"The assignment will consist of three seperate objectives. By agreeing to the terms of this offer, you acknowledge you'll successfully undertake all three. If you should fail at any one of the three, then payment is void, and well, we'd really take a strong dislike to you."
That was of course obvious, but it was nice to have it all up front. After all nothing is better than an honest Johnson. So many people these days complain about that in this business. Of course, I've always said most people just can't handle the whole truth. Then again maybe I've chipped one too many 20th Century 2D sims.
As I went over the Johnson's package again, I realized this guy was thurough, and that was good. He'd left nothing to chance, not that I would have either. I am nothing if I am not meticulous.
The chips could have been burned anywhere-a corner music kiosk, or a corporate secratarial pool. The code on the chips would almost certainly be universal as well. For a brief second all I could think of was how many hands had touched this, what sort of germs were there. What wasn't I seeing? But I pushed those thoughts aside. I'd fared better through far worse.
While the information was specific enough, none of it was quoted material or sourced-something a lot of Johnsons forgot to slice when they were having the info parred down for shadow consumption.
All in all I was suddenly reminded of my days in Bush, as part of the Boer gov's spec ops. But that was niether here nor now.
"All right, we'll take the job." His team would be very happy with the terms he'd negotiated. Mr. Johnson smiled-his teeth were so white I could have checked out the rest of the bar if I'd been inclined.
"Excellent, I'll notify my primaries that you choosen to accpet their generous offer, and undertake the task at hand. It's been a pleasure not doing business with you." He left just like he came-quiet, unobtrusive. I still had the table for another hour, so I decided to stay put. The tab was on his stick anyways.
After Johnsons security team decided I wasn't going to try and follow their principle, or off him or them they pulled up.I had to laugh, my reputation obviously preceded me. It wasn't that I was reckless-I was sure that the rumors were just that, unconfirmed. But people had to know where my tastes lay. What I liked.
Not too many runners would have spotted them. The couple that looked married by the door-a heavy bore pistol of some sort (probably automatic, maybe even silenced) in her purse, two under his jacket, and a boot knife in his left boot. Who wore Danners to dinner anyways? The Ork at the bar too obviously sousing himself, that would have felt just as aroused by my toaster oven as he would the waitresses. The thing, and that's what they were things not people, obviously had some sort of kidney screening, or something.
It was either that or Mr. Johnson had some quality control issues. Then again whereever goblins were concerned quality was always an issue.
It must have been ameteur night. Wiping my hands clean-thats something I do a lot, I'm told.-I left a generous tip on Mr. J's account and left. One of the waitresses must have thought that was some sort of invitation because I found a piece of paper with a number written on it in my coat pocket. How quaint.
Glad that I had put my gloves on first I discarded the offending piece of paper, dropping it casually in the garbage can that sat by the door. Although mixing business with pleasure was sometimes fun, it was more often dangerous. Besides I was too tired to clean up the mess I'd have certainly made.
I wondered briefly if Mr. Johnson was stupid enough to try and follow me from the meet- he'd definitely been dumb enough to try and capture my appearence on the security cameras at the resteraunt. Smiling as I walked, I whistled a tune. I'd be glad to take all of this damn make up, and synthetic skin off when I got home. A good hot shower-yeah thats what I needed. A thurough scrubbing before I turned in for the night.
I'd contact Frost tommorrow. We'd think about assembling a team, if we needed it.
[Shadowrun]Dance of the hours
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Serious Paul
- Devil
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- Joined: Mon Mar 18, 2002 12:38 pm
Brother Shaun Fries knelt beside the creaking wooden shaft which threaded through the whole in the wheelhouse wall. <i>As I suspected.[/i] The cam that was intended to lift the end of the triphammer the Order used to full their wool lay on the floor, its brass surround twisted and half-torn off. The storm must have overloaded the river, pushing the wheel past its limits and snapping the cam against the end of the heavy triphammer.
He reached behind him for the spare wooden pegs he'd brought on speculation, and the wooden mallet needed to drive them in. With enormous hands, he lifted the shaft from its chocks and took the waterwheel out of the river outside the wall. The cam fit back in its original position after the brass surround had been bent back into shape. A few blows with the mallet, and the cam was reattached solidly.
Though Brother Shaun was only a guest at the Order of St Robert of Molesme's monastery outside Seattle, UCAS, he wished to live as the monks did, to fill his role in their community, to repay their kindness in allowing him to stay. With so much division in the Catholic Church, he felt brotherhood was all the more important. The End Days were upon them; the apocalypse was nigh. Demons walked the streets and diabolical magics were performed by even children; the church in Rome was ruled by the Antichrist, who had dared to proclaim these events holy, in "the image of God." Brother Shaun believed strongly that those of the true church had a duty to each other, now more than ever.
A sandal on stone warned him of the approach of another Brother, minutes before he appeared at the wheelhouse doorway. Brother Shaun had keen senses, strengthened by the Will of God. In a way, he had pity for those whose gifts were more subtle; YHVH had made it abundantly clear what His purpose for Shaun was: the death of devils and witches. Their mind-warping would not effect him; his will was God's. Their spells passed over him like water; his power was God's. Their blows could not fell him; his arms were God's.
Brother Micah entered the wheelhouse quietly, his gaze on the floor. "Brother, the Abbot calls you to his rooms."
Brother Shaun stood and replaced the driveshaft with his oaken arms; Brother Micah flinched at the exertion. Shaun knew they feared him, though he wished it were otherwise. Still, he was of the Order of St Michael the Avenger, a Knight Templar, one of the most holy warriors of their faith, one of those who stood toe-to-toe with the devil's minions every day and stood victorious always. Their fear was natural, if undesired.
Shaun lay a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I will go to him at once. The fuller is repaired; we may resume clothmaking any time."
The monk smiled and looked at his Knight brother. "<i>Laborare est orare,[/i]" he said, the motto of his order: To work is to pray.
Brother Micah considered what a call to the Abbot's quarters - the only place in the monastery with electricity, powered by the windmill outside on the yard; all the monasteries of St Robert were required to be self-sustaining - must mean for him, and he smiled in return. It was time for him to pray, in his own way.
He reached behind him for the spare wooden pegs he'd brought on speculation, and the wooden mallet needed to drive them in. With enormous hands, he lifted the shaft from its chocks and took the waterwheel out of the river outside the wall. The cam fit back in its original position after the brass surround had been bent back into shape. A few blows with the mallet, and the cam was reattached solidly.
Though Brother Shaun was only a guest at the Order of St Robert of Molesme's monastery outside Seattle, UCAS, he wished to live as the monks did, to fill his role in their community, to repay their kindness in allowing him to stay. With so much division in the Catholic Church, he felt brotherhood was all the more important. The End Days were upon them; the apocalypse was nigh. Demons walked the streets and diabolical magics were performed by even children; the church in Rome was ruled by the Antichrist, who had dared to proclaim these events holy, in "the image of God." Brother Shaun believed strongly that those of the true church had a duty to each other, now more than ever.
A sandal on stone warned him of the approach of another Brother, minutes before he appeared at the wheelhouse doorway. Brother Shaun had keen senses, strengthened by the Will of God. In a way, he had pity for those whose gifts were more subtle; YHVH had made it abundantly clear what His purpose for Shaun was: the death of devils and witches. Their mind-warping would not effect him; his will was God's. Their spells passed over him like water; his power was God's. Their blows could not fell him; his arms were God's.
Brother Micah entered the wheelhouse quietly, his gaze on the floor. "Brother, the Abbot calls you to his rooms."
Brother Shaun stood and replaced the driveshaft with his oaken arms; Brother Micah flinched at the exertion. Shaun knew they feared him, though he wished it were otherwise. Still, he was of the Order of St Michael the Avenger, a Knight Templar, one of the most holy warriors of their faith, one of those who stood toe-to-toe with the devil's minions every day and stood victorious always. Their fear was natural, if undesired.
Shaun lay a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I will go to him at once. The fuller is repaired; we may resume clothmaking any time."
The monk smiled and looked at his Knight brother. "<i>Laborare est orare,[/i]" he said, the motto of his order: To work is to pray.
Brother Micah considered what a call to the Abbot's quarters - the only place in the monastery with electricity, powered by the windmill outside on the yard; all the monasteries of St Robert were required to be self-sustaining - must mean for him, and he smiled in return. It was time for him to pray, in his own way.
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Serious Paul
- Devil
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- Joined: Mon Mar 18, 2002 12:38 pm
Setting in motion the events that would eventually lead to Frost getting ahold of him, Vrees decided it was time to scrub up a little. He could feel the filth of the city, it moved across his skin like a shifting film, or a slick on the water.
Standing on the rubberized mat he had for just this sort of occassion, he stripped his clothes off slowly, taking care to remove his jacket first. Rolling it forward off his shoulders he allowed it to fall into the red biohazard bag gentlely. It wouldn't do to drop it on the floor, or jar anything loose. Next he removed his boots, unlacing them, pulling the tongue forward to loosen them-he always laced them tightly-and deposited them in another biohazard bag. Straightening he removed his belt, rolling the buckle neatly insode the glossy hand polished black leather. he had to wear three sets of mid forearm nitrate gloves to do it, but all good things came to those who worked for them.
Removing his trousers, Vrees took special care to pull them as far from his body as he could, then he rolled them downward, folding the material over itself like he was folding a towel. After placing them in the bag with his jacket. Unbuttoning his shirt next, he removed it left arm first, and then after the right he folded the shirt in half and placed it on the pile.After removing his under garments, and placing them in the bag he emtpied the bags into the machine by carefully setting them in the machine, and lifting the red bags loose.
Disposing of the bags and the gloves ended the process. Starting the wash cycle, he turned and rolled the mat up carefully with his feet. Padding nude over to the shower across from the wash he performed a quick scrub down, washing with a disinfectant. After drying quickly he strode through the door of his wash room, and into his home. Now he could scrub himself in earnest.
Standing on the rubberized mat he had for just this sort of occassion, he stripped his clothes off slowly, taking care to remove his jacket first. Rolling it forward off his shoulders he allowed it to fall into the red biohazard bag gentlely. It wouldn't do to drop it on the floor, or jar anything loose. Next he removed his boots, unlacing them, pulling the tongue forward to loosen them-he always laced them tightly-and deposited them in another biohazard bag. Straightening he removed his belt, rolling the buckle neatly insode the glossy hand polished black leather. he had to wear three sets of mid forearm nitrate gloves to do it, but all good things came to those who worked for them.
Removing his trousers, Vrees took special care to pull them as far from his body as he could, then he rolled them downward, folding the material over itself like he was folding a towel. After placing them in the bag with his jacket. Unbuttoning his shirt next, he removed it left arm first, and then after the right he folded the shirt in half and placed it on the pile.After removing his under garments, and placing them in the bag he emtpied the bags into the machine by carefully setting them in the machine, and lifting the red bags loose.
Disposing of the bags and the gloves ended the process. Starting the wash cycle, he turned and rolled the mat up carefully with his feet. Padding nude over to the shower across from the wash he performed a quick scrub down, washing with a disinfectant. After drying quickly he strode through the door of his wash room, and into his home. Now he could scrub himself in earnest.
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Serious Paul
- Devil
- Posts: 6644
- Joined: Mon Mar 18, 2002 12:38 pm
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Serious Paul
- Devil
- Posts: 6644
- Joined: Mon Mar 18, 2002 12:38 pm
Vrees checked over his equipment one last time. This was ecpected to be a hostile drop, and the team had loaded for bear. Their missionw as simple-search and destroy. They'd drop deep into tribal territory, and fight thir way out. Their goal was to kill as many of the monkeys as possible.
The six man team would insert by boat-far safer than helo's, and much cheaper than HALO or what not. Not to mention sensible. The forty foot high speed boat they were in was armed to the teeht, machine guns bristling in every direction, a missile launcher mounted in the rear, and two drone racks next to it. Anything that happened upon them was in for a lethal surprise.
The six man team was seated along the sides of the boat, their weapons muzzles down for safety.Three on the port side and himself and two others on the starboard side, their packs slung across their upper backs ladened with ammunition and food. They needed little else. It was the dry season, and that meant other than finding water, living off the land in this part of the world was going to be relatively easy. The monkies would make it difficult if they found the team, but that was hopefully not a part of the game plan.
Vrees carried a bull pup style fully automatic shotgun, with several magazines to load into it, and three boxes of shells in his pack. He also had a pair of Ruger Super Warhawk's as back ups, with enough ammo to keep him in fun for a while. Add in his assorted grenades, and explosives, combat knife, machete, and a hatchet he favored...well it added up to a deadly package.
None of that even touched on the chrome he'd received over the years. As a number of the mud people had found out over the years, Vree's was a ambulatory nightmare.
Finishing his equipment check he began to apply some more camoflauge paint to his face. He covered spots that sweat smeared or removed. The high feature sof his face had been covered in darks, and the lows in brights to make his facial features mottle, and the lines blur. In the bush he'd be nearly invisible to the naked eye.
The Boatsun's mate gave a brief hand signal that notified them of their impending arrival at their LZ. Vrees was tail end charlie. He'd cover the team from the boat, egressing last, and then covering any signs of their landing before he rejoined the rest of the team. They'd be providing security. You never knew what would be waiting for you in the LZ, even with Satellitte imagery.
The engines of the boat were baffled, to lower their ambient noise level, but even so as the pilot lowered their speed by reversing the props the noise from the engine was loud enough to make the men nervous. If they were monkies in the area, they'd easily have heard the noise.
The team quickly unloaded from the boat, Vrees covering their movement with watchful eyes, sweeping the area with his shotgun. Finally he leaped off the boat, the water was just above his knees. He waded the few remaining feet to the bank of the river.
He used several dead branches to smear the muddy footprints on the bank into an unrecognizable mess. No one would know they had landed. As he made his way into the thick bush around the river Vrees could barely make out the supine forms of the team.
They quickly made on last equipment check, counting heads at the same time, and then they moved out...
The six man team would insert by boat-far safer than helo's, and much cheaper than HALO or what not. Not to mention sensible. The forty foot high speed boat they were in was armed to the teeht, machine guns bristling in every direction, a missile launcher mounted in the rear, and two drone racks next to it. Anything that happened upon them was in for a lethal surprise.
The six man team was seated along the sides of the boat, their weapons muzzles down for safety.Three on the port side and himself and two others on the starboard side, their packs slung across their upper backs ladened with ammunition and food. They needed little else. It was the dry season, and that meant other than finding water, living off the land in this part of the world was going to be relatively easy. The monkies would make it difficult if they found the team, but that was hopefully not a part of the game plan.
Vrees carried a bull pup style fully automatic shotgun, with several magazines to load into it, and three boxes of shells in his pack. He also had a pair of Ruger Super Warhawk's as back ups, with enough ammo to keep him in fun for a while. Add in his assorted grenades, and explosives, combat knife, machete, and a hatchet he favored...well it added up to a deadly package.
None of that even touched on the chrome he'd received over the years. As a number of the mud people had found out over the years, Vree's was a ambulatory nightmare.
Finishing his equipment check he began to apply some more camoflauge paint to his face. He covered spots that sweat smeared or removed. The high feature sof his face had been covered in darks, and the lows in brights to make his facial features mottle, and the lines blur. In the bush he'd be nearly invisible to the naked eye.
The Boatsun's mate gave a brief hand signal that notified them of their impending arrival at their LZ. Vrees was tail end charlie. He'd cover the team from the boat, egressing last, and then covering any signs of their landing before he rejoined the rest of the team. They'd be providing security. You never knew what would be waiting for you in the LZ, even with Satellitte imagery.
The engines of the boat were baffled, to lower their ambient noise level, but even so as the pilot lowered their speed by reversing the props the noise from the engine was loud enough to make the men nervous. If they were monkies in the area, they'd easily have heard the noise.
The team quickly unloaded from the boat, Vrees covering their movement with watchful eyes, sweeping the area with his shotgun. Finally he leaped off the boat, the water was just above his knees. He waded the few remaining feet to the bank of the river.
He used several dead branches to smear the muddy footprints on the bank into an unrecognizable mess. No one would know they had landed. As he made his way into the thick bush around the river Vrees could barely make out the supine forms of the team.
They quickly made on last equipment check, counting heads at the same time, and then they moved out...
Brother Shaun stepped from the courtyard into the inner abbey, the transition made clear by the building materials; the outer structures were all of local wood and local timber, while the abbey proper was of imported woods, brought by horse and cart ten years ago from the mother abbey. The brothers were little disturbed by temporal or political affairs; their sanctity and peacefulness made them virtually immune to the effects of the outer material world. In their own culture, safe within their walls of stone and tradition, they were left free to ponder the deeper meanings of life, through hard work and dedicated prayer.
The abbot's office was another contrast; whereas the light outside was strictly natural or gaslight - made from the abundant local coal deposits - the light of the office was artificial, of recent vintage: electrical. A single windmill running through a coil of wires and magnets supplied the power to this room alone, the brothers' sole submission to modernity. Here was the only tridcom.
Father Aelred Rosser was a heavyset man, broad and thick, built like a retired athlete, a wrestler just gone to fat. Brother Shaun knew nothing of him save that he had entered the service of the lord after a long career in some military. His speech was accentless, but pristene, as if learned through long practice and not local exposure. His long-sleeved robes nearly always sufficed to cover the tattoos coating his broad arms.
It was not rare, Shaun knew, for military men to reject their lives of violence and seek peace in the lord. Father Rosser had done more than that: he had seen through the Antichrist who ruled in Rome, realized the end times were upon them, and seen the true necessity of violence. While Father Aelred himself remained peaceful, he guided the directions of perhaps a handfull of men like Shaun, Knights Templar working to defend the forces of the Lord, many of them indirectly.
It would be one of those indirect services required today, Brother Shaun could tell. This would not be the culling of a local pack of undead, nor the defense of an orphanage against a rising evil. This would be work for tithe: while the job would not be for the Catholic Church, the proceeds made on the job would fill the coffers of the church. It was tithes such as this which allowed the works of the Lord to continue bringing order to such chaos. In addition, while on whatever mission requires of him, he was fully empowered to act in the church's own immediate best interests. That meant slaying witches and demons, when necessary, or even when simply possible. Shaun did not care if his work was for the church itself, or for tithes; the Lord moved as He willed, and Brother Shaun followed. Vigorously.
"Father." Shaun did not bow or kiss his ring; in church rank, the two men were equals, as Brother Shaun was a direct representative of the Knights Templar. Their relationship was comradely, though Shaun respected the older man immensely.
Father Aelred gestured to a chair. "Brother, please, sit. The Lord requires your service." The phrase was ritual; it, as much as anything else, told Brother Shaun this work would be for tithe. While Father Rosser could allow and even order violence, he did not wish to sully social interaction with such a topic. "Vrees has called."
Shaun's raised eyebrow was his only outward reaction. Tithe indeed; jobs with Vrees always ended up violent and blood-soaked. Something about the man drove the Knight toward agression, toward enforcement of the Lord's will in ways normally too unseemly to consider. Vrees freed Brother Shaun, reminding him of the inhumanity of demons, the evil inherent in everyone and everything save the Lord. Vrees made the work of the Lord easier.
The younger man sat smoothly. "I am prepard for the service of the Lord. What did he have to say?"
Rosser sat as well, and pressed a switch on the dated and marginally unreliable telcom. "Only this:"
A voice, obviously machine-synthesized, said only, "Yeah, I'll take one with chicken, bacon, and extra peppers."
Shaun nodded. "Extra peppers" was a previously agreed-upon phrase that meant he should meet Vrees at a certain park before sundown. Vrees loved pre-arranged signals and elaborate methods of preventing exposure. Brother Shaun, with a holy mission and the power of the Lord, often found these measures simply amusing. He had nothing to hide.
"So you...?" the Father asked.
"Meet him. Tonight."
"Take all care, Brother. Go in the name of the Lord; peace be upon you." Father Rosser genuflected, and Brother Shaun did likewise as he rose and left.
The abbot's office was another contrast; whereas the light outside was strictly natural or gaslight - made from the abundant local coal deposits - the light of the office was artificial, of recent vintage: electrical. A single windmill running through a coil of wires and magnets supplied the power to this room alone, the brothers' sole submission to modernity. Here was the only tridcom.
Father Aelred Rosser was a heavyset man, broad and thick, built like a retired athlete, a wrestler just gone to fat. Brother Shaun knew nothing of him save that he had entered the service of the lord after a long career in some military. His speech was accentless, but pristene, as if learned through long practice and not local exposure. His long-sleeved robes nearly always sufficed to cover the tattoos coating his broad arms.
It was not rare, Shaun knew, for military men to reject their lives of violence and seek peace in the lord. Father Rosser had done more than that: he had seen through the Antichrist who ruled in Rome, realized the end times were upon them, and seen the true necessity of violence. While Father Aelred himself remained peaceful, he guided the directions of perhaps a handfull of men like Shaun, Knights Templar working to defend the forces of the Lord, many of them indirectly.
It would be one of those indirect services required today, Brother Shaun could tell. This would not be the culling of a local pack of undead, nor the defense of an orphanage against a rising evil. This would be work for tithe: while the job would not be for the Catholic Church, the proceeds made on the job would fill the coffers of the church. It was tithes such as this which allowed the works of the Lord to continue bringing order to such chaos. In addition, while on whatever mission requires of him, he was fully empowered to act in the church's own immediate best interests. That meant slaying witches and demons, when necessary, or even when simply possible. Shaun did not care if his work was for the church itself, or for tithes; the Lord moved as He willed, and Brother Shaun followed. Vigorously.
"Father." Shaun did not bow or kiss his ring; in church rank, the two men were equals, as Brother Shaun was a direct representative of the Knights Templar. Their relationship was comradely, though Shaun respected the older man immensely.
Father Aelred gestured to a chair. "Brother, please, sit. The Lord requires your service." The phrase was ritual; it, as much as anything else, told Brother Shaun this work would be for tithe. While Father Rosser could allow and even order violence, he did not wish to sully social interaction with such a topic. "Vrees has called."
Shaun's raised eyebrow was his only outward reaction. Tithe indeed; jobs with Vrees always ended up violent and blood-soaked. Something about the man drove the Knight toward agression, toward enforcement of the Lord's will in ways normally too unseemly to consider. Vrees freed Brother Shaun, reminding him of the inhumanity of demons, the evil inherent in everyone and everything save the Lord. Vrees made the work of the Lord easier.
The younger man sat smoothly. "I am prepard for the service of the Lord. What did he have to say?"
Rosser sat as well, and pressed a switch on the dated and marginally unreliable telcom. "Only this:"
A voice, obviously machine-synthesized, said only, "Yeah, I'll take one with chicken, bacon, and extra peppers."
Shaun nodded. "Extra peppers" was a previously agreed-upon phrase that meant he should meet Vrees at a certain park before sundown. Vrees loved pre-arranged signals and elaborate methods of preventing exposure. Brother Shaun, with a holy mission and the power of the Lord, often found these measures simply amusing. He had nothing to hide.
"So you...?" the Father asked.
"Meet him. Tonight."
"Take all care, Brother. Go in the name of the Lord; peace be upon you." Father Rosser genuflected, and Brother Shaun did likewise as he rose and left.
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Serious Paul
- Devil
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- Joined: Mon Mar 18, 2002 12:38 pm
His eyes snapped open as the last of the sanitized sand left his hand, pouring across his body. Memories weren't laways pleasant, and he had a job to do. He could eulogize his sanity later, when there was time. For now if he wanted to make it to the meet he'd set up with esteemed colleague, he'd have to start getting ready now.
After all he only had about four hours until the meet. He'd be immaculate by then-every hair perfect, each thread meticulously checked for imperfection, his weapons spotless, and olied.
He was nothing if he wasn't prepared.
After all he only had about four hours until the meet. He'd be immaculate by then-every hair perfect, each thread meticulously checked for imperfection, his weapons spotless, and olied.
He was nothing if he wasn't prepared.
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Serious Paul
- Devil
- Posts: 6644
- Joined: Mon Mar 18, 2002 12:38 pm
The park was cold this time of year, but that was okay with him. Cold meant that meat sacks wouldn't be crowding this small park-Seattle had so many of these small alcloves, like little green oasises int he city. Vrees knew he was late. He was always late. Frost was here somewhere he knew. He slowly scanned the park as he walked, boxing out sectors in his mind, regarding each person he passed with a cold calcutlating stare.
He spotted Frost seated on a bench that was near a slightly iced over pond. Pulling his gloves tighter he made his way over to the bench....
He spotted Frost seated on a bench that was near a slightly iced over pond. Pulling his gloves tighter he made his way over to the bench....
Brother Shaun sat quietly on a park bench, his thoughts his own. In a simple woolen robe and hand-made leather shoes, he looked out over the pond, at life in its stillness and busyness, and marvelled at the creations of his Lord. Though it was cold, he showed no sign of discomfort, nor any sign of comprimise with his environment. The Lord kept him warm in the cold, and cool on warm days. The Lord provided for him.
A very muffled footstep was his only warning of the approach of Vrees. The man was much closer than anyone else could have gotten without Shaun's knowledge. His senses were keen, kept at a sharp edge by God, but Vrees' stealth was nearly unsurpassed. Shaun made no show of recognizing his companion's approach, but simply patted the empty seat next to him, then absent-mindedly wiped at the surface as if removing any sign he'd touched it. Vrees was obsessed with cleanliness; it showed in his every action, and it certainly showed when he arrived like this, freshly abluted, with his skin the raw pink of a newborn.
Two swords lay crossed in Shaun's lap, European longswords, one another foot longer than the other. They were closely sheathed, and bound in; the scabbards were specifically designed to hold in the power the Lord had imbued them with. Unsheathed, they would burst to life, causing all manner of untoward effects. Sometimes, the police, or hired security forces, would give him some trouble for the weapons, but he was a Knight Templar, and the church recognized his right to them. As a rule, security forces were tolerant of his religious rights, so long as he wasn't using them to slay demons on their property. And when they objected to that...well, there were many ways on the path to righteousness.
Vrees eyed the weapons as always. He could never grow accustomed to a life without fear, without suspicion. Brother Shaun never had to concern himself with legality or morality; he did what was right, what was necessary, what the Lord willed, and everything followed from that. Vrees was not a righteous man, and like all unrighteous men, lived in the shadow of God. Shaun forgave him, and prayed for him; perhaps someday, he could find his own salvation. In the meantime, the work of the Lord knew no predjudice; so long as it was the Lord's work being done, Shaun was not concerned with who did it.
Brother Shaun spoke. "Good evening, friend. Are you well?"
A very muffled footstep was his only warning of the approach of Vrees. The man was much closer than anyone else could have gotten without Shaun's knowledge. His senses were keen, kept at a sharp edge by God, but Vrees' stealth was nearly unsurpassed. Shaun made no show of recognizing his companion's approach, but simply patted the empty seat next to him, then absent-mindedly wiped at the surface as if removing any sign he'd touched it. Vrees was obsessed with cleanliness; it showed in his every action, and it certainly showed when he arrived like this, freshly abluted, with his skin the raw pink of a newborn.
Two swords lay crossed in Shaun's lap, European longswords, one another foot longer than the other. They were closely sheathed, and bound in; the scabbards were specifically designed to hold in the power the Lord had imbued them with. Unsheathed, they would burst to life, causing all manner of untoward effects. Sometimes, the police, or hired security forces, would give him some trouble for the weapons, but he was a Knight Templar, and the church recognized his right to them. As a rule, security forces were tolerant of his religious rights, so long as he wasn't using them to slay demons on their property. And when they objected to that...well, there were many ways on the path to righteousness.
Vrees eyed the weapons as always. He could never grow accustomed to a life without fear, without suspicion. Brother Shaun never had to concern himself with legality or morality; he did what was right, what was necessary, what the Lord willed, and everything followed from that. Vrees was not a righteous man, and like all unrighteous men, lived in the shadow of God. Shaun forgave him, and prayed for him; perhaps someday, he could find his own salvation. In the meantime, the work of the Lord knew no predjudice; so long as it was the Lord's work being done, Shaun was not concerned with who did it.
Brother Shaun spoke. "Good evening, friend. Are you well?"
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Serious Paul
- Devil
- Posts: 6644
- Joined: Mon Mar 18, 2002 12:38 pm
Brother Shaun spoke. "Good evening, friend. Are you well?"
Vrees considered the question for a second before replying. Frost was probably the strangest person he had ever met. He was sure of that.
"I'm fine." Vrees refrained from sitting down just yet. "I hope you have some free time..." And Vrees began to detail the job offer. He never assumed Frost would take a job-the man had a strict code, he only worked the jobs that fit into his unique moral code.
Vrees considered the question for a second before replying. Frost was probably the strangest person he had ever met. He was sure of that.
"I'm fine." Vrees refrained from sitting down just yet. "I hope you have some free time..." And Vrees began to detail the job offer. He never assumed Frost would take a job-the man had a strict code, he only worked the jobs that fit into his unique moral code.