09-15-2014, 08:16 PM
Hood fell in as she led the way out of the covered markets and back into the chill Moscow air. "John will do better I think."
He sure as hell wasn't the hero type. Hell, he'd only helped her at the butcher's shop to get her out of the way sooner. And had only agreed to have dinner with her because he was confident it would give him a chance to kill someone. Or at least set the record straight on his current life choices.
Her place of residence didn't exactly dissuade the belief at first. A dive little apartment near the markets. Not the richest of neighborhoods. A place where it could be safely bet that unusual activities would go 'unnoticed' by the neighbors. The walk there was short, but he kept an eye out for agents that may have been following them. When none were seen, he could only assume they would be waiting in the apartment.
Again he was wrong. The apartment was too small for there to be anyone lurking in there. Unless they were standing in the washroom he supposed. He stepped in as she led the way, and gave the room a quick once-over. No signs of hidden cameras, but that sort of tech was near impossible to spot these days.
Then he saw the books, and the drawings. He set his bags next to the door, then crossed to the table and looked at the images, even going so far as to pick one up for a closer look. Yep...that was that damn idiot snake-thing all those Atharim idiots insisted on stamping themselves with. What kind of secret society had gang tats? Honestly...how long was it going to take before the cops caught on, once they really started going after those God-things of theirs?
"Just moved in I take it?"
He set the drawings down and was about to take a seat on one of the chairs when he found it to be dangerously wobbly. He frowned at it, then neatly stacked the stuff on the table before putting the chair up to get a better look at it. A simple diagnoses; it was old, and the screws had come loose.
He eyed her as she worked around the kitchen, and drew a multitool off his belt, easily flicking out a screwdriver bit. A few moments later the chair was set back down. It was still a bit lopsided; one leg was shorter then the others, but it wasn't likely to collapse under whomever sat on it next. "Got a thing for snakes? Snake eating itself. Means rebirth or some philosophical bullshit like that, right?"
His tone was off-handed, disinterested, as if he were just making conversation.
Atharim tended to be a bit sensitive about folks bad-mouthing their ancient holy symbol. And they weren't usually good liars; misdirection and disguise wasn't their style usually. If she were one, it would probably be enough to get a rise out of her, and then'd he would have to wonder why the Atharim had lured him like this. A test of some sort? Or had he out-lived his usefulness?
He sure as hell wasn't the hero type. Hell, he'd only helped her at the butcher's shop to get her out of the way sooner. And had only agreed to have dinner with her because he was confident it would give him a chance to kill someone. Or at least set the record straight on his current life choices.
Her place of residence didn't exactly dissuade the belief at first. A dive little apartment near the markets. Not the richest of neighborhoods. A place where it could be safely bet that unusual activities would go 'unnoticed' by the neighbors. The walk there was short, but he kept an eye out for agents that may have been following them. When none were seen, he could only assume they would be waiting in the apartment.
Again he was wrong. The apartment was too small for there to be anyone lurking in there. Unless they were standing in the washroom he supposed. He stepped in as she led the way, and gave the room a quick once-over. No signs of hidden cameras, but that sort of tech was near impossible to spot these days.
Then he saw the books, and the drawings. He set his bags next to the door, then crossed to the table and looked at the images, even going so far as to pick one up for a closer look. Yep...that was that damn idiot snake-thing all those Atharim idiots insisted on stamping themselves with. What kind of secret society had gang tats? Honestly...how long was it going to take before the cops caught on, once they really started going after those God-things of theirs?
"Just moved in I take it?"
He set the drawings down and was about to take a seat on one of the chairs when he found it to be dangerously wobbly. He frowned at it, then neatly stacked the stuff on the table before putting the chair up to get a better look at it. A simple diagnoses; it was old, and the screws had come loose.
He eyed her as she worked around the kitchen, and drew a multitool off his belt, easily flicking out a screwdriver bit. A few moments later the chair was set back down. It was still a bit lopsided; one leg was shorter then the others, but it wasn't likely to collapse under whomever sat on it next. "Got a thing for snakes? Snake eating itself. Means rebirth or some philosophical bullshit like that, right?"
His tone was off-handed, disinterested, as if he were just making conversation.
Atharim tended to be a bit sensitive about folks bad-mouthing their ancient holy symbol. And they weren't usually good liars; misdirection and disguise wasn't their style usually. If she were one, it would probably be enough to get a rise out of her, and then'd he would have to wonder why the Atharim had lured him like this. A test of some sort? Or had he out-lived his usefulness?