This forum uses cookies
This forum makes use of cookies to store your login information if you are registered, and your last visit if you are not. Cookies are small text documents stored on your computer; the cookies set by this forum can only be used on this website and pose no security risk. Cookies on this forum also track the specific topics you have read and when you last read them. Please confirm whether you accept or reject these cookies being set.

A cookie will be stored in your browser regardless of choice to prevent you being asked this question again. You will be able to change your cookie settings at any time using the link in the footer.

Thread Rating:
  • 0 Vote(s) - 0 Average
  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
A glittering spider
At the end of the day, Hood was a practical man. Some would see so unlikely a reunion as fate, a sign from on high, destiny, a miracle, or some other excuse to forget other commitments in order to rekindle lost connections. But Hood was a practical man, and he had work to do. Real 'feel good' work too. He got to kill some greasy bastards, and save some rich kid. The sort of job you could feel good about, so long as it didn't go tits-up at the last minute.

As much as he'd much rather kick back in this painfully shallow club and catch up with Spectra, considering she made the atmosphere palatable, he had other things to do. Mr Talanov was a powerful person. Pervaya liniya Security flourished thanks to it's rich and powerful clientele. Powerful allies meant the company was that much harder to touch, else risk drawing the ire of important political or economic figures, which in the 'pure capitalist' state of the CCD, were dangerous folks to anger. And the harder the company was to touch, the harder it's operators were to touch. Meaning he was that much safer.

Of course, there was also her friend in the other room. He doubted the fellow would recognize Hood at a glance, but if he were any good at his job, the spy would mark him as a person of interest to be investigated. And that was bad.

He was honestly surprised she rolled over so easily on his comment. He really had expected her to set a schedule for him, rather then to give in and wait for him to contact her. He threw the last of his scotch down range, setting the glass open-end-down on the bar. "It's John White now. Not many left I let call me Hood."
He adjusted his tie and grinned down at her, "You're top of that list though. I'll try to get ahold of your people in a few days."
Tailing a man as powerful as Talanov's entourage was mundane work. Which was exactly why Silas delegated that kind of boring shit to other guys. Then when shit needed done, he showed up to see that it was done right. The arrangement worked for him. Patience was not one of his virtues.

As it happened, work was going down that needed some personal attention. He’d prefer enjoying the metropolis of slut city on his own time, but work kept him from giving some lucky chick a favor of blowing him tonight.

With work to do, he kept himself entertained and hovered around the area that funneled shitbreak kids between the main venue and the wormhole that led to Block One. Half an hour before hand, some typical Pervaya fucker disappeared down that hall to meet Talanov no doubt.

Intel had the dumbass pegged to be here tonight. Between a panicked wife and a missing kid, only an idiot would imagine a home grown Russian wasn’t mixing a little business with pleasure tonight. Not at Manifesto. The place isn’t a strip club for shit’s sake, he thought with a sneer. A moment later, from the fog of hazy emotions that tried to choke him to death, a sudden spike of captivation consistent with wet cunt spiked the field.

Yellow eyes swiveling, Silas glanced and found a slutty carrot-top – the classy kind – eyeing him from head to toe. Might as well pass the time doing something useful. He cradled an arm over the railing of his perch, cocked his head, and summoned her over.
John White was a terribly boring name. Without a doubt, Spectra preferred Hood, if only for the playful sound conjured by the ring of her lips when she whispered it in his ear.

His surprise elicited a tantalizing twinge of satisfaction. Spectra was a playful demoness, for sure, and she thoroughly liked the idea that one of the world's most dangerous men was going to be pounding down the doors to chase after her.

The tilt of her smokey eyes critically examined his downturned glass. Some optimistic circles might label Hood an actor much as they might label Spectra a glamor star, but they both knew better of one another's facades. Only a fool would consider Hood inebriated, he might bleed everclear and remain lucid, though likely with more swagger if such were possible. Spectra was no fool, but she perched her lips, tsking at his choice compared to the sparkling purity of hers.

The point of her nails drew around the crisp edge of the glass, swirling beads of condensation as though a goddess playing with the stars in the sky.

"Don't wait too long,"
she urged. Luscious red lips around the rim of her glass. The drink left her mouth glistening with dangerous promises. "Monotone name or no, I am confident you can still find what you want when it suits you."
A chill of punishment slithered with seductive promise. He best be suited to fulfill his promises soon. She liked to be chased, not strung along.

She pulled herself together, smiled and departed.
The woman certainly was distracting. Every move was perfectly calculated to be exotic, to draw attention, to exemplify unspoken promise. It was an entirely pleasing performance to watch. Her dislike of alcohol was met with a hint of a grin; he wasn't a heavy drinker, at least in how he saw the world. Some people would surely argue otherwise, but they were light-weights or New-Age pansies.

He watched her walk away for a moment, then scanned the room before taking his own departure. The place was full of men that thought themselves the alpha males. Predators of the conference room, the internet, of the boardroom and court. All of them had bill-folds thicker then some countries he had fought in (figuratively speaking, of course), but at the same time few of them were willing to go near him, to acknowledge his presence in the room.

Then he spotted someone else. Another man probably not so unlike himself. The business men of the room gave the fellow a wide berth, or just outright ignored the fellow. The women of the room had a different reaction of course; much like himself, the fellow was probably the only man in the room of any substance. Physical competence translated to the bedroom as easily as the battlefield.

He studied the man openly for a moment, memorizing features. Not hard, since the fellow was wearing such ridiculous contact lenses. In the end, responsibility forced him to take his leave. He had work to do; he had to track the missing girl, scout the area, form a plan. All the sort of work he could really sink his teeth into for a few days. And he didn't have to trip over any damn Atharim in the process.

A 'small' tip to one of the serving staff saw him out a back door; he didn't want to try and exit through the front, where that blasted CIA spook might still be lurking.

Continued here: A Little Errand

Edited by Hood, Nov 3 2013, 09:00 PM.

Forum Jump:

Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)