she hasn't sounded an alarm yet.
The hallways thankfully (or perhaps alarmingly) are quiet on the way back to the hangar, that same metal-plated door still very much closed on the way there. While Martin's back may be safe from the wounded 'princess', his chest definitely gets its parts, bits of blood with every sickening gurgle.
"I'd prefer that, to be frank. Just try and look mean." Miles suggests in response to Yasmin, and affords her a slight double-take, "..Maybe go for crazy instead, yeah?" That seems more believable. He pauses by the metal-plated door, checking to see if it's locked, and if it is? He goes about trying to convince it not to be.
Martin takes in a deep breath, a lungful of that stale, bloody air before whispering a quiet 'Sorry.' to the critically injured man that comes closer to dying every second. His eyes slowly float over the door, then, "Alright, how do we open this?" Comes his million dollar question as he holds the injured man in his arms.
Pandora's box was opened by curiosity and it seems this rather ominous door is earning itself the same fate. It could be the door to the party, though the scratch marks on the doorframe, clearly visible up close, may be a bit of a warning.
Yasmin doesn't have to try for crazy; she's halfway there already, and she stops by Miles, an eye on the hallways and the other on the door. "How good are you at that?" she murmurs over to Miles during his lock-picking efforts, seeming ready to take over if need be. "I can try too, or we can break it open." And by 'we', she clearly means The Muscle.
"..Mildly?" Miles ventures back in turn, pausing for a moment or two as he considers the doorway. It finally dawns on the man that this wasn't the way he'd come, and he steps back, promising it, "We'll be back for you shortly." With that said, he turns to lead them onwards and into the hangers, gesturing madly at the nearest submarine.
"A concern for later," Martin has to agree with Miles there as he decides to move on, a decision probably influenced by the man still dying in his arms, if he isn't dead already, "I am more of a proponent of calling for reinforcements before those 'fifteen minutes until a team arrives' limit is up, God knows what kind of PMCs can be hired by someone who built this," He says, head cocking forth as he says this, walking along.
The nearest submarine --being the service submarine, without nice windows and probably without nice plush couches too -- seems to be abandoned for the taking, the hatch apparently not coming with a lock. Two other submarines of the type that brought them here, more glass than metal wait patiently next to it.
...5 minutes.
Yasmin is also a proponent of there being no dead people, whether it be the poor guy in Martin's loving arms or, well, themselves. "If we get stuck in this death trap and die..." she can be heard mumbling under her breath, the rest of the threat going unspoken as Miles gestures them towards the nearest submarine. Hopefully they're going to choose one that smells least like death. Or the one without the windows that might break and bring in all the water, that one works too. "That one," Yasmin decides, pointing at the service submarine.
"..You'll haunt us all, I'm sure. A pint-sized phantom." There's something about the stress of the situation that has Miles leaning right into dry humour as he rushes toward the submarine gestured at by Yasmin. "Meri. Woman. Boy. Guard. Dying man." He jabs at each person in order, and then jabs at the submarine. "Get in, get out." He orders them, and once they're settled - should they do so, he'd turn back to those remaining. "I'm guessing I'm the only mundy here. What can you do?" The deputy near demands of Yasmin and Martin, before turning to jog back the way they'd come. He draws his service weapon, filling his right hand with it. A neutralizer is palmed into the left, "Jog and talk. Jog and talk. Let's see if we can't find something."
"Right now?" Yasmin holds up her knife, deciding figuring out whatever the fuck is going on here sounds better than getting in a submarine. "Knife." The knife gets set on fire. "Fire." Hey, at least she's being quick and concise about it, Miles surely has to appreciate that while they're jogging back to the scene of the crime. Or the metal door, whatever. "I can pick locks, and run fast, if needed." He's not allowed to use that information against her in the court of law. "A bit of hypnotic persuasion. No actual hypnosis. Uhh..." A pause, to figure out if she's missing anything. "Good senses. And light, if you need it." She's a whole utility kit in herself, torch /and/ lighter and an alarm.
Martin moves towards the service submarine, descends down and leaves the man on the most suitable surface before climbing back up, he does face Miles to address him this time, "Again, deputy, every passing minute we spend here, we come closer to certain death." He says, "A few of us with pistols and knives can't fight a possible team of mercs with God-knows what, and with us, there would be not much hope of anyone that can do anything learning about this place. I must report back to HQ and explain the situation, I can not risk any more," He does attempt to explain, then cocks his head down towards the injured man, "Plus, I will have quite a bit of explaining to do."
"Head back." The response to Martin is as succinct as it is direct. He can't ask the fellow to risk his life any more than he already has, can he? Plus, you know, he's got a point. But Miles isn't always a smart man. I don't mean he's unintelligent, but he sure can be dumb. "Fire. Light. Locks. Pretty face. Got it." He snaps aside to Yasmin, turning to lead her on - though pausing just long enough to wave at Martin, "Toss us a radio, mate! See the others out safely!"
Martin nods to Miles, then heads back and starts climbing down the hatch, he does say, though, "When all is said and done, I'll mail you your knife back. Preferably washed clean of any blood." He does smile faintly, "Good luck and Godspeed, you three," He says, offering them a two-finger salute before descending down the hatch, then it is sealed as the rag-tag 'crew' inside try to figure out how to pilot the thing.
Martin unseals the hatch and pops out for just long enough to toss a cheap walkie-talkie at Miles, then back in he goes.
Whilst the service submarine's interior is lined with boxes containing who-knows-what, there is thankfully ample space left for those deemed to be left behind -- or those leaving. Whatever decision the group wished to make - they're far out of time for it. Rippling can be seen on the water's surface, the coming of another submarine most assuredly.
Piloting a submarine isn't, exactly, the easiest job in the world, but the sturdy metal walls of the service submarine can survive a few scrapes - thankfully - and they make it out fine, leaving only the glassy submarines - and increasingly aggressive ripples in the water.
"No imploding," Yasmin demands of the others - though mostly Martin who's been talking about imploding submarines way too many times to be perfectly innocent - before the hatch is sealed shut, and with the group lessened to just a couple of people, she points out, "We can use the vent, to hide and look around, if there's not enough time to get the door open."
"That's a great idea." Both the lack of imploding and the hiding, really. With that said and done, Miles darts up the corridor, and back toward the strange door they'd found earlier. He tucks away his neutralizer, and raises the radio up to his mouth, "Oh, shoot." The man drawls out in best approximation of an American accent, "They all got away! They disappeared into nothingness, ya hear?"
Miles lowers the radio, and gestures toward the door, "You can't path, by any chance?" He asks at the same time.
"No," comes the succinct answer, and Yasmin sounds a /tad/ more alarmed now with the coming of the next submarine. "We need to be /fast/," she hisses to the man, and for all that she may be fun-sized, the girl sure can run when she needs to, taking liberties with Miles's sleeve to drag him along. "Vent, now." Or vent five minutes ago, probably.
The radio sees no response for the longest time, then finally crackles to life, "Who (...) fuck (...) you?"
Perhaps to be expected when hearing a voice you don't recognize mid crisis.
"It's Leeroy, I got a sore throat! From all the screaming! You ain't been hearin' me?" Miles just manages to avoid throwing a 'pardner' in there as he lies over the radio, which probably isn't helping their case. He does his best to keep up with Yasmin, even as she drags him along somewhat, like a toddler tied to a parent in a three-legged race. He justifies her increased speed as a side effect of her height. When you're that little your legs barely need to move to, well, move, right? Gravity just doesn't effect you as much.
Water splashing can be heard from behind as the two run, the hallways thankfully quite devoid of life - no wonder, considering what the attendants saw. The radio gets no response, perhaps the falls it took just did that much damage.
Perhaps Miles' Leeroy impression isn't that effective, especially considering some of the attendants saw him bleeding on the ground before.
Miles isn't even the tallest guy, he has no right to make fun of Yasmin's height - or lack thereof. She slams the door he'd so meticulously picked closed behind them as they find their way back to the quarters with the still-open vent, pausing for a second near it. "Close the vent behind you, I will go in first in case it gets narrower. I will go towards the music. Tell me now if you want to go a different way." Yasmin tells him, with the other threat going unspoken with her gaze narrowed - don't stare at her butt, or else. And then, no time to waste. In she goes, after tucking the gun Miles handed to her in her waistband. Hopefully the vents are clean, for the sake of her white clothes.
Like a cartoon character, Miles slides a little as Yasmin slams the door closed and tries to yank it back open, hoping that his earlier sabotage had left it damaged enough that it didn't clasp, "We don't want them to think we found another way out!" He explains this as he jogs behind the smaller woman, in his giant, huge and totally big body. "Go towards the music." It's agreed, and there's a foot up offered to her, though, it may not be needed, judging by the way she scrambles up, and inside. Like a little critter.
Unfortunately for Miles, the door seems entirely locked now. Or perhaps, unfortunately for Yasmin, as that leaves the only way out through the vents. They are blessedly fairly large, enough for a giant, huge body to fit through without issue. The airflow within is high - a constant wind rushing past the gaps and from within - the music can be heard, faintly. A path within the network of oxygen-providing tunnels.
That was smart, and that's totally why Miles is the cop with definite criminalistic tendencies, even if the door is automatically-locking. Whoops. Yasmin pauses just long enough to ensure he finds his way into the vent system before she takes in a deep breath, declares (quietly), "I hate this place. Today sucks." And sets off crawling towards the source of the music without a glance back. To the music it is!
"It could always be worse." Miles intones in response to Yasmin, searching for the silver lining on this underwater resort cloud. His own entrance to the vents is far less smooth, and involves a fair bit more grunting. Not to mention his groans as he twists about to pull the grate back and into place - jerking it hard to try and keep it there. Then he's scrambling after Yasmin, switching off the radio and ensuring his phone is on silent, "Phone.. silent.." He whispers through the vent toward her, army crawling behind her, and definitely looking at her butt. How could he not? It's all that's in front of him!
The grate loosely hangs in its place, just about hanging on the remnants of a single screw. Unlikely to hold up for long inspections, but it hangs. The vans are relatively dark, and Yasmin's long coat doesn't help much, only interrupted by the occasional reflections of light throughout a grate. It isn't long before the music gets closer - in addition to other sounds. The clinking of glasses - the speaking of voices, and the occasional, horrified, whimper.
Miles may need a lesson or two or three in stealth. Yasmin is unimpressed while she glances over her shoulder at him, hissing out, "It cannot be worse unless we die." That's how the progression of bad things goes, obviously: crawling through a network of vents is only one step behind straight up fucking dying. "There's no signals here anyway." she points out to the man; as a youngster barely in her twenties, of course she would have tried to text someone immediately after getting here.
And then blessed silence from Yasmin's complaining, at least, as the music gets louder. She pauses at the vent leading into the room the music originates from, taking advantage of her much smaller stature to move past it and then turn around so she can Miles can behold whatever fresh horrors lie beyond it together.
Miles doesn't offer a response, not trusting himself to be as quiet in this small space. His vocal cords are so much larger than Yasmin's after all. He simply continues to crawl behind her, moving a little slower in an attempt to make less noise, until they finally reach this vent and the complaints cease. He slinks closer, glancing towards the young woman, and then down into the space beneath them.
Horrors? It seems to be an actual party. A bunch of masked figures dancing around, others drinking red liquid - presumably wine - from glasses, talking to each other and making merriment. Dressed in formal clothes, at the first sight, nothing seems too odd about it. On a second glance, however, between the dancers and talkers, there are others - people wearing entirely normal clothes. Some stare ahead hazily, others visibly shiver as they watch the going ons, trying to hide away in corners.
A blink. Two. Yasmin reaches down to tug at the green band around her wrist, then glances over at Miles, as though expecting him to come to the same conclusion she has without having to say it out loud. 'Vampire party?', she mouths over at the man, eyebrows raised. He better be good at lip-reading, otherwise this is going to get awkward. There's a tap at her nose; whatever she's smelling, it's not good. Damn vents need to be doing their job better. Totally unrelated to the people currently blocking them, of course.
Ironically, Miles was in the midst of communicating the very same idea back to Yasmin. His method is, perhaps, less clever. When she looks back over to him he has a hand up to his mouth, two fingers extended in a mockery of fangs. He pauses, reads her lips, and drops his hand. Then nods. Yes, they're on the same page. There's a long glance afforded to the ribbon about her wrist then, before he squints down in the party room in search of anyone else wearing as much.
Whatever plan Miles is cooking up, it'll have to wait for a better place; Yasmin doesn't look like she wants anything to be said out loud. If they really /are/ vampires, chances are high there's going to be at least some supernaturally keen ears in that room, and both of them are going to be drained dry in a very non-fun way very fast if they get caught. She glances back towards the darkness of the vents, and beckons the man on with a gesture of her head, turning back around the right way to continue on the vent-adventure. Onwards, to the next empty, not full of vampires room they can find to talk in without their voices carrying like a death sentence. If, by chance, that happens to be the room with the locked metal door, all the better for it.
One would be forgiven for noticing every clink of knee on metal on the way through the vents. It is lucky, perhaps, the music plays unceasingly, even with the ruckus they caused before. Unwilling to piss off their guests, perhaps. There's thankfully plenty of rooms that can be found from the network of vents - likely every room accessible to mortals. Not, however, whatever is on the other side of that metal door.
That's okay, Yasmin will settle for any room that fits the criteria of A. being empty, and B. being open-able from this end. Whatever gets her out of these infernal vents, really.
Miles is beckoned, and he comes. Those sounds don't escape his attention in the least, as the constant anxiety that each triggers results in a bead of sweat forming upon his brow and the back of his neck. Vampires. God damn it. Vampires. Why couldn't it be something easier to deal with? Like Russians, or a bunch of eco-terrorists? Maybe just a Mad Hatter style fae who doesn't want the party to ever, ever end. He drags himself after Yasmin, checking each room and vent as he builds a mental map of where they are, and where they've been. There's glances for other patrols as well, not to mention the reinforcements that were due to arrive.
The hallways seem roamed by attendants once more -- perhaps thrown off by the stolen service submarine. They seem quite busy, walking quickly back and fro. In one room, one can be spotted in a conversation with someone who looks /rather/ well armed, dressed in full tactical gear with a machine gun held lazily in one hand, seeming to be under some sort of interrogation. Words about what the escapees look like, answered with 'I don't knows', leading to further irritation. It wouldn't take long to find a room they can enter - a bathroom not far from the hangar, the vent for it mostly loose - a remnant of a failed escape attempt, perhaps.
"Right," Yasmin starts once they're far away enough from the partying and she's found the nice, convenient bathroom to see if they can find their way out into the freedom of open, non-vent space. She's quiet now, the claustrophobia taking a back seat to the nauseating truth of what they've found in this place, and she only speaks up after closing her eyes and trying her best to figure out if there's anyone nearby who could overhear them. "Do you have a plan?" she asks Miles in a whisper, glancing over his way for only a brief moment before she returns to her vent-opening efforts, muscles straining against the metal without trying to make any loud noises. "Fifty stakes and a stake-firing crossbow?" Please say yes. "Anything?" She's not lost hope /entirely/ though, surely they can still find something if they look around enough.
The Deputy really takes his time in climbing out of the vent and into the bathroom, his shoulders hunched and lips peeled back into the sort of grimace you'd normally adopt when sneaking past your parents room after breaking curfew. Miles slinks over towards one of the sinks, raising a hand toward the faucet before thinking better of it, and just leaning over it instead. Both hands rest on the porcelain as he shakes his head slowly. "I've got an idea." Not a plan though, "Sink the place.", not a particularly good idea either. He eyes the reflection of Yasmin in the mirror, gauging her reaction.
Sinking the place would probably more effective if it was a supernatural type who was, well, alive, but plans are plans. The grate comes off with a pop, causing the cover to pop up, though not without giving Yasmin a chance to catch it if she wishes to. The inside of the bathroom is basic - porcelain throne, two stalls, a place for washing, nice electronic hand dryer. The only thing is lacks is an inside lock.
OOC Miles - Oops, I misread earlier. I thought we'd already gotten in, my bad.
Yasmin is being very careful to not make any noise - no noisy vent covers here - and she moves over first of all to check the lock upon the bathroom door after being free, finds it missing, and slumps against the door as though she can hold anyone back with sheer strength should they decide to break in. Just in time to hear Miles's idea; that sure is /a/ plan for a deputy who should be thinking about saving people. Yasmin makes an unimpressed face. "Can't they just... swim back up, if they don't need to breathe? We will just be killing the humans." And themselves. It's a valid question, really. "And they will find somewhere else to party." There's a sigh, and she reaches up to rub at her temples in slow circles. "I think we need to find proof, and find a way to leave. They have guns. I heal fast, but I am not bulletproof."
"..Yeah." It wasn't a great plan, but Miles was on the spot! "I suppose in my head, I sort of imagined the whole place going all presure-crushy? Like the submarine? From the news? With the rich people?" He half-explains aside to Yasmin, raising a hand to run fingers through his hair in slow, self-soothing motions. "Alternatively, we check the metal door we couldn't open. Creep about. There were claw marks on it, yeah? You saw that? Maybe we're lucky and there's a whole bunch of friendly werewolves inside who wanna help us rescue people and escape?" His voice raises in pitch as he speaks, indicating his own doubt as he makes the suggestion
Going off the sudden paleness of Yasmin's face, imagining the place going pressure-crushy with her inside it isn't something she had signed up for today, and she glowers at Miles for putting it in her head for the sixth time in as many hours. "... there are people around now," she says, slowly. "That means we probably can't get to the submarines easily." She's displeased. There is a lot of displeasure going on here. "Fine. If we get caught, I needed to use the toilet and you are escorting me." Hopefully nobody notices the lack of bite marks upon Yasmin's person in such a scenario.
And then, slowly, /very/ slowly, Yasmin cracks the door open to take a look outside at the hallway; how much trouble are they in?
"Wait, wait. Wait." Miles reaches over to prevent the door opening, at least immediately. He stares at Yasmin for several seconds, and at her neck. "..Let's give you a bite mark." The suggestion is given several moments to breathe, and settle in, before the man makes a little so-so gesture, "Not with my mouth. Use a knife. Tick. Tick. Bleed a bit, and maybe, take off your.." There's a wave toward the hijab, "And rough up your hair a little? Look like you've been supped upon?"
Occasionally, people do walk out in the hallway, but not all the time, at least. The submarines aren't all that far away, truth be told. Perhaps they weren't expecting people to actually stick around the cadre of vampires after finding a perfectly good escape. Surprise may well be on their side, until they start looking too closely. The people who do walk through the hallway are attendants, at least.
It's a good thing Miles specified not with his mouth, because there was certainly going to be a knife used here otherwise. Whoosh, go Yasmin's eyebrows flying up, and she opens her mouth for an immediate protest, then shuts it closed again. "I am not taking off my hijab," she whispers back to the man, but she /does/ shrug off her coat, hand it to the deputy - good luck figuring out where to put that one, but surely he's got space amidst his thousand other doodads for one more item - and unbuttons the very top button of her blouse for an attempt at casual dishevelment - and also at not getting blood over her pristinely white coat. Then, the drape of her hijab pulled to a side and a careful look in the mirror, tick, tick, goes her knife, with a wince and a glare over at Miles through the mirror before she turns back to him, rubbing at her neck. A few drops of blood stain her collar, and her hijab is /just/ on the side of mussed. That's as far as she's willing to go for this undercover mission. "You lead." It only makes sense, surely. Off into the hallway they go, if there's no further complaints.
"..Alright." It takes a few moments for the word to escape Miles, as he watches Yasmin's attempt to vamp-victimize herself. It'll work, surely. These Vampires appear to be playing at sophistication, so a little muss, fuss and blood oughta serve. He glances at the coat, and ends up tucking it half up and along his shoulder, giving his profile a light hump. The man plucks out his hairband, then, and styles his hair a little to afford it a little more chaos too. "I'll play as a thrall, I suppose, worst case scenario. Or something, you know, brain-fucked." They're playing to their strengths then, hopefully.
With that said and done, Miles reaches over to grasp at Yasmin's upper arm, as if he were escorting her by force, and slinks out into the hallway with her - heading toward the metal door, and the submarine hanger both.
Heading back to the sweet release - and the tempting door of curiosity - is thankfully a relatively smooth affair. One attendant walks past them, blinking, apparently not quite used to seeing people like Miles go around with a 'bloodbag', but seems to have better things to do, rushing on instead. Or better things to die for, at least. The docks go unguarded, mostly, aside from one, single soldier.
...A perhaps insurmountable blockade.
A man stands in full tactical gear in-front of another service sub - noticeably in worse conditions than the last, the metal looking rather scuffed up, lazily leaning back and forth, spending more time looking at his gun, inspecting the grooves with his fingers, than looking around the docks.
A flash of indignation crosses Yasmin's features before she plasters on her best dazed, 'recently turned anemic' expression and stumbles along with Miles's longer strides as she's dragged by the arm. There's a stiffening of her form at catching sight of the soldier in the tactical gear, and an alarmed look over at the deputy before she decides to keep her head down and keep walking until they reach the metal door. She's just a bloodbag, juuuust a bloodbag... Surely nobody's going to stop them... right?
... hopefully he doesn't do his job and notice the gun poking out from Yasmin's waistband that she'd definitely forgotten about.
At the least, Miles tries his best not to jostle Yasmin about while they're alone, though his hand never quite leaves her upper arm. The man's lips twist into a thin, harsh line as he notes the soldier, and extends a look back toward Yasmin in turn. There's a motion as he slips the lock picking kit from his jacket, and presses it into her front - while yanking her toward the metal door. "Get it open." He hisses aside to her, plucking the radio from his coat then and moving to cover her very petite form with his own - while holding the device up and miming that he's speaking into it. It's an attempt at cover, though it may not be the best.
The soldier doesn't seem particularly interested in what goes on beyond the docks and Miles and Yasmin manage to pass without conflict. The use of this though, raises other questions. There's certainly /some/ music on the other side of the door, though it's more muffled - either the door is soundproof, or it's not quite the party room, at least, even if close to it.
Say no more. Yasmin was already reaching for the pin in her hijab, but hey, whatever finds her hands first. She nods to Miles before crouching down just slightly for a better view at the lock and getting to work. In goes the pin, a bit of jiggling and a bit of nudging and some very professional wedging taking place while she attempts to get the door open. There's another worried look at Miles's back here - hopefully they're not going to be walking right into the vampires' den. Surely their luck can't be that bad.
...click.
The door unlocks, the mechanism not really living up to the door itself, it seems.
There's an apologetic sort of expression afforded to Yasmin as she works at the door, the closest that Miles can offer to a 'sorry for man-handling you a wee bit there' for the time being. The click of the door sends some more tension through his frame. He raises a hand aside to his pint-sized compatriot once more, and edges it open to peer inside, taking the risk of this first look upon himself.
Yasmin totally didn't work hard getting manhandled and then picking locks to have the second look. She's also gonna try to take a peek at the same time, from behind Miles the squishy human who definitely shouldn't be going up first. Yasmin doesn't point that fact out loud yet.
Honestly, there's probably room for Yasmin to just squeeze in and look from beneath Miles, like something out of a comedy film .
It is dark beyond the door, very dark. And very, very stale, like a cave untouched for many decades, yet seeped in one particular smell. Blood. Outlines of cages can be seen on the walls, within which bodies unmoving. Dead, dying or at the very least, passed out, surrounding comfortable-looking couches, tall figures given to quiet conversation on the lounge seats.
Less of a vampires' den, more of a lounge. The music, far less loud here, does little to mask the sound of the opening door to a keen enough ear - the creak as an announcement of the intruder's arrival. Some of the voices quieting. A tension palpable in the room's atmosphere.
There's a few moments of stunned silence, as Miles's lips peel back into a grimace, and he sucks in a breath through his teeth. The man swallows a lump in his throat then, before starting to slowly, slowly push the door closed again, peering aside to Yasmin as he does as much.
Here's hoping they can put the cork back into this bottle.
Oh. Well. Shit. Fuck. Yasmin's eyes are wide as soon as the overwhelming stench of blood reaches her nose - instantly, by the way. It reaches her nose instantly. It is not great for the morale. Or the general spy vibe they had going. She flashes Miles a panicked look, a quiet step taken backwards out of instinct - with what she looks like, she could certainly pass as 'refreshment', but /does he have a plan/ that doesn't get her killed after that?! Yasmin's eyes trail to the soldier by the submarines. Suddenly, fighting their way past a fully-geared man to get themselves the hell out of here sounds like a great idea. Assuming the figures inside aren't going to be following them out of their lounge of deathiness.
The door closes, none of the beings inside seeming particularly keen to do anything with the opening. Though who knows how long that lasts.
There's nearly no time to think, there's certainly even less time to think. What Miles was hoping for behind that door? Something that could help them? They got the exact opposite. He reaches over to snatch at Yasmin' upper arm again with his left, while his right unholsters his service weapon and stuffs it into the outer pocket of his coat. There it remains for the time being. "We'll offer refreshment to the fella, and then surprise him. If we have to." That's the plan, as it stands. Again, not a good one. Though there's a pause then, and a slow furrow of Miles's brow. The submarines were filled with glass, right? Is a glass close enough to a mirror? Were there any mirrored surfaces in the subs, or the hanger?
There's a shudder that wracks its way down Yasmin's spine, her eyes suddenly wider than they were before at something unheard - at least by Miles. "We need to leave," she whispers over to him as if it wasn't obvious enough yet, reaching up to rub at the fake bite upon her neck, half healed over already. "Whatever works. I will try talking." It'd better work, or they're absolutely fucked. Her hand stays close to her pocket, and she tells Miles, "I have my knife close." while they begin to make their way over to the fella in question, vampire-refreshment face back in full force, even if it's a little strained.
No mirrors? In that case, operation Yasmin-is-a-snack is go. With her vampire-refreshment face back in place, and Miles's attempt at a blank thrall face operational, the fellow drags her over towards the armed and armoured man. Moving at a pace that while seemingly unhurried, is definitely doing it's best to remain as much. "I brought her as quick as I could!" He calls over toward the guard, trying to keep his voice largely monotone.
Would they round the corner back to the docks, they would find the soldier looking quite baffled, fingers taped to his head as he listens to something on his radio before shaking his head, putting it down. Spotting Miles and Yasmin, he blinks incredulously, cocking his head at the two. "...What the fuck?" He seems taken aback. "I literally just told you corporate assholes to solve your own goddamn problems. If the guests are pissed, that's not my fucking problem. Problems in the ballrooms? Not for me they ain't. Whatever happens in that fucked up lounge of yours?! Not /my/ fucking problem!" He spittles at the end, his face a healthy hue. "If this broad is being a problem for the guests, deal with her your fucking self." He commands, looking irritated, "I do security, /thats it/."
And she tried so hard to be a good snack, too.
The good-snack-face is gone somewhere during the middle of that rant to make way for incredulity, and Yasmin isn't unable to help herself from glancing over at Miles with her best 'what the fuck' face. Probably not good for whatever they were trying to accomplish here. But, hey, she /did/ say she'd speak first, and there's a step taken towards the security guard, her hands lifting in a show of helplessness. Surely she can't do anything to him. "Please calm down, sir," that's her best placating voice, with a tinge of psychic persuasion attached. "There has just been a misunderstanding; they need me back on the mainland for a special guest." A blink of wide eyes, turned up at the guy. "The servant here was just escorting me." The servant, of course, being Miles, whose name she definitely does not know. Surely that's a foolproof argument and they'll be allowed to leave on a submarine, no questions asked. Surely. One can hope.
It's fortunate that Yasmin reminded Miles of the plan with that looks of hers, even if it wasn't entirely her intent. The deputy was only moments away from rushing the other man, closing the distance to rob him of any advanges a longer barrel might bring. It's hard work shooting a machine gun or a rifle in close quarters, after all. Instead he simply adopts his best servant face. Mostly bland, and blank with an almost timid and dumb sort of half-smile. He just stands there and waits, hands in his pockets, and one wrapped about his pistol.
The soldier stares at Yasmin for a moment, seeming thoroughly confused, albeit calming down as requested before giving a long, exhausted sigh. "You know there's no way I can do that." He explains as he visibly relaxes, "Whatever the fuck you corpo's have to do can wait until the lockd-" A pause, he looks Yasmin over more closely as if seeing her again for the first time. "...You're not wearing appropriate clothes for an attendant..." The genius murmurs before glancing at her hijab. "...Didn't one of the described escapees..."
BANG. One moment that genius soldier is quizzing Yasmin about her attire, attire that Miles had request she should remove, in fact, and the next he's been shot in the thigh. The initial shot is followed up by another, and another as Miles charges in closer to crash into the man, attempting to shove his gun up and into his own face. The attempt to turn the man's weapon against him is met with a snarl.
Ah, hell. Yasmin really should've taken the hijab off. Too late now; there's a single, startled moment of panic, and then - nope, whatever she'd planned to do is gone, because Miles just rushed the man. "/Don't get shot/," she hisses over at him - if they were trying to keep a low profile, that's probably gone down the drain now, because there's just been goddamn gunshots here. While Miles is attempting to tackle the soldier, she goes in for the radio instead, trying to get that out of his reach so reinforcements won't be called.
The shot is not the cleanest of hits - more scraping than piercing, but at this distance, it does the job of distracting him with the pain, at least. The second is a miss, the third hitting a leg as the soldier aims for Miles. Right as Miles crashes into the soldier, he lets loose, the loud sound of his machine gun letting its bullets ricochet off of the walls - and hitting one of the recreational submarines - before he lets go of his gun and instead tries to grapple Miles, without much success.
"I'm trying!" Miles barks back at Yasmin as he wrestles, and grapples against the soldier. The deputy may just be a mortal man, but he's fairly fit, and better yet, he actually knows how to throw a punch. Not being able to rely on super strength means you've gotta have technique instead, after all, right? Once the machine gun has been pulled out of the fight, thank god, Miles plucks his handgun gripping hand out of his jacket. There's a twist of the hips, and then he launches forward, using the weapon as a pair of knuckles as he tries to bash the soldier right in the kisser.
Aaaaand that's more noise. Yasmin winces, but hopefully she's managed to kick the radio away far enough that it won't find its way into the soldier's hands anytime soon. "People coming," she tells Miles, voice rife with panic. "We have to /go/," Except, no, they can't go because Miles is busy wrestling. There's a worried look back, and then she reaches for her knife, and slams the blunt hilt of it behind the soldier's neck with full force in an attempt to knock him out. Hopefully non-lethally.
Super or not, Miles packs a punch. Be it his strength, technique, the soldier's wounds, or sheer force of will, he's reeling under the pressure, barely managing to protect himself with his arms as Yasmin adds her own strength to the mixture - a sickening crunch, and he goes limp.
...Sleeping peacefully, right?
With the soldier downed by the force of teamwork, nothing is left keeping them from the submarine. Though time most certainly isn't on their side - with shouts heard from the hallways. People are closing - and fast.
"Yasmin Ahmed, I could kiss you!" Miles blurts out in relief as the pint-sized warrioress comes to his rescue. He doesn't even bother assuring her that it's just a saying this time, too busy moving. The man is pat down, machine gun and a magazine or two pinched from him before the deputy turns and darts over towards one of the submarines, following Yasmin' lead on this. Jolly cooperation is a hell of thing.
Upon reaching their escape vessel of choice, Miles flicks the automatic weapon toward the others, those with the glass windows. So delicate. It's with careful, measured shots (after reloading the weapon if need be) that Miles peppers each of them, attempting to shatter and break the other methods of chasing after them. Then he's leaping into the submarine, hoping that Yasmin has found a way to get it started.
"Shut up," Yasmin lingers just long enough to give the passed-out-and-definitely-not-dead man a pitying glance before it's her turn to do the manhandling - or womanhandling, as the case may be - and she reaches for Miles's sleeve again to pull him along. Certain death versus death trap machines? The submarines are looking very inviting right now. Definitely not going to go for any of the luxurious, fancy-looking ones they'd arrived in, though. No, she goes straight for the newest arrival, finding her way over to the one the backup soldiers had come through. It has to be sturdy, surely. The hatch /hopefully/ isn't any trouble, and she leaps through to figure out what the fuck one does with a submarine while Miles is taking his time sabotaging the rest of the death trap machines. It can't be that hard, right?
There's no satisfying explosions or shattering glass to reward Miles, but there seems to be some effects, at least - stars on windows, much like cars hit by a pebble. Strong glass. But still damaging to their structural integrity. Inside the submarine is a distinct lack of boxes compared to the other service sub, instead, the walls are... well, rusty. Not getting the same care as the service sub seen by the public. There's buttons and levers and a conspicuous lack of x-box controller in the submarine. Still, the basics seem simple enough - the engine, at least, starts with the simple turn of a knob from 'off' to 'on'. That steering is a lever opposed to a wheel, well...
As if on cue, the sound of gunfire can be heard, bullets bouncing of the submarine's metal hull.
"Jesus." Miles yips out in alarm as the bullets begin to ricohet off of the body of the submarine. Thank god Yasmin had chosen one that can handle a shot. He reaches up and tugs down the entry portal, sealing it shut and ensuring the vessel is sea-worthy. "Get us out of here, Yasmin!" He calls out, just in case she'd forgotten that was the goal.
"Do you think I know how to drive this thing?!" Yasmin yells back - she's trying her best, goddammit, brow furrowed in utmost concentration while she tries to give herself a quick crash course on submarine driving 101. This would be so much easier with an xbox controller. Still, the knob for the engine gets turned on, and Yasmin gets to messing with literally every other lever, knob, button, and everything in between she can find to get the thing moving.
Perhaps Miles shouldn't have left Yasmin on knob duty, given her apparent lack of experience. Har har. "Yes!" The fellow calls back at her, scrambling over to her side to try and assist. You know how men are. "You're studying at, like, Hogwarts crossed with Xavier's school! I figured you'd-" He just cuts the sentence off, shouting and snapping at one another isn't going to help. Instead he goes about trying to assist her, taking note of any changes that occur with each experimental touch and twist, while fishing around for an operating manual or something.
The thing starts moving alright - forwards, and right against the metal shroud of the resort, bouncing, down against a rather sharp cliff, making a screeching noise against the metal. A cliff Yasmin may remember the person who brought them here complaining about. The metal dents, then dents further...
Bending inwards with a nasty sound, as if about to break...
...And holding.
...Until, with the administration of the knobs, the ship turns just slightly, bouncing off of something else. The fatigued metal tears, water starts spraying into the submarineat high speed.
Yasmin's conjuration of fire /may/ have been just enough to cauterize a human being to a debatable degree of success, but it's /certainly/ not enough to weld together a whole ass submarine. "Fuck!" Yasmin says - Tomas has been a bad influence, and there she goes, more fiddling with the knobs. Miles is given a panicked nudge away from the knobs; girl needs to get experience somehow. He's given the task of finding out, instead: "Is there diving gear? Oxygen tank? /Anything/?"
"Couldn't you fir-" The question on Miles's lips is interrupted by Yasmin's cursing, and the nudge that follows. You know, she's got a good point though. The man darts away from the controls and starts going through any cupboards and lockers inside of the vessel, searching for breathing apparatus, or hell, wielding equipment.
As everyone knows, fiddling with the knobs solves issues. The submarine reels and lurches, pushing away from the docks at least, though going /down/ opposed to up. 160 feet.... 165...
The display seems to cap out at a red line - 200 feet, the needle making an unfortunate approach to it - best case, one of the levers in the wrong direction.
Worst case, the weight of the water.
There's no diving gear or oxygen tank for Miles' hands, there's a gun and what seems to be a rescue boat.
The water is slowly filling the device, now reaching above the ankles, spraying in more and more.
Levers, knobs, buttons. All of them, but slower this time. Yasmin is trying not to hyperventilate, and her hands are definitely shaking, but at least she's taking her time - at least five full seconds of it - after each pull of a lever, each press of a button, just to see what makes it go /up/ instead of down. She may also be quietly praying under her breath, so maybe she doesn't have that much faith in her piloting capabilities either. "Who even made this thing?! Aren't they supposed to be /safe/, oh God where's Mister Lowe when you need him for emergency management-" Okay so maybe her mind is wandering just a tad, but at least she's not given up hope yet. Nor has she noticed the rescue boat. Nope, she's instead hyperfocused upon the levers; one with a tag donating it as something to do with ballast gets pulled at some point.
"There's near nothing in here!" Miles calls back over to Yasmin, which probably isn't the news she was hoping for. At the least he tugs out the inflatable, sling it over his shoulder as he rushes over closer toward their brave pilot/driver/captain. "We just need to get up, as close as we can, to the surface. Worst case scenario?" Here comes his favourite phrase for this misadventure so far, "We gotta let it fill with water, open the top and swim out with the inflatable." A pause, "Can you swim?"
Another brief pause results in Miles's indicating at a lever with 'Pitch' titled upon it, "That's what they call it in planes, for the upping and downing!"
180
185
190
As Yasmin gets her free, practical course on submarine piloting, the numbers just seem to get worse and worse, mostly, with brief respites offering false hope.
195
198
198
"Balast" Seems to have been a key here, the depth stalling.
197
...Or improving, ever so slightly.
195
190
...
100
The water almost reaches to the knees now, the submarine struggling, even without its balance, to keep going up. Its speed stalling.
...balast
Pitch, balast, same thing really. "I can swim." Small mercies. Yasmin is watching the depth gauge with intense focus, and there's an effort made to take in a deep breath, despite that she's really, really struggling here. "The moment it starts going down, we take the boat," she points out to Miles, in case he's not watching it as intently as she is. "Deep breaths." She really needs to take her own advice.
"..Are you sure you can't squeeze a bit more out of it? Yards, feet, miles, or metres. One hundred is a lot, and Miles is just a wee little human. He stares at the controls, as if he might be able to wither them into functioning as intended. "How strong are you? Really? Yasmin? Please tell me you got a little Hercules in you." "
"..Are you sure you can't squeeze a bit more out of it?" Yards, feet, miles, or metres. One hundred is a lot, and Miles is just a wee little human. He stares at the controls, as if he might be able to wither them into functioning as intended. "How strong are you? Really? Yasmin? Please tell me you got a little Hercules in you."
There's certainly a lever named 'pitch' besides the one titled 'balast'.
80
The submarine has slowed to a crawl, but it's still going... for now. Even as its weight increases.
"What do you want me to do?! I can't just beat this stupid machine into going up," And whoops, she's lashing out again. Yasmin was never cut out to be a submarine pilot. There's another grab made for the levers; balast, pitch, they're all going down. Or up. Whichever direction makes the submarine float up instead of down, they're going that way, even as the water rapidly climbs to 'covering the controls' levels soon.
"No, no. No." There's a cold calm that creeps into Miles's tone. The stress has reached such a peak in the man that his adrenaline reserves must be running low. He reaches over to grasp at her shoulder, gently, "I'm asking, because there's a chance that when we try and leave this thing? It may be lights out for me. If the water comes in and punches me? I might be out. Hell, the sheer water pressure might knock me loose. I just need to know if I'd be a dead weight to you or not."
For a moment a quiet falls at Miles' words, the pitch lever seeming not to work as the submarine only wiggles ever so slightly, the knobs increasingly unresponsive as if making peace with its sure faith.
Then something changes, enough so disturb what may be an important conversation, a moment of heroism perhaps, even.
The pitch lever kicks in...
The submarine flips.
The back becomes the bottom, the top becomes the front becomes the top. Grafiti plays games as the weight of the water and the pitch cause the thrust to point straight down. It shakes the contents - and the unfortunate passengers around, before breaking the water's surface, falling flat, for a moment, sweet freedom in sight. A moment, before the submarine starts, slowly, sinking.
"No." Yasmin says in return, as stubborn as Miles is calm. That is to say, thinly veiled and the only thing keeping her from outright panic. "If we open it when the submarine is full of water and the pressure is equal to the outside, it will be fine. That is how physics works. We just have to /wait/--" There will be no waiting here.
Yasmin screams as gravity suddenly decides it doesn't want to play with them anymore - and hey, upside down time, Miles must be used to that, something something Australia joke - and she surfaces above the water level just for a second to suck in a lungful of breath before she's going for the hatch in an effort to pry it open - upside down means there's no water pressure that's going to be knocking Miles out, and she refuses to die here, dammit. They will have freedom or they will have... well... death.
"I'm just saying, if you have to choos-" The very brave and heroic words are swallowed up by chaos and water both, as the world goes topsy-turvy. Unfortunately, given that he's living in the northern hemisphere now, Miles hasn't brought his ground harness along - not that it would help in this particular case. The man curls into a man, protecting the important parts by covering his head with his arms as he's thrown about, and it's only when the sloshing and throwing has stopped that he pushes up to the surface, breaking it and sucking in his own lungful of breath.
Only then is Miles diving back under and toward Yasmin, eyes stinging in the assumed salt-water as he joins her, and grapples with the hatch - tucking the raft between his legs to free up his hands.
Should it open, he would have push, half drag Yasmin through first, and then pull himself after her.
The inflatable rat is pushed forward by Miles, and it's only when he and Yasmin have cleared the corpse of the flailing submarine that he shoves it toward her, extending a grip, and then tugs the cable that brings it to life.
Inflatable raft, rather. The inflatable rat isn't here, it's waiting back at Miles's place for Asad.
The hatch opens and...
Sweet air. Liberty. It doesn't take long to deploy the rescue boat and after a short wait, they find themselves brought in - by some of the very people who escorted out the wounded attendant, including Tomas.
Turns out, escaping the resort and finding land is one part - but finding the resort again in the open ocean is an entirely different sort of challenge.
As such they find themselves once more safe, and then once more on solid ground. The police, of course, is firmly in the pocket of these ne'er-dowells, though the FBI is far more interested in the matter. The Temple, of course, would be highly interested as well.
Whatever path is chosen, for today, they achieved what matters.
They lived.