Thread: Fx Male Eclectic RPs, fandoms, scifi and more

Writing Excerpts Some of my best, longest years long! RPs have been deleted unfortunately. My oldest current RP isn't even one year old... So all these posts are from 2014 on. The genre refers to that of the post, not of the full RP it is taken from. One in French. Because reasons Depuis que Corros, le puissant prince des Parisii, tait tomb au combat en brave, le clan tait dsorganis et sa fille unique Aia essayait de stablir et de simposer en tant quhritire lgitime. Chaque jour apportait son lot de dsordre et de dsobissance. Son pre les aurait rprims dans le sang sans une hsitation mais Aia craignait que a conduise une rbellion ouverte de la part de ses guerriers. Cette anne la rcolte avait t clairement moins abondante, and partiellement dtruite par le mme clan qui avait tu son pre. Les gens se proccupaient dj de ce qui resterait aprs le tribut d aux romains. Mais le problme de loccupation romaine passait presque au second plan compar aux constantes attaques et escarmouches causes par les Bellovaci venus du nord, les ennemis des Parisii depuis des gnrations, les raisons dj tombes dans loubli. Corros avait toujours refus de ngocier avec eux, mais il courait des rumeurs. Des rumeurs comme quoi, proche de la mort et sentant la victoire lui chapper, il avait envisag une telle chose- avec une fin de non recevoir moqueuse de la part des ennemis. Les Bellovaci voulaient la guerre, pas la causette. Aia avait t leve dans la haine de Rome, ces trangers dcadents qui croyaient dans leurs dieux bizarres et qui taient venus vaincre son peuple sur son propre terrain. Sa famille navait t autorise conserver son pouvoir quaprs avoir jur de prlever un trs lourd tribut annuellement pour les romains, et son pre avait t bien trop malin pour revenir sur sa parole. Les romains avait t sans merci sur le champ de bataille et exigeaient leur taxe mme si cela voudrait dire que la population serait affame tout lhiver, mais les Bellovaci ils taient diffrents. Ctait simplement hors de toute proportion. Dans son dsespoir, Aia avait envisag de faire appel aux possibles sentiments fraternels de tout gaulois contre un ennemi commun aprs tout les Bellovaci taient gaulois aussi mais oublia vite son projet. Les femmes, disait-on, taient peine suprieures aux esclaves dans ce clan. Ses propres guerriers ne lui montrant pas le respect d, comment pourrait-elle sattendre tre prise au srieux par ses ennemis du nord ? Aia sassit sa table et commena crire. Ave, Gnral . Son latin tait plus que rouill, mais elle ne pouvait faire confiance personne avec cette missive. Elle avait du mal croire quelle allait devoir se rabaisser honteusement demander audience au gnral romain de sa rgion. Cest quelque chose dont elle pouvait uniquement discuter en priv, ajouta-t-elle, quelque chose qui concernait la scurit et devenait une vraie urgence, sinon elle ne drangerait pas le grand gnral qui devait bien sur tre trs trs occup. Elle soupira de dgot. Occup il tait probablement occup boire, manger et oppresser des gaulois. a aurait du tre lui qui suppliait dtre entendu, comme les villageois le faisaient avec son pre, implorant la justice ou la merci du chef au sang noble. Mais ces penses nallaient pas aider, alors elle les mit de ct autant que possible. Puis-je me permettre de rappeler au gnral que ce problme est trs pressant et requiert la plus grande discrtion, Aia fille du prince Corros des Parisii Un messager de confiance quitterait le camp aussi tt que lencre serait sche, le parchemin enroul, li et marqu du sceau du clan. Aaaand another one Julie avait dormi avec son portable ct d'elle pour tre sre de ne pas rater la sonnerie. Ce n'tait pas comme si elle avait bien dormi, videmment, mais elle ne voulait prendre aucun risque au cas o elle finirait enfin par s'endormir profondment. Il n'tait mme pas pensable d'tre en retard. Cette rencontre allait tre l'accomplissement d'annes de recherches, ou en tout cas le dbut de cet accomplissement. Et, elle l'esprait profondment, le dbut de la fin pour Hoffman. Bien sr elle allait devoir confirmer ses intuitions et les informations fournies par son contact - un coup de chance norme, digne d'un James Bond, mais elle le mritait aprs tout - et si tout tait en ordre, le salopard allait payer. Elle avait choisi soigneusement sa tenue le soir avant dj, pour s'viter un sujet de stress en plus, optant finalement pour une jupe droite noire au dessus du genou qui soulignait ses formes sans en faire trop, et une chemise blanche cintre mais classique. Pour le premier entretien elle allait commencer doucement et ne pas ouvrir trop de boutons. Une fois qu'elle serait dans la place - il n'y avait pas de doute dans son esprit qu'il la choisirait - elle jugerait de l'ambiance exacte, des limites respecter... et de celles que l'on pouvait voire devait repousser pour faire carrire. Il tait temps d'y aller, elle avait un long trajet devant elle bien qu'en temps que parisienne chevronne elle y tait habitue. Julie vrifia son maquillage dans le miroir de plein pied une dernire fois, avant de se glisser dans ses escarpins noirs talons et d'attraper son manteau et son sac main. Une fois dans les transports, elle rviserait son rle une fois de plus, ignorant les ternels mateurs du mtro et se concentrant sur l'essentiel. Perdue dans ses penses, se rptant pour la centime fois qu'elle fait la seule chose utile et que son pre ne serait jamais parti en abandonnant sa famille, Julie sursaute soudain. A-t-elle loup sa station? Ca ne lui est pas arriv depuis longtemps et elle n'a pas besoin de a juste aujourd'hui! Elle lve la tte vers le diagramme du mtro pour se rassurer. C'est bon, mais de justesse. Se promettant de faire plus attention, elle se lve et se rapproche tant bien que mal des portes du mtro. L'heure de pointe Paris n'est jamais une partie de plaisir. Finalement elle est y est. La Dfense. Elle prend une grande inspiration et se met chercher son chemin. Julie s'attend ce qu'on ne puisse pas rentrer l dedans comme dans un moulin, surtout avec les vnements, mais aprs plusieurs fouilles et scanners elle dcide que son futur patron est un grand paranoaque. Malheureusement pour son pre elle... Penser a n'aide pas sourire, mais elle se force le naturel et se la joue professionnelle mais dtendue. Elle considre encore une fois la chance qu'elle a dans son malheur, un appui extrieur, et un poste cl qui se libre dans l'entreprise. Un dcs, si elle a bien compris. C'est triste, mais elle ne parvient pas s'en proccuper. Ce job est fait pour elle, qui et polyvalente, cultive et active. Devant la porte du bureau d'Hoffman, elle hsite et a presque envie de repartir et de lcher l'affaire. Mais elle ne peut pas se permettre de fiche en l'air des annes obsder sur cette histoire, elle doit savoir. Et puis a serait plus que louche... Elle frappe donc la porte, un sourire toujours plaqu sur son beau visage de jeune adulte. On lui ouvre, et c'est Laurent Hoffman en personne qui la fait entrer. D'aprs tout ce qu'elle a lu - tudi - sur lui, il sera largement le plus difficile impressionner. Le type ne se refuse rien, se dit-elle en jetant un coup d'il autour d'elle. Elle a soudainement honte de son petit studio bordlique du 20e arrondissement comme si elle devait y recevoir le conseil d'administration de la bote avant de se reprendre. Il est hors de question d'avoir l'air d'une plouc bahie devant les lumires de la ville alors elle cache son sentiment. Elle se raisonne. Elle a elle-mme beaucoup d'atouts faire valoir, en tout cas elle l'espre. Bonjour, Julie Lebel dit-elle en souriant pour se prsenter. Lui ne sait sans doute pas grand chose d'elle, mais elle aime penser qu'elle sait presque tout de lui. 1920's mafianoirfemme fatale Emma absolutely wanted this party to be perfect. Why? She didn't know. It was just another party... But she always welcomed an occasion to have fun and get to see some new faces. Not that she expected the conversation to flow easily when she was around. What would she tell the fellows her husband invited anyway? It was not like there were many conversation topics between a strange man and a woman... or even a husband and wife, she thought bitterly. She knew not to ask a man about his business, because at best he had a cover up he kept discrete, and at worst he had absolutely nothing he could tell a lady. Even their own wife didn't ask them much about their day, and if they did the husbands would not tell, as she knew from experience... There were those who went by an obviously fake name, sometimes even by several ones and occasionally mixing up when booze was flowing. Business was definitely a topic to avoid entirely, unless her husband needed her to encourage some poor fellow to spill out information, her soft, red lips asking all the right questions while her well manicured hands were serving yet another glass of expensive contraband liquor. The boss watching it all, pretending to be engrossed in playing cards or a conversation. He claimed to find it amusing and it was certainly just another way to show her off, the boundaries extremely clear to everyone who wanted to live another day. One of his favorite stories involved the unfaithful Chinky wife of some unnamed Chinky boss whose lover had ended up with cement shoes while she had been finally found in a trunk. That tale most people found uncomfortable, relating too closely to the husband, the wife, the lover or even several of them. But the details were blurry at best, and she suspected he had made it up as a warning tale for her and also his guests - look but don't touch... the Chinks barely let their wives out anyway. As for the guests There were those she knew since childhood, those who came from other cities, those who were recent immigrants, some of them with heavy accents, reminder of their old country. They had generally left relatives, sometimes even a wife and children behind, as few could afford so many tickets. And that damned war. She shivered. No, no. The Europe topic was a minefield. So? She could always ask if they were enjoying the music and the food, and then what? She was definitely overthinking this. Organizing a big bash was more complicated than it appeared from the outside. Between dealing with the waiters to hire for the event, the event itself and the guests, it should have been enough to keep her occupied. She had asked her husband whether there was something special to take care of that night. In turn, the boss had asked whether her parents would bother to attend, taunting. To her father at least it was a dream come true... At first. The lavish mob soires suddenly not out of his reach while he was toiling in the shop, he used to drag her mother along as often as they could. Until that unfortunate night. The boss had claimed she couldn't afford to delay, he was suspecting some fellow about some minor rule breaking... She didn't want to do it in front of her parents but she had no choice and she didn't even attempt to fight it, his stare convincing her it was at best a waste of time. From afar it looked like a regular conversation, except she was a tad too close to the man in the end, a tad too nervous, and she kept refilling his glass. No big deal. Except they were her parents. They had to know she was just following orders, that it was not her real nature. But it wasn't that far from her real nature either, enjoying the seduction, the game, the chase, adrenaline rushing through her veins, making her almost dizzy as the fellow finally uttered a name, a place, a fact. They were her parents. They had to see it, in her eyes. They said nothing to her because there was nothing to say, not when you had pushed your own daughter in a mobster's arms. Another dream turned sour... Their presence had been scarce at best after that night, prefering to visit during the day, ideally when the boss was away - and Emma never saw the man again. She convinced herself it had nothing to do with her, but it certainly didn't help her sleep at night. Emma had selected a gown that was among her more fitted ones, slightly higher heels and more pronounced make up she had heard that a red lipstick was all the rage, anyway. For once that he was telling her to go all out, she was definitely planning to enjoy it. She finished to apply her cake mascara and put it down on her dressing table before getting up and heading toward the door. She had spent hours reflecting on what she would wear. Her long, rather dark blue gown flattered her ivory complexion and blue eyes. Her hair was up, with some loose curls freely framing her face. She flashed a smile at her husband when she caught his gaze, hoping her choice would not be deemed as too risky. There was no time to change even if she wanted to, anyway. Her heels clicked down the stairs. She really needed a smoke to calm her nerves, but the first guests were arriving already and it was too late for that. The hostess couldnt be late to her own party. Teen slice of life, dry humour She didnt know what was wrong with Adam these days. Or more like, she knew but it was dumb so she didnt care. He claimed she was constantly too busy. Which wasnt exactly wrong, but after all those nights when he refused to go out because of his homework, of all things, he was in no position to complain. He also repeated that when they did manage to meet, she was always thinking of something else his tone indicating that he actually meant, someone else. That really pissed her off. She was working hard for the first time in her life, often coming home exhausted, and she was with her uncle! It was not her fault if the guy had trust issues, she decided. She didnt really want to break up with him and have to deal with drama from everyone and she needed someone to yell at when the day had been rough. Her uncle had mentioned a reward to motivate her, and Cassie was extremely curious as to what it would be. She knew that it wouldnt suck, whatever it was, and she couldnt wait. The last reward she got was from her grandmother after spending a week end house sitting and taking care of her bichon, while she was in hospital after tripping on aforementioned dog. She still laughed thinking about that, though she didn't appreciate the hand knit bonnet. Seriously? She was lying down on her bed watching crap on Youtube when she heard the familiar sound of her phone beeping for a text. She lazily reached out to grab it, school had been exhausting and she didnt feel like moving. As she checked who sent it, she felt more energetic already and by the time she had read it she had already forgotten she was too tired. She sprang up and started rummaging through her closet for some cooler clothes. A week end away, anywhere, was just what she needed. Her mother should be happy, as she was constantly telling her about fresh air and that in her times people didnt stay cooped up. Today she couldnt sneak out, so she had to find an excuse. She invented that friend, a good girl who was house sitting for her grandmother and wanted company. Lies came naturally to her, and she could see that her parents didnt disapprove of her plan. Main problem solved, she told herself, she would just need to call Adam from the car or something. Thats very nice of you, Cassie, her father commented. Grown up behaviour. She smiled to them and headed out. For sure it was. Historical drama Rachel couldn't help worrying about what the lower servants would think if they came home and found soldiers interrogating the master of the house. It was embarrassing enough for it to happen in front of the housekeeper though she was also thankful that she hadn't been alone with those redcoats. She shivered envisioning that possibility. It was a very selfish thought she chided herself, and not what a good Christian woman should worry about when her own father was endangered. Lucille was almost family anyway - as much as a servant could ever be, at least. The young girl found no realistic answer to the officer's comment about where the weapons had been concealed. It could indeed hardly be someone unknown to them, and not belonging to their household, who managed to sneak in and for some reason choose to dump all this in her father's bedroom. In the mean he seemed to find it, or her, very amusing and she stifled a desire to answer him with something not too refined. It wouldn't help, she tried to convince herself. Especially since she needed him to take pity on her father... Could she yell for him to run away as soon as she would hear him coming in through the door? She liked to think that gentlemen wouldn't treat a lady too harshly even if she acted that way, though she was thoroughly unsure if this was one of those strange ideas she got from her novels, or something that also took place in real life. In any case the dilemma was solved by hearing men apprehending her father before he could even come home. It was almost a relief to not have to choose, though worry came now flooding in as the foreigner refused to reassure her about her father's treatment. She stifled a sigh of relief as they brought her father in and led him to the table, visibly unharmed. He seemed to be trying to resist, of course in vain, and she hoped he would give up quickly. This was not the brave thing to do, but it was the practical one. She fleetingly remembered a fight she had with her fianc, who held that bravery and sacrificing even one's life for the cause was the noble thing to do, while she claimed that leaving bereaved relatives behind just to be a hero was not so. He usually liked to agree with her to please her, but this time he had been unrelenting and she had retired to sulk in her bedroom. Soon the tiff had been forgotten but for some reason it was all coming back to her witnessing her father in that awful predicament. The housekeeper grew pale hearing that she may be involved in anything inappropriate, or so it seemed to Rachel. The officer was certainly trying to goad her father into confessing, and nothing else. She crossed her arms defensively, as if it could protect her from any accusation, but didn't speak a word. Now that there was a man home, it wasn't her business to speak up and intervene anymore, she repeated herself. Her father could certainly handle this situation. Her housekeeper was staring at her, nearly panicking, and Rachel ignored the older woman. Should they leave the room and go back to their relatively sheltered and protected existence? Could they, even if they wanted to? This is a man's business!, Obadiah replied strongly as if he was shocked at the mere thought. Women should not concern themselves with it, and they certainly don't in my house. Though he was only trying to protect them to the best of his ability, the statement bothered Rachel for some reason. Weren't they somehow involved already, since they had to deal with the master of the house being arrested? Lucille was nodding desperately, hoping they would be allowed to retire, while Rachel knew that things may not be that easy for them anymore. Ancient historical, some dry humour Aia was satisfied to see that everything was going smoothly for now. Of course it didnt mean anything yet, but it was encouraging. She had even avoided being spotted by the various Gauls who had unfortunately chosen the same day as she did to come and complain a national pastime. As she was introduced into what seemed to be the legates office, a very foreign looking servant offered her various supposedly edible things. It reminded her of her old nurse, now thankfully waiting away in the meeting hall, both because she was constantly trying to get her to eat, and because she had repeated ad nauseam that she shouldnt touch anything, claiming that the Romans were masters in the cowardly art of poisoning the real, Gallic men of course favoring the sword. Until she had demanded silence so she could concentrate her plan. Aia thanked the man, and wondered if she should symbolically select and have a bit of something that didnt look too dangerous. Refusing food would be a mortal offense for a Gaul, but she had no idea if it was the same among Romans. Obviously there was no reason they would want to poison her, but she had grown up on such tales. She picked up a piece of dried fruit from the bowl and bit into it, hoping for the best. Very nice, she felt compelled to comment as she would have eating in an allys house. It tasted extremely weird, but what else to expect from people who were said to dip everything in rotted fish sauce. She felt too nervous to sit down, but she wanted to appear calm and collected. She was also trying to save her energy for when it would really be needed, after a terrible night and having actually been unable to eat anything before leaving, causing worry and near hysterics to her servant. The wait in the office seemed endless, stretching impossibly, though she knew it could not be that long. When finally a man who had to be Paulus Horatius entered, she stood up at once, annoyed that this time she was the one paying respects. She was not going to try to get away with anything for now. She didnt know what she had expected, maybe some old, lazy official with a ring on every finger who would give in just to get rid of her annoying presence and go back to his feasting, at worst insisting on some tax rise, a small price to have him deal with the Bellovaci. But as he was watching her intensely she told herself she would have to tread very carefully. She wondered not for the first time if this had been a good idea after all. She also fleetingly wondered about his hair, longer than what was usual from her more than limited experience, having heard gallic auxiliaries complaining plenty about that topic. She smiled back to him, fighting to not break eye contact, a universal sign of weakness. It was no easy task. Actually it was all so much more difficult now that she was in front of him. What if her nurse had been right, and inventing that story about the harvest goddess was bad luck? Here and now, she swore to make it up to the deity if she could find an acceptable way out of this situation. She stifled her anger when the legate wondered about Correos successor, forgetting what she was planning to answer about his previous question. Of course this was exactly what her warriors were thinking, so she was not exactly surprised. No one would say it in front of her, but she was not stupid and knew that people had been talking, actually she could even understand why they had doubts. Still there was a time and place for everything, and this was not the right one to show she was annoyed. Later her nurse would make some acerbic comment and she would have a good reason to take it out on her, who would in turn take it out on a kitchen slave - the way of the world. Keeping her face as neutral as possible, she informed him about the situation. The prince didnt have any son. I am my fathers successor. She still couldnt really believe her father was dead, leaving her in such a predicament. This is what he wanted, she added. She really was going out on a limb now, but after all she was his only child, and she wasnt going to put herself down. She would not have justified herself to any Gaul, but again she needed a favour from this man. For now, she would have been happy if he could stop staring so hard. It was embarrassing, somehow preventing her to think. Maybe that was his reason for doing it. Her train of thought was interrupted by the servant coming back with food and she used his presence as an excuse to finally break eye contact, suddenly very interested in what he was doing. Historical Middle Ages and ripe with stereotype It was obvious to the young lady that Tancred didn't understand anything about how women dressed. That at least seemed normal and familiar to her, as even her father who had been married for most of his life when he passed - incidentally, it was because of Tancred's kin - still appeared to be puzzled about that very topic. While Adelind enjoyed discussing with her mother about which dress, hairdo or shoes were the height of fashion, the men of the family, her father and her brother, rarely agreed to suffer through it. While her father simply removed himself from the offending situation, her brother would be prone to teasing, and she would tease back that he had to get used to it because he would marry some lady who would demand to be constantly fashionable unless he didn't want a good match. Of course he would never marry anyone now, she pondered, and it was still slightly surreal that her whole family was gone and she was finding herself sole heiress. And married to someone whose people had caused her situation. Which wasn't exactly the same as saying that he was guilty of it - but wasn't that far either, especially since she didn't care to be fair to foreigners. Her mood dropped even more as he brought up the fact that they were basically under occupation and that there might have been a way to avoid it. It was the truth but not one she was eager to consider. I simply can't wait to be back home. I am getting bored sitting around here with no one to really talk to, she retaliated. Maybe I should have brought my nurse to distract me, but it is unfortunately not done she shrugged as if she wasn't trying to rile him up but simply bemoaning a fact of life. But finally that too came to an end, and it was time to leave. As they walked to the castle, she tried to shake her bad mood or to at least pretend to not have a concern in the world. Certainly most people envied them, that had to mean something. Soon pretending turned into more real of a feeling as she was greeted by the delicious smells of the feast. For sure the kitchens had outdone themselves and as great as her engagement feast had been, this was simply something else. She didn't remember when the last time Stokeberry saw such a celebration was, if ever, and she refused to consider the irony. Her people had worked so hard, she wouldn't disappoint them. And she deserved to enjoy her wedding day even if she had always envisioned marrying a local lord, and visiting her parents and brother - to the castle, not down under in the crypt, except when she herself would be an old woman - as much as she wanted. She was probably having a better time than Tancred, though. He clearly wasn't feeling comfortable at a refined court, she told herself. He didn't seem to enjoy dancing - though she was told that many men were only doing this for the decorum while women waited impatiently for the opportunity. It was strange that men and women were meant to live together, while being so different, she pondered as she was trying to enjoy the delicacies of the feast despite her lacings. It was rather peaceful in the hall for now, but what if it started subdued and deceptively perfect, until someone decided to pick up a fight, knock into someone else, spill his cup, make a comment against foreigners outloud, or stare too long at another knight in a way that would be considered threatening? Even as she danced, she was fearing that maybe someone drunk - maybe even one of her own men - would decide to start misbehaving. Per se it wouldn't be surprising, as she herself couldn't refrain from occasional jabs, after all... Even though the man she now had to call her lord and husband had been surprisingly agreeable. For some reason every time she looked at him, Tancred seemed to be watching her with some strange expression that she wasn't sure she could identify. As much as she was trying to enjoy her wedding day - and she was managing to enjoy it - she couldn't help feeling very nervous about what was supposed to come next. She had even considered drinking enough not to remember it, but she had finally decided to stay in control. She had noticed that her husband wasn't drinking much either. Maybe he wanted to not forget the day and its glorious food and music. She couldn't remember who told her that drunk people slumbered very deeply, and this sounded much less embarrassing than her nurse's stories about wedding nights, but again the last time he had been drunk, he was not quite sleepy. She certainly wasn't going to encourage him one way or another that time. Adelind decided to try to ignore his gaze on her as she danced and not to think about what would take place in a few hours. Maybe she could convince him that he was very tired, by that time, treat it as if the idea was coming from him, and tell him that she was fine with it and that they could go to sleep in good friendship. She would have to try that. In the mean time, she was getting out of breath dancing with such a tight gown on, so she decided to go back to her seat. As she did, for some reason she remembered the tax scrolls again, and this time didn't manage to distract herself from her worries, so she couldn't help asking By the way, now that I think of it, did you ever find the documents you were looking for? You know, in the Library.... She sat down near Tancred, arranging her skirts about her to avoid looking at him in the eye. It wasn't exactly a woman's domain, certainly not if she had any male kin. Now that she happened to have a brand new lord husband, why would she have to concern herself with numbers and figures instead of enjoying the perks of being married? Unless of course she didn't trust him his intentions toward her people... She picked up her cup, reminding herself not to drink any quicker than a lady should, and took a small sip. It was much tso strong for her taste and she assumed that this, too, was best left to men. Modern, gritty and dark Adam's job definitely wasn't the easiest for a girlfriend, so in the beginning Rachel didn't worry when he didn't contact her. Then she started wondering what was happening, and it wasn't long until she was beside herself with anxiety. She didn't have anyone she could tell about it. Her friends from school didn't really know about her boyfriend's job, and her mother... She had enough on her plate. There was no way she was going to burden her with that story. She tried to tell herself that he would call one day out of the blue and she would be mad at him and he would apologize, have a good excuse, and come back all sorry and guilty. She would make him pay for the stress and move on... Except it didn't happen. She was still waiting for something, anything. There had to be a real problem. Adam just wasn't that way. He cared about her feelings, he was cautious and he was a professional. Not the type of guy who misread a map and ended up in the wrong place at all. She had begun to rack her brain, trying hard not to allow worry to take over, and she had remembered something interesting. Years before, she had once overheard - eavesdropped on, really - her father claiming that some guy was basically a low life, but the best at various misions including finding someone who was going missing. Unfortunately, it took a much longer time to remember the man's name, and even worse, when she finally found his contact after rummaging through her father's old papers - her mother had kept everything as is, hoping for normality to come back one day - she immediately figured out that he was the man her father messed with, ultimately fucking up his own life. She had hesitated, of course. It wasn't like she wanted to be in touch with him, or she expected him to welcome her into his life. But there was no one else, even her father had been adamant that he was the best, if not the only one. And her father hated that guy so bad, that it could only be true. So she decided to call him anyway. She had nothing to lose, it had been a long time ago, and she wasn't her father, she rationalized. Of course she expected to pay for it, and a few smiles couldn't hurt either. So she called, having rehearsed several times before, hoping to sound cool and confident but serious. She hadn't expected him to just shut her up and tell her to obey very precise instructions, but she had refrained from sighing outloud, and agreed. It was totally out there, but worth it. She could understand that such a man was a bit paranoid... She had no idea how she would find 10 000 euros over one day. Her card would never allow it. But it wasn't a problem, she told herself. She was going to bring what she could, borrowing from friends and she knew her mother had some cash at home in case of emergency, as many older people did. That would do, she would explain the man that it was all she could gather in such a short time. Rachel slept poorly that night, and her day at law school went by in a blur. It was a relief to be back home, though she was getting more and more nervous as she knew that it would soon be time to leave. She had selected tight blue jeans and a sheer beige blouse, accessorized with a brown belt and a delicate necklace that she hoped distracted the eye from how see through her top was. Flats or sneakers would have been more practical, but she decided to go for high heeled pumps for the extra boost of confidence. Hopefully some make up would help her look attractive but no nonsense, not too young to be taken seriously. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, trying to gauge whether the sheer blouse and the make up were over the top. She decided she was just putting her best foot forward, and she had no time to agonize over this anyway. Hopping into her small car, a second hand thing that wasn't too pretty but did its job and that she didn't feel too bad keeping messy, she turned the key and some silly song started playing. She needed her concentration, even with the GPS, so she turned off the radio, annoyed. After losing some time trying to understand what the GPS wanted from her, she finally arrived at the hotel and made sure that her phone was turned off. She had never heard of that place, and doubted that anyone around her had. At least she wouldn't cross any familiar face. Her enthusiasm was hard to keep when she came in and it was just as stereotypically dreadful as it could be. She headed toward the front desk, avoiding to notice every depressing detail, and waited until she was away from the creeper to roll her eyes at his crude innuendo. She had been on the verge of telling him she didn't want any of that, but better stay not too noticeable... She second guessed her looks again fleetingly, and hated herself for that. As she was looking for the right room, her heels clicking on the not too clean ground, she couldn't help thinking that this place would be the ideal hide out for some Dexter style serial killer, too. Finally spotting the room, she swiped the card and entered, wondering if she was there first, or if he had left already. She was really nervous, a feeling she wasn't that used to experiencing, and that she absolutely hated. She was taking the pitifully low class interior decoration when she felt something cold against her head - it had to be a gun - and someone pushing her in. She understood it had to be him at once. She obeyed his order, trying hard to breathe, allowing him to get a hold of the duffel bag. No, no she replied as calmly as she could in such a situation. He was obviously tense, and she didn't want him doing anything stupid. Heading toward the wall she tried not to rile him up, apparently still not complying soon enough to his taste. She kept answering and willed herself to not react as he was patting her down. Did he really think she was working for her father, or was he somehow taking revenge? Both? He had reasons to be wary of her, but he seemed to be enjoying the whole thing a little bit too much, and she bit her lower lip hard as he grabbed her breasts to resist an urge to tell him off. When it was over, she waited for him to say something. He took his time before allowing her to get away from that stupid wall and she sat down, her legs protesting as if she had been standing all day. She stared at him for a moment, noting that he was a handsome, well dressed man with a cold, almost scary gaze. There was no denying that the man was much more impressive than she would have expected, even without the whole spiel about the wire. She wasn't really impressed by most people, and told herself that he was simply attempting to intimidate her. No biggy, she told herself, but she couldn't forget the feeling of the gun against her head. The young woman felt discouraged just hearing how complicated it all would be - and how expensive, too. Even 10 000 euros had proven impossible to find in one day, and she wasn't looking forward to him noticing that quite a bit was missing. Maybe he would be a gentleman and he wouldn't count, she desperately wished. Right... It wasn't like her to be that easily giving up, though, so she tried to keep her poker face, willingly ignoring the ominous hint that maybe Adam was already dead. That won't be a problem, she replied, pushing back a dark strand behind her ear and staring back into his eyes. I'll take a loan, borrow here and there. She wasn't that confident that it could work, and even less certain that he would buy it. Not that she had any other option. She hadn't gone through all that crap just to be kicked out. No one nicedark slice of lifehigh societywhat a bitch? Are you listening, dear?, Charlotte dared repeat as she was getting no answer from her newfound friend. She was definitely eager to get to know people in her husband's entourage, and had obviously chosen Emma, probably deeming her the safest choice. That thought amused the blond, taller woman. Granted, Charlotte's husband wouldn't interest her if he was the only man left in this wretched town, but she had no way to know that - which definitely meant that he had heard nothing about her list of misbehaviours, or chosen not to believe in them. Which meant she was exceptionally self confident despite her petty looks, or exceptionally limited. Shrugging slightly, she turned her attention back to Charlotte, who was apparently warming up to her enough to allow herself to look slightly frustrated, and willing to tell her all about her school years, as if that was of any interest. She comforted herself with the thought that any man spotting them together would only find her even more beautiful from the comparison. She should actually invite her more often, and go shopping with her. She could carry the bags, too. That was a lovely, lovely idea, one that encouraged her to smile to her useful acquaintance. Emma had decided not to drink until the evening was over, but in such company... she definitely needed it, her first glass already empty as her new friend was turning to be endlessly loquacious. She would get a head ache by the end of the night, she thought, so let it be from booze. She would happily grab another glass if she could even get close to the buffet. She would be even more relieved to bring back one of those luxurious French pastries which name she couldn't pronounce to Charlotte, just so she would silence herself with it. But she couldn't be bothered. For some reason people tended to misbehave around buffets, spilling sauces, pushing or plainly wrapping up some food to bring home as others were waiting. In the end of the night, there would always be someone to comment that it looked like a war zone and start up with stories about the trenches. What a shame, she told herself, a drink will have to wait. And so would a smoke, as the hostess and queen of the party couldn't exactly slip out to freely enjoy a cigarette far from those who may deem it unrefined. The man coming toward them would certainly be just the right distraction, though. He definitely had the right face and she liked even his voice. Nice to meet you Mr Forrester, she replied in a honeyed voice, using quite another tone than the ironical one she had inflicted on the mousy lady or the scathing demands she made on the staff. In one instant all her projects about using Charlotte, and Charlotte herself, were forgotten as if they had never existed, relegated to the trashcan of history - not unlike what her own husband was doing to her if someone as much as mentioned business around him. After staring just a bit too much, she gave him a coy smile and remembered to extend her smaller, well manicured hand to the man she was now certain she had never met before. Still old habits died hard and she never totally forgot that she was in the public eye, and that there had to be a reason her husband had mentioned her. Now, what was he expecting from her? She couldn't tell. Yet. It could simply be about socializing. Keeping him occupied- was something bad going to happen to that handsome fellow?- or on contrary, reminding him tactfully of how lucky he was to work for the family. The possibility she liked best was simply that the boss was proud of her and had been unable not to discuss her even with a stranger. One who actually didn't look to be Irish, or was he? She was wary of outsiders, but she could get past her petty racism for the night. In any case the myserious stranger wasn't afraid of staring back and she liked the overconfident vibe she was sensing. And contrary to when she had met the boss, this time she was experienced enough to toy with him. Maybe that vibe was why her own husband had selected him for whatever mission too... Her curiosity was piqued in so many ways, despite, or maybe because of all those red flags... But she wasn't going to make it easy for him, so she didn't say more, waiting to assess how much the man actually knew and what he expected. And how motivated he was. Often very handsome men were terribly stupid, which spoiled her fun a tad. It was so much more enjoyable to tease someone who realized what was going on, but couldn't help coming back for more. Espionageassassinmodern noir? When Irina married her high school sweetheart and settled down in the small town they had both grown up in, she would have never dreamed that one day she would find herself in the midst of such luxury. This didn't matter, she reminded herself. It could have been fun with Dmitri, but Dmitri was dead, and now only the mission mattered. It wouldn't bring him back, but he would be avenged. When that mysterious organization contacted, they had emphasized how devoted her husband had been to their cause. How proud he would be now, if he could see her deciding to go on with the sacred mission of liberating Helonia from its dictator. They didn't even ask her to die for this, they said, just to live to get rid of the man who was ultimately guilty for her husband's passing. At first she had refused. It didn't interest her, and even if it did, she had no way of helping them. She simply wanted to be allowed to mourn and be left alone. But they didn't relent, and in the end she found herself convinced that the man deserved to die even more than she deserved her quiet. It would also be the ultimate irony that a woman would come to replace him in time. She had to go through some long and intense training before she was remotely ready, despite her motivation. She couldn't afford to fail. But now she was more than ready, and for the first time she had left her area, trying hard not to let anyone on the plane notice that it was her first time. For some reason she wondered if she would recognize him from start as she entered the luxurious building. Of course it was silly. They had made her watch so many pictures and videos of the man that she probably would find him drunk and with one eye closed. She waited for longer than she would have wanted, her high stress level making it seem endless, until she was finally introduced in the room where the party - and her mission - was beginning. She looked around, taking in her surroundings. She reminded herself not to be that gawking country girl who would have stepped into another world by mistake. She really wasn't that girl anymore, anyway. She had feared that her beige, lacy long gown was hopelessly overdressed, but she had been instructed to wear it, and she was now acknowledging that it was just perfect. She would do well to remember to strictly obey the orders. She wasn't in her wholesome, simple little world anymore, she chided herself. She was among superficial, immoral people. And she had to look the part now. She wasn't naive enough to think that they had only selected her because she would crave revenge, and that all the pretty clothes were just about fitting in and not being too obviously an outsider. Her superiors knew she wasn't happy about that part of the mission. They had laughed, openly laughed when she had suggested that maybe she could try befriending him instead, be a listening ear. Or something. Of course they were right, that man wasn't going to just want to talk. If he had feelings, he kept them to himself. As she did. Her training had probably taken care of what little sensitivity still remained after Dmitri. Her own family had been shocked and surprised when she had suddenly dropped her mourning clothes and started being constantly out and about. Little did they know why... She could never tell them, but she had discovered that some things were even more important than wallowing in self pity, she had a duty toward her country and she assumed this was also how the older man felt, misguided as he was. She shook her head softly, refusing to even start to empathize with her target. Targets never became friends or lovers, they said, or you were in deep, deep trouble. She exhaled deeply, her well manicured hand playing a lose strand of blond hair as she headed toward the buffet to give herself a countenance. Soon it would be time to find a way to get introduced to the dictator, and pretend to be this girl who admired him so much she wanted to write a damned book about him. It was quite ironical. It would have been so much easier to just shoot him down, even if it meant dying too. But Irina wasn't sure she wanted to die, and she had been given orders that she would follow. There was so much information one -she- could extract before it was fnally time to end it, and he didn't deserve a quick, relatively honorable death. Gritty post apocmind gamesprisoner Rachel had noticed how quickly the guy gulped down the water, as if he was afraid she would take it away. This was not something she could envision herself doing, and that led her to wonder if he had, or would, or if it had been done to him previously. Or both. The topic of what on Earth had happened with his friends was uncomfortable, too close to home, but she felt a need to know. Not that she could show how uneasy she was about it all, anyway. Did you see who shot them? It would be easier if I could just ask those guys directly. Again, not promising anything. She shrugged. The town nurse would have nothing to do with this, only trying to help out of compassion, and that was the vibe she needed to give off now, even though she was dreading his answer. As she listened to his little speech, she started to get a better idea of the man she had in front of her. So maybe he was ex military or something. It made sense. She liked to think he became that suspicious in some Afghan hell hole and not because of the way he had been treated in Haven. She didn't correct him as he called her Miss. This was not exactly a lie, she could simply have not noticed or heard correctly. She tried not to react either as he said he thought she was pretty, hating herself for even dwelling on it. He was probably saying it to everyone, unless he was trying to flatter her and mess with her mind. That sounded likely. She really hated that type of guy, and she would have to remember that. Ok, deal, she answered. If he wanted to play games, she would play games too. After all she had survived up to now, which meant she was more than able to hold her own when she had to. She was unsure why he wanted to know her name that bad. He could simply have asked her, and had she refused... why would he care? As for her, she had many questions she could want answered. She could decide to be all altruistic and ask him to tell her if he needed any medical help. Or she could ask something about her husband... But she doubted, or didn't want to believe, that he would have much to tell. She already knew his ways were sometimes interesting, even unorthodox. This had to be their top one reason to fight. You didn't become a Governor if you couldn't handle getting your hands a bit dirty. Even as she agreed with that, she was unable to hide she found it nauseating, but that was another story and none of his business. Finally, she could simply be a bitch and see if he would reveal something about his own town. Maybe the exact location, or even some kind of map. Johnny would love that... and in the end, wasn't it part of the deal? Saving him, in order for her to help them get some intel? That begged the question did he underestimate her because she had been friendly? It was almost insulting, and still she was more than used to it, and it had saved her several times. He had not appeared so trusting though. She would have to be clever, and be very careful with that one. Maybe it was a positive thing if he was slightly underestimating her, and she shouldn't take advantage of this occasion. She didn't even really trust him to not go back on his word if he hated her question. Still, if he complied, then she couldn't miss such an opportunity. Looking down to him, watching him intently, she began Since you really want to know, my name is Rachel. She grinned. Not sure how interesting it is, but now you definitely know. He had never stated that she should mention a surname, and had not done it either. Hopefully this didn't give away her real identity. And now my own question... What do you plan to do when they interrogate you?. She crossed her arms, waiting for an answer. She had to know if she was losing her time and energy trying to saving him, and how much she should invest in the whole situation. She still was unsure if she had been right, or if she would have been quite that adamant if she hadn't wanted to prove a point and show some guys that her husband was still listening to her opinion at least as much as theirs. The Governor would be so mad that she had just lost an occasion to get some useful piece of information, but if he heard of this she could pretend she was trying to assess how cooperative he would be... Which was the case. Just not exactly for the reason her husband would have expected. Revengehitwomanbar scene He has noticed me, I'm certain of that now. He is slightly smirking, openly giving me the up and down and I could feel his gaze on me even without looking at him. I have developed quite an instinct for that, telling me when I was being observed. This time though it felt rather safe, as safe as Stansfield could be. He doesn't want me dead, he just want wants me. For a short instant, I tell myself that he recognized me and I know fear, my stomach cramping up. I'm not ready to take down such a guy, not without a solid plan and days if not weeks of organization... I immediately chide myself for this weakness. He can't recognize me, he has certainly forgotten about my whole family as he moved on to other victims. I know I have changed, too, both physically - which is obvious - and mentally. My eyes are on his face and I don't want to find him handsome, so I concentrate on the fact that hopefully he'll be dead within an hour, a night at most. When I find myself close enough he starts speaking, bringing me back a decade ago. If there had been any lingering doubt, which there hadn't, it was gone. That is definitely his voice and his style. He is certainly creative not a man to be underestimated - and I could laugh at his fake name if I wasn't so stressed and on edge. Bonjour, I reply, my accent perfect after all those years in La Ville Lumire. Nice to meet you Vincent. Vincent my ass, I know who you are Stansfield . I realize that I should probably make up a name for myself, and for some reason I'm drawing a blank. I'm M... Miranda. Lame. I really hate myself for stuttering. I'm not the stuttering type. I strike and I don't hesitate, but somehow it's different tonight. Now he's going to think that I'm much too interested in him, maybe even impressed with his good looks, or whatever a sociopath like him imagines. It makes me hate him even more, if that's possible. I can't get past my mistake and obsess over it until I'm distracted by his behavior. I catch his gaze on my legs, eyeing me up and not even trying to be discrete - and I stifle anger, disgust and maybe something else that I don't care to analyze. It feels so surreal it's almost funny. I did imagine that a man like him would love to show off with much younger arm candy, but I actually thought that it would have been more difficult, that he would have been more guarded. He can't have changed that much. I wonder if it's a trap or a test and smile. I gracefully approach and shrug softly. Pourquoi pas, I declare, ever the Parisian. Let's not display too much enthusiasm, even though he may well be aware that I was hoping for him to notice me, just not for the reason he imagines. I wish he was playing along and at least pretending not to be certain I was basically for sale. Of course I know what the whole situation has to look like, the short skirt targeting the older, classy fellow whose expensive suit screams American dollars. No biggy, I would put up with all that even though it hurt my pride, but I certainly wasn't going to cheapen myself and state that I was after his money. Let him assume that though. After his money, after his looks, whatever, soon Stansfield would be deader than dead with a bullet in his non existent heart. Soon would be best. I encourage his attention with a smile playing on my red lips. Unfortunately at that very moment a new problem presents itself how exactly am I supposed to get rid of the guy? I don't exactly go clubbing expecting to chance upon him. Then it dawns on me. He is a cop, he probably has a gun, at least at home if he isn't carrying one. Especially that kind of cop. Once again I wonder what he does in Paris. Wherever it is, I hope I can find it, because I would rather avoid having to use a kitchen knife or something. What would Lon do? Certainly not seduce his target... Yet for the moment I don't see any other way out.