[ The time for being a follower is over. Tseng says he's got it, so he's got it. Reno decides on his course, which is around to what he assumes (or hopes) is the flank of the Galbadian garden. He cuts a wide breadth, using the landscape of the desert dunes to aid his approach. There isn't really any way to lay low and keep out of sight, and the closer they get, the easier it'll be to aggro whoever's out there watching. What he doesn't want is a guns-blazing frontal assault, and that's not what he's going to get, keeping to the sloping sand until they're near enough to hear voices from their position.
He feels his opening before he sees it. A stack of crates a few uniformed individuals are working on creating, lugging them out two men to one crate at a time. There are also sacks of things and other hodgepodge supplies, none of which strikes him as very valuable, otherwise why put it out here, even in the back (or is it the front? who knows, honestly)? Probably just getting it out of the way while they work on something else, who knows. Who cares. He wants those crates blown up. He nods his head toward them indicatively, points to his eyes and points to the goons that've just dropped off the latest box and are heading back in. As soon as their backs are turned, he goes dashing off across the sand, one hand up over his shoulder to grasp the hilt of his sword. He closes the distance so quickly that he has to wait for them to come back, and boy are they surprised. And willing to give chase, as it turns out.
That's good. That's what we want. These aren't the ones he's after—there's bigger fish that'll come running once these two are out of the way. ]
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[ The time for being a follower is over. Tseng says he's got it, so he's got it. Reno decides on his course, which is around to what he assumes (or hopes) is the flank of the Galbadian garden. He cuts a wide breadth, using the landscape of the desert dunes to aid his approach. There isn't really any way to lay low and keep out of sight, and the closer they get, the easier it'll be to aggro whoever's out there watching. What he doesn't want is a guns-blazing frontal assault, and that's not what he's going to get, keeping to the sloping sand until they're near enough to hear voices from their position.
He feels his opening before he sees it. A stack of crates a few uniformed individuals are working on creating, lugging them out two men to one crate at a time. There are also sacks of things and other hodgepodge supplies, none of which strikes him as very valuable, otherwise why put it out here, even in the back (or is it the front? who knows, honestly)? Probably just getting it out of the way while they work on something else, who knows. Who cares. He wants those crates blown up. He nods his head toward them indicatively, points to his eyes and points to the goons that've just dropped off the latest box and are heading back in. As soon as their backs are turned, he goes dashing off across the sand, one hand up over his shoulder to grasp the hilt of his sword. He closes the distance so quickly that he has to wait for them to come back, and boy are they surprised. And willing to give chase, as it turns out.
That's good. That's what we want. These aren't the ones he's after—there's bigger fish that'll come running once these two are out of the way. ]