[The riots may have quietened down, sliding off silently into broken figures too internally damaged to keep up with their demands, but there's still turbulence here, a harsher, more exacting kind of vengeance in the form of gang activity spread throughout Old Town and beyond. Company officials and sympathisers taking brutal beatings in back alleys away from prying eyes or at least away from eyes with the will to interfere. Establishments known for their Company clientele accruing hits at ungodly hours when the majority have taken cover from the simmering violence of the decimated streets, livelihoods left in tatters. Random beatings brought about by ideals and overflowing frustrations rather than concrete acts one way or the other, casualties of a moon set on tearing itself apart. Or at least, that's the way it seems these days, these nights.
There's still plenty for a Dog to do, to busy itself with.
As such, Giovanni is often out and about, one more figure of fear and ruthlessly controlled violence amidst an amassing heap of them, his Handler always close at hand, a few steps in front, in the shadows ahead, or watching with cold compassionless eyes as he exacts his emotionless punishments. It's unlike the riots, where all the terrible carnage in him had been unleashed spilling over in roiling waves, an inimical tide that he'd been - ultimately - unable to control. No, he's all ruthless precision now, cold and perfect in his implacability, perfect shots to the head or the heart or a quick snap of the neck between his pale-fingered hands ending the little bubbles and spurts of violence that rise up in Old Town's streets or in the wastes of Westerley beyond it.
Perhaps you'll run into him like this, a veritable incarnation of implacable death, perhaps you'll even want to intervene, though it isn't advised. Or Perhaps you're a Company Enforcer roped into acting as his Handler for the occasion. Whatever the case, he's here and he's moving with predatory grace, focused with a single-minded dedication on the task at hand.]
ii.
[And after the riots, his 'little slip', they've been watching him all the more closely, keeping the leash short and his movements restricted, never left unattended or under the unwatchful gaze of a blind eye, no chance to act independently for even the briefest of moments. Or at least, that's the intention. But the best laid plans often end in ruin, and all that jazz.
Not every Handler is as scrupulous as they should be, and given the unexplained wave of deaths extending to the ones who take on that dubious mantel of late there are those who'd rather shirk their responsibility, avoid being seen with a Dog in tow. As such, through bribes you'd be better off not asking about or the sharpness of his persuasive tongue, dismissed with a terrible precise degradation (off you go then, mutt, be a good boy now) that nonetheless suits his needs, or even his own cunning when it comes to giving them the slip, you may find this particular Dog prowling the streets of Old Town unattended. Dangerously alone.
Dangerous, yes, but there's also a certain hungry focus to his movements, as though he has a very specific prey in mind. As such, he may barely pay attention to anyone who falls outside of his precise specifications, turn a deaf ear to violence effervescing in the streets or to those intent on giving him trouble. To anyone who may want to shadow and slink in the apparent blind spots of his footsteps. Perhaps, but do you want to take that risk?]
Giovanni Rammsteiner | Company (Cerberus Unit) | open
i.
[The riots may have quietened down, sliding off silently into broken figures too internally damaged to keep up with their demands, but there's still turbulence here, a harsher, more exacting kind of vengeance in the form of gang activity spread throughout Old Town and beyond. Company officials and sympathisers taking brutal beatings in back alleys away from prying eyes or at least away from eyes with the will to interfere. Establishments known for their Company clientele accruing hits at ungodly hours when the majority have taken cover from the simmering violence of the decimated streets, livelihoods left in tatters. Random beatings brought about by ideals and overflowing frustrations rather than concrete acts one way or the other, casualties of a moon set on tearing itself apart. Or at least, that's the way it seems these days, these nights.
There's still plenty for a Dog to do, to busy itself with.
As such, Giovanni is often out and about, one more figure of fear and ruthlessly controlled violence amidst an amassing heap of them, his Handler always close at hand, a few steps in front, in the shadows ahead, or watching with cold compassionless eyes as he exacts his emotionless punishments. It's unlike the riots, where all the terrible carnage in him had been unleashed spilling over in roiling waves, an inimical tide that he'd been - ultimately - unable to control. No, he's all ruthless precision now, cold and perfect in his implacability, perfect shots to the head or the heart or a quick snap of the neck between his pale-fingered hands ending the little bubbles and spurts of violence that rise up in Old Town's streets or in the wastes of Westerley beyond it.
Perhaps you'll run into him like this, a veritable incarnation of implacable death, perhaps you'll even want to intervene, though it isn't advised. Or Perhaps you're a Company Enforcer roped into acting as his Handler for the occasion. Whatever the case, he's here and he's moving with predatory grace, focused with a single-minded dedication on the task at hand.]
ii.
[And after the riots, his 'little slip', they've been watching him all the more closely, keeping the leash short and his movements restricted, never left unattended or under the unwatchful gaze of a blind eye, no chance to act independently for even the briefest of moments. Or at least, that's the intention. But the best laid plans often end in ruin, and all that jazz.
Not every Handler is as scrupulous as they should be, and given the unexplained wave of deaths extending to the ones who take on that dubious mantel of late there are those who'd rather shirk their responsibility, avoid being seen with a Dog in tow. As such, through bribes you'd be better off not asking about or the sharpness of his persuasive tongue, dismissed with a terrible precise degradation (off you go then, mutt, be a good boy now) that nonetheless suits his needs, or even his own cunning when it comes to giving them the slip, you may find this particular Dog prowling the streets of Old Town unattended. Dangerously alone.
Dangerous, yes, but there's also a certain hungry focus to his movements, as though he has a very specific prey in mind. As such, he may barely pay attention to anyone who falls outside of his precise specifications, turn a deaf ear to violence effervescing in the streets or to those intent on giving him trouble. To anyone who may want to shadow and slink in the apparent blind spots of his footsteps. Perhaps, but do you want to take that risk?]