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Post by Deleted on May 21, 2017 4:34:34 GMT -5
Dekernes, Egypt. 3:43pm
The message arrived sometime in the morning, but Gale Amari was too busy to read it. He had translations to do, papers to finish reading and writing, and others of the like. It was only in the afternoon, when he glanced at the letter with the bold, red letters reading 'URGENT' on the back, that he realised that it was probably something important. He sighed softly as he opened it and flicked his gaze over the words, barely taking them in at first.
Number one: it was a translation job.
Number two: it was from his actual employers.
Not the liars or crooks who just needed someone who could speak English, or the sharp-eyed Americans who didn't know how to speak Arabic. The General Intelligence Directorate. El Mukhabarat. His big bosses, more important than his side works. He had to drop everything to accept their jobs. He had to go to Cairo immediately. If he was lucky, he could get there within three hours. Four, if he had to. He ran his tongue over his sharp canines, and ran a hand through the tousled brown-black hair on his head, currently pushed back with a thin plastic hairband. Crisp white sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing the brown skin riddled with white scars. He was considered young in this line of work, thirty five and in his prime, probably. His memory was too sharp - eidetic, they called it. It was likely how he learned languages. People, of course, did not appreciate how accusing or condescending he could come across when talking to them about past events. He ran through them like someone well-trained, like someone who knew how to speak like a lawyer.
Technically, he was qualified to be that, but not in Egypt. But hey - that was a story for another time.
Gale Amari packed his bags and went to Cairo. It was the simplest thing to do, the best thing to do if he didn't want the government crashing down on him and pulling up the not quite legal things he did. They knew, of course. They didn't comment on it because he was a loyal dog. Something to keep on a leash and whistle over when things went downhill. He was a cure-all, or something. A magical remedy where he could speak a few charming English words to their Western friends and make things smooth. It was more political than he had expected. Ten years ago, he had been a simple sniper, working for the government in taking out the enemy. Now, of course, it was different. He still was a sniper. A darned good one, too.
When he left his small apartment, he wondered, idly, if he'd be coming back.
Cairo, Egypt. 7:55pm
He almost felt bad for arriving at the time he did, but the sun still shone brightly in the sky, heat still beat down on his back, and Gale did not quite mind as he entered the subtle building that belonged to the Mukhabarat. It was a professional, stifling environment. Nothing like the dusty, high rooftops that he once perched upon. Not like the dark, subtle hideouts that he had to settle within. It was clean and pristine and smelt a lot like new papers. It hid the fact that there were prison cells below them, that they could and would arrest anyone, or help the local police in temporarily keeping criminals. Higher-ones. Escape artists. Whatever.
"Tarek," said Gale with a smile, leaning against the desk and smiling at someone who did not like him. The other man glanced up with sharp eyes, an angular brow raising. "My friend."
"I am not your friend, Amari. What do you want?"
"Ah, still on a second name basis? Hurtful," he absently reached out a finger and flicked the corner of a paper-stack on top of Tarek's desk. "I'm here because I was called. Is Upstairs busy?"
Tarek did not look amused. "He is always busy. I expect he can spare some time for you, considering he's been waiting for you since the morning."
Despite how childish it was, Gale could not help but stick his tongue out as he pushed himself away and towards the stairs, trotting up and smiling innocently at the guards who stared at him blankly. No-one around here had any ounce of personality. It bored Gale. He rolled his eyes and pushed the door to Upstairs' office open, closing them with his foot and waiting in front of the desk to be acknowledged.
Ahmed Isa was a man to be feared. He was a severe, traditional man, with cropped hair and a cropped beard, and intense brown eyes that seemed to judge the blue-green of Gale's. As if to say you are not a pure Egyptian, as if he wasn't worthy of being here. Gale knew it was stupid to think, because Upstairs would not have called him had he not wanted Gale here.
"Gale Amari," said Upstairs, "I have been waiting for far too long. You are aware of this, correct?"
"I was in Dekernes," replied Gale idly, picking at his nails. "I have work. What is it that you need, sir?"
Isa stared at him blankly, before turning his head to the window. It was small and had a net over it to keep bugs out, or something like that. There was not a breeze to stir the netting, just the stifling humidity that Gale had grown up in. It wasn't as bad, he supposed. His town had been poor and people had been dying. This place was alive and loud and he could heard the shouts even despite the organisation's best attempts at keeping back.
"A dead man turned himself in today," Isa breathed, his voice barely a whisper. "Or, to explain better, a man who does not quite exist. I cannot find a single trace."
"Okay," said Gale, interest piqued. His head tilted like a stray dog's, eyes now alert and mouth curling up. "What does this have to do with me? I'm a translator."
"And an assassin," Upstair's voice was just as quiet and sharp, but he was not reprimanding Gale. Just a reminder. "Don't let yourself slack. Now," he cleared his voice, a much rougher, thicker-accented version of Gale's. Even when speaking their own tongue, he sounded like he wasn't local. It was unlike Gale's sweeter, lighter accent which almost vanished when he spoke another language. It was something that lingered. "A man turns himself in, but he does not exist. He is technically dead, never born. He is not Arabic. Who do you call?"
"His native country?"
"No, Amari. I do wish you'd stop pretending you're a fool. It may work as a beautiful tactic on other men, but not on those who have known you for years. Now," Upstairs stood. He was a full foot taller than Gale - which was not hard to be, but still intimidated him. "He turned himself in. I don't know the details. You will get those details. You are going to talk to him in the Interrogation Room. Number two. Move."
"I don't have any weapons."
"You and I both know that is a lie. You never appear in public without something on your body. Move."
There was no room for argument. Gale stared for a full moment before turning and walking away briskly. Interrogation Room Two. Not a torture chamber, so he wasn't being expected to do something outside of his expertise. Just a talk. Would the man be handcuffed? What language would he speak? Gale was nervous.
It took five minutes to reach the room, and another two to talk to the guards and clarify that he was here simply to talk to the man. Unobserved was not allowed. They would be listening, but from the door. It gave leeway for Gale to do exactly what he'd been asked; find out what was happening. Did the dead man even speak Arabic? There had been no details on anything, just that he'd turned himself in. Gale was in the dark. He inhaled deeply and pushed open the door gingerly, stepping in quickly and closing it behind him. His gaze flicked to the table, stark black against the pale walls of the room.
"Hello," he greeted, in Egyptian Arabic. "My name is Amari. Tell me which language you speak."
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 21, 2017 6:29:34 GMT -5
Gdańsk, Poland 4:03 pm, One Week Prior
Today was supposed to be an exceptionally good day. Or, at least, that was what he had first anticipated until Maurice entered the room with an expression that spelled out less than exceptional. Without speaking, he merely nodded at the other man in a gesture of acknowledgement. Maurice was a man of formidable skill and loyalty, but whatever news he came baring seemed to keep his silence for longer than the customary seconds. The large stocky man shook his head, licking his lips as he glanced up making eye contact for the first time. There was something that was almost fearful in that gaze and Maurice feared nobody. "She got away." Ah, that made more sense. Except for him.
Maurice feared nobody except for him.
And failure was a bitter taste when it came to Alphonse Fournier. Slowly, he sat up from his almost slouched position on the loveseat, reaching casually for the glass poured directly from his bottle of 1990 Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Romanée-Conti. It was a shame he had opened the bottle in premature celebration for a job well done. He should have known better. Gently swirling the red wine, he responded with a slight frown. "Praytell, Maurice, you're one of the world's most celebrated bounty hunters. How did a - and excuse me for saying this - untrained woman evade you?" The words held a calm edge, a promise that they were simply the calm before the storm.
Maurice held his silence for longer than Alphonse thought to be wise, but he understood the sentiment. Maurice was afraid, as he should be. "Alphonse, look," Maurice's tone was almost defensive as he held up his hands, "She wasn't untrained. She was highly trained. Those files we dug up of hers? They're all lies, Al. She's as much apart of this business as you or I am." The words held an indignant edge as Maurice swallowed hard after pleading his case.
He clicked his tongue softly, eyes lowering down to the deep red of the Romanée-Conti transfixed by the mesmerizing red. "I see," he finally said. If what Maurice said was true, and he had no doubt it was true, then the target he had been chasing for years was a more formidable enemy than he first imagined. Someone with equally skilled contacts at their disposal and a dangerous amount of intel. Far more, he feared, than even he had. And he was an information broker. "If that's the case, Maurice, have a seat."
Maurice hesitated. Of course he would hesitate. He knew the rumors and the stories and the fables and the myths and the legends. He knew the tales of those who entered Alphonse's office and never came back out. It took a good minute before Maurice complied, sitting down across from him in a white full grain leather wing chair that was far too small for his stature. Internally, Alphonse winced even as he nodded to the cup of wine sitting next to the bottle. Might as well drink considering he had already popped the cork. Maurice accepted the offer gingerly, cautious.
"Tell me more about her, Maurice. I think we might have a ghost on the run," he said slowly, raising the cup of wine to inhale the strong aroma before sipping the sweet and sensual drink. It was unfortunate he was drinking it for a matter other than celebration if he were to be quite honest. He was intrigued though, excited, even. Years he had spent fruitlessly working, building his own namesake and wealth. He had gathered a crew, not only professional, but delegated the best among the best. All for a name - for the name of those who had taken from him what mattered most to him. To fill the raging emptiness that became ever so present with each passing day.
And for years he had no name, no clues, no nothing. He had resigned himself to rebuilding a new life. He brokered information lethal to multiple governments, possessed one of the most infamous IOU collections in the espionage industry, and prided himself in knowing every dirty little lie governments and criminal organizations hid in the dark. Until five months ago, he thought he had the world mapped out and the beginning of something deadly and beautiful forming. Then she had shown up.
She was the definition of an average civilian with a clean record, a relatively normal history, and a travel record as interesting as his laundry receipt. Her name was Kamila Nowak, born in Lublin, Poland. She was forty two years of age and was a wilting flower in terms of beauty. Age had run her down despite her beautiful stature and gorgeous physique, her face was one of exhaustion and immense stress. What made her interesting though was her criminal record. It wasn't just clean, it was so terribly clean he knew it was fake. Enough to pique his interest and dig into it.
What had truly sealed the deal was when she left Lublin a day after his team started digging into her files. It was not a coincidence and he would be a fool to believe so. That was when his team had found something interesting. Not only was Kamila Nowak as alias, it was an alias for someone like him. Someone who did not exist in the public eyes and who was dead in government files. Not only that, but upon further inspection of her belongings Jasper, a former CIA specialist, exposed a mistake with his keen eyes.
A seal. The same god damn seal that had been on the letter he had received days before his family was murdered. The letter that told him to stop digging before the backlash of his digging exploded in his face. Quite literally. And he knew it then that this was the first lead, the first link to his family's death. His eyes expectantly raised to look at Maurice who was cupping his glass of wine like a cup of hot chocolate, burrowed between his two large hands that he could hardly see the cup at all. He raised an eyebrow at the sight but said nothing.
"We followed your instructions, Al. Did exactly as you told us and you were right about what she would do. You read her like a book, you knew her play by play." Interesting if that were the case, then what had went wrong? He was waiting for the but. It always came. "But-" Ah, there it was. "She wasn't working alone. I think she must have made some calls, must have pulled some strings but someone was waiting for her. She entered a car - unmarked, no license, complete with a reinforced frame, bullet proof glass, and the like. And here's the real kicker - there were no labels. Nothing. It didn't look government, it looked private. Like some sort of private intelligence agency, not a government sanctioned one, had her on their speed dial."
Huh, Alphonse found himself intrigued. That had been something - among the hundreds of scenarios he had formulated - that he had not thought of. A private intelligence agency. A espionage unit that was free to act as it pleased, detached from the nation it worked for to have the freedom to do what it want without costing the nation anything. That actually made more sense, now that he thought about it. "Al, excuse me, but," Maurice seemed almost nervous about what he was saying, "This is dangerous. If they're what I think they are, we're treading murky waters here. A lot of blood is going to be spilled... I know we owe you a lot, we owe you everything we have, but this could lead to more than just our deaths. It could lead to the end of this empire you've built."
It was easy to tell that Maurice was genuine, honestly more concerned about Alphonse than his own probable death. It would have been touching if it weren't for everything at stake. This was his life work. All his life he had been searching for answers, for an explanation as to why and now that it was within his grasp he would be damned if he let it slip out of his fingers. His voice was soft when he spoke. "Where did they go Maurice?"
The younger man hesitated, there was something anxious about him. "Egypt." Well that was a start.
Cairo, Egypt. 7:45 am, present day
Removing his gloves as he exited the commercial airline's first class seat he wondered once again why he didn't take the private jet. Oh, right, there was a method to this madness. Sighing, he pocketed the soft leather gloves and walked towards the customs. This was going to be messy, he knew it. As much as he hated messy, it was an unnecessary evil. He had been living in the shadows for years and to do something of this extent... it was madness. Maurice, Jasper, Zhannah, and at least a dozen others told him as much.
He was a man who worked best in the unknown, living and acting as a mystery. He was the image of a perfect spy, a man who just didn't exist. He was a ghost in every sense of the world considering he was supposed to be dead. To throw it away for some wild goose chase on a lead that may or may not give him the answers he wanted, all his associates believed he had finally succumbed to the madness the loneliness brought upon him.
He knew better. This wasn't fruitless. This organization was cautious, even more so than he was. This was a slip up on their end or an invitation to a deadly game, and he was going to take it. He would never let them slip away from him. Not again. Wrapping his fingers around the cool leather of the brief case he almost grinned. This was either going to go terrible or it was going to be excellent. Hopefully he didn't die before the fun began.
His footfall was silent, a testament of his years as an intelligence agent. Even as he neared the metal detector he could feel all his senses and training kicking in, desiring him to backtrack the path he had taken and dispose of the package. God, and leave behind all his life's work? He didn't think so. The worst part was standing between all the people waiting in line impatiently, shuffling and speaking in a cocktail of languages. They all spoke about banal things, like the weather and the news. What superficial people.
Then soon enough it was his turn. Well, here went nothing. The conversation continued as per usual, the white noise of meaningless chatter echoing throughout the airport. And then the metal detector beeped and suddenly the noise died down. So that was how you silenced an airport? Interesting. Eyes were suddenly flitting up at him as the customs agent neared him, speaking slowly in Egyptian Arabic asking him to hand over the suit case. Acting the part of an ignorant Frenchman, he responded in French much to the agent's annoyance.
If he wasn't a professional with proper training, he probably would have chuckled at the expression on the other man's face before a man by the name Jaide approached him. Apparently they were bringing the translators in. He watched as Jaide approached him cautiously, smiling pleasantly despite his reservations. "Hello, Monsieur. I understand there has been a misunderstanding but your suitcase and your personnel has set off the metal detector. We would like to pull you to a side and do a thorough investigations." The man's French was shabby, but he was trying his best. A for effort, he assumed.
Now he could grin. "Is that it? That was what all the angry screaming was for?" He chuckled, "Here, let me help you." The first item he pulled out was his hand gun and the reaction was almost instantaneous. Who knew customs agents were so in sync! At least a dozen guns were drawn on him as held the offending object out like a toy. "Is this what you were talking about?"
The coldness in Jaide's eyes was unappreciated, and he was beginning to think they had formed some sort of connection. What a shame. "Put the weapon down." Jaide's voice was harsh. Shrugging, he dropped it to the ground, complying easily. "Get on your knees."
Sighing, he obliged, albeit slowly. "Generally we have to go on a date before you make that request, but for you I'll make an exception." He watched with amusement as the corner of Jaide's mouth curled into the beginnings of a snarl. This was fun.
"Hands on your head." Cautiously, he wrapped his fingers around the back of his head careful to keep his hair immaculate. "You're in for quite some jail time for this spectacle," were the last words he heard growled at him before the manhandling began. He certainly hoped they weren't going to send him to jail. That would be too easy. No, he needed them to send them where they thought he belonged. To the Jihaz Al-Mukhabarat Al-Amma.
He had been in airport custody for what felt like hours or so before they had came to the conclusion he didn't belong at a county jail but at the Mukhabarat. He knew exactly why. They must have spent the last hour searching for information on him and upon finding none they realized he was not only a madman, but he was a dangerous madman. Sometimes things just worked out too perfectly.
As the spooks from Mukhabarat arrived in their plain black suits he couldn't help but smile. They didn't return the favor. Turned out not all agencies had personality, Mukhabarat certainly didn't. But they were fond of the classic bag over the head trick and he obliged as they led him to the car and transported him. The car must have been driving circles for at least half an hour or so before arriving at the location of their obsolete headquarters. He would let them cling to the belief that his team didn't already know where he was. After all, he didn't need a break out - he needed an alliance.
The only problem he honestly found that he had with his plan was his lack of consideration for his clothes. If he had known they would handle the clothes with such disrespect, he would have worn something far less nice. His tailor would not be happy. Thrown against a chair roughly, the bag was finally removed from his head much to his dismay. The disorientation that followed was almost immediate as he squeezed his eyes shut to block out the bright light blinding him before gingerly opening his eyes again to grin at the face staring at him.
Ahmed Isa. Just the man he was looking for. A man who had the authority to call the shots. He watched as Isa barked out commands in Egyptian Arabic. Ah yes, they still thought he didn't understand. Just another advantage for him, of course. He caught tidbits of the conversation. "We can't just let him go-" "He's a dead man-" "He's got secrets-" "There must be a reason he's here-" And then there was the most interesting of them all. "Call in the translator."
Something told him "The Translator" as the individual was referred to in code was so much more than that. However, only time would tell. And tell, time did. Either the man was truly disrespectful, held a position of authority, or just didn't know what he was dealing with but Alphonse found himself waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
He had done a lot of waiting during his time as a spy, but it didn't do anything to help with the mind numbing boredom that came with waiting. Then, almost all too suddenly he heard voices. And he knew it was time.
What he saw surprised him though. He didn't let his surprise show on his features. The man was younger than he had imagined, composed if not a little disheveled looking. Whereas he thought of an equal predator, he somehow felt as if Isa had sent a lamb in for slaughtering. Oh, this would be fun even with the handcuffs keeping him chained to the table. He listened to the man speak to him in a pleasant manner and despite how entertaining it would be to show his hand, he kept his cards folded. "I don't understand what you're saying," he replied casually in French, sparing the man an easy grin.
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Post by Deleted on May 21, 2017 7:01:23 GMT -5
What did Gale know about this man?
Nothing. That was it. There was nothing - he had been given nothing. He had no angle to work from, no manipulation tactics. All he had was his own face - sweet and innocent - and his youth. His small height, he supposed, worked, too. Either way, he knew that he was at an immediate disadvantage. He was no fool; he knew when he was outclassed, and this man was dangerous. Danger was not just settled around him...no. He was the danger. Everything from his posture to his way of speaking screamed danger, and the rabbit in Gale told him to run. Run, and never look back.
But those days were far behind. Gale was no longer a teenager, running away from his past. He was an adult. He was here. He had a job, and the dead man was handcuffed to the table. He glanced down at said handcuffs and raised a single, slender eyebrow, cut through with a faint scar. For a moment, he said nothing, parting his lips and tilting his head. French. The man was French - it was so obvious in his accent, and he had been told that much, at least. No-one really seemed to know anything else. Just the bare basics. How did they expect him to work under these conditions? Gale had no idea. He exhaled softly and half-closed his eyes, before spinning a chair around and sitting on it so that he could rest his arms on the back, legs sprawled lightly either side of the chair and arms dangling lightly. It was a casual stance - or, well. Easily mistaken for one. There was no mistake that he was tensed, ready to leap for safety if he had to.
To be quite honest, Gale thought of himself as a deer, rather than a rabbit.
"Mm," he hummed idly, tongue swiping over his lower lip briefly. His throat was dry, which was certainly strange. Growing up in a desert meant that he was supposed to have some sort of bizarre tolerance. Hell, he didn't really sweat as much as most people. He wasn't sweating now. He was breathing through his mouth, though. I'm stressed, he noted, with a casual note that would've been used had someone forgotten their wallet. This man. He's stressing me out.
He did not like it. The Amari family were not easily spooked. They were the spooks. They did the spooking. Whatever. Isa had made sure that Gale would never back down from men stronger than him, but something about the Frenchman screamed turn away, go. Hide. His fingers curled inwards, and he felt the familiar press of the blade in its sheath on his arm. It was there. It was accessible, to him. Someone who had learned to conceal blades in places he'd have to flex to.
"French," he murmured to himself, in Arabic - and then switched to the man's native tongue. Gale's French was like a second-nature; clearly his second language. It was accented, with an odd lilt to his vowels, but it was something that he used to get others to listen to him. He had caused trouble in France by using his sweet voice to flirt and worm information from people. Something told him that this wasn't going to work. "Well, then," he exhaled slowly and gave a slow, lazily smile. He did not blink. "I understand what you are saying, naturally. My name is Amari. I work for the Mukhabarat. You were arrested for possession of an illegal weapon, and you remain in custody for darker reasons. Of course," he tilted his head. Smiled some more. "Nobody would notice if a dead man were to go missing, would they?"
It was a thinly disguised threat that he knew wouldn't work, and so he didn't put much effort behind it. It was almost as if he were simply discussing the weather. He worked from a script that the Mukhabarat wanted him to, and it was up to him to put vague twists on it to make it seem natural. He didn't care. Gale didn't really want to do this. This man was spooking him too much. He still wanted to run, and now he felt warm at the back of his neck. Danger.
"You are, of course, an outlaw, of sorts - and yet you're dead. That's rather interesting, if we're keeping this between you and me," he resisted the urge to lick his lips again. Frankly, the young man hated this sort of confrontation. While he held a blade to the other man's throat, there was a wide opening on his own to slash down onto. He was vulnerable and it scared him. "I don't suppose you're willing to give me a name? You're affectionately nicknamed 'Ghost', at the moment. Possibly because you don't exist. I did think that this job was giving me some sort of odd side effect."
His gaze flicked back, to the door. The guards were murmuring between each-other in Arabic, something about Isa sending rabbits to do his dirty work rather than letting the big men handle it. They did not like Gale. Most people here did not. He did the dirty work, he was sly and he wormed his way into Isa's stone heart, allowing him to stay with them even with a semi-dodgy past. He smiled faintly, and drew patterns with his index finger against the back of the chair.
"Also, between you and me?" he made a vague gesture as if to allow the other man to come closer, but it was mocking; the handcuffs would stop the movement. "Don't come to Egypt if you don't know our tongue, Frog."
A term he'd learned in England, something he supposed had carried on. It was amusing. He didn't ever think of Frenchmen as frogs, but he enjoyed how angry it had made other Frenchmen. If anything, Gale was just trying to get a rise out of the mysterious dead man. The way he bared his canines as he grinned, far too wide to be real, proved this. All of this was just intimidation tactic; none of it actual politics or politeness. Pure and undisguised intimidation. He doubted it would work, but he'd been surprised before. People were usually surprised by him. The 5'4'' man, with a face that was often referred to as faerie-like, with a delicate laugh and a soft voice. Danger was written in the way Gale held himself, in the way he spoke to others. Not in the way he presented himself.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 21, 2017 7:34:29 GMT -5
Alphonse Fournier was not a man to be fazed or easily enraged, and if Amari wanted a certain reaction, he would give him the exact opposite. The younger man wanted to get underneath his skin, play him. He wanted him to respond with anger, lose his cool and give away more than he was willing to with a clear and calm mind. Instead, he chuckled. Two could play that game. "If you're so fond of the term 'Frog' why not make that my nickname instead?" The challenge in the words were clear as day. If you're going to insult me, don't play games. Do it. He had heard his fair share of insults working the job. Many people didn't like French agents on their teams, often associating them to the white flag of surrender.
Alphonse Fournier was many things, but he never went down easily and surrender was not in his vocabulary. There were tactical retreats and sacrifices. Give up today's battle to fight another day. All in all, he was certain the question also easily deflected Amari's attempts at prying for a name, a name that Alphonse was going to make the younger man work for. If only to see him squirm. It was easy to see Amari was afraid of him, a reasonable reaction actually. The other man was small, perhaps 5'3" or 5'4", give an inch or two.
Now, Alphonse had known many combatants in his days and there was something about small fighters that unsettled him. Their agility and trickiness was unmatched in the field of combat. It didn't take much to look at Amari and know that he was not one of those fighters. Alphonse had no doubt Amari could hold his own in a battle against other individuals, but not trained combatants. Not one with years and years of experience the way Alphonse did. And somehow, despite that knowledge being buried six feet under, Amari could sense it. All the better for him.
He leaned back in his chair, pleased that it had been easier than he had first anticipated to assert dominance in the situation. He had been here many times before and had many individuals react the way Amari had. Crumpled into his presence and the knowledge of what he was and not who he was. The what mattered more in this line of business and a trained cold blooded manipulative killer was dangerous, even in the spy industry.
With the room opened and clearly his, he decided to digest the information he had garnered slowly, taking his time to get on Amari's nerves. If Isa spoke highly of Amari and referred to him high priority individuals, than Amari was skilled. He could not allow arrogance to overtake him and believe the battle was won. No, he mused, no the battle just begun. Softly he clicked his tongue glancing at the door. Whatever it was, only Isa seemed to trust Amari's abilities. The others didn't share that thought. Interesting, yet another underdog story.
If they weren't sitting on opposite sides of the table, Alphonse would have rooted for the younger man. He held his silence for a few seconds longer before finally continuing, almost with an ominous statement of amusement as he raised his eyebrow. "Now, correct me if you're wrong, but you said an illegal weapon?" He grinned, "Your intelligence must be faulty. The briefcase had a sniper rifle. They removed one more pistol from my personnel and five different knives. Though they missed two." He let the words hang in the air, the accusation and the easy outclassing in terms of his abilities and the Mukhabarat unspoken but simply hinted at.
They had missed his credit card knife and his pen knife, two of the most common accessories in the business but also two of the most discreet that they were easily forgettable. If he were to be honest, he had missed those weapons on more than one occasion as well. He hoped that Amari understood his message. The simple lack of intel that Amari had presented to him and his acknowledgment of it was him simply stating to Amari sans laymen terms that he knew Amari, and in turn the Mukhabarat, knew nothing about him.
He was not only a ghost and a dead man - he was a ghost and a dead man that only existed as a name with very little else. He was a blank in their records and that meant they wanted to know more, they didn't want him dead - contrary to Amari's cute little threat. And they certainly didn't want news of his existence getting out there. No, he was a book they wanted to crack open and read. After all, dead men kept a lot of secrets safe in line with the popular saying "Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead." He was supposedly dead, and he a plethora of secrets. Some he was more than willing to divulge if things played in his favor.
Otherwise, he supposed, there would be hell to pay.
No, they wanted to know what he wanted and he wanted to know what they wanted from him. If he acted how they expected him to, they would look no further than the surface because it would confirm their suspicions. So, in that line of reasoning, if he gave them what they expected him to possess, they would not come to realize he had much much more to give. The true question was what did they think he had and how much of it he was willing to give.
"You can remove the knives from my personnel if you want, but I can't do much with them like this," he added as an after thought, tugging gently at the handcuffs to prove that they were still intact. "Now, you know what really interests me is why I was brought here. If you wanted me dead, you'd let me rot in a cell. What does the Mukhabarat get from housing a fugitive that the world believes is dead?" Hook, line, and hopefully, sinker. The hope was that Amari would take the bait and answer the question.
It was a test of wits, almost. He wanted to see if Amari had it in him to realize when the questioning was reversed and try to regain control or if he would remain timid and compliant. Alphonse almost wished he would have some bite to him. The compliant ones always made things a little boring. Easy, but boring nonetheless.
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Post by Deleted on May 21, 2017 7:56:33 GMT -5
It was not often that common criminals surprised Gale, but the more he heard the other man talk, the more he realised that he was not a common criminal. Now, he decided it was better to be more cautious. More calculating. His eyes narrowed, sharp as ever, scanning over the older man as if he wanted to take him apart and examining. Or put a bullet through his skull. Either one was doable, even if illegal.
Violence isn't the answer when everyone is a foot taller than you.
Gingerly, Gale shifted his weight and tilted his head to the side as he considered the ghost's words. First of all - the man was stronger than a lot of others. Despite his tinier height, Gale had always had a way of just talking to get others to talk, tricking them into a sense of false comfort because of how gentle he looked. This was not working. In fact, he knew it wouldn't work, and yet he'd still tried. Secondly - the man had taken control of the conversation, and Gale wanted the conversation back into his hands, where it felt more comfortable. He snorted softly and watched without much interest, fingers still absently tracing over the wood. This...this battle of wits, or whatever it was, reminded him of conversations with his mother. He bit his lip lightly and half-closed his eyes. He couldn't back down, not in an official setting.
"Well," he stated idly, "I'm usually wrong when it comes for the reasons for arrests. Mostly because I don't care. Partially because the field agents are usually idiots."
Harsh but true. The most truthful he'd been in this entire conversation so far - which was, in a way, odd. Gale was good at telling the truth with a twist; hiding the truth with a twisted variant, confusing people into thinking he'd lied. It was an efficient way to mess with people's heads; but again, it wouldn't work with the ghost. He doubted it would, at least. None of his tactics were working, which he had to admit, that bothered him. Some of the more observant people took in his posture, or how lazy he seemed. Uncaring of if the prisoner really did decide to attack him or get out of the cuffs. That was usually enough to unsettle them. Once again, Gale did not feel like this man was the type; but he had been wrong before. He'd already been wrong.
"I'm not going to remove the knives from your person," he said, after a few slow moments. "They are not my problem, and I am not to blame if someone gets hurt."
He did not care if guards were hurt. It would just give more reason for this man to be locked up. Right now, their reasoning for just keeping a Frenchman in Egypt was weak. They could've deported him for the illegal weaponry - but instead he was here, because there was nothing about him. That spelled trouble, and Gale was their sniffer dog for trouble.
Naturally, he'd sniffed out trouble.
"Mmm, if only I could tell you. I'm just a translator. I'm supposed to translate your statements. Interrogate you," slowly, Gale tilted his head to the side and squinted at the older man, short fingernails digging into the soft wood of the chair. "Neither of which I'm doing. You could, of course, simply tell me why you don't exist, or why you're here. Either is fine. Both, if you're really feeling like you need to stay out of a prison cell. Personally, I have nothing against keeping you in a cell. Rotting, for the rest of your life. It would've been much easier than dragging me to this place."
Shoulders rose in an elegant shrug and he stood up, only to kick his chair to spin it around, before sitting in it as most humans would. He rested his elbows on the table, put his chin in his hand, and studied the man opposite him with an eagle eye. Truth be told, Gale wasn't sure if he was supposed to get this conversation back under control. He had been acting, so far, as if he had never really lost it. As if the conversation was still his. His lazy tone conveyed that; though his posture had changed to something faintly more defensive. Something that suggested he was somewhat threatened, though not in his position - but rather by the fact that this man was still armed.
They really are idiots, he thought, trying to ignore the stumbling rate of his heart, leaving me in here with an armed man.
He was not trained in hand-to-hand combat. He was the exact opposite of that, and so Gale's nervousness was something he hit rather quickly. It came as only a brief flicker, a twitch on his lips, before it vanished again and he stilled. His body was unnaturally still, now that he sat properly. He only had eyes for the prisoner, a mystery that he wanted to be solved sooner rather than later. In a very soft tone, he asked;
"what is it that you need from us?"
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 21, 2017 8:26:26 GMT -5
It was rare, but for the first time during the conversation he threw aside the fake and easily called upon grins and smiled a genuine smile at Amari's handling of the situation. It was pleasantly surprising. It was not only acceptance, but it was also retaliation. Amari knew he was losing control of the situation but he wasn't going to let it drift, he wasn't going to accept that it was out of his control. No, he was going to salvage it. Alphonse could respect a man who knew that things weren't going his way but was going to be damned if he allowed that to stop him from obtaining his objective. It almost made sense why Isa had sent Amari. Almost.
However, Amari was young and he was inexperienced. At least, with Alphonse's sort. He could see it, the briefest flicker of fear, the small micro expression that lasted for less than a millisecond. Amari hid it well, but Alphonse spotted it quicker. He had a trained eye for those sorts of things and Amari's fear proved that his bravado was just that. Bravado. He was scared of Alphonse, and that meant that despite his attempts the conversation was still in his hands. He chose what he wanted to divulge.
And as cute as Amari's little threats were, he knew it was time to play his cards. Or at least some of them. As much as Amari interested him, this was not a game between him and Amari. It was between him, the Mukhabarat, and the origin of that forsaken seal with no possible trace. It was that last link between him and - He couldn't let his mind trail, not when he was playing a delicate role in a glass house. No, he couldn't let that happen.
Tilting his head slightly as he leaned into the cold metal chair even further, he appraised Amari for the first time. Not simply in terms of the man's gentle and soft features, but also in terms of his wits. The man had a level head to him. He had a quick mind that caught on quickly to things and he made split decisions that were not only quick, but logical. Amari, he deduced, was a man of quiet competence and his gently asked question confirmed just that. Amari knew he needed them as much as they wanted him. So it was time to feed the beast, if only a little.
"You want to know, don't you?" He asked, voice equally soft and gentle in the response. He softened his gaze and the smile dropped to show a brief glimpse of his honesty. "I need your help." And that was it. That was all he was going to say.
He knew what game he was playing at stating those simple words. His one statement would bring upon millions of questions, questions Amari wouldn't even begin to understand. His statement on its own was wild beyond belief. He was a trained spy and considering he had succeed in making himself invisible for years without a single word of his reemergence in the land of the living coming down the grape vine, he could have continued to live that life of luxury. However, now that he was here in the heart of the Mukhabarat he was throwing that away.
Amari must have understood that. So for him to state those vulnerable words, he was certain it would give Amari a bit of a sense of control but also much confusion. It would give him what he needed, the terms and conditions. He wanted to know what the price of their help was and they wanted to know what it was he needed. Or rather, who he wanted. And he knew before setting foot in here he would have to give to take.
The truly interesting thing was the outcome. It was that Amari was the man Isa had chosen to interrogate him and it was that Amari had shown signs of being honest to him. Admitting to something with honesty would lead to repeated behaviors if rewarded, and this in Alphonse's opinion, was a reward. Very soon, he believed, he would get Amari going on the honesty would be rewarded system. Soon enough.
But that brought up another interesting point about the man sitting across from him. Amari was anything from the typical interrogator and translator. No, he held himself with an air of dignity and a sense of selfishness that came from self-preservation. Something told Alphonse that this man was not just a translator. He had the formability of a combatant, but clearly not one who was confident in his close quarters abilities. So what did that make Amari? He almost smiled again. What an interesting man.
Had things been different, he would want Isa's prized possession as well. Amari would have made an interesting addition to his team. Besides, he was willing to bet that Amari would much prefer the rowdy family-like bunch Alphonse possessed rather than Isa's goons who outcasted the young man. Amari would have made a valuable asset. Alphonse paused on that thought. On second thought, Amari could still be a valuable asset. Who knew, maybe he would come away with more than one reward from this meeting? A dangerous, unpredictable wild-card of a reward, but still, if he could get Amari on his team he knew one thing. He would change Amari's mind, the same way he had changed Jasper's.
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Post by Deleted on May 21, 2017 18:21:18 GMT -5
The current situation felt more and more like a game - this strange man was more fun than most people that Isa sent Gale to talk to, and to be honest, he appreciated it. Instead of picking the ghost apart in a matter of minutes, he was forced to make his money, but most importantly, his attention was piqued. Gale held the posture, now, of something like a jackal - all predator, but curious enough to keep a firm eye on the stranger. He was no longer playing a game; he was trying to be more serious, because this man was one he found himself respecting without even meaning to.
He was surprised by the sudden honesty - criminals around here, when dealing with a man like Amari, did not often like telling the truth; and so he lied to them in return. Honesty for honesty? That was something he preferred. It was more than the people around here gave him, he had to admit.
Ghost needed their help - or his help. Either one was fine. He doubted that Isa particularly cared, but knew that he'd be listened to when he reported his findings. He shifted his weight slightly and pressed his tongue against one of his canines to keep his thoughts steady, eyes trained firmly on the one in front of him. He was not afraid of eye contact; he stared him in the eye and decided, after a few moments, that this was no lowlife crook. If anything, this man was more civil than the people that Gale was supposed to work alongside. More honest.
"I want to know what you need help with - and more importantly, what sort of help," he continued being honest, because there was no point in lying for intimidation anymore. It was also, he supposed, a test; would he really get honesty in return if he spoke the truth, or was it a one-off thing? If it was a constant thing, Gale found himself looking forward to looking with this man; but he quickly dismissed these thoughts. In the end, it was up to Isa whether they helped or not, and Gale would just be a translator - nothing more. "It would also help me quite a bit if I had a name to call you by. It doesn't have to be real."
He never said that to people, but he supposed he'd give the man a reason to give him something. After a couple seconds of hesitance, he squinted thoughtfully.
"Tell me something true, and you get something true in response. Make it of equal weight to what I'm told. I won't spill government secrets, but I can give you anything else." his words were form, and his tone was as soft as before. Gale supposed it was a test - to see if the man opposite him was truly as truthful as he was starting to believe. He knew criminals who told only the truth, he knew criminals who spilled nothing but lies - but he'd never really met any who were good at balancing the two. The men and women who came to Egypt to cause trouble (without speaking the language) were often lowlives. Thought that they could get away with it. Didn't think that people like Gale could pick apart their brain until they broke.
The man opposite him was not going to break. Gale was not a fool, and he would not hope for it. It was a matter, however, of hoping that he, himself, did not break. Something about the other made him feel like he would be a terrible enemy to have, and in that case? Gale wanted him as an ally. Or to at least be neutral against him. He didn't care about the Mukhabarat. They could be this man's worst enemy, and as long as he wasn't in the crossfire, he didn't care. They had never given him a reason to trust them. He was, to a degree, loyal to Isa; but no more than a feral dog, really. Kept on a leash with a muzzle so that he didn't bite, unleashed on dangerous people because his bite was much, much worse than his bark. Today, Gale had been unleashed on someone who knew how to deal with ferals. Knew how to handle himself. To a degree, it scared Gale - but he knew that Isa had likely misjudged the situation, either with the strength of Gale or the strength of the ghost.
Either way, this situation was not ideal but he grasped it with both hands and tried to keep it in some control. The guards listening in did not speak French. In fact, there was one other person in the building who did speak French, and he was probably in the field. That meant that Gale was being given a free reign over what he talked about. Definitely not government secrets, but hey. There were things that came close that weren't quite classified.
Gale was not quite smiling. It felt strange. He was usually smiling; it scared people, caused them to raise their guard. But here, it was the barest hint of a smile that was the most honest thing on his face. It reached his eyes. It wasn't quite warmth, but it bared the resemblance to safety. He was good at that. Making people feel safe with him; but only the right sort, he supposed. Something in him lowkey doubted that the older man would feel safe with him considering the situation, but at the very least, he could be assured that honesty was a much higher priority to Gale than intimidation tactics. Besides, intimidation hadn't worked. It wasn't going to work. This man was not weak, he seemed to know how to handle himself. It was a man that, if Gale had been contracted to kill him, he would've done so as quickly as he could, before he was noticed. Men like this often noticed when there were killers nearby. He'd once killed a man similar to this one. It had been much messier than even his first target; the target had moved, just once, to scan the rooftops - just as Gale had taken his shot. Instead of a clean shot to the head like always, it was a messy one to the chest. Still fatal. Just took longer. He had not been able to take a second shot to finish the job - he had had to escape.
Almost in an absent manner, his fingers traced over the skin of his other wrist, pressing the light indentation of pale, old scars. He wanted to tell himself that he could've killed this man had that been his job, but looking at him? Gale found himself doubting it. He was a good sniper - likely the best in Egypt - but there was always a vague telltale sign that something wasn't quite right, and someone with a sharp-eye could always catch the glint of the scope as it was uncovered, just seconds before the shot. Even a brief delay would cause him to lose his target. It had never lost him a target before, but Gale didn't doubt that this man was full of surprises.
He was lucky, he supposed, that this was not a target but someone to talk to.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 21, 2017 19:05:21 GMT -5
It turned out he had played his cards right after all and the gamble he had taken was well worth the risk of it backfiring. He smiled, something tamer than the grins earlier, something self assured and confident with a hint of gentleness. It was in no way arrogant, just simply pleased. His eyes slowly trailed down Amari, taking in the younger man and the slight smile on his face. This one looked genuine and he knew he was onto something. Something honest and genuine. He had gotten a reaction from Amari.
Calmly, he exhaled and relaxed in the uncomfortable chair in a rare gesture of trust that hopefully would take Amari off the edge. It was not hard to see, despite the younger man's competence, there was some underlying fear. He had been told once before he had that effect on people. Danger radiated off of him in a way trained killers thought twice before meddling in his affairs, though Amari had his own impeccable aura of competence. After all, few went word for word with him without folding in fear or in surrender.
Amari's skill in the field of political delegations and psychological warfare proved to be far better than he had first anticipated. Color him surprised. And then there was the man's gentle tone. He liked a man who could control the tone of a conversation with dignity and gentleness. Very few individuals realized the power behind a soft spoken command. It was something he utilized often. He liked the effect that came with it, people automatically silenced themselves to hear what he had to say. Amari, in a few years, would hold the same presence. He had no doubt about that.
He took his time in answering the question, not to test Amari's patience, but to show the man that his actions clearly had been carefully planned. This was not a hasty act. Many individuals in Amari place would have taken him for reckless and foolish, coming to an intelligence agency and acting like he owned their services. No, Alphonse was under no such delusions. And the request for a name? He could oblige to that one quite simply. It had always been a trade specialty when it came to him that he gave a half truth with his name. Or, rather, nickname.
In the business, most of his acquaintances known him by the name 'Al' and those he truly trusted knew him by his actual name, Alphonse. It was such an interesting thing, the power a name held. It allowed access into a world of secrets and burnt files and untold stories and people in his line of business were cautious about it. Amari shared the sentiment by sharing only his surname and not his first name. To him, the name 'Al' held as much power as his name did. It represented everything he was.
It was impossible to place. Considering the numerous different names that began with those two simple letters, his name could be anything in that individual's mind. From Alain to Alvis. Then there was the possibility of the name being nothing more than an acronym for his actual name. Or the possibility that it stood for something else entirely. He smiled, he'd love to hear what Amari thought he looked like. He had received a humorous few during his time on the field, the suggested 'Alfred' making him laugh the most. "Well, I suppose it's only fair, Amari. Those I know call me 'Al'," and somehow he didn't feel like he was making a mistake by being completely honest. No, it felt like the right play.
Amari was smart and he would know. He would understand that this honesty for honesty extended as far as Amari was willing to take it, allowing him some more control in the situation. It was the best path of action to share the authority rather than flaunt it. Chances were, if he acted as such, Amari would walk out and never come back. He would escape the Mukhabarat in due time, but he would not get what he had came for and that would ultimately be a failure. No, he had to keep Amari in this room because as much as he had authority and control here - he needed Amari as much as Amari wanted to get his job done.
Besides, it was too early to reveal to the Mukhabarat that he understood Egyptian Arabic. If they found out, they would be far too reserved around him and he would learn nothing from them. Besides, Amari said it himself. He would give Alphonse the truth for the truth, and that was - in a perfect world - fair business. He had received less savory deals than that during his life time of information brokering.
"And I'm certain you're a busy man, so I'll make it simple. There's a woman here in Egypt, she goes by the name Kamila Nowak, an alias, no doubt. She has something I want." The words as he said they would be. Succinct, to the point, and thorough without going into details. And most importantly, it was open ended. He did not share with Amari what it was he wanted, but at the same time, he did not lie to cover up that he wanted something. Now, it was his turn to test the waters. "What do you think the Mukhabarat will demand in return?"
And like that he sealed the deal. Amari was, without a choice, now the middle man between him and Isa. He wanted only Amari to work on the case. He knew talent when saw it and Amari was just that. Besides, he saw the way Amari rubbed his hand, saw the slight raise of the scars on his hands. He didn't doubt for a second if he were to shake Amari's hands, there would be callouses all too similar to the ones on his hands. Amari was a marksman, he no doubt about that.
He wanted the man's opinion on the matter and he supposed Amari would have one. Amari seemed like an opinionated man with enough insight into the Mukhabarat to make sound judgment, but enough distaste for being outcasted that his opinion would most likely favor the truest consequences Alphonse had to face deep in the Mukhabarat's headquarters. That and he wanted to see the starting bid for the intel he kept under lock and key.
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Post by Deleted on May 21, 2017 19:35:10 GMT -5
Al.
It was simple. Obscure. But it felt truthful, and so Gale accepted it. He felt the urge to give his own name; if only because Amari was a sliver of a truth, whereas Al felt more truthful. It was also a name to call him by - something that he found almost comforting. Almost. Not quite. He gave a faint smile and shifted his posture slightly - not quite relaxed, but certainly the posture of someone who was giving a small amount of trust. If Al remained in those cuffs and that chair, he would be safe. If the other man escaped from the cuffs? He was a dead man. He doubted that situation would happen. He was becoming more confident that Al needed him more than he needed Al.
That didn't stop him from being curious, didn't stop him from wanting to work on this case.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Al," he said, and that was not a lie. "I am Gale."
It was too deep to go into to back out, and so he decided he'd give Al more truth. Besides - Amari was what everyone around here called him, and if he was truthful to himself, it felt...bad. No-one called him by his given name because it was Arabic enough. It was a sliver of what his mother was, a language away from his own tongue. "People around here call me Amari, for obvious reasons," he smiled a slow, lazy smile - with only a hint of something that could've been called maliciousness. It wasn't towards Al, but rather towards the guards that eavesdropped. Speaking of - it was around time that they came to check in on them, but he wasn't going to pay attention to the man who now stood behind him, trying his best to be intimidating. He ignored the guard as if he were nothing but a fly, not enough to cause him to waste any energy, but certainly an annoying presence.
"I am not busy when I am in Cairo," he gave what could've been a laugh, but sounded more like a breathy huff. Annoyance. He was surprised at himself. "Her alias - sounds Polish," he mused idly. "They will demand your true identity, but you need not give it to them. They are weak-minded, can be manipulated into accepting a smaller price. Money is a possible option, I suppose. They do not 'want'," he shrugged, leaned back in his chair. His gaze flicked briefly to the guard and he smiled lazily. "They take the best offer. It'll depend on if they believe you or not, though if I'm taking your word for it, then Isa will. He is a much simpler man," it was over-sharing, he supposed, but he didn't care. He had no reason to care about what the outcome of this would be, save for seeing if he could get Al what he wanted. It surprised him. Already, Gale wanted to work on this case. "He will likely want you to keep an agent with you, and once your job is done, he will want you out of Egypt. Call it a banishment, or something."
Isa had always been predictable.
"What is he saying?" asked the guard in Arabic, sounding irritated. "What are you saying?"
"Your mind would not begin to comprehend it," Gale replied idly in the same tongue, keeping his gaze on Al. "He's here for someone. We'll be helping him. He's not dangerous to me."
To him, but he wasn't quite sure how dangerous he'd be to the rest of the Mukhabarat. He didn't care, and it was evident in his tone; the guard looked genuinely angry at this, but Gale waved him off lightly. "Shoo. Get Isa. There's a good dog."
The guard almost growled, but did as he was told. A harsh insult was flung over his shoulder at Gale but he really did not care, because his attention was back on Al, eyebrows raised. It only took a few moments before the sturdy, tall man known as Isa walked in, taking one of the guard's chairs and settling it beside Gale, sitting there and doing his best to look intimidating. After a couple of moments of what could only be explained as adjusting to the harsh presence of Isa, Gale relayed what he knew so far; aside from Al's name. That was something that he quite enjoyed knowing for himself, and so he kept it to himself. Predictably, Isa did not respond well.
"His file."
"Can't have it."
"Then tell him to name what he'll give us in return. I'm busy."
Gale lifted his shoulders in a slow shrug, leaned back and smiled at Al as he returned his tongue to French. He delighted in knowing how much Isa's frustration grew at being unable to speak the tongue. It was something he enjoyed immensely about this job.
"He wants you to tell him what you want in return. He's busy," he added the last part because he wanted to see what Al would do with that information. Draw it out to make Isa more frustrated? The head of the Mukhabarat was an impatient man, shown by the tap-tap of his foot against the stone floor and his dangerous scowl. He was not a dangerous man in a physical sense. Politically, he ruined people. That was why he was in the position he was in. Personally, if Gale was in Al's situation, he'd draw it out. It was the ideal way to get what he wanted. He'd done it a few times to people in power in other countries.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 21, 2017 20:03:34 GMT -5
Gale. Gale Amari. For the small price of his infamous two lettered nickname, he had received a full name from Gale. He supposed, in many senses, that was as much a win as was possible for a man in his position in the chair and in need of assistance. Still, a victory was a victory and it tasted sweet nevertheless. And to add onto that, there was the cherry on top. "It's a pleasure to meet you." Just like that, he knew he had achieved what he wanted. Gale Amari wanted to work his case, he was far too perplexed by the enigma shrouding Alphonse to not want to uncover the scars and the bloody secrets. Good.
And then he got even more than he bargained for. A sentence that held the world behind it, a silent and simple kind of scorn. The scorn of an outcast. So that was why Gale had chosen to open up to him, because here he felt like an equal and not an inferior. That made more sense. He at first read Gale and assumed he was a man used to holding control, and then reevaluated the decision to encompass that he liked a competent mind to match him in a battle of wits. But no, it ran far deeper than that. Gale was used to being outcasted. When he had lost control of the situation, Gale must have known instinctively. However, since he gave Gale some control back, Gale respected him.
He appreciated the equal grounds Alphonse gave to him. If that was the case, it would be easier to get Gale to be on his side than he first anticipated. But this was not the simple and boring kind of easy, it was the good kind. He opened his mouth to speak after Gale stated he was not a busy man, and certainly not when he was in Cairo to make a quip at the statement before a guard entered. He would have loved to joke around, but the presence of the other man kept him silent for one reason and one reason only.
He wanted to allow the guard to believe that he had easily intimidated him and to hear what the man had to say. Men like this guard had egos that were easy to exploit. Allowing the man to believe he was cowed meant getting more breathing room in terms of conversation. It made them think he was weak and therefore not dangerous. And that belief would be the death of them.
And then Gale did something that surprised him for the second time in their one sitting. A show of faith and interest, oh yes, this young man was very much interested in what Alphonse had to offer. His words alone, almost like a consoling lawyer, proved as much. The fact that he was giving Alphonse suggestions, tips and tricks to avoid giving up more cards than he was willing to was surprising but pleasant nonetheless. It would seem that Gale was not loyal to the Mukhabarat at all. No, he was only here for one man and that man was Isa. And in accordance to Gale, Isa was not a bright man, but simply a man worth trusting. Interesting.
Slowly for the first time since the guard entered he spoke, "I'm glad you've been willing to disclose so much information, Gale." The name tasted sweet on his tongue and he appreciated how fluid it was. "I promise you we will continue our conversation once Isa is sated." And he was not a man to make promises without the intent of keeping them. He watched with closed amusement as the guard gave a brief outburst demanding for information and receiving none from Gale. Gale had not been lying when he stated they were simple men.
Simple men with fragile egos. He watched and waited, holding his silence rather than continuing to speak with Gale as they waited for Isa. No, he wanted to hear what Isa had to say and he wanted more than anything to assess the man for a second time that day. His first impression of Isa was simple. Commanding, direct, and impatient. The man's second appearance told him that he had been correct. Even as Isa demanded information, he couldn't help but grin.
Gale had kept his identity a secret, yet another show of trust from the translator. Now, as he took in Isa's demand he paused and looked at Gale. It would be so easy to just say what he had in his back pocket. But no, that was just too simple. "Busy? Even busier than you? I was starting to think you were the boss around here," he hummed in amusement, leaving the teasing remark to linger on its own. Oh that would get underneath Isa's skin without a doubt.
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Post by Deleted on May 21, 2017 20:24:38 GMT -5
This man, Al, was an enigma. He was fascinating, someone who felt worth talking to, someone who treated him in an equal manner. It was a little surprising, but Gale found himself settling into the situation with ease. He didn't care that he'd given up a lot of information - it wasn't about himself, save for his name. He had no reason to be loyal to those who looked down upon him as if he were just a necessary evil. He had interrogated many people, but none of them were as interesting as Al, and he wondered, idly, if the sentiment was returned, or if he was just being toyed with. Somehow, he doubted he was being toyed with. There was the sort of honesty that was not found in men around here.
Respect was something that did not come naturally to Gale. He had once respected Isa, but now it was the tense sort of respect that came from a man needing to survive, rather than wanting to respect someone. It was his boss. His boss could fire him - and yet Gale was perfectly aware that Isa needed him just as much, that Gale could, to a degree, mess with the other man's head until he got what he wanted. It was a reward that made it worth sticking around.
Isa did not like Al, and he knew that. The way the head of the Mukhabarat glared, all sharp-eyes and severe features, lined with age. Rumour had it that he was once in the army, but Gale had learned to doubt that. Isa had the air of someone born into politics and money, rather than someone who had had to fight his way to the top.
"Ghost was under the impression that I controlled things around here."
A change of wording, no doubt, because he wanted to get even further into Isa's skin. It worked. The man's well-maintained eyebrows twitch and his lip curled into something akin to a snarl, dark eyes narrowing further as he stared - no, glared - at Al.
"Then clearly he is not as intelligent as believed to me. Ask him what he wants, damn it, Amari. I don't have all day," already, he was impatient. It was amusing - but upon a second glance, it was easy enough for Gale to pick up that Isa was fearful of Al. Or, at least, intimidated. Strange. Once upon a time, Isa had been the scariest person to Gale, someone to respect and fear and be careful around. The more he looked, the more he realised that his boss was just like any other man in the agency; cowardly.
"He's decided you're not intelligent," he told Al, lips twitching as he refrained from smiling. It was hard not to laugh at how Isa was being treated; completely in the dark. "And he is getting rather desperate to know what you want. He doesn't have all day, though he does have paperwork due in a few hours, so stretching this out is not appreciated."
By Isa. It was completely and utterly appreciated by Gale because this? This was hilarious. It took a lot of energy to not laugh at poor Isa's expense, but he did smile lazily, much like a cat basking in the sun. It got under Isa's skin, made the man look even more irritated.
"Amari," he warned in a low voice, "don't play games with me and do your job."
"I am doing my job," Gale gingerly placed a hand over his chest, doing his best to look offended, "I'm translating so that you two can interact. That's my job."
The pen that Isa had been holding, probably due to the fact that he had been in the middle of paperwork when called, snapped. This time, Gale allowed himself to grin. It was a sharp grin, wolflike and predatory. He didn't look at Al when he did this, instead choosing to really get under Isa's skin.
Isa was the first to look away, and the control between the two men was settled into Gale's hands. Something about Al made him feel a little more confident in manipulating the situation like this - but he decided not to dwell on it too much, softening his grin and turning back to Al. Intimidation tactics weren't needed with him. Just honesty.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 22, 2017 3:25:27 GMT -5
It was not difficult to come to the conclusion that Gale was very much in control of the situation. Certainly he didn't hold any true authority in terms of titles and rank, but in a showing of wits, Isa was simply outclassed and not as skilled or intelligent as Alphonse had first thought of him to be. He would pale in comparison even to a greedy dog like Corriveau. Isa was a man of the political spectrum using his looks and stature to charm and intimidate his opponents. He lacked the cunning of a spy, it was a surprise as to how the man even gotten as far as he did in the business.
If Isa was easily exposed as a simple minded man that was wrapped around Gale's finger, he knew Isa would just be the figure head. Isa would get him what he want and that was the end of their relationship. He had no time for alliances with men who could not hold their on in the fine divide between the criminal world and the government sanctioned one.
Isa was a fake and that was a fact. He belonged only where he was due to the political strings he had pulled. But as fun as it was to tease the man to his wits end, he supposed he would act as if he had slipped up and give a little too much. It was another chance to test Gale's interest and trust. After all, Gale had chosen not to give up his nickname. That meant something. Gale was withholding information from Isa, so perhaps in this next play Gale would do the same. If he did, oh, Alphonse would certainly be interested then.
That would prove the beginning of a very fine divide between Gale's loyalty to Isa and Isa's ability to handle the translator. And if he could make the divide grow, with time and some properly played cards, Gale would drift further and further from Isa. Until Isa no longer had any control in the matter. It was the 'snap' that finally roused him back to attention, causing his eyes to flit up to look at Isa's broken pen. He had been listening to their shared conversation with a smirk on his face when the pen had snapped.
It was easy to let the insults slide when it came from Isa. He knew the type. Mudslinging politicians with a penchant for name calling and an ego far too big to encompass their incompetence. It was just another example of Isa's lack of insight on the situation. Nodding to the broken pen, he chose to answer, taking his time. "He's still certain he has control of the situation after that?" The question came out as an amused chuckle as he stared at Gale, choosing to not even make eye contact with Isa. That would certainly put the man in his place.
And then there was the second matter to acknowledge. "And as important as his paper work is, I have something he'll find more interesting. There's a case your agency has been working on, a crime ring known for its illicit transportation of live cargo," there was a pause here and the words 'human trafficking' went unspoken. It was the first time he was revealing that he had indeed known exactly what he was getting into the Mukhabarat and that he had his own organization keeping track of their movement and jobs. He was certain Gale would understand immediately.
Isa on the other hand? He had no high expectations for the man. "I have a friend in the area who owes me a favor. She's been keeping track of them herself, but needs the added fire power and artillery that the Mukhabarat has. I can set up a meeting and your organization can iron out the details with her."
He stopped to contemplate the next part, ah what the hell. "I know your organization has been running itself thin, consider this a show of solidarity." The words were not unkind, but they obviously held an edge that accused the Mukhabarat of being far less than as skilled as it claimed to be. After all, judging by everything - the most skilled and talented individual they possessed sat across from him, and they didn't even utilized his skills.
No, they shut it down. They kept it under lock and key. What a waste of talent.
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Post by Deleted on May 22, 2017 3:51:56 GMT -5
Isa was watching Gale more carefully, now - trying to gauge his expressions, figure out what was being said. It wasn't working, because Gale simply raised a slender eyebrow at him as if to say 'what are you doing?'. In a rare show of submission (fully aware that his mind was nothing compared to Gale, as much as he tried), he glanced away and allowed the man to do his work. It irritated him. That much was clear. He hated being teased like this, but he needed Gale. More than even he would admit.
"What did he say, Gale?"
"Doesn't think you're in control after your temper snapped."
A low growl sounded from Isa's throat, and Gale didn't even give him a glance. Instead, he focused wholly on Al and listened intently. At the mention of the crime ring and its human trafficking, he sat up much like the dog he was often compared to, eyes alert and mouth drawn into a line. That was interesting to him. His head angled to the side and he considered the words slowly and carefully. If Al could give them help in that case, it would be...huge. Well - he could give them someone that could contribute to this case. It was ideal. The Mukhabarat wouldn't say no to an offer like that; they had been working and failing the case far too much, already had public doubts.
"Raya Mubarak's Ring - the case we've been working on," he finally turned his attention to Isa, "he can set up a meeting with someone who owes him a favour, who can help us on it. With that, it'll be highly probable that the case will be solved. It would save lives, Isa."
Now, Isa looked uncomfortable. Partially because Gale was encouraging him to take this deal. Though Gale did not share details of the last comment, he supposed that it was likely he was being insulted. He didn't like that things were being kept from him, but he also knew that sometimes, things could be lost in translation. He trusted Gale. It was, of course, his first mistake; because Gale took that trust and used it to his advantage until he was more powerful than Isa would admit.
"I'd rather he stay out of Egypt, to be quite honest," he said.
"This is better than that," replied Gale, sounded almost as if Isa had personally offended him. "The people here would have more respect for you, if you were the one on this case. Talk to his friend when the meeting is set up, iron out details. That's all you have to do. In return, we help with his case. No arrest."
"I want an agent with him on the case."
"Then I can work on the case."
"I don't trust you."
"You and I both know that's a lie, Isa. We also both know that I'd be put on the case regardless."
"You have Amira to deal with."
"If you read the paperwork rather than just signed it, you'd know that she was dead. Also, you can just have him stay out of Egypt once he's done on his case. It's simple, Isa."
Isa stopped responding, as if his brain had been broken. Gale rolled his eyes and looked to Al with what would have been an apologetic smile, but ended up being a self-satisfied one. The smile of a man whom had won an argument and knew exactly how to deal with his own boss.
"He'll be fine with those terms," he shrugged a shoulder idly, now focusing wholly on Al and ignoring his own boss, "once your job is done, he wants you out of Egypt. This is no surprise. He also requires that you have an agent with you while working the case, if only to make sure you don't cause trouble."
His tone was almost mocking at Isa's expense, but the man was already talking rapidly to one of the guards - something about removing the cuffs once Gale decided it was necessary. Another release of his own control. Gale found it amusing at how easily he gave in. Politicians could not deal with people who were not politicians, because words were sharper and quicker in the real world than in a courtroom. Manipulating a politician to do what he wanted was easy enough. Gale just had to find the right words. Apparently, he had found them.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 22, 2017 4:23:33 GMT -5
It amused him how simply Gale had came to the conclusion, despite Isa's lack of consent, that Isa would accept the deal. The translator had taken it upon himself to accept the deal for his less than adequate boss. So it would seem that the scraps he had available would be enough to feed the Mukhabarat, which all in all was a win-win situation. He could help Nahla handle the Raya Mubarak Ring, get the Mukhabarat off his tail, and test Gale's work on the field. Whereas his week had been terrible ever since Kamila's escape, his day was certainly looking up.
He nodded, accepting the words at face value having no reason to say anything regarding his knowledge of Isa's doubts. Instead he looked Gale in the eye and gave him an easy grin. "I'm hoping by agent you mean yourself? I'm afraid the others would be too easy to slip away from," he added, chuckling at the thought. It was something simple, a job offer in a thinly veiled compliment.
Slowly he settled back in his seat and looked at the handcuffs pointedly before glancing back up, not expecting much. As much as Gale was coming to like him, he highly doubted that Gale had forgotten how dangerous he was. He was a trained killer, after all. Something that became apparent with the calm of a man who had seen far too much to be fazed by anything. Still, the standards in the Mukhabarat were terribly low if they would leave a - now - informant sitting in a terribly uncomfortable metal chair.
He clicked his tongue softly as he watched Isa bark out orders. It was almost funny, seeing a man parade around under the false guise of control. He would be able to get away with more than he had first anticipated with a man like Isa watching over his shoulder. The man's vision was limited and his intellect sadly sparse. Instead, he contemplated how he would speak to Nahla.
He knew Nahla would be vehement at first, furious even. Nahla had been on the job of the Rava Mubarak Ring for three years, angry at the forced prostitution of young girls. Something that hit close at home for the arms dealer and vigilante crew leader. Nahla loved doing the job her way, violent and with a statement that sent most cartel rings scrambling for their bearings. She was one of his kind. She knew how to plan an attack, hit without warning, and disappear.
She was a legend among the Egyptian criminal organizations, something of a ferocious snake that struck without warning until the organization crumbled to nothing. She would not appreciate the Mukhabarat meddling whereas she would welcome his help with open arms. That was why he would have to pull out the favor to force her to entertain his guests. She would begrudgingly accept the conditions, he knew. She had always have a soft spot for him.
First though, he would need to speak to her - in person, was preferable - and arrange the meeting. He supposed he didn't mind Gale tailing him for the meeting. Perhaps the young man would learn something about the trade from him. "So," he spoke gently, words soft, "I understand the Mukhabarat has their reservations. I do need to meet with my contact, however. Otherwise she will not be willing to cooperate."
He almost grinned as he said the next part, "She doesn't like suits. I'm an exception." He had met Nahla when she was younger and he was as well. Edging on his fifty-second in a number of months, he had met her when he was in his younger years at the age of thirty-two. She had been twenty-five then, a young woman with eyes burning bright and a heart full of passion. She had been running a smaller vigilante group at the time. One that made too much noise and had fallen on the Mukhabarat's radar.
However, Nahla's people had been more than dangerous and proved to be a challenge for the Mukhabarat, leading to the involvement of the Direction générale de la sécurité extérieure. The DGSE had sent him in with a simple task. Eliminate the threat. It was supposed to be a simple job, but one too many drinks and an unforgettable night in a rundown house later - he found himself working with Nahla rather than against her.
She wanted justice and she wanted to protect people. He could understand the sentiment. It was that event that led him to help her. He taught her how to cover her tracks, how to make her attacks more potent, how to single out targets, and how to cut the head off of a snake and end entire criminal regimes in a simpler manner than just attacking small rackets. In return, she had promised him that if he ever needed her help she would answer the call without hesitation.
Nineteen years later, it was time to take her up on the offer.
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Post by Deleted on May 22, 2017 4:48:24 GMT -5
Though Gale did his best not to show obvious emotions, he started rather obviously at the words. Him, working on the field again. It had been a while; he'd kept himself in-shape and ready, but he hadn't really considered the possibility of working on the field again. Hell, no-one had even contracted him for any killings. He was too expensive. This? This was a Mukhabarat paying rate, and Al got to have him for free.
Then again, he didn't mind.
"I could use some entertainment in my life," he hummed lightly, recovering himself quickly. "Is it a request or a demand?"
As he spoke, he stood up and held his hand out. The guards glanced between themselves before one reluctantly gave him the keys, and Gale walked towards Al. He wasn't...tense, as such, but he was ready - just in case. He unlocked the handcuffs and tossed them and the key to the guard, before kicking his own chair around as a quiet offer to Al. It had a cushion on it. It was comfy - he doubted metal was. Where would Gale sit? Well. He perched on the table idly, ignoring the offended look that Isa gave him. Perhaps he didn't see it, considering his entire focus was now on Al and he had his back to his boss.
Not a show of trust, but to show that Isa was not dangerous.
"No, I understand," his lips twitched into a faint smile. "It's quite convenient that I'm not quite a suit, hm?"
An offer to go along; definitely not to confront (unless Al wanted him to be there), but definitely to tail. Otherwise, he knew that the Mukhabarat would send someone else to tail him, and frankly, they were not quiet enough. Gale could perch in high places and uncomfortable places for long periods of time. They could just sit in cars. What was more inconspicuous? Nothing in the area, or a car with a lazy man eating semeet? He smiled idly.
"Do you know what area she is in?" he asked, picking at his nails. They were cut short, with scars over the skin around them. Used to climbing without any safety, used to hard work. Not used to pen-pushing. If anything, he was restless; ready to go out and do things. He was excited. "I have a car."
An offer. His car wasn't really a prized possession or anything; in fact, it was his lowest priority. It could get wrecked and he would just move on. He didn't care who drove it, he didn't care where it went. It was sturdy and could cross sand as well as the roads, so he appreciated it. Admittedly, it would probably die if it drove over too much sand. But that was what camels were for. He somehow doubted that they'd need to go anywhere that wasn't civilized, however.
"I'll work the case," he told Isa, after a few moments, glancing to his 'boss'. "The others, I do not think, will be able to keep up, and I haven't got a case. I don't need to work with anyone else, so it's ideal. Additionally, I think I'm the only one in this building fluent enough in French that I can keep up with a native-speaker," or so he was assuming. He hoped he was correct, but he was confident. "He needs to meet with his contact to set up the meeting, in person. I can tail."
"You better know what you are doing," growled the older man, lip curling. He had been using Gale's first name as a sort of way to try to rein him in, but it wasn't working. Gale found it laughable. "I mean it. If you screw this up, you're out."
"No I'm not," he smiled lazily, "and I won't. Give me peace and I can work. I think you might have paperwork to deal with; I'm quite sure I can handle the ghost."
It was after a few moments that Isa left - one of his better judgements. Still pushed by Gale. The younger man, on the other hand, stood up and stretched idly, keeping one eye open to watch Al. He didn't trust him, but he certainly accepted that if he gave a truth, then truth would be given. He hoped it would be good enough that they'd be able to work together. He was quite curious to see the other man in the field; he seemed politically strong, in the way that he held himself. Gale didn't doubt that he was probably capable of handling himself. He was dangerous. A fighter. Like recognised like, or something along those lines.
I wonder how he'd react if he knew I was a sniper, he wondered as he studied the older man, would it surprise him, or does he already know?
He could find out later.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 22, 2017 6:08:28 GMT -5
He couldn't help but chuckle at the way Gale had responded to his simple statement. The man had seemed surprised that he had been requested by Alphonse personally to be his so-called chaperon. He highly doubted, despite his knowledge of Gale's abilities, that the man would be able to keep up with him if he wanted to disappear. Disappearing happened to be one of his many talents, after all and as much as he trusted Gale to be talented, he didn't think Gale was much of a spy hunter.
So he grinned instead, "Consider it a request. I don't think I can demand you to do anything you would not want to do." And the words rang true with truth, he knew Gale's type when he saw it. Gale did what interested him and what benefited him - and in some cases, what kept food on the table and the threat of a bullet out of his life. He was not the kind of man to be told what to do. He was the kind of man who chose what he did and walked out when the job didn't tickle his fancy or suit his interests.
That and he could see the man in action. He could tell by the way Gale hold himself that he was no simple translator. That much went without saying. No, he was more interested in Gale's other talents - the ones that didn't encompass going head to head in a battle of wits and proving himself to be more than capable to join Alphonse's crew. Intelligence wasn't going to simply cut it. There had to be raw talent, dedication, and loyalty that striked fear into the heart of his enemies.
Watching Gale carefully, he found himself smiling along to the young man's quip. No, he had a feeling Gale would fit right in to his team like he had belonged there the whole time. Like he had been a missing piece that they had never realized was not there until he entered the picture. "And you're right, it's a good thing you're not a suit. She'd be angry with me otherwise." He said the words with a simple message. You can come along, don't worry about it.
It was a rare show of trust from Alphonse, allowing somebody like Gale to accompany him like one of his own. But if he wanted Gale to want to be one of his, he would have to first let Gale taste what it was like working for - or rather with Alphonse. He was certain Gale would come to like it, the freedom he would be given, the weight his opinions would have, and the like-minded and equally sharp minds would come to interest the younger man. That and the setting at the Mukhabarat was too bland for a man of Gale's caliber.
And the icing on the cake was that he was out of those god forsaken handcuffs. He could have picked it himself hours ago, but somehow he felt the Mukhabarat would not be half as compliant as they were had he done that. Rubbing his wrists and flexing his fingers to coax life into his numb hands, he stood up. Ah, he had been sitting in one position for too long, he mused as he felt the pins and needles spike down his leg. Standing up to his full height he glanced towards Isa, almost challenging the man to stand up himself and match up to his height.
He didn't need a vocal invitation to take a seat on Gale's chair, settling down comfortably. "Don't worry about the car, Gale. I have an associate waiting nearby with transportation ready. She knows the location." He left it at that as he watched Gale and Isa interact. Oh, poor Isa. He had no idea the mutiny Alphonse was going to implant into Gale. He would have chuckled at the thought if the scenario had allowed it, but the tension in the room proved to him that that would be a poor lapse in judgment. So instead, he held his tongue until Isa left.
Once the man was gone, he knew it was time to get down to business. Standing up after Gale, he rolled his shoulders to coax some life back into the cramped muscles - the crack almost audible. Stretching his arms, he glanced at Gale almost lazily. "Let's get going, Zhannah does not like to wait." Another name, another bone for Gale to pick.
He didn't wait to hear Gale's response, instead choosing to make his way out of the Mukhabarat. It was dark outside when he finally exited the building, eyes squinting at the new lighting. The pale walls of the interrogation room certainly left him with the stupor those who exited the theaters possessed. However, instead of assuming it was night, he had subconsciously assumed it would be still light out and the shroud of darkness - thought familiar - came as a slight surprise.
Enough that he nearly missed the approach of another individual. Nearly. Turning to his left, he saw Zhanna emerge from the shadows with an expression that could only be described as pissed. The well built Russian woman was only a mere three inches shorter than him with biceps that put Maurice to shame. She had strong and beautiful features that were both cold and rough to the outsider, but he knew her better. She had been worried. He smiled to her and watched as the anger dissolve to something softer.
"Alphon-" She caught herself after the first two syllables, letting the beginning of his name hang in the air as her gaze traveled cautiously over to Gale. "Sir," she amended, the warmth in her eyes replaced with caution. He waved his hand in response, cutting her off.
"Don't worry about formalities, he'll find out my name from you or from Nahla. Him learning it sooner than later makes no difference," he said simply with a chuckle. "Knowing Nahla, she'll scream my full name out when I enter the premise." The thought left a smile on his face. He kept speaking in French, choosing to allow Gale in on the conversation. He could have easily swapped to Russian, but there was the off chance Gale knew Russian as well. The swap would only be a show of distrust and after all the trouble he had spent building up a rapport between him and Gale, that wouldn't do.
"Alphonse," she said slowly and carefully, eyes sending Gale a warning as she slowly returned her attention to him. "The car is parked over here."
He followed her without a hint of hesitation. "I'm hoping it is to my standards?"
For the first time since she met Gale, she laughed. "I think you would fire me if it wasn't," she teased. She was exaggerating the extent of his actions, but he took it all in a stride. As they rounded the corner, she pressed the alarm and the bright yellow headlights of the red 2016 Mercedes-Benz G-Class greeted him none too kindly. Wincing at the brightness, he took the initiative to beeline for the car, allowing her to take the driver seat and entering the passenger seat himself.
"You know where we're headed, yes?" The words were not unkind or questioning her ability at all. It was just a simple question that he wanted answered even as he secured his seatbelt, glancing back to make sure Gale was still with them. He was.
"Of course I do," Zhannah huffed almost indignantly. "The real question though, Al, is how the hell are we going to talk to them. Because last I checked between you, me, Maurice, and Jasper, none of us speak Egyptian Arabic." She paused almost thoughtfully. "Is that why he's coming along?"
"No," he said absentmindedly as the engine roared to life, gaze lingering on the empty dusty streets instead. "I can speak Egyptian Arabic just fine, Zhannah." Well, he supposed, it seemed only fair to admit the truth to both her and Gale. He would let Gale do what he wanted with the knowledge whatever he wished. After all, they hadn't been playing truth-for-truth when the conversation first started.
She didn't push the topic instead choosing to keep her eyes on the road, clearly wanting to say something but holding it in. It was a good ten minutes before she finally spoke and he was surprised she didn't say anything before considering how close she looked to exploding. "You know you shouldn't have pulled that stunt you did in the airport," she sounded concern. He couldn't work with concern, not right now.
"It worked," he responded lamely.
"They could have shot you and neutralized the threat... just like that," he could feel her gaze on him briefly. She wanted to see a reaction. He gave her nothing. Her voice was too soft, too gentle, even for him. He didn't need this, didn't need to be treated like glass when it came to this topic.
"They didn't, Zhannah. I made a gamble and came away with the winning hand," he responded evenly, a warning tone in his normally soothing voice. The rest of ride was spent in silence. He would not have that talk. Not now. He was functioning fine right now. There was nothing wrong with him right now and until proven otherwise, he needed to get what he came for - not the sympathy from his own team.
It felt like ages after that conversation. He wished the ride had been quicker.
He had completely ignored the bag over head trick the Mukhabarat was fond with when it came to Gale. If Gale wanted to know where this compound was, he would poke around and in due time find it. He knew a man who would unearth secrets just because they were kept secret from him, and Gale was that sort. Letting him know wouldn't harm anyone. It would only keep needless conflicts from arising.
Instead, as he exited the vehicle, clean black oxfords touching the dusty ground - he had one thing on his mind. The meeting between him and Nahla. It had been awhile and despite the promises she had made, she had every right to turn him away. It had been awhile, after all, and people changed. He knew he had. He glanced up at the large complex before him looking nothing like the home of a vigilante group but rather a homely complex that would be, without a doubt, well furnished. Even the guards at the gate looked as if they belonged there despite the possession of the automatic rifles strapped across their chest.
He didn't hesitate to approach the gate even as two pairs of guarded eyes looked at him. Their hands on their rifles tensed even as he gestured for Zhannah and Gale to follow him. "My name is Alphonse Fournier and I'm here to talk to Nahla." It seemed as if they had been anticipating his arrival because upon hearing his name the two guards shared a look. Then they nodded, opening the gates and allowing him entrance.
He walked casually through the driveway, stopping briefly to appraise the fountain in the roundabout that had underwater lights that gave it a beautiful glow. Huh, maybe his place needed a fountain too with the same entrancing lights that sucked one's gaze into the water... He glanced back up to the open doors of the mansion and the additional two guards standing there. It seemed as if Nahla had made many enemies over the years.
Nobody came to greet him and so he kept walking through the house, no stopping at any of the interesting unmarked doors. No, he had a purpose here and digging into Nahla's activities was not one of them. It wasn't long until he reached his destination, rich deep brown oak double doors thrown wide open with bright light emitting from it. Turning the corner and entering the door, he wasn't exactly surprised when he saw Jasper and Maurice tied up and Nahla sitting on the chair with a revolver aimed right for him.
He didn't move as he stood there and waited as the surprise sunk into Nahla's features. It must have been at least a minute before Nahla spoke in a shocked manner. "It is you," she said almost breathlessly. She was making her way over to him before she stared right at him, "You're dead."
He couldn't help himself. He grinned. Though his Egyptian Arabic was a little rough, it was passable. "That's generally what most would like to believe, but contrary to popular belief I am not."
As much as the gun pointing was expected, the slap was not. It stung. "You as-hole!" Oh she sounded angry. He wasn't exactly sure why she would be angry, wasn't she supposed to be glad he was alive? "I grieved your loss and you waltz in here as sexy as ever with that stupid grin on your face!" Oh. Oh.
"Nahla, ma cherie, I apologize for keeping you in the dark, but we can go over that some other time." He paused tactfully here, "I need your help."
Nahla seemed to consider his words briefly before nodding, but holding up one finger. "I'll help you, but first who is with you? I trust you Alphonse, but those you bring with you I do not."
Glancing over at Jasper, Maurice, Zhannah, and even Gale lazily he nodded. Might as well get the formalities out of the way. They spoke in turn, all using English - something they believed to be universal. And if Nahla didn't understand, Alphonse would take over. It was a good thing Nahla did know English, it would take far too much effort to go through their introductions.
"'m Jasper Lee, ex-CIA, full time bada-s criminal working for Mista Fournier over there. I specialize in investigations and tech." The American did not hesitate at all as he spoke, shaking his blonde locks out of his face as he grinned brightly.
"Maurice Richelieu," the stocky Frenchman stated flatly. "Professional bounty hunter." It was obvious Maurice didn't appreciate the theatrics of being tied up.
"I am Zhannah Sokolov," the Russian woman said not unkindly. "Former KGB." The silence that followed Zhannah's words left the attention on Gale and he glanced over. He had no doubt Gale would comply, it would be a sticky situation for him and the others otherwise.
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Post by Deleted on May 22, 2017 6:46:21 GMT -5
Despite everything, he found himself enjoying Al's presence.
The man definitely had an air of authority about him, but it was well-earned; unlike Isa's, which was just given to him, Al's seemed to be something that he had worked for. The truth for a truth, the sheer amount of honesty that had already been given to Gale; he found himself wondering if he was trustworthy. He found himself hoping that he was. People like Al were rare, in his experience - people as interesting, people who knew how to handle themselves and knew how to read others. Very few knew that Gale was a free spirit, and to be recognised at first glance felt...warming. He liked knowing that Al wouldn't tell him what to do, because, frankly, Gale had always been a rebel.
It was probably why Isa was a boss to him only in name.
Knowing that he could come along with Al, too - that helped a lot. He may have been part of the Mukhabarat, but he was not a suit. A translator for them, a sniper for his own means. He wondered if he could pull some sort of interesting surprised expression out of the man if the chance arose, and decided that he'd certainly take anything he could get. He followed with ease, gave a mocking two-finger salute to one of the guards on his way out. The way the man snarled, or how the woman alongside him hissed a quiet curse, it...summed up his general experience here, really. He was working for them, but in the loosest sense. They did not trust him. The feeling was mutual, but they didn't realise that he owned their boss.
Zhanna. That sounded like an interesting name. It probably suited an interesting person, but Gale decided to keep his thoughts for himself. Now that he was out of the stuffy Mukhabarat building, he was...no, nervous was not the word. He was never nervous. Excited. That was new. It had been years since he'd been excited for a field mission - possibly longer since he'd had a good one. He wondered, idly, if anyone that Al knew spoke Arabic. Well...save for his contact, who obviously would.
The woman did not quite surprise him, but he found himself giving an amused smile as he found out Al's name. Alphonse. Now that he thought about it, it was a fitting name. He looked like an Alphonse. His smile only widened at the warning glance Zhanna (he assumed) gave him, because this was amusing and he felt like a child, and he wasn't scared. Just...interested. He wanted to know more, and he found himself itching to find out more about Alphonse. The fact that the other man continued to use the French language interested him; was it to get Gale to trust him more, or was it the only language he could speak? He highly doubted the latter. Al seemed intelligent, and to have a single language did not seem like a very intelligent idea.
Of course, he remained a follower; Al was not a man to be controlled. He did not have even the slightest hint of control here. This? This was out of his hands. He was here in the name of the Mukhabarat only, but the reason he stayed was because he was curious. He wanted to follow along, and he doubted he'd be filling in paperwork to Isa's orders. He was far too invested in finding out in what Al had planned.
When he found out that Al spoke Egyptian Arabic, he laughed. It was quiet, muted - and rusty, as if he hadn't genuinely laughed for a long time. He turned his gaze away and mulled this over. Oh, the Mukhabarat had been played. They hadn't even attempted to see if the man spoke Arabic, had only decided that yes, this man spoke nothing but French, and Gale loved that. He found himself becoming fond of Al already. Perhaps he was just that charismatic - there was certainly something about him.
"That's sneaky," he said in Arabic, though he sounded almost...admiring. He could certainly admire a little mischievousness. God knew that he would've done the same in a Western country.
However, when Zhannah began to speak of the incident at the airport, he had to look away to the dusty, familiar streets. In a way, he felt like he was intruding; there was an air of concern here, a show that he did not feel like he had the right to witness. It was unfamiliar to him, and so he tuned it out idly. He could think of other things, like how horrified his father would be if he knew how closely Gale would be working with criminals. Not out of concern. No, his old man was never concerned about his well-being. He'd be concerned because he didn't want the Amari name tainted. Well, that's just how it goes.
As the car ride progressed, Gale found himself startled that he wasn't being blindfolded. Even the Mukhabarat had blindfolded him at one point, scared that he'd give away their secrets. It was a joke on them, because they hadn't even considered distracting him from feeling the turns that the car took. It wasn't enough to let him know where they were going, but hey, if anyone needed vague directions for where he had been, then they just needed to take him into a car. Eidetic memory worked wonders, sometimes. He glanced to the back of Al's head before snorting softly to himself, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. He didn't feel safe here, but he did let himself doze quietly - aware of his surroundings, but giving himself some rest.
His eyes flickered open when the car stopped and he passed a hand lightly over his face, simply following Al without much of a thought for it. He took note that the taller man did not quite fit in with the Egyptian background; whereas he, himself, did. Gale was soft tones or brown, from his brown-black hair to his brown skin, and pale shades of clothes that reflected the light. He felt completely comfortable here, even seeing the armed guards, because he was used to being ignored. He was someone who could fade easily into the background in Egypt.
Gale was given another truth. Alphonse Fournier. He bit his lip and accepted this, filed it away as just another thing. He'd continue to call the man 'Al'. It was more subtle. The name, of course, was unmistakably French - he rather hoped that the man didn't mind his own accented French. He'd never felt self-conscious over his languages before. It amused him.
When Al was slapped, Gale snorted and turned his head to stop from laughing. Oh, no. That was gold. That was beautiful. He was truly moved. He chewed his lip so that he wouldn't make a sound, and inhaled sharply. Hey, what could he say? He loved trouble, and he hadn't even caused this. He was just witnessing it, and it was extremely funny. What a good day this was!
The introductions were something he paid attention to, interested by each of the people in the room. However, when attention was focused on him, he simply raised an eyebrow.
"Gale Amari. Translator for the Mukhabarat in name only," if only because everyone else introduces themselves in it, he spoke English; significantly more accented than any other language he spoke because he didn't speak it often. Then, he glanced to Al and smiled lazily, "world's sharpest sniper."
It was not a boast. It was just the truth. He absently laced his fingers behind himself and shifted his weight. He was comfortable. He was not intimidated by these people in the slightest. He hoped that they picked up the in name only. He held no loyalties for the agency, and he was quite content with making that clear. He wasn't here, with Al, for the Mukhabarat. He was here solely because he was curious.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 22, 2017 17:49:02 GMT -5
The first part did not come as a surprise, and he took careful note of the words 'in name only'. So, he was right then, Gale held no false loyalties to the Mukhabarat. Perhaps to Isa, but nothing that extended past that. Then there was the second part. A sniper. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at Gale briefly, that made much more sense now that he thought about it. He held himself in a calculated manner, obviously used to holding control in a situation. He was somebody who was used to getting dirty on the field, but his lack of confidence in a close quarter battle with Alphonse had struck him as interesting.
With that out in the open, it made much more sense. It wasn't that Gale had been unsure of his ability, it was simply that the young man was too close for comfort. Gale was the kind of man who enjoyed sitting from the sidelines with the kill switch. That he could respect. He turned back to Nahla, smiling slightly. Four names, four identities, four vastly different skill sets. It was time for her verdict and he watched as she clenched her jaw, clearly not pleased and formulating a thoughtful response.
It wasn't Nahla's voice that filled the room. Instead, it was the all too familiar drawl of Jasper's american accent. "World's sharpest sniper my a--, Riagan will have a say in that matter." Alphonse almost laughed at the mention of the Irish man. He had no doubt Riagan would take the words as a challenge now that Jasper mentioned him, but instead of responding to the absurd comment, he shot Jasper a scathing glare. His input was unappreciated, not when Nahla was still coming to a conclusion.
"You brought suits here," her voice was accusing even as she ignored Jasper's words completely. She was furious with him and he could tell by the look in her eyes that she was unhappy despite the relief she must have felt upon knowing he was alive. "You know better than anybody I hate them. They get nothing done and they follow nothing but protocol!"
He shrugged, "Ex. Ex-suits." He allowed time for the knowledge that they were former government agents to sink in first. He wouldn't mention Gale, there was no reason to. If he tried to explain the situation any further, it would only open a can of worms that would lead to nothing but trouble and he wouldn't have that. "They don't work for the government anymore, Nahla," he added gently. "They work for me."
She seemed to take those words into consideration as she glanced towards Maurice and Jasper and then towards her own men. With a curt nod, they were cut free of their bonds and made their way over to Alphonse. Slowly she returned her gaze onto him, her ferocious brown eyes staring holes into him. "If you trust them with your life, then we can speak."
He didn't hesitate. "I do. I trust them with my life."
She seemed to take that response positively and nodded before waving for most of the bodyguards to leave. There were about five or six remaining individuals on her side, without a doubt some of her closest confidants and advisers. They were people she trusted. The doors were closed behind the guards and she walked over to the white sofa taking a seat before glancing expectantly up at him. He did not stand on ceremony, following her lead to take a seat across from her, watching as she crossed her legs and placed her folded hands neatly on her knee. She'd grown more beautiful with time, elegance a natural commodity to her. "What can I help you with?"
He smiled, "I thought you'd never ask." Though the words were cheeky, they were also honest and Nahla nodded at him to continue. "I'm hunting a ghost who has taken refugee in Egypt. I need the Mukhabarat's resources so I thought I'd cash in on a favor and give you some extra firepower against Raya Mubarak."
"You want me to work with the Mukhabarat." Her voice was flat and displeased even as she spat out the name like it was foul. She shook her head, her expression almost incredulous. "I know we go way back, Al, but this is quite difficult. Even for you. Besides, I don't like sharing."
Raising an eyebrow, he almost smirked, "I don't remember you saying that back in Faiyum. Rather I remembered you to be quite keen on sharing." The subtle blush spreading across her features was more than a victory to him.
"With suits," she said softly, voice edging on a whisper. "I don't trust the government, Alphonse."
"I would never set you up in a position that would harm you," he responded, voice equally soft. It was the truth. He would never set her up and use her to his own advantage. If he didn't believe the situation to be mutually beneficial, he would have never brought Nahla into this. Nahla was a good woman with a heart made of gold. He would not throw her under the metaphorical bus to get what he wanted.
She laughed at those words. It was not mocking, it was genuine - full of relief and the same childish mirth he remembered her to possess when they had first met. "I suppose after all you've done for me, I can't say no. However, I suppose it's only fair if you introduce me to your lady at the end of the day." He clenched his jaw. Of course she didn't know. She didn't know he was alive and- It wasn't her fault, but the words still felt like a knife in his chest.
"She's dead, Nahla," he said softly. She's dead. He hadn't said those words in ages and just hearing it - reaffirming that it was the inevitable and ugly truth - stung. He didn't allow the grief to show or his voice to waver, however. There was a time and place for everything, and now certainly was not it.
The instantaneous regret and shock on Nahla's features only served to twist his gut into a knot. "I'm sorry," and he knew the words were honest. She hesitated before continuing, clearly wondering if it was wise to press on the matter. He could feel Zhannah's hand on his knee, squeezing gently. It did nothing to lessen the blow. Though he supposed she could tell he was in pain, considering she didn't understand a single word. He supposed he wasn't hiding it very well. "Is this about her?"
Seeing no reason to lie, he nodded simply. "It is."
"Then I will do everything in my power to help you," he could tell she was honest. The second the truth outed itself, he understood that Nahla would do anything. She felt like she owed him that, and in reality, she didn't. This favor was asking a lot of Nahla and it was more than he was willing to ask for, but it was what he needed.
"Thank you," he said sincerely before glancing at Gale. "Please give her the information to contact the Mukhabarat. She'll set the meeting on her terms." He returned his gaze to Nahla, smiling apologetically. "I need to leave now, the longer I take to get on my target's tail, the more distance she will put between us."
He watched Nahla nod. "I understand."
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Post by Deleted on May 22, 2017 18:28:33 GMT -5
The American's words- Jasper, he reminded himself - didn't come to a surprise to him, but he gave a slow, steady smile. He didn't know who this 'Riagan' was, but he felt like he'd probably want to meet him. Anyone else who claimed the title was usually either too cocky or genuine. Gale, however, did not just have his own words to go by; he had his clients to vouch for. He hadn't failed a mission, but now was not the time to assert his dominance. Instead, he refocused on Nahla and listened quietly with his arms crossed loosely over his chest, weight distributed evenly between his legs so that he could not be unbalanced. It was a defensive stance, though subtle.
Naturally, he figured the woman would not be too happy. They were, after all, originally suits; though Gale had never considered himself as one. He'd always walked a fine line between legal and illegal, and he supposed that he was dipping more into the illegal sides of things. He was outright lying to his boss, at this point. Well. Isa wouldn't know. Isa had never really considered that Gale worked for himself, and nobody else - there were people who paid him, and people he called boss, and yet none of them had earned much respect. Even now, he found his respect shifting (with relative ease) towards Al. He was someone worth respecting. Possibly worth following, but he had to see the man in action.
They work for me.
He had, of course, figured that out - though he wasn't quite sure where he, personally, fit in. Gale didn't work for Al, but he supposed he was working with him. He wouldn't contradict. That would be stupid, and likely cost his own life. Instead he watched with patience, eyes flicking back at every faint movement he caught. He was sharp-eyed, had never needed any sort of assistance with his sight. Surprising, considering his family's history of glasses and the like. Ah, well. He had always taken after his mother.
Thoughts returned to the present, and he watched Nahla with an eerie stillness. He didn't know what to think of her, and he barely breathed. It wasn't intimidation - he was not scared of her - but there was definitely respect. Anyone who even considered facing Mubarak's Ring could see a degree of acceptance from Gale. It was a dangerous scene to even look into, and he knew that many men from the Mukhabarat had been killed already. It wasn't as if the situation itself was dangerous, but Raya himself.
The conversation seemed to be taking an interesting turn - your lady, he assumed, would be Al's wife. It was the second part that surprised him; but he backed up his thoughts quickly. No. It made sense, in a way. He decided not to dwell on it, however. It was not his business, and he did not really want to get invested into the mysterious Fournier man.
When he was finally addressed, Gale gave an elegant shrug and looked towards Nahla. Of course. Contact information - he'd have to give Isa's number. His mind flicked absently through the long lists of numbers his memory had stored, most of them useless, before he checked his pockets idly until he found the notepad he kept stored there. Hey! Shoving random sh*t into his pockets worked! It was just a case of grabbing the charcoal pencil from his other pocket and quickly writing the number in a neat script, and then writing some instructions - of course, in Arabic.
Speak only to Ahmed Isa, inform him that it is relating to the Raya Mubarak Ring, on 'Ghost's' behalf. You have clearance from Amari.
Once that was done, he tore it out of his little notepad and slid his pencil lightly behind his ear, offering it to the woman. A single eyebrow raised, but he said nothing as he did this, simply because he didn't need to. This, now, would be classified between Nahla and Isa, and he could be free of that. He'd probably get updated on it anyway. Isa never knew when to shut up about his achievements.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 22, 2017 23:49:47 GMT -5
Standing up now that the conversation was over, Alphonse wasted little time to say his goodbyes, pulling Nahla into a familiar and warm hug and a soft gentle peck on the cheek. He could see the way her eyes sparkle as he did so and smiled in response, pulling away to put some distance between the two of them. She seemed to accept the retreat simply and watched him leave, holding the offending paper Gale had offered her. He had not bothered to look at the notes Gale wrote to Nahla. He trusted Gale enough to not play both him and the Mukhabarat because that would leave him with three enemies and Gale was a smarter man than that.
Heading back out the way he came, he could tell Maurice would take the rear, Zhannah walked near his right in silence, and Jasper was clambering - shorter legs working hard to keep up - to stay on his left. If he had wanted silence, he got none. He could hear from the way Jasper cleared his throat there was a question coming. The time between Jasper clearing his throat and the question was less than ten seconds. "So, the boy," Jasper spoke, clearly asking about Gale. The man spoke English, not much liking the way French sounded on his tongue. It had always been something that the others accepted without question. "'s as good as he says?"
He shrugged almost carelessly, the red 2016 Mercedes-Benz G-Class coming into view. "I haven't seen him on a range before," he answered, amused at the question. Of course, of all the things Jasper would want to know was if Gale was truly as sharp as he claimed to be. There would be a time and place to find that out.
Jasper huffed, "So is he one of us now? Is this like some impromptu world's hardest job interview kinda sh-t like Kingsmen or what, Al? Because last I checked, he ain't part of the crew. And I don't trust somebody who ain't part of the crew." Jasper's green eyes trailed over to Gale, hovering over him almost dangerously. It was cute, if Alphonse was to be honest. It was as if their safety net had been popped and the new kid was a threat. No, Gale was no such thing.
At least, not to them. Not at the moment. Chuckling at the ridiculous nature of Jasper's questions he shook his head, opening the passenger seat to get in. They would rest first, iron out the details, then start the hunt. It had been a long day. "He's not one of us, no," he answered curtly. "Gale is just here to watch over us." The words had a certain bite to them and he glanced up at the interior rear view mirror to take in Gale's reaction as he said the words. "He will, however, be working with us, because last I checked you don't speak Egyptian Arabic."
That got an indignant pout from Jasper, one that drew some chuckles from him, Maurice, and Zhannah. "Now that ain't fair, boss. You're calling me out."
He chose not to acknowledge that statement, instead humming as he leaned back into the car seat and glanced at Zhannah. She nodded to him, starting up the engine and driving deeper into the city to the Royal Maxim Palace Kempinski, a five star resort in Cairo. Nobody could say he didn't live in style. The resort itself was beautiful and from the bright lights and refined architecture, it easily rivaled some of his favorite five star hotels.
Pulling the car up to the valet, Zhannah rolled down the window. The valet attendee, much to Zhannah's relief, spoke English and answered her requests with ease. It was then he felt a necessity to address Gale, just to make sure. Turning back to look at the younger man, he flashed one of his winning smiles. "You're welcomed to stay with us here," he offered. Hell, he thought it was a good offer.
Several nights at the Royal Maxim Palace Kempinski and food on him? That sounded like a free vacation. He watched the younger man carefully, waiting for some sort of reaction as Jasper and Maurice excused themselves, exiting the vehicle to head out back to grab the bags. They had booked three rooms, all in the same hallway, on the third floor. They were close to the staircase, an easy exit. And, as per Jasper's request, one of the rooms had the best view Egypt had to offer - or so the manager of the hotel claimed.
He found no better way to integrate Gale into the lifestyle he led other than to hold an open door to it. It was a once in a life time offer, the beginning of what Jasper had graciously described as the 'world's hardest job interview'. And despite his reservations, he knew deep down despite not letting it show, he would be disappointed if Gale turned down the offer. Here it was, a ticket to a whole new world laid right at his feet. But if Gale wanted to go, Alphonse would not stoop down and beg him to stay. No, he had an eye for talent, but he also knew that such talent could be find elsewhere. He would lose nothing from letting Gale leave.
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Post by Deleted on May 23, 2017 0:10:50 GMT -5
Gale was quiet, but this was not always a problem with him.
Sometimes, people will sharp memory took in too much at once. He was used to that. He sorted through the day's event; right from his home to the current moment. He followed the others absently, looking down at his hands and considering everything carefully. If he noticed he was being talked about (he did), then he didn't show much sign of it. He didn't really care, to be honest. Americans had never really been something to take much notice of, had either been useless or trouble. Naturally, he didn't voice this. The man already doubted his talents.
He half-closed his eyes and tilted his head, looking to Jasper as if to say 'what do you want?', before he turned away again. There was no point on dwelling on people who didn't like him. He'd just have to prove himself. The chuckles around him caused him to blink, but he didn't join in. He hadn't been paying much attention to the conversation anyway, because his thoughts were more important. Most importantly - would Isa be able to handle Nahla? He was a weak man. Oh well. He'd just be controlled by someone who wasn't Gale, and that didn't matter to him.
Cairo at night was usually something to behold, but after being here for so long? It got underwhelming. All capital cities did, to be honest. They were the same, just in different places - nothing new, nothing interesting. He much preferred quieter towns, but hey, that was a personal preference.
When he realised he was being addressed, he blinked out of his dozing state and looked at Al slowly. The offer processed quickly, and he tilted his head to the side. Was he being serious? The other man was not the sort to make a joke for this. He thought of his home in Dekernes, thought about how it took hours to get to Cairo. If anything, he'd be accepting just for the ease of access, or whatever. Besides...he was curious about Al's little team. They were all interesting (save for maybe the American, but he expected that would change), and he wanted to find out more about them. Subconsciously, he felt like it was a once in a lifetime offer.
It felt less like 'stay at this hotel with us' and more like 'do you want a taste of live outside of the Mukhabarat'?
As short as it might've been, he decided that hey, he was bored and sick of the same old routine. Isa was a boring boss - his previous boss before Isa had been boring. There was nothing exciting in his life anymore. To Al, he gave a slow, lazy smile.
"Sure," he said, "why not?"
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 23, 2017 0:48:55 GMT -5
In the moments his team spent outside, grabbing the bags while Gale made up his mind, it felt almost reminiscent to the moments the two shared in the interrogations room at the Mukhabarat. So much so that, as he observed the blank stupor on Gale's face, it nearly made him smile. Deja vu, as most would say. However, it was also clearly apparent that Gale was compartmentalizing everything that had occurred. He could understand, when he first entered the more fast paced life of a spy, it had been hard to wrap his mind around what was happening in a pace that matched his body and mind.
This life demanded the ability to compartmentalize events quickly, push away feelings that left one feeling sick, and respond to constant threat and danger without hesitation or fear. So when Gale's expression became something similar to incredulous he felt his lip quirk up in a smile. Just like that, with three simple words, he came closer to having Gale on board with him. Without skipping a beat, he opened the door of the passenger seat. "Let's get going then," he glanced at the valet attendee's name tag, "We've made Sabir wait long enough."
Slipping out of the car, he eyed the dark haired man sheepishly before smiling. "My apologies," he murmured in Egyptian Arabic, pulling out his wallet and leaving the man with a generous tip of 1,800 Egyptian pounds. That was, if memory served him right, approximately one hundred dollars worth of. The valet attendee deserved it, he could only begin to imagine how long the man had been standing here taking cars and handling especially late stragglers like he and Gale. Sabir had smiled brightly back at him.
He didn't look back at Sabir after that, choosing instead to take Gale inside towards the receptionist desk. He eyed up the woman standing at the counter, reading her nametag. Fadilah. He had no doubt that Jasper, Zhannah, and Maurice had already headed up towards their respective rooms. With his bags in tow. Of course the sneaky bunch would leave him with Gale. His offer, his problem. He almost laughed at the absurdity of the scenario. Most looking into the situation would not assume him to be in control, especially not with how they had fled to leave him with the young man as his new room mate. Ah well, it wasn't as if it was the first time he had shared a room. He had done plenty of that during his time in the military, and even more during his years working as a spy.
Thanking Fadilah for their room key he realized one more thing. He hadn't actually thought about Gale's lack of clothes. Hmm, he would deal with that bridge when they got there. Come to think of it, Jasper and Gale were of similar stature... Short and lithe. He shook his head, instead choosing to head towards the stairs. He had never been fond of elevators. They were unpredictable and untrustworthy at best. They were death traps at worst.
Ascending the stairs at a relatively casual pace he turned back to glance at Gale, "I'm assuming you're staying with us for more reasons than your tentative loyalty to the Mukhabarat." It was not a question, but an observation. A conversation starter of sorts. He might as well fill the silence, Gale had spent the entire day watching. He could imagine there were some questions bothering the translator - or sniper. Or translator sniper. That was an interesting combination, if he were to be honest.
Right now, as he ascended the stairs he had a few things in mind. Shower, change of clothes, dinner, strategy. The last part was tentative.
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Post by Deleted on May 23, 2017 1:32:23 GMT -5
He almost felt bad for the valet, but not quite - Gale didn't even spare the man a glance as he followed Al, clearly not stressing himself. It was natural for him to keep pace, and he was long-legged even if he was short of stature. Most people underestimated him in that sense, but he had never cared much for it. Instead, he brushed a hand through his hair (realising, with a high amount of amusement, that he still had his headband in), and watched idly as he watched the interactions of the other man with the receptionist.
The others seemed to have already vanished, but he knew better than doubting Al's authority. He had done this to mission leaders in the past, it was just that sort of thing. He, himself, had already considered his lack of clothes, and...well, naturally, he dismissed it. He followed Alphonse's casual pace lightly, barely taking in his surroundings. His mind had finally finished assigning various thoughts to their separate places, ready to be pulled up if he ever needed any of it.
"Mm," he smiled lazily at Al, twitching his eyebrow upwards. "You are an interesting man. The company you keep is interesting," as someone who rarely found things interesting, this was something like a compliment towards Al. Not worded like one, however. "My loyalty to them isn't tentative," he added. The underlying 'it doesn't exist' was implied, but not said outward. Gale allowed people to come to their own conclusions, and if they were truly curious, then they'd ask. "How you came to us, the people I have seen today - let us just say that it is better at keeping my attention than paperwork and deals with those overseas."
It wasn't that Gale disliked translating - it just wasn't worth his skills. The Mukhabarat had known from the start that he was a sniper, and yet they didn't utilise it anymore. They had used it for three missions in the years he had worked with them.
Despite the fact that he was more talkative now, he didn't apologise. He was wholly unapologetic for his entire sense of being - he had been made to apologise for his behaviours in the past, and now he didn't do it. He regularly apologised to one person for his actions, and that was because she had earned his respect. Al was certainly getting up there, but that didn't mean he was going to start apologising for his words nor if he prodded too hard.
"Who's Riagan?" he asked, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his trousers. His eyes sparked with something like mischievousness; definitely not doubting the skill of the other sniper, but wanting to know Al's thoughts. Opinions rarely mattered to Gale, so he considered this a...a test, of sorts. To see if the Frenchman had decent opinions, or worded them well. Either was fine. He didn't have to agree with them, just wanted to know some of the thoughts.
Despite how curious he could be to those he was starting to respect, however, he did not ask about any past events. Those were not his business. If Al didn't pry into his business (and he highly doubted that he would), then he wouldn't pry into his. Simple as. He was not going to be a pain in the man's a**, as tempting as it was. He was not Isa - in fact, Isa could never stand up to this level of interesting. The head of the Mukhabarat had never truly kept Gale's attention. If anything, he was a temporary solution to a long-term problem, and now that Al was here, it was possible that there was a more permanent solution for the problem.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 23, 2017 2:05:58 GMT -5
Interesting, was it? He raised an eyebrow, eyes glittering in the well light stairway as he continued to ascend the stairs. Interesting was a good word in his opinion. It had always been a good word in his opinion. It meant that the object of interest was unique, worthy of curiosity and attention. So he supposed, after all, it could not be far too bad that Gale Amari thought of him and his team as interesting. It was a far cry from the stone cold guards that stood at attention for the Mukhabarat, that was for sure. If he felt like feeding Gale's ego, he would have told Gale he was much the same.
Gale was a man worth keeping an eye on. He had the talent of a budding mastermind, he just lacked the charisma and - from what Alphonse garnered - the drive to try to achieve any true greatness. He wasn't content with his life, but he was in no rush to find a simple fix either. It was almost as if he had accepted that he could get what he wanted from Isa and had called it quits at that achievement. It was not a simple achievement, but it was selling himself short. Gale was a man who could achieve so much more and he had given into less than he was worth, just like Zhannah, Jasper, and Maurice.
They had all sold themselves short. He would never tell Gale that, of course, but one day in the future he was certain Gale would come to that conclusion. And if he wished to stretch out his wings, Alphonse had room for him.
Then there was the second manner at hand, the matter of allegiance. It was no surprise that Gale had no love for the Mukhabarat. It was, however, interesting that there was no loyalty. There was nothing. Nevertheless, it only made sense. They wasted Gale's talents, treated him as one who did not belong, and kept him working underneath a man who was in no position to control him. The simple statement Gale said told Alphonse one thing. He was not a man of shifting allegiances, he was simply a man without one.
The Mukhabarat had never earned any of Gale's trust and in turn never received a taste of his loyalty. He did jobs for them just to survive and that was it. With that line of reasoning, it interested Alphonse to see the extents Gale would go to for an individual - or organization - Gale was loyal to. Mulling over the information he had received during their short walk, he almost missed the question. Almost. Of course he answered on beat, never showing that he had nearly missed the question altogether.
Riagan. It was a name he hadn't heard in awhile, not since sending the sniper on a mission overseas in the states to fill in a favor for a New York mafia godfather for him five months ago. He hummed softly, glancing at the floor number. Third floor. Pulling the door knob open, he answered calmly in a detached manner. "He's a good shot. I wouldn't say the best, but he knows what he's doing," If anything he was not here to feed Gale or Riagan's ego. He knew the Irishman.
He would never let Alphonse live down complimenting him.
Huffing at the thought of the cocky ginger, he pulled out the room key. Nope, never. Not over his dead body. He would never be caught dead complimenting Riagan. The door clicked open easily and he glanced over the room, both peeved and amused that his bags were sitting at the foot of his bed. He had no doubts it was Jasper's work.
Looking over his shoulder at Gale he gave the man another easy smile, "I'm glad you chose to come along. Now, how about you go take a shower and I'll see if I can borrow something from Jasper for you. You would probably fit in something his size." Probably was a generous term. He was certain Gale was a little shorter than the technician and any of the man's shirts would reach his knuckles - a cringe-worthy suit wearing taboo, in all honesty - but it was better than the translator prancing around in whatever it was he was wearing now in the Royal Maxim Palace Kempinski. That would only garner more attention than necessary.
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Post by Deleted on May 23, 2017 2:28:06 GMT -5
In his entire life - even as a teenager, - Gale Amari had never really been the trusting sort. It had baffled his mother, considering she deemed him one of the most trustworthy people she'd known. She would know, obviously. She had raised him. Trustworthy in the sense that once someone had his loyalty, he would follow them to the grave.
And yet, no-one had gained his loyalty. He was too picky, too eager to find something to settle into and yet not ambitious enough to go out of his way. Once upon a time, when he had been younger and more naive, he had considered placing his loyalties in Isa's hands. Now that he was older, he was glad that even his young self had backed away from that idea. It would've ruined him in the long run, and having no loyalties meant that he could pick and choose until he settled.
Had Alphonse not appeared, Gale knew how his evening would've gone - he would've stayed up mindlessly until the early hours of the morning, translating boring notes. Then, he would've called his sister. She would've complained at the hour, told him off and asked him to visit over the weekend. That was it. It was how mundane his life had been, how long it had been since his last contract in his stronger suit. He missed laying low, head ducked as he tried to avoid various guards, as he took in the scenes unfolded before him and then the adrenaline before the kills. They were...addicting. More so than a drug.
A good shot. In his opinion, a good shot was far more worthy than being the 'best'. Yeah, sure, he liked to hold onto his title, but...there was something more appealing about people accepting skills rather than leaning on titles. Then again, he liked his title! It was fun to have, and caused surprise. He didn't look the type to be a sniper, very few people picked up that he was...dangerous? Was that the word? He doubted it.
Gale took note of Al's words and studied him for a few moments, before he gave a small smile of his own. It wasn't the wolfish, sharp grin he gave to Isa when he was in control, nor the absent smile that seemed to just settle whether he wanted it or not. Something was vaguely genuine about it.
"I'd argue, but," he gestured vaguely, "something tells me that won't work. Very well."
Then, after a couple of moments, he couldn't resist.
"Earlier. You mispronounced 'belief'."
Hello, little sh*t. He had just taken a brief vacation to be in awe of how efficient Al was. Now he just had to tease. Just a little.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 23, 2017 3:07:38 GMT -5
Alphonse was pleased. He was not a simple man to please, but the development on the case of Gale Amari pleased him very much. Just the fact that the young man told him that he would argue but knew it futile, meant an acceptance in the obvious but not enforced shift in control of the situation. It had been apparent since hte beginning that Gale did not play the cards or choose which cards to deal with for that matter, but it was the first time Gale accepted his request with no silver lining, no additional offerings required.
That was what he called success. Rather than relishing in his success, he took it without hesitation and returned the smile Gale flashed him with one of his own. And then Gale had to go and ruin the moment. Something told him the cheeky young man had knack for ruining moments, but the words were so out of placed and humorous he couldn't help it. He chuckled.
Shaking his head in disbelief at the cheekiness Gale possessed, he said his next words with a grin. "Did I now?" He had no doubt he did, but he could play this game. It was, after all, amusing. "Then perhaps after your shower you can run over the proper pronunciation of the word with me. But only after." As he turned away from Gale, a small frown found itself resting on his lips. He wondered how badly he had butchered it, hopefully not too bad.
Still, he didn't push the matter any further, choosing instead to go out into the hallway. If he remembered correctly, room 312 across the hall was Zhannah's. The room to his right, room 315 was Jasper and Maurice's. Standing out in front of the door, he chose to take the honorable route and rapped his knuckled on the door gently. He could hear the sound of water dully through the door followed by a loud 'thump' and loud footsteps. So Maurice was in the shower then.
The door was tugged open forcibly and a bright smile looked up at him. "Ya need something, Al?" He raised an eyebrow, not questioning how Jasper automatically knew it was him. He had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with the lack of sound leading up to the knocking.
"Jasper, would you mind sharing some of your clothes with Gale?" For the briefest moment there was something written across Jasper's face that almost spelled out the words 'no', but it disappeared in a matter of seconds, quickly replaced by a lopsided smile. The American was quick to move out of his way, bee-lining for his suitcase. Alphonse hoped that was a good sign.
"Sure thing, boss man," Jasper called over his shoulder, digging out a wrinkled navy blue dress shirt, black slacks, black briefs, and a pair of black socks. "'s kid need shoes too because I dunno about our foot size. Or is it feet size? Foot size. Feet size. Foot-"
"Jasper, please," he said softly, almost fearful for the other man's sanity. "It's shoe size."
That seemed to be the wrong words because Jasper stopped moving completely, head head high and body straight as a rod. He watched as the man's eyes widened and his mouth opened comically slow just to hang there. A soft 'oh' escaped Jasper as the man stood like that for five whole seconds before shutting his mouth. "Shoe size," he repeated. "Right. Shoe. For shoes."
"Yes, Jasper, shoe for shoes," Alphonse agreed amiably, looking over the clothes Jasper had pulled out. It would do for the meantime. As he picked up each article of clothing he folded them neatly over his arm, socks included.
There was a silence that followed those words, but Alphonse did not move. Jasper still had something he wanted to say, he could tell. "So boss, d'you like the kid? I know he's got a big mouth and probably a good head on his shoulders, but this life ain't just for anybody. If he talks big but can't follow up, he's going to be dead weight on the field."
So it had bothered Jasper after all. He remembered Jasper Lee, CIA, arrogant, bold and cocksure. He remembered that the man had been so self-assured and devoted to the CIA that he preached that the CIA could do no wrong. And then his world turned upside down and he found out an ugly truth about the CIA and its corrupt Chief of Staff, Inspector General, and Executive Director. A handful of supervisors and agents had also proven to be corrupt, allowing crimes to occur while turning a blind eye to them. It had broken Jasper Lee.
And he had never stopped beating himself over his own cockiness and naive belief that led to the death of his partner in crime, Anton Williams. He had been down in the slums getting drunk when Alphonse had found him. Hardly presentable and a far cry from the Senior Special Agent Jasper Lee he remembered when the man had been hot on his tails like a bloodhound. "I think he has a lot of potential in him, Jasper. I think he has a lot to learn, but with proper guidance, he will be able to achieve great things."
Jasper had laughed softly then, settling down onto the bed. "Y'think so?" He seemed to accept the silence Alphonse responded with, nodding his head. "If that's the case, I guess I'll give the kid a shot. But only 'cuz you're vouching for him."
A ghost of a smile played across Al's lips. "I didn't vouch for him." Neither man pointed out that by complimenting Gale, technically, he already did.
Leaving back to the room, he laid the clothes out before grimacing at the wrinkled shirt. He was going to place it down before his eye trailed up towards the service phone. He sighed inwardly. Might as well. Picking up the phone, he dialed room service, requesting an ironing board and iron. It didn't take long, perhaps two or three minutes at most and he tipped the woman - Adila - the same amount he had tipped Sabir from earlier. 1,800 Egyptian pounds. He watched the smile spread across Adila's face as she thanked him profusely before leaving much happier than she had been when she entered.
Laying the shirt out on the ironing board, he started to press out the wrinkles in the shirt. Nope, absolutely not. No one was wearing such a terribly offensive and wrinkly shirt on his watch.
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Post by Deleted on May 23, 2017 3:35:40 GMT -5
He couldn't help it. At Al's chuckle, Gale grinned and gave him a two-fingered salute before he vanished to take a shower as he was told to do. It surprised him that he was being obedient - but he was used to going over languages with his nieces and nephews, or with Kesi. Her English? It was flawless. Not even accented, which was more than Gale could say for his. Even if English was wide-spoken, he still had a thicker accent than most translators would have for the "universal" language. He didn't really care for it.
Within moments, he was in the shower. The water was a little too hot and he wasn't surprised that the water temporarily ran a pale tan colour. He was rather dusty, considering the day he had, and it often had a way of getting into his hair. He reached up to untangle curls, huffing as his hair fell over his face. Well. He was used to having his face obscured, so he supposed that Alphonse's team would have to get used to him being like that. Hairband was for translation jobs. He'd just been too lazy to take it off (and distracted).
His hands came up in front of him and he stared at the palms of them, just as scarred and torn as the rest of his body. From an outside glance, no-one could tell. He wore clothes that covered enough, did not care enough for scars on his arms and hands, but looking at them when he was alone with his own thoughts let him settle. Reminded him that he was here and this was now, and everything else was in his past.
Alphonse Fournier. He'd start with that line of thought. Too interesting, definitely dangerous. Gale found himself wanting to work under this man. He respected and feared the man, two combinations that he had never thought would happen in his life. Then there was the matter of the team he held with him; they were interesting, too. He had a feeling that they didn't care for him, but to be quite honest, he didn't care about that. If he had ever been hung up on people disliking him or being indifferent to him, then he would've broken down a long time ago. He had heard many cruel words.
"Forgive me, mother," he murmured to himself as he tilted his head up towards the head of the shower, "I may have fallen in with the wrong crowd."
Well, not a wrong crowd. But certainly something that would have concerned her. Kesi would, undoubtedly, be concerned on his behalf. She would never pry him for information (because he refused to give it to her, not something as private as this), but she would know. She always knew. Kesi may have been only a half-sister, but she was the closest thing to his mother that he had ever had. Jaelle had loved Kesi and Kesi had loved Jaelle. In turn, Gale loved his sister. She was one of the good ones, something dear to hold close.
His thoughts continued to circle; some rewound to Isa, of how betrayed the man would be if Gale actually managed to get a job opportunity. How lost the Mukhabarat would be without their leader on strings. How long would it take for Tarek to take up the post? He was just as manipulative as Gale, hence why Gale had taken to bother him as much as possible. It stopped the potential threat...but if Gale no longer had a use for Isa, then there was no use in bothering Tarek. The man would get what he wanted, and things would probably change. He smiled to himself at that thought. In the end, it would be like the blind leading the blind.
Finally, he finished washing his body. A more recent wound settle over his hip, a deep gash that was not deep enough to require stitches, but certainly one to pay attention to. He poked and prodded at it, deemed that it was healing well, and turned off the shower. For a moment, he simply stood there as he watched the water drain away, droplets of cooling water pulling his curls down. He reached blindly out for the towel and brought it in with him, roughly drying his hair before he padded off the rest of his body and wrapped the towel around his waist.
He'd settled his worn clothes neatly in a folded pile, but he wrinkled his nose at them. Okay, yeah. The heat of the day meant that they were not quite as crisp as they had been, dusted over lightly and definitely having residues of sweat. He sighed idly and pushed his hair back from his face, only for it to fall forward again. He stared absently at himself in the vaguely steamed-up mirror, snorting softly at his appearance. Well, his skin was a little paler than it had been when it was covered with dust, and he definitely looked more presentable. Maybe Al wouldn't recognise him. Haha. What a thought.
Ensuring that the towel was definitely secure around his waist, he lightly unlocked the door and nudged it open with his foot, leaning against the doorway as he took in the scene. Al was...ironing? Okay. This could definitely keep him amused. He watched with a slow smile, one hand keeping his towel firm against his still-warm skin, the other simply resting over his stomach.
There was only a hint of self-consciousness - but he'd always felt that. It wasn't over scars - he had no doubt that Al had more and was used to it. It was more over how little he really looked. He doubted Al would comment. Especially if he really wanted to fix his Arabic pronunciation. Okay. That thought definitely settled Gale a little.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 23, 2017 4:11:50 GMT -5
He could hear it, of course. His ears had been fine tuned to pick up the most minute of sounds, the softest creak, the slight rustle of fabric, and even a rush of air. He heard Gale exit, but he didn't glance up. Not when there were still a few wrinkles on the shirt that Gale was supposed to be wearing to dinner. Instead, he spoke up, eyes still downcasted. "Your clothes are on the bed," and he spared a brief glance up at Gale. There were more scars than he anticipated and Gale was a little smaller than he had first imagined, but it wasn't like he was any skinnier than Jasper. His eyes went back down to the shirt as he smoothed out the fabric, picking up the iron. It looked presentable now.
"And I've ironed your shirt," he added, backing up from his handiwork slightly to give it an appraising look. Certainly presentable. Absolutely. And it suddenly hit him like a blow to the gut as he found himself smiling up at Gale, proud of his work. This was what it probably felt like to be a father. Every damn time, it always came back to the same subject, eating away at him. He took care of his team the way he would take care of one of his own. But none of them had been young enough to be the age of his child.
He treated them like siblings in the manner he treated Clement. He watched over them, he gave his all to them, and in return they gave their all to him. But this, this was different. It wasn't that he was fond of Gale or that he was attached to the younger man, it was simply the domesticity of the situation. The realization of what could have been had he not royally fu-ked up.
The smile on his face faltered and he took a step back, shaking his head as the thoughts threatened to overwhelm him. Not like this. Swallowing hard, he raised his gaze to meet Gale in the eyes putting back on the mask. He smiled, nodding to the clothes. "Get dressed while I take a shower." The words were simple, but flat, even by his standards. He was trying for a suggestion but the words came out wrong. Instead of 'you should' it had just came out an order. And before he could look at Gale to assess the damage he had wrought, he found himself fleeing the scene, heading to the bathroom with his own attire - neatly laid out prior to ironing Gale's shirt - in tow.
He didn't look back, he couldn't find it in himself to as he locked the door and everything went into autopilot. He couldn't be bothered to think, to analyze anything. He had to just do. His mind was whirling, a knot formulating in his stomach and an aching emptiness in his heart came along with the ceaseless thoughts. He found himself having trouble swallowing even as he loosened the tie around his neck.
Turning on the water, he allowed the hot water to fall upon him washing away the dirt and grim. His hands were working automatically even as his mind trailed. He had not allowed himself the opportunity to assess everything, to truly digest the lead. He had just dived right in, back into the field with a fervent desire to finally uncover the truth of why they had to die because of him.
He had thought the wound, the agony that ate away at him, had healed. Or it had scabbed up at the very least, but it was still very much an open wound. He realized that now as the seal came to mind. No, no, no. Not that. Not the letter. He couldn't think about the contents of that offending object. The shampoo beneath his fingers gave way to nothing, most of it simply washed out of his hair by the automatic scrubbing. It was. It was just-
He didn't understand. In that moment, in that brief moment as he ironed the shirt it had been just a simple act of kindness, just a gesture that showed he took care of one of his own but- It was the pride, the pride in the action that ruined him. He had been pleased with it, had enjoyed it. It had felt right, taking care of someone like that, watching over them and not enforcing any rules upon their life but guiding them. It had been the briefest taste of that poison, something so terribly close to what being a father must have been like that had broke his composure.
He swallowed thickly, at least he hadn't ended up crying without realizing it. He needed a drink. Preferably sooner rather than later, but dinner was a pressing matter and he had no doubt Zhannah, Jasper, and Maurice were waiting for dinner as well. They had had a long day and he owed them dinner at the very least. But if he were to be honest, they deserved much more. It was one of the reasons why he had taken them under his wing, to allow them to get more than their agencies had ever been willing to give them.
Taking a deep breath as he turned off the water he turned to look into the foggy mirror. As the cool air of the vacuuming unit assailed the mirror, the smoke gave way to his reflection - stoic as ever. He smiled to the mirror. He could keep up the act, if only for awhile longer. The next actions were also done on autopilot as he slipped into his velvet suit and tightened the knot of his tie, making sure to give himself a little room. After that near break down, he didn't want to test his limits. No, he certainly didn't want the tie resting snugly against his throat.
Opening the door, he finally met Gale's gaze. He offered him an easy smile, pushing his short hair back. "Let's go to dinner, I'm certain the others are waiting for us."
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Post by Deleted on May 23, 2017 4:24:29 GMT -5
Such a drastic change in Al's attitude caused him to flinch, barely glancing at the man as he passed.
For a small, petrifying moment, it had felt like his father was in the room again. Not the moment that Al had mentioned ironing his clothes; no, that had been warmer, felt more like Kesi or his mother. The man after, however, with a sharper, more commanding tone? That sounded like his father. Automatically, he moved to do Al's bidding, and he didn't even realise until he was neatly dressed and standing like a lost sheep, gaze cast downward and hair tumbling over his face. It wasn't long, cut shorter at the back - but the bangs were long.
And in his head, the nagging voice. Your hair is too long, Iabi. Your clothing is too heavy, Iabi. Your words are too slurred, Iabi. Your eyes are not supposed to be blue, Iabi.
He blinked owlishly and shook his head, glancing to the door before perching idly on the nearest surface (thankful it was soft, probably a bed), staring at his hands and...he felt that he was spacing out. Yikes. Pull yourself together Gale. That wasn't your father, that was just Al having a bad time. Probably.
What if the charisma was some sort of front? He scowled down at his own fingers, but didn't say or do anything about it. He simply pulled on his boots, glad that they were only mildly dusty. Presentable, worked well with the clothes he had been given. Ah. He hadn't even thanked Al for ironing these clothes - but he supposed it was probably best not to bring up. What had caused the sudden outburst? Maybe it was just a temporary thing. Great men often had dark secrets. Some were a heavier burden than others.
Now, his mother's voice in his head. Gale, you don't need to worry when I am angry. It is because I am concerned for you.
He'd lived from that for his life. Anger was temporary. A sign of worry over something. He, himself, was very rarely angry, because...he didn't worry. So he couldn't worry. He blinked as he heard the door to the adjoined bathroom open, and he barely started. A simple jerk in his shoulders. He blinked down at his hands before tilting his head to give an easy, lazy smile to Al.
"Mhm. I'm ready," he told him, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. The clothes were definitely a little big on him, but not to a point where he was impossible to present to the public eye. If anything, more presentable than his commoner clothes, or whatever. The shower had done him good, too. Drying curls framed his face, highlighted a catlike grace upon his small smile and his keen eyes.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on May 23, 2017 4:53:08 GMT -5
He took in Gale's lazy smile and a sudden thought struck him. If he was playing the part of being completely fine, was the same occurring for the translator? Was this smile as false as his own or had his actions bare no consequences? He highly doubted it was the latter so settled upon the former, feeling an uneasy shame in his own actions. He should have better control of his actions. He shouldn't have had allowed it to get to him the way it had. He should have- Breathe. The self reminder stopped his rambling train of thought as he jerked his head to the door, sparing Gale an appraising look.
"The formal wear suits you," he offered, tone of voice softer than even before. As if in amends for the flat, sharper tone from earlier. He didn't think too hard about it or the consequence of the small action. He couldn't bother to think like that right now, not when he wanted more than anything to chain smoke his way to morning or drink himself under the table. He couldn't be bothered to think about the little consequences of every damn little action. He had to keep his brain concentrated on the simple things, the things he could handle.
Like keep his voice even and kind, think twice about his words, and keep his god damn hands from shaking half as bad as they were right now. Focusing all his energy into trying to stop his hand from shaking, he twisted open the door knob without another word to Gale before heading across the hall and knocking on the door. The response was almost immediate and he watched as the door popped open, quicker than he had first anticipated. He nearly flinched, but didn't.
Offering Zhannah a soft smile, he nodded to her. "You look beautiful," he said simply to her and she smiled back at him, pleased that he thought so. Was she pleased? Or was he just imagining things? Was that just a polite smile in response to his strange comment? He- He wasn't so sure anymore. He wasn't sure he was certain of anything.
"I could say the same to you," she laughed, allowing her eyes to travel up and down the expanse of his body without concealing her approving gaze. Had he been in the right mindset, he would have took the opportunity to tease her. Beautiful? I suppose you're going to have some competition from now on then. But he found it hard to even maintain the smile as he headed to collect the last two stragglers.
Knocking on Jasper and Maurice's door, he found that they had to wait. Unlike Zhannah's instantaneous response, there was a lot of noise and shuffling before the door was yanked over and Jasper was grinning back at him. "Sorry for the wait, boss man. I had some problems with my tie and Maurice was just, y'know, helping me!"
"Jasper!" Maurice's indignant shout caused both Zhannah and Jasper to chuckle. He offered a weak smile.
"It's fine," he said softly. He was certain there was a glint in Zhannah's eyes. Did she notice? "You've always had more luck with computers than you did with clothes." That elicited a laugh from the group.
"That's just mean, Al," Jasper drawled out in false hurt, even as he took the lead. His stomach had always been quicker to the draw than both his mind and mouth. "Now come on, let's get. I'm starving and could eat a whole horse if ya let me. Is it on you, Al? Please tell me it's on you, I'm broke from buying the new gear for my setup."
He chuckled at that, even as they descended the stairs. Jasper knew, despite letting his hunger take control, that Al had always hated elevators. "Yes, it's on me, Jasper."
"Sweet!"
"Jasper, keep your voice down," Maurice grumbled. In the following silence Maurice spared Gale a glance, something inquisitive in his eye. "Ever been to a place this fancy before?" It was obvious he was trying to make light conversation. "I never used to dine with the rich folks and taste 'exquisite cuisines' or whatever until I met Al." The laugh was a little forced, but was certainly trying.
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