01-17-2014, 08:58 PM
Jacques wasn't five steps into the lab area before he could be found curiously leaning over one of her co-workers shoulders to take a peek into a microscope. Of course he was quickly shoo'd away and he turned to face Torri again grinning ear to ear as if nothing were amiss. At the end of the day, he wasn't suspicious to the point of worry, but he was still quite certain she had some hidden reason to want a blood sample from him. Why that was still eluded him, however. If she wanted to spend more time with him, she seemed the type confident enough to just say so.
"A seat? Ah, excellent."
He stepped over to the chair while flicking loose the few buttons of his coat and shrugging it off. His dress shirt was relatively sweat-stain free, a sure sign that he was indeed rather used to the heat, and rather then just rolling up his sleeve (which would likely cause unsightly wrinkles), he just unbuttoned it as well and carefully draped shirt and coat over a nearby rolling chair.
Beneath that he wore a simple white tank top, but more importantly above that was a light, flexible bullet-resistant vest. Next generation sort of stuff, all strange black scales over a thin polyurethane gel. The body armour of choice of rich CEOs everywhere.
Without his jacket and shirt, it was readily apparent that not only was he no stranger to the gym, favouring endurance over raw power. His upper left arm sported a simple black tattoo of the old Foreign Legion's emblem, the grenade and flames, the words Ad Unum (To the end) inscribed beneath, in honour of the long disbanded Foreign Legion's 1st Regiment.
With his arm bare, he slipped into the seat without causing any further trouble (for the moment, at least), and shot her a comically hurt grin, "I was a boy when my father moved to Casablanca, so my memories of the Fatherland are with rose tinted glasses. The food! Ah the food was...magnifique, of course! Not like that boiled, tasteless slope you dreary islanders love so much."
He grinned again; he was just teasing, of course.
"Now as to why we moved to Africa? We were once of la Légion Etrangère, the Foreign Legion of France. Our former CEO and some interested parties moved mountains to have the 1er Régiment étranger moved to Morocco and formally disbanded, and the CEO formed Légion Première after purchasing the old equipment and base from the French government, of course."
It was all rather matter-of-fact for him; while the event hadn't seen much coverage in the news in light of the pending absorption to the CCD, the entire thing was executed perfectly. No laws broken, and only a few toes stepped on to make it happen.
"Twenty years later, Légion Première is now one of the most highly sought private security companies in all of Africa. By maintaining the traditions and discipline of the Legion, we are not some pathetic collection of money-grubbing 'Alpha male' ex-military adrenaline junkies that form so many other companies. Legio Patria Nostra, the Legion is our Fatherland."
He watched her work, nodding approvingly at times as if impressed by how easily it all came to her. A doctor in their element wasn't so far off from a soldier going through rifle drills really. It was all rote movement, muscle memory.
"And you? What brings a dour Brit all the way to the Middle Eas...sorry, to Dominance five?"
"A seat? Ah, excellent."
He stepped over to the chair while flicking loose the few buttons of his coat and shrugging it off. His dress shirt was relatively sweat-stain free, a sure sign that he was indeed rather used to the heat, and rather then just rolling up his sleeve (which would likely cause unsightly wrinkles), he just unbuttoned it as well and carefully draped shirt and coat over a nearby rolling chair.
Beneath that he wore a simple white tank top, but more importantly above that was a light, flexible bullet-resistant vest. Next generation sort of stuff, all strange black scales over a thin polyurethane gel. The body armour of choice of rich CEOs everywhere.
Without his jacket and shirt, it was readily apparent that not only was he no stranger to the gym, favouring endurance over raw power. His upper left arm sported a simple black tattoo of the old Foreign Legion's emblem, the grenade and flames, the words Ad Unum (To the end) inscribed beneath, in honour of the long disbanded Foreign Legion's 1st Regiment.
With his arm bare, he slipped into the seat without causing any further trouble (for the moment, at least), and shot her a comically hurt grin, "I was a boy when my father moved to Casablanca, so my memories of the Fatherland are with rose tinted glasses. The food! Ah the food was...magnifique, of course! Not like that boiled, tasteless slope you dreary islanders love so much."
He grinned again; he was just teasing, of course.
"Now as to why we moved to Africa? We were once of la Légion Etrangère, the Foreign Legion of France. Our former CEO and some interested parties moved mountains to have the 1er Régiment étranger moved to Morocco and formally disbanded, and the CEO formed Légion Première after purchasing the old equipment and base from the French government, of course."
It was all rather matter-of-fact for him; while the event hadn't seen much coverage in the news in light of the pending absorption to the CCD, the entire thing was executed perfectly. No laws broken, and only a few toes stepped on to make it happen.
"Twenty years later, Légion Première is now one of the most highly sought private security companies in all of Africa. By maintaining the traditions and discipline of the Legion, we are not some pathetic collection of money-grubbing 'Alpha male' ex-military adrenaline junkies that form so many other companies. Legio Patria Nostra, the Legion is our Fatherland."
He watched her work, nodding approvingly at times as if impressed by how easily it all came to her. A doctor in their element wasn't so far off from a soldier going through rifle drills really. It was all rote movement, muscle memory.
"And you? What brings a dour Brit all the way to the Middle Eas...sorry, to Dominance five?"