Rodney slips his hands into his pockets and brings out a pair of brass knuckles. "I'm fucking done with your bullshit, Cracker. You keep talking shit and these'll be the last thing you see before you get the fucking donuts knocked out of you."
Julia gets out of her bed after hearing a commotion from below. She observes the primates bickering at each other as she sits on the stairs. A smile runs across her face.
Kevin notices Julia. "Hey, what's your name?"
Julia rests her head with her arm as she faces towards Kevin, "Julia. And who might you be, sir?"
"I'm Kevin. Want a donut?"
"Forget it, Pillsbury, she's so far out of your league it's like you're the Little League and she's fuckin' Major Leagues."
Rodney looks at who Kevin was talking to, and he sighs and slips his brass knuckles back into his pockets. "Fuck it, you ain't even worth dealing with. Those donuts taste like piss, he fucks each donut before eating them."
Voronov could hear the bickering where she was. Grown men acting like this.
If they had been in her unit back during the World War, she would have shot them already. She can't do that here. She straightens up, then steps back inside.
Julia chuckles, "No thanks, I think you should keep that for yourself. You hunted for it, after all."
She looks around the room, finding the guys arguing over a doughnut amusing.
"Come on, take a donut."
Misha chuckled as he heard the baby men arguing over donuts. Donuts were too sweet for his taste, he prefer something with more meat like a sandvich.
"Oh ho ho ho! That slaps me on the knee!"
Speaking of sandvich, he remember he had some in his lunchbox. Taking out a red box and opening it on the counter, he rubbed his hand as he saw 4 moist sandviches in the box.
"Om, nom nom nom nom."
George looks over to Rodney. "You see, this is what most people call, 'The Spilling of the Spaghetti'"
[media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=faVWQlA-KP0[/media]
[quote][B]Name[/B]: Slade Hall
[B]Appearance[/B]: Brown undercut style hair. A chunky, scarred face with pockmarked cheeks. A brown, suede jacket, with a red polo undershirt, dark blue denim jeans, leather boots. A gold chain necklace with a beautiful Silver wristwatch.
[B]Date Of Birth[/B]: 15/02/1959
[B]Preferred Weapons[/B]: Skorpion SMG.
[B]Special Skills[/B]: Athletic, firearms knowledge, good sales, persuasion and people skills.
[B]Profession[/B]: Freelance hitman.
[B]Nationality[/B]: Unknown (Originally Scandinavian, brought up in UK)
[B]Biography[/B]: Brought up in Scandinavia, Slade was moved around a lot as a child. He was brought to the UK to be schooled. His father, a profitable, successful and jeweller, had bought his way in to any elite school that was available. After being physically abused by a teacher with anger problems, Slade eventually became a lot more spiteful. At age 15, he was arrested (and promptly released due to his father's influence), for assault of the teacher. After this, he was taken to military school, which not only allowed him to excel in athletics, but also shooting. After years of training, we was sent to the frontline to fight numerous proxy wars. After seeing his fair share of action, he was sent home, a changed man, what he saw he has not spoke about, but it has shifted him in to being the man he is today. By 21, he was training for the olympic games, however, after an accident involving a small firearm, he was injured and out of the running. Still angry at his chance of fame being taken, he's been travelling the world, doing what he knows the most; killing.[/quote]
[It's quarter to 4 here, but rest assured I shall be here to start off Slade's story in a few hours! I hope you're ready for a (non-metagaming) change of pace, with a hard-hitting, fast story that I hope you'll all be eager to hear as it continues!]
Julia sighs, "Fine." She walks over to Kevin, swaying her hips from side so side. She seductively takes the doughnut and puts it up to her mouth. She licks the frosting off, slowly. Then takes teeny tiny bites until it's halfway eaten, then stuffs it in her mouth, swallows, then sucks her fingers, making pop sounds as she sucks each one. She then wipes off her fingers with a napkin and giggles.
"That was pretty good~"
George looks over again, "And this is what I would call, 'Taking advantage of an unlucky man's hormones'. Fun to watch, though."
"See Rodney, finally someone with taste. I have a question though. I have never seen someone lick off the frosting beforehand, why do this?"
"This is what you get when you put an ex-boxer like me and some fat white nerd in the same office for longer than 5 minutes. Cracker and negro chucking shit at each other like kids. Fuck that, we're here for the same reason so lets just fucking grow up."
Voronov watches, then rolls her eyes before walking over and sitting back down at her table to watch. She sits her AK on the table, before propping her legs up on the table next to it.
Julia giggles, "Just wanted to make a distraction so I could steal your wallet with my other hand while you were distracted with my doughnut seducting."
Julia raises her hand, holding Kevin's wallet. She tosses it back to him, then winks.
Rodney gets up from his chair and starts to head towards the stairs, muttering to Julia as he passes. "Clever girl."
Julia nods to Rodney then takes a seat on a stool, ordering a glass of water. Nothing that has alcohol in it, which she hates tasting with a burning passion. She takes a few sips before lowering it back on the counter.
George looks at his watch, "Jee-sus, we've been here what, an hour, and already almost killed each other over Pillsbury's eating and sexual habits. God damn." He takes out his flask and takes a swig, putting his feet on the table.
"So why are you guys here?"
Looking over at the woman at the table, Misha observed her for a while before speaking in Russian.
"(You, what is someone like you doing outside the motherland?)"
[Im using the () bracket for signaling speaking in another language.]
"To get money and to get paid" Rodney exclaims as he makes his way up the stairs. When reaches the second floor, he picks an unoccupied bed and crashes on it, unloading his Makarov and putting it under the pillow.
"Well, Pillsbury, if you had seen the news at all in the past couple months, an incident involving a number of cops lyin' with their brains on the pavement had occurred in a certain coastal town. So... now I'm in this shithole tryin' to make a livin'."
Voronov glances over at Misha.
"Well, I was Red Army, involved in the Afghan invasion. I ditched the military, and decided to become a merc. So, I guess I'm here because of the money." she says, in English to answer both Misha and Kevin's question.
Gotta maintain my cover story, Voronov thought to herself, as she leaned back in her chair a bit.
[- Go to sleep
- Wakes up
- 60 new posts
- Donuts]
Before Viktor could continue the conversation, Aleksy bumped into him. This however went unnoticed as Julia procceeded downstairs.
Viktor chuckled and bumped into Aleksy purposely as he went downstairs to observe all the noise.
"Oh, sorry comrade. Didn't see you there."
On his way down he passed Rodney in the stairs whom he greeted with a nod.
Sitting down, the situation downstairs was fascinating him. Several others were, just like him, observing while the rest were arguing loudly over several things.
As he sat down, he had Voronov next to him. "Privet."
Luke Bloom heard the nearby phone ringing loudly across the office desk. He gritted his teeth and reached over to the phone and grabbed it. He placed it over to his ear and awaited the inevitable caller.
"Yo! Oceania Bay Trade. What can we do for you?" Luke worded out.
"This is Spade's man right?" An unknown accent went through.
"Adolfo?" Luke raised an eyebrow, eyeing the phone as the man already caught his interest.
"I have a favor to ask you. Go by the local market on Pancetta st. There's a brand new recipe I want to tell you about."
"Fine by me." Luke then hung the phone up and sighed. He chuckled and made sure he had a firearm holstered. Once he was ready Luke went out of the office that extended to entire building. Wandering out in the streets.
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