Book III: Casino Royale (VII): Explosive Extrapolations

  --- Gregory Fischer ---

  The temptation to simply make this not his problem was strong, so very very strong… but in the end he still found himself sighing as he turned to go do the responsible thing and make sure some young dumbass didn’t blow them all to hell.

  Up close he noticed the young woman definitely looked out of place compared to everyone else here, being arguably one of the least formally dressed people in the room. With her outfit being little more than a faded old hoodie over a white shirt and torn up jeans, which with her dyed violet hair stood in stark contrast to everyone else.

  Now that he was closer he could tell that thing her hands was (definitely a bomb. No doubt whatsoever about that now.)

  His narrowed eyes once more glanced towards the guards wondering (why am I the one who has to deal with this shit show?)

  “What do you want creep?” A feminine voice asked.

  Turning his attention back to the teenager more focused on her explosive than him he confessed that, “I’m just making sure I’m not about to die because you cut the wrong wire.”

  He was kind of hoping the fact that all of her wires were purple was a point to her being experienced enough to not need to color code them for her own safety.

  The teenager let out a half offended laugh before putting a pair of clippers to one of the wires and looking him dead in the eyes as she snipped it with a, “Boom.”

  “Funny.” He told her unamused, hand half raised and ready to test just how effective his ‘Parry Arts’ would be against an explosion, his own pyromancy making the feat previously plausible if there wasn’t too much shrapnel. (When I was on a lot of magical drugs at least.)

  “I know, I’m hilarious.” The young woman grinned, before once more focusing on the bomb in her lap. “Don’t worry I’m not going to kill you… right now. We’ll see how I feel in five minutes.”

  He gave the guards another pointed look, and despite receiving no response he still asked the girl, “I wonder how the guards would react to me telling them someone was messing with an explosive in the middle of their tournament?”

  “They wouldn’t give two shits narc.” The young woman scoffed. “Especially since half the people in here can blow shit up with their minds, they might actually prefer that they can see my explosive.”

  Given how he was one of those people technically capable of ‘blowing shit up with their minds’ (when the book isn’t crippling me at least) he was forced to concede that that was a, “Fair point.”

  Still despite being able to see why it was considered a lesser threat, he couldn’t stop himself from actually examining the bomb a little more critically. And while he was far more used to magically induced explosives he still had at least a basic understanding of explosive compounds from the times he’d wanted such a thing pinned on anyone other than a practitioner.

  (No shrapnel beyond the bomb itself. Material is held in three chem vials… can’t tell what they are, but… glass is colored not the chems. She trusts her wire work but doesn’t want to risk a bad reaction. The trigger mechanism is remote rather than timer and- Wait, that’s a motion detector, so tripwire base with the remote as a redundancy or for change of plans.) “Smart.”

  The young woman looked up with a surprised blink, apparently having not expected that comment. “Uh, what?”

  “Your bomb, it’s adaptable.You can either leave it alone or trigger it when you want, and…” He spotted a small manual timer attached to one of the vials. “There’s a release timed on one of the chems, I’m guessing something relatively harmless on its own but key to the reaction. Auto-disarm the bomb if you end up not using it.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Oh.” The demolition expert blinked once more, clearly taken aback before she grew a half-mad grin. “You know your explosives!”

  He made a so-so gesture. “I’m not an expert but I can spot the work of one. I was years older than you before I could build something half as good as this.”

  The young woman preened at his praise. “Damn right, I’m a prodigy with this kind of stuff.” Her eyes glanced at his arm. “What about you, what's your specialty? Weaponized prosthetics?”

  He looked down at his arm before giving her a grin as he clenched his fist and confessed, “Blowing shit up with my mind. I’m a practitioner. Arm is from a friend who wanted to try mixing my magic and her machines.”

  The tinkerer narrowed her eyes at him. “Most people aren’t willing to mix magic and tech.”

  That was an odd thing for him given how every country he knew mixed the two in some way or another for their military divisions. (Then again…) “Most people aren’t in my line of work.” (Former and current.)

  Green eyes continued to narrow at him, this time seemingly in thought. “And what line of work is that?”

  He considered telling her ‘Librarian’ like he had Ace, but he got the distinct feeling that that wasn’t what the young woman wanted to hear, so instead he answered, “Acquisitions… Rare acquisitions.”

  “Acquistions.” The college aged demolition expert repeated.

  “Rare acquisitions.” He corrected.

  She watched him for another moment, clearly picking up on what he was implying. “And are you working on… acquiring something right now?”

  “In a sense.” He nodded, taking in her own reactions. “Though that depends on just how much competition I have at the moment.”

  “Well that would depend on what you’re trying to acquire I guess.” The young woman told him, her eyes slowly drifting around the room, head tilting just enough for him to make out the comm device hiding amongst the piercings in her ear. Something he doubted she intended.

  He let his own eyes roam around the room himself, trying to spot anyone who might be watching the pair of them. “This tournament has brought in a lot of… interesting antes from all over. While the payout could be interesting for winning, well… When the house always wins that prize doesn’t sound quite so grand by comparison.”

  The violent violet’s hands twitched on the bomb, subtly adjusting something. And while he couldn’t tell what that something was he was fairly certain he could make some good guesses.

  He let out a soft chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’m not after the pot. I’m after something a little more specific. Truthfully, I’m not even sure if it’s really here or not. I just know that someone here had what I’m after once upon a time and well, this is a good place to fence something as any.” (To be fair though, Briar ‘s implied that everyone has had at least one Story.)

  “And what prize specifically are you looking for?” The demolitionist pressed.

  He raised his book into the air. “Know what this is?”

  Green eyes narrowed once more. “I’m guessing not-a-book?”

  “It is and is not a book… I’m sure you’re aware of the phrase knowledge is power? Think of it along those lines.” He told her.

  “So you’re after a spell book?” The violet haired woman frowned, despite her face losing some of its tension, apparently relieved that they weren’t competing for the same thing.

  Her face twitched slightly as she listened to whoever was on the other end of her comm. “You were talking with Ace earlier.”

  “And you’re with the big guy, white hair.” He nodded, given how of the two people that had been watching them only one of them had used a comm.

  The young woman let out an amused huff. “What did you talk to Ace about?”

  He shrugged, considering things for a moment before deciding to lean into Ace’s misconception and answering, “This and that, an offer to… exchange information on certain things. Information that would make my job easier.”

  “And if someone else wanted to… exchange information?” The violent violet asked, her fingers once more tapping at a quick trigger for whatever she’d built, seemingly unafraid of the possibility it might blow up in her face.

  “Well, I’d need to know their name first.” It wasn’t normally a requirement for this kind of thing, but he wasn’t after Information so much as he was after a Story.

  “Call me… Rabbit.” The young woman answered with her callsign.

  “Fischer.” He offered with a nod. “Now then why don’t you tell me your story? Then maybe we can figure out something each of us wants.”

  Rabbit opened her mouth to speak only for it to turn into a frustrated frown. “My… boss, thinks it would be better for you to speak to him rather than me.”

  An idea the young woman clearly did not like. (Not sure I like it much either.)

  He didn’t doubt he could handle himself, a few dashes being more than enough to escape most problems in a pinch, but he was also fairly certain that if he followed this Rabbit down the hole he wouldn’t be getting out of it for a fair while.