09-03-2013, 10:00 PM
Another call, another argument over the benefits of a Wallet which Hood shot down with his usual reasons. The company had been approached in secret by the patriarch of the Talanov family. They had appeared in the news scant days prior when a 'trusted member' of their personal security detail seemed to have killed members of his own team and made off with the eldest daughter of the Talanov family, a sixteen year old girl. According to the news, police and the Talanov family were still waiting for ransom demands.
Unsurprisingly, Mr Talanov had little interest in bowing to pressure and paying a ransom. While his wife seemed ready to give in, he had sought out other options. The police had no leads they could act on, but there were always other ways. Like 'private security.'
In Moscow, there were many fine choices, but only one when it came to 'under the radar' side jobs. Pervaya liniya Security. They were publicly known to employ ex-military exclusively, predominately of countries that had fallen under CCD influence, and some of their members were known in the right circles to have particularly interesting skill blocks.
The job fell to Hood on account of he being among the cream of the crop of Pervaya liniya Security's best operators. He arrived at the office early that morning to get the particulars, and was less then pleased at the chosen meeting place. Manifesto. High society types were, more often then not, wastes of skin, at least in his opinion.
While the Baccarat Gala required a nice suit, Manifesto required an actual suit. Of the tailored variety. Luckily, for that sort of thing, Pervaya liniya Security had an extensive list of skilled personal stylists, one of whom was called in to get Hood ready for a night in the most glamorous club in the richest city in the world. The young woman who was put to the task of ritzing up Hood had her work cut out for her, especially when she asked if he could 'not look so angry' all the time. She stopped asking questions the first time she saw him without a shirt, after he studiously ignored her comment of a change room being available.
His arrival was less one of being 'fashionably late' and more so a lack of interest of spending much time inside the hell hole he was about to delve into. He could handle the scummiest, most violent places in the world, he had seen and done things that would make the hardest of business savvy men break, and had personally killed folks who were probably regulars at clubs like the Manifesto on more then one occasion, all without even a flicker of emotion. But such disgusting opulence was liable to toss another log on the fire, so to speak.
One of Pervaya liniya Security's drivers dropped him off at the door, in a limo of course, and after a long steadying breath he climbed out and made his way to the door, without snapping the neck of a single paparazzi along the way. Of course his arrival was perfectly timed such that those camera-hounds had other, more interesting people to focus on.
He made his way up the richly carpeted steps and to the first and 'impenetrable' line of security that weeded out the undesirables at the door. Mr White made the grade on appearance, perhaps, but the men at the door probably wouldn't have let him through had he not casually slipped them a crisp grand.
At the end of the day, his suit was still just of the 'off the wrack' variety, but it was expertly tailored to make best use of his dimensions. A black 3-piece suit, pinstriped of course, with an expensive silver Rolex for a bit of added gleam. Where most of Manifesto's male clientele stood out for their expensive jewelry, expensive escorts, and their near-predatory business savvy, Hood stood out for a different sort of predatory savvy. A room full of business world Alpha Males didn't take well to having a real wolf in their midst and he drew more then a few stares for it.
He casually adjusted his tie, thumb running along a silver tie clip to assure himself it was perfectly level, he flexed his toes in a pair of square-toed dress shoes polished to a proper shine (fresh off the shelf that morning, so not dreadfully comfortable yet), then made his way through the main room. Mr Talanov would be waiting in Block 1.
Hood could be subtle when he needed to be, but he was there to impress a high society would-be employer. The man didn't need a body guard. He didn't need a well mannered pet to watch his back in business meetings. He was after a killer. Hood didn't step around people, he went through them, and they were usually smart enough to get out of his way. The others were skilled enough to make it seem they were moving for their own reasons.
It was on his way to Block 1 that he noticed a familiar face in the crowd. A man. An American, actually. Not that anyone could tell just from looking at the fellow; the CIA usually made a point of their foreign operatives blending in nicely. The guy wasn't a wet-works agent like Hood and his team had been. It was pure chance that the agent didn't notice Hood in return. The fellow seemed focused on something. No, someone. A man that had just left one of the VIP washrooms.
While he wasn't surprised the CIA had agents so deep into the CCD, he was at least passingly curious as to what the fellow had been up to. A passing curiosity, because that was a different life. So he continued deeper into Manifesto, towards the hall that would take him to Block 1.
Edited by Hood, Sep 3 2013, 10:16 PM.
Unsurprisingly, Mr Talanov had little interest in bowing to pressure and paying a ransom. While his wife seemed ready to give in, he had sought out other options. The police had no leads they could act on, but there were always other ways. Like 'private security.'
In Moscow, there were many fine choices, but only one when it came to 'under the radar' side jobs. Pervaya liniya Security. They were publicly known to employ ex-military exclusively, predominately of countries that had fallen under CCD influence, and some of their members were known in the right circles to have particularly interesting skill blocks.
The job fell to Hood on account of he being among the cream of the crop of Pervaya liniya Security's best operators. He arrived at the office early that morning to get the particulars, and was less then pleased at the chosen meeting place. Manifesto. High society types were, more often then not, wastes of skin, at least in his opinion.
While the Baccarat Gala required a nice suit, Manifesto required an actual suit. Of the tailored variety. Luckily, for that sort of thing, Pervaya liniya Security had an extensive list of skilled personal stylists, one of whom was called in to get Hood ready for a night in the most glamorous club in the richest city in the world. The young woman who was put to the task of ritzing up Hood had her work cut out for her, especially when she asked if he could 'not look so angry' all the time. She stopped asking questions the first time she saw him without a shirt, after he studiously ignored her comment of a change room being available.
His arrival was less one of being 'fashionably late' and more so a lack of interest of spending much time inside the hell hole he was about to delve into. He could handle the scummiest, most violent places in the world, he had seen and done things that would make the hardest of business savvy men break, and had personally killed folks who were probably regulars at clubs like the Manifesto on more then one occasion, all without even a flicker of emotion. But such disgusting opulence was liable to toss another log on the fire, so to speak.
One of Pervaya liniya Security's drivers dropped him off at the door, in a limo of course, and after a long steadying breath he climbed out and made his way to the door, without snapping the neck of a single paparazzi along the way. Of course his arrival was perfectly timed such that those camera-hounds had other, more interesting people to focus on.
He made his way up the richly carpeted steps and to the first and 'impenetrable' line of security that weeded out the undesirables at the door. Mr White made the grade on appearance, perhaps, but the men at the door probably wouldn't have let him through had he not casually slipped them a crisp grand.
At the end of the day, his suit was still just of the 'off the wrack' variety, but it was expertly tailored to make best use of his dimensions. A black 3-piece suit, pinstriped of course, with an expensive silver Rolex for a bit of added gleam. Where most of Manifesto's male clientele stood out for their expensive jewelry, expensive escorts, and their near-predatory business savvy, Hood stood out for a different sort of predatory savvy. A room full of business world Alpha Males didn't take well to having a real wolf in their midst and he drew more then a few stares for it.
He casually adjusted his tie, thumb running along a silver tie clip to assure himself it was perfectly level, he flexed his toes in a pair of square-toed dress shoes polished to a proper shine (fresh off the shelf that morning, so not dreadfully comfortable yet), then made his way through the main room. Mr Talanov would be waiting in Block 1.
Hood could be subtle when he needed to be, but he was there to impress a high society would-be employer. The man didn't need a body guard. He didn't need a well mannered pet to watch his back in business meetings. He was after a killer. Hood didn't step around people, he went through them, and they were usually smart enough to get out of his way. The others were skilled enough to make it seem they were moving for their own reasons.
It was on his way to Block 1 that he noticed a familiar face in the crowd. A man. An American, actually. Not that anyone could tell just from looking at the fellow; the CIA usually made a point of their foreign operatives blending in nicely. The guy wasn't a wet-works agent like Hood and his team had been. It was pure chance that the agent didn't notice Hood in return. The fellow seemed focused on something. No, someone. A man that had just left one of the VIP washrooms.
While he wasn't surprised the CIA had agents so deep into the CCD, he was at least passingly curious as to what the fellow had been up to. A passing curiosity, because that was a different life. So he continued deeper into Manifesto, towards the hall that would take him to Block 1.
Edited by Hood, Sep 3 2013, 10:16 PM.