Warhouse Tempers

The gaunt figure of Sybine is sitting at the edge of the warehouse, surrounded mostly by boxes and old packing equipment. She's wearing an extremely old pair of tattered blue jeans, boots, and a light-gold tanktop that reads "Support Single Moms" with the sillohette of a pole-dancer under the words. Her red curls are pulled back away from her face and tucked into the back of her shirt, clearly aiming to keep the length out of her face for the seemingly serious game she's playing. With her left palm flat against the floor, and a handful of bullets scattered near her fingertips, her left hand is holding a rather familiar, silenced handgun to the back of her hand. Her expression is completely passive, though not in the moment of what she's doing, and a faint click can be heard from the trigger as she pulls it and nothing happends.

The back door of the warehouse can be heard cracking open, sealed from many years of neglect, with rust and dirt breaking at the edges as a handsome man forces it open with his left hand. He stands in the doorway, his silhouette out lined by the orange streetlights from outside. His right hand clutches a white handle, though the rest of the object is wrapped in black cloth and slung up on his shoulder. His hand falls away from the door, silver-green eyes peering into the warehouse, meeting only a mound of dusty crates.

"Cocksucker," comes the nearly whispered voice of the redhead, though she doesn't at all seem aware of anyone else in the building, and is clearly speaking to herself. She shifts her weight from side to side, as though that would make the concrete for forgiving for her weight as she sets her legs crosslegged infront of her and replaced her hand palm-down against the floor infront of her with the barrel of the silenced pistol against the back it. Another faint metallic pop issues as the trigger is pulled again, and she rolls her eyes and lets her weight drop backwards until she's laying down on her back with her legs still crossed at a seemingly uncomfortable angle. She taps the barrel of the gun against her forehead a few times in a morbid, yet thoughtful, gesture, and pulls herself back up into a sitting position assuming the position to go through the motions once again from the top.

The handsome man continues into the building, letting the door swing closed behind him with a creak and then a slam. The man begins to stride through the maze of crates, still clutching the black-wrapped bundle on his shoulder. As he walks, the man begins to sing quite loudly, though nothing suggests he's aware of Sybin's presence. "A moment of silence, please, for those that never get the chance! They show up to the party, but they're never asked to dance!" He pauses, in the middle of the crate stacks, taking the time to light a cigarette and slip it between his lips, the smell of tobacco permeating through the air. "The losers, the liars, the bastards, the thieves! The cynicists, the pessimists, and those that don't believe in nothin'!" His voice perfectly matches the tone and setting of the dank warehouse, and he takes a second to pull from his cigarette, now and then, great, grey clouds of smoke rising towards the ceiling.

Elijah osays , '4 successes singing, btw. '

"How fucking fitting," Sybine curses a bit too loudly to be speaking to herself now, and a light chuckle leaves her lips. The muffled pop of the gun releasing another shot follows her words, though this time something seriously different happends. The telltale snuff and woosh of the silenced pistol firing sets into the air, echoing in the cement building, but it itself is covered quickly by a stream of unlady-like cursing that issues from her lips. Such choice words are, "Fuck. Fucking shit that hurts like a cunt." But after a moment the ripple of words stops and the clatter of the pistol being tossed aside rings through the warehouse.

"I never met a loser that I didn't see eye-to-eye with, I declare. I stare into your eyes, but you look right past me into the air. What's it like to stand in your shoes? To have never felt the belt of somebody's abuse?" The handsome man now rounds a corner, still holding the sword hilt with his right hand, and the cigarette with his left. He comes into view of Sybine, and strolls towards her, raising the cigarette for a quick drag before continuing to sing. "I take the bottle and I tip it for all my heroes who have passed. Alas, you left us, but your stories they will last. Uninspired by the recruiting call…" The handsome man pauses, striding right up to Sybine as he flicks the half-smoked cigarette to the side, grasping the sword hilt with both hands now. "Independent we stand.." His arms swing the sword down with surprising speed and skill, directly at Sybine's head as he says, "Independent we fall." The black cloth that covers the sword actually flies /off/ as he swings it down, off of his shoulder, a very grave look on his face that matches his song.

With her eyes darting up to search for the closing distance between herself and the familiar singing voice, Sybine seems ready enough for his approach that the motion is caught easily in her vision and she moves to avoid it. She shifts her weight to the side in a rather practiced motion of someone who's a bit of experience dodging unwelcome blows to the face, and lands half-sprawled against another crate with the surpsingly light graze wound from her handgun that leaves a hole through the palm of her hand. Her eyes narrow a bit as she grasps for her gun with her good hand, her eyes jerking down towards the pile of bullets that lay on the cement, now a few feet away from her, and reaches her injured hand into her pocket instead. All in all, she doesn't seem emotionally wounded by the action, and even a faint spark of excitement can be seen in her eyes as she drags her attention back up to Elijah. "Women don't like it when you try to fucking blind-side them, yknow."

Elijah stands with the sword held at the ready, swinging into the stance directly after the first blow was launched at Sybine. Both hands clasp the bone katana deftly, to the side, his feet planted expertly. He begins to sing again, and his tone of voice is similar to the song sung before, as if this is a different, more violent version of it, though he sings at a faster pace. "I don't sleep anymore, I gave it up, because what we do is not enough." He jabs forward with the sword, pointing the sharp tip of the sword directly at the woman's chest. Should she dodge, the white blade would penetrate through the crate behind her. "And now they're calling out our bluffs. Have you done a single thing for someone else or do you TAKE TAKE TAKE until your belly is /stuffed/?"

The girl growls a bit as the handsome man draws back his weapon for another strike, and her hand slips out of her pocket with a handful of rattling metal as she pulls her feet under her and makes a break into a run towards another crate off to the side. The power of Elijah's thrust is left no other target but the crate she was leaning against previously, which shatters impressively into a mess of aged glass and rotting wood. The girl herself can be heard, since she doesn't appear to be the sneaky type at the moment, stepping towards the back of the crate she'd rushed to and ducking out of sight. Her fingers work quickly, and rather quietly, though the scrape and tap of metal is rather easily translated, if heard before, as the rapid loading of a .9mm handgun.

"COWARDS. BRINGING GUNS TO A DUEL." Elijah yells in a mock-gallant voice, beginning to run towards the crate that Sybine had ducked behind. He half yells half sings now, apparently lost in the heat of this fight with an old friend. "THE TIRED ANTHEM OF A LOSER AND A HYPOCRITE! OH! TO HAVE DIED THAT NIGHT AND REALIZED IT WOULDN'T LAST! OUR DAYS WERE NUMBERED AND THE REAPER TIPPED THE HOUR GLASS!" Elijah holds hte sword in his right hand as he leaps upward, left hand grabbing onto the edge of the crate so he can vault over it, into the air and to the other side, one foot extended to kick the woman in the head.

Luckily, since she's ducking behind the crate in a crouch with her back pressed firmly against it, Elijah manages to bring himself straight infront of her with his back to her, though just barely as she seems to be more concerned with shoving the rounds into her gun. It takes her quite a few seconds to finish with the last bullet with his appearance distracting her, but she slaps the gun roughly against the injured palm of her hand even as the flesh visibly seals itself around the wound and is left with only scattered patterns of blood. Her right arm is swung outward towards Elijah as she gets to her feet and uses the same method in mimic to hop over the top of the crate and put it between them, both with weapons more than ready now. "Do you EVER just say hello like a NORMAL FUCKING PERSON?!"

Elijah simply smirks as he lands in front of her, posture going straight, the sword swung to the bottom right of him, held in his right hand. "Do you?" He asks, whipping around and swinging the sword upward, from the body right corner of his body, to the area above his left shoulder. He swings hard enough that the arc sends pieces of wooden crate shattering upward at Sybine, just as Elijah slips behind another row of crates to avoid the sights of the woman's gun. "WHEN THEY COME FOR ME, I'LL BE SITTING AT MY DESK WITH A GUN IN MY HAND, WEARING A BULLET PROOF VEST." He comes back out into the open by leaping off of a crate, swinging his white katana down at Sybine with both hands as he fallss through the air. "SINGING, 'MY MY MY HOW THE TIME DOES FLY, WHEN YOU KNOW YOU'RE GOING TO DIE BY THE END OF THE NIGHT!'"

As Elijah snaps into action, so does Sybine, and a stream of silenced shots rips through the crates just at his heels, though she can't seem to see him well enough to connect a shot. She releases four or five shots before she stops pulling the trigger and standing still with her arm still extended with the gun in her hand as the other hand fishes in her pocket amoung metal clicking for another handfull of blessed reloading. However, this time, she pulls out a slim black clip and holds it ready in her left hand. "Where the -FUCK- would be the fun in that?!" she shouts back in responce after his singing dies for now, and though her expression is set with concentration and the seriousness of the situation, the side of her mouth twitches up. "Nice to see you, too, Elijah." With the rush of movement at her side, Sybine pivots on a heel quickly and ducks down, spinning away from the man's attack with a suprising lack of grace and lands hard on her back with a thud against the cement, though another shot is released directly at him as she does. A sharp metal clatter is explained this time visiably as the empty clip jerks down from the handle of the gun onto the floor at her side, and the clip in her free hand it jammed into place roughly, not lowering the weapon from being level with him, but she also doesn't try to pick herself up.

"Ah, fuck." Elijah says, as the bullet smashes into his shoulder and jerks him to the side, the sword falling from his hand and clattering to the ground. "I can't believe you've done this!" He yells with a snarl, before leaping on top of the fallen woman, raising a hand and curling it into a fist to punch her in the face, while pinning her gun arm down.

"You fuckin' serious?" the girl chimes with a mock-innocent voice, though it's all lost as Elijah's weight falls ontop of her. As one of his hands slams her gun arm to the ground, she manages to yank it back away from him, though it leaves her clear open for the fist to the face. As his fist raises, so does hers, except the one with the gun still in it, clearly aiming to clock him in the face with the butt of the gun.

Both Elijah and Sybine poise themselves for an attack: Elijah with his bare fist, Sybine with the butt of her gun. Elijah clenches his fist and gives Sybine a good knuckle sandwich right near her mouth. She is stunned for a fraction of a second, but seems to bounce back immediately, showing no visible damage. Her eyes narrow as she surveys her enemy (almost typed enema there), and quickly whaps Elijah in the face with her gun. Again, it hurts like hell, but he manages to absorb the damage.

Elijah watches Sybine raise her gun again to hit him, as if in slow motion. Reacting with lightning speed, he lifts up one arm to catch her wrist and stop her. However, in his haste, he misjudges Sybine's movement and ends up getting nothing but air as she cracks him in the cheek with the butt of the gun. The noise it makes as metal connects with flesh and bone is sickening, and would have left a mortal with a very nasty bruise. Elijah winces in pain at the contact, but due to his undead state he is left with no physical evidence of the assault.

Sybine, still pinned under Elijah, attempts to hit him once more with the gun, this time in the throat. Elijah, instead of blocking, decides to hit Sybine twice in the chest. In a rapid-fire motion while Sybine is in the process of striking him, he pistons his arm forth, striking her twice right under her collarbone. She grunts each time his fist connects, but doesn't seem to be any worse for wear. When he is done, he feels a gust of wind near his neck - the displaced air of Sybine's gun missing its intended target.

The handsome man frowns as he drives both of his fists against the woman's chest, squinting as her gun goes right by his head. His left arm swings out, knocking the arm away and back towards the ground, while his right suddenly pushes up the sleeve of his left hand. "You. Naughty. Bitch." He mutters through gritted teeth, fingertips actually /dipping/ into his skin, before pulling a sleek white knife from beneath a.. sleeve, in his arm skin. He collapses onto Sybine from his position, holding the edge of the blade against her throat as he mutters into her ear. "You know if you ever fuck with me for real, I'll shove this thing into your brain, right?"

The extremely thin redhead pulls back her arm for another slam of the weapon's butt into Elijah's face, but with is mutterings and dislodging of his implanted weapon from a flesh pocket, she freezes. The gun whips up with a twist of her wrist and the barrel is pressed harshly against the side of Elijah's head. "That… is…. so fucking… gross," she ejactulates in a broken fashion, scowling harshly up at him. "I have a thick head, anyways," the girl starts to joke, but a visible shudder runs through her body before she presses the pistol harder against his temple. "GROSS. Fucking GROSS, Elijah."

The handsome man smiles as big as he can, his mouth opening so wide that the corners curl the skin of his cheeks. He doesn't respond at all as the gun is pressed to the side of his head, and instead leans back so he can watch as he raises the knife blade up to Sybine's forehead, turning it upside down and holding it by the hilt. The tip of the blade digs in a fraction of a centimeter, as the man pulls it down to leave a short, bloody line in the center of Sybine's forehead. "Baby, I'd give you a lobotomy with my bare hands."

The ragged Anarch princess snorts harshly, not even blinking as the point of the dagger is dragged across her skin. "Sexy," she starts, her tone softening from it's previous shouting and growling, and the tip of the pistol is dragged down and across Elijah's cheek, jaw, and neck, finally stopping to press into the flesh of his shoulder where a bullet had caught him previously. She gives a quick kiss into the air up and him, smirking with all her mustered Sybine-charm. "How about something to keep you busy instead. Besides annoying the ever-fucking-living shit out of me." With that, and not even a hair's breath after she finishes, she tugs a finger against the trigger of the weapon, releasing another bullet into roughly the same zoned wound as the first blind-fire shot while he was holding his sword.

"Ah, you fucking /bitch/." Elijah yells, cringing as the bullet slams into his flesh again. He rolls off of the woman, spinning the white knife deftly in his hand as he scowls at her. "Succubus from /hell/." He spits a glob of blood onto the woman's face, and quickly slides the knife back into its arm sheath. "You live to feed off my fucking pain, don't you, my morbid letting sucker fish?" He reaches forward, tapping the tip of Sybine's nose with his finger tip, before settling back against the crate behind him and looking towards the entrance of the warehouse.

"Gotta find little pleasures here and there, otherwise I'd go fucking crazy-er," the redhead notes in a light, chiming voice, wrinkling her nose with the tap from Elijah's figure. Instead of pulling herself off of the floor she puts one hand behind her head with her elbow out in a pillowed rest, stretching her legs out straight. The other hand is used to bring the front of her t-shirt up to wipe the blood from her face without even a flinch, staining the whole front of it in crimson. She follows his gaze for minute and then simply looks uninterested, turning her eyes back to the ceiling. "Feel better now, you fucking freak?"

Elijah lets out a soft sigh, as if he reluctantly wants to say 'Yes', but instead abruptly yells "NO! MY FUCKING SHOULDER HURTS!" He makes a sluggish attempt at kicking the woman in the leg, still propped up with his back against the nearby crate. "But, yes. Why are you in here? This is fight club, baby. Don't come in here if you ain't willing to throw the fuck down."

"I am -not- the fucking pussy crying about my gunshot wounds, am I you stupid shit." She snorts again lightly and, like a child that she can always be expected to act like around Elijah, kicks him back to stop him from touching her with his shoes. She finishes wiping her face on her shirt, and wipes both hands against the legs of her jeans leaving streaks of red in their wake. "I was putting bullets in my hand. You woudn't have missed that fucking part, asshole, if you hadn't come in swinging."

"You must be mentally retarded." He says, frowning at the woman. He glances at her hand, and then his silver-green eyes move up to look at the bone sword lying on the ground, and the black cloth near it. "Shooting yourself in the hand. Jesus." He mutters, before glancing back up to Sybine's face. "You know, I killed like twenty motherfuckers in here? And an Elder vampire? It was awesome. They were all like, pew pew pew, we have guns! And I was all like, "Bitch meet mr. mosquito." Yeah, I can summon animals and shit. So all these mosquitos like, killed these guys."

The girl pointedly rolls her eyes, and reaches down into the pocket of her jeans for a nearly crushed pack of cigarettes that she frowns at, tosses to the side, and then holds her palm out towards Elijah. "If there was any fucking question about my metal state, or me giving a fuck about anything you do, you better wake the fuck up." She keeps her hand held out, clearly for a cigarette, and lets her other hand stay behind her head. "Mr. Pants of the Family still not letting you have any fun, so you just snap and try to get yourself killed now? Good to see some things don't ever fucking change."

"Bitch, you wouldn't know responsibility if it crawled up your vagina and impregnated you." Elijah says with a frown, though the argument is clearly not a serious one. "And you better get those cigarettes. I sure as hell don't have any. Light one up and pass it over, I'm fucking starved for nicotine." He says, shaking his head irritably. "I was /saving/ Devon from a bunch of Ventrue bastards. They kidnapped him and shit, so I had to get him back. And /then/ I had to kill that Elder fuck so his mind wouldn't be all crazed out. Where have you /been/, anyways? Come on, give us a cigarette."

"Oh, you fucking pussy," the girl spits, though clearly she's not really paying attention to his explainational bragging. Instead, she puts her foot against his shin and uses it to push herself in a semi-circle on the floor and reaches a hand over her head for the discarded pack of cigarettes. Taking two from the pack, which are both bent and disfigured, she tosses the pack into Elijah's lap in an obvious giving gesture, and tucks her toe around the back of his calf to slide her body along the floor into it's previous position. "If responsibility is what you call that fucking shit ass excuse for not having your own cigarettes, you should fucking sit down and think of a new one. I've heard that one before," she says finally, though it's muffled and a little hard to understand from the two cigarettes between her lips as she pushes a hand into her pocket and withdraws a lighter which she uses to carefully ignite both cigarettes. "Any-fucking-ways. I've been getting my fucking hands dirty. Not anything super fucking sweet like being able to talk to bugs," she starts, taking both cigarettes from her lips and holding one out to him, clearly being sarcastic, "But, I've been the fuck around."

The man smirks and shoves the pack into his pocket, saying "Yeah yeah, I'm a sucker for Devon. I admit it, you bitter hag." He says, reaching out and taking the lit cigarette from her. "Totally worth it, though." He says with a chuckle through his nostrils, pressing the cigarette to his lips. "Getting your hands dirty, eh?" he asks, raising an eyebrow and glancing at the woman's gun briefly, before looking back up at her face. A stream of smoke rises in front of his attractive features, a bloody hole left in his shirt where he had been shot twice. "Still rolling with the fist of the people? Still biting your thumb at the mothafuckin' establishment? Hah. Fun stuff. Brings back memories of…. beer bottles and tiled bathroom floors. Real fucking /exciting/."

The Anarch gives Elijah a soft, though pointed, kick in the shin before stretching her legs back out and returning to her horizontal position. "Fuck the people. Anyone who's not doing what the fuck they need to bite their own goddamned thumbs can fucking rot." She shrugs one shoulder, taking a drag of her cigarette and pausing in conversation for long enough for some smoke rings to be pressed from her pale lips into the air over her. "/Fuck/ beer bottles and bathroom floors, Elijah. I got fucking shit running that you would get burned by. 'Sides," she says, giving him a bit of a grin before looking him over for a moment, "That man of yours would fucking kill the shit out of you for walking on the right side of the fucking wild with me, and we both know it. Don't act like you give a shit what I put my hands in."

"Hey, hey hey hey." Elijah says, sitting up a bit against the box like a man drunk on battle, looking slightly offended as he ashes his cigarette over the concrete floor. "I used to sell coke to hard motherfuckers back in the day. Don't act like I ain't from the /streets/, babe." He lets out a cold chuckle fall from his lips after this, pushing the cigarette back to his mouth. He lets it hang in the corner, muffling his voice slightly as he speaks. "Sybine. Come on. The right side of the wild? I've been fighting and fucking around with stuff that makes the boogeyman /shit his pants/. Don't you tell me about no /wild/. You can't handle the wild."

Sliding herself up into a sitting position with one arm, albeit lazily, Sybine turns her dark green eyes towards Elijah with a severely cocked eyebrow, and the side of her mouth twitching in a rather poorly hidden smirk. "Fuck. You know, you /almost/ turn me the fuck on, you know that?" She pauses to let the "compliment" sink in for a second, and takes another drag of her cigarette to spill the gap with motion. "The boogeyman ran for the fucking hills as soon as Jack game into LA, Elijah. Don't talk shit you don't know a fuck about. You haven't shown me fucking anything but blood-fucking-sucker pissing contests that makes me think you're 'from the wild side'," she retorts, using her fingers holding her cigarette to make air-quotes to emphasize her statement. "Don't fucking talk to me about anything different between us. You can fuck with all that wild shit all you fucking want, yeah? And Mr. Man'll always be there to save you. I do that shit on my own, remember? From scratch. Guesswork." She snorts harshly and uses her hand to push herself to her feet, looking a bit more than offended herself. "Fuck you, you sheltered fucking prick."

"Last I checked, I was saving 'Mr. Man.'" He says with a snort, taking a long drag from the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. He reaches up, two fingers clamping around the cigarette as he pulls it from his lips, blowing a couple smoke rings into Sybine's face. They float lazily through the air, circling perfectly around her head as he casts a grin her way. "Now, listen… oh." He says, the grin falling away as he narrows his eyes, holding the cigarette in his propped up hand, a serious expression overcoming his features. He scans the woman for a moment, putting the cigarette between his lips and clasping his hands in his lap. "Sybine. Yo. Look at me. The fuck is wrong with you?" He asks, though despite the harsh sound of the words, his tone does seem to be a bit sincere and curious.

The overly thin, and scar-patterened redhead takes her fist step as Elijah starts talking, and then proceeds to make a short circle of pacing. With her name, and the slight, but noticable chance to his tone, her eyes snap over to him and she stops in place. She locks her gaze against his for quite a lengthy pause before she seems to jerk her attention away from him to stall whatever reaction the situation first dictated. She drops her cigarette to the floor at her feet and pushes a booted toe onto it, swiveling her foot back and forth for a moment to put it out. "That's a fucking /funny/ question coming from you. From anyone, really." She pushes her hands into the front pockets of her jeans, leaning her hip up against a crate near her in a force of a relaxed stance, though she's not at all convincing about it, and her eyes don't return towards him. Her voice is a bit more quiet when she speaks, and even though her tone has softened, the rough edges and accent that the street rat is known for don'

"This whole fucking city could burn the fuck down around me, and I wouldn't give a shit. You wouldn't fucking know. You'd be running on home like a fucking pussy looking for Devon." She pauses for a moment, not looking at all releaved by the beginning of the admittion, and she sounds extremely sour past the clear strength it's taking her to even sit still for more than a moment at a time. "You have no fucking idea. You fucking know how long it lasted before I had to take care of all this shit myself? Two days. Nights. What the fuck ever."

Elijah coolly smokes his cigarette, narrowing his eyes against the rising smoke as he peers at Sybine, falling silent until well after she is done speaking. The sound of him inhaling deeply, taking in both air and smoke, is heard as he raises his hand and takes the cigarette from his lips. "Do you hate me because I love someone, who loves me back? Do you hate me because I have a sire who cares?" He asks, eyes still narrowed as he tilts his head, seeming truly curious about the woman's stance. "I'm sorry that you got fucked over Sybine. But I tried to offer you a home." He says, his voice gaining a bit of sternness. "It was the best I could fucking do to help you out, and you know it. Stop acting like some asshole who doesn't care. Now.. where the fuck have I said that recently?"

"Fuck, Elijah. Do you have no tact at /fucking all/?" Sybine snaps, stepping towards the previously discarded handgun and snatching it up, clicking the safety on and tucked it into the waist of her jeans at the small of her back. "You offered me an out when you knew fucking /perfectly/ well that I wouldn't fucking take that shit to save my life. Fuck. Literally." She fixes the hem of her blood stained shirt to cover the pistol up, though her clothes are so care-worn and tight that the outline of it can be easily seen still. "When your best isn't fucking enough, eh, Elijah? What the fuck would you have said to someone who fucking told you to leave the one person in this fucking shit storm that pretended to give a shit?" She seems to be sobering up a little, though only her depression seems to fade while her anger does not share the receeding calmness. "Fuck getting fucked over. I'm fixing it my fucking self, believe me. My hand?" she holds up her hand that still has a faded ring of dr

She holds up her hand that still has a faded ring of dried blood around it, as well as drips down her wrist from her previous game of hand-based russian roulette, "Practice. I can do shit that I want to see over and fucking over. I took two fucking shotgun slugs to the fucking stomach, and only realized I wasn't on my fucking knees dying when they shot again. Fuck your help. I don't need it." She snaps a little at the end, clearly running out of actual reasons to be upset with Elijah instead of just upset in general, and from experience, it should be no surprise. She turns on her heels and starts towards the door of the warehouse, kicking the edge of a crate on her way by hard enough to knock the side panneling off of it.

"Yeah, and I nearly had my head ripped off to save the only other person I care about." Elijah mutters, as if her experiences aren't particularly impressive. He casts a gaze around the warehouse, clearly recalling the memories of his near-death experience. He raises his hand up, holding the cigarette between two fingers in a half-hearted fashion as he calls out, "I'm just gonna go home and drink from the golden goblets of pure happiness we have lyin' around! You know, fuck Devon until all my problems are gone! Because, clearly," The man chuckles in a rather maniacal fashion, throwing the cigarette into the corner of the warehouse, teeth gritted, the motion forceful. "I HAVE NO PROBLEMS OF MY OWN!" He yells after her, serious signs of anger now manifesting on his features. He whips around in an equally upset fashion, striding towards the door opposite the one Sybine leaves through, kicking his katana up into his hand. He slashes a crate to pieces on his way out, the sound echoing through the building a bit.

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