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Post by Tybalt on Dec 16, 2011 16:07:36 GMT -5
Tybalt could not respond to that.
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Post by Victor von Doom on Dec 25, 2011 23:31:08 GMT -5
"Walk with me," he said, and as usual it wasn't a request. "There is much for you to see."
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Post by Tybalt on Dec 25, 2011 23:32:45 GMT -5
"Yes, my lord."
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Post by Victor von Doom on Dec 25, 2011 23:40:49 GMT -5
He led him through the door out which the poor chagrined henchman had been quick to exit. It was another narrow passageway, leading downward into a space that might be charitably described as dungeonlike, but the place had been refitted with locks and steel. It looked like the bastard child of an armory and a target range, mostly because it was.
In the artificial light, his armor shone.
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Post by Tybalt on Dec 25, 2011 23:43:07 GMT -5
Doom's armor always shone; it was impossible to tear his eyes from the figure he cut, imposing and terrifying, but instilling one with awe at the same time.
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Post by Victor von Doom on Dec 26, 2011 1:40:23 GMT -5
"It will be good for you to learn the use of a ranged weapon, when close quarters are not always feasible. You'll begin with something small."
'Small' looked like a rather squarish handgun. It was elegant, by Doom's standards, but mostly just functional. And it was possible to operate it with gloves on, though whether that was a design feature in Doom's gauntlets or the gun itself wasn't clear.
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Post by Tybalt on Dec 26, 2011 16:03:11 GMT -5
Tybalt did not understand. He looked up at Doom, perplexed.
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Post by Victor von Doom on Dec 26, 2011 20:40:32 GMT -5
"This is a gun, Tybalt, designed to fire small projectiles at very high speeds. Generally into one's opponent. Be aware of ricochet."
He leveled it at a target on the far wall, and squeezed the trigger. There was a startling electric crackle when it went off, and it shot two small syringe-like darts, now emptying their greenish contents down the wall.
"Most fire bullets. This one fires tranquilizers, or poison, with the correct attachment."
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Post by Tybalt on Dec 26, 2011 20:47:58 GMT -5
"I... see. This is dangerous, isn't it?"
Way to be obvious, self.
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Post by Victor von Doom on Dec 26, 2011 21:01:44 GMT -5
"Yes," Doom said dryly. "It is not wise to shoot at an opponent you do not wish to kill. Even with tranquilizer bullets."
He slid out the cartridge that contained the darts themselves, and held it out before him, demonstrating how it was held and indicating parts of the gun with a twitch of his fingers.
"The barrel. The trigger guard. The trigger, which is pulled; the muzzle, the grip..."
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Post by Tybalt on Dec 26, 2011 21:04:23 GMT -5
"...my lord, why are you teaching me to use something this dangerous?" he asked quietly, eyes lifting to Doom's beneath the mask.
He had not received any of his possessions back yet but the locket (which was too painful to wear; the last time he had thought about putting it on he'd woken to find himself on the floor in a puddle of his own drool, sore as hell), and he was still flanked by guards; it was a show of trust, but Tybalt did not see how he'd earned it, to teach him this.
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Post by Victor von Doom on Dec 26, 2011 21:08:58 GMT -5
Because I fear you may soon have need of it, and I would be a poor host if I did not--
"Because it pleases me to show you what finer men than your Prince have accomplished."
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Post by Tybalt on Dec 26, 2011 21:10:52 GMT -5
"I do not think Prince Della Scala is so fine, but I cannot imagine many princes would rule well with a nephew like his," Tybalt mumbled, chastened.
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Post by Victor von Doom on Dec 26, 2011 21:20:40 GMT -5
"Doom has no regard for kings and princes. In any case, I doubt very much you could overcome me, even so outfitted."
He turned to a more charitable train of thought, though not without ulterior motive. "Will you be needing an escort to attend Mass?"
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Post by Tybalt on Dec 26, 2011 21:24:50 GMT -5
He had no idea what the religious environment was in Latveria. Of course in Verona he had been believed an incoherent heathen - some even believed him possessed due to his fits - but that had hardly been a difficult reputation to shoulder since he half believed it himself.
"...do.... do you require me to attend mass, my lord?" he asked timidly, wincing.
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