Windigo thought for a moment, then shook his head. "We can try this for later. For now, we will wait." He said as he took out a handgun. "If we were heard, someone will come soon. We will wait for them." He said as he moved to the door. "Hide in the bedroom and continue making noise, so that the transmitter catches it - I will wait by the door for our guests..." Hopefully, someone comes. If not, they would have to track the damn thing.
Olena allowed a smile to spread across her features and an impish giggle to escape her at Pavel's irate shouting. All's well that ends well, especially considering she hadn't killed anyone today... At least, not yet. The humor left the Vixen as she considered her options. Considering how much time had passed, she reckoned the party downstairs would be likely to wind down, if it hadn't already. Staff no longer assigned to security or service, such as the guard at her entry point, could be wandering around inside of the dacha now. That left skirting around the outside of the building. With a light shrug, Olena moved back to Andropov's office, clambered onto the balcony, and began to make her way around the perimeter of the roof, searching for an open path to freedom... Perhaps she could simply walk to her comrades' car?
"Got it." Despite her loathing of him, Witch is a professional, and the time for jabs and insults is done. Nodding, she draws her own 1911 and heads to the bedroom, making a show of slamming the door. Windigo feels his bones ache as he waits, but his waiting is rewarded by the screeching of tires outside. Chancing a look out the window, he sees festival-goers shouting as they dodge out of the way of a car which recklessly comes to a halt on the kerb next to the apartment building. Two men get out - white, with close cropped hair and muscular frames, wearing the kind of thick leather jacket that's good at resisting blade strikes without grabbing attention like actual body armor would. He takes them as ex-military types. They enter the building, and before long, Windigo can hear heavy footsteps on the stairs outside the apartment door.
Spoiler: Luck Roll D100: 6 https://www.rolldicewithfriends.com/rooms/coldwarrpg Heading out onto the balcony, Olena grits her teeth as she hears footsteps thump their way up the stairs to the second floor, attracted by Pavel's shouts. Worse, as she looks over the balcony, she sees that the party goers seem to have wandered off away from the patio and into small groups. Some talk, some smoke, and one couple makes out rather flagrantly against the wall, but regardless of what they're doing, it seems there's nowhere she can drop down to the first floor without being in eyeline of someone as they're spaced out pretty evenly around the house. The darkness, at least is on her side, and once she reaches the treeline she'll be properly hidden, but until she gets there, stealth will be difficult.
Olena allowed a concerned hum to escape her at the steadily escalating situation. The path to her insertion point was blocked with whoever began to come for Pavel. She could try to neutralize them both, but she would have to rush them, and it probably wouldn't be quiet... She was also getting attached to the idea of pulling off a bloodless infiltration. So that was off the table. That left either jumping down near the socialites or figuring out a third option... Well, unless she grows wings and flies off, looks like she was just gonna have to risk it... Those two love-birds seemed quite involved, maybe they would be too distracted with each other to take notice of her? With that, the Vixen tried to make a silent landing, intent on rolling with the momentum to keep from injuring herself, before moving low and fast towards the treeline...
Spoiler: Stealth Roll D100: 17+10 (Deft Feet)-10 (Increased difficulty)= 17 (Failure) Olena mounts the railing and propels herself off the edge. In the split second of airtime, she realises she's done something wrong. Maybe it's her angle, maybe it's the speed with which she jumped - that's all stuff to consider at a later point. She makes contact with the ground, bending her knees and rolling forward to disperse the impact and break her fall, but it's with a heavy thump. She hears movement from the lovebirds, the woman giving a high pitched squeal that's sure to attract attention. The man, his expensive suit crumpled and cheeks red, looks at her, slurring. "Hey, baby! What's that thing yer wearin'? I like it!" He calls out in slurred Russian, too drunk to be alarmed by her presence, but too loud. "C'mon, bring yer ass over here and join the party..." He cackles. From around the house, Olena hears heavy footsteps.
Olena winced as the female of the pair chose to react to the mostly pitch-black form near her with an alerting screech. She moved back without really looking where she was going, her gaze fixed firmly on the corner of the house she could hear someone running from. For a moment, she was tempted to play along with the drunk's delusions - maybe letting herself get groped for a bit would distract whichever guard was coming to investigate the commotion. However, while the holster and strap for her silenced pistol and SMG were similarly colored to the rest of her catsuit, she doubted both the guard and the drunk would fail to notice. For now, she waited in ambush for the responding guard, her hand falling to unholster her taser... She didn't pay the civilians too much mind beyond a cursory glance to ensure they weren't armed, nor did she pay much attention to how close she had gotten to the greedy socialite as she lay in wait against the wall.
"Hey... Hey, baby..." The drunk mutters, trying to get her attention as the woman he was swapping spit with wisely finds somewhere else to be. Poking her head around the corner, she sees a suited guard lumbering in her direction. Still, it at least appears that he's not aware of the situation - from his relaxed posture and annoyed expression, it seems like he assumes he's dealing with a groper or with someone who had too much to drink, not a heavily armed spy. He moves closer and closer, about to round the corner.
Olena nodded to herself as she managed to get a quick glimpse at what she was dealing with. All she had to do was wait for the hapless guard to come around the corner and he would feel the lightning... She deadpanned as the drunk socialite kept trying to talk to her, shooting him an unamused and put-upon stare. "Can I help you, comrade?" The Vixen asked, her tone a mix of dry and just a little bit curious... Not that she didn't let him distract her from the impending takedown she intended on executing shortly.
"Err, well, I..." The drunk man stumbles on his words, clearly anticipating her to be either willing or embarassed, but not so dry. "Uh..." He mumbles, trying to find his words in a haze of booze. "Is that a gun?" He asks, finally noticing the weapon on her shoulder. Spoiler: Attack Roll D100: 59+20 (Surprise Attack) +10 (Fist Fighter)=89 (Success) Electricity crackles as Olena feels the guard draw close. Another second, and he'll turn the corner and see her. She leaps out briskly, shoving the unfamiliar device against the man's torso. She smells smoke and feels his body go rigid, eyes widening as she holds down the trigger and shocks him with the taser. She feels his knees go weak, and then he collapses against her, nearly knocking her down underneath him, and she's able to drag him around the corner and lean him against the side of the dacha. Risking another peek around the corner, she sees more guards coming in this direction, but not fast or taking cover, so they're not alerted. The drunk reels back, falling on his ass. "W-Wha?" He gasps, lust turning to fear. "S-She...She just k-killed that guy!" He babbles breathlessly. Said guard twitches against the wall, drooling a little, but still clearly alive, so it seems the drunk is letting panic get to him.
"Oh, he'll be alright," Olena replied breezily, an easy smile on her face as she gave the incapacitated guard a couple light slaps on the cheek. "Sorry for the scare, comrade," she started, grunting as she lay the guard down against the wall. "I was just leaving." With that, the Vixen bounded towards the treeline - hopefully she could get there before the guards even rounded the corner.
Windigo hummed, then made his way behind the door - that way the man approaching him would have the way to the bedroom opened. For a moment, he considered jut getting both of them right after they entered, but he decided against this. Instead, He would allow both of the men to advance to the bedroom, and only capture them, when they were about to enter the bedroom. With that in mind, Windigo moved to a spot, where he would stay hidden...
Each step feels like a gunshot as Olena sprints away from the dacha. She sees a small dot of light in the distance, brief and low enough for someone to write off as just a trick of the moonlight, guiding her into the treeline. As she makes the trees, a brief pause to listen out lets her hear confused shouting coming from the dacha, the guards alerted to their fallen comrade, but not yet aware of where the culprit went. Not wasting any more time, the spy rushes her way through the trees, towards the rendezvous. She sees the Lada before she sees her fellow agents. Turning, she looks down the barrel of an AK-47, before Operative Bagration sees her properly, lowering the weapon with a boyish grin. The young agent's long hair - grown out for a mission amidst the 'hippies' of the West - sways softly in the breeze. "You made it back. Here I was hoping I'd get to rescue a damsel tonight." "Quiet." A gruff voice speaks, and the unfortunately codenamed Operative Uranus walks out, the wizened old veteran radiating with 'too old for this shit' energy. "Car. Now, before we get caught." As they get into the cramped Lada, turning on the engines but leaving the lights off, Uranus looks into the rear view mirror. "Report. You have the microfiche? And is the secondary target disposed of?"
Spoiler: Stealth Roll D100: 18+10 Windigo hears the footsteps get closer and closer. They reach the doorway, and he hears the subtle shift of the door as an ear is pressed against it. There's an uncomfortable silence, and Windigo strains as best he can not to make a sound. He straightens up against the wall as best he can, going rigid so that an errant movement won't expose him. Then, a dull crack sounds from his aged spine- soft, but sounding like a gunshot in the silence. There's a second of annoyance as Windigo hopes they didn't hear it - then the door explodes inwards in a spray of wood chips, kicked hard by one of the men. The first one to enter looks to his left - the wrong direction. Then, he looks right and spots Windigo. His 1911 is raised but not yet pointed at Windigo, and his partner is blocked by his body. Windigo judges he has about a second before that changes.
Well, that is embarrassing... Windigo thought, for someone with his skill to be found soo fast... His hand snapped up, aiming at the man's shoulder. Click! The gun sung as it shoot the man, trying to only wound him.
Spoiler: Combat Roll D100: 25+10 (Shootist)=35 (Failure) Unfortunately, the split second Windigo takes to try and aim for a non-lethal shot backfires. The man in the doorway moves forward, batting away the older spy's hand. The gun booms, firing a round harmlessly into the wall, and then the man moves forward, grabbing Windigo's gun hand by the wrist.
Olena reflexively raised her hands as she found herself staring down the barrel of a gun. Whether she was really going to surrender or merely bide her time to overwhelm her apparent assailant, that question becomes a mere thought exercise as the Vixen smiled cheekily at Bagration. "Oh? Are you suggesting the damsel is always a woman? How reactionary of you, comrade!" She liked Bagration, and not just because he looked like a romantasy protagonist come to life with that hair - something she had told him he should try to hold on to, considering how well it framed his features. He matched her energy, a rare thing in the grim world of espionage. Olena lowered her arms and good-naturedly rolled her eyes as Uranus put an end to the friendly snarking before it could get going again. That was as far as it got with her, though. She respected someone that could reach his age in a business for young folk such as this and his no-nonsense attitude was surely borne of a long, hard, and storied career. "Da, tovarisch." Once in the car, Olena patted the side of her thigh, where the tiny storage compartment remained with the microfiche. "Got it. He struck out with the ladies tonight, so I couldn't get him alone. The microfiche was an easy find - one of the maids helped me... Think the boss will let me keep her?" The question was partially genuine and partially a distraction. She wanted to keep the microfiche on her for as long as possible, especially since it could help her get away with smuggling the folder hidden in her bodysuit by drawing attention... That and - while she absolutely trusted Bagration and Uranus - one could never be too careful about trusting their companions too much.
"Heh, I'd be happy to play the damsel next time, and let you save me. Perfectly egalitarian, my friend!" Bagration chuckles as the car rolls along. "Of course, now that I think about it, the damsel always gives Prince Charming a kiss in those stories..." Uranus grunts in distaste, turning the headlights on with a casual flick as he turns off of the forest path and onto a main road. For a split second, Olena thinks she sees a shape in the trees, light from the headlights reflecting brilliantly off a pair of eyes. They continue on, no one else seeing it, and Olena looks back and sees nothing in the dark. She guesses it was a deer, though her mind runs back to girlhood memories of Ukrainian folk stories, horrific little tales told in an atmosphere of comfort, that fill her with a strange mix of unease and nostalgia. "A shame that Andropov lived. He will doubtless try to escape once he realises the microfiche is gone. This maid... Is she of any use?" Uranus asks tersely. "You know мама, she's not the sort to let a good thing go to waste." Bagration adds. "Though after a while the poor girl might wish you'd just left her alone." Olena feels an involuntarily feeling of...something...as she thinks about мама, the head of this merry band of spies - and her mentor.
This was not his day... Or he was getting old. As the man took care not to aim at him yet, Windigo's left arm snapped forward, striking the man in the throat.
Olena shivered at the vague memory of Leshi and Baba Yaga, stories of forest and fay creatures that were as likely to lead a child to adventure and wonder as they were to murder and misery. If pressed, she would claim the chill of the air as the reason, inwardly chastising herself for indulging in thinking of folk tales at a time like this. "She knows how to sneak in, look natural, and get out. Beyond that, I'm not exactly a talent agent," Olena breezily moved on from the conversation of Lyudmila... It was best she not look too interested. Best case scenario, if she couldn't pull strings in the background for her, maybe Mama would take her on long enough for the thief to sneak out? If that's how things were going to shake out, the Vixen couldn't look too interested... Especially where her mentor was involved. Olena's eyes softened at the memory of one of her assessments, how she had managed to impress Mama with her marksmanship and got her interest with the reveal that she had a veteran father who had served in the War... There was always going to be that chilly dread at the mention of her name - she was a disciplinarian and a KGB officer - but the codename was apt. "Well, flaunt what you've got, right? Besides, if she's good enough, maybe she'll end up like you, Uranus." The redhead's eyes wrinkled at their edges as the impish smile spread across her features, teasing the eldest of the trio, both in words, demeanor, and the way she crossed one thick leg over the other.
