Coal

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by [Q], Jul 23, 2010.

  1. [​IMG]
    If you slip away in darkness, do you fall?
    And if God created love... Did he make it for everyone?
    Is there solitude and hope? Can you still dream?

    If the Devil makes you cry, do you change?


    One month ago.
    Saito Cole, father to Saeda and head of a multibillion dollar corporation was able to catch Q in some sort of a lucky break. He then blackmailed the twenty three year old into taking on his daughter as an apprentice mercenary.
    "A birth day gift," he said.
    "She would like nothing more than to kill on the dollar."

    The mercenary wanted nothing to do with it, but conceded when Saito presented a mound of evidence that not only would land him in prison forever, but also humiliate him. That day, Quatre Bornes Lee, also known as Q, began to work under the other man.

    Today was the daughter's birthday.
    Today was the day Q finally met this supposedly bloodthirsty kid.

    Trapped in town and under watch, he had nothing better to do than look up who he was dealing with. Newspaper clippings, magazine articles. He spent a lot of time in the library and when he had been confined to his provided apartment room, occasionally spoke to his captors, who would tell him the daughter was quite the hellion.

    Bornes hated kids. This one would probably be the worst of them. And he was supposed to teach her how to kill properly? Hah.

    The man could hardly do it correctly himself.
     
  2. "First you will show her who you've killed," one of the bodyguards stated, tossing a few polaroids his way. "Build yourself up, like you're a big deal."

    Q looked down at the pictures splayed on the desk in the dim room. He hmphed, taking a hand and gathering them, assembling them in some sort of pile before looking over the rims of his sunglasses to study what the pictures actually contained.
    Ah, old targets. There were various images. Ones that were still alive, others that were kill shots pulled from police records, Q assumed. His green eyes narrowed.
    He wasn't a big deal. Other mercenaries laughed at him. He could think of at least two big names who would be rolling on the floor laughing at his current predicament, and maybe three others who would nod their heads and say "about time."

    "Then you're going to tell her you were paid for all these hits, and you want to teach her how to build up the contacts to do such reliably."

    Q straightened the photos on the wooden table, the noise of the carbon interrupting the other man's speech.
    "Right, so I get to tell here how to get into the drug business. Fun stuff," Bornes grumbled, a cigarette dangling from his lip, smoke trailing to the ceiling.
    His voice grated, almost a fake voice meant to sound more intimidating than his true one.

    "You know as well as I this is what Cole wants, and have you your best interests, you will follow orders," the guard said.

    Bornes snorted. "And after all this gets set up," he stated, straightening the pictures in his hands still, "after I start teaching her how to use a rifle, you still going to be around? Going to have your eyes on me all the time... Fag?"
    It was as if Q had almost had to force the insult in. His green eyes turned to the guard as he stood to face him, grabbing the photos in his left hand while pushing up his sunglasses on his right.

    The guard hmphed in turn and opened the door.
    "No. Saeda will have full control of you then. I pity you."

    Bornes grimaced and walked through the door, taking his cigarette from his mouth with his right hand and holding it between his two fingers by his side as he walked down the hall into another room.

    He took a deep breath, trying to center himself before he opened up the final door to his new 'master'. He walked in as he put the cigarette back in his mouth, his eyes peering through dark sunglasses as he sat down across from her.

    His grey hair was parted diagonally across his face, covering one eye and attempting to hide the scar that slashed right through his nose in the same direction. When he took the next drag, he looked up, slightly, showing off his black triangular 'whisker' tattoos along his chin line before blowing the smoke into the girl's face, trying to make it look accidental.

    He arched a brow.
    "Hello," he finally said, plastering on a smirk.

    There was no place he could think of right now that wouldn't be a better place to be than here.
    Even a gay bar.
     
  3. Saeda stood in the empty room, taking in the rustic beauty of her father’s workplace. She’d always loved it here during the few and far between chances she was given to see inside. Now here she stood having no fear of being chased from the room and reveling in the feeling of power that came with knowing that she was supposed to be here. Today would be the beginning of something beautiful. She was an artist, and after too many long years of waiting, she was to be given her brush and canvas on this important day. She was 17 today, and had the rest of her life to perfect her talent.

    She cared nothing for the drugs and business aspect of her father’s work. He’d tried for ages to bring her into the business as an executive, someone who sat in a cushy chair and ordered others around. He wanted her to be safe, to be powerful, to follow in his own footsteps. She would have none of that- she wanted to be in the thick of things, in the field where she could get messy. In the end, what Saeda said went.

    When the guards told her that her teacher would be entering, blood rushed her head with a dizzying anticipation. Flushed and intoxicated with excitement, she sucked in a deep breath. She steadied herself by placing a hand on the cherry wood desk to her right. She conjured images of blood splattered walls, severed fingers, and sobbing women. She allowed the most gruesome scenarios she’d heard of to flash before her eyes, and prayed that this man was responsible for some of them. She hoped beyond hope that his hands were stained with the blood of many and that by sundown he would have had shared his stain with her tiny hands. She sat in the chair nearest the wall, leaving one on the other side open for him.

    The unknown man came into the room. The door creaked closed behind him as he crossed to her. She kept her eyes to the floor as he did so, hardly able to look at the man she hoped to glean so much from. He looked down on her from over the desk. She looked up at him then, taking in his appearance. She judged that he was probably nearly an entire foot taller than her tiny frame allowed her, and he was fairly young too. Well that explains why Father said to keep an eye on him. He always said you can’t trust the young ones. Wild and rambunctious, he claims us to be. I like him.

    He sat and blew a plume of smoke into her face.

    The smoke should have polluted the picturesque display of innocence the grey-haired man saw before him. This woman-child looked nothing likethe sadist guards and others who had had the misfortune of coming into contact with her described her as being. She looked cute. Kind. She looked like the sort of seventeen year old who spent her childhood selling girl scout cookies and cheerleading, not the kind that had pranced around slitting animal’s throats in an all too real rendition of the game of “pretend.” His cigarette smoke danced in a thick haze over the deep emerald pools that locked gaze with his own, hindering but not hiding the sharp twinkle that blazed within them. Some pleasure lurked in the recesses of her iris, but her face as of yet showed no signs of this splendor. Her smooth, round apple cheeks glowed with youthful health, but stood stoically still nonetheless. No smile could be found on the puckered pink pillows that lay beneath the perky little nose. This portrait of perfection was framed in a mane of thick, wavy locks that billowed down over her shoulders while glistening like spun gold.

    “Hello,” he said with a smirk.

    She reached across the desk and plucked the cigarette from between his lips with her thumb and forefinger. Leaning back in her chair, she examined the thing. She looked at him again. “Hi.” She chirped at him cheerily. She put the cigarette between her own two lips and sent a smirk right back at him. With a puff and a sharp cough she cocked a brow in return.

    “These things will kill you.”
     
  4. In no short time his cigarette was taken and forcefully shared. He quirked a brow, watching her.
    He had been caught off guard before, that was what had gotten him into this situation in the first place, so now he wouldn't let her looks fool him.
    He reached across the table and yanked the cig from her lips with a hmph, putting it back between his own and turning his tanned face to the pictures, aligning them yet again on the table.

    "That's why you shouldn't smoke them," he stated, looking through his shades, fingering through the images in his hands, looking for a good one to start with. Most of his kills were nobodies. Q preferred to lay low as possible, not killing anyone worth more than one hundred thousand dollars.
    However, people who were looking for a cheap hire and knew how to hunt around often took advantage of Q's poor social network - the man didn't like phones or television - and lied, essentially forcing Q to kill high profile people without knowing they were high profile.

    Fortunately for him, some of those high profile kills were among the photographs. I picked out one of a mayor, his left hand placing it on the table in front of her.
    "Do you know this man?"
    He doubted she did, but didn't give her the opportunity to answer, instead continuing on with the script he'd been told to formulate just a few minutes prior.

    "He was the mayor of small town in Washington."
    He pointed to the bullet wound-- a clean shot to the head. This was an image yanked from police records. "I did this with an M40."

    He put down another photo, atop the first. It was of another dead person, another clean headshot. "Drug dealer," he said.
    He flipped another dead person down, this time a woman. Yet another clean headshot. "Whore."
    All the photos so far had been clean, a small pool of blood. He passed through a few images of living people, "sniper rifle, handgun, knifed," he listed off.

    Finally he got to the more gruesome images. Slit throats, blood everywhere. He figured this girl, should she have been as terrible as everyone said she was, would appreciate them the most.
    "Desert eagle." He had put down a photo of a woman with a huge hole in her stomach. "She was pregnant." He said, as an afterthought. But the addition had no emotion attached. Q didn't really care about these people, much less have any real morals to speak of.

    He flipped a few more gory pictures down, mostly knife kills. Finally he reached the last photo in the stack, and stared at it through his shields, sighing through his nose.
    He hadn't noticed it was there before now. He hadn't liked this kill. It had been too messy.

    He took the now finished cigarette, and tossed the filter to the floor, not caring where it went as this wasn't his house. He finally put the last image down in front of her.
    "Bludgeoning."
    The person, indiscernible whether it was female or male, had had their face smashed in several times.
    It had been one of Q's first jobs. He hadn't been too proud of it.

    He quickly put his hands on the table, away from the montage of his less than legal past.
    "I was paid to do all this," he stated, a bit wary as he hadn't fully planned out this part of his script yet.
    His six foot tall form leaned over the table and started pointing at the photographs, listing off prices. "Ten thousand, thirty. 30, 60, 80." When he reached to the more risky kills, he made up the prices he should've gotten, "200, 100, 100." The ones deserving of such high prices were the mayor, a few policemen, one or two mafia kings.

    When he was done, he leaned back in his chair, his fingers grasping the edge of the table. He hesitated for a moment, wondering where to go from here.

    He was supposed to tell her he was her teacher now, but as his grey brows furrowed and he tried to hide his frown, the words just wouldn't come out.
     
  5. She watched him flip through the photos with a passive expression. Dismissing each quickly, she was unimpressed with the crisp, clean kills. As far as professionalism went, this man seemed to have a pretty decent grasp of what he was doing. The headshots were effective no doubt, and a person of more discreet doings would probably have approved of the tidiness. Saeda however was bored and rather uninterested in keeping her head down and profile low. Therefore these photos were dull.

    When he flipped through the pictures of living people, she didn't even care enough to look at what he was showing her. Her eyes drifted instead to the place on the wall where the clock hung. 2:15pm. As far she was concerned, he'd said nothing but "blah, blah, blah" since he'd walked in. Come on already! This is supposed to be fun! She tossed the photos in the trash can at her feet, giving no thought as to whether or not he might actually want these.

    He spread still more photos in front of her. They were bloody, mangled bodies devoid of any humane beauty- and in such she saw all the beauty in the world. She gaped at each one in its turn, gingerly picking them up and inspecting them with gleaming eyes.

    "Desert eagle." He said as he put down another photo. Truly, it was horrific. He added a bit about the woman having been expecting and Saeda's unadulterated attention was his. She picked up the photo and touched the image of the hole as though she might really get the crimson liquid on her finger. She even looked at her tips as she pulled it away from the glossy surface. She held the photo in her hands while he laid a few more down. They were all intriguing, but none so much as the one she held. She looked at each one with a fresh wave of glee, idolizing the man before her already for his work.

    She saw his eyes linger on the last photo. She salivated in anticipation when she noticed the soft sigh escape him. He tossed the cigarette onto the floor, and she absently ground out the flame into the pristine white carpet with the toe of her shoe. The seared blackness would probably piss her father off to no end. She cared as little as her new mentor did. She needed to see that picture. Finally as though her will propelled his hand, he laid it on the desk for her to see.

    She gasped in instant arousal. "Bludgeoning," was all he said. Her pupils dilated as a wicked grin spread across her formerly cherubic face. "Wonderful..." she mouth as she looked at it. As suddenly as a child grasping a long sought after toy, she snatched this new photo up in both hands, allowing the discarded one to flutter back to the desk top. She stared at the oldest photo as he rattled off about the prices of his prizes for each kill.

    He finished and leaned back. She waited for the briefest of moments, swearing that he looked like he was going to speak. Impatience won her internal struggle. Her face beamed like sunshine and she really did look like someone's precious daughter, adored and cherished. Happiness radiated from the very core of her.

    She licked her lips and glanced once more at the photo in her hands. She stood up and slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans. She began to move and talk so quickly that even if he'd had words to say, she wouldn't have taken a breath long enough for him to say them. "No more of those cheap kills, okay? Let's go big. It's good for us to get our pulses racing," she cooed at him in a sickly sweet voice. Next she swiftly bounced over to the door, leaving him sitting in his chair. In her excitement, she yanked it much harder than was necessary. It slammed against the wall behind it and bounced back into her with force enough to knock her back a pace. She wrinkled her nose at it and gave a tiny embarrassed chuckle. She rubbed her hip gently, but continued as if nothing happened.

    "Well? What are you waiting for? You have a job to do, and I would like to start my lessons this very night!"

    Before he could squeeze a word in edgewise she went on talking, but her glowing demeanor faltered and he caught a shadowed glare from her. "So get off your ass, and come kill someone with me."

    Her smile returned and she held the door open. "My father rarely does business with lowlifes, so getting the thrilling type of target should be easy. But keep in mind I want to start this as though I have no relation to that man. Show me how you would go about getting a target. It's an excellent start. What’s the process? Do you make a call from an untraceable cell phone? Is there a midnight meeting at an abandoned warehouse? Show me! Come on, Mr.... Who are you again?"
     
  6. Q had given no notice to her fingering the desert eagle picture, too busy rattling off about the other images. She had thrown all the earlier photos into the trashcan. It waylaid him slightly, but he still managed to ramble on.

    He did take in her response to the bludgeoning image, though, and that was where he began to get extremely uncomfortable.
    There was a difference between business and murder.
    This kid wasn't interested in business.

    The twenty three year old's muscles tensed as he watched her begin to glow. He briefly wondered if this girl was actually worse than what he had imagined. He'd done business with some unscrupulous people, before. Real fucked up messes, but none of them seemed as ecstatic as her when wanting to kill someone.

    His frown deepened when she started to speak. She went on about 'going big' and not with the 'cheap' kills.
    "But the--" He was cut off.

    This girl was excited about the cheap kills. The cleaner the kill, the more money. Generally speaking, anyway. The worse a person got mangled, the easier it was for police to track the killer down.

    She got up, and Q could hardly hide the disappointment from his face, despite most of it being covered by sunglasses and hair. She slammed the door open -- to which he flinched at the sound -- and then commanded him to train her starting this very night.

    "Just--" But he was cut off again, her rambling something about getting contacts.

    Bornes regretfully got up and began to walk toward her, an overwhelming feeling of dread coming over him the closer he came to her.

    "...What’s the process? Do you make a call from an untraceable cell phone? Is there a midnight meeting at an abandoned warehouse? Show me! Come on, Mr.... Who are you again?"

    Bornes walked through the door, trying to stand his six foot figure up straight, but ultimately failing as the weight of his situation spread across his shoulders.
    "I go by Q," he said.

    He sucked in a breath, finally forcing the weight off him for the time being, standing up straight to tower over her.
    Just play the part, he thought.

    "You'll need a nickname."
     
  7. She blinked, finally drawing in her excitement and getting herself in check. She tilted her head back in order to look him in the eye. Sheer awe overcame her face with a quiet revere as his words sank in. "A nickname." She tried the words out for herself, tasting each syllable as she decided whether or not she liked this idea. Saito had always been quick to cover up her mistakes in the past, relieving his fair daughter of any guilt in the eyes of onlookers. Never before had the girl had a need for anonymity. Wasn't being a mercenary as easy as picking up a gun, shooting, and getting paid? She supposed not, considering her father had gotten her a tutor in the art as opposed to handing her a gun and letting her loose on the world.

    the blond head bobbed in agreement. "Yes. I think it would be wise. What about The Death Dealer?" She flapped her hands outward in an arch around her head, imagining the words glowing on a billboard in Vegas. She wiggled her fingers a bit before dropping them to her side. "Or maybe... Gein." She squinted as she mulled the new name over. She shook her head, thinking both of the names a little too abruptly cliche. Another grin spread from ear to ear as an idea struck a solid blow.

    "Well, Q. It's nice to meet you. You can call me Chuckles." And true to her new name, she let out a hearty laugh at her own sense of irony. Nobody would laugh when they saw what she was capable of.

    Once more her face twisted at the drop of a hat. Seriousness chased away the smile and brought her brows together in doubt. "But you know my real name, I'm sure. Doesn't that make you a liability to me?" Her tone held no direct threat, but her octave dropped enough to denote a certain ominous touch.

    She stared up at his face, trying to read his reaction before it actually took place.
     
  8. Bornes walked down the hall with her, trying to not show just how horrible he felt. His mouth stayed in a small line as he breathed through his nose, more determined to blank his expression with every step.

    She finally came up with the name Chuckles.
    Oh god, what had he gotten himself into? She was going to be a murderer, not a hired killer.
    Would Saito still reveal his secrets if the daughter simply couldn't learn the trade?

    "But you know my real name, I'm sure. Doesn't that make you a liability to me?" Her voice struck him out of his thoughts.
    He was surprised briefly, but his eyes being covered by the sunglasses made it indistinguishable. His face remained placid.
    He was stepping into a mask, now.

    After a pause, he said one word: "Yes."

    He went to his room and got his violin case quickly, walking swiftly out of the main building and onto the street, expecting the girl to follow.

    "I do things differently from others," he said. "Normally, you would do untraceable phone calls and the like as you suggested before. I prefer to meet in person. Of course, that is risky. But you will be covered by your father regardless."

    He continued to walk at a quick pace, used to speedwalking for several miles.
    "This job requires traveling. But obviously your father has trapped us here. You want to pick a base of operations that is out of your way. A trouble to get to from where your potential employers are. It makes it harder to track you that way if you're taking multiple hits. However, it's easier to attract a tail."

    He turned toward... Giggles... And asked her a serious question. "Do you even know how to use a gun?"
     
  9. She bit her lip and looked at him apologetically. "I shot a rabbit with a BB gun once." She shrugged. She hoped that this wouldn't be too much of a set back. She made sure she straightened herself up, looking as tall as her 5 foot 2 inch stature could. Usually she used her youthful face to her advantage, but tonight she just wanted to do her job. If her age began to show too negatively it could really throw a monkey wrench in her "birthday party." It would be a grand disappointment if she had to waste the night away with learning how to use a gun. How hard could it be? Could it really take all night to learn? She wasn't sure, and hoped not to have to find out.

    She gulped and took a stab at changing the subject to distract him. Her perky steps seemed like hops compared to his long strides, so she hopped her way in front of him. She had to take two steps to his each one, but the extra work paid off when she was matching his strides backwards. She faced him and babbled,

    "Know just the place for a base, Q! It's near here." She motioned with a tilt of her head.

    As they walked, she described the large hotel called "La Rouge", known for its upscale patrons and fine dining. She described the spa treatment in such detail, one could easily guess she frequented the place. She was wise enough at least not to directly mention this to Q. He did not strike her as the type to appreciate the rapport she'd so carefully built with the management. Her words were ceaseless and her energy exuberant.
     
  10. Bornes watched her skip and draw attention to herself. Normally he'd be annoyed, but at this point he supposed Saito would cover their asses sufficiently and he wouldn't have to worry about keeping a low profile.
    When she explained about her gun usage, he did a mental facepalm. This was going to be terrible. Even he didn't learn how to use a gun overnight, and he had a knack for it.

    He managed to keep his mouth shut however, when Giggles began to explain the hotel.
    "People you know well are double edged swords. They may help you but if they're not as loyal as you believe, they will sell you out to preserve themselves." He didn't really care for fancy hotels, but he didn't feel like arguing with her now. He could foresee he was going to have to compromise on a lot of things with this girl.

    "Also avoid using names; even nicknames."
    He finally looked at her again. "And quit drawing attention to yourself," he snapped, mostly due to annoyance.

    He brought his head back to face straight. He knew were the hotel was and didn't need to follow her.
    "This is a job, it is business. It is not murder and you will find it mostly boring."
     
  11. The undeniably moody Saeda stopped suddenly in the middle of the walk. No one talked to her that way, be it from fear of her own actions or from fear of her father's retribution. Even if she wasn't half-crazed and blood thirsty- it was a matter of pride. She had sense enough to know this man was not her father's best, and judging from the knowledge that she'd seen his face for the first time today, he wasn't even one of Saito's usual men. She half believed that her father expected her to get bored with this man and try to kill him before his job was done. No matter the ultimate outcome, someone troublesome would be removed from the business man's life. Her fury was mild enough that she still desired his tutorage, however she knew someone from whatever unimpressive walk of life he was from held no candle to the importance of her own family's. What right did he have to think himself so intimidating that he could mistreat her- Saeda Cole.

    He'd walked on a few paces before she spoke."Mr. Lee." She said just loudly enough to make sure he'd heard her use his given name. Her voice was steady and authoritative, trained from years of bossing others around. A smugness she loathed having to express danced its way across her countenance. Did he really think that her father would assign her to his care without knowing who the man was?

    Her shoulders were stiff, her feet were planted, and her hands hung in fists at her side. A soft wind blew her locks around gently, tossing enough into her face to obscure a true view. She'd always had trouble with authority, but ultimately she truly yearned to learn the lessons he was obligated to supply. She would learn the tricks of his trade and soak in every word he told her, but it had to be on her terms. He would not be allowed to express a dominance over her. No one was permitted such a blasphemy. With these thoughts racing through her mind, she began to speak without ever considering her actions and their consequences.

    "You're contracted to teach me. You keep your sense of duty to yourself and leave me to my own musings. My motivations for these lessons are none of your business. That being said, I expect you to teach me everything you know. If there is a problem, I suggest you do your job and instruct me of the proper ways for things to be done. My father would feel his money had gone to waste if you just allow me to behave however I please. If La Rouge is a bad choice, fine. But you don't you dare patronize me. Don't agree to what I say just because I say it. But in doing so, be sure to keep yourself in check. If I were you, I'd watch your tone when speaking to me. I'm not a child."
     
  12. Quatre Bornes Lee stopped in his tracks and he looked down at her as she vainly tried to intimidate him. He had to admit her using his real name was disconcerting, but that was the only ground she held and it seemed like she knew it.

    "You are just a child no matter how great you think you are. And this business is about running from authority. I saw how you looked at the messy photos, and I know what you're thinking. But the messy kills are the ones you will avoid if you actually want to stay out of prison and not depend on your dear old daddy to bail you out and fix everything."
    He took a breath, but made sure not to give her enough time to get in a word edgewise. "YOU said you wanted to do this as if you were not your father's daughter, YOU said you wanted to do this as if you were on your own. And if you ACTUALLY intend to do that, kid, then you will learn how to do this the CLEAN, BORING, and TIME CONSUMING ways."

    His left hand, the one with violin case in it, shook. He desperately wanted to slap her across the face. She had no respect at all. This was Bornes's life and how dare she make a mockery of it. He'd worked hard to get where he was, and while it was not the top of the ladder it was well enough. He had no help from anyone else. It was all him and his talent and his work and nobody else!

    He growled and took a step forward, then stopped again. Provided Giggles had nothing to say yet, he said, in a much calmer tone, "Speaking of age, unless you can do yourself up to look older you're going to need a fake ID."

    Why he even cared anymore about teaching her properly was beyond him.
     
  13. She loitered there for a moment more. She gathered her thoughts by staring blankly at the ground. His words had stung- not because she cared what he said to her, but because he'd further risked using that degrading tone. There had been very few times in her life that anyone was presumptuous enough to behave as such in her presence. Never had anyone kept at it after being warned. She was humiliated. This was an emotion she'd suffered few and far between.

    She became aware of a strange burning sensation in her eyes. They prickled intensely. As a hot stream fell from her tear duct, she was awed. Unable to remember the last time she cried, she pulled her hand to her cheek to see if instead of a salty droplet there would be dust and cobwebs. Her finger was wet. Bringing her head up to glare at Q, she began to shake with rage. Every muscle screamed in protest as she held her ground. Some animal instinct in her told her to launch herself at him, to claw out his eyes and rip off his tongue. Keeping her wits about her was the singularly most difficult thing she'd ever done; self-control was not generally among her stronger traits.

    She wanted this too much. She wanted the things he held in his mind, the talents he possessed, and the know-how to accomplish what her heart desired. In short, she needed him. If she attacked him, it would all be over. If she complained too profusely to her father, it would all be over. She had little choice but to accept this. For now. She ground her teeth together in fury, and prayed he'd never see through her bluff to report him to her father. Oh sure, it didn't have to be a bluff, but as long as she needed Q around going to Saito was out of the question.

    This arrogant prick still deserved to be taught a lesson.

    Putting such thoughts off until her hands were less tied, she sniffled quietly. Not intending to allow him to become aware that she was crying, she took a few deep breaths to quell her anger. The tears were out of her control and fell freely now, but she knew if she didn't move he'd no doubt try to inspect the reason for her delay. This was assuming he wasn't already aware, but she had to pretend he wasn't for sake of her own sanity. Her head hung low, (another feat she was unaccustomed to), and she hoped the hair falling over her face would conceal the tears. As she shuffled past him, she allowed her shoulder to bump into him with a bit of force.

    "So get me one." She mumbled. She knew she should probably ask him how this was accomplished because it was probably a useful thing to know, but for the time being holding her composure was more important. She stormed off ahead of him at an almost jog toward the hotel that was finally in view. She didn't look back; she knew he would be coming shortly. Still unaware of where he was behind her exactly, she shoved a pedestrian out of her way as she worked her way up the walk to the hotel.

    Whether he'd said nothing after her or she just hadn't heard him was of no consequence. She didn't want to see him until her face was cleaned and her composure sound. When the grand revolving door was almost within reach, she really did break into a light jog. Once inside foyer, she took another deep breath and forced a broad smile. These people would suspect the worst if she did otherwise.

    She entered the lobby and made her way to the service desk.

    "Ms. Cole, how are you today?" The young serviceman greeted her smile in return.
     
  14. Bornes let out a long, drawn out exhalation from his nose as she shoved her way past him and toward the hotel. Had she been... crying?
    He rolled his eyes behind his dark shades, a passing by thought wondering why girls were such, well, girls.

    After a moments hesitation, he followed behind her, keeping his distance. When she went to the front desk, he followed. She got a room, he continued to follow. He only caught up to her when she actually went inside the room and holed herself up in the bathroom. She probably really was crying.

    A smirk lit up his face.
    One victory of the possible many, he thought.

    He put the violin case down, propping it upright in a corner of the room and looked out the window, thinking.
    How to get a fake ID?
    He'd never needed one. With his hair, he'd never been carded. And if someone asked - which was rare- he threw a fit about ho he didn't look under 21. People normally gave in and gave him what he wanted. He had no photo ID on him. He was an illegal immigrant, but his french accent had been rid long a go, now only purposefully playing from his lips if he were trying to get an easy lay or if he happened to be more drunk than he should've been.

    He looked down at the streets below, frowning.
    "I don't have any contacts for that sort of thing, and I honestly don't want to waste any time getting any. If you want a fake ID, it'd probably be quicker to go through your father."

    He crossed his arms over the red torso of his black long sleeved dress shirt as he continued to look outside.
    How was he going to do this? He really didn't feel comfortable giving her a gun and having faith she wouldn't shoot him with it.

    He went over to the violin case, propping it on the bed before opening it. Inside, was the M40 sniper rifle. He picked it up and checked the chamber, making sure it was empty and the safety was still on. They were.
    He put the gun down on the bed and clasped the violin case closed, shoving it underneath the bed with his foot and walked over to the window, closing the blinds. Then he dragged a chair from the desk in the corner and turned it so it was in front of the window, its back toward the glass. The chair was about six feet away from the sill, however. More parallel to the bed.

    He went to the seat of the chair and held up an imaginary rifle in his hands, pointing toward the window from the chair. He did this a few times, adjusting the chair slightly each time.
    Finally, he walked back to the window and opened the curtains about an inch only. He then went to the door and turned all the lights off, finally pushing his sunglasses atop his greyed head so his emotive forest green eyes actually showed themselves, unshielded.

    Q's eyes were sensitive to the light. In the darkness, he could actually see better.

    He picked up the rifle from the bed and sat in the chair backwards, propping the rifle on the back of the chair. It was uncomfortable for his height and definitely not the best positioning, but it could work. He put his eye through the scope, making sure the curtains were wide enough to see through. Vision was extremely limited, but it was there.

    This was a pretty advanced shot, but he wasn't sure if he could even teach the absolute basics anymore considering it'd been so long since he'd adhered to them. He meant to get up and check on Giggles, see if she would ever come out of the bathroom, but he got sidetracked, pulled into the zone. He watched the people pass by his limited field of vision through the scope and he was at home again. Ready to sit there for hours waiting for the perfect shot...
     
  15. That sonofabitch. She splashed her face with water, and stared into the mirror. Looking at herself, she began to feel a bit better. She began to list all the reasons she wanted this so much, and all the good it would do her when she was finished. At long last, she was ready. A distaste for the man she thought she'd like welled up inside of her as she stared at the heavy door. No sounds came from the other side, but she could feel that he was out there. His presence had so quickly become like a parasite to her, but at the same time a necessity. She could feel without a doubt he lurked just on the other side.

    Her stealth was unintentional at first. She'd simply been centered and quiet. But when the door opened and she saw him sitting there, propped against the slightly too small chair with that long, sexy gun and staring out the window as though he'd take the shot at any moment, she held her breath. Though her current behavior suggested otherwise, Saeda had been designed for this job at birth. Her tiny frame was graceful and feathery; she moved as quietly as a breeze. Like an airy imp, it seemed as though she just appeared behind the man.

    Her grudge was currently forgotten for all at once she was as engaged as he was. She'd never been so close to a gun, to a kill. She could tell he must have been concentrating very hard, because his body language made it obvious he was unaware of her attendance. She swayed slightly from side to side, trying to get a glimpse of his target, whatever it may be. She spotted nothing so at last she moved in closely over his shoulder, trying to match her line of vision with his. She placed a hand on his back, making sure to maintain her balance.

    "What do you see?" She asked just above a whisper.
     
  16. At her touch, Bornes sucked in a breath, forcing himself out of it.
    What do you see?

    He loosened his shoulders, a small shudder going up his spine as he sat up. How dare he let his guard down around this girl.
    "People," he finally said, looking down at the gun with a frown.

    He raised his shoulders as he inhaled again.
    "This is an M40," he said, afterward, trying to change the subject.

    The gun was about the size as a standard hunting rifle, bolt action and not too impressive looking. It was rather cheap in the grand scheme of things, a pale green color and looked almost like a plastic toy. It had gotten Q through a lot, though. And for that it had gained his trust. It was very accurate and easy to use. He didn't like spending a lot of money on physical possessions. That would mean he'd actually have to treat them well. If his violin case were any indication, he kicked shit around a lot and didn't want to concern himself with the fragility of things.

    He swallowed and got up from the chair, offering the rifle to her. There was no danger as he'd checked it wasn't loaded before, and even if by some strange nightmare it was, the safety was still on and he doubted Giggles knew how to switch it off.

    "I specialize in long distance kills. Most assassinations happen with a similar setup to this."
    He nodded to the gun. "Try it."

    Once she sat down and he took his hands from the rifle, he crossed them over his chest. "This type of job involves tailing people and a lot of forethought. Being in a place your target will be, far before they will be there. Then waiting for mostly hours until they arrive and you receive the perfect shot."

    He hated this girl, but he found the more he spoke, the more he liked teaching. There was an odd catharsis involved.
    "Can you see anything?"
     
  17. Assassins were by nature creatures of extreme care and prepared for any complication. So it came as no surprise when Q handed her an unloaded gun. She had no idea how to open it up and check the fact, but she was not a stupid girl. Were the roles reversed, given the start the pair got off to, she'd have done the same thing. It made little difference though. The gun was in her hands and she was prepping as though she were actually going to take a shot. She was pleased enough for now.

    She was a quick learner. Mimicking the pose she'd seen him take, she set up the gun as similarly as she could. She even made the effort to lean slightly and peer through the scope like she knew what she was doing. As far as she could tell, her form was great. A deep breath filled her lungs. The cold metal excited her flesh, and the weight of the gun in her hands felt more natural to Saeda than watching a mother breast feeding her young. This was right. This was her purpose.

    He explained the bit about prepping for your target and about long distance shots. She listened and took it in with a nod. It was not time to challenge his authority;it was time to listen and learn.

    He finished with, "What do you see?"

    She watched through the scope, seeing the people walk back and forth on the street. She moved the gun slightly and peered through some uninteresting office window. She looked through the scope more and watched a man buy a newspaper from a stand below. She watched a father give his daughter a balloon. She watched a man in a suit almost get hit by a taxi as he stepped out into the street, no doubt distracted by the cell against his ear.

    She waited a few heartbeats before answering his question. "Cattle." She said matter-of-factly. Now she was bored again. A smug smirk spread across her face and she decided it was time to bug her new teacher again. She turned the gun toward him, and stuck her eye to the scope once more.

    "And you. Bang." She tried squeezing the trigger, it didn't budge.
     
  18. As he watched her, his heart began to thud in his chest in anticipation. She was a quick study, it seemed. Or would be. He wondered if this sort of glowing feeling was what his teacher felt with him.
    It took a lot of effort to try to hide his smug look. But that effort went unneeded when her answer was "cattle".
    He frowned, shifting his weight uncomfortably.
    A sigh escaped him when she pointed the gun at him at pulled the trigger.

    "That's not funny," he said flatly.
    "Never play with guns. Always assume they're loaded. Always."

    He looked back toward the window for a moment, then went back to the chair and gently tried to turn her around.
    "If you can make out people through the scope then it shouldn't be so hard to shoot," he said, guiding her hands back into place and standing behind her, his arms around hers.
    "You have good form so far, but you can't breathe like that. Your targets are so far away that if you do your bullet will fly away from you. A millimeter movement here can translate into feet down there."

    His body wrapped around hers, and had he wanted, he could probably had total control of her at that moment. It was clear his intentions weren't amiss here, however the embrace still felt odd. His head was near to her's, cheeks almost touching.
    "You must learn to stay absolutely still," he whispered, beginning to demonstrate. "But without tightening up your body."

    His took a deep breath, his chest raising against her back. "And breath through your chest if you can, without raising your shoulders. It is easier to only take half breaths." He stopped, and demonstrated. Even though they were so close, she could hardly feel it.
    "Most people still are rigid, so it is best to take the shot as you try to exhale, when you are relaxed."
    He did so through his nose, lightly on her cheek, then moved away.

    "It is hard to get it right, especially when you deal with recoil," he said once he was standing on his own again, walking to the bed and sitting down on it, legs spread and boots on the ground.
    The man sighed, looking down at the floor.

    "We need some place you can shoot without being disturbed. Woods or something. A gun range is too risky."
    He crossed his arms over his chest again, tapping his right foot once.
    He wanted to avoid actually teaching her how to interact with people for as long as possible. Best to get the gun stuff dealt with first, he pondered.

    But where to go from here?
     
  19. The reptilian part of every human's genetic makeup seemed more prominent in this girl at this moment. Her whole body threatened to recoil as his arms encompassed her. She stood rigidly, unsure of what was happening. It felt so wrong, so weird. She never let people this close to her.

    This is necessary. Watch what he is doing! Learn so he doesn't have to do it again! She chided herself for dwelling on the uncomfortableness of his closeness. But she couldn't focus on his words as clearly as she had when he was only three feet further away. She heard him compliment her form from miles away it seemed. He explained the important of stillness. Then he moved even closer to her. For the first time, she could take in his entire smell. She inhaled the thick cigarette odor, but also underneath she could smell his natural scent.... his sweat, his aroma. truthfully, it wasn't pleasant and made her mildly dizzy. But together with the close proximity of his body and the wave of his scent, something inside her told her that this was a very comfortable uncomfort.

    Her eye gave a tiny twitch as her mammalian brain functions tried to reclaim their dominance over the frequently used reptilian ones. What the hell was going on? She'd had little enough trouble with her hormones previously. She forced herself to focus on his words and tried his breathing techniques in hopes it would clear her mind from these ludicrous distractions. He breathed on her cheek. She shuddered. She felt as though she were committing some sacred taboo by allowing him to be so near her. She felt....vulnerable.

    When he moved away and his scent moved from her nostrils, a wave of relief flooded her. She was unaccustomed to whatever had been taking place there. Physicality was an alien concept to her, even when it had such and instructional purpose as this had. Apparently, she had personal space issues. He moved toward the bed and sat. She face him, but backed herself into the cold wall. She welcomed the chill, waiting for it to chase away the strange warmth he'd left behind. She dared not even look at him, confused by the entire uneasy scenario.

    She bit her nail, looking at the ugly curtains beside her. "Um," she breathed in slowly, "I wanted to leave him out of this... but my father does business with a very powerful drug lord. His cover is a cattle farm with lots of open space. No one usually goes there, except to care for the cows. Dad always goes in the evening so I assume the cows are cared for in the morning. He wouldn't want to be seen either. If you'd like... I could call."

    She finally looked up at him. No matter the awkwardness she was coping with, she was still a prideful being. She couldn't avoid his face forever.
     
  20. He slightly quirked a grey brow as the girl moved from the chair to the corner.
    Had he scared her?

    His green eyes watched her inquisitively while she stumbled over his words. Finally, he felt a little guilty despite what he had known about her personality, and looked away again, to the floor. "Then we'll go there tonight, if you want," he said softly, as if walking on eggshells now.

    He brought his let hand up and rubbed the back of his neck with a loud sigh, looking up to the ceiling as he kept his hand his place.
    What to do in the meantime? It would be a few hours before the sun even began to set. He briefly wondered if night-time shooting could be taught, but then dismissed the thought entirely. He'd roll with the punches he was given for now.

    He dropped his hand and looked back to her, green eyes staring again, giving off the impression they could glow in darkness if given enough time. Many women had complimented him on his eyes, but Bornes had always taken it as face values-- they were whores. They were paid to have sex with him. They had to find something to compliment.
    Still he hoped maybe it wasn't all lies.

    "Let's say you were given a target," Bornes finally began, changing subjects once more and trying a new train of thought.
    "What kind of information do you think you would need to kill them? What would you ask your contact to provide?"

    He put his hands by his sides on the edge of the bed and leaned back a bit, wondering what her response would be. If the girl had a brain on her shoulders.