"Eisotchter's words are clear, Frau McLowell, no access to her quarters without a formal invitation."
Bruchsal base, bastion of the Bundschuh movement. Hidden in an asteroid not unlike the thousands of the belt it is, the movement of the defenders of Democracy resides here, with the Vereinigte Widerstandarmee at its head. Known for its will to do violence against political and military assets of Rheinland, the organisation was a high profile, priority target for most law enforcement aspects of the government. Though relatively few, they make up for it with near unlimited funds from the rich intelligentsia of Rheinland. Most of these people were hardened, disheartened ideologists with no other escape from their lives. Most of these people were ready to die if it meant that Rheinland would be closer of its objective of instoring a true democracy, free from the grasps of corporations, true to the people, in Rheinland.
Unfortunately, Lizzie was not one of these people.
"Aaah, come on, be a pal... what was it, Gustav?" Lizzie raises her hands up in the air, an eternal smile on her face. The young doctor seems more confused than frustrated by the situation she's facing. Wearing her trademark blue dress, long blonde hair flowing long past the limits of the VWA's regulations, the well endowed miss now bears a fake poutey grin.
"It's Mark, actually. And no, I can't let you in." The weapons the pair of guards are holding click. The threat was clear. Lizzie takes a moment to let her surroundings sink in. The corridor was tight, reinforced with some kind of supersteel and poorly lit, asteroid contingencies demand. The men were twenty five feet away from her. Though it made her a simple target, she also knew it restricted their own movements.
"Ten, nine, eight..." The guard begins to countdown, as Lizzie obviously doesn't back up just yet. Not that she was planning to. She stretches arms further up and cracks her neck. Then a flick of the wrist. A little 'eep' escapes her, which interrupts the guards mid-count, obviously relieved. "Coming to your senses, Fr-"
The left sleeve falls down from the wrist, revealing a spent injector resting on it. Before the guards could even re-assess the situation, a drug enhanced McLowell was on them. Fueled by instant action painkillers and a multitute of sense enhancing drugs, perhaps even a trace amount of Cardamine for the Bretonian noble girl, she adopts an exotic martial arts position - a mix of Bretonian boxing legwork, with agility that could be compared to Hispanic fencing and wrestling, with strikes that wouldn't be unfamiliar in a Kusari animation.
Faking in a kick, the guard she first targets instinctively raises his weapon to protect his chest, which only allows Lizzie to strike him in the groin with a mighty fist. Normally, the armor would've softened the blow, but the cocktail Lizzie is enjoying right now is one that completely stops muscle inhibition. It'd be enough to knock out a bear.
She then shifts her weight, spinning slightly through clever use of the momentum of the still-raised foot to more properly face her second opponent. She reaches in for what is best described as a hug, pulling herself to his side, bringing with her an arm of the guard behind his back and locking it there in one sharp motion, along with a sickening crack. The second guard drops his weapon in shock and pain, only to be finished off with a shoulder to the spine, sending him flying against the reinforced steel wall, unconcious.
The entire scene lasted less than a full three seconds, from the start of the lunge 'til both were knocked out. Lizzie reels from this for a moment, the rush of drugs nearly resulting in the same for herself. She couldn't let -that- happen! She had a date to go on to! Approaching the door behind the guards, she pulls out a new white glove which she carefully slips around her hand. This one glove was special, you see. Lizzie crafted it one day, for emergency uses. The lines on the tip of the fingers match the ones for Freya in her medical database, and she may or may not have abused of her position to acquire samples of Freya's DNA. Regardless, it's clear that her device works, as the DNA ID system of the door offers no struggle against it, giving Lizzie free access to Freya's quarters. Seems like being one of the senior medical officers of Bruchsal had its occasional upsides!
Readjusting her hair, taking out a small mirror to make sure her makeup is still in place, flicking her right wrist to inject herself with a counter for her first injection that'd help her calm down, she rushes into the quarters, ready to pounce down Freya as if nothing had happened!
As soon as Lizzie enters the room cold metal is pressed against her forehead. "You know the most logical course of action would be to execute you here and now. Using violence against your own comrades and breaking into the party leader's personal quarters? In such a dangerous situation I have little choice but to stop you with lethal force."
Unlike Lizzie, Freya was very much the archetype of the Bundschuh though she was distinguished from others by her unwavering loyalty to the cause, her extreme discipline in her work and her apparent lack of anything vaguely resembling mercy or remorse. Towards most people that is.
She looked serious as she pushed Lizzie's head back with the short steel barrel of her handgun. "Isn't it a shame? Born with everything you could dream off and then to just have your life end like that because you are so incredibly stupid?" Behind the uniformed, long-haired Freya the quarters could be seen. It was plain with sparse furniture and no decoration other than some large flags with Bundschuh and Widerstand symbols on them.
She whispered. "I could end you right now, you know?"
Lizzie seems to care very little about the barrel pressed on her head. The goofy smile on her face instead shows that she has nothing but eagerness towards meeting Freya. Then, something dawns onto her face - a moment of panic as she pats her pockets. For once, Lizzie seems like she might actually aknowledge her acts may have consequences, yet... she instead fetches something from her cleavage and presents what seems to be a pair of tickets up to Freya's face, a relieved expression on her own. "You must've forgotten! I was coming to take you out this weekend!" Her eyes then dart down to Freya's uniformed body, few tuts escaping her. "No, no, no, no, NO! Have you done nothing to prepare for this?! How can you go out looking like -that-?"
Lizzie would look insane to anyone else. As if her acts were erratic and without purpose. Yet, in the deep blue of her eyes, beyond the amazement for Freya that could easily be read, was the mark of a terrified young girl, one that could not endure being so lonely. Her facade had become more and more destructive over time, to the point where she clearly has stopped caring about her life. Many would mistake Lizzie for an idiot, but she was far from being one. There were rare moments of lucidity in her. She would hide them well. This, though, was not one of these moments. The drugs probably do not help one bit, all things considered.
Simply stepping away from the barrel, without a care of the consequences such a thing would have, Lizzie instead makes her way further into the study, heading for Freya's room. "Come ooon, you need to look good! What are you going to wear the day you'll become Kaizerin? Consider this some kind of practice!" She starts rummaging through the belongings of Freya, her dressers and everything. Truly making a mess, without a single care for Freya's itchy trigger finger.
Freya was baffled for a moment. Yet she knew Lizzie longer than today and should have anticipated this. As she recovered from the surprise of Lizzie's careless behaviour, Freya sighed and walked slowly to the nuisance that invaded her room. She gently hit Lizzie on her head with the grip of the pistol. "Keep your hands off my stuff, you're making a mess." She prodded the gun in Lizzie's back. "I told you, I don't have time for your games, I have meetings to attend to. Now leave and report yourself to station security if you don't want an instant death sentence here and now."
Most people would've been dead and buried at this point, yet for some reason Lizzie got away with such things a lot easier. No one knew exactly why, perhaps not even Freya herself. Perhaps she just didn't know what to do with such an oddity? Or did she maybe enjoy toying with the life of the confused noble lady? Or was it something completely different? Whatever the reason, it saved Lizzie from imprisonment, exile and death (although she has become a contender for the award for 'most-often on cleaning duty').
Lizzie nearly lets go of a pair of underwears she had her grips on as she's smacked on the head with the cold steel, a disappointed pout following shortly after. "Tsssk, Freya. Pink is a childish color." With an unexpected twist to face her, using the last rush she'll most likely get from her first injection before finally being sedated by her No-Go cocktail, she flings Freya's arms sideways to redirect the cannon away from her own back, gripping her wrists and nearly breaking them, using her second hand to remove the gun from her palms. It's a swift motion, nearly blinding, perhaps because of the flash that went off midway through the whole ordeal. When all is said and done, Freya's wrists are tied up with the strong fabric of the underwears Lizzie was holding on to a moment before, while the Bretonian girl examines a new hole on the side of her dress. Giving in a exhasperated sigh, she tears the dress wider open to check for any more injuries, only to notice the laser had kissed the skin of her waist, causing a nasty flashburn on her. Good thing she started that diet recently, or she might've taken more of that blast!
"Ah, Freya! You're always the one that warned me! You lose your only advantage with a firearm if you close up the distance with one!" Lizzie lets out a childish laughter as she examines her injury again. "Eeesh. Uhmm. Nothing some medigel won't handle, though." Worsening her case by revealing she handily steals already scarce medical supplies for her own benefits, she produces some kind of clear gel bottle from her purse. Suddenly, there's a look of disbelief on her face as her eyes meets the frustrated Freya's. They seem to ask if she could really 'do it', in a way. Regardless, Lizzie begins tutting, crossing her arms, bottle still in hand. She looks ridiculous with her dress nearly torn off, revealing the lower half portion of her body, which may include a pair of seriously work inappropriate underwears of her own. It takes a moment for her to regain semblance of a composure.
"Regardless, as for your meetings, you don't have to worry about them at all anymore. I've had them all cancelled for you, per medical order, to cure you of your very contagious Space Morosity. It's a very serious illness that is now recorded in your medical dossier! And your only cure is, of course, to follow me out on this trip!" She almost seems proud of that fact. She's standing there for a goofy grin, just about to apply some gel on her injury.
Freya never intended to actually fire on Lizzie, she merely tried to scare her away. However the sudden movements put her brain into action mode, a consequence of four years as a guerilla-leader mixed with intense Order training. Without a thought she had pulled the trigger. A bright flash of light later, Freya found her hands tied with her own unmentionables and Lizzie discovered another interpretation of the word 'sideburns'. After a brief moment of shock Freya returned to that familiar angry state of mind that everyone on Bruchsal knew and loved.
"You stupid, brainless imbecile! Couldn't you for once behave responsibly?!" Her face was bright red, ashamed of the fact that the girl who she considered amongst the most incapable people to ever join the Widerstand had managed to subdue her or at least somewhat reduce her capabilities. Of course she still had her legs free and combat boots on her feet, but with her underwear tying her hands she had her share of humiliation for today.
Still pissed off and embarrassed she let out a sigh and quietly, barely hearable, declared her surrender. "Fine, you win. I'll go on your stupid trip." Then she added in a ominous tone: "But if you ever tell anyone about this here and if you ever barge into my room again I'll make sure you'll be wishing you were dead..."