sleep. They’d be able to incarcerate him and then identify additional charges later without fear that the suspect would pull a Stark and vanish.
The house was bursting with light, and loud music accompanied by a steady percussive beat greeted their approach. A burly man stood near the door holding a clipboard. His posture and build suggested that he wasn’t a man to trifle with. His gaze, a condescending sneer, suggested the man wasn’t impressed by the four relatively short men of lean builds. “Names?”
“We have some already, thanks,” Porthos said, and made as if to walk by the man and into the house.
The man’s arm shot up, barricading the door. “Only those invited may enter. Mr. Jones has made it clear that others are not permitted on the premises this evening.”
“And why would we be here if not invited?” Porthos asked. “This is not exactly a place you’d find by accident, is it?” As he spoke, he seeped Energy into the man, Energy that said that the four men were special guests of Mr. Jones, and should be allowed inside immediately and without incident.
“No, I suppose not,” the man replied. He looked at them with interest. “Mr. Jones did mention he had four special guests tonight who would not be on my list. I suspect that must be the four of you.”
“That’s us,” Porthos said, smiling. The other Hunters tried to look as if this was no surprise to them. The Assassin merely looked at the guard.
“Go on in, gentlemen,” the guard said, pushing the door open. “Do enjoy yourselves. And, sir?” He tapped The Assassin on the shoulder as the man passed. “That’s an incredible costume. It genuinely makes me fear for my life. Very nice makeup work with the scars.”
Aramis and Athos each took an arm and led The Assassin inside, before the killer demonstrated to the guard just how appropriate his fear was.
As Porthos had predicted and the line of cars outside had suggested, the inside of the house was packed with humans, all chatting amiably and loudly amidst the deafening music. Many were making strange movements that seemed coordinated in some fashion. “I fear they’re on to us,” Athos said into his communication device. “The movements appear to be a prelude to an attack.”
Porthos barely stifled a laugh. “It’s called dancing , you idiot! It’s something done for recreation and enjoyment. I have a dictionary back at the hotel if you need to look any of those words up.”
Aramis’ face betrayed a look of horror. “They must be violating a rule or a law somehow in doing this,” he hissed into his communicator. “We should look that up and…”
“Do nothing,” Athos said. “Humans being humans is not a crime, despite what The Assassin might think.” He glanced around, having noticed that The Assassin had left their group, until he spotted the killer standing on one of the steps leading to the upper floor, his blood-red eyes scanning the crowded entry floor for his target. “We need to find Clint, jab him, and then leave.”
“The party’s just started though,” Porthos said. “If we stay, we don’t have to wait to come back, and…”
“Jab and go, Porthos.”
“Right.” Porthos’ tone was sullen. “I’d suggest we split up and approach our friend separately. Don’t follow me.” And the Hunter merged into the crowd and began weaving through. Athos thought he’d spotted Clint already, but Porthos was actually making a direct route toward a beautiful redhead. Athos sighed, then glanced at Aramis. “You go next. Porthos, keep us posted on your progress.”
“I haven’t talked to her yet.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Right, right. Your friend is on the opposite side of the room from me.”
Athos and Aramis both looked, and spotted Clint talking to a small crowd of men and women. He was deeply engaged in the conversation with the humans, which baffled the Hunters. Such actions with lesser beings couldn’t help
The house was bursting with light, and loud music accompanied by a steady percussive beat greeted their approach. A burly man stood near the door holding a clipboard. His posture and build suggested that he wasn’t a man to trifle with. His gaze, a condescending sneer, suggested the man wasn’t impressed by the four relatively short men of lean builds. “Names?”
“We have some already, thanks,” Porthos said, and made as if to walk by the man and into the house.
The man’s arm shot up, barricading the door. “Only those invited may enter. Mr. Jones has made it clear that others are not permitted on the premises this evening.”
“And why would we be here if not invited?” Porthos asked. “This is not exactly a place you’d find by accident, is it?” As he spoke, he seeped Energy into the man, Energy that said that the four men were special guests of Mr. Jones, and should be allowed inside immediately and without incident.
“No, I suppose not,” the man replied. He looked at them with interest. “Mr. Jones did mention he had four special guests tonight who would not be on my list. I suspect that must be the four of you.”
“That’s us,” Porthos said, smiling. The other Hunters tried to look as if this was no surprise to them. The Assassin merely looked at the guard.
“Go on in, gentlemen,” the guard said, pushing the door open. “Do enjoy yourselves. And, sir?” He tapped The Assassin on the shoulder as the man passed. “That’s an incredible costume. It genuinely makes me fear for my life. Very nice makeup work with the scars.”
Aramis and Athos each took an arm and led The Assassin inside, before the killer demonstrated to the guard just how appropriate his fear was.
As Porthos had predicted and the line of cars outside had suggested, the inside of the house was packed with humans, all chatting amiably and loudly amidst the deafening music. Many were making strange movements that seemed coordinated in some fashion. “I fear they’re on to us,” Athos said into his communication device. “The movements appear to be a prelude to an attack.”
Porthos barely stifled a laugh. “It’s called dancing , you idiot! It’s something done for recreation and enjoyment. I have a dictionary back at the hotel if you need to look any of those words up.”
Aramis’ face betrayed a look of horror. “They must be violating a rule or a law somehow in doing this,” he hissed into his communicator. “We should look that up and…”
“Do nothing,” Athos said. “Humans being humans is not a crime, despite what The Assassin might think.” He glanced around, having noticed that The Assassin had left their group, until he spotted the killer standing on one of the steps leading to the upper floor, his blood-red eyes scanning the crowded entry floor for his target. “We need to find Clint, jab him, and then leave.”
“The party’s just started though,” Porthos said. “If we stay, we don’t have to wait to come back, and…”
“Jab and go, Porthos.”
“Right.” Porthos’ tone was sullen. “I’d suggest we split up and approach our friend separately. Don’t follow me.” And the Hunter merged into the crowd and began weaving through. Athos thought he’d spotted Clint already, but Porthos was actually making a direct route toward a beautiful redhead. Athos sighed, then glanced at Aramis. “You go next. Porthos, keep us posted on your progress.”
“I haven’t talked to her yet.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Right, right. Your friend is on the opposite side of the room from me.”
Athos and Aramis both looked, and spotted Clint talking to a small crowd of men and women. He was deeply engaged in the conversation with the humans, which baffled the Hunters. Such actions with lesser beings couldn’t help
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