Post by Ms. Lucy on Jul 27, 2012 12:47:08 GMT -5
Eli Kavanaugh's Sunday morning service was actually quite full. The seniors were stocked, as they commonly were, towards the front. Early morning service had ended, so they'd remain the in the first few pews as the rest congregated behind. A mighty amount of locals had showed as well, perhaps feeling the guilt of their gallivanting as the large cross loomed on the square. It didn't make Lucy too thrilled, having a guilt trip over ones self as they were having their fun...but she had known better than to get her feathers ruffled. The man in the middle of it all was at the doors, his redheaded sister parallel, welcoming each individual with a smile and a hand shake as the passed. An organ was in the background, powerfully humming Amazing Grace as the preacher was lit up ear to ear. His best side was glowing today, feeling accomplished as he saw the fruits of efforts in the amount of people that were waiting.
Kit black quietly padded into the church seemingly only to look around till he took up a space in a fairly dark corner and closed his eyes. He was ever listening to the sounds around him though waiting to see if he was approached while he took care of his personal business as it stood between him and god. By no means was he religious but it helped to unload however silent and unmoving he seemed. The mass had apparently just let out, which was all the better for him to go unnoticed till he was finished. the organ was which should have been annoying was rather soothing that day.
Wickham walked in with Lucy, taking Imogene's hand in his own and holding on a tad longer than necessary, his smile present as if he truly anticipated this service. Maybe he did. He'd have his hands in his pocket's regardless, though he would have preferred to put an arm around Lucy's waist - he refrained. Instead, he walked down the aisle to take a seat in the hard wooden pews. He wore something more simple, but nice enough for church, fore going the flat cap he typically had upon his head.
Harlan entered some time after the two, wearing his Sunday best; black slacks with a white long-sleeve shirt and a dark blue vest over it. A black cowboy hat was on his head until he stepped through the doors, pulling it off and revealing his soft brown curls and the handsome face. He would nod his head to both the greeters - the preacher and his sister. "Mornin'," he would say, small, simple yet absurdly beautiful smile upon his lips as he stepped past and sought a seat closer to the elders. Once he sat down, he was rubbing figure eights into the pews with his pointer and middle fingers - an idle habit.
Miroslav had woken up still drunk, but it wasn't enough to put the aches and pains in his body into a quiet whispering - instead it was a screaming siren. He had hushed these bruises with more alcohol, shared with his brother. Half his face was bruised or swollen and he walked with a slight favor to his left side, his breathing a heavy rasp as he entered the church, grinning. He extended his single hand to each of the churchy people, only just holding back a snort of laughter as they walked down the pews. "They won't even notice," he said to Matvei in Russian. "Pfft, there is the cowboy." He looked over to his dear older sibling and starting laughing again.. Ahh... Their faces were so messed up.
Matvei Volkov had woken up much the same way as his brother, having passed out on his back made the shrapnel that was still stuck in him hurt that much more. Livid bruises lined the underside of his jaw, his knuckles were bruised and bloody, and he was walking with a limp. Thanks to the alcohol and the traditional Volkov pre-church drunken brawl the night before to stave off his usual intoxicated rage, he looked to be in a surprisingly good mood considering. He would shake both greeters' hands, though he would give Eli quite the knowing, impish grin as he did so, following his brother into the church, "Let's sit behind him. At least I'll have a view when he stands up." This was said gruffly and dryly in their native tongue, though it was followed by a chuckle.
Caine Simohya was busy tucking something metal and red in his jacket, pulling it tight over his lanky body and he gasped out as he felt his pain coming again, "Hhhh... Muderfugger..." He was following all of them whilst carrying a large sack and a briefcase, not including the contraption on his body. A scarf pulled tight over his face to obscure them and make him seem like a normal man. When they turned for the church, he walked to the back of the church, looking through the window, ducking low. That big glass window in the back was enough for a sniper. He set off to a path of 100 yards, positioning the large sack to slump over on a barrel in the alley. He pulled out something from the sack... A Mosin-Nagant rifle. He pulled a single bullet from his pocket and pushed it into the chamber, locking around. One of the other contraptions he pulled from the sack was a small kitchen timer rigged to a belt to tighten. He placed it around the trigger and set it to 5 minutes before taking off his hat and scarf to dress the sack, making it look like a sniper. He then walked off, around the block and towards the entrance of the Church, wrapping his coat on tight and sliding a cigarette in his mouth. He looked at his pocket watch and began counting. It was up to Wickham to spot the faux sniper while Caine enjoyed a cigarette in the entrance.
without objection...as long he stood, and not sat. Continuing with the sea of people, Eli began that good feeling again...then came Wickham and the first glimpse of the lady of the square. He'd give no mind to Wick, but latched to Lucy's hands, and held it for a moment. "It's grand to get a glimpse of you...it's nice to put a face to the person I've been battling with for the deed..." He'd grin at her, knowing something was behind her monopoly. He wanted a reaction, something from her. The Creole would be patient, eyeing the tall man as her fingers pet at his knuckles. "Oh merci...an' oui, I thought I oughta' be charitable...an' how lucky are we ta' git somethin' so wholesome as a church...no matta' how drab an' ovah' done it is wit' it's 'holier than thou' mentality... She'd giggle, giving his hand a final pat before taking Wick's arm. The little she-devil didn't appreciate the man sniffing around her business, but wouldn't come out with direct intimidation. It was too open here, so catty-ness would do for now. Eli, in the meantime would just watch her walk by, still a little caught on the small insult as his hand met up with Matvei's. He wouldn't really notice it at first, but as he turned to eye the man, the attempt at a smile would fade. "Dear heavens man..." Who on earth would come to church looking like they'd been hit by a bus. He'd not react to the pleayful taunts Matvei conveyed with hs grinning...he'd simply usher the man in, head shaking softly.
Lucy was all sorts of self satisfied after her little quip as she strutted in. She was clad far more modestly than normal; baby blue dress was blousey and comfortable with a tie waist and sheer outer layer. Bare arms were a bit frowned upon for church, but not being the religious type, she couldn't care less. She'd huddle up on Wick for a moment, but then spotted something she hadn't seen in years...a cowboy hat. Her head canted a bit, tied up curls shifting as she did so, to get a glimpse of the owner. Lawd, what a looker! Puckered lips let out a silent 'oooh' as she tugged Wick to a closer pew. "C'mon, you owe me since I don't evah' come ta' dese places..."
Imogene had given Wick that signature smile, freckled cheeks puffing wiith happiness as he was given a once over. It had been quite some time since she'd seen the fellow Irishman, and what with her brother banning anymore interaction. Well, she'd thought she'd never get to see him again. "Well, looky who's here..." His hand would be given a tight squeeze before she'd whisper. "Sit closer up front iffin' ya want. I'll sit next to you after my readings..." A playful wink, and he was ushered in. The line was beginning to fade now, and a rather peculiar man was seen close to the entrance. Being the bold thing that she was, Imo stepped forward to him, sweet voice cooing out to Caine. "Excuse me, would you care to join us? [done]
Kit black was sitting down at this point. grateful noone had noticed him. For some reason instead of leaving he decided to stay couldnt say why though. He had no real reason to be there, but something felt off. He wasnt paying attention to the door, so he didnt notice significant people that had shownup. So he examined the crowd as they settled down. and noticed atleast three familiar faces two of which he didnt need to run into. He did happen to look at the door as the lady approuched a man that was there. Who seemed to be two diffrent sides. extremly clean and yet bandaged as if hed been in some sortof accident. He decided to watch them from his corner instead. The man reminded him of something just couldnt put a thought to it.
Wickham was not thinking of sniper's, fake or real. He was more concerned with the men and women already in the church. Admittably, he was more enthralled with the women. He flashed that crooked smile to Imogene, intending full well to continue to see her in her 'best' light. He watched Lucy as she seemed to find the nearby cowboy striking, giving a snort as they moved on over. He would not complain, it meant Imogene would be able to sit next to him. "Yer man is a law officer," he would say as they took a seat beside Harlan. The cowboy himself gave a polite nod to them, but didn't seem to pay them much mind. He folded his hands in his lap until he heard the string of Russian behind him. He turned in his seat and looked at the brothers. Honestly, he had left them in good health... He shook his head slowly, but soon turned back to face the front. Miroslav snorted out more laughter. "I don't mind," he would admit, before he looked around with his sharp eyes.
Caine Simohya stared at Imogene for a second before blowing smoke in her face, "You smell like.. hhhhnnnn... Jack," From between the bandages, he flashed a wicken grin, and as his cheeks had been slashed, would be wider than humanely possible. He ashed the cigarette between his fingers, showing her the burnt skin that was his hand, no nails, no hair. He looked behind the glass to see if the sniper was still there. Good. 1 minute. He called out, "I'm looking for Miss La'Veau!" His tone was harsh, hostile, and irrational. And he seemed... crazier than usual. His one eye darted from person to person, "Have you seen her? How about you? What about you huh?" He grabbed one of the younger men by the neck and stared, "You know her? Look like a person who could use a drink..." He threw him against the peers, he nodded to Eli, "What about you, suh?" He wheezed before he spoke again, "Hnnn... What's wrong father? Can't look a dead man in the face?" He walked up to Eli, face to face, "Huh, father? Tell them all who and what I want... Or I am going to kill... hnnn... everyone..." He took out a morphine syrette and carefully inserted the needle in his tear duct, squeezing the syrette and getting a dose of morphine into himself. He straightened up a bit, "All of you who cannot tell me where Miss La'Veau is right now, there will be deaths... I'm going to give you your first warning right..." BANG! The glass cracked and shattered with the Mosin firing off and the fake sniper making its shot, "Now," He reached within his jacket and pulled his pistol out, "Everyone get out now..." He levelled his firearm at Wickham, "Except for you... I see you... I see... hnnnn... everything,"
Matvei Volkov grinned at his brother and shook his head as he ever so strategically chose a pew that would give him the best view of the preacher(so he could taunt him from the crowd even during the sermon, like the bastard he is) and the best view of Harlan's ass were he to stand at any point. At least until he heard the screaming of a madman, at that he would turn and reach for his pistol, hidden beneath his suit jacket but still very present. Even in church, Matvei was a paranoid, if a little drunk, Russian motherfucker. So yes, he brought his gun. Those cold blue eyes would slide over to Harlan, raising a brow at him to see if there would be any sort of backup here. Let us not forget that he noticed Wickham, because he most certainly did, and found that this random, crispy-crittered assailant pointing his gun directly at the Irishman to be very interesting.
Kit black didnt even react to the shot he knew he wasnt noticed not in this mess. As people stared stunned or ran as the madman suggested he had retrieved his rifle from hs bag on his back. "Always prepared always ready" was a way of life that kept you that way. With a smooth motion he had pumped its lever and was aiming at the man with the bandages. he didnt miss the irony of him aiming at the man who was threatning someone he didnt nescerily like at that moment for for hating him for the same reason he could save him. He was ready to lend a hand for the cop had reached for a gun aswell and he had a nice shot at him too but that wasnt for today if ever.
Imogene's ever tender demeanor evaporated as the eerie man spoke in his hagard way. Her lips drew in, as if she tasted his sour intent. It was a name she hadn't heard in months. A plume swept in suddenly, and the girl turned away, a palm protecting her nose and mouth all the while. Her pace was hurried after her brother, who was already closing one door. She did not like this person, and the emotion was written all over her brow, and did want him anywhere near this place.
Eli Kavanaugh had just looked over his shoulder as Imogene her hand to it, a frown skewing her face into an uncommon shape. She seemed to run on nothing but happiness, ableit mianly sarcastic in nature, so anything than that meant something serious. He'd raise stiff, looking down at her as she motioned to the lanky cripple. Sharp features would be squared on Caine. He'd simply move past his sister, happily ready to rid them of this issue. He couldn't have this, not today. Not a step later and that unknown was spewing his insane demands over the congreagation. Eli would have met the mummy half way in the door before their little spat. "I'll not answer you, fool. How dare you upset a house of the Lord?" His hand was reaching for him, ready with a stern grip. "You need to leave this place at once!" He didn't care much for that woman right now...but he'd not let a group like this be brought down by one bad seed. The shot rang out, making his nerves shatter a bit, Imogene jumped along with her brother, before turning to the church. Eli felt the severity of the situation, all while eyeing Caine with a bewildered horror. Imogene would lash out and grab Eli, yanking him towards herself despite the tension that hung over the moment. "Everyone has ta' go.." She then ran to unlock the door as the crowd was already jumping up.
Lucy was about to nestle down beside the aisle, her tone deciding to be playful as she looked to Wick. "Oh hush, I don't wanna hear 'dat...jus lemmie have some eye candeh' fa' now... Besides, you'll get yours too." She'd noticied the little exchange from earlier. "Everyone wins.." Her name was traveling over the music. the melody breaking beneath it's hostile tone. The petite creole turned, curiosity dousing her features as she craned herself back a bit. Bending meant a better line of sight to the door at the back. That voice kept calling, getting closer until the crowd went still. Even the organ had grown mute. He was recognized coming through, skulking like a demon. "Oh shit..." It was whispered, but severely so. Neither Wick nor Maxine knew of the threats that were put against them. Sulking teals traveled to Wick, unsure now of the fate that was to come. The shot had suddely stabbed at the silence. Lucy would have ducked, hands going up over her head to identify herself as the rest of the people began to scurry, terror being howled out all the while.
Caine Simohya had reached within his coat to produce another gun, now dual-wielding a Colt Pocket Hamerless and a Colt 1911, the hammerless turning to Kit for a quick second. BLAM BLAM BLAM! Three consecutive shots, almost pin point accurate if he was actually facing Kit. Instead, he looked at the corner of his eye as if he was just glancing at him. The three shots did not hit Kit but rather against his rifle, one on the stock, second above the trigger against the loading system, and the other against the body of the rifle. He yelled out, "And you fucking thought that was a good fucking idea, yeah?!" He turned his body to point the hammerless at Matvei while the 1911 went under his arm to point at Wickham again. The 1911 roared 2 shots against the weak backrest of the pew in front of Matvei, the shells colliding with the left side of his body (Assuming Matvei was right handed ) and direct to graze his ribs and against his pistol holster. Then the Hammerless went back to point towards Kit while the 1911's barrel, still burning, was pressed against Eli's noggin, "No, you stay. You fucking stay here and tell everyone to be fucking calm. Or I will kill everyone..." The weak strap around his coat loosened and his coat opened... He was wearing a heavy bomb vest. A block of TNT, dynamite, and Composition B was strapped to him. Enough to level the church and possible the buildings around it, "Does it look like I am fucking joking?!" He nods to Lucy, "Ah! There you are! Good of you to show the fuck up, yeah? Get over here. And unless you want Wickham to be shot, you drop whatever you're carrying. As does he,"
Wickham was not armed. He had come to church to enjoy it, to make appearances and perhaps make amends. His real goal had been to end up sharing Imogene's bed once more, but the way things turned out was not what he had evisioned at all. He had no idea who this stranger was, but he seemed to know of him and his relationship with Lucy. He frowned when the woman stood and even more when this man put his gun to Eli's head. He held his hands up innocently and kept a firm frown on his features. He was amazed by all the guns coming out, yet he did not even bring his own. "Lucy," he would say softly, calmly. His hands did not even tremor as he held them up. "Why don't we git al' dees witnesses oyt av de way? 'Mm... Let de preacher go an' dees stoney broke people?" He'd suggest, blinking softly.
Harlan had brought his gun. It was carefully holstered on his side and when the shot went out that shattered the window pane, he stood up, slipping his hat back onto his head firmly with gun drawn in a mere blink. He for one, held the his finger over the trigger lightly, threatening to squeeze off a few shots. He only hesistated for the moment, the sight of that very explosive vest leaving his finger to hesitate. It was the man's screaming and his recent encounter with a less than sane woman that brought him to make his decision. He fired two shots off in quick succession; one for the man's thigh, the other his knee. Nothing was said from the cowboy, just the stony solid figure of the South.
Wickham. Miroslav and Matvei were ex-military. Guns going off were not what he expected when he had woke up this morning. Granted, he did not expect much this morning - he had woken up drunk next to his brother on the floor of their living room with a broken end table between them. He saw the dummy sniper just before the shot had gone off. He was, as it went, a former sniper himself and made a habit of checking windows and the like as he entered rooms, buildings, or anything of the sort. He was not armed though and all considering, he was crippled. When the shots started to go off, he ducked down in the pews and looked over his brother, searching for another gun - perhaps hidden on his leg or in his boot.
Matvei Volkov took the grazing shots to the side like a champ, thankful that his brother had hit his right side the night before rather than the left. It did not deter him from reaching for his own gun and pointing it at the madman, and mindful as his partner was of the explosives, his own shots would be aimed for the insane stranger's legs as well, going for the knees with a duo of shots. He would have fired more, but he was drunk and so his aim would be a little off. He did not want to shoot the preacher or any other innocent bystanders because he'd been hitting the bottle this fine morning.
Maxine had stalked her trio of friends to the church, but then got distracted by a squirrel and chased it around and away from the building momentarily. As she wandered back in the direction of her friends, she saw people scrambling out, heard gunshots and... A voice she felt was very familiar over the chaos. The lunatic would scramble into the church as the last of the crowd ushered out, sharp eyes catching the sight of Wickham holding his hands up first and foremost. Instead of attacking the attacker of her nearest and dearest, she would run right past him as fast as she could, swinging her body around and sliding on the floor in her stockinged feet to face him as she did so, holding her arms out protectively as she attempted to shield her horsey from harm. It was then that she saw who it was, and those dark blue eyes widened as big as saucers. Her mummified god? No. No. Nonono. A turncoat? A vulture in godskin?
Caine Simohya was only idly listening to Wickham. Most of it was through one ear and out the other. But one thing was on his mind. Like.... Why the fuck did people think it was a good idea to reach for the weapons when Caine not only shot at Harlan's brother. But he also had his gun STILL on him. As fast as Harlan can be, Caine didn't need to be. He knew. He could see. He could see everything. Caine was a multi-tasking man. While Harlan made his slightest motion to his weapon, Caine turned his weapon to the man, shifting to his right and wrapping his arm around the priest's neck. He popped off three rounds of his Hammerless into the belly and chest of Harlan. He pulled at Eli's neck with his arm, pulling him right in front, serving as a greater bullet shield for his legs as Caine shifted his hammerless against Eli's ass cheek and pulled off a round to get his ass sitting while his 1911 was in his left hand, raised towards Matvei's gut now. And .45 rounds did not feel nice. He shot off a whole clip (or rather the rest of it), only stopping as the rack went back and locked. He thumbed the magazine release on his 1911 while keeping his Hammerless at the two coppers. He then used his butt to trace the edge of the altar, going to the left and walking back when he did not feel his butt on the edge. He then stood behind the altar which seemed to be a much better cover than the thin wooden backrests of the pews, "I'm really getting sick and tired of this..." Caine was not only ex-military. For Caine, the war never ended.
Eli Kavanaugh would have motioned for his sister to leave with the rest, and turned back to find a hot barell on the side of his forehead. Of course, the younger Kavanaugh would linger in the door, unsure if it was the best idea and unwilling to leave her brother like this. Eli would just whisper "Okay...fine, there's no need to be like this..." The Preacher internally wrecking, having never been on this side of a gun. But he'd try and control the short, panicked breathing as he looked onto the remaining people. La'veau...the name rang in his ears as he looked from her to the two officers that had their guns. The tension was crushing...and he prayed now that no one would act. Suddenly and arm tightened around his neck, and he'd grip it tight, trying to fight strangulation as he was brought forward. Hot lead bored into his legs, merciless as they forced a path through the flesh and bone. The man cried out, body tensing as his limbs, and backside, were shot. Blood was quick to douse him as he crumbled to the floor. Imogene screamed at the sight, running at her fallen sibling as Caine began to head for his new pirch. The Preacher was panting on the ground, face pale as his hands were traveling slowly to his wounds.
Lucy's heart sunk once all the pieces came flying out. This would not be ending well, not with this many trigger fingers. Her heart was in her throat, but those blade like eyes were focused on Caine. "C'mon Caine...we oughta' jus' leave..." Wick was right, too many people, and this man was not their sin. Someone finally got ansty though and it set off the chain reaction. Lucy would once again crouch, hands now protecting her head. Eli's screaming encompassed the room that was built to carry sound. It had her wincing. Clinched eyes finally opened to a worse off world; a bloodied preacher, and Maxine tossed into the mix. She'd eye the girl for a moment, trying to gt her attention before Lucy finally put her arms down. She'd begin walking up the small steps toward the altar and the mummified man.
Wickham did not flinch away from the shots being fired off, but that soon wasn't his problem, it was the woman that had appeared out of nowhere, her little crazy frame trying to cover his big Irish one. He, instead, wrapped his arms around her and would hug her to his body. "No, Maxine," he warned in a sharp growl. A string of curses followed as he watched Eli's body crumple and his screams replacing the much preferred sounds of the organ playing Amazing Grace. His eyes settled on the preacher, his grasp loosening on Maxine, before he watched Lucy step up to the altar to this mummified psychopath. He didn't even acknowledge the cowboy, his ears were ringing enough as is.
Harlan's faith was being tested today. He had squeezed off the few shots and hit someone else while catching a bullet's kiss. He found himself standing with two bullets in his belly; one had only just grazed his side, but the other had lodged itself just above his hip bone. He managed to stay standing, but his hand twitched so bad that his gun was released from his grasp and clattered across the floor noisily. He gave a grunt and closed his eyes, free hand clutching the blossoming red spot on his Sunday's best. He gasped and would raise those dark blue eyes, was trying to remain standing and concious. He leaned against the pews, his hatted head bowed slightly. He could really go for a cigarette right about now.
Miroslav was well away from bullets. He was ducked down where the thick pews would protect him. He found no guns on his brother, but he did find that crazy woman he so loved dashing out to protect her 'horsey'. He looked over at the preacher, lying on the floor. Though he did not know him, Miro crawled over with his single arm as best as he could. He'd ignore the pool of blood around the man and reached into his pocket to pull an old familiar flask, filled with genuine vodka. In this moment, he did not care for the law so much, but would place the flask in the man's hand and then sought to take his other in his own. Gonna be alright, man... Maybe.
Matvei Volkov regretted pulling his gun and shooting now. Although any regard for his own life had diminished greatly in recent years, he still valued that of others. As if it were his karma catching up with him, in addition to the bullets that had grazed his side and left him bleeding, the shot to the gut would strike true and the massive Russian would go down, though maintained a grip on his own gun. A habit from the war, maybe. He was now sitting on the floor, pistol in a deathgrip in one hand, the other trying to apply pressure to the hole in his stomach. With a weak, bitter laugh, he'd murmur to his brother in Russian, "This... This is why we don't go to church." The only time the stoic, aging man ever had a sense of humor is when shit hits the fan.
Maxine struggled against Wickham's grasp, the preacher's screaming ignored in favor of Lucy going towards Caine. Her own screams would fill the room, ragged and desperate as she took the moment of the Irishman's loosened hold to wriggle out of his arms. She would reach for Lucy, trying to pull her back and away from the man she once knew, once loved, but had made himself out to be a vulture. And she would be damned if she let the vultures take one more thing from her. Those spidery fingers of hers would try to get a hold of Lucy's arm and swing her back towards Wickham, trying to get herself between her friends and this dangerous stranger wearing her mummified god's skin.
Caine Simohya saw the two cops go down while he looked down at the mess he just made. And he didn't react at all, "This is what happens. This is what they keep telling me what happens. I'm not a goddamn wheel in a hamster cage... this isn't a routine..." He holstered his Hammerless and came with his hand was an extra magazine for his 1911, "I'm not insane... I'm cured. This is suppose to happen. Why am I here?" He seemed to ramble to himself while turning to look at the window behind the cross. He stared for a moment before turning slightly to fire his weapon at Miroslav's hand, aiming to make him drop the gun. By the casual way that Caine went about it, it was as if getting the newspaper. He sighed, "I can relax. There's nothing out there.. It's over. We're done..." Then he heared Maxine's screams which fuelled an old fire inside of him, he turned and ran (sprinted like he had rigor mortis) to the alter, hopping the alter in one way and sliding across it another. He pulled his switch blade with his right hand and flicked it, going to the throat of Lucy but not slicing her throat open while he pushed the barrel of the pistol against Maxine's forehead. He was so close to a trigger pull when he saw those ocean blue eyes. His hand was shaking and he couldn't speak. Not even breathing. Then finally, "Hnnnn!" He took in a breath and dropped the switchblade on Lucy's throat before pulling off the eyepatch on him. It was his grey eye, darkened and reddened. His lidless eye stared at Maxine for the first time in 8 years, "They... hnnn.. told me you were dead... hnnn..." His gun drifted to her chest and he held it there, "You're... hnnn... not real... You can't be..." He tried to drift his pistol away from her chest and to Maxine, she could see that he was crying. His left eye closed and started to weep while his right eye stared at her, tears falling out of its tear duct as it watched her. The barrel drifted down to her belly, then went away to her side... BANG! He pulled the trigger against her side. A flesh wound. She would be alive, if not alright. He then slapped his eyepatch on and started to push Lucy out of the window, "Get the fuck out, go!" He pushed her until she reached the faux sniper. Caine turned a dial on his vest, setting off a timer before pulling a string, letting the whole thing fall apart on to the ground next to the sniper. He started to tear away at his clothing, bandages and all which revealed scars, burn marks, and sewn over wounds that a normal human could not have possibly survived. He tore his mask away and looked at Lucy. He was hideous. His nose was blown off, leaving a hole. There were no cheeks, just more scars, his mouth cut from jaw to jaw, a permanent cheshire smile. He was bald, everything gone. As if the man was burnt alive while being tortured. He rasped hoarsley at her, "If you tell anyone, I will kill everyone you love," As they made their distance away from the bomb. Then BOOM! Behind them the two walls of the alleyway blew up, crumbling down into inaccessible rubble so that anyone in the church could not see or follow them. Police cars and ambulance made their way to the explosion. Caine pushed his pistol in his waistband before he places his weight on Lucy, acting as if he is injured. All the while, his other pistol was jabbed at her side. A cop ran to Lucy and asked, "Holy shit! How is he still alive?!" It was all timed. Everything. Caine had calculated every minute.
Imogene would be teary eyed over her brother, trying to add pressure to the wounds with her now blood soaked hands. Eli meanwhile was grinding his teeth, muffled groans reacting to each throb of pain that came with the quickened heart beat. His hand would happily take the vodka...it was something he hadn't seen in the longest of times. He wanted to drink...but simply didn't have the focus. His sister took the bottle from his shaking hand, pouring some on his lips before dabbing some on his leg. Eli would begin groaning again, paying little attention to the scene, even the explosion fell def to him. His whole dream was crumbling again, and he couldn't even mourn it. Imogene in the mean while was shielding her sibling as the rubble came down. The police were heard in the background, and the redhead would ask Miroslav to stay with Eli as she went to fetch them.
Lucy was seeing all her trump cards fall, blood dotting each one, save Maxine and Wick. Previously shielded, the madwoman had escaped and now clung to her. The Creole's free hand took a harsh grip of Maxine's shoulder. "No! Get back!" She was nearly hollaring at her as the blade came at her own throat. She'd go frightfully still, if only for Maxine, who had something just as deadly pointed her. "You touch her an' I'll kill you, motha' fucka'..." Lucy said in a low hiss as he kept slipping the barrel around her torso. The shot rang out, and she'd lunged for Caine. He'd take andavntage of her motions, turning the table and taking her out the shattered window. Sequences were moving fluidily, like a dream. They were juxtaposed in their existance, flying by in a second, yet taking years to complete. She was out, the walls were crumbling behind them, and suddenly this creature was standing before her; the remains of a decent human with only indignities to offer now. She couldn't look onto him without grimacing, and would do more so as his weight came onto her. Softly shaing hands would be ready to yank him from her shoulders as the cops came around the corner. Caines threat was ringing in her ears as she said nothing. If he was crazy enough to shoot up a church...she knew this wasn't hollow.
Maxine's eyes widened as the gun was put to her head, staring into Caine's as he spoke to her. When the pistol began to drift, she reached for the bandages that hid his mouth the way she had once before, that broken not-english not-anything gibberish whispering at him pleadingly while tears of her own tumbled down her scarred cheeks. Her fingertips would just barely brush the bandages they sought before the shot tore through her side, and she screamed again. As Caine took Lucy away, she was in a state of shock too strong to enable her to try and stop it. The rubble came down with the explosion and she scrambled towards it too late, clawing at it and shrieking a myriad of things. Betrayal, loss, rage, sadness... All these things had no words to express the deepness of them in the heart of the lunatic, and she did not need them to communicate these things in her ragged screaming. She would claw and scratch at the rubble until all of her nails were ripped off and her fingertips were raw and bloody. She beat her fists against it until her knuckles were bruised and almost broken. Her screams died away into sobbing and she curled up on the ground, drowning in things that she could not swim through.