pattythepider | Mission Objective: RETRIEVE THE KEY!

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Mission Objective: RETRIEVE THE KEY!

The forest is thick and dark, tall trees stretching towards the heavens and cloaking out most of the light. Vines wrap around the trunks and hang from branches, draping across pathways that get lost in the undergrowth. Fanged deer scatter at the sight or sound of someone approaching, and in the distance, frogs can be heard accompanied by the sound of water.

On one of the more traveled and thus clearer paths runs the spider thief, a bronze key held triumphantly over his head while he charges off deeper into the trees. His pace is relaxed, but eager, and it's quite clear that he's on a quest to get to... somewhere.

Unaware of Isabel's request for the key to be retrieved, the spider scampers along the path, not trying too hard to hide. Besides, isn't everyone in the castle having fun with all his spider friends?

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"Shit--!"

And this would probably serve as a lesson to wear his damned helmet into battle more often. He'd snapped around at Shepard's command, only to get a face full of... whatever that was. He struck at the attacker a little blindly, trying to hit it with the butt of his rifle.

Gunshots rang out. Then his limbs began to go stiff.

Crap.

Garrus hit the ground, suddenly unable to move.

Shepard's aim was impeccable. Vines broke. Stalks snapped under the clumsy blows from Garrus's rifle. But it was only a little plant and the pollen's paralysis would last only minutes. It could not waste a meal now that the meal was down. As the pollen began to disperse, the plant surged toward Garrus's exposed face.

There was a distant rustling in the undergrowth on either side of the path.

Crap. Crap.

He struggled, as best he could, twisting, or, trying to twist, his face out of the thing's path. Maybe if he could get it to hit the damaged side of his face -- the side still covered in synthetic protection -- it would be less of a problem.

And hell, could a plant even get through turian scales?

Shepard's shottie would like to know where the plant thinks it's going.

Another boom seemed to split the air itself in half. This time she didn't give it the chance to recover and dive at Garrus; one hand fastened onto his armor's hard plating and dragged him out of range, her other returning the gun to its slot, and then she was grabbing him by his waist and throwing the taller male over her shoulder.

Thank Cerberus for refusing to let her body stay broken, and enhancing it with cybernetics. These assets plus her hardsuit's synthetic amplifications and she was set to haul ass whilst carrying an armored turian fireman-style.

And there she goes after Patrick at a decent lope.

In the distance but visible through the trees runs Patrick, clearing the entrance stairs to a rather large tower in a single leap and dashing towards the doors. The key in his grasp glints in the sunlight before it vanishes into the shade.

The spider stops, web shooting at one of the doors to pull it open enough for him to get inside. Once open, he dashes in. The inside of the tower is mostly wooden, a stone floor beneath and a large, open theater on show. Rows of wooden seats line the room, all facing a finely carved stage.

He probably shouldn't have been at all surprised to be hauled to his feet -- and, in a sense, he wasn't. What did surprise him was being tossed over her shoulders. If the crew ever saw this one...

But then they were moving, after their target. And as they went, feeling began to return to his limbs. Huh. Just a quick tranquilizer then. Either that, or maybe the dosage hadn't been able to compensate for alien systems. Whichever. It didn't matter. By the time Shepard hauled enough ass to make it to the building, he was making a game attempt to get down.

"I'm fine," he said. "We're clear."

After the whole fiasco, if she was in shape to do so, Shepard would apologize to him for the spectacular indignity. Right now they had the pressing matter of retrieving the key -- and finding out why the staff thought it was so important -- and she latched onto it resolutely.

She let Garrus down from his perch in front of the tower stairs, grunting. "It might have more friends inside, so watch your six."

As her plated legs cleared every two steps her hands busied themselves snagging the modded Collector rifle and brought it in an about-face. She clicked the flashlight to 'on' and the beam poked through the open doorway first, swinging left and right on entry. Talk about ye olde entertainment. Where had the damn spider gotten to?

A large red curtain hung on either side of the stage but save for a sealed trapdoor on it's floor, the stage itself was clear. Props scattered off to the sides, hidden in the wings but evidently not used for some time. Dust covered the wooden floor, disturbed only by the scurrying steps of a cat-sized spider.

The spider himself was nowhere to be seen, the only trace of him being there aside from the disturbed dust being a string of thick silvery web that ran from stage floor up to the platform above.

Off to either side of the stage, past the painted shrubs and pretend swords and whatever else had once been used in performance, were two thin railed spiral staircases leading to the upper level.

He'd complain later, after they'd completed their mission -- in one way or another. It wasn't exactly important now, since he could walk, and they were still on the hunt. He grabbed up the assault rifle, and took his position behind her, just to the right.

"Got it, Shepard."

He paced beside her, in silence, his scanning the area in front of him. No heat signatures. No movement. They seemed to be utterly alone. Which meant...

"Stairs," he said, shortly. "Must have gone that way."

"Feels like a damn mousetrap."

Her jaw tightened. They weren't doing this for the sake of the Keep staff. It didn't matter how the whole scenario stank like a ripe elcor carcass. They started this and they were going to finish it.

Shepard caught Garrus' attention, nodding at the staircase but flashing him the signal to stay put and provide cover. If anything came down via web or otherwise that wasn't her, she trusted him to deal with it.

Two steps every bound, just like before. Her flashlight cleared the upper level a split second before her helmet did, to see what waited for the marine, for better or for worse.

Edited 2011-04-24 22:36 (UTC)

The upper platform was dark but still lit enough to make out the dim outline of the spider fidgeting at the front of a large box... or was it a chest?

When Shepard appeared, the spider froze and turned it's many eyes to stare. A moments pause and it's back into action, frantically trying to fit the bronze key into a silver lock.

Oh dear... It doesn't seem to be working.

While 'mousetrap' needed some explanation in its entirety, 'trap' certainly didn't. He nodded to her, his grip on his rifle tightening. There really didn't seem to be anything in this place -- but, then again, there hadn't seemed to be anything in the forest, either.

Garrus stepped closer to the stairs, putting his back to it while Shepard climbed. He'd stay put, as ordered, guarding her retreat.

Poor, poor Patrick.

Shepard didn't waste a second before opening fire and closing in. Luckily for the spider, she went for his legs and not the bulk of his body. Better to destroy his mobility than to hope her weakened bullets were deadly enough to take him out of the picture when she already knew they could snap perfectly solid tree branches.

The blast was enough to fling him back, legs three more of his eight legs snapping at the impact. Patrick the spider rolled, key slipping from his grasp and dropping to the floor in front of the chest. While still alive, his body coiled into a ball, twitching and writhing with pain. If a spider could scream, he would be.

Fearful eyes glanced to Shepard and he gave one final attempt at escape, front legs stretching to try and drag himself away. He no longer seemed to care about the key, or the chest.

Patrick's remaining legs trembled, the over-sized spider's escape foiled by the extent of his injuries. Defeated, he fell silent and still, only able to watch Shepard for her next move.

Gunshots... and silence. Since the spider hadn't been carrying a firearm -- and thank everything for that -- it had to be Shepard. There were a couple thumps. No voices.

So... was that good or bad? Had she got the thing? Or...?

He took a couple steps up the staircase, alternating between craning his neck upward, and scanning the area around him. "Status?" he called up.

The spider was alarmingly pathetic. If he hadn't almost gotten her squadmate into a very tight spot, she might have softened up a little.

As it were her rifle and light stayed trained on him as she approached his prone form... and the key laying so close. "Fine for now."

That couldn't be the end of the mission. Things never went smoothly, there was always a discrepancy, a random factor, something unaccounted for that couldn't have been foreseen. Shepard's gut did not like how easy this was. Her helmet and hardsuit weren't going anywhere.

Her fingers wrapped around the key, and she made to step away.

Pathetic? Perhaps if Shepard had the majority of her limbs snapped in two she might seem a little pathetic as well.

Part of him hoped that if she took the key, she would leave him alone. The other figured that if she'd gone as far as to shoot him when he'd done nothing to her, then perhaps she wasn't very kind at all. If he was going to die, then he would go down with a fight.

As Shepard moved to stand, Patrick jerked, opened his mouth and shot a spray of hot acid at her, the corrosive liquid strong enough to eat through even the toughest armor. He cared not if he died after that, the knowledge that he fought back at least a little enough for Patrick to rest easy.

Shepard could be kind, but she had little choice here other than to sit back and let events pass her as they would. That was not in her nature, and it allowed scant room for luxuries like mercy and kindness. She had been given no incentive to put down her weapon-- chance encounters dictated she do the exact opposite.

So she took the acid to her visor. The hissing alone gave her the warning she needed to drop the rifle and key and scramble to unhook her helmet before the substance reached her unguarded skin. It popped off with a gasp, but the tiniest, hair-thin streak of acid found the Commander's cheek.

It hurt like a mother, but Shepard controlled her shouting after the barest hint of a yell choked up her throat. The corroding helmet got tossed at Patrick to create a diversion while she stooped for her gun and the prize she'd hunted Patty for, whipping about and bull-charging down the stairwell.

"Garrus, we go now!" The hand holding the key fumbled to secret it somewhere safe, that she might have a free hand to apply medi-gel to the searing pain in her face.

There was no need to tell him twice. Shepard said move, so he moved. His strides practically devoured the ground, sprinting for the exit. He didn't ask why they were moving -- doing that wasted breath and distracted from the actual moving. He could ask questions once they'd hit a relatively safe point.

So he ran. He ran for the door with his rifle at the ready, and his eyes front. He trusted her to be right behind him. If she fell behind, or needed him, she'd shout again.

The advantage of working with a partner you knew so well.

The forest outside was utterly still. Not a single leaf twitched. It was as though the foliage itself were holding its breath. Some ways down the path, a small shrub lay where it had been left, half-crushed and forlorn. Of its parasitic nature, it gave no sign and none like it had appeared. The way was clear, clear and silent.

The key went down the front of her armor and stuck in the space between her collar and the slots for her breasts. If anyone other than her made a grab for it they'd have a hell of a time doing so.

Shepard ran with adrenaline and pain fueling every stomp of her boots. She smeared medi-gel on the area of her skin afflicted by the spider's acid and had she not been bolting, would've sighed in relief as the score went numb. Medi-gel neutralized any laceration, any corrosive liquid. Scarring was likely, but she'd deal.

Her rifle she brought up in front of her chest, teeth gritting. She continued to run.

He glanced back only once -- only after checking that the immediate space in front of him was clear. He got a brief glimpse of Shepard applying something to her face, probably medi-gel, before he kept on sprinting.

They were both soldiers. Moving at a good clip, with plenty of rest and fuel to burn -- so to speak -- they'd probably get to the keep before they knew it. He was dying to know what had happened up there, but until they were literally out of the woods, he knew better than to chit-chat. He had to save his breath for running, after all.

Nothing pursued them. Nothing barred their way. There were no deer, no pigeons, not so much as a loose stone.

Only when the trees began to thin and the underbrush give way did a low hush begin to crest behind them. The rattling, sighing breath of a thousand leaves in motion rose louder and louder though there was no wind to accompany it.

And then as swiftly as it had risen, the sound died away, retreating back into the stillness and the undergrowth as though there had been nothing there at all.

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Mission Objective: RETRIEVE THE KEY!

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