Hazelwood

[neverdanced]

Characters: Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Casey Jones, Temeraire, Solomon Wreath, others
Date: April XX
Location: Various
Situation: Various
Warnings/Rating: Probable violence and discussion of it?

This post will have subthreads. OOC info can be found here.

Comments

Re: DISCUSSION/STRATEGY.

[peacefullywreathed]

By the time Solomon received notice of a meeting-place he had already ensured he was healed and prepared for a mission. He observed the area first before entering by shadow-walking into a corner, as subtly as possible, to watch his apparent team-mates.

He's calm. Quite calm. It's been a very long time since he's been on a mission like this before, but he's managed to prepare himself by finding an adequate blade and dark clothes. The knife is small enough to put on his belt but remain covered by his coat. He doesn't particularly like blades, or guns, or most sorts of mundane weapons, but given the state of his magic right now he can't afford not to take one.

There's one man who seems to be leading the formation of the teams. Tall, confident, poised. Experienced. Enough possession that Solomon can see a tendency in others to let him lead. That was fine; leaders tended to be targeted. But, judging by the conversation Solomon observed, just a touch too self-sacrificial for his own good. Leaders who led by example were good. Leaders who let themselves die were useless. That was interesting ... or potentially dangerous.

"Throwing one's self to the wolves without knowing how many are present seems an exercise in futility," he observed as the man passed.

[vdova]

There's a woman at the man's side, though a little bit back in the shadows. She, too, is dressed in all black, arms crossed as she observes Steve take the lead. She, too, is content to let him take control of the situation. Planning was his style, executing his plans was hers. Natasha's gaze slides to Solomon when he speaks, and she responds before Steve gets a chance.

"Sitting around and waiting might mean our hostage winds up dead."

[peacefullywreathed]

"Did I say we should do nothing?" Solomon asked mildly, regarding the woman. Black-clad, remaining against the walls, surveying the room. Solomon recognised an assassin when he saw one. He was the one who usually gave the Temple assassins their targets.

He kept her gaze and inclined his head toward the man who had taken lead. "He is establishing himself as lead, and yet he suggests he ought to go in first. That seems rather counter-intuitive, if he is the one who is giving the commands. One needs to view the field to be objective to it." He smiled. "It's more logical to scout the inside or at least provide a distraction before rushing in, does it not?"

Two things he could do with not as much ease as he would have liked, but certainly fairly easily. There were sure to be guards. Guards could be turned and sent in against their fellows. And shadows made wonderful scouts, if given the opening.

[vdova]

"Believe me," Natasha says, smirking just a little. "You want him going in first. He was," she continues, pausing just for a moment, as if searching for the right word. "Trained to be able to lead from the front, and not the back. Captain Rogers doesn't need to be objective to the field in order to understand it and what's going on. Besides," she says, raising an eyebrow, "I'd rather have my commander on the field with me than hiding in the back like a coward. Wouldn't you?"

[peacefullywreathed]

"I would," Solomon acknowledged. "But there is a very great difference between a leader who sacrifices himself on the blades of his enemies and one who remains removed enough to command his men."

Of course, there was a very great difference in battlefields, as well. During a skirmish, a leader who led the fight couldn't watch the back of it, couldn't ensure no ambush occurred. A leader of a small group of infiltrators might penetrate an objective fast and efficiently without lacking such hindsight. Solomon still didn't like it.

But it did reveal something about the nature of the man's training. The woman, Solomon already knew was an assassin, but he wouldn't have thought the same of the man himself. He was altogether too open, too ready to have all eyes on him. His skillset might be similar, at least in its stealthiness, but not the same. Possibly he was something like, well, the Dead Men. Fast, efficient, suicidal, absurdly noble.

His conversation partner was more like him. How interesting.

"Solomon Wreath," he introduced himself abruptly with a very slight bow and a very faint smile. "If I may--whyever is an assassin attaching herself to such a paragon of strength and virtue?"