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| - Shamus blinked and stared at the three boxes of .38 shells, his mind immediately shovelling away the questions that popped up. I dun wanna know... Instead, he pocketed the boxes as best he could, slipping the revolver back into his pocket snugly, then turned to examine the weapons Trick had left for them to pick and choose between. He took the remaining M1 Garande wthout hesitation, and then considered a second gun. He considered the AiA for a minute, but discarded the idea. A smaller version of the Garande, and though it had a larger clip, it traded out stopping power. Besides, he already had the Garande, why grab a smaller faximile? Instead he reached for one of the EM2 Bullpups, examining it. Nice and compact, the assault rifle provided stopping power and a spray capability the M1 couldn't even dream of. Taking it too, he left the AiA and the last Bullpup for Trick's Da. Starting up the engine, he turned to look at the elder man, and frowned, trying to remember. "I r'member where abouts...but not exactly where per sae...can ya give d'rections when we get in the general area?" He asked, already pulling away from the curb after he had checked for traffic.
* Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Wed Sep 07, 2005 9:49 am "It's on Elgin and Pembroke," he said with a grunt a polished his port. Somewhat peeved by Patrick's silence, he turned around again, staring down his son. "You got somethin' to say, lad? Well, get it out there, then. Lot of good it is keepin' yer gots in a knot." It would only be ten minutes before the car pulled up to the American Embassy. A nondescript, two-story building stood before them. It was in dire need of remodeling, however, the need for an embassy was very minor in this part of the world, considering all of the efforts in Berlin, Israel and elsewhere. The building looked quiet, yet secure. A ten-foot fence guarded the parameter. Inside, the bottom floor had its lights on, but the top floor looked dark. There was a main public entrance, that was likely locked, a fire escape on the side wall and a garage around back. No guards were posted, but it was certain the grounds were being watched somehow. Lighting a cigarette the elder Owens paused to think and then shrugged, "Supposin' the fire escape is our best bet, 'lessen you want to jest drive through the front door."
* Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Tue Sep 20, 2005 4:42 pm Patty was pretty sure the three of them were headed into the realm of someone not making it back, and he was straight pissed at being lied to. The yanks were lucky Stephen had killed them without knowing the score, and especially lucky Patrick himself hadn't found them. There was so much between his father and him, and perhaps so little time left. "Look, Da...I did what I had to do in self defense, and I thought that you were in trouble. A yank started shooting at me, so I popped him one in the head to keep from getting murdered and suddenly I'm an international assassin, right. Da, these guys are with the church, and I'm thinking of taking up in it after this. I want to meet the pope, but I'll be back to the Ire in due time. "Right, so the fire escape it is. Let's keep this as quiet as possible, maybe we can catch them off guard." Trick didn't want to speak again, he needed all of his concentration, they were pulling a high profile smash and grab operation. Any americans who were a threat could be put down, and as far as Patty was concerned, they could all just get the feck off the island and out of europe. The war was over, they could go away now.
* Author: Myth, Location: Salem, OR PostPosted: Sun Nov 20, 2005 9:29 pm As Pat's Da mentioned it, it clicked in his head and he knew exactly where to go. He listened to Pat and his Da say their pieces, tempted to throw in his own lot. In the end though Shamus decided against it for now, and instead said little as he drove, letting father and son work out their obvious differences. He grit his teeth, as he was hearing some of this for the first time himself, but tried not to let it show on his face. Instead, he continued to drive on to where Pat's Da had told them to go. As he pulled up to the building, he said his own piece. "Look, m' first obligation is ta me Da, but af'er that, I'm followin' Pat, wherever he goes. I haven't had a decent chance ta show 'im up yet, and the Good Lord knows he be needin' someone to put in his place every once in a while." He turned back and grinned to Pat, winking once. He knew it wasn't his place to say, but he just didn't want there to be any question where he stood. As he listened, though, his mind switched to 'tactical' mode, and he began to consider options in regards to the building. Fire escape, or bust down the doors. Not that he didn't like the idea of busting down a door or two, but the fire escape had a better chance of survival, and thus success. Hard though it might be to believe, Shamus did have every intention of coming away from this with his life intact. So, He slung the bullpup over his shoulder, figuring it better saved for when facing prepared opponents, and he deftly wielded the M1 Garande for the meantime for percision shots, when he could take his time. Actually, the .38 was better for percision, but he could hardly run around with just a revolver in hand with two rifles as 'back-up'. That in and of itself was a rediculous notion. So, in the end, the Garande it was. "Alright, so we use th' fire 'scape. But how do we get past th' fence?" He gazed at it with an annoyed look on his face, as though he couldn't be bothered with such trifling matters as a ten-foot fence. "Did any of ya remember to bring yer spare mountain climbin' equipment?" There was no small amount of dark humor and mild sarcasm in the words, but they weren't meant to be biting, just slightly frustrated.
* Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Tue Nov 22, 2005 5:12 pm Shamus earned a look that was near comical from Owens Senior. Obviously wishing he had more port, he cracked his neck and turned around crawling behind the back seat. Returning with wire cutters, he said, "Right." Leading the pack over to the fence he skillfully snapped it open enough for them to crawl through. In a few steps they arrived at the fire escape. Just above, they could see guards for the first time, patrolling at the top of the building. Only their shadows let on they were there and it was unclear as to how many there were. Standing in thought for a moment, he whispered, "We need someone to get away from here and distract them and I ain't doing it."
* Author: Myth, Location: Salem, OR PostPosted: Tue Nov 22, 2005 8:17 pm 'Distract'. Everyone knew what it really meant was 'decoy', which translated into 'lower chance of survival then everyone else'. However, it was his father, who they were troubling themselves to help, and he was willing to bet he'd had more pratice with a gun then Patty...it had been a serious focus of his since he'd left, after all. "Alright," He muttered, a dark expression on his face, "I'll do it. You two make sure ya get him and get him outta here, unnerstand?" He gazed up at the roof, then at the fire escape. Distraction...he needed something that would gather their attention that wasn't near the fire escape, nor near their escape, the car. As he considered the situation, his mind analyzed the opposing side of the building. If crap hit the fan he'd be under heavy surpressive fire, that much was blinking obvious. These were the Americans, and they had long-since proven themselves to be quite trigger-happy. The garage. Shamus smiled as he turned to face the elder Owens, holding out his hand. "Gimme yer lighter." To boot, he worked his way back to their getaway vehichle, and pulled the sheet that had been used to hold the guns. He tore them into strips, a frown crossing his face. It was then he had wished he'd either kept the port, or his uncle's flask. It didn't matter, he'd make do. If he was lucky, one of the tanks would be overfull or near the top, and he could dip them then. If not...well, he'd still need to figure something out, but he trusted his own sense of innovation. He wasn't booksmart, but he could think on the fly. As he made his way back towards the group with the strips of cloth, he looked to the pair of Owens, hoping they could set aside their differences long enough to save his Da. "Gimme a few minutes. You'll likely hear an explosion, and as soon as the guards on the roof go runnin', that'll be yer cue." That said, he then moved off, making slow progress, circling around the back of the building to the garage, being slow and careful to not be caught or spotted as he moved, Garande in hand.
* Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Sun Nov 27, 2005 12:41 am Patrick was about to volunteer for the most risky of the missions when Shammy beat him to it. He didn't want his friend to assume that responsibility, but it made more sense that way. Trick's tommy made him the ideal candidate for sweeping hallways, with the garand for long shots and the trio of pistols if it came to that, plus he wouldn't want to make his friend deal with his old man. That man could get grouchy ass hell, but he was good inside...this proved it. Instead of protesting, Patrick looked Shamus in the eye and nodded. "All right. You got a lighter, da?" Patty dug through his own pockets, wondering if he had his as well, and kept speaking, directing his words toward his friend. "You keep on the move, eh, Shammy? You can't keep these yanks preoccupied if you're dead. Clearly they underestimate the luck o' the Irish, eh? Once we get the chance, we'll go in through the fire escape, but we may not want to go out the same way...there's gotta be a back way...after you've distracted them, head that way." Once Shammy got his lighter, Pat slung the M1 over his shoulder and the butt of the tommy against it. He waited for Stephen to ready himself as well and nodded sharply. "Good luck, Shamus. We'll meet you with your da out back. God be with ye."
* Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Sun Dec 04, 2005 9:58 pm It wasn't until Stephen Owen passed back his lighter and Shamus was all the way from the car with torn sheets before a familiar form came out from the darkness around the base of Embassy. Michael O'Malley came into the pool from the headline. More shadows loomed behind and one by one, Patrick recognized them. Arthur and his gang stepped into the light wearing grins as they followed Shamus's father. "You're not going to raid the fekking Embassy, boy," Michael said as Stephen bellowed into laughter pounding on the steering wheel. Stepping out of the car he added, "But I bleedin' happy you gits gave it a go!" Arthur had a relaxed expression, as did the gang. Holding up a bottle of whisky he said, "Now that we all know you two are crazy, we take your pappy's vouch that you'll be a fine asset to the knighthood. "We've got a date at Mick's, if you want to pull yer undies from up on high."
* Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Mon Dec 05, 2005 1:34 am Patrick was a few moments from letting some yank blood loose, when none other than the man they were looking for stepped out of the darkness, bringing a jovial mood and an invitation to go to the pub. So many things passed through the Irishman's mind that he stood completely still for a moment to work through it. It seemed much of this adventure was a sham. "Ye God, do they truly let secretive bastards like you walk the streets?! How much of the last forty-eight hours has been manufactured? Wait, don't even start yet...I need some guinness with this." While he was surprised, there were many things that had happened in that time that demanded explaination, perhaps at the pub. "All right, all right...we should pack up this heat and go. Still driving, Shammy?" Patrick didn't know exactly what had transpired in his old friend's recent past, but he knew the feeling Shamus must have been having, he had experienced it just moments before back at the house. Without a further word, he started gathering rifles into the trunk, but decided to keep his lucky Colt .45 on him, along with the two revolvers. Patty was staying strapped until he knew what was what. Then with a sigh, he got into the back seat and awaited their next, and hopefully last, stop.
* Author: Myth, Location: Salem, OR PostPosted: Mon Dec 05, 2005 9:33 am Shamus froze, his face going deathly white as he saw a man from his long past step into the light before them. Shamus himself was on the verge of passing out, while his own father stood before him, grinning from ear to ear like a full-blown idiot. No, that wasn't right. It had that girth to it, but it's intensity was somewhere between 'cat that ate the canery' and 'stark-raving lunatic'. "Ten years..." he gaped, blinking at the man whose face was so different yet so similar to the one dancing in his memory. The man looked smaller, more frail, but time as well as growing larger did that to a boy and his father. "A fekkin' decade an' all ya have ta' say t'me is..." He was a jumble of emotions. Part of him wanted to run over and slug the crap out of his father, another wanted to leap forward and hug him, and yet another just wanted to scream and runaway from this terrible nightmare that he couldn't seem to awaken from. He shook his head clear of residual things and did what he always did when he was like this--blindly obeyed his father. So, with a sigh, he turned back towards the car, nodding to Patrick. Of course he was driving. This didn't preclude him, however, of asking a question of his father. "Ever since I stepped off th' boat from Scotland...what out a' all a' that's been real?"
* Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Thu Dec 08, 2005 10:54 am "Th' look on yer face, lad . . . that was real," Michael said as they all gathered in the car. Arthur and his gang got in a separate sedan parked half a block away. O'Malley took the while and Own sat in the passenger side. The car was silent at first, but then Owen looked back at the two boys in the back with feigned concern. "Ye get all worked up, did ya? Well, there's a lot more coming down sewer, but you'll be doin' the work of the Almighty. It was all a test, see?" Glancing over at Shamus he said, "There were few ways of gettin' you two back together and yer da an' I wanted you in our club. The club's a bit selective though, so they wanted to see exactly how far you'd go." O'Malley nodded and then added, "Didn't think you'd gone straight into the fekkin' Embassy. Scored high on that'n." After a pause and turn, he said, "How was Scotland, lad? Learn to bathe where y'shit, then?"
* Author: Myth, Location: Salem, OR PostPosted: Thu Dec 08, 2005 7:14 pm At Michael's words, Shamus wanted to punch him in the back of the head right where he sat behind the wheel. The only things restraining him was his desire to learn more, the awkward position--being in the car an' all--and the fact that his father was driving and he very much didn't want to get in a wreck right now. His voice, though, was absolutely dripping with spite. "We ran ta Scotland because your arse was in trouble, an' ya didn't want us in th' middle of it. I lived there, but I have no love for those Scot bastards." His eyes narrowed even farther as he glared hard. "An' you...not a word ta Ma...not a word in all those years. If'n ya wanted me, ya shoulda sent fer me rather then leadin' me on this Wild Yank Hunt." He knew if he looked at his father any longer he really would want to leap forward and attack him, so his eyes averted to look out the window. "But hey, as long as I passed yer fekkin' test it's all good, yea?" The words were laden with sarcasm, but he pushed forward. "Since I'm part of yer little band now, how about you let me in on what the name of all that's Holy is going on here? Up until now I've been in the dark on just about everything. Patty's kept things from me, me Uncle kept things from me, Trick's Da...an' now I find out you too?" He shook his head violently, his fist slamming against the car door. "Someone better tell me what in th' Hell's goin' on, afore I jus' walk out here an' now."
* Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Sun Dec 11, 2005 2:16 pm It was unclear if his father didn't notice the anger or completely disregarded it. Focusing, only slightly, on the road, he peeled around a corner revealing the very avenue where Mick's was located. "Y'sound like a fekkin' girl, you do. Like a wee fekkin' girl. We left because of you. Not a word to ma. Tell me what's going on." He snorted and then whacked Owen on the arm, "Least yers is quiet." Owen then turned around and faced them both. "Your da's been in America. We've both been involved in a different kind of world. Arthur an' his boys? They're Knights of the Order of St John of Jerusalem, an' so are we. An' now, so are you. After y'take the rites of course."
* Author: Myth, Location: Salem, OR PostPosted: Sun Dec 11, 2005 5:42 pm Shamus snorted as his father berated him. He was long past caring what his father thought of him, but it was only adding to the building rage inside of the man. "Oh, get over yerself." he fired off as Owen Senior finished speaking, pretty much ignoring them and going straight for the man who had been his fixation for years. "Ya think yerself so high an' mighty, don'tcha? An, if I remember correctly, back then ya were busy quakin' in yer own boots just like a girl yerself. At least now I know where I get it from." He snorted as he turned to pay attention to Trick's Da. "I see. Interestin' plan. Mayhaps ya can tell me exactly what it is these Knights do? Not that I'm not interested an' all, but I'm just a little curious about what it is I'm about to get myself into."
* Author: Patrick Owen, PostPosted: Tue Dec 13, 2005 5:20 am Patrick was too lost in thought to really participate in the conversation, and since he knew, or at least thought he knew, more than Shammy at this point. From his friend's reaction, Patrick gauged that Shamus hadn't heard of the Knights before. In all honesty, Patrick hadn't heard their full name, and still didn't know what it was exactly that they did, other than taking orders from the Vatican. It didn't take much to get back to the old pub, Patty was thankful for that. When they finally pulled to a stop, Trick was quick to pop the door open and step out, bringing his tommy with him. The rest of the guns belonged to Arthur and the lads, so he left them. Chances were that Arthur had been conspiring with Stephen the whole time, most likely before he and Pat met those long nights ago. While Patrick was a bit angry for the deception, curiousity far outweighed the feelings of agression. Finally he spoke, just before they entered. "Well, seeing as how we passed the test, we should do a bit of celebrating, and since I haven't had the chance to welcome you home the Irish way, Shammy, that can be tonight too, after business is settled." Patrick hoped the gang showed up, but there was still doubt in his mind about the reality of the two american agents, though either way Arthur should have been pleased. Trick really wondered what the two men would share with their sons now that they had passed through some sort of veil, but mostly his thoughts turned toward the rites they were to perform. He wanted to give them a chance to speak before he started asking questions.
* Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Wed Dec 14, 2005 1:21 pm O'Malley didn't continue the debate, instead just shook his head and followed the Owens' into Mick's. The pub was cleaned out for the night, but Mick was still at the bar and he'd left chairs down at one table in the corner. Seeing the crowd enter he winked, "Tough night, lads? I suspect four pints'll do it then?" He poured them and then left the pints on the table as the men got settled. Arthur and his crew also came in but they locked the door behind them and stayed there smoking cigarettes and chatting amongst themselves. Mick joined them and passed pints around. "It's like this," Owens said, "the Order is the Holy See's secret army. Our job is to do whatever the Church tells us to do without question and with the knowledge our work is blessed by the Almighty Himself. Independence for Ireland is just a fekkin' training ground for this. "Your da an' I got involved through the liberation. Lot of the guys there did favors for the knights and it was only a matter o'time before we ended up in it. "The order's been around since the Crusades. It is fekkin' real, it is organized, an' they've got a bottomless pit of fekkin' resources. Your tiny little worlds as you know it are fekkin' over." Owen and O'Malley drank to that. O'Malley then said, "We're going to visit a Cardinal an' get you lads signed up. After'at we got a mission in Scotland. So you'll get to bend right back over again, lad," he said smacking Shamus on the forearm.
* Author: Myth, Location: Salem, OR PostPosted: Thu Dec 15, 2005 6:50 am O'Malley snorted and shook his head, knowing his issues with his da was far from over, but that he wouldn't be able to continue the discussion until he had some more potent ammunition. Besides, he could hardly refuse the offer of a pint. As he sat with the others and listened to Owens Senior, he glanced at him with a curious expression on his round face. Shamus could have sworn he'd heard of something like this in his school days, some sort of secret society that worked for the Church, but he couldn't remember their name for the life of him. Not like he paid a lot of attention back then anyway. He never dreamed that they'd recuit him. He suspected it had a lot to do with his da, but he didn't really care at that point. However, the irony of a Knight named Arthur was not lost on him, despite that. Who hadn't heard the legends of King Arthur and his knights? Knights...Knights...Knights....Temple Knights? The name of the order was on the tip of his tongue, partially because secret societies and the like had always intrigued the lad, especially when there was so little to keep him amused in Scotland aside from his ma, his gun, and his books. Knights Templar! It finally struck him, remembering the name of the group he'd read about so long ago, amazed that he could even recall it from his own hazy memory. As he drank with them, he didn't even notice his father's attempt to bait him once more, so absorbed was he in working his memory. Failing at recalling much more then their name and that they were some sort of super-secret society for the church, he spoke up again at last. "I know I haven't even heard the full name spoken yet, so it might even be them--right age an' all too, if it's been around since the crusades--but is th' group anythin' like th' Knights Templar?" He spoke the name more to get a reaction out of the two fathers then out of any real knowledge about them, trying desperately to see if his guess was right. "Regardless, I'm all for it. Bottomless resources, workin' fer th' Holy See himself...can't really ask for a sweeter deal 'n that." He turned and gazed at his friend, who hadn't properly greeted eachother the Irish way--that being over liqour--and grinned. "However, it all depends on what Patty Saylittle here has t' say, if he ever really speaks up."
* Author: Laveaux, PostPosted: Wed Jan 04, 2006 5:53 am O'Malley spit bitter all over the table when his son spoke. Wide eyed and with a hint of what could be called fury crossed his face. Leaning in and with very serious eyes he said, "Look 'ere, lad. We are pretty fekking far from the Knight Templars, right? Those bastard heathens are the fekking enemy. This is the Holy Order. The Knights of Rhodes and Malta for God's sake." In clear blasphemy he raised his pint toward the heavens, "Forgive him father, for he know's not his arse from his gob." Owens smacked his companion upside the hide, "Shut it, you. Not many people even heard of the fekkin' Templars let alone the Order." Addressing the table he said, "Back in the day we were called the Hospitallers. The sworn enemies of the Templars. The only one the Church trusted. Even to this hour."
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