Continued from A Fine Line

Connor looked up at the sign and then at the card in his wallet. Gracie’s Gym. The words looked faded, the sign cracked and dirty. The door was propped open and he could her the slaps of fists on punching bags, the echoing grunts of people, and the background noise of music coming from a crappy speaker, high and tinny.

It fit his mood. The last week or so had seriously sucked. He just went through the motions of life. After that first day, that first run, he hadn’t felt any better. He didn’t see Ayden again that night but he wanted to. He missed her. He barely knew her but he missed her, wanted to go to her. But he just couldn’t. Every time he thought about walking to her door and knocking, he just felt tired. Whenever he thought he heard activity out in the hallway- talking or a door closing- he would feel a stab of anxiety. Work helped a little. Being busy- having the help coworkers, track down bugs, or find answers to questions occupied his mind. But he didn’t joke with the guys really. At lunch he just ate and sat around, while Vlad and the other guys talked and laughed. He went out a couple nights but it was meh. Didn’t stay out late either. Came home, had a drink or 5 and then went to bed. Next day, start all over again.

He did see her once one evening 4 days later as he was walking down the hall. The elevator doors opened and there she was in waitress uniform, grocery bag in one hand while the other fumbled getting a ribbon from around her neck. She looked tired but when she looked up and saw him she smiled a beautiful warm smile, eyes bright. His heart leapt in his chest and started racing. He kept walking but his eyes were on her only, on her face. Almost, almost he ran to her, almost threw his arms around her to pick her up and hold her close to him and kiss her. But fear paralyzed him.

As they got closer together- his heart pounding- she said “Hi”
in a quiet and tender voice. Her smile stayed on her face as she just looked at him.

“Hi,”
was all he could say, a weak smile on his face. He swallowed. “Well…uhh. I have to go.”
He walked past her to the elevator and pressed the button. It opened immediately and he went in. When he turned around and pressed “Lobby” he saw her watching him from in front of her door. Mercifully, the doors closed. He was shaking inside. Maybe he would move. But a part of him rebelled at that thought. He just couldn’t do that. He was caught. Scared to go to her. Scared to get away from her.

After a week, he knew this couldn’t continue. He’d promised Hayden. He needed something to do with his time. He needed to get out of his head. He needed to feel something again.

He walked into the gym and was met by the smell of sweat and rubber and leather. There area was open, with light streaming in from a propped open back door. There were 2 rings, one of which had a couple guys boxing in protective gear. A couple punching bags hung from the ceiling along one wall and were tied to the floor. On one of them a girl in a sports bra and black shorts was repeatedly kicking one of the bags with her shins, sharp grunt each time her leg connected, while a man in a tank top held it firm. Connor’s gaze continued taking in the room, seeing a couple tables and folding chairs, some old weights and benches in a corner, mirror along one wall. Posters of various fights, some old and faded, adorned the walls. A few screens scattered around the room showed some fights, though the sound was off. He saw a guy with close cropped dark hair and a pretty good build walking toward him. He had an odd look on his face with an inquisitive smile. Must not have a lot of walk-ins I guess. “Can I help you?”


The man stopped in front of him. They were about the same height but thought the main was probably in his late 20s. “Yeah, uh, a guy I met told me about this place. Said I might get to do some fighting or something.”
He shrugged a bit. He wasn’t nervous, just ready to do something new. It would be nice to do something, move and feel something other than lethargy.

The guy was still looking at him, smirk on his face. What’s so funny? he wondered. “You ever do any boxing or MMA? Martial arts?”


“Uhh….did some boxing when I was younger. Never really got into it. Wrestling in high school. And you know, occasional fights and stuff growing up. Nothing big though.”


The guy kind of smiled. “Heh….so you wanna pop your cherry here, then? Yeah, I think I can help you out.”
Odd way to put it, Connor thought. The guy pointed to one of the signs that showed the rates. Daily, weekly, monthly and annual. It was a bit steep, given the look of the place. But what the hell. He decided on the weekly, along with trainer sessions. See how it went at least for a while.

“Alright,”
when the waiver was signed and the fee paid, the guy went on. “I’m Charlie. One of the trainers. So, what do ya wanna learn?”
, he asked, nodding to another sign mentioning the different styles of fighting. One caught his eye.

“I guess that Brazilian Jiu Jitsu one.”
He thought he’d seen it once before. The guys were dancing around like crazy, landing painful blows. Looked kinda fun. A small part of him kind of liked the idea of hitting. And strangely, he found the idea of getting hit not bad either. Weird.

The man smiled at him. “Hah! That’s one of mine. Alright.”
He appraised Connor pretty quickly. “Good build on you . Good shape. Bit older, but that’s ok. You will feel it tomorrow, though. Just gotta warn ya.”


Connor laughed. “I don’t mind. That’s kinda why I’m here.”


“All right. Well, get changed I’ll see you out back out here,”
he said, nodding to a hallway that must have led to the locker rooms. When he went back there, he saw that they were in the same older state as the front area. But he wasn’t interested in a meat-market gym. He wanted to fight.

He came back out and Charlie looked him up and down again. “So, let’s do some warm-ups to get the blood flowing. Then we can spar a bit and I can assess your skill level.”
They ran through a few sets of pushups and jacks and stretches and standing jumps. By the end of 10 minutes, he was already covered in sweat, heart racing. But he didn’t say anything. It felt good to have his mind on nothing but the workout. “Ok, let’s go the ring,”
Charlie said, pulling out some gloves. He wondered about the head-safety but didn’t ask. Don’t want him to think I’ma pussy, he thought. He sort of laughed at himself for thinking that.

“So try to block me. I’ll go slow, but I wanna see how you move.”
Charlie moved slowly all right. By a very strange definition of the word ‘slow’. Connor wasn’t sure if the man was trying to show off his skill or scare him but he was successful in both. He barely fended off most of the blows, though in truth they didn’t hurt that much. Strangely, though, the exhilaration and rush of adrenaline was amazing. He didn’t have time to think about anything but keeping the man’s hands and feet away from him. He was not successful a lot of the time. He lost focus for one moment and then next thing he knew he was on the mat, head spinning, a painful throbbing beginning in the side of his head.

He looked up to see Charlie over him, giving him his hand, big smirk on his face. “Heh….I thought your friend was the one interested in me.”
Then he laughed. “Shouldn’t’a called me ma’am buddy.”
His laugh wasn’t malicious though and he helped him up.

Connor just stared at the guy blankly and then a name floated up to his addled mind. “Charlene?”

Edited by Connor Kent, Jun 20 2014, 08:36 AM.

I haven't seen this posted yet. Nick's got an address on his Facebook for his unit while he's at Navy boot camp. Speaking from one who's gone through it, letters from friends and family make all the difference in those months

She’d been busy the last few days. It had been about a week since she’d been caught breaking into Oslov Corp and she had yet to call Sarkozy back. Not for the first time in the last couple of days, Zoya eyed her wallet. The item was currently resting on her desk, facing upwards brightly displaying the date and time. It was a Friday afternoon, and she should have already left the CNC. Instead, she remained at her desk sorting through emails and articles concerning the city’s new reclamation project.

An old Soviet era factory in the outskirts of the industrial side of town was being cleared out and torn down in favor a more modern facility. Supposedly, after shutting down, the building had served as a storage area for toxic chemicals until they could be properly disposed. Now, the city was trying to clean it up, but something didn’t sit well with her. She’d spoken to some of the people that worked there and heard alarm bells go off in the back of her mind.

Some of the men had been getting sick. A couple mentioned having had to clean up a spill that was dismissed by the higher ups. Apparently, they also hadn’t been issued proper equipment to work with. It seemed as if the contractor hired for the job was cutting corners, and in the process, risking the health of the public and their workers.

One of them mentioned to her that some of the stuff was being transported to the Moscow underground. If something happened, there was no telling how much harm that could cause. It was no secret that some of the poor and immigrant population hid there, along with a long list of the city’s undesirables. Should something go wrong, then large amounts of people would be at risk exposure.

She at the time displayed on her wallet yet again. It was 6:30 in the evening. Likely, the factory was empty by now. Most people would have gone off to enjoy their weekend. If she went alone, the chances of getting discovered due to someone else's mistakes were minimal. The night of her arrest wasn’t the first time she’d picked a lock or two, but it had been the first getting caught.

It didn’t take long for her to slip on her jacket, and wrap her scarf around her neck. Picking up her gloves and wallet, Zoya made her way out of the main office; ensuring, of course, to turn off the lights and lock up.

To all fathers here, I wish you a Happy Father's Day!!!


*hugs all the daddies*

Pyotr Grigory

Age 21
Birthday: December 15, 2024

Origin: Moscow

Occupation: Waiter

Psychological Description – He is young and naive. He is easily manipulated and can be accident prone.

Physical Description: He stands 5'11. He has short blonde hair and sapphire blue eyes. He usually wears black and white waiter clothing, and sticks with plain clothing when not working.

Supernatural Abilities – Channeler

Current Strength: 2
Potential Strength: 10

Biography
Pyotr was born into a family that had served the Kremlin for generations. Naturally, he was expected to join in this familial tradition when he became of age. As a result, he was home-schooled. He didn’t have many friends growing up; the only people he saw on a regular basis were the higher ups in society who had no desire to spend time with the son of the servants. As the result of a rather sheltered life, Pyotr is very naïve and can easily be manipulated if someone offers him a chance at friendship. At 18, his schooling ended and he joined the workforce as a waiter in the Kremlin as expected of him. His life continued much that way for three years, nothing really changing until he turned 21. He was serving a table and on the way towards the table, he tripped over his feet, dropping the pitcher of water he was carrying. Not wanting to upset any guests, he brought the pitcher close to his body, preventing the water from spilling out onto guests. Most of the water ended up on him and there was a puddle on the floor. Some of the guests laughed while a few asked if he was alright. Pyotr nodded that he was ok before moving to go change his clothes. Another waiter got a sign to warn walkers of the hazardous floor. Pyotr would need to clean it up, but it wouldn’t really help unless he stopped dripping first. He went to the locker room to get out another outfit, thinking of how much of a pain this whole situation was when he felt the wetness in his shirt beginning to descend. A puddle was forming under his shoes and to Pyotr’s surprise; his clothes were no longer wet. Pyotr was curious about this, but didn’t have time to worry about it now. He cleaned up the mess and continued with his shift. About a week later, he began to have headaches and nausea. These periods of sickness would occur sometime after a lucky situation happened. Pyotr would fall down the stairs, but would stand with no pain or bruises. He would react faster if someone would bump into him preventing spills. To Pyotr, it seemed like he had some sort of ability to deal with these things. He named this ability his “Luck.” The effects of the sickness would appear after every time he used his Luck, and Pyotr began to notice. Not only were they coming more often, but often, they were more severe. His Luck and the sickness were linked, but he didn’t know how. Pyotr would have to find out soon before it was too late.
Edited by Pyotr Grigory, Aug 1 2014, 03:20 PM.

The hedgehog had proven to be not worth the effort. Snow had tipped it over quickly before being able to dive into the soft underbelly of the friendly creature. The sounds were pitiful as it died and Sierra regretted buying the creature. Snow was disappointed as well. He sent images of hunting and then a sad wolf howling at the moon. Sierra rolled her eyes as she pat the big wolf on the top of his head "We'll go hunting tomorrow. I promise."


****

Sierra was up early, it's hard not to be when you've a wolf who's sending you messages of the rooster crowing and images of a glorious hunt. He was eager to get out of the city.

Sierra returned images back from her bleary morning haze. She asked Snow if he wanted to stay out there, with out her.

His reply was sad. Sierra reassured him she'd visit often and that it was safer for him. But he returned a firm negative on that. She had never felt such an image from him, Snow was usually soft and comforting. It had been danger he was afraid of. Sierra couldn't decipher the exact danger, but Snow knew something she did not. And that worried her.

The sun was just peaking over the horizon. The weather was very cold and blustery as they left the city. Sierra was wrapped from head to toe in animal skins. It was an exotic look in the city, but she was thankful for it when they reached the open terrain.

Both she and Snow sent messages to any of the packs near by - letting them know they weren't staying long, only enough to get some food and be on their merry way. Neither of them wanted to hunt with out permission. It was bad form. Sierra wondered what it would be like to have a pack they could call home. They'd wandered everywhere in the world, and her and Snow had never stayed in any one place long enough to be more than a cursory acceptance.

Snow sent back his version of the same wish. She hadn't realized she'd been sending at all. It was becoming very easy to speak with the wolves, it was almost easier than talking to her own kind.

It hadn't been a day like any other. Alex never expected to land a mystery on her first day. There was little she could do in the actual search for the place, but if Mr. Gregory was the man who had this girl at some point, she could probably help build a case against him. It made Alex wonder what else he had done, or was capable of. But the fact that his emotions had been unreadable and then clear to her was a mystery to her. And the whole unseen force. There was far more to him than to anyone she'd ever interviewed.

They were keeping him in holding, drugged up. Chief Inspector Drayson's orders. He didn't seem all too concerned about the display, but every other person she walked passed was in whispers and hushed voices over the anomaly. Only a handful had actually saw the thing, but that didn't mean the office wasn't all a buzz over it.

The holding cells were as drab as the interrogation room, except for there were a few more comforts of home. If you could call a lumpy cot hanging from the wall a comfort. Alex had never actually been on the other side of the bars, and she hoped to never know for sure the comforts of such a place.

The gray pant suit she wore was slightly wrinkled from the days sitting. She'd tried to stretch them out before making her way to see Mr. Gregory, but there was little to be done.

Her footsteps echoed that classic high heeled tap as she walked down the concrete floors. Alex reached her senses out to how many people were in listening distance as stopped at the edge of the cell Dane was being kept in.

Alex dragged a chair from the nearby watch station and sat it in front of the bars holding back the man who was an enigma to her. She made sure she was far enough away from grabby hands, which put the back of the chair almost to the wall. "I'm Dr. Pirozzi. I was hoping to speak with you Mr. Gregory."
It wasn't really a choice, but being polite was far more helpful that just getting to the point of it all. She really didn't know what she was looking for, but she knew there were answers to be found.


Edited by Alex, Jun 12 2014, 10:08 AM.

This wasn’t her idea of how the night would have ended. In fact, she hadn’t even planned on going out in the first place. But, she just had to get talked into it. So now, instead of being at home reading a book, Zoya found herself dressed warmly for the cold December night and handcuffed in the back of a cop car. Fabulous.

In all honesty, had the three that came up with the idea gone about things the right way, they wouldn’t have been caught. Of course, instead of looking for the information necessary to look into the practices of the testing facility, the trio had disregarded her and gone on to freeing all the testing animals and setting off the alarm.

In the meantime, Zoya had been busy rummaging through files and taking as many pictures of the documents as she could. She had just finished putting things back where they belonged when she noticed footsteps outside the office.

Remembering all this made the young woman frown. Not only had she closed the drawer on her finger as she’d hurriedly closed it, things had not gone how any of them had planned. Otto was supposed to have come to get her. Instead, she’d been more than a little surprised to find a complete stranger walk through the door. A gun toting cop. To make matters worse, he found her with her finger in her mouth as she tried to sooth it and muffle a curse.

For the moment, she couldn’t focus her irritation at who she really thought deserved it: the three that had ran off without her. The next best thing, unfortunately for him, happened to be her arresting officer.

She glared at him while mumbling under her breath. Well… she glared at the back of his head, foolishly hoping that her stare made him at least a bit uncomfortable. Boy was she tempted to kick at the back of his seat. Very tempted.

Zoya had rambled on about the shady procedures used by Oslov Corp as he slapped the handcuffs on her wrists, and laughed as rabbits hopped across a hallway while being escorted her out of the building. At least the folks at Oslov would have a merry time chasing after all the animals.

Now, she turned to look out the car window and saw her own reflection looking back at her. Some of the hair she’d pulled up into a pony tail had escaped the ties and framed her face. She was sulking. There was no other way to describe what she was seeing, and the moment Zoya realized this, her irritation doubled.

Outside, the streets and other vehicles passed. As they neared the station, she sighed. “Couldn’t have stopped for coffee, now could you?”

<small>((continued from The God Wars of South America))</small>

Age:23
Ht:6'2"
Wt:205
Hair: brown
Eyes:blue

Ivan Sarkozy, called Vanya by his family, was born in Moscow in 2022 to Anton and Vasilisa Sarkozy and grew up in the Zamoskvarechye neighborhood. Anton was a beat cop and his mother worked in a bakery. He had 2 siblings, Yegor and Valeriya, both younger. They were a poor but relatively happy family. Anton worked hard in their neighborhood. His father had been a police officer as well, as had been his grandfather. It was a tradition in the family, being brought up to serve and protect in that capacity. But as much as Ivan loved and respected his father, he felt like being a cop was a losing battle. The neighborhood continued to fall apart, what with the crumbling old buildings, the illegals and even the black market activities. Being Russian helped (though his last name was French from his great-great grandfather.) They weren’t exploited like the illegals. And they lived in the “better off” parts of the neighborhood. But Ivan felt like what his father did made very little difference. It was only a matter of time before the corruption spread to their neighborhood. Ivan hated the thought though.

And then one day when he was 15 his fear became a reality. He got home from school to find his father’s fellow officers there. Father had been shot and was in the hospital. For the family, it felt like the world was crumbling around them. Anton had been their rock. Mother kept all of them going, but she too was suffering. And Ivan suddenly found himself imagining having to take up his father’s place. But in the midst of that heart-ache, something happened that changed Ivan. The neighbors quietly came in and started helping out. Little things. Dropping meals off. Visits to help clean the home. Help with Yegor and little Valeriya. Words and deeds of kindness. “Anton is a good man. He’s strong. He’ll come out of this.” “Don’t wory Vanya! Your father will be fine. He’s a bear!. Look at how he takes care of our neighborhood, keeps it safe.” “Silisa, shhh….It’s ok to be scared. But we are all here. Your family is our family.”

Vanya was touched by the love and support they’d received. Nobody had organized it. No one was in charge. It was just a natural organic growth. His mother and father had served their neighbors and community. And now when they needed help, they had been supported and served in kind. And true to their reassurances, Anton did make a recovery, though he walked with a limp the rest of his life. Vanya, more than ever, realized the power his father had- and that he wanted to be just like him. He was a Sarkozy and Sarkozy’s were cops. After graduating school, Vanya joined the CCD police academy. He worked hard and graduated with top scores.

When he was 21, though, he and his partner were busting a pimp who’d been working out of a crack house. The place was filled with chaos and it was dark and hard to see what was going on. Terror threatened to claw its way passed his throat but he forced it down. They had a job to do. They were walking through the house, clearing the rooms one by one, when one of the many limp bodies on the floor surged up, needle in hand and went for his partner. Suddenly, Vanya saw the room clearly and time slowed. He moved his hands without thinking and the woman with the needle flew back into a wall. He was stunned and didn’t know what happened. They eventually finished in the house, but a couple days later on the job, he had a fever and passed out. It was the Sickness. Their precinct captain, following procedure, called his superiors and before long, Vanya found himself being studied inside the thick walls of an unknown building, unsure of what was happening to him. He wanted to be let out. The symptoms had gone away and he felt fine. And he hadn’t done anything wrong.

And then, one day, he received a visitor.

Here's the direct link for ya'll.

http://www.dragonmount.com/index.php/New...dency-r781

I also made a reply to the thread I started last week:

http://www.dragonmount.com/forums/topic/...ermission/


Edited by Aria, Jun 12 2014, 06:59 AM.