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Post by CaptainNips on Aug 29, 2014 21:19:36 GMT -5
What happened next was a flurry of motion with no small amount of pain. It surprised him in those adrenaline boosted nano-seconds that his blow had little effect, clearly his adversary had experience with such strikes. But soon enough, there he was... on the ground, chest throbbing, with a strong forearm braced against his throat. Vadim took in a halted breath, in near shock from being thrown down so easily. Normally, the hitman would know this was his end... and yet, the finishing blow never came. That one hit into darkness. Vadim awaited it, staring back up at Kirill with cold, defiant eyes.
Hearing the intonation at 'pup', Vadim forced a chuckle, which hurt his throat more than it did any good. "Y-you... got style, old man." he formed a painful sneer, every word a sting in his throat. "Now if you were smart you'd kill me right now. I'm not goin' anywhere..."
The thug knew the deal the two had made, yet still, both as an instinctual act and a motion of precaution, he lowered one hand to his belt, cocking the hammer of his revolver slowly. "Is our deal still set in stone, Kirill? Please pardon me, my gun is just a habit of mine... keep us both--urgh--equal."
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Post by blackpapermoon on Aug 30, 2014 21:04:43 GMT -5
The hitman stared up at him, the deep blue eyes daring the old man to send the youth to dark oblivion. Or perhaps it was all arrogance, as he heard the telltale sound of a pistol being cocked; although the gun was not pressed up against him Kirill could still feel the icy metal on his flesh. He was still surprised that the tall man pinned beneath him still somehow managed to hold some form of conversation with him, for Shade could feel each struggling breath Vadim made. Years ago such a sensation would have given him the sweetest of enjoyment but now it felt sick and wrong. “Putting an end to the both of us would give many a family justice,” Kirill remarked softly so that only the young man could hear, “but I swore off killing.” “I honor my deals,” Kirill said removing his arms from Vadim’s neck, “besides your master would use your death as an excuse to come down harder on the rest.”
In truth the brawl was very close, if the dirty blond had just a few more years or knew of one or two more moves the combat would have ended the other way around. Shifting the old man stood back up, the room had remained in silence as he strolled up to where he’d left his dirty Parka. Collecting the item he tied the coat back around his waist and continued on to the counter. He took the pouch emptying half on the counter, then he took the rest of the sack back to the collector.
“Half as I promised, now leave and don’t come back here,” Kirill spoke sternly as he tossed the bag over before whispering, “It was a good match Vadim always curious to see one of Konstantin’s boys, come find my hovel I have something I wish to discuss with you.” ___________________________________________________________________________
The half was just enough to pay for his supplies, although Kirill was sure that the amount was short but the barkeep didn’t want to push that issue at the moment. He walked about the rolls of tents and small shacks in the rougher part of the station, the despots of this side knew that what appeared to be the harmless old man owned nothing and thus left him be. His worn down hovel was made up of a few boards that where covered with patchwork canvas backed up against the wall of the station. Its interior was even more meager consisting of a beaten up bed roll that sat atop a pallet and a small fire that set far from the walls and had no tarp above it. He tossed his goods and food stocks on the bed roll and knelt down near the old stone work wall. He looked over his shoulder in paranoia as he took out a knife and gently stuck the blade under a brick and began to work the large stone free. From the hidden compartment he retrieved a leather covered package and his firearms. Weapons with the exception of basic knives where banned in the station, however the old tunnel raider found a way of getting them in without raising a hint of suspicion.
With weathered hands he began to undo the bindings on the pack, with a heavy sigh he unwrapped the package to reveal his old armor. The thick body armor was made up of small strips and patches of black leather and Kevlar pieces with many pouches of ammo and loot. The left shoulder piece had been covered with spikes that due to their long neglect where rusted over as was the metal plating on the right. The body armor was worn over a long leather coat that was classic amongst all knaves and outlaws of the metro. However the most iconic and most dreaded part of the suit was the helm, a black combat helmet the kind popular with the rangers and some of the Reich save for the facial mask. His was painted red with sharp demonic teeth that formed a dreadful grin, now the paint slightly worn but the effect was still there. After a moments pause he once again began to don the armor that he had not worn in years, the last physical connection with his past. Something that would confirm his identity without him even needing to say his name. With the last strap fitted he sat waiting for his guess the old helmet resting upon his leg.
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Post by Soulthief on Sept 7, 2014 5:07:09 GMT -5
Noticing the two men bringing their fighting to a decisive draw, he moves away his charcoal pens and light papers he had used to mark the score of the two brawlers... 3 for "Krill" and a 2 for Vadim. Looking away, he slides these papers into a pocket on his overgarment, and lays back. "Ah... another day. Another wonderful fight."
He sinks into the seat he was in as he observed you two, getting up when he saw Kirill leave. He exited with the old man but instead of taking his path, made a break-off towards the bar of the station, taking a seat near the mercenary from earlier. Looking up at the barkeep of the part, the Ukrainian shuffles out three bullets exact. "Eh, barkeep, what can I get for three bullets?"
>"Irradiated tunnel-drip in a mug." Says the man, giving a smile to the would-be wealthy merchant.
Frustrated with this, Argrim holds his head low, but then sits erectly, placing the military-grade shot on the counter. As was agreed, he is given a mug, only cup-measured and poorly crafted from some of the Belarouskaya pottery makers, filled with the darkened, irradiated water that rolls off the walls under new rivers. Nasty stuff, but atleast it has been somewhat filtered through 9-20 feet of dirt. He sips the slightly acidic, chemically crisp radioactive mixture of metal and water, sticking his tongue out at the taste. After this, he turns to the mercenary, "Sid", next to him, sitting liesurely "So... what did you get?"
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Post by dehotherguy on Sept 7, 2014 5:29:40 GMT -5
Sid turned back to the bar as the brawl in the distance came to a conclusion. It was a good fight, but ended disappointingly. Sid had expected one of them to kill the other, but alas, both of the fighters eased off.
As Sid took a swig of her vodka, a bearded man sat down beside her, ordering a drink. She recognized him as the man taking score during the fight just before.
"So...what did you get?" the man asked.
Sid did not look at the man, and ignored his question, placing one of her questions instead. "What was the fight about?"
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Post by Soulthief on Sept 7, 2014 5:47:18 GMT -5
"What was it abo- oooh... " The 40 year old sits in the chair more stably, and looks at her "Well, let's see... The old one made some money, and bought some food, ya? And then our communist tax collecter, Vadim or whatever, marched over and tried taking his bullets. I tried persuading them against it... failed. They then fought, and now, well, who knows what they'll do."
Taking another sip of the nasty mixture, then pulls it down from his lips as he swishes the disgusting, brick-tinted groundwater in his maw, before swallowing the stuff. "Eh... I've had worse. Could have had dishwater, har-har.
So, yeah. Back on the subject, I last saw Krill walking around the living district... don't know what for, maybe his home is there. Couldn't tell before I broke off. And Vadim... who knows? I can tell you one thing though, Taxman is going to get himself killed one day." He states, giving a lazy, annoyed look at the mention of him
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Post by dehotherguy on Sept 7, 2014 6:03:43 GMT -5
Sid finished her drink, then reached into one of her pouches, pulling out a cigarette. Popping it in her mouth, she leaned forward and lit the cigarette with a candle on the counter. She took a long puff of the cigarette.
"Then let him die."
Sid had no concern for those around her. If a man lay dying next to her, Sid let him die. Her violent past had given her a nihilistic attitude, absolutely no regard towards morality. She disliked people. She disliked their company. She disliked the bartender. She disliked the man sitting next to her. She disliked herself. She was a sociopath, and she didn't care.
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Post by Soulthief on Sept 7, 2014 6:29:49 GMT -5
"Well, I don't know. Think about it, he's an okay fighter and he has a nice gun... and he seems to know what he's doing. He'd make a good worker after Hanza throws him down the drain. He's very.... workable, yes. Send him off to real in the goods then pull him back.. and carry that old man for karma and good will in the markets. Path to g, you know."
He finishes that nasty water, and then passes the cup back to the Barkeep. With a heavy breath and then shaking his head grizzly, he lounges onto the counter.
>"Thank you, Sir." Says the owner, pulling the cup back to the end of the area
"Yes, yes... yes, to you." He states, and then he turns to the woman again "So... What's your name? How did you get here, of all stations you could have gone to?"
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Post by dehotherguy on Sept 7, 2014 6:39:02 GMT -5
Sid took another long puff from her cigarette.
"Not to make small talk, that's for sure."
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Post by Soulthief on Sept 7, 2014 6:42:34 GMT -5
"I got here becuase, well, why not? only place on the map I could think of hitting. I overshot by about... four stations on the way, but what the hell. It's better than that Nazi shit."
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Post by dehotherguy on Sept 7, 2014 7:00:25 GMT -5
Sid grew annoyed. This was a talkative man. He had the mannerisms of a merchant.
"I'm pretty sure you have better things to do than bug me."
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Soully from beyond the web
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Post by Soully from beyond the web on Sept 7, 2014 7:17:04 GMT -5
"Actually, not really. I got only about... 90 rounds, Nazi made... and four MG. What am I going to do with that, other than play pansy in the market with my shots?"
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Post by dehotherguy on Sept 7, 2014 7:33:20 GMT -5
Sid gave the man a dry glance.
"Still doesn't explain why you're still talking to me."
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Post by Soulthief on May 13, 2015 16:18:42 GMT -5
"Companionship!" He said, looking back at the bar. "That old man and that tax collector, they're probably too rowdy. you, though, you're a mercenary. If I can get you, and maybe that old man to hop on a caravan with me, I could surely pay you back swiftly, and I'd be out of this dump and back to Arbat in no time. it's just a trade run... what could go wrong? God forbid you make a few new friends and earn a life for yourself...
you know, I can ask you the same question. What are YOU here for?"
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Post by dehotherguy on May 14, 2015 2:53:45 GMT -5
Sid shrugged. "I'm supposed to be escorting a merchant, but I'm stuck here waiting until he's done dealing with whatever complications he's gotten into." She finished off her cigarette, flicking it away. It landed a few feet away, tiny bits of ash and embers getting scattered as people walked over it.
Sid turned to the man. "Tell you what, the promised payment for my currently delayed escort job is a magazine and a half. If you can at least match that, then I'll go with you."
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Post by Soulthief on May 14, 2015 19:42:30 GMT -5
"If that's all I got to do, thne could ya kindly redirect me to the nearest ammo exchange? I could probably give the guy there these stupid bullets." He said, hurriedly pushing the cartridges back into his coat "And then, maybe a few cans of cheap food, and my own product. Or maybe some underground weapons trading, or maybe I'll just scavenge little nails and stuff and sell it for a few bullets a piece." He bent over, picking up a small shard of painted glass. He laughs a bit, and looks through it in the light. "Buuuullet."
He turned back to the woman. "Anyways, it's only 45 bullets. I'm already more than one tenth of the way there. Just give me an hour or two. Alright? If that other merchant comes back before I'm done, then I'll just hitch a ride, or maybe share some of these rounds."
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