08-19-2013, 06:15 AM
It was barely eight o'clock but Nicholas was ready to pass out. Dignified begging can do that to a man, and the amount of wine needed for two hours' worth of sipping and talking didn't help matters. So he sat in his favorite chair, and lazily keyed into his message feed before heading off to bed. Of course, something had to ruin his rest. That something was one of his bodyguards, Frank or Fred or something.
Frank or Fred or something half-hurried into the room--it was odd watching a hulking, retired marine scurry--and destroyed any hope Nicholas had for a peaceful, relaxing evening.
Once he was close enough to avoid shouting, he quickly told his boss why he was bothering him. "Mr. Trano, sorry to bother you but a couple spooks just showed up."
Nicholas looked up at him. "Spooks?"
"CIA. Two of 'em. They're in the waiting room." He had a thick Boston accent. Didn't think those accents even existed anymore.
CIA. Fuck.
At least he wasn't drinking alone anymore. A few more weeks on that road and he'd end up like daddy. Not a pleasant thought. But the drinking and the thinking hadn't been in vain. He could almost feel the--<em>magic?</em>
--at will. But he couldn't use it. Maybe I should see that shrink.
No time for that stupidity now.
He'd just got back from another fundraiser. Disasters were a lot of work, and for the face of the civilian relief effort even more so. At least he was still dressed for the part. Better than hosting a pair of government agents in his boxers.
"Tell Alejandra to bring them whatever they want to drink..."
He paused. "And have her open a bottle of whisky as well. Tell the agents I'll be there shortly."
He nodded. "Alright, Mr. Trano. Anything else?"
"That's it. Thanks."
And with that, the bodyguard was gone.
He sighed, stood up and stretched. It was going to be a long night. Might as well get to it. What the hell does the CIA want with me? I haven't even announced my candidacy yet.
Edited by Nick Trano, Aug 22 2013, 09:30 PM.
Frank or Fred or something half-hurried into the room--it was odd watching a hulking, retired marine scurry--and destroyed any hope Nicholas had for a peaceful, relaxing evening.
Once he was close enough to avoid shouting, he quickly told his boss why he was bothering him. "Mr. Trano, sorry to bother you but a couple spooks just showed up."
Nicholas looked up at him. "Spooks?"
"CIA. Two of 'em. They're in the waiting room." He had a thick Boston accent. Didn't think those accents even existed anymore.
CIA. Fuck.
At least he wasn't drinking alone anymore. A few more weeks on that road and he'd end up like daddy. Not a pleasant thought. But the drinking and the thinking hadn't been in vain. He could almost feel the--<em>magic?</em>
--at will. But he couldn't use it. Maybe I should see that shrink.
No time for that stupidity now.
He'd just got back from another fundraiser. Disasters were a lot of work, and for the face of the civilian relief effort even more so. At least he was still dressed for the part. Better than hosting a pair of government agents in his boxers.
"Tell Alejandra to bring them whatever they want to drink..."
He paused. "And have her open a bottle of whisky as well. Tell the agents I'll be there shortly."
He nodded. "Alright, Mr. Trano. Anything else?"
"That's it. Thanks."
And with that, the bodyguard was gone.
He sighed, stood up and stretched. It was going to be a long night. Might as well get to it. What the hell does the CIA want with me? I haven't even announced my candidacy yet.
Edited by Nick Trano, Aug 22 2013, 09:30 PM.