04-09-2015, 09:32 AM
The Regus Armande Nicodemus only lightly sweated from his exertions. His feet were planted on floor of the training room, the wood smooth on his bare feet. Gunnar's blonde hair was slick with sweat and he breathed heavily, but at least he wasn't holding back anymore.
Gunnar Halvorssen had been a hunter in Sweden. Armande violently rejected usage of the terms D anything in his mind. He clearly remembered when countries went by their own names. That the Abomination himself was the source of such geopolitical restructuring and renaming made using such terminology repulsive to him. For clarity, with others, he would use the accepted nomenclature. But in his own mind, Apollyon held no permanent Dominion.
Halvorssen had an extraordinary record as an intelligent and resourceful hunter. But much more than that, he had the loyalty to the raison d'être for the Atharim. He would do well in the Order.
Gunnar lashed out again and Armande parried it quickly before delivering a savage blow to the ribs. Gunnar seemed to absorb the blow, however, one kick of his reaching his hip. Back to stance. The Regus didn't exactly smile, but he was in good spirits. Since the Convocation, those who sparred with him were too afraid to push him, to land a blow. They did not understand. 'Ferrum ferro acuitur....' As iron sharpens iron... "Excellent, Gunnar. Do not hold back." While his job was more administrative now, he never had been, nor would he ever be a man beholden to a desk or chair. He was the Dagger of the Atharim. He had to be sharp.
When he was satisfied with his workout, he padded over to the bench that held his towel and wallet. As he wiped off the light layer of perspiration, he checked his wallet for messages and found one from Father DeLuca. He grimaced for a moment. Americans, he thought irritably. Of course the name of Ms. Cross had come up more than once. She and Mr. Marx had sterling reputations in that more chaotic and lawless environment. What they displayed in vigor and drive, though, only highlighted their lack of subtlety and understanding of the true war that was going on.
Still, he was in a charitable mood. He changed back into his black cassock robes. Despite being of heavier weight than his karate-gi, he still had a full range of motion for whatever challenges might come his way.
His mind flicked through the possibilities with this woman as he walked purposefully to his office. DeLuca was in the ante-chamber with a rather tall mature woman, only a hand-span shorter than Armande himself, with a hardness to her face. Of course, he expected nothing less from a hunter of over thirty years. There was also a much shorter man in the room, Japanese, though he too had the lean maturity of a hunter. An eyebrow quirked. Mr. Yoshimura had requested a meeting but the timing was intriguing.
The Regus debated having the meeting with both at once, to keep them off balance, but in the end decided to have the interview with Ms. Cross first. She was the one who had insisted rather impudently for this. There was a reason American's had not been considered for the Order. The meeting could go badly for her.
"Ms. Cross, Mr. Yoshimura." His tone was neutral, neither indicating pleasure or irritation at their being here. In truth, he wasn't sure himself. He looked at both of them for a moment more, then nodded to Ms. Cross, indicating she was to follow him. A flicker of anticipation skittered across his mind. Would this be like his meeting with Seth Marx? It irritated him, not being able to use a tool because he couldn't trust it.
He sat behind his desk and watched her as she sat down. There did not appear to be any hesitation or apprehension in her movements or face. He decided to let her speak. People said far more than they realized when speaking. "What is it you want?"
Gunnar Halvorssen had been a hunter in Sweden. Armande violently rejected usage of the terms D anything in his mind. He clearly remembered when countries went by their own names. That the Abomination himself was the source of such geopolitical restructuring and renaming made using such terminology repulsive to him. For clarity, with others, he would use the accepted nomenclature. But in his own mind, Apollyon held no permanent Dominion.
Halvorssen had an extraordinary record as an intelligent and resourceful hunter. But much more than that, he had the loyalty to the raison d'être for the Atharim. He would do well in the Order.
Gunnar lashed out again and Armande parried it quickly before delivering a savage blow to the ribs. Gunnar seemed to absorb the blow, however, one kick of his reaching his hip. Back to stance. The Regus didn't exactly smile, but he was in good spirits. Since the Convocation, those who sparred with him were too afraid to push him, to land a blow. They did not understand. 'Ferrum ferro acuitur....' As iron sharpens iron... "Excellent, Gunnar. Do not hold back." While his job was more administrative now, he never had been, nor would he ever be a man beholden to a desk or chair. He was the Dagger of the Atharim. He had to be sharp.
When he was satisfied with his workout, he padded over to the bench that held his towel and wallet. As he wiped off the light layer of perspiration, he checked his wallet for messages and found one from Father DeLuca. He grimaced for a moment. Americans, he thought irritably. Of course the name of Ms. Cross had come up more than once. She and Mr. Marx had sterling reputations in that more chaotic and lawless environment. What they displayed in vigor and drive, though, only highlighted their lack of subtlety and understanding of the true war that was going on.
Still, he was in a charitable mood. He changed back into his black cassock robes. Despite being of heavier weight than his karate-gi, he still had a full range of motion for whatever challenges might come his way.
His mind flicked through the possibilities with this woman as he walked purposefully to his office. DeLuca was in the ante-chamber with a rather tall mature woman, only a hand-span shorter than Armande himself, with a hardness to her face. Of course, he expected nothing less from a hunter of over thirty years. There was also a much shorter man in the room, Japanese, though he too had the lean maturity of a hunter. An eyebrow quirked. Mr. Yoshimura had requested a meeting but the timing was intriguing.
The Regus debated having the meeting with both at once, to keep them off balance, but in the end decided to have the interview with Ms. Cross first. She was the one who had insisted rather impudently for this. There was a reason American's had not been considered for the Order. The meeting could go badly for her.
"Ms. Cross, Mr. Yoshimura." His tone was neutral, neither indicating pleasure or irritation at their being here. In truth, he wasn't sure himself. He looked at both of them for a moment more, then nodded to Ms. Cross, indicating she was to follow him. A flicker of anticipation skittered across his mind. Would this be like his meeting with Seth Marx? It irritated him, not being able to use a tool because he couldn't trust it.
He sat behind his desk and watched her as she sat down. There did not appear to be any hesitation or apprehension in her movements or face. He decided to let her speak. People said far more than they realized when speaking. "What is it you want?"