4512/False Alarm

False Alarm
Date of Scene:	28 December 2020
Location:	Alleyways: Brooklyn
Synopsis:	Brunnhilde and Millicent find themselves in a Brooklyn back alley. They speak of Earth's ways in this modern age, warriors' deaths, and how to make a wage in this day and age. Brunnhilde generally annoys herself with her own morals.
Cast of Characters:	Millicent Keller, Brunnhilde

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Millicent Keller has posed:
    There are names you just don't invoke idly, which demand a proper bit of investigation. For instance the "Yellow King" really just is not a name you want to go dropping, especially not in some place quite as plugged in as New York. Yet within hours of some nutbar screaming about it, and muttering gibberish infront of witnesses? Yeah well word is everywhere, and the fact that the magically inclined initially fail to register the presence of such a powerful extradimensional entity just seems all the more worrisome.

    But dressed in a paper crown, and a brilliant yellow Hoody? Yep the dumbass in question lies slumped amidst a pile of cardboard boxes and empty gin bottles pilfered from the initial robbery, blissfully unaware of just the sort've heat he's potentially brought down on himself. You know, like otheworldly Fey champions in full plate armor.

    That'd be the "Free Lancer", arms folded as a gauntleted finger tap-tap-taps against her bone white armor. Nevermind the pole axe leaned back against her shoulder, still bearing the war torn dark blue ribbon of some obscure Fey nobility. She chances a glance after her watch, before giving a heaving sigh. "Yeah alright, not like I was doing anything important right?"

Brunnhilde has posed:
Brunnhilde is only dressed in the kind of 'armor' that tells people to eff off.  A scowl completes the look.  Normally she'd ignore such rumblings unless they were right in her face, obstructing her way home or to the bottle.  She's carrying one now in a brown bag, lubricating as she goes.

Brunnhilde almost passes right along, till she sees Millicent, her eyebrows lifting.  She looks down into the bottle, then sniffs it, then caps it before wandering down the alley.  She's in a black leather jacket with a zipper closure and a grey hoodie on underneath.

Brunnhilde clears her throat, lifting her chin to Millicent.  "This guy?"  She rolls her eyes.  She doesn't know this particular one, but aren't they just a dime a dozen in different guises.  "Can't even hold his liquor," she says with a measure of disdain.  "Nice pole axe."

Millicent Keller has posed:
    Full bone white plate isn't terribly common, the otherworldly script relief isn't exactly typical either of course. She swivels that close helm over towards Brunnhilde as soon as she speaks, leveling the silvery glow of her gaze for a moment before turning back to watch the drunkard. "Yes well Humans like to pretend they can hold their liqour, but as always it's nothing but boasting."Theres a little shrug at that, half stepping to one side to give Brunnhilde a bit more room, before parking an armored shoulder against the wall.

    "Still there's a chance the fool is channeling something, a weak mind is hardly that difficult to drive around."Theres a lazy gesture towards the bum before mention of her weapon distracts. "Oh, why thankyou. I had expected a bear fight in the alley here, but now I suppose it's just going to end up getting in the way."She gives the bone white weapon a little heft, before it's shape swiftly softens and it all but falls apart into a pair of foot long bone white "Needles" with a like blue ribbon run through the "eyelet".

    "I'm debating if I want to wait for him to wake up, or if I want to force the issue now and risk being vomited upon. I can't verywell just slay the fool without giving him an opportunity to defend himself, you know?"

Brunnhilde has posed:
If Brunnhilde gave a crap, maybe she'd actually /say/ something about the armor, but apparently one compliment is her quota for now, even if she's eyeing the script.  Nostalgia.  Armor.  She steps forward to gently nudge the guy's heel, but there is no response besides a snore.  At Millicent's word about humans, she looks back over her shoulder to Millicent.

The Chooser of the Slain turns more away from the man and toward Millicent.  Her eyes flick back to the script as she tries to place it with a squint.  "Yes.  It wouldn't be honorable.  You could poke him from afar?  I do not have your reach," and she clearly does not want to be thrown up on.  She will however step back, lean against the wall, and claim a swig of her drink.

"You are not from here," she comments discretely.

Millicent Keller has posed:
    "I spent a very long time away from home, so I suppose it's more out of time than out of place."Theres a soft little hum at that, and a tap-tap-tapping of a gauntlet against her breastplate. "it's all terrifically pedantic and silly, but suffice to say I found opportunities elsewhere. Unfortunately, my services are no longer required and the old neighborhood got strange in my absence."Which she offers with a lazy glance back towards Brunnhilde.

    "Sharp eye, and potentially well traveled. Not many know who made the armor, or remade me to make best use of it."gaze glowing softly somewhere behind that armored visor, but clearly locked onto Brunnhilde. Then after a moment, she extends an gauntlet. "They call me the Free Lancer these days, a pleasure to stumble into somebody so astute."

Brunnhilde has posed:
"I know the sentiment," of being away from home?  Out of time?  Brunnhilde does not clarify.  "I find things only get stranger with time," not that the woman seems to give a care in the world for time or things getting stranger.  The bottle comes down and she nods.

"Remade you?"  That discerning squint renews.  "Good to meet you.  Brunnhilde."  She does not reveal what others have called her, all of her given names or other things that would betray who she is.  However, for someone who is not advertising, she isn't hiding behind any magical concealments or anything.  "It is good to meet someone well traveled.  You have been here long?"

Millicent Keller has posed:
    "You can only be brought back from the dead so many times, before parts stop wanting to heal the way they should. As was custom at the time, I was given a spear and my freedom."Theres another little shrug after that. "So I slew a mighty beast, and used it to fix my broken parts. In time other parts of me would require the same treatment, until gradually there wasn't much left that I started with."And finally a raised gauntlet to tap at her helm. "Humanity is overrated."

    "Anywho well met Brunnhilde, it is indeed nice to speak to anyone around here who has a..."And a pause as she dips her gaze in thought "A more educated view of things. Feels like everyone's in a rush to frame everything in accordance with their religion, tend to stop listening when anything disagrees with their fiction."

Brunnhilde has posed:
"Yes," Brunnhilde acknowledges of resurrection as if she has some clue about it.  Something is working behind those dark brown eyes, as if something were being remembered.  "Hmm," she intones at Millicent's conclusion about humanity.  "That depends on what you consider to be humanity."

Brunnhilde herself is but a fiction, a myth forgotten for new Valkyrior and even those who have long forgotten their symbolism.  "You'll have a rough way of it if you're waiting for people to not be passionate about what brings them comfort or perceived significance...So what is your fiction?" she inquires, as if everyone has one.

Millicent Keller has posed:
    "My fiction?"She echoes softly before crossing her arms and dipping that visor oncemore in contemplation. "That I don't put on the armor, just because I like the violence? I mean these people think I fight for them, that I wouldn't go back in an instant if I could."And finally a shrug as she tucks her fingers behind that chestplate.

    "And what of you, if I may be so bold. Been a long time since I've run into a true stranger, and I mean it as a compliment of course."A little incline of the helm, albiet subtle. "Strange is good, and trust me I've spent a very long time in someplace -very- strange. Makes the heart yearn truly."

Brunnhilde has posed:
"They want saviors," Brunnhilde says with an efficiency that does not pull punches.  "You put on the armor for yourself."  Her demeanor isn't exactly warm or cold.  Barely checked into the conversation seems about right, but there's an overall jadedness that Brunnhilde does not try to hide.

"Mine is the bottle," Brunnhilde lifts the bag in a cheers to the other being.  "I am here to forget.  A blank brain till I am come for.  That is my fiction."  'Come for' seems to carry more weight than someone coming to call for a drink or to drag her home.

"What sort of strange are you into?" Brunnhilde inquires with a curious smirk.  This is way more entertaining than staring at the ceiling and drinking till her next job, wishing for something stronger.

Millicent Keller has posed:
    "They want something for free, which I refuse to grant them. Even if it's but a coin, I make them pay for my services. It's not about the price tag of course, it's about the fact that you can't get anything for free that's worth having these days."Theres a smirk perhaps under that helmet, but it's understandably tough to tell.

    "From the dangerous to the sublime, the curious and the romantic. Anything but more of.."She lifts a gauntlet, motioning broadly to the city in general "This unpleasant convention. Everyone's so obsessed with the plan, the order, the norm. They just plain refuse to entertain the strange, no matter how wonderful it may be."And a little roll of that helmet left to right. "Tell me if I'm being obtuse please, I've spent too long amongst these commoners and before that royalty. I'm afraid it's left me often times, oddly spoken."

Brunnhilde has posed:
"The only payment I am interested in keeps me in the drink," Brunnhilde admits with absolutely zero shame.  "Don't want anything more than that.  Everything else just comes with unwanted attention.  Like more people wanting you to do things for free."  It's a simple existence she seeks.  One of self-destruction.

"I am none of those," save for dangerous.  Brunnhilde shrugs.  "I'd be happy with a good fight," if one can call it happy.  At Millicent's apology, the Asgardian gulps down the rest of her bottle and tosses it at a dumpster behind her head.  "I wouldn't know."  She's intent on not revealing who she is, and the whole dance is something she could do in her sleep while dead drunk.

"So who do you work for usually?  I don't think this guy," Brunnhilde kicks the heel of the blackout drunk.  "They call you out this way?"

Millicent Keller has posed:
    "This was for me, not everyday you get to fight an elder god. Plus his presence would endanger what few joys this realm has on offer, fine dining, decent wine, trashy romance novels, all the good stuff really."Finally she rocks back onto her boots, glancing back down the alley towards the street. "I mean the guy supposedly wrecked Carcosa, so we can't have him loose here right?"

    "As for work, well people with more money than perspective have need of my services. It's terribly droll work, but it's better than consorting with the common low born milling about. They find some sense of importance as a result of my presence, and I make sure they pay dearly for it. I'd originally hoped they might warrant my services in a real way, but most banditry seems to be amongst the poor. Too much low hanging fruit for the clever ones I suspect, alls the more pity really."Theres a little shrug there as she half turns to lean her back against those course bricks. "Yourself, I trust you've found something to keep you in the drink?"

Brunnhilde has posed:
"He's not my problem.  I don't get paid for that," Brunnhilde says with a little smirk, her words half true and half not.  "I live in Hell's Kitchen," as if this fool 'king' is no concern of hers.  "Besides.  I think he stopped breathing from alcohol poisoning."  Who knows.  How does she know from there?  Not her problem right?

"I have my ways of keeping myself in drink.  They might not be as pretty, glamorous, and droll as yours."  Maybe they are.  Maybe she's just drinking bottom shelf liquor.  "Why not find more strange work?"

Millicent Keller has posed:
    "A distinct lack of fucks on my part, and sufficient funds to outweigh the irritation on theirs. I'm sure you've seen it, but almost all of these caped saviors are nothing more than enthusiastic amateurs. I didn't fight for as long as I have, just for some amateur hour weekend warrior mortal to second guess my use of force."she sweeps a gauntlet out, as if shooing capes away would have any effect. "These people still think it's better to lock these bandits up, only for them to escape a hundred times and cause more havoc. As if it's some great leap in logic to simply put fools to the sword, and grant them the warrior's death they are so obviously seeking."

    And finally a groan enough for her to bunch of her shoulders in disgust. "As if it's somehow kinder to refuse to let somebody seek death on their own terms. It's enough to make me gag, and I frankly have no tolerance for the pedantic charades they insist are some flavor of justice. They'd rather dress as carnival clowns and beat people into a wheel chair, pretending they have some great moral high ground all the while. Goodness it's enough to give even me a thirst for drink."

Brunnhilde has posed:
"Yes.  Well they have hardly had your advantages of experience.  Children do not know what they do not know and they are hardly the first ones to admit or see that.  It takes time to gain wisdom, which most do not have."  Brunnhilde says with a shrug.  "Each will have their time come."  She sounds most certain of this.

"A warrior's death...is earned by the slain, not by the slayer," Brunnhilde says definitively, unable to help herself.  She wears a small tension in her lips, disgust at her own morality drawing her back into such business, even in conversation.  But she does nod to what Millicent says next.  "Fate will find a warrior either way, always at the right time.  You should not question their kindness.  It will not keep the chosen from their fate.  If they are a true warrior, they will find a warrior's death.  The kind ones will not thwart that, no matter their hubris."  The beats of time seem to make no difference to this woman, if that is what she is.  "You are not wrong, but I think you could do with some drink yourself.  If you want one, come find me in Hell's Kitchen."  There's an up-nod to Millicent before she walks off, pulling a flask out of her jacket as she disappears around the corner.