precisionfocus | (no subject)

For the last month, Sebastian Moran had ignored the almost daily text messages that came from a blocked number. he was not desperate enough to work as a bodyguard. He would, he told himself, be back in the field soon.

And yet...

"Sebastian, I can't help you until you are ready to help yourself. Now, let's talk about Jake. You--"

"Fuck this."

"Sebastian?"

"You heard me. Fuck this."

"Sebastian, please sit back--"

"I'm done."

[blocked number] 9:20 AM
The job's still open.

[me] 9:25 AM
Won't agree to anything until we meet.

[blocked number] 9:25 AM
Time and place. My treat.

[me] 9:26 AM
Can pay for myself. Kelly's at 7.

...And yet here he was, sipping a soda at Kelly's, wondering what the hell he was getting himself into with even just this meeting.

"Hey, Seb!"

"Hey Gina." He always sat at this table, and she always had the section.

"Meeting a date tonight?"

Sebastian looked at her. He knew-- paying attention to the people around him paid off more often than not-- about her recent break up with her boyfriend. She'd be looking for a good rebound fling before they got back together. He smiled. "No date, but I'd love to have one tomorrow. I've just got one problem."

"And what kind of problem would you have with getting a date?"

"I don't have your number."

She blushed, giggled, and bent over to write it on one of the paper napkins. He pocketed it and watched as she walked away. At least, no matter what else happened, tonight had not been wasted.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sebastian Moran opened the passenger side back door after a few more moments and got in the car. Under his jacket, flush against his chest, was his service pistol. Technically, he wasn't supposed to have it anymore...

But a few good friends had seen that it "got lost" and ended up with him.

He had obeyed the secondary instructions. Black dress shoes, black trousers, a nice grey shirt, and a black jacket. Professional, sleek. It was the best he could do without knowing what he was really being pulled into right now.

James gave a not so subtle once over of the man once he entered the vehicle, his expression positively unreadable with those over sized sunglasses of his.

It was only a few moments before:

"You look horrid."

James's standards of 'nice' was obviously much different from Sebastian's; possibly from the world - if he had to admit it, the man didn't look all that bad but he could do better.

"But," he supplied with a sigh and a twist of his frown. "I suppose I've seen worse." He went back to typing on his mobile as the car pulled away and began to drive.

"There's some accessories in the boot if you're still feeling under-dressed." The car was a moving armory. In the trunk, there was a false bottom that took up the entire width of the back and it was filled to the brim with pistols, knives, brass knuckles and a very fine sniper rifle just off the line. For this, Sebastian wouldn't likely need it - just a simple meeting between himself and messengers from another more paranoid colleague.

"We'll be arriving twenty minutes earlier than scheduled." Of which, that time was expected to be used to check the building for exit routes, vista points and hiding places. He wouldn't tell Sebastian Moran this, but he'd like to think a trained sniper would want to get a feel of his surroundings.

"Questions? Comments? Concerns?" He smiled glassily at the man.

Twenty minutes early. Well, better than right on time or twenty minutes late. Time enough to outfit himself with whatever might be in the boot that he'd like if anything and then to escort the man to the right room-- unless this was one of those warehouse deals. Which... Dear God, that would be the worst situation to take a sniper into. Ground floor on a warehouse? What could he do there? But a proper building...

The importance-- and he'd learned this in the Army-- was to have five back-up plans without milling about. To perform an escort mission from point A to point B in as little time as possible but to be aware of every possible angle of attack, both made and to be made.

Questions, yes. One very important one.

"What, exactly, am I being paid to do?" There was a difference between an assassination and an escort mission, between being a bodyguard and being an enforcer. He wasn't going to suit himself up for and play one role if he was supposed to play another. If he didn't know what his job was, he couldn't do it correctly.