Roleplayer Guild - Forum Roleplaying Games

Michael listened into his telephone patiently, as he took a sip from his teacup. "This is Hauk." He stated. "I apologise for the interruption, I was simply calling to request an assignment." Michael stated into the handset, pushing his short hair back across his scalp. He didn't like asking for assignments for one as young as Balir, but he could certainly tolerate it. After all, he was king of the assassins.

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Stephen Harlan pocketed his phone, digging out a decent tip for his waitress; he hadn't had an empty cup since he entered the place. He stood, dusting off idly as he strode out of the shop, looking to the world as a man ready to retire home; yet even off the clock, Stephen was already working. No one knew the streets of New York like him, and if someone was shadowing him, they'd give him all he needed trying to keep up.

Sure enough, no matter where he went, his wisened eyes caught a reflection, just occasionally, in his peripheral; shop windows trully were a luxury of the city. He knew the kid was smart, but he doubted he would waste the resources to have a second and more skilled tailed providing overwatch... this was all posturing, something he was all to familiar with. His feet naturally took him down a dark alleyway, his glasses naturally giving him a low light vision enhancement; it wasn't night vision, but it was more of an edge than he needed.

What he came upon, however, was not at all what he expected; a young man lay bleeding, as a couple of thugs not unlike his late protege where taking turns kicking him. Harlan had not seen the fight, but he assumed it was won because the boy was a coward; he had the look, and a fighter would still have some defiance left. None of the thugs even seemed winded, let alone injured, confirming his suspicion.

Stephen continued to walk forward, one of them taking notice of him.
"Old man, you better just turn around." His voice was meant to intimidate, but harder men had said the same thing to the veteran, and it hadn't worked then.

"But I'm going this way." Harlan explain, moving to go around the man.
"If you're not going to listen to me, you better listen to this! Turn around!" The man barked, the glint of a switch blade catching the light. The other two men looked up and laughed, walking towards Stephen.

"Naw man, let's see what he's got, since he's headed our way." One laughed.
"I'm twice your age, kid." Stephen spoke calmly, as they formed a circle around him; pure bloody amatures... their relaxed stances exuded over confidence.

The knife lashed out, all force and no technique; Harlan grabbed the offender by his wrist and elbow, and wrenched hard, causing something to pop, before he sweeped the man's leg. The man lay yelling in pain, the other two showing their youth; they stood dumbfounded, long enough for one to recieve a palm thrust to the jaw that nearly knocked him out. The other reached into his coat, only to have Stephen on him; the older man slammed him against the wall, one hand pinning his weapon arm inside his coat, while a brutal series of elbows to the temple and knife hand chops rendered the man limp.

Harlan drew the weapon out of the man's coat before allowing him to crumple to the ground, the veteran assassin grumbling about cheap .38s before taking it apart and dropping the peices in the dumpster. Then, as if nothing had happened, he began to walk down the alley once more, pausing only as he stood beside the open mouthed and bloodied teenager.

"Th...thanks..." The boy managed eventually, as Stephen eyed him.
"I didn't do it for you." Harlan responded cooly, as the kid hung his head.
"Nah... of course you didn't." The boy said dejectedly, picking up some of the comic books and course work that had spilled out of his bag.
"You didn't even fight back." Stephen said, critical; the flash of a lighter in the dark illuminated his hard features, the light dying down as he took a long drag of his ciggarette.

"I don't know how to fight..." The boy groaned, the strain of getting up almost too much for his bruised body.
"Neither did I at first; that didn't mean I got my ass kicked every day." The older man retorted, leaning against the wall and watching the boy.
"Yeah, well I'm not that kind of guy." The kid sighed, wincing at a fresh cut.
"No, you're the kind of kid who reads manga and comic books and dreams of being that kind of guy, am I right? The one waiting for someone to tell them they were born for greatness or some bs, right?" Stephen asked, letting the barb sink deep.

"What? You s... yeah." The Kid's eyes had hardened for a fraction of a second; and that look was one Stephen hadn't seen in a long time.
"What if I told you I was that guy?" Stephen asked, offering the struggling boy a hand. The boy blinked up at him, before taking it and standing.
"What do you mean...?" The boy whispered, following as Harlan began walking.
"Your Obi-wan Kenobi, Pai Mei, etc... what if I told you I could give you the tools and knowledge to become more than you are?" The man asked, walking him out of the alley, before leaning him against the wall; he then stood and seemed to be counting, a finger to his lips.

It was then that Harlan's hand reached back into the shadows and pulled someone out of the shadows with a squeak; a girl in suburbanite clothing looked at him with wide eyes, his grip releasing her arm. Stephen looked her over, somehow giving the impression that his eyes could frisk out any hidden weapons better than most people's hands.

"Look, I don't want to hurt your self esteem, kid, but if you're going to watch me, you might aswell stop trying to be all sneaky." Harlan sighed, taking a long drag of his ciggarette as the girl glared daggers at him.
"Now then, kid, I'm giving you the chance to join the Assassin's Guild." Harlan said, with as much seriousness as possible; he watched the disbelief wash over both their faces, silencing the girl with a finger against her pert lips.

"What, are you serious?" The Kid said with disbelief, as Harlan stared at him deadpan; watched as the smile faded from the boy, who looked away.
"I bet if I say no you'll kill me, right?" The boy asked, rubbing a bruise.
"I'd put money on that bet." Harlan affirmed, flicking his ciggarette butt away.
"Than yes... when do I report in?" He asked, looking hopeful.
"Tomorrow morning, six o'clock; pack light." Harlan said calmly, giving the kid a pat on the shoulder, as he put an arm around his stalker and walked her away.

"Mr. Harlan, what the hell?" She grumbled irritated, struggling against his arm.
"Sorry if this hurts your pride, miss...?" He asked calmly, as she resigned to walk with him for the time being.

"Journeyman Leslie Barrett." She admitted, keeping pace with his brisk walk.
"And you know me." Stephen filled in, examining her figure.
"Why did you recruit that boy?" She asked after a long pause.
"Because it's easier to train a body than a mind." He replied off hand, leading her into a fine restaurant. Leslie tried to protest, but gave up as they were lead to a private booth.

"You know this makes me look bad, right?" She sighed, rubbing her temple.
"Oh come off it; I'm buying, anyway." He replied, purusing the wine menu.
"Damn right you are." She grumbled, ordering an expensive vintage. It was a few more drinks into the high priced meal that she started to become more talkative.

"So am I really that bad...?" She asked, her hope dangling on a thread.
"No; in fact, until the kid mentioned I was being tailed, I didn't even notice you... you've got a gift for this sort of thing, Miss Barrett." Harlan gave her a rare smile, savouring his prime cut steak with a sigh.
"Oh... thanks." Leslie blushed ever so slightly, before changing the subject.
"So, um... why the boy again? I mean really..." she asked, as he smiled.

"I don't know... honestly, off the record?" He asked, giving her a faux defensive look that made her nearly laugh out loud.
"Yeah, I'm just curious, you know?" Miss Barrett affirmed, leaning forward.
"I caught a look in his eye when I called him a geek; a spark of determination and defiance... and if I can convince him to let that spark ignite a fire, he could be one of the greatests there's ever been." Harlan explained, refilling both their glasses as she pondered over this.

"That sounds pretty deep... and metaphysical, you know?" She pondered aloud, her hand swirling the wine in it's glass, before she had another drink.
"Eh, you wanted to know, there you have it... I've got a knack for these things, Miss Barrett." He said with a good natured shrug, rolling his eyes at the check.

"I'm sure you do, Stephen... and you can call me Leslie." She smiled, walking out of the expensive restaurant with him to a waiting cab.

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"I'm sure this wasn't what the King had in mind..." Leslie Barrett remarked with a sigh and a stretch, enjoying the feel of a high threadcount bed.
"No, I bet it wasn't." Stephen gave her a grin, standing and stretching himself, before walking over to his computer and getting to work.
"I was thinking of a shower soon... would you like to join me?" She asked, with a twinkle in her eye.

"I don't know if I could handle any more of that, but I'll give it a try; just give me a minute to email my Cadre and tell them to be ready." He remarked, flashing her a smile as she stood up and walked to the bathroom. Stephen earlier had taken a picture of the kid's I.D. with his cell phone and sent it through the usual work up channels, the information waiting in his inbox.

"See you tomorrow, kid." Harlan remarked, mimicing a gun with his hand, before being drawn to the bathroom by the sound of running water.

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"When they ask how I died, tell them; Still Angry." -Quellcrist Falconer
"It was Kovacs who said "Mother" then, muffled under latex.
It was Kovacs who closed his eyes.
It was Rorschach who opened them again." -Rorschach

Gary relaxed and let the ice cold water rush over him. He let all the anger and adrenaline wash away, just like the blood was washing away at his feet. It hadn’t been a tough fight, just tough enough to get a few cuts and bruises. He stayed in the shower long enough to cool down and calm down. He could only remember flashes of the fight, a punch here or there. He could see the right hook that had floored his opponent, smashing into the poor sucker’s jaw; teeth and blood spewing. He saw in slow motion the kick to his opponents head as the guy lay on the ground, blood spilling across the hard concrete floor. He remembered kneeling over the bloodied man, arm drawn back and fist clenched, ready to strike again but interrupted by the high pitched shriek of the whistle. The inevitable ‘end of fight’ whistle. He became a monster for the duration of a fight but the second that the whistle sounded, he just stood up and walked away. Behind him the man he had left on the ground had received a wave of abuse from the onlookers who’d lost money betting for the poor guy. Idiots. Gary had thought. He didn’t stand a chance. Next time they’ll know.

He got out of the shower and looked at his phone. 3:23 am. No new messages, no missed calls. He sighed, dried quickly and got dressed. The ‘dressing room’ was nothing more than a filthy room with a bench. The New York underground fighting league… the height of comfort. He lit up a cigarette and started through the twists and turns back to the main chamber. The league was currently being held in the basement of a closed down textiles factory, but god knows where it would be tomorrow. The screams and shouts of fighters and spectators alike drifted through the corridors. Gary entered the main room again just in time to see a muscular Asian man smashed against a wall by a giant of a Caucasian. Harsh. Wonder if I’ll face one of them tomorrow? he thought idly. Once he’d picked up his cash from the win, Gary headed up the stairs and out into the street. The air was cold and crisp. He shivered. Another day at the office…

He walked slowly along the dark alley, thoroughly enjoying his cigarette. One a day, that’s what he allowed himself. He had to keep fit for his ‘profession’, so any more than that was suicide. He stopped for a minute and leaned against the wall. With his eyes closed he took the final drag out of his saving grace. Until tomorrow old friend. He flicked the butt and watched it spiral to the ground. It made a soft splutter as it landed in a puddle and fizzled out. When he looked up again there was a man standing at the end of the alleyway. Gary headed towards him.

((That man is you Tak ))

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With that Balir hung up the phone.

Jack put his phone back into his pocket and walked casually out of the alley and disappeard within the crowd around him. Jack followed his mini personal organiser which gave him a map towards the Hotel Real Orto Botanico. Slipping it back into his coat he walked towards the large enterance of the hotel with many people walking in and out this was a bit to busy for jacks liking.

Jack slipped on a pair of fake glasses and walked towards the main reception waiting for the receptionist he took a look around his surroundings looking out the windows he saw many skyscapers excellent he thought giving off a slight smile, he got his organiser out and typed in the name Allergro Botticelli and the organiser began to search on a worldwide basis quickly dropping it into his coat again the receptionist approached him.

"Hello sir my i help you?" the woman asked with a smile
"Umm yes please i have a room by the name Elliot Slade?" he said with a slight american acsent.
"Ah yes Mr Slade you have a room he is the key and it is number 128 on the fourth floor"
Jack collected the key and thanked the receptionist and started to walk up the stairs.

"125, 126, 127 ah here it is" with that jack put the key in the lock and the door slid open, "huh that would be easy to pick" thinking to himself heclosed he door and opened is briefcase and took out his laptop turning it on he put his organiser ino the usb slot waiting for the computer to load the data found. taking off his coat he put it around a chair and walked over to the large window showing the italian skyline, jacks eyes assessing each and every buildin looking for possible sniper spots and decent getaways, he heard a beep from the computer "Right lets get to work" he sat down on the sofa and pulled the table towards him and started to read the information on his next target...

The older man flicked out an old zippo, firing up his own ciggarette; the flash of light gave a glimpse of a face of weathered stone. His eyes where upon the ciggarette, not even moving to him before the satisfying cherry bud appeared. The lighter flicked away in a smooth motion, catching Gay's eye for a fraction of a second; then, a cinderblock caught him right in the stomach, enough to knock the wind out of him.

The man took a step back, seeing if the boy would take a knee; that kind of punch usually did that kind of thing to a man, no matter how tough they were. When he did not, Stephen decided to interrupt any thoughts of swinging back at the aged assassin; against a bare knuckle boxing champion, he wouldn't hold back... which might entail killing him.

"Kid, I just left a comfortable bed draped with a twenty something blonde who's all aquiver just thinking about me, just to come and talk to you. I know what you're thinking; 'this old bastard thinks he can hit me and talk to me like this? I'll show him!'" He paused for effect, hands in his pockets; he seemed to relax, but he was coiled like a serpent, ready to lash out if provoked.

"I wouldn't, kid; I wouldn't screw with someone like me... especially if that someone were offering you a chance to have the life you always wanted, ever since the first day they called you The Wuss." Harlan spoke, emphasizing that last word; he watched how it burned, mixed with the shock of hearing someone else say it after all this time.

"Don't just stand there gaping and panting." Stephen remarked, turning and walking towards the nearest all night diner; it was far too early, and after the night's 'activities,' he had grown an appetite.

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"When they ask how I died, tell them; Still Angry." -Quellcrist Falconer
"It was Kovacs who said "Mother" then, muffled under latex.
It was Kovacs who closed his eyes.
It was Rorschach who opened them again." -Rorschach

"What, y'afraid I'm gonna bite ya or somethin'?" He asked her with a laugh as his fingers worked over the controls of the game, hitting the buttons a bit too hardly to be considered adept at it but maneuvering through the area he seemed to be in passably well before his thumb shifted and clicked the pause button, the screen growing still immediately. The controller was set down, and he kicked his feet up on the table and looked to her with a raised eyebrow.

"Nah, barely a peep from th'boss other than t'tell me about some old lady a while back who'd probably have keeled over after I shouted boo. I'm all for vacations, but seriously-if I'm gonna have m'self a vacation, I'd rather do it in that nice French mansion o'his. Think I should call 'im, see if he's got somethin' new?"

Johnny was always the talkative sort, or at least the fairly cheerful sort as he knocked back the rest of his drink and tossed it for the garbage can, bouncing it off the little net of the hoop that was suspended over it easily.

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Gary had been in a lot fights, taken a lot of punches to the gut, but nothing had prepared him for the punch this old man had given him. The speed and strength of the blow was something he’d only seen the best have, and then maybe not even the best were this good. They teach you this ‘be prepared for anything, anytime’ mindset in martial arts, but no one can honestly say they don’t loosen up around almost pensioners. As the wind was knocked out of him, he groaned in shock.

Gary felt his fist clench as he recovered. Son of a bitch! You picked the wrong guy to mug old man.

"Kid, I just left a comfortable bed draped with a twenty something blonde who's all aquiver just thinking about me, just to come and talk to you. I know what you're thinking; 'this old bastard thinks he can hit me and talk to me like this? I'll show him!'"

Too fucking right!

"I wouldn't, kid; I wouldn't screw with someone like me... especially if that someone were offering you a chance to have the life you always wanted, ever since the first day they called you The Wuss."

Gary was about half a second from throwing a punch at this stage. Any other sentence this old guy had said and Gary would have floored him. Any other sentence and Gary would be stepping over an old guy with a broken nose and heading home. Any other sentence and Gary would have walked away. But not that one.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

"Don't just stand there gaping and panting."

And now he’s just walking off? Every bone in Gary’s body wanted to lash out at the old bastard, but curiosity had gotten the better of him.

Who is this guy? How does he know that nickname? What does he mean he’s offering me the chance of a lifetime?

Gary cautiously followed the 6'2 middle aged jackass to a nearby diner. “Alright.” Gary said, sighing. “What’s all this about?” He was alert now, determined not to let this guy get the better of him a second time. Fool me once…

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"Look, what I'm offering you is bacon and eggs." Harlan explained, after having sat down in the diner and ordered breakfast for both of them; he let the waitress left, before he continued his thoughts. The older man had taken out an old fashioned pocket watch, looking rather annoyed at the time.

"Every day of your life, you're having toast and coffee; it does the job, but it doesn't really satisfy you, does it?" He asked rhetorically, taking a drink of bitter black coffee and making a disgusted face, to illustrate the point.
"Occasionally, we manage some jam on our toast, some creamer in our coffee... and life becomes all the more bearable, am I right?" He continued, spooning sugar and pouring creamer in his coffee; the next time he sipped, he sighed with appreciation.

"Yet... that looks like nothing when you see those fuckers eating bacon and eggs, am I right?" Stephen Harlan said this with a cold conviction, motioning to a rather well off couple climbing into an outrageously expensive sports car.
"You work hard for a living kid; you work every day, litteraly fighting for your food... and still, all you have to show for it is your choice of jam and a spoonful of sugar, while those lazy bastards wake up everyday to bacon and eggs." Stephen said calmly, sipping his coffee, his eyes on the retreating taillights in the night.

"So, like I said, I'm offering you Bacon and Eggs for life; and all you've got to do is give me a yes when I ask you this next question." The older man said calmly, the Colt .45 held under the table; the alternative to yes.

"Do you want to become an Assassin for hire? No romantic shit, are you willing to become a killer? I'd train you, me and a select cadre I've cobbled together... but you may not survive it, but I promise you that you won't survive the alternative." Stephen Harlan said, as casually as he had ordered his meal. The waitress arrived, placing their meals before them; for Harlan, that was Bacon and Eggs, for him, coffee and toast.

"Hungry?"

__________________
"When they ask how I died, tell them; Still Angry." -Quellcrist Falconer
"It was Kovacs who said "Mother" then, muffled under latex.
It was Kovacs who closed his eyes.
It was Rorschach who opened them again." -Rorschach

Beth gave him a withering look for the biting comment; "Have you showered recently?" She asked in a pointed sort of way. It wasn't that she was being rude, she had just been pranked enough to be cautious of everything in and around the base.

"If you do go and visit him I'll tag along," she joked, setlling back a little in the chair. "At this rate we'll be out of a job by the end of the year and I don't particularly want to move. I keep thinking that if i don't get a new target soon I'll end up taking out the pratical jokers of the guild."

Beth grimaced at that one.

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Gary listened intently to everything this guy was saying. At first he thought it was general bullshit and the guy was a bit off, but the more the man talked, the more Gary wanted to hear what he had to say. Something about the way he talked was entrancing, it felt like Gary could relate. Gary understood what he had meant when motioning the well off couple, feeling the same as this guy. What have they ever done that was so hard?

The more the older man talked, the more rage that built up in Gary. Rage he thought he’d buried long ago was brought to the surface. He hated people with easy lives, despised people born into wealth that never worked a day in their lives. This old bastard has it right.

When the ‘offer’ came, Gary understood what was going on. This guy was here to enrol him in some sort of assassin school to train him how to kill or here to dispose of him for the insult of not joining. Gary had never really felt at home in the Underground League, it just helped pass the time, helped him forget how shit his life was. And now here was an opportunity to change that, to actually have a purpose, to feel like he belonged. Not surviving wasn’t really that much of drawback. He didn’t have much to go back to. This was his chance.

As the waitress placed the toast and coffee in front of him, Gary turned to her. “I’m sick of toast and coffee. It’s time I started eating eggs and bacon.”
She took the hint and took back the plate.

"Hungry?"

Gary turned back to the assassin, a relaxed smile spreading across his face. “Starving.”

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