Post by Finn Elliot Harlow on Jul 1, 2019 22:56:24 GMT -5
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[attr="class","ctopline"]fake it if you're out of direction
[attr="class","cscriptcriminal"]fake it if you don't belong
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[attr="class","clyrics"]Fake it if you feel like a infection[break]
Woah you're such a fuckin' hypocrite
Woah you're such a fuckin' hypocrite
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[attr="class","cbody"]This was an unusual situation for him—definitely a first since he had been back to London. When he had been living in Moscow, it had not been unusual for him to work whatever kind of job that needed done. It had put him in situations where he was in the worst areas of the city, having to look over his shoulder at every time, and had put him in the nicest casinos where people threw away more money in a night than he’d seen in his entire life. But usually in those situations, he was the one doing the work. He was the one doing the heavy lifting. If something needed done, he got it done. Even if it was difficult. Even if it was a job that they considered to be near impossible—as many of his first jobs had been, just to see what he was capable of, he got it done.
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Had there been close calls? Of course. He wasn’t infallible. He wasn’t some trained assassin. Was he a capable killer when he needed to be? Yes. More than capable. But he was not an expert, he was not trained, and there had certainly been close calls or situations where he probably could have done the job with a bit more finesse. But the job got done—and couldn’t be traced back to him or the people that he worked for. In his opinion, at the end of the day, that was what it came down to. That was what really mattered. Everything else was just extra.
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But it had been different since he had moved to London. Obviously, that kind of work was not why he had been sent here. He had been looking for a reason to come home, if he was being perfectly honest with himself. They had found out about that, and then this job had been offered. Finn knew that there were strings attached to it—there always were, but the strings had not been all that bad. Nothing more than a cut of the profits. He had no doubt that he would return to Moscow in the future, but for now, he was fine here. They did not need him in Moscow that badly. While the right person had taken a liking to him, that did not mean that he was so important that he couldn’t be away from the city for too long. Not by a bloody longshot.
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Being here worked out fine for him. He got to do what he wanted for the most part. Managing the club at night was easy, and he got a free place to live out of the deal. There was not much more than he could actually ask for. The summer fights were in full swing, and they were at maximum capacity most weekends. There was something about the warm weather that brought out the ferocity in people. There had only been a fair few fights in the past month that hadn’t been able to hold his interest—and even less that couldn’t hold the crowd’s interest, though they were decidedly easy to please.
[break][break]
Those nights were easy, and most of the time they were even fun. It was drinking, fighting, and making money. What was there to dislike? Yes, he had to make sure the place didn’t catch on fire or that people didn’t kill each other, but he could still drink, flirt, and mostly have a good time the rest of the night—all while making thousands of galleons. It was a good gig.
[break][break]
But it was not what was on the docket tonight. Tonight was something entirely different. What he had done in Moscow was not necessary here, because they didn’t have all that many enemies to kill from countries away. If he had a problem that needed dealt with that way, then he would deal with it. It would not be anyone else’s responsibility to give him the order or set it up for him. That would just be a situation that he could handle on his own. Obviously, in London, that wasn’t a situation that came up all that often. He didn’t have much of a reason to make enemies, though that had absolutely not been the case in Moscow. There, enemies had been everywhere. Here, that wasn’t a problem.
[break][break]
Apparently, there was an exception to that today. There was someone that they’d wanted taken care of. While he had made it clear that he could do it himself, they hadn’t wanted him to get his hands dirty, and there had been no reason to argue all that much about it. He wasn’t going to convince them. If they wanted to ask someone else to do it, that was their choice.
[break][break]
Obviously, he had to be their contact in London, though, since he was the only one that could be. It meant heading out to a hole-in-the-wall pub in Camden and drinking an iced tea until they showed up. Whoever the hell they might be. He was at the table that he had been told to sit at, but apart from that he did not know who was expected to show up tonight—or if they would. Assassins could be a paranoid bunch. There was a chance they’d use this opportunity to stake him out, get a look at him and assess before deciding on another meeting. Inconvenient as hell, but nevertheless a possibility. He still had to sit here for a while and give it a shot. Iced tea looked like whiskey, which worked in his advance, and if they did show up, would lessen their guard if they thought he was drinking. In theory, anyway. That would all depend on whether or not someone actually showed up.
[break][break]
[break][break]
Had there been close calls? Of course. He wasn’t infallible. He wasn’t some trained assassin. Was he a capable killer when he needed to be? Yes. More than capable. But he was not an expert, he was not trained, and there had certainly been close calls or situations where he probably could have done the job with a bit more finesse. But the job got done—and couldn’t be traced back to him or the people that he worked for. In his opinion, at the end of the day, that was what it came down to. That was what really mattered. Everything else was just extra.
[break][break]
But it had been different since he had moved to London. Obviously, that kind of work was not why he had been sent here. He had been looking for a reason to come home, if he was being perfectly honest with himself. They had found out about that, and then this job had been offered. Finn knew that there were strings attached to it—there always were, but the strings had not been all that bad. Nothing more than a cut of the profits. He had no doubt that he would return to Moscow in the future, but for now, he was fine here. They did not need him in Moscow that badly. While the right person had taken a liking to him, that did not mean that he was so important that he couldn’t be away from the city for too long. Not by a bloody longshot.
[break][break]
Being here worked out fine for him. He got to do what he wanted for the most part. Managing the club at night was easy, and he got a free place to live out of the deal. There was not much more than he could actually ask for. The summer fights were in full swing, and they were at maximum capacity most weekends. There was something about the warm weather that brought out the ferocity in people. There had only been a fair few fights in the past month that hadn’t been able to hold his interest—and even less that couldn’t hold the crowd’s interest, though they were decidedly easy to please.
[break][break]
Those nights were easy, and most of the time they were even fun. It was drinking, fighting, and making money. What was there to dislike? Yes, he had to make sure the place didn’t catch on fire or that people didn’t kill each other, but he could still drink, flirt, and mostly have a good time the rest of the night—all while making thousands of galleons. It was a good gig.
[break][break]
But it was not what was on the docket tonight. Tonight was something entirely different. What he had done in Moscow was not necessary here, because they didn’t have all that many enemies to kill from countries away. If he had a problem that needed dealt with that way, then he would deal with it. It would not be anyone else’s responsibility to give him the order or set it up for him. That would just be a situation that he could handle on his own. Obviously, in London, that wasn’t a situation that came up all that often. He didn’t have much of a reason to make enemies, though that had absolutely not been the case in Moscow. There, enemies had been everywhere. Here, that wasn’t a problem.
[break][break]
Apparently, there was an exception to that today. There was someone that they’d wanted taken care of. While he had made it clear that he could do it himself, they hadn’t wanted him to get his hands dirty, and there had been no reason to argue all that much about it. He wasn’t going to convince them. If they wanted to ask someone else to do it, that was their choice.
[break][break]
Obviously, he had to be their contact in London, though, since he was the only one that could be. It meant heading out to a hole-in-the-wall pub in Camden and drinking an iced tea until they showed up. Whoever the hell they might be. He was at the table that he had been told to sit at, but apart from that he did not know who was expected to show up tonight—or if they would. Assassins could be a paranoid bunch. There was a chance they’d use this opportunity to stake him out, get a look at him and assess before deciding on another meeting. Inconvenient as hell, but nevertheless a possibility. He still had to sit here for a while and give it a shot. Iced tea looked like whiskey, which worked in his advance, and if they did show up, would lessen their guard if they thought he was drinking. In theory, anyway. That would all depend on whether or not someone actually showed up.
[break][break]
[attr="class","cnotes"]962 ● Kallisto Ophelia Parkinson ● outfit
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