01-19-2015, 11:18 PM
Hood remained standing, off to one side of the room; he still thought of himself as an odd guest to this little pow-wow, but it was an interesting chance to get a glimpse at how the Atharim worked. Equally interesting, an insight to Atharim world history. He had a conventional, 'normal' education after all, which was a bit different then what the hunters seemed to learn. But, he supposed, history was written by the winners, and in this case, that had been the Atharim. Or perhaps the Church, with whom they seemed to work.
The Regus' speech pressed on, and there was no denying he held the attention of most everyone in the room. The man was certainly charismatic in his own way; of course, so had Hitler been. An unfair comparison, but the first that came to mind. But there were a few in the crowd who seemed a bit put-off by the man's words, or at the least the intent of them. The fellow was damnably opposed to corruption and sin, it seemed. He'd never much liked the religiously fanatical types. But at least these ones were fanatical towards a real, physical thing which almost warranted it. Monsters and evil wizard-gods was a viable danger.
A chance to put a few more Iirjaq back to the dust from which they came was the only thing that raked with his move to Moscow from the Middle East. He was pretty sure they were a bit more common down that way. Or maybe they were just in Africa. He had no clue honestly. The 'porch of drunkenness' caused a hint of a smirk for Hood. How often had he sat on his own porch to choke down a beer or two? Who knew it was some old Egyptian cult practice?
And then there was the big reveal. The Baltimore, Maryland native, 'conqueror' of most of the better parts of the world, Nikolai mother-fuckin' Brandon himself, probably didn't have a team of very skilled plastic surgeons keeping him young. It also ruled out Zoolander's (a dead team mate of Hoods) theory of Earl Grey tea. The guy had been a bit of a Trekker. Trekkie. Whatever.
Practically speaking, Hood understood the man's motivations. No doubt about it that power corrupted. Was pretty much a given. Except himself, of course, but that was because he was fucking awesome. But power corrupted everyone, not just crazy bull-shit magic using wizard dorks. Fuck, religion could corrupt just as much as power. Look at the nutbars that were, as per tradition it seemed, tearing the shit out of the Middle East because some stupid book written a billion and a half years ago said so.
Hood's previous life spun around putting bullets into people because of what they might do. Whether it was signing a trade agreement with the CCD, or altering government policies to favor a future merger with the Custody. He wasn't about to put a bullet in some magic using short-order cook or librarian just because they might go wacko some day. Now, the ones that were already wacko...hell, they might be enough of a challenge to warrant the effort. Could be fun.
And, it seemed from the looks on the faces of a few people in the room, some felt the same way. But they were actually Atharim; he doubted they had the privilege to pick and choose their jobs. Well, whatever the case, it wasn't his place to be suggesting any policy changes for an organization that predated recorded history. Or whatever the hell their case was. He'd still work with them. Killing monsters was, after all, far more interesting then offing some dick-headed African president or CCD middle-management businessmen. Those policy changes were up to the ones that didn't seem quite so blood-thirsty to off whatever poor sod what had magic.
The Regus' speech pressed on, and there was no denying he held the attention of most everyone in the room. The man was certainly charismatic in his own way; of course, so had Hitler been. An unfair comparison, but the first that came to mind. But there were a few in the crowd who seemed a bit put-off by the man's words, or at the least the intent of them. The fellow was damnably opposed to corruption and sin, it seemed. He'd never much liked the religiously fanatical types. But at least these ones were fanatical towards a real, physical thing which almost warranted it. Monsters and evil wizard-gods was a viable danger.
A chance to put a few more Iirjaq back to the dust from which they came was the only thing that raked with his move to Moscow from the Middle East. He was pretty sure they were a bit more common down that way. Or maybe they were just in Africa. He had no clue honestly. The 'porch of drunkenness' caused a hint of a smirk for Hood. How often had he sat on his own porch to choke down a beer or two? Who knew it was some old Egyptian cult practice?
And then there was the big reveal. The Baltimore, Maryland native, 'conqueror' of most of the better parts of the world, Nikolai mother-fuckin' Brandon himself, probably didn't have a team of very skilled plastic surgeons keeping him young. It also ruled out Zoolander's (a dead team mate of Hoods) theory of Earl Grey tea. The guy had been a bit of a Trekker. Trekkie. Whatever.
Practically speaking, Hood understood the man's motivations. No doubt about it that power corrupted. Was pretty much a given. Except himself, of course, but that was because he was fucking awesome. But power corrupted everyone, not just crazy bull-shit magic using wizard dorks. Fuck, religion could corrupt just as much as power. Look at the nutbars that were, as per tradition it seemed, tearing the shit out of the Middle East because some stupid book written a billion and a half years ago said so.
Hood's previous life spun around putting bullets into people because of what they might do. Whether it was signing a trade agreement with the CCD, or altering government policies to favor a future merger with the Custody. He wasn't about to put a bullet in some magic using short-order cook or librarian just because they might go wacko some day. Now, the ones that were already wacko...hell, they might be enough of a challenge to warrant the effort. Could be fun.
And, it seemed from the looks on the faces of a few people in the room, some felt the same way. But they were actually Atharim; he doubted they had the privilege to pick and choose their jobs. Well, whatever the case, it wasn't his place to be suggesting any policy changes for an organization that predated recorded history. Or whatever the hell their case was. He'd still work with them. Killing monsters was, after all, far more interesting then offing some dick-headed African president or CCD middle-management businessmen. Those policy changes were up to the ones that didn't seem quite so blood-thirsty to off whatever poor sod what had magic.