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| Behind the Sea; [open] | |
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| Topic Started: Oct 25 2010, 05:02 AM (1,008 Views) | |
| Manslaughter | Nov 15 2010, 04:55 AM Post #16 |
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Voices were echoing to him from several different directions as sound seemed to slow and undulate, the most prevalent issuing from the gap of the Russian man's beard, frost flecking into the air and vanishing as it came into contact with the warm room beyond the man's seemingly arctic aura. Mikhail appeared interested in inciting further commotion, but from across the tip of Roger's short-bladed weapon, the assassin's eyes were drawn into a cold, calculating gaze. Vaguely, softly, Dustin was reassuring him that everything was well, taking care to pick up the redhead's fallen weapons from the floor, scattered in some mysterious, unreadable omen like shells from a soothsayer's hand. Brain activity hummed from the small vicinity, alerting Roger to a handful of guards that were well equipped with mutant abilities. He was mentally volatile, but not stupid, nor suffering from ill effects of being coked out on lines of crack as some often mistook. Wordlessly, he lowered his blade slightly, encouraged further by a gentle but firm Sir from the guard. The position the guard was in was an unfortunate one, making a reasonable attempt to do his job, but without upsetting a member of a special agency at the same time. Nothing is wrong boy vas putting avay knife and apologizing no? Time corrected itself, Roger's perceptions lining back up into place. Roger gave no response to the man's hard scrutiny, flicking the handle of the blade across his knuckles and tucking it back onto his person to an unseen sheath. "Regrets are for those who err," was the hushed riposte, the befittingly named Manslaughter kneeling to aid Dustin in extracting his dropped weaponry from the floor. After this brief task, he straightened, his chin tilting up almost defiantly in the present guard's direction. "Still keeping the trays." |
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| Russian Winter | Dec 4 2010, 08:04 AM Post #17 |
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“No regrets?!?” Mikhail roared as the drug addict locked eyes with him before bending down to pick up the clutter of knick knacks that had been dropped on the ground. The air in the immediate vicinity of the incensed Russian dropped a couple of degrees. The security officer immediately turned his attention to Mikhail who was now the only one with an aggressive posture. Internally Mikhail was infuriated. This chemical addled punk had pulled a knife on him and when he responded like any self respecting citizen would the knife was gone and in one smooth motion made Mikhail look like the unreasonable one. In the old country one would never have gotten away with this kind of disrespect toward an elder. Mikhail took a step back turning to face the officer. “Like I say not problem.” He responded in a calmer controlled tone that sounded forced. He glanced back at the pair of young men who were cleaning up the remainder of the assorted objects which had fallen to the ground. He already knew the kind of person he had been dealing with, a punk coddled by his probably rich parents. They undoubtedly paid for an education which he didn’t take seriously, gave him an allowance he spent shooting up, and a car he probably totaled. Well perhaps this kid would get a rude awakening now that he was an environment where hard work and mettle would be appreciated more than looks and upbringing. Mikhail nodded to the guards and repositioned the olive drab duffel slung over his shoulder. “Thank you for direction.” He grunted toward Dustin who was still kneeling on the ground. “I have stuff to move perhaps I get going.” He announced more to the benefit of the others present and to diffuse the somewhat tense situation. In the back of his mind he wondered if any of these people were living in the complex he would soon call home. My luck I would be neighbors with that ingrate. He frowned as the idea occurred to him snorting two wispy jets of vapor from his nostrils. |
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2:11 PM Jul 11