He chuckled, a bit of a cold tone creeping into the sound.

"Someone who is responsible for a rather good number of deaths has little room to complain about a dress torn for convenience's sake, don't you think? Besides, I'll be the one to talk to your father. I have a way of molding people to my will...without killing them. As to my honor...heh, that, oddly enough, is one of the few things about me that I have kept spotless...at least in my opinion."

He took the lead at this point, guiding her past the various carriages and stiff, sharp-edge automobiles to the stunning lines of his Bently. He opened the passenger side door for her first. "Welcome to the best vehicle on the roads today, the 'Blue Train' Bently, as it's called."

Once she took her seat, he took his seat and brought the massive engine growling to life, shifting into gear and roaring away from the mansion.

"Don't test me, sir..."
A threat? This woman was threatening Seven, even after putting down her gun. She was way too aggressive for her own good, but Seven didn't want to start a fight. He put his guard down and braced for impact.

And boy, was it an impact. The lady swung the metal rifle into his crotch, without holding back. If Seven hadn't felt this before, he was sure he would've been castrated right there. He took a step back and groaned, then fell onto one knee. "I don't fuck around, sir..." Yeah, she fucking doesn't. This wasn't the most pain he had ever felt, but no one liked having their nuts squashed. 'Ow. That, uh, hurt, quite a bit.' Slightly frustrated, he then added, 'What's your name, young, ugh, woman?' He couldn't care less, but introductions were necessary.

Chell's facial expression remained impassible, but deep inside she felt somewhat satisfied. As Seven kneeled, she felt a sudden rush of power and supremacy, but her sense of safety overtook, keeping her on guard. She pulled up her rifle, having it now in a ready position across her torso as she was towering the man.

"Chell Stravinsky. Miss Stravinski for you, sir." her voice was quite blank and emotionless, barely enphasizing the word 'Miss'. With a quick move, she kicked open the breech, ejecting the empty cartridge out of the chamber and quickly loading another one. The move was so fast and fluid that she even had time to catch the empty one. It was still pleasantly burning.

"Now, sir, I have more important matters to attend. I have no time for a joker like yourself." she said with a soft voice, maintaining the blank tone. She stepped away from the man and began to carefully wander the basement, scanning ground, tables and walls.

OOC @Ipman: ty bby :3

Wow. Seven hadn't had too much experience with women, but he didn't know one could be such a...

...bitch. This girl had problems. "Miss Stravinski for you, sir." Seven sighed. 'Yes, ma'am.'

'Hey, you, guy with the accent, what's your name? And why are you hanging around this murderous russia-excuse me, Miss Stravinski? What's your motive for being here?'

Karl was eyeing the woman, as she was reloading her weapon, with at most precision. It was quite impressive. Following words left his mouth.

"First there was fire...then we had swords...now we have guns..." His voice was almost monochromatic and slow, although it had an...interesting intonation, almost as he was talking just to himself. "All, but a false promise of safety and power, that eventually turns against his inventor...against his owner...a human." Just now he lowered his hands and smiled even wider, for the whole duration of this "incantation" his eyes were still following the woman. "Im not looking for trouble... as im almost sure we're here, having a common goal...Knowledge...We all just want to know certain things, and for certain reasons, am i right? And since we have a common goal, and knowledge is considered a common good, why don't we just bury the hatchet, and get to the bottom of this case together?" During his monologue, he began to walk around the room, using slight gestures, then he stopped, and suddenly bowed.

"My name is Karl Edmond...I would be more than glad, to know your names..."

The guy with the...not gonna lie, pretty cool looking white hair, started a monologue about weapons or something, but Seven didn't really care. He was still recovering from the blow. 'Well, you can call me Seven, then. I hope you don't try to neuter me.' Seven grinned at the man as if he were already a friend.

Chell wandered across the room, her eyes focused on scanning every inch of her surroundings, trying to find the slightest possible misplaced thing. Although her main attention was on the search, she lend an ear to the conversation, hearing out most of what people said. As the white haired fellow was monologueing, she kept walking across the room, until accidentally ending up in front of him as he was bowing.

"Chell Stravinski, sir. Enchante." she politely replied whilst bowing herself. As she stood up she turned around, facing towards Seven's general direction. Her body immediately encountered a table with various items on it.

"Personal investigation is my motive, sir." she said as her eyes scanned the room, looking for Seven's figure. That search didn't last long. With a calm and gentle movement she placed the empty cartridge that she had been holding onto the table.
"And for the sake of clarifying, I was given birth here, from two beautiful Romanian individuals. I merely have Russian descend, sir." she concluded with a forced smile on her face.

'Hey, good job, you didn't hit me this time. It was just a simple joke lady, but thanks for 'clarifying'.' It might've sounded like he was joking, but Seven was actually afraid she was going to hit him again. She was scary in the type of unknowing way, the way that you couldn't possibly see what was coming. Like a spider. Like a...
'Black widow.'
Shit.
He said that out loud. He was definitely going to get punched for that. He turned around to Chell, ready for everything.

Though the cabin of his racer was nearly silent despite the powerful engine's roar, Tavrin did not try to start conversation while they sped down the country roads and whipped through the town. It was certainly not a happening place...how so many rich people could bury themselves into such a dead locale was something he would never understand.

It took little time for him to find the "Dead House" as the elderly lady had called it. Once there, he cut the growling engine and stepped around to the back. Popping open the hood, he extracted a long shape from a silk sleeve. The golden sheen of his customized Gatlin Gun glittered in the faint light of a streetlamp. He checked it to make sure it was fully collapsed into its slimmest form, then returned it to the sleeve. After a moment of fiddling, he undid a crossbelt that was attached to the sleeve and buckled it across his chest, leaving his sheathed gun as nothing more than a thin dark shadow on his back.

He rounded the car and opened the Princess' door for her. "This is the place...and from the looks of the muddy front walk, we aren't the first curious parties here."

They weren't going to leave. Zachary landed on that conclusion as he continued listening to their conversation. This murder was bringing a strange collection of characters together, and he wondered why. He heard the entrance of another person coming in through the front door and peeked around the corner, trying to map his path. As the man went one way, he quickly sneaked around and began descending down the stairs. He pulled out his notepad and began writing down an introduction. But each step he went down, the more excited the voices became and they began beating in his head, a pulsing that felt like someone beating his head with a shovel. He wrote down, "I'm Zach, I mean no..." and then his writing degenerated into scribbles and then gibberish that would look exactly like those written on the ritual circle. He glared at the paper as he sat down on a stair, ripping it off and stuffing it into his pocket before messaging his head, trying to numb the pain. He whispered incantations, they wouldn't do anything but they sounded soothing.

Once the voices quieted down and the pain cleared, he got back up and simply wrote. "I'm Zach." On a new sheet before walking down the rest of the stairs. He held it out to the audience, then ripped out the page, writing down on another piece. "I need to look around." He ripped it off and wrote down on the back, "I need answers."

'Ooh, hey Zach, finally here to join us?' Seven chimed. 5 people, now. Who else was going to be added to this variety of characters. It felt like he was in a story, like someone was writing all of this...
...no. That was stupid. 'Hey, I need answers, too. But if I'm worried about being murdered every step of the way,' Seven looked towards Chell for just a split second, 'then I don't think a lot of work could get done.'

Seven could've sworn he heard the rumble of a car outside.

Zach looked back and up the staircase, a car... who could've driven here? The cops wouldn't come here with just one car, nor would the Cult. He walked past Seven and began inspecting the circle, writing down details and other observations. He looked around for anything special, checking out the furniture, getting down on his hands and knees to perhaps find something the police didn't. He went back to the circle and crouched down to perhaps find something sealed in the blood.

Gaius, infuriated by the callous man, gripped his sword, the fire of his mind blazing out of control. Slowly, he calmed down, he could tell violence would help nobody at this point. He gave a pointed look at the man saying, "Well met, Lead. I hope you and I aren't forced to have a problem in the future."
Turning to Kegin, he said, "It appears we all have business revolving around your family and their deaths. I hate to make you suffer, but our common goal seems to be pointing us towards your house. Would you mind taking us there?"

Zoe hated being treated like a Princess. Despite this she smiled through it and stepped out of the car and took his hand. He had promised her fun, so he could be forgiven for it. Preemptively, Zoe pulled her knife out and held it at her side.

"I'll go first," she assured him.

Vitaliy raised an eyebrow quizzically, "A common goal you say? Huh... sounds fun. If you fine folks don't mind I'd appreciate the opportunity to accompany you on this. I think you'll find my skills useful for whatever it is you happen to be working towards." Vitaliy pulled his scarf over the lower half of his face again, "Besides, I happen to be wonderful at... removing people from the game, if you catch my meaning." Vitaliy grinned yet again, silently laughing to himself.