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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Aug 18, 2017 21:16:39 GMT -5
God's Wrath
THE OLYMPIANS STRIKE AGAIN! ASSASSINS CAUSE MASS PUBLIC OUTRAGE, INCITING PUBLIC FEAR!
By Anthony Faulkner Posted 8 August 2249 at 5:00 AM Updated at 1:08 PM
As of late, the assassin unit that are still at large have been causing more damage than usual. Political assassinations, the murder of businessmen, and the deaths of many innocent and kind souls are becoming common place tragedies. The police have done nothing to try to contain this threat that is slowly becoming more violent and vicious. The people demand an answer and global leaders such as President Natalie Johnson of the United States of America and Prime Minister Liu Tu of the United Kingdoms have tried to sweep this issue under the rug.
These killers, known as 'The Olympians' are still at large and if nothing is done more families will lose their loved ones. There is no pattern in these assassinations. Police say there are no similarities found between victims other than the fact that they were successful businessmen, politicians, and CEOs. It is a possibility that these assassins are targeting wealthy members of civilians in some deluded act of putting these hardworking individual in their place.
Despite technological advancements, no images of these assassins have been captured. More news regarding the most recent murder of Shell company owner Liam Jackson is currently under investigation. Jackson was found dead in his apartment and the trails seem to lead back to the infamous Olympian by the name Poseidon.
[ GRAPHIC IMAGE warning, click to show more ]
Police officer Nathaniel Smith has... READ MORE
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Aug 18, 2017 21:34:32 GMT -5
The Olympians
THE OLYMPIANS
Formed by Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, the assassin group is an exclusive unit of elite assassins. Each member is known to be highly skilled at what they do, some more so than others. They are among the best out there. Each one has a high bounty on their head and are wanted globally though none of their identities are known. It is near impossible to get in, no one knows the details of recruitment or how they choose their members. They function as a unit, but due to their various backgrounds and criminal records they also perform solo operations, duo operations, and smaller case work on their own time. They never run a job that will interfere with one of their own's work.
ROLES the originals [mid-30s +] Zeus;; world class sniper, known as Zeus due to ability to rain bullets from above. nothing passes by Zeus's eyes. one of the founders of The Olympians Poseidon;; violent killer, known for environmental kills usually with fake accidents and grim assassinations. is not known to carry a weapon, though that may hold untrue. one of the founders of The Olympians. Hades;; silent assassin. a master of stealth and disguise, blades master. is known for clean kills. one of the founders of The Olympians. Ares;; former special ops member. known for quick execution of assassinations in a violent and bloody manner. Athena;; a strategist with a cunning mind. also a master at infiltrating cyber security. deadly and merciless. Dionysus;; a master at poisoning and the culinary arts. Hephaestus;; engineer and weaponsmith. the one to fix up and create the group's prosthetic and weapons, heavy handed techniques when it comes to assassinations. Aphrodite;; a master of seduction, Aphrodite is a honey trap specialist leading victims to bed only to kill them. Apollo;; talented sniper, a prodigy of sorts. also the group's medic. Hermes;; linguist. former thief, very charming. Hestia;; an arsonist through and through. known to leave the scenes of their crimes in flames.
the newcomers [late 20s+] Hypnos;; generally sleeps victims before killing them. rumored for capabilities at hypnosis, though rumors are untrue. Asclepius;; a doctor turned assassin. their kills come with a surgeon's precision. Caerus;; lucky strategist. more often than not things turn out right for them. also very charming. Phobos;; uses phobias of victims to kill them. Thanathos;; assassin with a basis in stealth. no cunning, no tricks, no games. just stealth and murder.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Aug 18, 2017 21:42:09 GMT -5
the jobs
OPEN JOBS
ANAYA LAL, $3,506,800.00 42. Female. IA Lt. General. Kolkata, West Bengal. "She might have a pretty face, but listen to me - listen. This woman's a monster, I wouldn't trust her with my pet dog, much less an army. She's out for blood. Not money, not power, not victory - just violence and bloodshed. The army says they weed out the dangerous folk and breed machines, but she's not machine. She's a monster." Anaya Lal has no family to speak of. her parents are both deceased. she is often seen at cocktail parties saved for rich businessmen and women and important politicians. she has a younger brother. she is currently stationed at the Eastern Command in Kolkata. she is surrounded by the individuals under her command. no known schedules for any events are upcoming. this hit must be performed before she takes the Eastern Command fleet out for their next mission. she runs drills out in the open, but there's little room to navigate. these soldiers know each other, there is no room for strangers. the terrain makes it impossible to snipe from. consider alternative options. cruel, cold, and calculating. said to have shot a man begging to surrender dead. employed by Aadesh Singh member(s);; code name
JOHN DRUMPF, $2,506,070.00 71. Male. Politician. Pittsburgh, Pensylvania. "Never seen a bigger idiot in my life. He talks all day, repeats the same tedious sh*t over and over and the people love him. Makes absolutely no sense how all that power goes into the hands of someone this stupid. He's only going to make this world go to war, take him out." he looks like a sunbaked potato. impossible to miss him. he's going to be giving a speech on September 25th, in front of a large crowd. there is word of many bodyguards and personnel because John is running for presidency. put a bullet into his head or do whatever, but he has to die. it will send a statement regarding his presidential address. has no known hobbies. has five divorced wives, all his children went into their mother's custody. he is rich only through his inherited wealth. he is not a brilliant man, often goes against what he's been told. sparks interest due to how controversial his speeches are. speaks of supremacy and clear class divisions. employed by William Anderson member(s);; code name
FINISHED JOBS
LIAM JACKSON, $2,340,600.00 45. Male. Shell CEO. Hague, Netherlands. "Somebody's been getting a little cocky. Jackson used to be the guy that everybody got to run jobs for them. He thinks he can run the jobs now. He's gotten out of line where his father knew how to stay in line. I'm done teaching him lessons. Put him in his place once and for all." mission details Liam Jackson. known golfer, spends mondays, tuesdays, and thursdays working. wednesdays and fridays are golf days. he spends saturdays and sundays with his wife, Sara Jackson, and two daughters, Lynn and Isa. he has a large security personnel with five bodyguards with him at any given moment. his favored diners are Maemo and Cru. is said to be a kind hearted man with a soft spot for children, the elderly, and dogs. has been funneling money into private military ops of unknown kind.
employed by Laila Oyen member(s);; Poseidon
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Aug 18, 2017 22:02:28 GMT -5
ABOUT THE RP
THE RP
God's Wrath follows the story of a group of assassins. They function as a unit and though they have their differences, they are more or less a sort of makeshift family. The original members of The Olympians, the major gods, have been together for years. The newcomers, or the minor gods, have joined more recently and have been apart of The Olympians for about a year or more. The newcomers respect The Olympians work. Younger members look up to more experienced assassins and their ability to not only complete the job, but maintain their cover for the decades they've been working.
This rp takes place in the year 2249 in the future. Cybernetics, advanced prosthetics, and deadlier weapons are common place. Many advancements have been made in society.
TO JOIN This roleplay is considered advanced.What I mean by advanced is that you are capable of proper grammar, punctuation, and writing long posts. The average post is about 1k words, we go up and down from that, but generally do not stray too far. The minimum post length is usually 500 words. It is understandable to have no muse and write short posts, or use short posts for progress in conversations and fight scenes. Otherwise, please try to maintain about 1k in a post.
Other than that, activity is also an important part of this roleplay. I do not expect rp posts every day, but chat regarding the rp would be nice and if you have to leave for an extended period of time, please inform me or revali first.
To join, please send me and revali a pm with a roleplay sample from one of your previous roleplays. Once you are accepted, please fill out the character form and I will post it on the character page. Also, all members are required to rp more than one oc. Depending on interest, if we have two additional members, each must take three character roles. If we have three, each must take two character roles. Only one newcomer role for each member.
ROLE
picture [b&w, 400x600 submit to me through pm] Name: Age:
Gender: Orientation: Ethnicity: Birthdate: Height: Weight:
Physical Build: Hair: Eyes: Skin:
Scars: Tattoos: Abnormalities:
Hometown: Religion: IQ:
Vision: Blood Type: Physical Conditions: Mental Ailments: Vices:
Languages: Education: Combat:
Weapons:
moodboard [submit six or so images through pm]
THE MEMBERS ☣ Xiahou Dun ☣, creator Alphonse Fournier [Hades], Yu Xingfu [Poseidon], Quinn O'Sullivan [Athena], Malik Robinson [Thanathos] revali , creator Gale Amari [Apollo], Altair Farouk [Zeus], Tabitha Carlisle [Phobos] αƖ , member Murase Shou [Aphrodite], Jo Seoyun [Hermes], Theodor Winther [Hypnos] hx of sx, member Isobel Tate [Dionysus], Emilian Constantin [Caerus], Andras Griffiths [Ares] Sappho, member Marcas Cathal Stoker [Hephaestus], Paige Blackavar-Knox [Hestia], Anemone Martel [Asclepius]
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Aug 18, 2017 22:15:53 GMT -5
save
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Post by Deleted on Aug 18, 2017 22:23:29 GMT -5
save
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Sept 1, 2017 3:02:54 GMT -5
HADES Identity: Unknown - Location: Unknown - Status: Alive, Healthy "To capture a predator, you must become the prey. So look in the mirror. Who do you see? Is it still you or is it me?"
The days in between jobs were some of the best if not simplistic. He liked them, but he also liked the work he did. Had he not, he would have left long ago, before even the Olympians were created. It was a terrible thought, to come to the conclusion that he had became desensitized to murder, but it was the price of becoming one of the most revered in his line of work. It came with the knowledge that if he didn't do this kind of work, a lot in the world would be worst off.
The media outlets had the wrong look into the situation. There was a fair share of people who believed the assassinations were for a simple cause. Perhaps for the younger members of the Olympians, it was just a job. But organizations built on the principle of vengeance. There was some sort of media assumption they were poverty striken children seeking to put the rich in their place. If things had been that simple, the cause would have crumbled years ago when it had just been him, Xingfu, and Altair.
Things rarely were as straightforward as most would like to assume. Settling down next to Xingfu out on the rooftop of the group's house, he glanced towards the other man tilting his head slightly to see if there was any reaction. Placing down the bottle of wine he had with him, he waited for some sort of acknowledgement. It was almost tradition between the two of them. They had not liked each other very much when he and Xingfu had first met.
It grew on him with time, but he had come to appreciate Xingfu's sure principles and firm nature. Xingfu had come to dismiss his lies, understanding full well that when it came to the important matters he knew how to stay his tongue. It was a working relationship and after the latest hit on Liam Jackson, it was a welcoming sense of monotony. "Little brother," Xingfu's voice was a soft rasp as he said the term of endearment in Cantonese, clearly knowing exactly who it was. Alphonse raised an eyebrow in response, turning his head slightly. "What is it this time?"
"Bushmills' Black Bush Whiskey," he knew instinctively that Xingfu was not asking him why he was here, but rather what he had brought this time. Last time it had been sake, the time before that it had been wine. The telltale sound of the bottle being opened made him smile slightly as he continued to stare out at the city in the dark. Pulling out his cigarette case, he carefully grabbed one and offered Xingfu it despite knowing it was going to be refused. Snapping the case shut, he placed the cigarette between his lips letting it dangle loosely.
"How'd it go?" He finally asked, lighting the cigarette as he did so. The conversations were usually filled with long silences, they were never quick even though the responses weren't difficult. The silence was comfortable.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Xingfu's shadow shift slightly in a shrug. "It went well, he went down without a fight," he said the words slowly, thoughtful despite stating simple facts. "Without Jackson funding the fees, perhaps that will clear a path for them." The hope was what killed him - or them, for that matter. Matters like these were tentative at best, built on hope with no true promise of results.
The younger members didn't know the true origin of the Olympians. Hell, some of the original members didn't know the true cause. They got a reliable unit at their back and jobs with good pays and that had been enough of an enticing deal. Not many would sympathize with the true goal and the fewer people that knew it, the better it would be. The less chances of information leaks and betrayal.
Scanning the brightly lit streets, he shook his head. "There's still too many obstacles, still too many jobs to be completed," Alphonse responded. The floating buildings and air-born freeway were unmistakable despite the distance, far too extravagant to be missed. "It'll be awhile before there's an opportunity, but for now that was a job well done."
They weren't always gathered in one place. Hell, it was actually rare for all of the Olympians to be in one place. He had his family, Xingfu had his husband, and the others' had their lives. They sacrifice a lot - a clean conscience, innocence, and naivety - but at the end of the day it was a job. If the job had no benefits, no time for them to live the lives they had charted then it became a lifestyle. And that was what a serial killer did, not an assassin.
The place that he had secured was spacious, large, and beautiful. It was nothing short of a mansion and though it was extravagant, few thought of it when they thought of the Olympians. It wasn't even under his name or an alias, but listed as a property under Clement Garreau, his best friend.
He glanced back to Xingfu, wondering what the other' man's thoughts on the newest jobs were. Things were becoming more hectic as of late. Society was starting to crumble under the constant pressure they applied, people felt unsafe in the comfort of their privilege lives. It meant that what they did was working, but it also meant the jobs got harder. Security got increased and hits were becoming more dangerous. News in the grapevine was that the rich folk were replacing their famous bodyguard agencies with mercenary units.
"So, about the new jobs?"
The inquiry caused him to finally look away from the city lights. It was reminiscent of home, but it certainly didn't hold the splendor Paris did. There was just something about the Eiffel Tower that was unmatched. "What about it?" He responded, words equally soft. There weren't many details on it yet. The employer was still trying to iron out the fees, but it was dangerous. He knew that much.
There had been mentions of a hit on a military leader. That was a dangerous game to play, and he knew it. But then again, all of them did. They weren't here because they were good, they were here because they were better than those considered good at the job. As far as assassin work went, they garnered fear and respect. The media outlet gave them credit for everything. Their work and the work of copycats. There was also a request being filed on a politician. Something big and public.
The files were coming in today, hence the gathering.
"Have you looked at the new files?" So it would seem Xingfu hadn't looked at them either. Well, that could wait until later. He knew for certain Xingfu wasn't going to be taking either one of them. He had just completed one and from what the other man had mentioned, his mother was showing symptoms of heart disease. He had met the elderly woman a few time and had come to like her.
His mother certainly would have doted on the elderly woman. He supposed if she had still been alive, she and Yu Nuo wold have made good friends. "No, I haven't," he answered, deciding to humor Xingfu as he reached out to grab the bottle of whiskey to try it for himself. It was pleasant with a nice knockback to it. The liquor content wasn't bad either. It was strong, he'd give it that. "But it looks like it's going to be messy. I'm worried about the younger members. They're new. There's bound to be mistakes with them."
"Experience can only be gained through failure," Xingfu hummed, unworried. "They will grow with time. You're quite a good judge of character, I don't think you've judged wrong." The older Olympian offered him a smile, gentle and reassuring. "So if it's messy, who were you thinking of sending?"
"It depends on the details," he gave a noncomitted shrug, though honestly, the politician job more likely than not required a sniper. They would sort that out during the meeting. For now, this was fine. They would go down later to talk about it, but up here on top of the roof with a view of the entire city it was nice. People walked through the streets down below, unaware.
"That's sound," Xingfu said, not completing the phrase. Chuckling, he took another swig of the whiskey before handing it off to the older man. It seemed like hours before they were needed, but at 8:37 they got up and headed downstairs to the living room when they received notifications regarding the intel. There was a new job and the news was coming in today. Sometimes, if he, Xingfu, and Altair were lucky, the news went directly to them first of all and then to the group.
Newer employers and paying customers didn't truly understand the formality when reaching them through his and the others' contracts. Settling down on the couch, he crossed his left leg over his right, resting an elbow on the arm rest and leaning against his hand. Xingfu settled beside him as they waited for the others'. Malik was already here. Apparently he was quite the early bird. Quinn, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.
If his suspicions held true, and they usually did, he was more than certain that Quinn was with Gale. Well, that was unfortunate. The files were encrypted and until the two of them decided to appear, they were going to wait. And wait he did.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 1, 2017 6:54:40 GMT -5
apollo identity: unknown - location: unknown - status: alive, healthy "nyctophilia: (n.) love of darkness or of night."
There was something about the bitter air that helped clear his thoughts, something about the chill despite his jacket. Gale sat, perched on the edge of a rooftop as he watched the world around him. An unlit cigarette hung from his fingers, a half-empty bottle of whiskey at his side. His head was angled slightly to the side, teeth biting into his lower lip without much of a thought. His phone sat next to his drink, his lighter alongside that.
"Are you not going to light it?" the familiarity of the Arabic was not a surprise anymore. He glanced back and raised an eyebrow, but did not move to greet the other man. "Wasteful boy."
Gale hummed in response, angled his head forward a little and watched the flashing lights below. It took him a few moments, but he eventually reached over and grabbed his lighter, flicking his thumb over it and lighting the cigarette. After a long drag, he tilted his head back to look up at the stars above and exhaled. The taller man, previously standing above him, turned his head in vague disgust - but did not complain. Instead, he sat and helped himself to one of Gale's other cigarettes in the little case, lit it, but ignored the alcohol.
"I want to be left alone, Altair. If I didn't want to be alone, I would have gone to Quinn," though not entirely friendly, there was an underlying hint of amusement in Gale's tone.
"You rely on that boy too much," an observation, not a judgement, "it may be your downfall."
"Perhaps."
Neither man continued the conversation, instead smoking together. Occasionally, Gale would take a swig of his whiskey and lean forward. He was painfully aware of Altair's gaze focusing him, of ensuring that he didn't do anything stupid. Maybe it was some kind of rescuer's instinct - to know any distress from the person they had rescued. Thoughts like that didn't come often to Gale - but hell, today was a bad day. Had been a bad day all day to the point that he'd decided to shove himself up here and stay, silent and watchful.
"You should come back to us for a while," Altair's suggestion didn't sound too bad. "Obviously, you've been stressing yourself out. What over? You've done very few jobs recently. It's becoming concerning."
"Personal issues," it was probable that the other Egyptian man was one of the few in the Olympians who knew about his status as a Wastelander - obviously, considering their situation. "You wouldn't understand."
Altair twitched alongside him, a frown appearing on his face. "I'd understand if you told me what burdened you so much, little one."
"Oh, y'know," he made a vague motion with his hand, "stuff."
"I don't know, Iabi. You need to start telling me more things - as I said, you rely too much on your lover. Do you even have a social life?"
"Ow," Gale finally turned his body to look at Altair, squinted at the man's face cautiously. "You're not f*cking around today, are you? If it'll stop you sh*tting on my social life, then sure! I'll come back and talk to the Olympians and we can all pretend that we're a happy family, because you know, that's how it goes."
The other tilted his head in a considering motion, squinted thoughtfully.
"I think you're stressed," he finally said, frown deepening on his face. Altair had never been the quickest of people when it came to emotions, but hell if Gale hadn't thought he was way more intelligent than that. He felt his own mouth twitch down into a frown, chewed his lip a little more.
"Yeah, no sh*t, genius," he rolled his eyes upwards in a vaguely exasperated manner. "I'm going to leave you now, and I'm going to go to Quinn and whatever, stop judging me with your judge-y eyes."
Altair looked mildly offended.
"Not judging. Just warning."
Some days, Altair felt more like an overprotective father than he did a mentor - but that was Al's job. It felt weird coming from the man who'd torn Gale down from his pedestal, made him realise that yes, it was possible to make mistakes even if you were a prodigy. Though he mostly loved Altair like family, they clashed often and so the concern felt...weird? Like the older man was concerned that Gale was in too deep, or something.
"Warn me when you manage to find your own long-term love, okay?" the words felt unnecessarily harsh, but he decided it was too late to take it back and so shoved his phone, cigarette case, and lighter all into his pockets and stood up, walking away without another word.
The rest of the night was, he had to admit, significantly more pleasant. He managed to sleep surprisingly well, too - perhaps because he had the familiar weight of another body in his bed. He wasn't too sure when he'd gotten used to that - when he'd initially started sleeping with Quinn, he'd slept in short bursts due to jolting awake in the middle of the night. But nowadays, it felt odd to not be in the same bed as him. He'd spent the past couple of weeks in Egypt, sorting out problems there that others couldn't deal with. Now that they were sorted, he could reunite with his boyfriend and be significantly happier. Hell yeah. He didn't rely on Quinn, but he preferred to be around him - there was a safe aura about him. Besides, he had the other Olympians, and they were his social ring. Or something like that. Altair was concerned for no good reason.
He woke up feeling warm and well-rested, back not against the wall (for once), but instead against a firm body. With one hand, he absently reached back to touch the back of Quinn's head, tilting his head back and half-opening his eyes to see if the other was awake. He wasn't sure. He knew, of course, that they both had to go downstairs eventually - but for some reason, the warm bed felt much more appealing. He rolled over and gently reached out to ruffle Quinn's hair.
"I hate to say it, but you're going to have to wake up," his voice was firm, a little louder than he usually went. He wasn't too sure if the other man would wake up, but f*ck it, he didn't want to move. Not yet.
Despite his words about having Quinn wake up, however, he ended up resting his head against the Irishman's chest and instead half-closed his eyes, debating the pros and cons of going back to sleep.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Sept 1, 2017 8:06:27 GMT -5
ATHENA Identity: Unknown - Location: Unknown - Status: Alive, Healthy "Kill me dead. I'm so damn bored, do me a favor and kill me dead."
The job he had for the Olympians wasn't hard, but it wasn't fun either. He wasn't usually the first they thought of on assassination missions unless there was an airtight security that included a ridiculous amount of hacking and breaking through "airtight" security. Otherwise, he was the guy they left on desk duty while Gale and co. got to go out and do the cool sh*t. Sometimes, he couldn't help despite knowing it was a bad time, that he was still running with the Nolans. Only in that universe, he had Gale.
He liked the days with the big heists. In between all the crazy sh*t they did here, he hardly had time for any of that. He got the occasional picked pocket, stolen painting, and cracked safe every here and there, but it just didn't have the same feel as a planned museum heist or stunning bank robbery. It was f*cking weird too, he came from a job that paid well to a job that paid equally well but put him on desk duty due to how loud he could be.
But he was learning. Xingfu was taking his time between missions to teach him and he'd run quite a few of his own jobs. Never the big ones, though. Pops would have a heart attack if he did, and as much as he wanted to be a badas-, that didn't involve giving Xingfu a heart attack.
He had never had a family before and it was just so new to him despite having it for like ten years. That made it about one fourth of his lifetime. It was just so different from trying to fend for himself and surviving on his own. He had tried very hard to fall in love and found his heart broken by so many different people, he had never expected to find a family and a boyfriend with the Olympians. He had never met anyone in his life who acted as his lifeline the way Gale did. He would marry Gale if it was a good idea, but hell, even it was a bad idea maybe he'd get his sh*t together and ask eventually.
Whatever the f*ck was he even thinking at this point? Sighing in aggravation, he tried to focus on his doodles. Xingfu how been out longer than he should have for the job and news of it was plastered everywhere, but there was no sign of his pops anywhere. It worried him to some degree even though Xingfu's handiwork was meticulous. Ripping the ugly sketch out, he crumpled up the paper, tossing it into the trash bin by his bed.
He shoots and he f*cking scores. The crowd goes wild. Sighing in annoyance, he slammed his sketchbook shut with a resounding thud, standing up as he did so. He was supposed to be doing stuff. He wasn't sure what kind of stuff, but he was stuck here at the Olympian's base for the past few days because of the newest upcoming job that was coming in. It was supposed to be something big sent through the secure networks he had set up. He wanted to go eat some food and chill given that Gale had been out in Egypt the past few weeks. And usually that time would have been spent with Xingfu, but Xingfu was out too.
Instead, he got Al - aka intimidating father-in-law kind-of. The man had allowed him to stay at the Fourniers' resident and even hitch a ride because he had been just too damn lazy to drive to the headquarters. He never understood Al's dogged determination to come early nor his overly cautious caution. There was a point when too much caution became paranoia, and though it was reasonable, he was pretty damn sure the man was paranoid. As hell.
It didn't help that Al spoke to him, sure, but he spoke about things in a way he felt like he was learning nothing of use. He got no information, nothing. The guy was a walking vacuum seal of secrets. When Malik had arrive a day after Al, he had found out that Al's student was even worse than his mentor. God, Malik had some real problems. The kid was trying his best, but he had to stop asserting his presence.
At least Gale had come back today, though it was obvious he had wanted some time alone. Having seen him walk up to the roof, he lingered in his room, bored before finally settling to fiddle with his labradorite stone that was a familiar weight that usually settled in his pocket. It seemed like hours before Gale had joined him in the bedroom and it was a nice change of pace. He was so bored of Grim Reaper and Baby Deathmetal. Those two were no fun, though Al had his good moments.
They spent the night together, falling asleep with Gale's warmth pressed to him. He had thrown his hand carelessly over the other man in the middle of the night, content with just sleeping in for the rest of the day before he felt a soft touch. Groaning, he tried to turn his face into the pillows before hearing Gale's voice break through his sleepy haze. Cracking an eye open, he looked at his lover who was resting against his chest. "You got to be f*cking kidding me," he huffed, voice still rough with sleep. "These Olympians sure know how to be c*ckblocks."
Untangling himself with a fair deal of reluctance from Gale, he got up and got dressed at a sluggish pace before heading downstairs with bedhead and wrinkled clothes. It was f*cking dark outside too. What kind of outrageously evil people... Sighing, he shuffled to the kitchen before grabbing a beer can and a soda can and dumping them into one large cup. Beer and soda, nothing could go wrong.
Seeing Xingfu, Al, and Malik all gathered he nodded towards the dad squad(2) wondering where dad(3) was. Oh, there he was. He nodded lazily to Altair, finding it only fit to acknowledge Al squared and pops. Settling down on one of the couches with plenty of room for Gale to slide in next to him, he took a large gulp of the soda and beer mix. F*ck, this sh*t's disgusting. Placing it down on the table with his built in encrypted computer, he leaned over, opening it up. Setting up the briefing, he glanced around to make sure everyone was there.
Once he was certain, he allowed playback of the jobs. There were two new ones. The clients were both new, though Aadesh Singh came with recommendations from Malakai Croft, making him a secure and safe client. The first files from the Anaya Lai case lit up, maps and images projected in the air in holograms. Diagrams of new military weaponry, detailings of the layout of the military base, and various images of the target and the location were all laid out before them in a three dimensional hologram almost palpable to the touch if they weren't just projected images.
Looking at an image of one of the acts she committed on the wastelanders, he clicked his tongue. That was one hell of a bombed safe zone. "This looks ugly," he said softly to himself. There was a soft noise of agreement from Al and he glanced up to see the man's eyes unreadable but the corners of his lips were tight.
He'd never quite figured out that one.
"Terrain doesn't look very sniper friendly to me though," he added, leaning in. "But they're military folk too. No way we can get a stranger in with disguise. And if a visitor comes and sh*t happens, it's easy to point fingers."
"I agree," Al had a way of speaking where he didn't have to raise his voice to sound like he had authority over a situation. It was something he could never get. "There's a lot of military grade technological hoops we'll have to get through. It's definitely a high risk job, even more so than others. We'd have to watch her schedule, figure it out, scout out her favored locations, and infiltrate the military base."
"So we get the security system down and you guys do the sneaky sneak stuff and voila, she's dead?" He grinned, shameless at his own description of Al's detailed plan. He couldn't help it, but the look of miffed amusement he was shot was worth it.
"Yes, that's exactly the plan."
"So, let's see, any takers on this case? We'll look over the interested parties and you know, as per usual, choose a team or individual best equipped for the job," he said simply with a shrug, barely holding back laughter due to Al's dry answer.
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Post by carmine. on Sept 1, 2017 20:45:21 GMT -5
APHRODITE Identity: Unknown - Location: Unknown - Status: Alive, Healthy. Kind of lethargic “'Go to hell.' Oh honey, where do you think I came from?”
Drawing in a deep breath, he watched as wisps of gray unfurled like the feather of a peacock from the tip of his cigarette. It was nice outside. If the woman next to him was excluded from the picture (mainly because she’d waltzed in his life only after he’d become who he was now, though he imagined his past life would’ve been far more entertaining with her presence), he was certain he could imagine himself back at home, watching the city lights flicker against the dark canvas stretching above them as a little boy. Kobe. Damn, it’d been such a long time since he’d last visited the warm, endearing city.
It was odd knowing that with his absence, quite a few things had most likely changed in the streets he’d sauntered through the halcyon days of his youth. Perhaps he’d visit soon. Well, he’d like to think that he could anyway, though he was more than acutely conscious of the fact that little wistful trips as those in his passing thoughts would have to wait. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had anyone to return to anymore.
Not to sound too needy, but Alphonse, Xingfu, Marcas, Altair, Isobel, Quinn, Gale, Paige, Andras, and Seoyun were one of the and if not the only individuals he could and would turn to, even though he’d have his disagreements and quarrels with a few of them from time to time. He’d never expected himself to find a family here out of all places, especially with how odd he’d found the idea of giving out his trust to other individuals but his blood-related family (and even then, that’d only been reserved for his mother, few siblings, and maybe father).
It’d been that way for over fifteen years in his case. Not that he’d admit that anytime soon out loud, though. Like hell he would.
In any case, had he mentioned that it was also peculiar to see the same woman previously mentioned smoking next to him, surveying the brilliantly lit city with her vigilant dark brown orbs? As far as he knew, Seoyun was not one to join anyone in a round of smoking, yet here she was next to him, taking a long, lackadaisical drag out of his cigarette he’d thought she would’ve refused.
“Is something stuck on my face? Apologies if I’m mistaken, but it seems like you’ve been staring at me quite a bit, little gongju.”
He almost snorted in gentle amusement at the small, affectionate title she’d referred him as, though he only tilted his head so that he was once more facing the flashing signs and specks of miscellaneous shades of orange and red and blue and yellow in the distance.
Little princess. What a name. Even so, he’d gotten familiar with the smooth syllables coming from the Korean woman, and he paid little attention to the fact that it was far from the stringent formalities they’d both grown accustomed to. He wasn’t certain of why, but little princess sounded so much more polished and fluid in her native tongue as it did with his than it was in English. He supposed that sometimes, some words just sounded better and implied layers of underlying tones in languages that were very familiar off the lips than it did with others.
“You aren’t mistaken,” he answered in with a vague smile while gesturing over at the thin object in her hand. Perhaps it was due to her former line of work as a thief, but her hands seemed machined by little secret wires and bolts and lines, specifically because they moved as if they’d been made for no other purpose than to manipulate little objects, making them disappear before pulling them up with her long fingers flexing effortlessly as she did so. “I was just surprised about the fact that you.. you know.”
“Oh?”
“I mean, I haven’t seen you with a cigarette since then. Trivial detail, I know.”
She exhaled a long line of smoke before tipping her head to regard him with the corners of her lips tugging a little, and he knew she’d understood which situation he was speaking of from the recognition that danced across her deep-set eyes. “Well, you always were the meticulous type from the beginning, even though you don’t really look the part.”
“Jo Seoyun, I’m severely offended.”
She smiled an elder sister’s grin. “Yeah?”
Silence nestled in between them once more as they both eyed the view illustrated before placid themselves. He knew more than well that the vigorous woman didn’t mind the silence, and he sure as hell didn’t, either. Noise wasn’t all too bad, but silence was good. It gave him time to think things through — let him clear his head and consider any other disregarded, drifting ideas that he hadn’t been able to during the day when sh*t went down very, very fast.
And just as expected, he knew that sh*t was bound to go down with Quinn’s playback of the two jobs.
Before the briefing had begun, he had casually settled on one of the flat arms of the couches with his legs crossed over the other after he’d greeted the others and the dad trio (with an additional wink over in Xingfu’s direction because why the hell not, anyone who enjoyed tea was automatically even more trustworthy in his book), letting his elbow rest against a very small portion of the top of the couch. On the other hand, he’d watched as Seoyun had acknowledged the gathered individuals as a whole with the dip of her head, her expression fairly laid-back yet stoic.
It reminded him of something, watching her way of greeting the others, because it’d taken him a while to stop respectfully dipping his head too often as he had back in Kobe when every little damn thing required him to bow. There, a bow was silently expected of him every time he said thank you, every time he’d meet someone, every time he’d make a mistake, every time someone passed him the salt, etc. It’d become a mundane and subconscious habit, really, having to duck your head so frequently, and at certain times, he still found himself doing it, too. Especially when he was speaking with those who were older than himself.
Inspecting the holograms when they were projected in the air regarding Anaya Lai, he soon narrowed his eyes a little as a grim, pleasurable (not really) smile took ahold of his lips. This woman was just one charming lass, wasn’t she? This looks ugly, he heard from Quinn and silently agreed with the man before facing a myriad of pictures of their target. Internally, his mind purred words dripping with venom: what a sweetheart. This was going to be very ugly, indeed. The fact that they couldn’t get someone in with a disguise was a huge pain in the as*, too. He didn’t think he imagined the tension in his own shoulders, though it was Quinn’s following words that replaced the tension with a sense of temporary relief.
So we get the security system down and you guys do the sneaky sneak stuff and voila, she's dead? Quinn sure had a way with phrasing words, but he appreciated the guy for it. In a dead serious atmosphere that often fell over them especially given their work, it was easy to forget what it was like to smile. Even he, as melodramatic and ebullient as he was, had a hard time sometimes trying to remember what it was like to laugh from time to time, especially when sh*t really hit the fan. Thank the lords someone was here to lighten up the mood in this very moment, at least.
Surveying the rest of the Olympians, he gently tapped the floor with his left leg so that the prosthetic made no sound and let his gaze rest on the wall parallel to where he was. It was definitely a high risk job given the circumstance and the description of the enchanting lass, so it wasn’t too bad to be cautious of everything regarding the matter. Better to be safe than sorry. “I’m willing to go,” he offered, his dark eyes steady, his voice collected and serious despite the light curve of his lips that lingered. If Alphonse and Altair and Andras and Marcas and anyone else for that matter thought that there were better candidates, however, he’d resign without complaint. He trusted their decision, and sometimes, the simple, open truth was that certain jobs suited certain assassins more than others. He wasn’t one to go against facts.
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Bisexual
Lea
Follow me to Sawgrassclan
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Post by Lea on Sept 1, 2017 22:33:37 GMT -5
ares identity: unknown - location: unknown - status: alive, healthy. "That tingling sensation running up your spine… inevitability. And the bit running down your leg? Fear."
Per usual, there was the quiet hum of a humidifier as he faced a mirror, giving himself another once over. Neatly combed hair, freshly brushed teeth, nothing visually out of place. He smiled, flashing himself with his pearly whites. His eyes flickered for a moment to look at the jar of gel sitting on the counter. His lip curled into what seemed to be a smile, but perhaps it was more of a smirk.
Straightening his jacket, he half turned to check his left side and did the same with his right. He looked good and ready to go tackle the day. He cracked his knuckles and turned to exit the bathroom. As he stepped from the room, he reached out to shut off the humidifier with one gesture and he slid out the door of the adjacent bedroom.
It had been a while since had received a full nights sleep and his body wasn't used to it. Despite the extra three hours he received, he still felt groggy and he really did not want to welcome the idea of interaction, at least not right now. However, despite what he did not welcome he still had to do what it was that he was headed to do. He wasn't one to miss out on meetings.
Andras wondered how long this meeting would take, he really wanted to head into the city and pick up a coffee maybe go to the park and observe and relax. Of course, this meeting was a part of his job and if it meant a new job was being revealed he was all for it. As long as he got his coffee, that is.
"Aren't you a bit over dressed?" He recognized the sultry voice of his college before he even turned to face her. She was definitely a pain, he had decided a long time ago. Friends, is what he considered their relationship to be, but maybe that was pushing it. He felt as though she and him were too much alike, that their personalities clashed. Except, she was probably more fun. As if.
Stopping in his tracks, he quickly whipped around the face her, a smirk that quite nearly resembled a grimace upon his face, "Is that sarcasm I'm sensing? I'm well-dressed, Ma'am, not over dressed."'
Her reaction was less in words and more so in an irritated frown, followed by a edging on angry response, "Ma'am, really? Aren't you older than me?"
Andras shrugged, grinning, "What does it matter, Isobel, you are a lady - are you not?"
Isobel snorted, rolling her eyes. She did not offer a response at this, instead she just pushed past him, bumping his shoulder. He considered teasing her a bit more, but he found that maybe right now was not the time to be pushing buttons. Fifty two years old and still acting like a child? Pull your act together, Andras.
Age is but a number, he recalled reminding himself a couple of years ago when he had chosen to do something which he considered below him and childish. Nothing professionally, he wasn't one to play those dangerous games, but personally he had played around. Memories of such a time were definitely fun memories, but perhaps not the greatest memories.
He could still see Isobel making her way down the hall, right before she turned out of his line of sight. Her perfume lingered and he crinkled his nose. That was not perfume. She smelt strongly of wine. He wondered if she had been drinking already this morning. Not my business. He reminded himself. Isobel was a grown woman who could take care of herself. Yet, a small part of him wondered if she needed help. No, this is the first time in a while she's probably fine. Perhaps it was a poor purchase decision - wine perfume.
Why was he stilled stopped in the hall? He leaned against the wall, sighing. He was just going to end up delaying the meeting if he didn't get down there and he really did not want to be lectured like a rookie. When was the last time he had been lectured like a rookie? He could not recall, it had really been that long. Andras was an adult though, he did not need to be lectured. He knew what he was doing. To himself he mumbled something about being fully grown and not needing to be parented. He looked like a fool.
Andras cleared his throat, readjusting his jacket once more and continued to the stairs. He gripped the rail and slid his hand down it as he walked, a quick almost gallop like walk down the steps. Upon reaching the end, he nearly bumped into a younger colleague, but he didn't mutter an apology, he just slid past them and chose a seat in a comfy looking chair, crossing one leg over the one.
Isobel was giving him a glare and he made a "What did I do?" gesture, before turning his head to the one at the center of everyone else's attention. He tilted his head, appearing to be interested, "I'm quite interested in making an appearance in a job. I feel like it's been too long since I last dipped my toes in." Even though it couldn't have been more than a few weeks ago since his last job.
Before someone could respond to him, he rose and dipped out the room to make a quick appearance in the kitchen. He had been in such a rush to take a seat that he had forgotten a glass of ice tea. He poured it quickly, with way too much ice and definitely not enough tea, and was back in the room before he could be missed. Andras sipped it quietly, glancing around the room and back at Isobel who was appearing to be nursing a bottle of water. He wanted to think that it was suspicious, but a large part of him did not really care. Andras took his attention from her and awaited the input of the other Olympian's.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 2, 2017 2:25:50 GMT -5
zeus identity: unknown - location: unknown - status: alive, healthy "subtle: (adj.) making use of clever and indirect methods to achieve something."
He had to admit, as he wore on in age, being part of the Olympians became more...welcomed. He enjoyed the atmosphere that came with it, the family that he'd gained. Altair found himself surprised by the concern settled within him over the well-being of the others, found himself even more surprised by the confrontation from the previous night. He wasn't Gale's father, couldn't decide things for him. He was a mentor first and foremost, helped refine the sheer skill that his student had, though he was beginning to feel like there was less and less every day that he could teach. It worried him - and that came as a surprise, too. Too many things surprised him nowadays, and it was becoming a problem.
The Arabic was welcome, though. When the Olympians had first been formed, he'd stuck to English for Alphonse and Xingfu - he spoke too swiftly for a non-native speaker, often used heavy slang. Gale didn't speak quite the same, but he understood and was understandable. They were both too quick for those who weren't native, both often slurred words together when they weren't supposed to. Sometimes, he'd noticed the younger man switch dialects with him. It was something that they could do, and it was pleasant. He was no longer restricted to English, no longer had to speak in a language that he was not too fond of (and he knew his student wasn't too fond of it, either).
Altair was a busy man, even outside of the Olympians. He had a smaller business, perhaps not quite legal, that worked alongside the tobacco industry. It was good money, and he had a lot invested in it. Admittedly, his niece had started taking an interest in Altair's work - and so...well, naturally, he let her! She was a grown woman, and though his brother would have disapproved, he wouldn't know. The man was long dead. Hell, Altair was sure that he was one of the only ones left of his family, now. The youngest sibling, the one who didn't need to do anything - the one who was babied by his mother. It had been nice, looking back on it. He didn't know where he'd gone wrong, what had made him become the man he was. Why had he chosen a life of killing? He didn't know. He thought about it often, about how people had their own reasons; Quinn and Gale had had gangs that had caused them to make mistakes. Hell, Gale had so many reasons. Though his memory wasn't the best, Altair could remember the night he'd brought the boy in, too much blood on the outside. He hadn't thought that he'd survive, but here he was.
Maybe that was why he held such deep concern. Even though Altair had been the one to all but tear Gale's life apart, he'd also...rescued him? He supposed? He'd talked to his student so many times, never got a straight answer. There was certainly a degree of dislike. He'd been told before - if we happen on the same case, I will take you out. The words had not been cold - but they sure as hell hadn't been friendly. If he ever came against Gale on a professional ground, he doubted he'd come out alive.
That scared Altair, sometimes.
Awful thoughts aside, the night was fresh and came with something that warmed him. He'd been told the word before - nyctophilia. Gale liked it, too. They had a lot in common, all things considered. It was nice. But that was not the point - the point was that he had to socialise. He'd been downstairs for a while, had eaten his dinner and was relaxing calmly in a soft armchair, reading a book. His evening was calm, nothing worried him and he was okay. There were no memories of blood lingering on his mind - though his thoughts of family lingered. Sometimes it was surprisingly lonely - until, of course, he remembered that he had family here. Alphonse and Xingfu were long time friends of his, they were the big three, or something like that. The founders of the Olympians. Quinn was Xingfu's son and Gale was Alphonse's, and that made him...an uncle? Maybe he was an extra father. He wasn't quite sure where his role was, but he thought of the other two of the big three as brothers, of sorts, so he supposed that maybe he was an uncle. Ah, well. He didn't need to dwell on it too much. It wasn't too important on whether he was a dad or a uncle (he'd rather be a father, considering he already had nieces and nephews and didn't need more).
His gaze raised when Xingfu and Al made an appearance, but he didn't close his book. The meeting, of course, would start soon - they were probably early. And hell, he knew that Gale and Quinn were probably still asleep - Gale had just returned, after all. They needed to spend time together after so long apart with little contact. There wasn't exactly great phone signal in the middle of nowhere, from what Altair had heard, and that was exactly where Gale lived. Not Cairo, where streets were bustling and phone signal was ideal. Nope.
Though he didn't speak, he gave a dip of his head to acknowledge the duo's presence, and went back to reading.
It felt like an eternity before Quinn made an appearance - with Gale, it seemed, not too far behind. He finally closed his book and sat forward a little to show that he was paying attention, though ignored that Gale seemed to be content to squish himself next to Quinn. It was strange to see the man so content with contact like that - but logically, he knew that it was just a good day. They'd been apart for some time, and Gale was better than he'd ever been. He was glad. It took so long for the kid to recover, made even harder by photographic memory. Altair was blessed that he could forget some of his worst moments, especially as he moved on in age. He was only middle-aged and yet felt so much older, sometimes.
He listened and nodded absently about the terrain - neither he nor Gale would be able to partake. While a lookout would be useful, it wasn't something that either of them would do. Altair shook his head a little and listened to the input of others, remaining as a silent figure. They could talk amongst themselves, decide details - he'd only speak if he needed to.
From the corner of his eye, he watched one of their newer, younger members - Tabitha - appear, watched as she chose to stand uncomfortably. There were other seats, but he doubted she felt comfortable. He flicked his gaze away and instead watched Andras with a small frown. Rude, he thought, though it was an absent thought. He didn't particularly care, but to contribute and then dip out was a little...impolite. More than a little. He didn't comment on it, however, and instead chose to lean back a little.
"Newcomers can't do this job, then?" it was Tabitha who spoke, and he supposed that the question was valid.
"No," he replied, so that no-one else had to. "We'll find a different job for one of you. This is for original members."
Tabitha seemed to accept that, and fell silent once more. When she'd first appeared, she'd been an excitable puppy. She still was, but seemed to have found a way to restrain herself. Even now, though, she rocked back and forth on her feet, watched each person. Her hair was a deep blue today, he noted. Just last week it had been...pink? Oh, well. It was her hair.
"I'm not doing it," Gale shrugged lightly. "Not my sort of job, so you can count me out."
It felt strange for Gale to be adding an unnecessary contribution, but it was probable that he wanted to make sure that he wasn't going to be shoved on lookout duty. That was fair. It felt like, in a non-sniper mission, both he and Gale ended up as lookouts more often than not. It wasn't the worst work, but it was slow and boring, and he had no doubt that Gale had been dealing with slow and boring for weeks. Altair, himself, was sick of lookout duty too - sometimes, they just needed a break. He gave a passive shrug and leaned back, allowing the others to sort it out amongst themselves. They were civilised people. They could probably do it without a bloodbath.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 3, 2017 8:23:09 GMT -5
║ Hephaestus║ identity: unknown - location: unknown - status: alive, sleep deprived
"The shadows on my wall don't sleep"
They each have their own space, but occasionally lines blur. As close as the Olympians are to each other, there's an awful lot of baggage hanging around them, just over their heads or just at the corner of their eyes. This is to be expected, of course. No one gets into this business expecting anything less. When people live so close and carry so much around with them, natural divisions fall. This isn't something to be criticized, rather, it's more healthy for them all then to constantly be in each other's faces. The job demands a cool-down area, and everyone's got their own. Stoker in particular likes his privacy, anyone who's known him for a little over ten minutes picks this up. He's always the first to peel off in gatherings, moving deceptively lightly for such a tall man. One minute he's there at the back, and the next he's gone. The door to his workshop, where he fixes everyone's toys, is rarely locked, but it's always closed. This is why it's surprising that it's typically Stoker who leaves his mark wherever he goes.
It's not intentional, it just happens. He doesn't speak up much at the little meetings or rallies, but he's normally fiddling with something, the long calloused fingers of his left hand and the sleek metal ones of his right tirelessly probing whatever he's working on. Most of the times, it's nothing. A pen with four colour options, or a swiss army knife with eleven compartments, that he's taking apart and putting back together again just because he can. Once he'd gone at the dishwasher and was barely seen for two days. All over the house they share, there are odd burns marks on the floor, or scrapped counter tops, or indents in walls. Little tiny things barely worth noticing, but evidence that Stoker was there.
Today (Or tonight? It's dark outside, that's all he knows) was no exception. He was hunched over on a stool with a hair dryer in his hands, or what used to be a hair dryer. He'd picked it up yesterday when he realised that once you squeezed a section at the back, the cable that connected the machine to a plug snapped up, so you didn't have to leave wires trailing all over your room. Clever little thing. It had come away in two halves, and he'd placed the left half to the side after pillaging it of all it had to offer. Although it was a relatively simple machine, Stoker had no real experience with the mechanics of a hair dryer (why would he?), and he was taking his time with it. Something new was always exciting, and though a stranger would never be able to tell that he was enjoying himself, the careful motions he was making and the sheer attention he was giving this little machine was all the evidence his peers would need.
He glanced up when the room began to fill, and his actions slowed, but they didn't stop. His neck began to ache from where he'd stayed bent over for so long and he leaned back against the corner, balancing in the space where the two walls meet. He had black horn rimmed glasses on, necessary for working on something up close. He hadn't always needed them and they, along with the grey at his temples, were testament to either what the job had done to him or simply the years rolling by. He had a travel sized screwdriver in his hands, built to be small enough to fit in a pocket, and it looked ridiculously petite when he held it almost daintily between his fingers, but it was the perfect size for the tiny screws in the engine of the hair dryer. Paige came in after a while, looking like she'd just rolled out of bed, curly hair sitting in a large flop on top of her head, "Morning." She smiled, taking her place in the meeting. She sat down on a chair and tucked her feet up under her like a cat, almost shrinking to half her size against the seat cushions. Stoker watched as she produced her glasses out from a fold in her trousers, cleaned them on her shirt and pushed them up her nose. They magnified her eyes to an alarming size, as if they were trying to compensate for how tiny she could make herself. She yawned politely into the crook of her arm, rubbing the last of her sleep out of her eyes.
Stoker couldn't relate to that feeling right now, the half-in-half-out, shaking off the last of sleep mood, he'd been up all night. It happened sometimes. Just another trinket from work. Maybe a psychiatrist could draw a line between how interesting Stoker found this hair dryer and how unwilling he had been to fall asleep tonight, but he himself was no shrink doctor, so he left the dots unconnected. Sometimes he would be able to sleep fine for weeks, and then, suddenly, he'd be up for three days and three nights in a row, fueled only by coffee and the occasional cigarette (He'd tried energy drinks once, and never again.) Maybe it was childish, to run from nightmares by starving himself of sleep, but it worked. Sometimes he'd pass out for a power nap during the day, enough to keep him going, but never once the sun had set. He was currently stuck in one of those hellish cycles, the bags under his eyes were testament to this, but having something to work on made it better.
He listened in closely to what was being said, focusing on jobs also made it a bit easier to stay awake. Talk about a vicious cycle, seeing as it was the fault of said jobs he couldn't sleep in the first place. This job sounded particularly nasty. He wasn't in the best form lately, but he ordered his eyes to ignore the hair drier and watch the meeting now, his hands slowly coming to a rest. If anything, he liked watching the holograms. Very intelligent piece of technology. Made looking at the actual gruesome images a little more pleasurable. He saw Paige shake her head across the room, "Count me out of this one. Sneaky isn't exactly my style." She echoed Quinn's phrasing, using her fingers to make little air quotes. Behind Paige's chair he saw one of the younger individuals, Martel something or other. Stoker didn't know the new ones very well, the closest he got to them was through their weapons or, for some of them, their prosthetics. He hadn't seen her come in, and she was watching the meeting silently, obviously not interested in speaking if this mission wasn't for her. Stoker raised his voice, barely, "I could help." He offered from the back, "If we need to make up the numbers." Then, having said his bit, turned back to the hair dryer, placing his metal fingers around it's engine and plucking it out to see around the back.
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Bisexual
Lea
Follow me to Sawgrassclan
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Post by Lea on Sept 3, 2017 19:14:55 GMT -5
Caerus identity: unknown - location: unknown - status: alive, healthy. “A joke’s a very serious thing.”
Leaning out a window, one had on the sill, another clinging to a cigarette. Dressed, or rather under dressed, in baggy sweatpants and not much else. His shoulders were visually tense and he seemed focused on something out in the distance. The curtains shifted in the breeze flowing in through the window. He took a deep drag from the cigarette before turning away from the window and back to the bedroom.
Wrappers of various candies littered the floor, mostly starburst - his most recent candy obsession. His bed was unmade, the sheet coming off the top right corner, one pillow at the foot at the bed, one on the floor, the other two at the head. His comforter was thrown over the foot board and laying on the floor, half under the bed half not, was a little stuffed bear, it's left ear missing.
He let out a sigh, stepping over a pile of papers in his path to his desk the only place untouched by candy wrappers and trash. The oak wood desk was clean and mostly clear, besides a closed laptop and an ash tray. He pressed his cigarette into the ash tray, ending the life of the cigarette. He dropped it in the tray making a mental note to empty it next time he was in his room.
Looking down at his sweatpants he considered for a moment just leaving the room like this to pour himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen and wander into the meeting. However, he thought that the originals would probably not appreciate that and he did not want to look like a fool in front of his peers. Lazily, he made his way across his room to the closet. He pulled the doors open and looked over his options. There were a couple of dress shirts hanging, a pair of dress pants too. He didn't have much clothing he considered 'meeting' clothing.
The little dresser sitting in the closet caught his eye and he opened a drawer to immediately find pants. Jeans, jeans, and jeans. Well, he was a jeans guy. He chose, however, the first pair of khaki pants he saw and tossed them onto his unmade bed. He opened another drawer to find his shirts, none of them folded neatly. Emilian sifted through the shirts until he found a jumper. He furrowed his eyebrow, wondering how a jumper had ended up with his t-shirts, but he shrugged it off as a fortunate mistake. He tossed this onto his bed as well.
Quickly, he stripped out of his sweatpants and tossed them into an overflowing clothing hamper. Emilian made another quick mental note to start laundry. He was beginning to see that he ha a few chores to take care of within the room and he audibly groaned. It took him mere moments to get his clothes on and once finished he glanced at himself in his body length mirror and deemed himself appropriately clothed. In addition to his jumper and khakis, he pulled on a pair of derby shoes.
Emilian was not used to kind of life. Well sure, he had a few jobs here and there starting off - I mean, how else would he have been noticed by the Olympian's - but he wasn't used to being a part of a group. A solo act, really, was what had been for the most recent years of his life and he didn't accumulate much with his little jobs so it wasn't an amazing career, he'd just gotten lucky. That's, at least, how he decided that he had ended up in a group like this. It was amazing really, being in the group, especially one of such high regard and he was very grateful for the opportunity fate had given him.
He was playing with his hair as he skipped down the steps of the staircase, using the railing to swing himself round and he swiftly made his way into the kitchen, ducking his head as he passed the meeting. He bit his lip, hoping no one noticed him, he just wanted to get something caffeine related in his system before he joined the rest of the Olympian's. He really hoped he wasn't being rude.
It was not hard for him to locate the coffee pot, someone had already made one and he was glad to see that there was just enough left for him to pour himself a cup. Emilian set the coffee on the counter and reached up into the cabinet above his head for sugar. Once found, he set it beside his coffee and he turned on his heel toward the fridge before throwing the door open and grabbing creamer. By the time he was done putting sugar and creamer in his coffee, well, it was less coffee than sugar and creamer.
He took a sip, savoring the flavor. A grin grew on his face, whomever was doing the shopping here was doing a great job because this was the best creamer he had tasted in a while. A long while, probably since high school - especially since he had been living on a college students salary (or lack thereof) for the past maybe eleven years and he hadn't ever even gone to university, besides that handful of business classes he had taken. Which he couldn't remember why he had taken in the first place. Maybe it was because he was trying to infiltrate himself into America better than he had been. Maybe it was because of his interest in business. No matter the reason, he ended up not finishing his courses as it had been difficult at the time for him to converse with native English speakers since in childhood and most of his teen and early adulthood he had primarily spoken Romanian. Now, however, he was much better at conversation, but he still slipped from time to time and his accent was still rather thick, but that was all a part of his appeal - right?
Wrapping his hands around the mug of what he claimed to be coffee, he stepped into the room in which the meeting was being held. He stood a bit to the side, although there was plenty of seats for him to choose from, he saw that he wasn't the only newcomer standing. He bit the inside of his cheek, wincing as he accidentally drew blood. Emilian opened his mouth to say something, but he quickly snapped his mouth shut. Should he? He wasn't yet sure if he should. Shaking away the doubt he opened his mouth once more and spoke, "I would like to go, if you would have me."
Emilian sipped his coffee after speaking, hiding behind his cup just a bit. He glanced around the room, his gaze shifting from one older Olympian to another. He wished that he had a cigarette in his pocket to play with during this meeting.
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Sept 3, 2017 23:09:41 GMT -5
Poseidon Identity: Unknown - Location: Unknown - Status: Alive, Healthy "With one more thing, then more danger. With less things, greed, hatred and ignorance will lessen."
It had been a difficult job. Xingfu had not been lying when he had said it had went well. The execution of the assassination had not been hard. It had not been the act that was difficult, it had been the knowledge. Knowing that Liam Jackson had been a man with a family made the mark harder even though he had killed fathers and mothers and parents before. Watching them from a distance, seeing the happiness they shared... that had nearly stayed his hand. He had once tried to repent, to let go of his way of life when his triad back in Hong Kong had ended up lost in ashes.
To reconsider life, to let go of worldly possessions and contemplations and seek a life of peace. That had all been in his reach once. He had left a few years back, before the newcomers had arrived. They hadn't know about his departure. Hell, a lot of the originals didn't realize he had left and wasn't coming back. He hadn't told anybody except Alphonse, Altair, and Quinn, which meant, by extension, Gale had also known.
The others had thought he was on some job, but instead he had settled down in a small flat with his mother in Hong Kong. It had been nice and she had been happy. He would often practice martial arts in her presence and take her out on walks. Sometimes they played chess, she made food, he made tea. It had been nearly normal. As if he had not been a member of a triad, as if he did not have blood on his hands.
He had been told once before it was never too late to repent. To turn back and let go. But they had needed him more and the cause they fought for was - and Alphonse had repeated it time and time again - bigger than they all were. It wasn't as simple as a means to make money. That was where most of the others were left in the dark. They were criminals. They wanted the best paying jobs, the cause and the reason why didn't matter to many of them. He knew that.
And for others, it meant the entire world. He had done many terrible things in his life, but these days, fewer things clung to his conscience. It almost felt like he had forgotten how to regret, but then again, the truth was that Jackson was a terrible man. On the outside, he wore a smile, but that was fake. It was as fake as everything else about him. His love for his family didn't extend to any other individual. He was selfish, he was cruel, and most importantly, he was deserving of what had happened.
The day after the job when he had arrived, he had isolated himself in the private room Alphonse had secured for him for his hobby. He had made it into a darkroom. He had washed out the photo of Liam Jackson and plastered it on the wall, a grave reminder of the people he had eliminated. Each and every face hung about, it all amounted to something, he supposed. But god, it had been a lot more faces than he had last remembered. Still, it was some blessing he couldn't make out any of the faces clearly in the darkroom.
And the collection only grew. In all honesty, it was an alarming collection. At first he had taken to photographing his meals, exotic dishes, the locations he had traveled, and beautiful landmarks, but the photos of his targets demanded to be kept as well. He didn't have nightmares about them, but sometimes it became frightening how easy it was to kill someone. With all the laws in place, it was still easy.
After having finished with his work in the darkroom, he locked it up and headed up to the roof. Alphonse had found him not long after. Something told him the other man had been waiting for him to go up before following. He was not bad at reading people, but the other man was not most people. He lived a life veiled in shadows, even after confessing that he had originally been a spy in his earlier years, it didn't make him more... well, readable. He was a kind man, Xingfu had no doubt of that.
Perhaps, had the circumstances been different, Alphonse could have even been a good man. There wasn't much time to contemplate the entirety of that story and nor could he judge Alphonse for the actions he had taken. He too had relented and joined the Olympians because the idea that Alphonse had preached had been a good one. Great. Grand, even.
And he had done many wrongs. One right couldn't fix that, but it certainly did help. The conversation on the roof was a familiar one. It was one they had been through many times, silent words passing without ever being said. Concern evident, but no action taken. It was a reassuring kind of interaction, no words wasted, and a fair deal of words unsaid but understood.
It wasn't a relief but rather a disappointment when it came time to go to the mission briefing. The silent companionship they shared was a nice one. Sometimes, words held less weight than silence. So, instead of getting involved, especially since completely the most recent job he watched from his corner next to Alphonse. Al was speaking, elaborating the mission and if he were to be honest, he thought it was something the man could do. But it didn't seem that Al wanted to claim it. Perhaps something was coming up for his family.
He certainly knew he had to return home to his mother for the oncoming weeks. Her condition was deteriorating, his kind neighbor had told him that. It had broke his heart to hear that, but he had been occupied. After the Jackson case, he had more time available.
Well, if Alphonse wasn't taking it and Murase, Andras, and Maracs all wanted to try their hand, he wondered who would be going. For all he knew, it could be all three. But certainly not Emilian. Feeling Alphonse shift beside him, becoming slightly less relaxed and more alert, he stepped in before Al could reprimand the young man. "I suppose you didn't hear Altair, but this job is not for the newer members," he said softly, patient and kind with his words.
"Right," Quinn had continued from there, clasping his hands together. "Well, I'll just f*cking write you in here and we'll move onto the next mission details. If this job interests you, just say the word. Once we get this sh*t sorted out, we'll tell who got the job and we'll run you through all the prep again and hand you the files and it's yours from there on out."
That seemed to be that as Quinn pulled up the images to the next mission. It was details on a politician in the United States. A man by the name John Drumpf. According to the files, he was escorted by a large security detail at all times. He was running for presidency, and the employer wanted a public statement. An assassination before or during the candidacy speech. Quinn seemed to perk up at the job.
"Any takers?" He glanced around, surveying the others. "I'll join this one, it looks like there's going to be quite a lot of hoops to jump through and it'll be some fun." Quinn grinned, clearly excited at the notion of having a job. It'd been awhile since he had found interest in one, much less offer to take it. "It looks like something that could be accomplished quite quickly with a sniper." There was a not so subtle glance towards Gale. All Xingfu could do was sigh.
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Post by carmine. on Sept 4, 2017 10:53:08 GMT -5
HYPNOS Identity: Unknown - Location: Unknown - Status: Alive, Healthy “I stopped explaining myself when I realized people only understand from their level of perception.”
Oh, so you’re the rookie they were talking about so diligently, he heard the lithe man’s melodic voice as he took a heavy drag of his cigarette. He had a light layer of makeup applied to his slender features to emphasise his mischievous dark brown eyes. They seemed to gauge him with cautious curiosity, and Theodor thought for a moment that there was something forbiddingly inviting to his gaze, like it was enveloped in a veil of secrets. I suppose you pass as a cutie. What’s your name, sweetheart?
A year or so ago, those words had been the start of a peculiar life for Theodor. To be a little more specific, it’d turned his whole life upside down to the point of no return. He wasn’t sure if it’d been the best turning point in his life or the worst, but it’d all occurred nevertheless of his personal likes and dislikes, so Theo had done the one thing that he could’ve done: he went with the flow. It was still the same way he operated, really, nothing was different about the way how he followed his little motto or tried to, at least, according to his own decorum. Go with the flow. It didn’t mean stay passive and let the world sweep you up in its calloused hands before mercilessly tossing you around like a ping pong ball whenever it pleased, though. If that had been the case, he wouldn’t be standing here among these individuals willingly on his own with his two feet planted against the polished floor.
“Theodor. Theodor Winther.”
But, well, as strong-willed as he was, it was true that Theodor was a bit of an introverted and self-effacing hermit who avoided too much social contact when it was possible (after all, those heated parties in the frenzied years of high school and college? Man, they were scary. Too much artificial light and noise and err… there’d been many skirts that’d been overly short), though that wasn't to say he necessarily abhorred the idea of interaction. Actually, it was the opposite. It was as if he liked the idea of human contact but not the reality of social contact. Did that make any sense?
Well, it’s nice to meet you, Theo. The skittish man’s lips curved subtly. While he seemed meek and amiable enough to some degree, Theodor wasn’t fooled. There was a way this man held himself — some veiled intelligence behind his gaze that was sharper than a gilded armour, and he suddenly got the feeling that he wasn’t willing to cross the line that would reveal whatever remained masked behind his smile. My name’s Murase Shou. Just Shou is fine, though. Ah, yes, I know this may seem a little abrupt but I’ve got a small favour to ask of you, Theo. It was then the man — Shou — had deftly handed him a small folded sheet of paper, and Theodor had received it, slightly baffled at the sudden request, yet gently inquisitive all the same.
In the present, he was listening to what was being said as attentively as possible (well, as attentively as a sleep deprived artist could), lingering at the back of the other Olympians as if staying behind them somehow gave him some reassurance that there was a possibility that he was avoiding everyone’s perimeter of sight. If there was one super power Theodor could possess, he’d heavily debate between flying and turning invisible whenever he pleased. Too much attention made him uncomfortable for a good reason and crowded spaces never seemed compatible with him, especially when his current peers most frequently consisted of the Olympians.
Gods (no pun intended?), to some degree, when he’d first arrived, the idea of working and participating in meetings with the older and younger Olympians had been terrifying. Now, he simply remained standing in the back like a streak of unwanted lime green that’d been mistakenly painted across a canvas now hidden behind a layer of dark violet. He first rubbed his tired eyes before dragging his hand through his dark hair, observing the positions and subtle body gestures of the others’ before himself. It seemed that he wasn’t the only one who preferred to remain on their feet, especially at a time like this.
Newcomers can't do this job, then?
It sounded unlikely. From the holograms Quinn was displaying and the looks of Anaya Lai, the job could hold pernicious outcomes, and he didn’t think that any of the newcomers would be able to participate no matter how adamant they were about joining. So far, Shou, Andras, and Marcas had voiced their will to take the case, and his eyes danced over to regard Paige briefly who’d also spoken up. Count me out of this one. Sneaky isn't exactly my style. If he was being completely truthful with himself, she seemed to be the only Olympian who wouldn’t slaughter him the moment she saw him (and that was saying something because in all honesty all of them were terrifying).
Any takers? Quinn’s voice hauled him away from his minuscule reverie, and he stood a little straighter, letting his shoulders relax as he listened to the man’s following words. John Drumpf? Oh. Him. Fastidiously eyeing the images and every last portrayal of a subject they offered, Theodor lightly crossed his arms over his chest to let his hands settle somewhere instead of hanging down holding loose pockets of air.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Seoyun scrutinising the files with precision, though she remained quiet as did he, unprovoked by the two questions regarding the ownership of the two jobs. She hadn’t taken up the first job that’d been mentioned previously — was she maybe considering taking this one instead? He couldn’t be so sure. It wasn’t an easy task reading past the minds of these individuals, and if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he didn't want to understand how certain parts of their gears turned and how some of their clock hands ticked.
In any case, he was half-expecting the woman to speak up, though she remained thoughtfully still with her gaze still trained on the static images. From what he’d observed the time he’d spent around her, she seemed to be an individual who wasn’t very picky about the jobs she received or accepted, though she was gravely serious about carrying them out through and through with exact precision and producing definite results.
He wasn't certain whether or not if he wanted to join this case or leave it, though he supposed that with the amount of Olympians who seemed interested, he was more silently inclined to stay out of the two jobs this time around. Theodor wasn't exactly an individual who was driven by the idea of money or fame, and he was well aware that from a young age, money had never been all that much of a motive for his ambition. It wasn't because he didn't enjoy grabbing a cup of coffee from a cafe or buying books or art supplies - actually, he desperately needed every scrape to obtain necessary tools for painting and drawing, and none of them were cheap - but the numbers printed down on paper had never truly seemed to peak his interest, and no matter how much he'd tried to, currency just never seemed to catch his vision. Not taking on a job wasn't a large blow, either, and he could always wait for the next one to arise out of the dust when someone as insane as Drumpf unluckily stumbled in their gaping jaws.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 4, 2017 12:36:19 GMT -5
apollo identity: unknown - location: unknown - status: alive, mild eye glitch "serene: (adj.) calm, peaceful, and untroubled; tranquil."
Some years ago, Gale wouldn't have been able to relax into Quinn like this. Wouldn't have leaned casually against his boyfriend as he listened to the murmur of conversation around him, wouldn't have been able to stay still due to sheer paranoia. Of course, that was back then and this was now, and he was okay! He was doing just fine. Some days were worse than others, but he was working on it and that was what mattered.
He was an observer. A passive watcher, someone who didn't input much into meetings unless his expertise was asked for - and even then, it was likely that Altair could lend a hand. If it was a sniper's point of view they needed, then their Zeus could handle it. On the other hand, if it was memory-based information, he was the man to go to. With eidetic memory, he held perfect recall. There was only one instance he couldn't remember, and frankly, that was possibly the scariest thing. He was used to remembering everything - even minor details - and so not remembering felt awful. But he moved past it, lived on, and tried his best to ignore that missing piece. Perhaps one day it would stop bothering him, but until then? He would just try not to dwell on it. That was all that he could do, and he was doing his best.
Gale's fingers idly trailed over the side of Quinn's leg as he listened to the conversation around him, smile flattening minutely as a rookie asked to go on the more important mission despite Altair saying beforehand that the newcomers weren't allowed. He decided not to dwell on it, and flicked his gaze to Xingfu when the peaceful man spoke up. He didn't miss that Alphonse seemed to have shifted slightly, but he didn't mention anything, just looked away and focused on the holographic images. They would be embedded into his mind, now - ready to pull up for later.
Blinking rapidly a few times, he moved his hand from his lover to instead tap at the side of his cybernetic eye, half-closing it. The flickering wasn't unusual - it was a thing that was bound to happen. He didn't appreciate the sudden half-blindness, but he decided to remain silent as he tried to fix it. It was a pain; sometimes, he needed to visit his doctor and fork out a huge bill over something that was a minor tweak with the connections. Sometimes, it was just because there was too much tech around. It was sensitive, he'd learned.
Despite his current technical issues, however, he watched the new images flick up and suppressed a smile. John Drumpf. God knew that he was an idiot. He was more surprised that it had taken this long to get a hit - the man was in his seventies and bound to die soon, but he supposed that the client wanted him dead sooner. That was fair. Gale wasn't too surprised that he wouldn't mind killing the man, but debated the mission over in his head. It was an opportunity for a fairly easy mission, good for settling back into the flow of the Olympians after the few weeks away. He wasn't rusty - he always managed to get target practice in - but he did need to ease back into jobs. This seemed fair and easy, and frankly, he didn't see many issues. It was a matter of finding Drumpf in the right place at the right time, maybe luring him into that place, and then putting the bullet through his skull. Maybe when he's doing a speech, he thought idly, that could give the world a shock.
Was publicity an issue? Honestly, it would be easy to take him out quietly and have it look like an accident - but if the client didn't mind a little bang, then one of Drumpf's speeches would be the perfect opportunity. When Quinn mentioned joining in the mission and then talked about a sniper, he flicked his gaze up - one hand still idly resting against the side of his face with two fingers pressed firmly near the side of his eye - and raised a single eyebrow.
"Yeah," he said lightly, "I can do this. No big deal. I'm in."
From across the room, he felt Altair's firm stare on him. Knew that something was coming but didn't quite know what, so he finally shifted his gaze from the man next to him to the man across him, switching from boyfriend to weird-uncle-protector-mentor-thing.
"See a doctor," the Arabic was swift and rough, too quick for non-natives to process. As usual. Gale tapped the side of his eye pointedly, was mildly amused when it actually flickered back on. The only telltale sign that it had flickered out was probably the fact he was acting up. He couldn't help it. It was hard not to see when he relied so much on his vision.
"I'm fine," he replied easily, leaning back in his seat. "See? Fixed. Don't need to see a doctor. You know how it is. Sometimes technology glitches and, y'know, sh*t happens. No big deal."
"Your tech is years out of date by now, little one. You will eventually have to update it, and because of the wiring, you're going to need to see a doctor." the tone was bland, but not quite pushy. It was more of a suggestion with odd phrasing, perhaps - alternatively, it was Altair's way of asking him to do something without saying that word.
"We'll see," Gale couldn't help but frown slightly. "One day."
The fight (though it was not a fight) was done and laid to rest, and Altair fell silent again. With a sniper-unfriendly mission and the Drumpf mission's sniper spot taken by Gale, it seemed that the older man wasn't too pleased with the job options. It was more than a little amusing. However, Gale enjoyed working with Quinn; they were good together in a professional sense, too. It was one of those things. He leaned back against his lover and watched the images again, frowned thoughtfully as he considered the mission he was taking on. Fun and a way to kill someone who was causing far too much trouble. A win-win. There would certainly be conflict and blame-games thrown around in the media after the assassination, but what was done was done and it couldn't be taken back. Maybe a speech murder was going to be the best game plan. He wasn't too sure - he had faith in Quinn figuring it out.
"I'll keep my phone on for emergencies only," he shifted his weight a little. "I can come back quickly if you need me," considering he was the medic, he supposed this was probably something he said often when he was going on a sniping mission. "No big deal."
Altair opened his mouth as if to say something - but quietened rather quickly after a glance to Quinn. Gale smiled serenely and leaned back into his seat again, tucking one leg underneath himself in a comfortable manner.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 5, 2017 12:03:33 GMT -5
◤ Hestia ◢ identity: unknown - location: unknown - status: alive, healthy
"they call you saint, the basket case"
She wasn't quite sure how she got into this business. When she was younger, Paige had wanted to be an astronaut. When she found out about the height requirements, she shifted her sights on something more realistic, like an apple farmer or a milliner. Before she was eight, she went through about twelve different ideal occupations, but professional arsonist was never one of them.
When she woke up that morning, she pondered exactly how her life had shaped up to be this way. It wasn't a remorseful train of thought per say, more curious about how funny life could be. She'd always had a fascination with fire, something that may have originated in her old family home with the huge open fire. She loved the heat, the smell, the crackle and snap, and most of all, the colours. When she was eleven, she stole her father's lighter and used to play with it in her room, flicking the wheel and watching the sparks fly again and again until it ran out. She bought boxes of matches with her allowance and used to linger on the way home after school, burning each and every one of them out, leaving a little trail of black charcoal behind her. As Paige left the confines of being a preteen her hobby grew from just that to a no-longer-harmless obsession. In school she was taught that fire was just pure energy, something which required destruction for it's own creation, and she was hooked. Most of her burns on her hands today originated in her first trails at bigger fires, when matches and lighters no longer quenched her urge. She had to see her school counselor a few times when she'd been caught smoking in the toilets, which was embarrassing. She wasn't even smoking the cigarette, just lighting it to smell the smoke and watch the embers die down. Her parents were baffled, they were told frequently that their eldest daughter was 'a lovely girl' and 'a pleasure to teach' but was 'distant in class' and 'doesn't seem to have her own friendship group'. Children and teens are better at picking up slight differences in their peers than adults, and also more likely to act on those instincts, so, despite the sunny smile and the full laugh, Paige was regarded as a student to be avoided by her fellow students.
A close family friend betrayed their trust and a 16 year old Paige found the solace that she needed in watching flames dance instead of thinking about what happened. She was still as distant as the sun, even moreso, but she didn't burn as warmly anymore.
When she left school, she worked as a shop assistant in a number of places. She was amicable in interviews and did well for a while, but couldn't hold down a job. She didn't trust the men around her or the male customers, and often quit just days after securing a placement, or was asked to leave after 'making a scene'. She tried to play to her strengths and and find a job in something she was good at, but what she was really good at was burning things. She didn't want to be a criminal, that's not how her parents raised her and it wasn't right, but she also didn't want to starve to death and live in fear her whole life. Burning things made her feel a lot stronger, more in control. She didn't feel so scared when she could sit back and watch something turn into ash in her hands. Pure energy, pure power. Her first jobs started off small, tiny hits she was paid peanuts for. It felt good though. The jobs got bigger and she made a name for herself in her city, she got better at making fires look accidental as opposed to premeditated. Learnt how to dismantle alarms and sprinklers, where to pour gasoline and what to leave behind to stop the firemen from asking too many questions. She also bought a gun. The gun was the final nail in the coffin. No one in the Blackavar-Knox family own a gun, but Paige got herself one without even thinking too hard about it and started to learn how to use it. There were a lot of men on the scene she was working on now, a very different breed of man seen dressing shop window mannequins, but if she ever felt scared, or like the walls were closing in, she found the tranquility her mind needed in the knowledge she could burn the whole building they were in down and kill everyone with it.
Joining the Olympians had been a game changer, but she had a sneaky feeling that she wasn't alone in that. It was a jolt to go from working alone and being hired at random to being an active member of a working gang, for lack of a better word. It was Marcas who'd been the connection; they'd met years ago in London and ended up doing a few jobs together, and then again when they were hired by the same woman in Vancouver. She liked him, liked his quiet way of moving through the world and the way he managed to balance keeping to himself and being an ever present figure. If there hadn't been someone she knew here, she probably wouldn't have taken the job. As close as she'd grown to the founders, first meeting them had been just like meeting every other man in this industry. Sharp eyes and calculating minds. She didn't trust that, and she didn't trust them. Powerful men always had agendas. She was glad she stayed now, of course. Paige probably would've ended up in jail, or still doing the little solo hits to scrape her rent. This was good, it was the group she'd never had and it brought out the affectionate and clement young girl who'd vanished a long time ago. Paige had assumed that she'd died, it was good to see her again.
When she shuffled out of bed that morning and took her place in the meeting, she took the time to glance around each face one at a time, and was happy to find she trusted each one (Even if she did frown at the excessive amount of swearing. Call her old fashioned but it was just so ugly). Trust was dangerous and volatile, but she'd missed it's presence badly. She adjusted her glasses on her nose again, they'd been knocked wonky in the last job she'd taken and the bridge didn't quite sit right anymore. She took them off and tried bending them back to their original shape but stopped, scared to break them in half altogether. Maybe Marcas could do something with them later. When the second job came up, that horrible politician, she wrinkled her nose at the holograms, Good. Not every day this job coughs up something valuable. This wasn't the job for her either, so she kept her mouth shut as Gale spoke up and offered his services. "Is that all?" She asked, stretching her arms up above her head, still shaking off the end of her sleep, "A warlord and a possible president? That's a positively quiet week."
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Post by L’Éᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ on Sept 8, 2017 4:21:59 GMT -5
Thanathos Identity: Unknown - Location: Unknown - Status: Alive, Healthy "Look, we all get what we deserve. And if I'm already hell bound what's a bit more blood?"
There was nobody he hated more in the world than Alphonse Fournier. He was starting to learn that with each and every coming week. When the man had offered him a position on the Olympians, it had come as a surprise and he hadn't been sure what to make of it. He wasn't as professional as he would consider a lot in the trade, but he was a budding star that was getting his own publicity as 'Death's hand'. He was an exclusively USA trade at the time however when he had been reached by the man in question who had ended up becoming his mentor.
He knew he wasn't perfect, but the man was harsh in his training. Though his mannerisms and his words were gentle and even kind, the man was merciless when it came to training. He was strict on teaching him how to strike, where to strike, and when to strike. It was as if Malik hadn't done the thing hundreds of times on his own accordance when he was self taught! When he had gotten into the business as an accident and then as a job in general.
It was a frustrating experience too when Al brought in Xingfu who spoke about some sort of f*cking magical stance. It was just frustrating and he didn't like Alphonse trying to dictate how he lived his life. Generally he was in control of sh*t, but ever since the Olympians, that hadn't been the case. It was worse because he wasn't entirely sure if he liked the man too. He knew he hated Al, but for some strange reason, the man was growing on him.
There was just something decisively paternal about the man that it made it hard to not like him. The man was like a father in many instances. Hell, he even made breakfast here and there and it was weird, but there was a certain amount of concern the man gave him that felt strange for colleagues.
Then he'd learn from Quinn, one of the more talkative of the Olympians, that the man had a family of his own and that he had - and here, Malik quoted - "a habit of dading people". It left him feeling restless if he was to be honest. He wasn't quite sure what to do if the man treated him like a son because he felt indebted somewhat for all the training and knowledge he was receiving.
Though he wasn't half as cunning or as thoughtful as the man, Alphonse taught him tips and tricks and techniques he would've never imagined even in his wildest dreams. He thought he had been silent and quick on his feet before. The man proved him wrong. Showed him, despite everything, there was much to learn. There was always something to learn according to the man. Nobody knew everything, it simply wasn't possible.
It sucked because each time he wanted to argue, he bit it back because no matter what he said, what Alphonse said sounded more right and better and smarter and it was grating on his nerves to the point where he found himself fuming for the meeting to start hours before anyone else had arrived. Scrolling through his social media in boredom and annoyance, he saw Al and Xingfu settle down from the corner of his eyes and he couldn't help but feel annoyed.
There was supposed to be some sort of job for the newer recruits, or so Al had told him while they had been practice sparring. Or, well, when he was getting his as- kicked. Whenever that was was going to never be answered. Probably a f*cking eternity away, but whatever, he was trying to be polite and likable. He was being given a big opportunity and he had to prove that he was worth it.
He couldn't help but feel that Alphonse was trying to smooth out the bite he had in him, to make him more 'tame' and desirable for the others, but he didn't think so. Absolutely not. He was an assassin, not some trainable pet dog. But at the same time, the man had a fair share of wisdom to teach him and his conflicted emotions confused him and upsetted him at the same time.
Listening to the jobs in boredom, he had to admit he was interested in the case with Anaya, but since Altair said it wasn't for the newer members he kept his mouth shut and hunkered down to listen to the jobs knowing full well he and the other younger members would have awhile before they were trusted with the good and interesting jobs.
"That happens to be it, yeah," Quinn answered, shrugging slightly, "Better luck next time, yeah? Can't have jobs every week, now can we? That'd bring too much publicity, even for us."
Sighing in annoyance, he ignored the chatter between Gale and Altair, not certain what they were saying. Instead, his eyes rested on Alphonse. How was it that he commanded so much respect for such a soft spoken man? He didn't even take up much space despite his stature and his gait was silent like a cat, easily forgotten. It didn't make much sense. He saw the older man flick his gaze to Gale, something like concern or whatever in his eyes before vanishing entirely before he could really distinguish it.
"So when will we get a job?" He asked, keeping his tone mild as to not sound pushy. Alphonse seemed amused at the words and he felt bristled slightly, knowing he had been asking multiple times for quite awhile.
"In due time," Alphonse had said, words easy backed by a small smile. "That said, for the jobs, I think it would be best to send Marcas and Andras for the Anaya case and Gale, Quinn, and," there was pointed pause here for a reason he had yet to discover, "Shou on the Drumpf case. Any objections?"
"Nope," Quinn vocalized followed by the shaking of Xingfu's head. Sighing heavily, Malik settled back into the chair hoping that that marked an end to the conversation and he would be free to go back to scrolling through his social media. Damn, he was bored. It had been two or three months since his last job, and he had thought being with the Olympians meant being able to be more bold about jobs he took because they were international and not just set in one place, but that hadn't seemed to be the case.
Maybe Al was testing him. That could be it, but his patience was waning and he wanted desperately to prove himself more than anything and he just wasn't getting that.
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Post by carmine. on Sept 8, 2017 10:49:49 GMT -5
HERMES Identity: Unknown - Location: Unknown - Status: Alive, Healthy. Tired. "I hope you do not dare forget all the love you know was real."
She’d been one of the most sought out thieves back in the day, having connections that reached the entirety of the span of Seoul. No wonder they’d dedicated a good amount of their force to find her. Her mind a weapons inventory, her hands wired with secret machines meant to steal and pickpocket and manipulate, her eyes cameras covering the covert corners of the bustling city. She’d strictly stayed unaffiliated, though, not quite the one to invest in circumstances that would tangle together in a complex knot, though she’d helped out a multitude of organizations as long as she’d gotten paid. It was almost laughable how she’d earned more money as a criminal than the time she’d spent her time as a psychiatrist.
And yet, she was going to die tomorrow all because of two mistakes. At least, that was what they’d told her whenever they’d visited her, coming and going as they’d pleased. Two days later after her initial capture, she’d begun to understand that they were either brilliant parrots or terrible liars because she’d always unfortunately been alive to see their mulish expressions the next afternoon. Someday, I’m going to pry that gun from your hands and put a bullet between your eyes for bounding me here, she’d thought as they’d loomed over her all with the charisma of a badly burnt cookie. But all she’d said (in her own native tongue) when the heavy door had leisurely pushed itself open to reveal their mussed black hair and willowy forms was, “so what business this time, loves?”
Enough time had passed and it was during this time her memories became disjointed. Chemicals had pulsed through her veins like artificial adrenaline, causing her world to tip to the side while luring her to a deep, deep lull. Eventually the jarringly hushed whispers in her head had trailed off into nothingness, leaving her staring into the dark room with its very dim shafts of light. It’d all been dreadful to sit through, armless and pessimistic and direly fatigued, but the incident had been the start of a game changer unbeknownst to her past self, one that she hadn’t known could’ve ever existed. Back then, she’d managed to slip like the naive fool she’d been. It was a miracle she’d been able to catch herself before it’d been too late, but here, there was no second chance. ‘Here’ meaning the Olympians - the organization she’d been recruited in.
The moment she'd turned ten and had left the familial hands of her old home in Barcelona to move back to her home, three adjectives had forcefully anchored her to a steeled system and wrenched her out of shape, as if her joints were being physically slowly torn apart: superlative, impeccable, and peerless. Her impelled services required a perfectly beneficial value, all supposedly for the general welfare of the individual, family, and society. Become a part of the unparalleled system and become a faultless anchor that fastens all the loose knots. It’d been words that had been repeatedly said over and over in every underlying context and shared conversation that she'd once thought they would become tangible in her own hands. You have all the necessary resources in front of you: the leash, the wealth, and the intelligence. Do not hesitate at the dispense of others. Do not look back. Do not question it. You are a property of the system, and useless property is always replaced.
You can always be replaced.
The uptight system had expected too much out of her than she could offer, and she understood that it had been the same for those around herself, as well. In fact, some had given up, broken underneath the soon-exacerbated pressure. It was apparent in the way they carried themselves, dragging their feet across the asphalt floor with a hollow look in their tired eyes.
Funny how two mistakes could flip your whole life around and drive someone who’d followed all the rules and kept up with its ridiculous expectations down to a forgotten pit where the other outliers lay. If she’d known she would’ve ended up in the spot she had just before she’d been given the name Hermes, she wouldn’t have tried so hard. There was no point in fighting a lost battle, no matter how noble it could appear to be. At least, that was her sole take on the idea, though it was a lie if she denied the fact that she’d once been one of those individuals who’d thought that there was something to be gained from struggling in a lost fight. Somewhere, deep down inside, she thought that maybe - just maybe - she still believed the latter notion, even if she thought she didn’t. Thinking back on the past and the surprisingly optimistic idealist she'd once been made her (in the present) lean her chin against her palm as she watched the meeting room slowly crowd with the rest of the Olympians, both younger and older.
Of course, she silently mused, rules, risks, and expectations still came with this job, but the degree of freedom that was provided to them made it all the worth for her (plus, there was no need for her to publish seventy three documents in a certain amount of time or read through seventy three pages a day to prepare for a meeting). It’d been unthinkable for her in the past to have been able to form and express beliefs that’d went against the norm, act on those beliefs, and, last but not least, deciding exactly when, where, and why she pulled a damn trigger in the face of a criminal far worse than herself (then again she supposed one could argue that no criminal is better than the other). It seemed that spending so many years being perfectly ironed over by society had had the opposite affect on her and had turned her into the monster it’d been trying to prevent from emerging for years. A perfect, precise, and punctilious monster with a silver tongue and a finely tuned gun in its hand.
Her parents had not raised her like this, and they’d sacrificed so much in hopes that one day, even if they lacked financial value compared to most of the families that had encircled her, she’d follow their footsteps and become a good woman. It didn’t mean she had to be perfect - it meant that she was conscious of her own actions and took a step back to respect others all the while settling down with a quiet life of her own. Learn from her own mistakes, aid those in need of her help, appreciate life and the little things that it offered, notice the small joys that came with the pass of time. They’d been the greatest gift and love of in her life underneath the eye of the sh*tty system. Sometimes, thinking back on them made her hesitate, momentarily keeping her from wrapping her dexterous hands around a beautiful blade and touching the blunt curve of a knife. But she was waist-deep in a river of tar, and there was no going back; all she could do now was push onward without looking back, because as much as there were days when she thought she was ready to retire, they were jobs someone had to do, and necessitating someone else into the predicament that came with the mechanic uniformness resembling that of an oddly reformed prison was not an answer she was willing to conduct.
Hearing Paige speak, she couldn’t help but agree; it was a relatively quiet week, but quiet was good. Most of the time, anyway. “None here, either," she said with a glance over at Shou whose expression had become significantly more difficult to read than it already was on a normal basis, though he seemed to be locked in a curious train of thought more than anything. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw Theo shoot her a look of curiosity, but when she glanced over at him, he looked as he always did, shy and withdrawn with a rather dreamy look in his eyes.
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Bisexual
Lea
Follow me to Sawgrassclan
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Post by Lea on Sept 9, 2017 14:26:11 GMT -5
Dyonisus identity: unknown - location: unknown - status: alive, healthy. “Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.”
What do you think you are doing? She pulled the phone away from her ear at the sound of the shrill voice of her mother. Your father is dying and you can't get over yourself for five minutes to come say goodbye. Quit being a sorry piece of - the phone beeped as she clicked the end call button. Crocodile tears were streaming down her cheeks as she threw her phone against the wall. A loud thud echoed and she thought she heard someone shout to ask if she were okay but she ignored it, falling back into her bed. She rolled over, reaching for a glass on her bedside table half full with a strong smelling liquid. Bringing it to her lips, she swallowed nearly the entire drink full in one gulp. Snap out of it. The scene vanished, a woman - the same woman - stood leaning into a mirror adjusting the smeared lipstick on her lips and wiping at the corners of her eyes. "He's gone, quit dwelling Isobel," She thought aloud, speaking to her reflection in the mirror. For a moment it appeared as though her reflection was it's own being, rolling it's eyes at her, but she blinked quickly and it was gone
Annoyingly, although it had been a few years since this memory had been a moment in time it was still very prominent in her memory. She knew that she had openly grieved for about a year afterward and her colleagues were there to console her, but then she had plastered on a smile. She found it funny that the fake okay-ness in which she portrayed herself was the same she had used after serving. Funny how two completely different things could cause the same reaction from her.
It wasn't like she had a horrible childhood, she was a very lucky young woman. For many years, she was very close with both parents. She remembered pieces of elementary school when her mother pulled her out of school and they went on shopping trips and ice cream runs. They never told dad though because he was a stickler on money, but then again when she was little he was hardly ever around. When she was a pre-teen though, her parents went through a brutal divorce and her mother gave all custody to her father - which really p*ssed Isobel off and was the start of their estrangement. From there, her father and her traveled every few years. Her favorite place to be stationed was Florida, she couldn't remember which base off hand, where she decided that she'd begin learning Vietnamese as she spent a lot of time in a restaurant owned by a friend of her fathers and she wanted to be able to converse with the kitchen staff and baby sit their children.
When she was eighteen, she enlisted in the U.S. Navy - she wanted to be like dad, ya'know. She completed training and for ten years she moved from station to station. First there was Southern Africa, where she spent about three years before they needed her involvement in Afghanistan where she saw most of what causes her attacks. She went on a few tours before she spent the last few years of her service stationed in Florida, where she began working on her degree. Several years after retiring from the Navy, she finished her PhD and quickly jumped into culinary. Somewhere during earning her degrees she began taking on jobs because waitressing wasn't paying the bills and she didn't want to work in a military job. By jobs I mean paid murders. She still remembered meeting Altair, Xingfu, and Alphonse and the rest of them. While she wasn't the first recruited, she definitely wasn't the last and she really was grateful to have met them. They weren't all super close, but they helped her get help when she had a PTSD attack during a mission and almost cost them everything. She was much better now - most of the time - and she liked to think of herself as on of the best Olympians on the team.
Currently, she had just awoken. She still smelled like wine and she was disappointed in herself for having spilled some on her rug, again. She'd have to clean that up soon, but it wasn't like the stain was going anywhere. Maybe she would move her bed over to hide it. She had fallen asleep in her pant suit - again, and so she didn't think to change. All she had to do was fix up her smudged make-up and hurry down stairs to the meeting, she could shower later. Once she deemed herself fixed up enough she slid on some sensible shoes and slipped out of her room, the door clicking shut behind her as she went down the hall. As she passed Andras and they had their little exchange, she was internally groaning. She didn't like him very much, he was rude and full of himself.
She was grateful to escape him. She rushed down the stairs, but slowed as she neared the bottom. She stepped into the living room with quiet little clicks. She smiled at the gathered group and sat in a cushioned seat. She leaned back, one leg crossed over the other and listened intently as the others spoke. When Andras joined the room and then promptly left and returned with a drink, she rolled her eyes. Rude.
Listening as they spoke about the new missions, she thought about the Liam Jackson one. Although she hadn't been a part of it, she still had some issues with it. She had made it known that she wanted his children to be left with at least something that let them know their father loved him. She never found out if they ever did. She wasn't sure if she really wanted to know. A handful of the Olympian's wanted in on the missions, but an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach - probably last nights consumption of wine - warned her to not add her input. That's alright, I really don't feel up to it anyway. As each person was chosen for jobs, she nodded in agreement, they were probably best for these jobs anyway.
[ I'm where we've evacuated to but we'll still be hit by Irma (just with the less destructive parts of it) so I may lose power sometime Sunday I don't know when I'll be back on but yeah. just a heads up! ]
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Post by Deleted on Sept 26, 2017 17:08:53 GMT -5
║ Hephaestus║ identity: unknown - location: unknown - status: alive, sleep deprived
"If I loose a sequin here and there, more salt than pepper in my hair"
Alphonse said his bit, sealing Stoker into the job officially. He couldn't moan about the job, of course. He'd asked for it, in fact, he'd asked for the whole career , so he made a habit of never running his mouth about it. At first, working with other people had been a grind in itself. Used to being something of a lone wolf, it wasn't quite Stoker's style to share and collaborate. Over the years, he'd gone from grinding his teeth at the prospect of group jobs, to dutifully accepting them, and even then quietly embracing them, warming to the company as he grew to know his peers. He shocked himself by even bonding a little with some of them. But Andras? The only thing these two men shared was a similar ending to their first names. Just Stoker's luck to be partnered up with the token heterosexual.
Of course, as before mentioned, he didn't complain. Wasn't his style. Even in jest, the mechanic found whining grating and rather telling about the personality and general demeanour of said whiner. He flicked his dark eyes up to to the group to signify he heard the message and then back to the hair dryer, which was more like a collection of vastly separate parts now, lying on his lap like dismembered bones at the bottom of the ocean, "I'll get ready to leave." Stoker, surprisingly, needed a lot of time to pack but, unsurprisingly, it was mainly weapons. Boy likes his toys. The time needed to get ready would also have to include a plan of action to be made. This job wasn't exactly 'light'. It was going to take some serious strategy. Stoker, if he were a betting man, would've placed good money on it coming down to brute force in the end, regardless of all the intricate planning. The only way to take down a powerhouse like their target was to be an even bigger one. So the key of this operation would likely revolve around finding the right moment, rather than the right method.
Gently, almost demurely, he set the shell of the hair dryer to the side on a table, leaving the engine his full attention. It was a basic enough little machine, and frankly, not in the best condition, but he liked how small it was. Stoker's world was full of big things; Long legs, heavy guns, lengthy jobs, and messy clean ups. Little things, anything from foreign postal stamps to this tiny engine in his calloused hand, was a fascinating breath of fresh air. An excellent distraction. The screws on the casing, the blades of the fan, the plastic covering on the wires - they all fit so neatly into one palm, like they'd been made for a very small race of people who were trying to build their first plane.
Speaking of very small people, when Paige spoke he turned to her, raising one eyebrow, to which she sleepily smiled in return, before rolling out of her seat and brushing out her shirt. Clearly her stomach was calling to to other, more pressing, matters now that the meeting was over and the jobs had been assigned, "Good luck fellas." She waved the fingers of her hand a little, "Don't die out there." Easier said than done, especially on a beast of a job like this one. His back ached from being held in such deep arch for so long and he shifted on his stool, straining the muscles in his back until he felt a satisfying crack. Now that he had a job, a goal, he didn't feel so tired. Funny how quickly these things came into effect in one's mind. He still had a ring or two under his eyes, and gave a large mouthed yawn, but there was a newfound briskness in his eyes, a sharp and concentrated light. It was morbid, if it was thought about for too long, how a job that revolved around killing someone could now put a spring of life back into him, so he tried not too. It's not like they were going out to bump off St. Francis of Assisi.
Eyes still fixated on his hands, the flesh one holding the plastic case and the metal one unscrewing bolts with a delicate speed, he stood from his stool, towering up above on rangy legs. All in all, he'd actually spoken more in this meeting then he normally did (Stoker couldn't even remember the last one) and he needed a drink. Just water, it was a bit early for anything stronger, but his throat was sandpaper. Also, as was common, talking around a large group of people could leave him feeling exposed, and his oral fixation sky rocketed. He had already begun to lick his lips. They weren't a 'large' group of people, but he didn't know half of them (meeting and greeting 'newbies' was not high on his priority list, and if it ever was, he usually miraculously found something else to do anyway.) The sleep deprivation didn't help either, it just made him more uneasy. So he turned without looking up and left the way he came, watching the back of the case fall away from behind the glass of his spectacles.
It'd been a while since he'd done a really big job. After he lost his limbs, things were, well, bad, to put it simply. The badness waxed and waned over time, sometimes leaving him at one extreme or another, but mainly settling him somewhere in a horrible middle. He wasn't alone, of course. There was no group of people in the world more capable of understanding, but there were also few people in the world that were less willing to talk about difficult things than Stoker. So the haul had been a long one. It wasn't quite over, but things were a damn damn shot better than it had been.
This was still a big job, bigger than he'd had in a while. He was used to doing jobs now with his prosthetics, so used to them that as he switched a light, crossed a room, left the poor dead hair dryer on a table, and got a drink of ice cold water from a fridge he had once mercilessly, but lovingly, dismantled, he wouldn't even have noticed the metal appendages if he hadn't got a glimpse of them in various reflective surfaces. Contrastingly to the smarter dressed individuals, Stoker was in a white sleeveless vest, bare foot, and was wearing loose tracksuit bottoms that sat low on his hips, not even reaching his ankles. The clean scratched metal bounced the light and he drank a whole glass of water in one go, instantly pouring a second.
As he did drank, taking his mind off the troublesome past, he considered the near future. Andras, huh? Hadn't done many jobs with him. Something to tick off the bucket list.
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