Post by Deleted on Jul 7, 2017 10:26:46 GMT -5
Gale wanted to say that he was anxious, but he wasn't. Honestly, it was such a simple job that he couldn't care less - finding a sniping spot in this sort of city was easy, it was child's play. There were many obscure places he could think of, it was just a matter of finding the ideal place. He didn't need to think it over; he'd seen a map of Milan before (thanks to Mitch), and so he knew a fair few spots in theory, and it was just seeing if they were actually useful that would be the main problem. He could do that later, after they ate. This was probably going to be a boring job, but he'd take any chance he could do practice - because that was what the target was. Target practice, if that.
He was half unpacked and half packed; unpacked with some clothes he'd made sure were neat so that he wasn't completely casual (he felt like maybe, just maybe, Al would prefer him without wrinkled clothes), but packed enough that he had essentials in his bag. It was just how he worked, it was ingrained within him.
The Lost Boys were good peoples - not to the law, but they had been to him and he enjoyed them. He'd been wary, back when he'd first joined them, hadn't been ready to trust a new gang after the Jackals had fallen; but he'd been proven wrong time and time again. Nowadays, he trusted them with his life. Hell, it had been how he'd met Quinn. Many good things had come to him through them, and being able to take people off their trail - that was fun. Everything about the Lost Boys was fun, in his mind. Some of the jobs actually challenged him. Not this one, though. This was just...a thing. Something they didn't turn down because money was great, but something that he found boring nonetheless. Target practice, he reminded himself.
A knock at the door of his and Quinn's room didn't make him jump, but he was irritable with it nonetheless. He finished buttoning the shirt he'd been pulling on, and opened it with one hand. He wasn't too surprised to see that it was Mitch - all sour-faced until he saw that no, it wasn't Quinn who'd answered, but Gale. He lit up.
"Walk with me, both of you," said Mitch, though it was in Arabic. Gale raised an eyebrow, but the old man didn't change languages. He was a bastard at the best of times, a nuisance at the worst. "We're meeting up at the Terrazza Gallia. Move it."
"I'm not done getting dressed," he wasn't annoyed - more bemused, really. "I'm slow."
"Too slow," it would have sounding like he was being reprimanding to anyone else, but it was more like amusement when it was angled towards Gale. "If a little old man can unpack and change faster than you, then you need to rethink your entire life as someone in this line of business. Come on, Amari, don't make the little old man wait."
Gale pinched the bridge of his nose and walked back into the room to grab his phone (only half-charged, because he'd been playing games on it during the flight), and he paused to check through his texts. One from Kesi (he made sure to text her back before she slit his throat), another from Malakai (confirming what Mitch had said, though Gale hadn't doubted), and some various ones from contacts here and there. Most of them went ignored as he shoved his phone in his back pocket and absently tucked his button-up into his jeans so that he looked decent. Hell, he'd even put on a silk vest. Getting real fancy. And then, of course, because Gale was Gale, he ruined the fanciness by grabbing his 3ds and putting it in his pocket. He'd been making a habit out of trying to hide his gaming underneath the table, but the game he'd bought was good and he hadn't finished it yet, and he had no doubt that the others probably noticed, but hey. He didn't always participate in conversations, so it was a good distraction from everything around him. Including eating. He often forgot to do that part.
Once he was sure that he had everything and that he was presentable, he walked back to the door and raised both eyebrows at Mitch, whom had his arms crossed and was tapping his foot absently.
"See?" he said in English, knowing that Mitch would follow. It wasn't either of their preferred language, but it was for Quinn, and so Gale didn't mind. "I'm done. That didn't take too long, did it?"
"You put your doodah in your pocket and you plan on ignoring us this lunch."
"Shhh," Gale smiled as he joined Mitch in the hall. He had no doubt that Quinn would follow - so he dropped his hand in a silent offer to hold hands. "No-one needs to know."
Mitch rolled his eyes upwards and shook his head, already beginning to walk. He'd recently taken to using a cane to assist with walking, but Gale knew it wasn't necessary; he'd seen the man run as if he were still in his twenties, and it was all sorts of terrifying. The cane was probably to relieve pains. He followed along at an easy pace, half-tempted to take out his phone. He didn't, though, because he realised, with some amusement, that it had turned into storytime.
"When I was younger than you are now," it always started like this, no matter who it was towards. Gale wondered if Mitch even said it to people a year or two younger - he didn't doubt it for a second. "We came to Italy, me and my old gang, and we were sh*tting ourselves because none of us spoke Italian. Do you speak Italian?" he turned his head to see Gale make a gesture for sort of, and then continued, "lucky. Anyways, we had this job and - oh sh*t, I probably shouldn't say it, nevermind."
"Damn, I'm curious now."
"Shut up," Mitch had a twinkle in his eye despite having to stop his story, "confidentiality sh*t, the man's still alive and could have ears. You never know. Tell me a story, brat."
"Once upon a time there was an ugly barnacle. He was so ugly that everyone died. The end," Gale didn't miss a beat.
"You're a little sh*tstain and I don't know how people deal with you. Quinn, are you seeing this sh*t? How do you handle it?" Mitch didn't turn around again, instead choosing to look ahead. How far he could see, Gale didn't know, but he did know that the Englishman was starting to lose his sight. It was something he'd mentioned in a conversation once, but he didn't know if the others knew. Probably not. Mitch was a secretive person, even to his own family.
He was half unpacked and half packed; unpacked with some clothes he'd made sure were neat so that he wasn't completely casual (he felt like maybe, just maybe, Al would prefer him without wrinkled clothes), but packed enough that he had essentials in his bag. It was just how he worked, it was ingrained within him.
The Lost Boys were good peoples - not to the law, but they had been to him and he enjoyed them. He'd been wary, back when he'd first joined them, hadn't been ready to trust a new gang after the Jackals had fallen; but he'd been proven wrong time and time again. Nowadays, he trusted them with his life. Hell, it had been how he'd met Quinn. Many good things had come to him through them, and being able to take people off their trail - that was fun. Everything about the Lost Boys was fun, in his mind. Some of the jobs actually challenged him. Not this one, though. This was just...a thing. Something they didn't turn down because money was great, but something that he found boring nonetheless. Target practice, he reminded himself.
A knock at the door of his and Quinn's room didn't make him jump, but he was irritable with it nonetheless. He finished buttoning the shirt he'd been pulling on, and opened it with one hand. He wasn't too surprised to see that it was Mitch - all sour-faced until he saw that no, it wasn't Quinn who'd answered, but Gale. He lit up.
"Walk with me, both of you," said Mitch, though it was in Arabic. Gale raised an eyebrow, but the old man didn't change languages. He was a bastard at the best of times, a nuisance at the worst. "We're meeting up at the Terrazza Gallia. Move it."
"I'm not done getting dressed," he wasn't annoyed - more bemused, really. "I'm slow."
"Too slow," it would have sounding like he was being reprimanding to anyone else, but it was more like amusement when it was angled towards Gale. "If a little old man can unpack and change faster than you, then you need to rethink your entire life as someone in this line of business. Come on, Amari, don't make the little old man wait."
Gale pinched the bridge of his nose and walked back into the room to grab his phone (only half-charged, because he'd been playing games on it during the flight), and he paused to check through his texts. One from Kesi (he made sure to text her back before she slit his throat), another from Malakai (confirming what Mitch had said, though Gale hadn't doubted), and some various ones from contacts here and there. Most of them went ignored as he shoved his phone in his back pocket and absently tucked his button-up into his jeans so that he looked decent. Hell, he'd even put on a silk vest. Getting real fancy. And then, of course, because Gale was Gale, he ruined the fanciness by grabbing his 3ds and putting it in his pocket. He'd been making a habit out of trying to hide his gaming underneath the table, but the game he'd bought was good and he hadn't finished it yet, and he had no doubt that the others probably noticed, but hey. He didn't always participate in conversations, so it was a good distraction from everything around him. Including eating. He often forgot to do that part.
Once he was sure that he had everything and that he was presentable, he walked back to the door and raised both eyebrows at Mitch, whom had his arms crossed and was tapping his foot absently.
"See?" he said in English, knowing that Mitch would follow. It wasn't either of their preferred language, but it was for Quinn, and so Gale didn't mind. "I'm done. That didn't take too long, did it?"
"You put your doodah in your pocket and you plan on ignoring us this lunch."
"Shhh," Gale smiled as he joined Mitch in the hall. He had no doubt that Quinn would follow - so he dropped his hand in a silent offer to hold hands. "No-one needs to know."
Mitch rolled his eyes upwards and shook his head, already beginning to walk. He'd recently taken to using a cane to assist with walking, but Gale knew it wasn't necessary; he'd seen the man run as if he were still in his twenties, and it was all sorts of terrifying. The cane was probably to relieve pains. He followed along at an easy pace, half-tempted to take out his phone. He didn't, though, because he realised, with some amusement, that it had turned into storytime.
"When I was younger than you are now," it always started like this, no matter who it was towards. Gale wondered if Mitch even said it to people a year or two younger - he didn't doubt it for a second. "We came to Italy, me and my old gang, and we were sh*tting ourselves because none of us spoke Italian. Do you speak Italian?" he turned his head to see Gale make a gesture for sort of, and then continued, "lucky. Anyways, we had this job and - oh sh*t, I probably shouldn't say it, nevermind."
"Damn, I'm curious now."
"Shut up," Mitch had a twinkle in his eye despite having to stop his story, "confidentiality sh*t, the man's still alive and could have ears. You never know. Tell me a story, brat."
"Once upon a time there was an ugly barnacle. He was so ugly that everyone died. The end," Gale didn't miss a beat.
"You're a little sh*tstain and I don't know how people deal with you. Quinn, are you seeing this sh*t? How do you handle it?" Mitch didn't turn around again, instead choosing to look ahead. How far he could see, Gale didn't know, but he did know that the Englishman was starting to lose his sight. It was something he'd mentioned in a conversation once, but he didn't know if the others knew. Probably not. Mitch was a secretive person, even to his own family.