There was nothing comfortable about Moscow.  Even her apartment was not comfortable -- not yet.  She needed a garage to work in.  Her lab.  Her comfort zone.

Ilesha had been looking for a while. But hadn't found anything suitable until today.  There was an old garage that hadn't so much as gone under as the old man running didn't have anyone to take over so he had no choice but to close down when he got too old to run the shop.  It was perfect.

It had two garage doors on either side of the building that could hold four medium sized cars in total, and a small office.  Each stall had a car lift.  She worked predominately on motorcycles for herself, but she was an excellent mechanic all around.  And she didn't intend to have a large client base.  

Though the old man had also sold her his old clients.  She doubted they'd come her way, but she'd give it ago.

Ilesha couldn't wait to get the garage open.  It needed some repair, and she had to get the needed equipment.  And her bikes sent here from the US.  That was her next goal.  This shop was perfect.

She couldn't get over the luck she was having.  But cleaning was a bore, she started humming to herself and started a light weave of air started sweeping the floor with the power.  It was an amazing feeling -- the power and her own space.

“Dearest Natalie, you won’t even know I’m here.” Dark eyes glittered in the face of the woman opposite, deep as onyx stones. Shadows swathed her features, claiming all but the sharpness of a smile gleaming by the lights smeared beyond the windows. The car wove slowly through city centre traffic, and Natalie’s gaze slid to watch the progress of their lazy crawl. Toma was her family’s investment, and she supposed she didn’t begrudge the assurance in order to keep her mother happy. As far as bodyguards went, it could have been worse.

“If you were not informed of my recent history, I’m sure you’ve already done your homework,” she said eventually. A smirk touched her lips, but did not much soften the arid tone. “I don’t promise to behave.” 

Toma only laughed.

In a fight to the death, who would win:

John Wick vs James Bond.

Let the debating commence. Who do you pick and why.

I'll post another cage match after this one is settled.

Moving out had been the best thing Cruz could have done. He was nineteen after all, he could do this. Most kids did this when they went to college -- they stayed in dorm or frat houses or had their own places. Some, stayed home. He'd been part of that, and since moving out he'd made new friends. Not that Nox and Sage didn't bring a great deal of friendship to the table, but neither of them were really interested in him. Nox was being paid, and Sage was only there because of Nox's sister -- though that wasn't the complete truth. They lived such drama filled lives.

But now Cruz was out on his own. He had his own life and was making new friends. Gordey and Felix weren't exactly friend, but they did like to study together -- mostly because Cruz helped them with the harder things. But they loved to code or hack their way through things. They were Computer Science majors and they made fun of Cruz when he said he was only minoring in Computer Science. His major was much more complex than just programming -- Computer Engineering was the bread and butter of his courses, but he also minored in medicine and human biology and he was even planning on taking a few courses in psych. His ultimate goal was to map the human body through Aurora's holographic computer interface. He had a grim prototype of it up and running. At least of medical scans and the like. Cruz wanted to have a 3D holographic image of the body. He had plans, and tons of lines of code in his head. Seeing the tumor and practicing on it before you ever touch the real thing... epic.

Gordey and Felix didn't see down the line. They just wanted to get from one class to the next and get out from under their parents noses. They didn't live at home, but they had been spending more and more of their time crashing on Cruz' couch. The three of them were becoming fast friends at Cruz's expense -- not that he minded. They bought food -- they ate a lot of food. They drank more than they ate. And wine wasn't their thing. They forayed into various other recreational drugs. And to the point they stood now, he's refused their offers, but it was becoming increasingly harder and harder with each refusal. What would it harm?

"Come on, Cruz." Felix yelled from the door. "You don't have to worry you look great. And the money will attract the ladies more than the duds, so let's move it."

Cruz rolled his eyes. Felix insisted people knew he had money just from the way he dressed and the way he moved or spoke. Maybe he was right. Cruz had been trying to fit in, and never really did. He took tips from what he knew of Nox and Sage. Felix and Gordey dressed like slops unless they were going out. Even Nox's ratty hoodie looed better than these two. A pair of dark blue jeans, a stole sarcastic shirt from Nox's room from days gone past, it read If you don't want a stupid answer don't ask a stupid question. Cruz didn't remember why he had taken he shirt, but it was one of his favorites when he was trying to be a typical college kid.

Cruz pulled on a leather jacket that didn't scream I have money or I'm a lofty rich kid unless you looked at the name on the tag -- or you knew the jacket by it's design. But few kids at Moscow University knew the names of the labels Cruz owned.

"Fine. I'm ready. Let's go." Cruz didn't wait for them to drag him out the door like usual. Today he went willingly. A club -- he had no idea where. He didn't care. Tonight was all about getting smashed after a long run of finals.

Heya! Anyone want to RP with the new dancer at Kallisti? I have nothing in particular I want to go for right now, so I'm open to ideas or anything.

Morpheus

"No other is more skilled than he in representing the gait, the features, and the speech of men; the clothing also and the accustomed words of each he represents.”
-Ovid

The son of sleep and the god of dreams, he is related to Nyx, the underworld goddess of night and Thanatos, the god of death. He is a fashioner and molder of dreams because he shaped and formed the dreams that appeared to the dreamer. He was the leader of the Oneiroi, the personified spirits (demons) of dreams, who directly served an important role in the court of Hades, to whom he was loyal.  

This talent made Morpheus a messenger of the gods, able to communicate divine messages to sleeping mortals, sometimes for nefarious purposes in alliance with the river of oblivion, Lethe. What set him apart from other gods of the dream was his powerful ability to influence the dreams of gods, heroes and kings, and could appear to them in any form. Though he could adopt any human form he desired, and was most talented in mimicking the voice, mood gait and words of anyone, Morpheus’s true appearance was that of a winged demon. He was so busy that he had little personal life, never marrying nor fathering children.

It was said that Morpheus slept on a bed of poppies and from his name is derived the drug morphine.

(Continued from Delivered)

The car pulled away from the busy street after Jay and his escort (the burly, grim government spook type – not the fun type) were deposited on the sidewalk. People dressed in a range of business attire pushed through. Ahead, doors opened by the hands of uniformed doormen. He looked around like something would explain their location, but other than the name of the hotel etched into the glass, he was stunned to silence. It was curiosity as much as any look from the agent that won his compliance. It wasn’t often he was dropped off at such a block.

The lobby floor was marble. Holo-screens and chandeliers lit the interior. A woman in a red suit looked at him as she passed, but her expression was one of annoyance than anything Jay’s best smile could disarm.

The elevator was shared with more fancy people in suits. Downtown Moscow City, a rich district of Moscow towering with the spires of powerful businesses. Last time he was in the city, he didn’t make it over here often, although the skyline could be seen from a great distance. The elevator stopped at one of the upper levels, revealing a comfortable lounge with comfortable seatings, tables, and a beautiful bar. The name etched into the wall was unknown to him, but as Jay was shown to a table, he quite clearly recognized the bottles on display. Talk about top-shelf shit. Hope it wasn’t too early to start drinking. Then again, he was still on States-time.

Unfortunately, they passed through the lounge without stopping, excluding the moment he was halted in his tracks by the view.

He was shown to a semi-private room. The agent took up a place at the threshold only to gesture that Jay enter unaccompanied. About this time, he had a dozen names in his head of who may be waiting within. He blinked, looked over his shoulder one last time for hints of danger, and cautiously entered.

But it was empty. He turned back, jaw agape, gesturing with a very clear ‘what the hell?’ look on his face when the agent adjusted his jacket. “Mister Kane will be with you shortly,” he explained and subsequently ignored him thereafter.

Mister Kane?

Jay had no fucking clue who that was. But since he was going to wait, might as well enjoy the amenities. He went directly to the decanter of whiskey and poured himself a glass.