10-10-2013, 07:02 PM
"Thanks."
She'd emptied most of the flask, but when Nicholas shook it he could tell there was at least something left in it. Of course, the words that accompanied the flask were both ominous and cryptic. Either he was about to be bored out of his mind, or he was about to be faced with some really bad news.
Out the window, he could see the neighborhood wasn't poor, but it wasn't wealthy either. Cookie cutter houses were packed in almost as tightly as the cars, and the people wandering about looked shady at best. At least it was the last place Nikolai Brandon would expect him to hide. Bastard.
Trano couldn't exactly call Abrams a friend, but anyone who murdered--or ordered the murder of--an American deserved a violent death. That wasn't exactly a fair way of looking at things, but putting Americans first had always been his manner of thinking, and his duty. A healthy hatred of Nikolai Brandon helped, of course.
When they finally parked, the driver got out and beckoned them to follow. The guy didn't talk much, but it was plainly obvious--as if it hadn't been before--that he was one of the CIA agents working in the background. He led them inside one of the buildings--a small three-floored apartment building--and up a few flights of stairs. The place smelled like shit.
Finally they reached a door, and the driver stayed behind after ushering Trano and Reed inside. The room smelled a little bit better than the rest of the building, but not by much. The scent of rotting food and human habitation wasn't exactly pleasant. Still, he could tell that Reed had been there before. It was with confident familiarity that she tossed her coat on the couch and dumped the rest of her belongings on the table.
Then Trano heard a flush from the bathroom, and they both turned towards the door. A tall, dark-skinned and awkward looking man stood in the doorway. "What the hell--" Clearly he wasn't expecting guests. Maybe he'd have cleaned up a little better if he were.
Once he recognized Trano--which was to say, almost instantly--he rounded on Reed. "Shit, Sam! What the hell happened?"
Trano answered for her. "Abrams is dead,"
he glanced at Reed. "Assuming that's his actual name. Custody agents probably want to kill the rest of us too."
He took a moment to open the flask up. He took a whiff, and was pretty surprised. Whatever was in it was damn strong--smelled like the stuff one of his friends' grandmothers used to distill before he left for the Navy. His respect-o-meter for "Sam" was rising.
Of course, he still didn't like her that much, and she was more than happy to show him why. "Trano managed to escape a secure room right after some kind of terror attack." She put her hands back on her hips as she turned to examine Nicholas. Alright, not too bad. Didn't even insult me yet.
"When he got to the car--and he still hasn't explained how the hell he managed that--he kept babbling about exploding lights and Ascendancy staring at him." Trano sighed. She was on such a roll, too.
Incidentally, it was the longest consecutive speech Trano had ever heard out of Reed. He wasn't about to interrupt--she needed to work those vocal chords out for her own health. She turned back to Tall-Awkward and kept talking. "It took us eight minutes to get back to the hotel. When we got there," she flicked her eyes to Trano, "our camera showed a pair of men in suits walking around the suite, and Abrams was dead on the floor.
After all that, the tall guy didn't even have anything to say. He just turned and half-jumped to his computer chair. Within moments he had a half dozen holo screens floating in front of him. Trano took that time to walk closer to Reed. "What did you mean "our" camera?"
She'd clearly emphasized the word, but he didn't know why.
He heard her mutter "shit" before sighing and answering. "Guess there's no way around telling you now."
Edited by Nick Trano, Oct 10 2013, 10:01 PM.
She'd emptied most of the flask, but when Nicholas shook it he could tell there was at least something left in it. Of course, the words that accompanied the flask were both ominous and cryptic. Either he was about to be bored out of his mind, or he was about to be faced with some really bad news.
Out the window, he could see the neighborhood wasn't poor, but it wasn't wealthy either. Cookie cutter houses were packed in almost as tightly as the cars, and the people wandering about looked shady at best. At least it was the last place Nikolai Brandon would expect him to hide. Bastard.
Trano couldn't exactly call Abrams a friend, but anyone who murdered--or ordered the murder of--an American deserved a violent death. That wasn't exactly a fair way of looking at things, but putting Americans first had always been his manner of thinking, and his duty. A healthy hatred of Nikolai Brandon helped, of course.
When they finally parked, the driver got out and beckoned them to follow. The guy didn't talk much, but it was plainly obvious--as if it hadn't been before--that he was one of the CIA agents working in the background. He led them inside one of the buildings--a small three-floored apartment building--and up a few flights of stairs. The place smelled like shit.
Finally they reached a door, and the driver stayed behind after ushering Trano and Reed inside. The room smelled a little bit better than the rest of the building, but not by much. The scent of rotting food and human habitation wasn't exactly pleasant. Still, he could tell that Reed had been there before. It was with confident familiarity that she tossed her coat on the couch and dumped the rest of her belongings on the table.
Then Trano heard a flush from the bathroom, and they both turned towards the door. A tall, dark-skinned and awkward looking man stood in the doorway. "What the hell--" Clearly he wasn't expecting guests. Maybe he'd have cleaned up a little better if he were.
Once he recognized Trano--which was to say, almost instantly--he rounded on Reed. "Shit, Sam! What the hell happened?"
Trano answered for her. "Abrams is dead,"
he glanced at Reed. "Assuming that's his actual name. Custody agents probably want to kill the rest of us too."
He took a moment to open the flask up. He took a whiff, and was pretty surprised. Whatever was in it was damn strong--smelled like the stuff one of his friends' grandmothers used to distill before he left for the Navy. His respect-o-meter for "Sam" was rising.
Of course, he still didn't like her that much, and she was more than happy to show him why. "Trano managed to escape a secure room right after some kind of terror attack." She put her hands back on her hips as she turned to examine Nicholas. Alright, not too bad. Didn't even insult me yet.
"When he got to the car--and he still hasn't explained how the hell he managed that--he kept babbling about exploding lights and Ascendancy staring at him." Trano sighed. She was on such a roll, too.
Incidentally, it was the longest consecutive speech Trano had ever heard out of Reed. He wasn't about to interrupt--she needed to work those vocal chords out for her own health. She turned back to Tall-Awkward and kept talking. "It took us eight minutes to get back to the hotel. When we got there," she flicked her eyes to Trano, "our camera showed a pair of men in suits walking around the suite, and Abrams was dead on the floor.
After all that, the tall guy didn't even have anything to say. He just turned and half-jumped to his computer chair. Within moments he had a half dozen holo screens floating in front of him. Trano took that time to walk closer to Reed. "What did you mean "our" camera?"
She'd clearly emphasized the word, but he didn't know why.
He heard her mutter "shit" before sighing and answering. "Guess there's no way around telling you now."
Edited by Nick Trano, Oct 10 2013, 10:01 PM.