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Post by blackpapermoon on Jun 27, 2014 13:40:44 GMT -5
The hustle and bustle of the market echoed throughout the Hansa controlled station, it was a smaller hub of the ring line connecting to only a small neutral station. An older man sat on the ground, set out before him was a ragged cloth that he had organized a small assortment of items. His lowly wares consisted of a few mildly damaged books, a simple letter opener, an old wrist watch and a series of faded postcards of famous cities from around the world. Most people skipped over what served as his stand a few would brows but quickly move on, not interested or having no need of the graying man’s goods.
The man sighed to himself his once pristine white coat, tied loosely over his ever shrinking waist, as his stomach growled for food. He was without bullets but would not sell his weapons or gasmask, reaching over he picked up a battered canteen and took a drink. The container giving the water a rusty metallic taste, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve he screwed the cap back on and set the bottle down. He had rationed what little dried mushrooms he had left but today was the last of his stock and with no signs of customers it would look like he would not be able to buy more. The market would be closing down in a few hours, cutting his chances of selling any of his stock severely. He looked up to see a pair of legs standing before his stand, could it be a paying customer?
“Hello, can I interest you in anything? “The former tunnel bandit asked warmly, looking up at the person browsing his wares. It was a young man perhaps just twenty years old, given his pale skin Shade assumed him metro born.
“-Yes I see you have some postcards,” the youth said, “do you have any of San Francisco?”
The long haired elder nodded shuffling through the photos and found a relatively less faded image of the golden gate bridge its edges worn and slightly tattered. But the customer’s eyes lit up despite the damage it was exactly what he was looking for.
“That’s perfect, my girl will love it!” the man exclaimed joyously, “How much do you want for it?”
“-Five bullets.”
The youth agreed and hastily bore into his pockets and handed Kiril the bullets he was due. Before hurrying off back into the market as Shade pocketed his profit, it would seem that he was not going hungry tonight.
No more customers came to him that day but it would be enough to keep him going for another day or so. The older man began to pack up his goods, stacking the books on top of each other and placing the remaining postcards inside one of the books. That book was placed on top of the stack with the letter opener and the watch on top of it. Taking the corners of the cloth he secured his goods just as a shadow should loom over him.
“I’m closed for today,” he remarked without looking up, “come again when the market is o….” However before he could finish he was greeted with a sharp kick to his side.
“-Not what we’re here for old man,” said a thuggish voice of a person not fully out of his teens, “why don’t you hand over those bullets, you don’t want us to have to ruff you up.”
Shade looked up to get a glance of the men or rather boys threatening him, there were only two of them but they were built like a Reich panzer. He hugged the side where he had been kicked, and grunted in pain as one placed a foot on his head. Even if they had not hit him he was not going to hand over anything to the two brutes.
“-We’ll kick your brains out we will,” the other teen said with a laugh, “just hand ‘em over and we’ll let you live.”
“-A…alright,” Kiril remarked playing along, slowly shifting his weight, “you can have the bullets.”
He pretended to reach for his profit but at the last moment shifted himself allowing him space and time to spring to his feet. He took up a relaxed defensive posture with his arms up and weight mainly in the balls of his feet. The two teens growled out in anger as a crowd began to gather.
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Post by CaptainNips on Jun 27, 2014 23:14:08 GMT -5
The wine was bitter, aged and sour from years of sitting in some long forgotten cellar. Vadim was baffled that anyone would pay so much for a Stalker to retrieve such an acrid bottle, but such was the nature of Hansa Governor Stepanov. Leaning back in his chair, the official would seem a long statue, quietly contemplating the past in his gargoyle-like reverie. Of course, our friend Vadim Chuikov did not imagine this description himself, but was rather impatient... agitated at this time. And as anyone in the business knew, an agitated professional made a dangerous professional.
Here he was, sitting with angst in some moldy chair, awaiting his recent pay, which was well-deserved mind you. The Ring Line always had problems that required solving by a man of his talents; but these big money-pushers always took so goddamn long just to bring out a pay that ranged in the dozens. Vadim blamed it on Hansa protocol, their undivided capitalist instinct which required a ritual of officiousness for even minor exchanges. A mask of office to veil, or maybe even persuade themselves, that their shadowy work was just 'for business'. For business... Blast it all. It didn't matter that the target was only a petty drifter who stepped into the wrong territory and angered the wrong people, but a man has to make a living. And Vadim planned to make his kind of living known very well on Mr. Stepanov himself, if he didn't get his way.
The two stared at each other for long moments, eyeing and analyzing the other in the blank wait reasoned beforehand as: "My assistant will retrieve your reward." This made things complicated, but then again, everything was when you dealt with the Ring Line. It was amusing to Vadim that these tycoons hadn't yet realized such tiring waits only gave people like him more venom, more bite in the end to screw them over.
He chuckled to himself, finishing off his wine in one gulp, causing Stepanov to raise his brow. "What is it?"
"Nothing, I just love my job so much." he said, giving the governor a caustic smirk.
Just as the official formed a cautious smile, the door opened. The Governor ushered the assistant forward, and plopped the sack down before the hitman as if it were a mere sack of produce.
"There, that should be enough rounds to satisfy you...?"
Vadim weighed the sack in his deft hands, it was ample enough, and would undoubtedly be a good addition to his stash.
With that in mind, he stuck it in the shadows of his coat. "It is enough."
Stepanov nodded, "Good, now... there is another assignment which I would like you to perform. There's a merchant, more of a bum if you ask me-"
"Stop right there, Governor," Vadim interrupted, "I'll have you know that I am no errand boy. You can get someone else to do your damn tax collecting."
"I am aware of your talents and... potential, Vadim. But I assure you, this job has good pay for anyone who's interested, and a little bird tells me that fresh rounds always tune your ears," the governor cooed, eyeing the hitman's coat pocket where he had previously stashed his pay.
Vadim pondered and stared blankly at the man for a moment until responding, "I'm listening."
"Good, now this particular seller has been good about his location taxes somehow, he's always managed to pay his dues. But somehow, I'm not convinced. The guy is little more than a bum as I said, and I'd be surprised if he could scrounge that kind of cash and still get on with his life. So that's why I would like you, Vadim, to perhaps... talk to him, get to bottom of my suspicion, if you understand my meaning."
Extortion, a textbook Hansa trick. But still, it made him money, and Vadim already felt he'd be spending some time on this station. Might as well get to know the locals, huh?
"Fine," the thug said, "I'll do it."
"Good."
The hitman now turned tax collector roamed the halls of the station, heading towards the vague supposed location of this merchant bum. Walking past the bustling market now turning down to small crowds, he could see that most stalls were about to close shop for the day. I better hurry, he thought, Before my new friend suddenly decides to go home for the day. He hurried through the station's denizens now leaving to their homes, nudging and sometimes shoving his way through. One man felt the outline of his Skorpion beneath his coat as Vadim bumped into him, and stared with mouth agape. The thug merely smiled and continued on his way.
Minutes later, he found his objective. The old man was hunched over his goods, tidying up the odd-and-ends to pack up for the day. He barely seemed to be a danger, so Vadim was sure the job would prove to be easier than most of his work. Done within minutes, he thought. That was his very own objective as he confidently strode in the merchant's direction.
Suddenly, he stopped mid-stride. He saw two others jog along not far from him. He paused, tracking their movements until he saw them going for his very own target. Completely still, the hitman witnessed the initial holdup, and observed as he joined the front of the small crowd forming around the conflict. Young wolves... boys staking their hands at being predators. Vadim hated them, yet reminded himself he himself was once one of them... haunting and preying in the alleys of Venice. Everyone has to start somewhere, he thought, as he decided to temporarily remain uninvolved. He'd get the money either way, whether it was through roughing up two market rats or an old man. Besides, it might be entertaining, he thought again as the old man surprisingly took a very skilled defensive position.
Boy, I am gonna get a kick out of this...
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Post by blackpapermoon on Jun 28, 2014 21:50:42 GMT -5
The youths circled around the old man, much like a pack of dogs moving in on an injured deer. Hardly predators, too weak to go after a better breed of metro dweller but also far too stupid to realize that the target in which they had chosen was not as he seemed. If they had paid closer attention, they might have seen that he was far more experienced in hand to hand combat. The old and over used saying never judged a book by its cover rang truer than ever in this situation.
The first leapt forward with a half formed slur, to which the old man side stepped and shifted his weight to his back foot allowing him to pivot. Coming around to the back of the thug, Krill delivered a swift elbow to the back of the teen’s head, causing the boy to lose balance and fall to the ground holding the impact spot. However his companion was not wise and moved in on the reformed tunnel bandit, aiming to deliver a meaty fist into the weathered face of the elder. Krill deflected the blow with his forearm before taking hold of the attacking arm; at the same time he lowered himself and with his other hand took hold of the teen’s belt. Using the force and momentum made by the thug Shade lifted him up and tossed him on top of the other who was only then starting to recover.
Many in the crowd stood with their mouths agape, as the old man approached the beaten teens. The full encounter lasted less then a minuet as was expected but with the most unlikely victor. Shade glared at the boy whose eyes were wide in shock, before delivering a sharp backhand to his face.
“Learn to respect your elders, boy.” He remarked harshly more like a stern tutor before he reached into one of the boys coat pockets to remove a hefty pouch of rounds.
“Now if you don’t mind I’ll be taking this and be on my way.”
The old man stood up and walked back to his packed up goods, slinging the bundle over his shoulder he added the new pouch to his coat pocket and departed the market. Krill took his new found earnings to a rickety makeshift hovel that served as a trade post for the merchants and sellers after the market closed for the night, an afterhour’s bazar. He approached the counter and placed down a large amount of bullets, getting the trader’s attention almost instantly.
“-Well, well, well,” the man behind the counter laughed, “Kirill the bum finally got a decent sale?”
“-I want one kilo of Tea, two of spiced rat meat and mushroom mix,” Krill said cutting the pleasantries before adding, “and a bottle of shroom vodka.”
As the trader got together the order the long graying haired man could not help but to look over his shoulder, he had made more then a show and did not normally like to attract attention to himself. Should trouble follow him he wanted to be ready, to either run or fight.
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Post by Soulthief on Jun 30, 2014 21:33:41 GMT -5
Turning his seat to you, you see a man, about forty-five or something, arms crossed and with a couple bullet scars, only recently healed over. He grins at you, and taps your back "Eheh, you? I saw you out there..."
He is dressed in what looks like a leather coat, along with tanned pants, good boots, some gloves and a rather common helm. He seems to have large clips, but only has about five Military grade rounds. Pitiful next to you, even if your own glory is short lived, it's really sad to see this "moneybags"... he opens his mouth and speaks again "Well well well... You made a lot of money, yeah? And you can sell good. You may know me... some old Arbater merchant? Yeah..."
"Look, old man... I think... We can form an agreement. I've been just about everywhere. I know where the money is. Where the goods are... It's my job! my purpose in life, to make money and happiness... I can give us both. I can make us both rich, and make the lives of people around us better! think about it... And plus, I could use a reason to travel- hey, it won't cost you a blank. Promise?" He gives a business-like smile, clutching his clips in anticipation.
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Post by CaptainNips on Jul 2, 2014 3:17:17 GMT -5
This bum sure knows his stuff... Vadim observed from the front of the crowd, where bystanders ooed and awed with each blow, each skillful dodge.
The hitman chuckled to himself and spoke to himself, "I hope I am that lively in my old age."
The old merchant had moved with surprising speed and strength. Vadim found it hard to grasp how that much strength could come out of those limbs, which he imagined would have been skin and bone just like every other bum on the station. But no... this man was different, and he hoped that wouldn't impede on the collection. Besides, I won't give him time to give me a good hook anyway, the vagabond thought, patting his Schofield revolver at his hip in an almost affectionate way.
When the two teenagers were down and knocked out out their wits, the merchant picked off a puch of rounds one was carrying... Oooh, more rounds for Mr. Stepanov... and found it suiting to leave, which was just as suiting for his hunter. No point in performing the job when another scuffle was dealt so soon in the same place, best to catch him off-guard someplace else. And so, that is what Vadim Cuikov decided to do. He followed the grey-bearded bum through the market, blending in seamlessly with the crowds and trains of people. The act of silent pursuit was second nature, as it was for all the natural predators.
Eventually, Vadim's steps came to a stop, perfectly in sync with the merchant as he stopped at a trade post. Going off to the side, Vadim pretended to be interested in a scruffy man's products of scavenged books and pornography. He spoke, and all the while paid close attention to the bum's conversation just feet away. From what he heard, his target's name was Krill, an odd name, and Vadim almost prided himself in thinking that he'd never hunted a man bearing that name.
Out of the corners of his trained eyes, he saw a heavy bag of rounds placed before the trade post keeper. I better be there to snatch it first, Vadim thought, but grimaced when he heard the words of another, a merchant speaking to Krill, trying to goad him into some trade alliance or some shit... whatever skeevy things merchants do. At that point, Vadim knew it was time to his grand appearance. As he strode with heavy steps, he imagined a grand orchestra illustrating his arrival in foreboding notes of staccato. The trade post keeper had arrived with some of Krill's requests, and was about to retrieve his pay, before the hitman's heavy glove landed over the pouch with a strong--THUD. A low stare from this new 'customer' set the keeper at unease as he nervously took a few steps back.
"A-a-a... I'd think twice before you hand over that hard-earned cash so easily, Mr. Krill." said Vadim with a stone-eyed stare as he began to slide the pouch along the counter more towards himself. "You forget, my friend, that there are others whom you must pay homage to."
The extortioner stood stoically before the two merchants, square in the shoulders and just as blunt in his request. Whoever he was, despite the lowly job he was performing, he was not a petty thief. That much you could guess at his long trench coat, vainly worn vest, and by the glint of his American revolver, just so hidden in the depths of his coat.
Whether the victim answered or not, Vadim knew his next words before he said them. "You look to be a smart man, Mr. Krill... hopefully wise enough to remember your debts," Vadim spoke, his words coated with venom. "And hopefully your keen enough to know that struggling against the constrictor, only makes it squeeze tighter."
The cold-eyed man gave an odd smile, his other hand always keeping his revolver well-known to their eyes. "So, please, don't test me, good sir Krill... while I am still in a good mood."
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Post by Soulthief on Jul 3, 2014 0:03:18 GMT -5
The merchant shakes his head sadly, and looks at this scumbag of a man, recieving his dues- If they can even be considered that- from this old man. "Hey, look, Man, he won that money fair and square! I mean, what are you? It's like you just pulled out of Hanza. I get that, obviously, their gross corruption of capitalism has rubbed off on the Metro, but come on now." It's clear this marketer has no idea just who you are.
He shifts to the back of his seat and turns towards this man. He doesn't know who he is, or what he is doing, but he does know that he is taking the coin from a potential business partner... which could, subsequently, damage his own coinage. No one wants that to happen, in his mind. He looks this thief in the eyes, opening up once again. "You don't even have enough money to get good clothes. I'm not Captain moneybags myself nowadays, but listen. I could get you both 100 Rounds in a day! There's no reason steal from this "Krill".
"I get life is hard here, but we aren't going to get rich by stealing it. I'm talking for the lot of us now... Mainly certain bandits in my presence, though-" He shifts back forward, neck bending back down as he seems to pad in his pockets for something. "Believe you, me. I got the livestock, the cart, the routes. I can even dig a tunnel through Park Pobedy and into Kievskaya- If you actually believe the lies that it got blown up. Har-har." He chuckles, pulling out five rounds and two 5.45 caliber magazines, Thirty rounds each, obviously hammered in some Reich armory "Your riches... Is with me, friend. Riches and a good home in... somewhere, I guess. Hey, I never checked... what is this station?
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Post by blackpapermoon on Jul 18, 2014 0:07:48 GMT -5
Krill drummed his fingers along the counter; as his leg bounced impatiently, at this point his only concern was making it to his home without any farther incidents. Should have just ran he thought to himself shouldn't have made such a scene back there. With a sigh he continued to wait, the years having taught him that it was folly to wish to change the past. Suddenly someone tapped him on the shoulder causing him to turn sharply his instincts posed to attack however upon seeing an older trader he stopped mid turn. Just as the man rambled off a quick hurriedly jumble of words that he only caught the last end of.
"Well well well... You made a lot of money, yeah? And you can sell good. You may know me... some old Arbater merchant? Yeah..."
“-No I can’t say I’ve heard of you friend,” Shade remarked softly in a weather tone taking in the surroundings of the trade post, that was lively and muddled in an odd but somehow orderly way that only merchants where capable of, "but you are mistaken this was merely a... donation to my continued welfare from some of the station's youth. I am a poor trader."
He was not in this particular station because he wished to remake himself as a merchant, but instead was here because of a possible connection with his past. His eldest son who had taken up his old wicked ways, his sins had carried on to his children, he’d corrupted them, turning them into reflections of his greed and hatred. He hoped to reason with his son but knew in his heart in the end he would have to end him. Wishing not to continue such morbid thoughts he regarded the man before him.
The trader was slightly younger then himself and despite the man’s slowly healing wounds Kirill knew he was not a fighter. He seemed to have a vast amount of wealth but upon closer inspection his fortune consisted of mostly dirty rounds. The way he acted right down to his fast paced talking led Krill to believe that he was a lifelong merchant, a learned behavior and lifestyle. In years past such a fellow would have been a target for him, a cash cow ripe for the plunder and he was most likely being sized up as such by any nearby ne'er-do-wells and despots.
"-Look, old man... I think... We can form an agreement. I've been just about everywhere. I know where the money is. Where the goods are... It's my job! my purpose in life, to make money and happiness... I can give us both. I can make us both rich, and make the lives of people around us better! think about it... And plus, I could use a reason to travel- hey, it won't cost you a blank. Promise?" The man continued without missing a beat.
“-Travel?” Shade asked just as his order was ready, “It would seem we have similar plans friend….”
However before he could collect his order a heavy hand came down upon his pouch of bullets, his eyes trailed up from the glove covered hand to the form of a dark clad stranger; he was slim and very pale, most of his face was hidden away leaving only gaunt features. His height and over all dark appearance made him look a kin to the grim reaper itself. The young man reminded him of his younger days before the war, hungry. But not for sustenance for money, power and blood lust; driven by the soul desire of power and the need to feel dangerous. To prowl like a wolf among the sheep fold with cold calculation.
"-A-a-a... I'd think twice before you hand over that hard-earned cash so easily, Mr. Kirill." said the stranger in a slick oily tone as he began to slide the pouch along the counter more towards himself. "You forget, my friend, that there are others whom you must pay homage to."
Shade only let out a slight snort, clearly not very amused by the collector’s display of the gleaming weapon from inside his leather coat. He in returned cocked his head to one side and gave back a dark seemly knowing glance, like a veteran would give onto a greenhorn right before the younger did something foolhardy.
"You look to be a smart man, Mr. Krill... hopefully wise enough to remember your debts," he continued harshly his being brimming with arrogance and bravado. "And hopefully your keen enough to know that struggling against the constrictor, only makes it squeeze tighter."
“-Tell your master young hound that I have paid my ‘taxes’ in full,” Kirill remarked apathetically, as he brushed the others hand a side from his spendings, “Perhaps if he stop bathing in his wealth and checked his logbooks, such situations would not occur.”
In truth he had not paid a single round to the station’s government , it would only say so on paper. For someone who knew how to cling to the shadows slinking in and out of restricted areas was a mere stroll in the park. Forgery was not his forte but he did well enough that no one noticed the change in handwriting. Shade fought the powerful urge to smirk, only a gleam of that thought showed in his eyes some habits where impossible to kill.
However much to Shade’s great surprise his newly found acquaintance seemed to leap to his defense, but the former tunnel bandit knew it was to no end. He inwardly sighed odds where that he was going without food tonight and the young ‘tax collector’ was going to befall a nasty mishap fairly soon. Although full of bravado and perhaps even having the skill to back it up he did not have the experience to know when he was going to get burned. Working for government as underworld contract ended very badly, sooner or later they would start seeing you for what you were a wolf licking his chops. Slowly growing rabid and bitter, and would need to be put down, and from what Shade saw this one was already quite brazen.
“But if you must persist,” Shade continued slowly as if pondering something on his mind, “how about we make this a challenge? If you can land a single good hit on me out of three runs you make take the whole pouch if not you take half and do not ‘collect’ in the bazar again, but either way I’d suggest taking the money and run pup. The governor is just about done with you.”
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Post by CaptainNips on Jul 19, 2014 5:18:50 GMT -5
Vadim's brow raised as he listened to both of their requests and pleas. He always liked this moments... the feeling of having the distinct advantage while your prey cowered under his figure. He could somewhat feel his own influence over the other merchant, but saw it weakened when it passed over the old man. He was stout, that's for sure, and certainly knew his way in coercion. As the thug eyed hik up and down, taking in the long hair, dirty parka, sea grey eyes and all the way to his vicious scar. Even from his looks, Vadim could feel something about the man... like he wasn't always a bum in a sad state. No... he could feel something else, the same tact and tone of the mob bosses in Venice that he'd grown up around.
As the other bearded merchant stated his offer, Vadim both listened and sized him up at the same time. This guy undoubtedly knew his stuff in the trading world, and Vadim was sure he owned some connections. Everything from the ushanka, grand beard, kalash and boots told Vadim that he wouldn't be a bad business partner.
"Mendeleyevskaya," he answered first, turning to the merchant, "Under rule of Governor Stepanov himself, my employer." He made a sudden boyish grin, "I must say, your offer is tempting. But, even though Mr. Half-Empty may say Stepanov is ready to cut me loose, why should I switch alliances with this powerful offical? I can earn two or even four times your offer in a single day from my gracious and dear Stepanov. Besides, my line of work isn't what you'd call... savory. I am more into being paid for shooting heads and stealing baubles, than being an errand boy for some tunnel merchant."
Not protesting at all for having his hand brushed away from the pouch, Vadim narrowed his eyes as he turned to Krill, "And as for you. You've got guts for even calling me 'pup', old geezer." His blank expression barely changed at this, his cold eyes like ice as he regularly stared on. "But still, I am not stupid. I can tell the life of a bum wasn't always yours... maybe that's why you're acting like such a wise-ass."
He gave a short smirk, "The Governor is a small time employer of mine. Red commissars are more regularly my choice in 'master', as you call it. Being used to their methods... I'd usually blow your brains right here, right now." Vadim spoke as if he was commenting on the state of the weather. "But!" he raised a finger. "I am not so boring as you might think. I will graciously accept your challenge. Though you'll have to outline the rules for me, lest i suddenly decide to pull a stiletto on you."
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Post by Soulthief on Jul 19, 2014 23:14:27 GMT -5
"Listen to what the man says-" He says, looking over your body for a naming or something "Vadim. I was an Arbat merchant in the old days, 5,000 rounds Early on. Hanza needed us more than we would ever need them, so then, they just... forced us into exile.
They tried blowing up our tunnels, spent countless wars against reds which were fought in our stations, (especially around our far base of Park Pobedy), they threw merchants- like myself- out of their land. That "Official" will drop you like a stone the moment he has had enough of you.
Think about our friend here. Look at him! Poor as snot. You're going to get paid once then extorted. the leader doesn't even like you as a person... Then you'll be like the rest of us; poor, lost, and kicked out of Hanza. It's stupid of you to spend your time beating each other up when the Government will boot you and the rest of us out too.
Just think about what you're doing. can you really trust the Hanseatics? Think about that." He says, laying back in his seat as he pulls out a piece of paper, scribbling down some notes. "But if you really want to do this, well... I'll be keeping the score. What are you two doing, then? Anything specific, or just..." Pauses, writing down some more lines. "Stuff?"
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Post by blackpapermoon on Jul 21, 2014 11:55:08 GMT -5
Kirill hid the slight surprise that the thug had been able to work out that he was not always the poor man that he had led so many others into believing. Although it was unlikely he knew just what he had been and who he once was, five years of living alone in the darkest and deepest of the tunnels of the metro most thought him long since dead.
“Perhaps being a wise-ass is the reason why I’m in such a lowly state,” he remarked slowly easing himself away from the bar, “I’ve been told it was one of my many charms.”
He held back laughing as his new friend lectured about government, quite simply put there had not been a ruling body since the fall of the bombs twenty years ago. All anyone was in the metro, was a refugee, and all the so called factions, The Reds, Reich, Hansa, even Polis where all just large bodies of exiles squabbling over an ever dwindling amount of resources.
“There is no need for rules,” he said softly, “the metro is always in a flux state, what ever happens is just a shift in power and if you feel the need to use a weapon on an old man it just is what it is.”
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Post by CaptainNips on Jul 28, 2014 23:55:48 GMT -5
Vadim, no matter how uninterested his expression seemed, was listening to the other merchant. Even he, in all his confident pride, knew what the Hansa was like. He surely wasn't the first to carry out their dirty jobs... and now he was sure there was a reason for him taking their place. Did they think him weak? Think him an easily dispensable worker? Surely not, Vadim's reputation spanned across the Metro from Polis to the Red Line. But the Hanseatics were always a greedy sort, and rarely would they think beyond their scent for rounds.
I'll show them. he thought.
"Your friend has a point, Kirill. The Hansa's ways are still hazy to me, but he's reminded me of their deception. I am more used to the honorable Reds, they pay me well... and they know a good partner when they see one."
The pale-eyed man smirked to the old man. "Very correct. There are no rules, which only further justifies what I'm about to do... keep the bum's money to myself." his grin widened with boy-like joy. "Your friend has reminded me of that option, and it's only grown more appealing now that he points out my 'honest' employer."
The hitman arrogantly swished his coat to the side, flaunting the glinting nickel of the Schofield. "You advised me of doing so earlier, isn't that right, Kirill?"
With a sudden jerk of his head and hand motions, the man's tone turned from caustic to cordial. "But, as I pointed out earlier, I am no boring man... I am not without sport. So yes, I accept this 'brawling challenge' of yours, old bum. A good show of skill with hands and feet. And your offer sounds fair, I'll get my way no matter what, anyhow."
Vadim gave a hollow laugh, as if all genuine joy was absent in a forced guffaw, and assumed a square-shouldered stance. Awaiting whatever the men had to say, or what the bum would do, he motioned leisurely with his hand. "It would only be fair if you threw the first strike, dear Kirill."
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Post by blackpapermoon on Aug 11, 2014 21:47:45 GMT -5
The elder watched the young hitman, paying close mind to each steep and slight movement. Shade had to admit he had a strong control, and was very calculated. Each movement precise and effective, allowing him to keep control over the trade post. However his persona dripped with arrogance and he seemed to be more heavily reliant on his shimmering firearm.
“It is survival, “Kirill remarked undoing the lose knot that held his coat around his waist, his movement was relaxed and fluid, “then there should be no hard feeling for what is about to happen, pup.”
Despite Shade’s conclusion of his opponent he knew this fight was going to be much more difficult than his previous brawl with the brutes in the market. He allowed his parka to fall to the floor, as a cold hard stare glinted in his eyes. It was such a gaze that he had not worn in years; his eyes became like ice, the eyes of a trained killer. Suddenly Kirill lunged forward seemingly ready to deliver a right hook into Vadim’s face but at the last moment looped around the long coated man to come behind him.
“Point one,” Shade remarked in a deadpan tone as he forced a heel into the younger’s back.
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Post by dehotherguy on Aug 20, 2014 19:52:18 GMT -5
Sid sat at a nearby bar, watching the event unfold. The mercenary had arrived at this station only a few days ago, working as an escort to a wealthy merchant as he did business at various stations. However, complications with some clients had forced the merchant to stay for a longer time than usual at this station, forcing Sid and her squad to do the same.
During this time, Sid would often spend long hours at the bar, having little else to do but wait for the merchant to finish his business. The confrontation between the three men at the store provided some entertainment. Two of them seemed to be having some sort of fight, possibly over the bag of bullets on the counter. The older man was surprisingly quick for his age. Amused, and curious as to how this confrontation might play out, Sid sat back and watched.
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Post by CaptainNips on Aug 27, 2014 3:10:52 GMT -5
The eyes. Just from the old man's eyes could Vadim know when it had began. It was survival indeed, and the hitman saw the will to uphold it in Kirill. It was the gaze of a predator, and a well-trained one at that. And as the parka fell, and time slowed with the beginnings of adrenaline, Vadim could see that this "bum" was not what he was made out to be. Just from the eyes. Vadim could've gotten lost in that serpentine hypnotism, if it wasn't for a clenched fist coming right towards his face.
The time for words and coaxing was over, it was time to prove them right. The thug had raised his left hand deftly to swat the fist away, but was tricked as he only sifted through air. The enemy was behind him, and had delivered a sharp blow into the small of his back. Vadim cursed, lowering as he bent his knees from the shock of being hit. Already his bones ached, and the beginnings of a bruise was quite clear. The hitman forced a chuckle, turning around to say, "You're good--"
In that instant, he had already began his move. Rushing in with his leg very much in Kirill's space, he attempted to not give Kirill's anytime to react as he swiftly moved in close with his hand forming a sharp knuckled point with his middle finger. It was a move he'd practiced in his own brawls as a child, and an old trick as he lunged the wedged point straight for the old man's diaphragm. The strong blow was meant to knock the very wind out of a victim. Cruel, just like its wielder.
If the move even worked, Vadim would sneer. "Already out of breath, are we? Don't give up on me now." he would laugh, gesturing leisurely towards himself. "Point one."
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Post by blackpapermoon on Aug 28, 2014 7:50:13 GMT -5
The fists flew fast, Kirill not able to react fast enough to evade the blow so instead did what he could to disperse it. It was a dastardly move the pointed fist caught the old tunnel raider by surprise and caused a slight hitch in his breathing. However the move was not as effective as the other might have hoped. He moved back slightly with a shrugging like movement with his upper body, suddenly he snapped back like a rubber band. With the use of a forearm reinforced with his other hand he redirected the momentum back into his opponent’s chest, at the same time he looped his leg around the one that Vadim had moved into his space in effect causing the younger to lose his strong footing. Kirill leaned forward adding his own weight on to the weakened stance of the other man, causing both to fall to the floor having the ex-outlaw effectively kneeling over the extortioner, mid fall he moved his reinforced forearm upwards so now it rested on Vadim’s throat threatening to come down to choke him.
“Stay down pup,” Kirill sneered out voice cold, as he put some just enough force on the others neck just to make it uncomfortable to breath.
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