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Private Dance of the Dead (Drop)

Futaba Sakura

Ark City
Female (she/her)
Game designer- Alibaba Productions
Chaotic Neutral
Relationship Status
August 8, Year 109
@Lelouch vi Britannia

Saturday night, nearly midnight, and the club was just starting to hit its stride. Loud music, lots of flashing lights, people dancing or moving around and trying to find something or other that only they knew about- a date, drugs, a drink or a bathroom- in a recognized, unquestioned kind of chaos that came with the locale. If you knew how to navigate it with half a brain then you could get away without being noticed, just as long as you were a part of the scene rather than sticking out like a sore thumb.

Futaba was not here for the rave, even if the aesthetic was really right up her alley. Too many strangers, a lot of enclosed spaces to get pinned if you weren't familiar with the building- which is why she'd always done her research very thoroughly. CCTV could tell you a lot, so could building plans, and she'd done that before the first time she'd come in. Now that she'd done several dead drops within this very club (known as Stigmata) she'd gotten into a groove and could fit right in.

The outfit really helped. The usual boots, a appropriately suitable dress, hair up in two funbuns under the cropped galaxy-pattered hoodie over the top; it helped her look her age and fit in all the better for it. She'd even done makeup and when the blacklight-reactive colors flashed the effect diffused her features so they'd be harder to recognize. It was almost like having a mask, but not nearly as obvious as wearing one of those in here. Oh, she could have if she'd wanted, but 'short girl dressed as a Jawa' seemed to stick in people's heads.

Besides, she didn't have to do this entire thing for long, just enough to get the flashdrive dropped into the designated location and slip right back out. The customer was a new one, someone she hadn't seen haunting the darker corners of her web before, but they'd been willing to pay in the ways she was asking and honestly she was a little intrigued on the subject matter. Blackmail materials on different politicians, statistics for random things, financials. If they'd waited a few weeks she might have had that stuff in a general file haunting a forum but hey, if they wanted to pay for it, fine. She'd let them.

Scooting walking along the pathways that naturally developed along the edges of the dance floor she made her way to a small seating area. Old leather couches with rips and tears, a coffee table that at least a thousand people must have stood on, sat on or done kinky stuff alllll over, a rug that was nearly as hard as tile. She passed them, heading instead to the fire alarm box, bright red paint on the side scratched by all kinds of half-heartedly destructive people. Pulling out the drive, she stuck it between the box and the wall, covering her actions by leaning there as though fixing the tongue of her boots.

It took a second, and she was fast and sneaky- a credit to the Phantom Thieves. With that done, she turned without looking back, vaguely swaying along with the Kidneythieves song on the sound system, and started to head out through the passages in the crowd, glancing back once in awhile to see if she could catch a glimpse of whoever was coming to collect the information.

Some Phantom Thieves habits never really died. Even if they were more trouble than they were worth.
Chaotic Good
This was not the way Lelouch would have chosen to spend his Saturday night, but to the curious eye, he would have looked right at home. Lelouch was no stranger to eclectic outfits, even if Britannian fashion had been far stuffier than what people wore to these sorts of events. Tonight, he’d donned a suitably absurd top with leather pants and gloves. Behind opaque goggles, his Geass remained unfettered. Just in case. Of course, he’d likely have to rid himself of this entire outfit once he got home (Euphemia would be far too suspicious if she ever found it), but he doubted he’d have use for it again anyway.

Lelouch ghosted through the crowd with deft precision as the bass rumbled through the marrow of his bones. The press of bodies coupled with the sweet-smelling smoke was near suffocating in some areas, but Lelouch had eyes only for the destination. His pre-planned route had so far proved uneventful, leading him around the main throng of dancers and lounge areas. No one seemed to pay him any mind.

Dead drops were not usually his style. Geass had proved quite handy for those sorts of exchanges during the Black Rebellion, given that one party had no memory of the drop ever occurring. Requisitioning the dark web meant that there was no opportunity for him to cover his tracks that way – Lelouch figured he was probably the exact type of person internet anonymity was designed to protect against. But even this Alibaba was taking a risk by coming here, assuming they didn’t send a proxy. Lelouch himself kept to the arrangements they’d made, and though he’d been sorely tempted to arrive earlier to observe, he figured he already had enough problems without needlessly provoking the spiders that lurked in dark corners.

This move was, in part, to gain his bearings. As vulnerable as he felt weaving through a crowd of drug-addled twenty-somethings, his entire situation in Pandora was far worse. Successful or otherwise, the Zero Requiem had succeeded in gaining Lelouch a significant amount of notoriety in his home world and anyone familiar with his reign would likely style themselves his enemy. He couldn’t fault them, of course, but Lelouch still preferred to keep his enemies in plain view. That was where the information came in. Though he’d asked for a wide sampling, and in truth Lelouch was seeking very specific data from amongst that set. If there were any traces of former allies or errant siblings, he needed to know about them, particularly if they had a hand in politics. As a secondary goal, he could hopefully glean something about the government in this place. Lelouch loathed flying blind. He needed to know what he was dealing with as soon as possible.

The song changed to something Lelouch didn't recognize as he meandered toward the designated spot, seamlessly incorporating the substance-induced sway he’d seen in so many of Stigmata’s patrons so far. He leaned against the wall for a brief moment, as if regaining his bearings. This was the fire alarm, right? It had certainly seen better days. Lelouch was left wondering if it even worked at this point – not a comforting thought. But the drive was there, as promised, wedged between the wall and the box. Lelouch collected it in a single, smooth gesture, tucking it away into a pocket as he feigned steadying himself on the wall. A quick glance around revealed no immediately obvious observers, but from here on out, he’d have to assume that he was being watched.

His exit was to be the exact opposite of his entrance. Instead of skirting the crowds, Lelouch weaved right toward the dance floor. A tail likely would be unable to follow him through that mess, and then he’d be free to take one of the quieter exits that dumped into an adjacent alley. But this was exactly when the air seemed to turn sour. The shift was palpable in the movements of the crowd, the pulse of people somehow all being pushed back toward the center of the club. There was a disquieted murmur building under the continued music – something had changed. Lelouch thought he spotted the reason at the club’s entrance. New shapes began to move through the haze, too deliberate to be partygoers.

Lelouch found himself backtracking, disentangling from the crowd and regrouping back at the firebox. Gone were all pretenses of inebriation – from behind mirrored glass of his costume, he surveilled the room, trying to decide which of the exits were the least likely to be blocked off at this point.
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Justin McCay VERSUS Luke Skywalker:
Pinder, schminder. People should just stick with archery contests, and base all future dates on the results.
All of ya deserve love. Don't forget that. Even the skeleton fella who yells at cats and then laughs to himself
WHAT!? YOU NAMED THE AMPHITHEATER AFTER ATHENA!? But she's not even an artist! She's a boring stick in the mud! What do you do there? Watch old women weave all day? This is egregious! Egregious I tell you!
Hello mortals! It was a beautiful day today wasn't it? I know. I know. No need to thank me. But you're welcome anyways. ;)

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