Disguises (Exalted Fiction)

So here's a 'deleted' side-scene from a recent action sequence that I couldn't find a good spot to work into the write-up. The exact timing doesn't matter, just mentally place it wherever you'd like in the sequence of events.

Despite having little to pack, Emerald Owl on Brass Perch frantically moves around the austere apartment he's been using as his safehouse. He changes clothes, discarding the robes and fine clothing -- even the glasses -- he wore as Nefvarin Tomonari, V'neef Gamon's personal assistant and savant in charge of her collection. He knew this day would come, but it was far sooner than his projections.

He now dresses in common, shabbier clothing that would blend in on either a pirate or merchant vessel. He stashes his finery from Gamon's estate beneath a floorboard, quietly beseeching the shattered constellation of the Mask in obscuring the garments, figuring he can't discreetly escape with them. In any case, whomever gets the unenviable job of retrieving the Brass Legionnaires might need to sell them for emergency cash.

"Going somewhere, pirate?"

Emerald Owl rushes to the window, looking down into the street. In the distance, the remnants of battle can still be heard but almost directly beneath him a half-dozen marines have a large man with a polearm cornered. He doesn't know the man personally, and certainly hasn't been in a position to get a good look at him, but from his information on the city he recognizes the figure as Shichirou the Digger, right hand man of Captain Tarok (formerly known as Cloud Sweep, formerly known as Ragara Tarok). Shichirou has drawn his monk's spade and holds it in a vaguely defensive posture.

"Fellas, whatever you think you're accomplishing by continuing what you almost started earlier, I ask you to change your mind," the pirate calmly says. "You're not going to get out of this what you'd like -- I'm no warrior, just a dirt farmer big enough to be scary."

"We asked you a question," one of the soldiers said. "Are you going somewhere?"

"I don't want any trouble."

The marines rush him as one, squad training kicking in and helping them back Shichirou against the wall as he defends himself with what appears to be at best rudimentary technique. Emerald Owl has no love for the Realm, but he has to stop and consider if it would compromise him to drop down there and prevent what appears to be a pointless murder. He watches for a moment, concealed by the steadily-growing shadows of evening. One of the soldiers gets past the 'farmer's' guard and gets a good slash along his side, and Emerald Owl's grip tightens on the window frame.

"Okay, that's it," he hears the large man grunt with frustration.

Shichirou shifts his grip on the monk's spade and lashes out with a broad sweep of the weapon, catching one of the soldiers and driving the rest back. He swings it like a scythe reaping wheat in a continuous whirling movement, not stopping for a moment, suddenly so much sharper in his strikes. He trips and slashes, easily overpowering the Dynastic marines and their cheap, short swords.

Less than a minute later the soldiers are all on the ground. Some groan and hold onto fresh wounds, others have either lost consciousness or already bleed out onto the street. Shichirou stops to catch his breath, frowning.

"That was unnecessary," he says to nobody in particular, before glancing up at the empty window above him, unable to hear the rapidly-retreating footsteps within.