A difficult thing to ascertain, what chemical might have saturated the cloth. Something too potent, perhaps boasting a potential to be lethal, if otherwise administered by way of either syringe or dart. But what might require so gentle a touch? Is it the paralytic compound which Saber would be none too pleased to encounter? If it were some manner of neuromuscular-blocking agent, then surely he would have experienced involuntary muscle contraction—
(Like the way his arm jerks, the dress box and accompany bag falling to the ground, then slackens.)
—by now, but even if such is the case, the drug wouldn't effect him in its full capacity. Or rather, it would not effect him as it would a civilian, like the shop-owner who turns to fetch something in the blink of an eye, her skirts whispering about her feet as the remainder of the employees gesture in urgency toward the back-door.
(And there is a sound, from afar, a breaking in and splintering of wood which reverberates through the entirety of the store.) ]
To protect those present, we should hold our ground. [ The words can't come out fast enough, nor can Sion seem to move quickly enough to take hold of his PDD with the intention of calling upon his team of subordinates for back-up. ] I will give summons to the team of Enforcers stationed at the docks--
[ There is a sound (the cocking of a firearm) but it is from an unlikely (?!) source:
A-ah... So the shop-owner has triumphantly returned, living up to every Leithian stereotype (and in a way which might have made the Director blush, were it any other day).
no subject
[ Well, the answer is candid.
A difficult thing to ascertain, what chemical might have saturated the cloth. Something too potent, perhaps boasting a potential to be lethal, if otherwise administered by way of either syringe or dart. But what might require so gentle a touch? Is it the paralytic compound which Saber would be none too pleased to encounter? If it were some manner of neuromuscular-blocking agent, then surely he would have experienced involuntary muscle contraction—
(Like the way his arm jerks, the dress box and accompany bag falling to the ground, then slackens.)
—by now, but even if such is the case, the drug wouldn't effect him in its full capacity. Or rather, it would not effect him as it would a civilian, like the shop-owner who turns to fetch something in the blink of an eye, her skirts whispering about her feet as the remainder of the employees gesture in urgency toward the back-door.
(And there is a sound, from afar, a breaking in and splintering of wood which reverberates through the entirety of the store.) ]
To protect those present, we should hold our ground. [ The words can't come out fast enough, nor can Sion seem to move quickly enough to take hold of his PDD with the intention of calling upon his team of subordinates for back-up. ] I will give summons to the team of Enforcers stationed at the docks--
[ There is a sound (the cocking of a firearm) but it is from an unlikely (?!) source:
"Yᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛʜɪs ᴇsᴛᴇᴇᴍᴇᴅ Lᴀᴅʏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴇʀᴛʏ?"
A-ah... So the shop-owner has triumphantly returned, living up to every Leithian stereotype (and in a way which might have made the Director blush, were it any other day).
"Yᴏᴜ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴋɪᴅs sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢᴇᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ʜᴇʀᴇ."
(What.) ]