09-14-2014, 08:36 PM
Hood glanced at her hand when she first offered it; no rings, so no micro-injector. He'd make a point of washing his hand in short order in case there was some sort of poison or traceable isotope. His grip was calloused and warm, but not uncomfortably tight. Her line of questions was strange, to say the least. Probably some bloody ridiculous CIA code phrase that he didn't recognize. He always hated working with their 'regular' field agents...their department was a mire of bloody ridiculous code words and fake identities and double-agents.
Well, whatever the code was, he didn't know the response. Hell, how backlogged was their paperwork if they thought he might actually know the response? Probably all the damn budget cuts. They always cut from the working ranks, not the bloated idiots floating at the top.
"Russian stuff is fine, but nothing beats some old fashioned bacon-infused pancakes. American food ain't the healthiest stuff around, and it's sure to kill you if you eat it too long, but much bigger on the flavour. But I suppose it's the deep fried icecream I miss most. A heart-attack waiting to happen, but hey, a nice treat sometimes."
Well, whatever the code was, he didn't know the response. Hell, how backlogged was their paperwork if they thought he might actually know the response? Probably all the damn budget cuts. They always cut from the working ranks, not the bloated idiots floating at the top.
"Russian stuff is fine, but nothing beats some old fashioned bacon-infused pancakes. American food ain't the healthiest stuff around, and it's sure to kill you if you eat it too long, but much bigger on the flavour. But I suppose it's the deep fried icecream I miss most. A heart-attack waiting to happen, but hey, a nice treat sometimes."