Jervis approached the jukebox and played Track E-34as he fed the fish, Nicolas Jones was half-sleeping in a dirty apartment in Chicago he was waiting on a target to enter the building, a vengeful ghost of a mobster named Chuck Redd. Meanwhile the other 7 Jones Assasins all relaxed fairly quietly in the shared mind which is the deadly room. Jervis was feeding the fish while humming the soothing melody of his ambient music choice. He then approached the youngest of the Deadly Jones' the almost genderless Charlie who was watching a silent horror film on the television.
@Stern Algorithm
Jervis approached the young killer without disturbing him and laid a cup on the table next to him.



Its a shame you will never age, Master Charles, as I will not allow a child to drink alcohol in this room. However that does not mean you cant experince all the wonders of gourmet tea. Please enjoy.

The other 6 were all scattered around the room, some reading, some drinking some watching the large monitor on the wall which was the 'eyes' into the real world where Nicolas was currently. Jervis approached the old school telephone near the front door and spoke to Nicolas directly.@chiru



Master Nicolas, you may want to wake up, we sense that the target has entered the building complex, remember youll need to find a phone if you want to communicate back to all of us in the room, and if you wish to switch with anyone in the room youll need to look directly into a mirror and say their name, dont let your pride prevent you from seeking help, Chuck Redd is just as much of a dangerous mobster as you are. He's apparently been developing his hand to hand skills too, so you may have to soften him up. Good Luck Sir.

Jervis put the phone down gently and turned to Abigail and Bill, would either of you like me to fix you a drink?

The sound of steel cards hitting the dart board were a frequent one within The Deadly Room, which may come off as annoying to some. To Raissa, however, it was the sound of progress!



Another stainless steel card wedges itself within the board, barely bordering the bullseye, scoring the young woman a solid nine. However, she wasn't playing for fun - she was playing to kill, quite literally in the fact that she had paper print-outs of former targets on the board, her blades having got one square in the throat, and another in the eye.

"Come on," she mutters to herself as she aims yet another card, before letting it loose with a powerful flick of the wrist. "Yes!"



Now the poor victim was eyeless.

Raissa breaths a sigh of fresh air, sweat somehow accumulating on her afterlife forehead. "You know, Jerv, you could always offer to serve drinks to someone who needs it." Damned eyes compliment a friendly smirk to their... afterlife butler? She never really got around to understanding Jervis' role among the group, but she did know he served some mean drinks. The memory stuff was the bomb! "And I see the little one is being spoiled again. Jeez, when do I get some memory tee, aue?" The latina briskly walks over to one of the couches, leaving her handiwork on the dart board for someone to clean up, and let loose another sigh. "This music is really nice... I'm not usually one for your tastes, Jarv, but admittedly this one isn't so bad." Though her head was tilted toward the roof, as though she were about to pass out, her attention quickly spun to Charlie and the display - the 'eyes to the outside world', as she would call them.

"So, who are we killing, anyway?" Her question was directed to nobody in particular, though it was an opportunity for one who knew more than she did to speak up.

"OLD MAN! Make me a special surprise!"- Jonathan yelled from the other side of the room, sitting on the couch while eating up Raissa's frame with his eyes.
God he hated this. Whatever he did, or thought, he could never get the same rush as when he was alive. If it wasn't for the memories he would be praying to be sealed in a dark place. His consciousness no more.

"Whoooo! Nice shot!"- he bursted while clapping harder then necessary. All he did was out of habit, well not entirely but most of it was. Though it never changed the fact that he could never get the same rush as before, less so when he wasnt even in control of the body.

"Whoever it is, I'm gonna be the one to do it!"-he said while slowly approaching the magician.
"I bet you would looove to see me in action. I know it gets you all hot and wet."- he said the last 3 words in a whisper while leaning close to her ear.
Moving aside he turned to the screen.
"What the fuck is taking him so long. Isn't he supposed to be finished already?"

"This music is really nice... I'm not usually one for your tastes, Jarv, but admittedly this one isn't so bad."

"It hits the tension," she commented. However, she really wasn't so fond of it's category. The lady took a sip from her glass cup, the cold, sweet taste entering her mouth. Whenever her mind had not been entertained, she resorted to a drink that her recalled memories shared. Black Russian, she eyed at the dark color of the coffee mix, a tiny smile creeping her face as the tint was ever so pretty. Didn't think we had vodka here, though

"Whoooo! Nice shot!"- he bursted while clapping harder than necessary.

Alejandra narrowed her eyes in Jonathan’s direction. His manner isn’t any more pleasant as his speech. Arrogant and obnoxious. She looked off to the "eyes" of the monitor, taking yet another sip of her drink.

If you aren’t watching carefully, the performance will be messed up, a memory of what her dear instructor would say. And there was “Nick” snoozing off without a care as the target is yet to be within range. “Dios mio,” she murmured with a sigh. Before she could notice, it had became a habit of watching over the others as they took over, whether she had liked them or not.

"What the fuck is taking him so long. Isn't he supposed to be finished already?"

For example… “Apparently,” Alejandra suddenly spoke. “Your outbursts are still continuous. Shouldn’t you be finished already?”

Alejandra took another sip, realizing the now emptiness of the cup. She held it out, waiting for Jervis, “Otro.”

Having grown up in an English manor, Charlie had tasted plenty of varieties of teas, but nothing beat what Jervis served. Charlie also didn't take Jervis' statement of him being too young to drink as condescending or patronizing; as someone who had served as a butler himself, Charlie respected Jervis, in fact, Jervis was probably the only person in this room that Charlie didn't disrespect. There was also the possibility that Jervis was, unlike everyone else here, not the spirit of a dead human. If Jervis turned out to be some higher power, or the agent of some higher power, whether celestial or infernal, well, Charlie would rather be on his good side.

"Thank you, Jervis," Charlie said, never taking his eyes off the television in front of him as the silent horror film continued to play. Charlie took a sip, the taste reminding him of life, bitter. He felt a warm feeling under his eyes, but he fought it back; he didn't like to show weakness in front of the others.

Thud!

Thud!

Charlie turned around and gave Raissa a side-eye, but decided to hold his tongue; while distracting, the movie he was watching was silent, so it wasn't like he needed to hear any dialogue or sound effects. But when he saw Jonathan approach Raissa and begin flirting with her, he was reminded of the thing he had caught his foster sister doing the night he was...

"Grown ups," Charlie muttered loud enough to be heard, "Disgusting." He turned his attention to the larger monitor. He didn't really care to work, and as long as he was in this room and was able to contribute to their collective success, he would be compensated in some manner. He figured he'd let the others do the heavy lifting while he scraped the bottom of the barrel, a tactic that his short life had taught him well. He turned back to the small television and tried to zone out the others.

With the sleight of hand one really should expect from a magician, mysteriously one of her metal playing cards found it's way behind Jonathan's ear, only to gently trail down toward his neck. All it would take is a little pressure to draw blood. "Now Johnny boy, you should know that flirting with someone who can kill you in her ideal killing ground is not the best way to appeal to a woman. And Little One? I hate him as much as you do, don't worry." A playful, albeit not the dirty, kind of smirk crosses her lips, and she reveals a deck of cards, shuffling them with incredible dexterity. "Though of course, we could always play a little game to change that. If you're up for it, that is? My offer can go as high as yours." Her smile was a cocky one, aimed to deter the man away. But she couldn't blame him if he was stupid enough to let her win.

"I haven't even started yet. You wouldn't last 10 minutes once I get started."- he replied to Alejandra

The grin never leaving his face- "Maybe when you have something of worth to offer. I don't do betting on promises."- he finished, then turned to the screen.

As much as he acted, he felt empty. The fire was gone, although, it might rekindle by completely defeating this pathetic excuse of a magician. Still, as no reward was guaranteed and there was no third side to keep them to their promises, it was a complete waste of time. She would definitely try some kind of trick or cheat, something he could easily catch by paying close attention. And what after that? Beside making her admit defeat he got nothing. But maybe later, when they got their pay of memories...

Still waiting for his drink he started: "Where the fuck is my dri.."-stopping mid sentence he went behind the bar by sliding over the counter and breaking a few glasses on the process. "If you want something done properly, don't wait it from incompetent fools"-that also applied for the one currently in charge of the body for now.

Mixing a few drinks with surprising sleight of hand, he raised the glass while adding: "Anyone want some?"

I don't know why I've done half the things I've done,but I know this is where I belong, surrounded by my own. Criminals, The Condemned, The Depressed... The Assholes.

Abbey found herself idling at the Deadly Room's bar rather than interacting with her fellow assassins. It wasn't all that uncommon for her to distract herself with conversation and annoying the others, but today she felt a bit different. Quietly sipping her beverage and flipping casually through the scriptures contained in her bible, her eyes wandered around the rather fancy looking room, which greatly contrasted with her dress that day. She found herself wearing black from head to toe-- hood up and everything. It was her insurgent outfit. It never bothered her. She always felt out of place no matter the condition, but then again, with the people she had become surrounded with, was she really the oddball?

Unable to hold back a scowl, Abbey soon matched the thudding of Raissa's cards with the quick snapping shut of her book. She held herself back from saying anything, but Abbey couldn't help but stifle a chuckle as her attention was drawn to the argument between Raissa and Jonathan.She had nothing to contribute to such a petty issue. If anything she would start speaking and end up bringing up another biblical story to everyone's dismay. Abbey remained silent during the whole bout. Well, at least until she witnessed Jonathan attempting to hop over the counter. Through cringing as he shattered numerous glasses, Abbey shifted herself over a seat or two until she was close enough to engage in the conversation. Gazing into her glass, she realized how close it was to emptiness. This was no issue, of course. In a jolly manner, she rose her hand slightly.

"Yes please!" Her voice was sing-songy as she sent Jonathan a smile. Sliding her glass his way.

Nicholas Jones

“About time,” Nick grumbled, sitting up from the torn up couch with a yawn. The apartment was a mess – peeling wallpaper, trash scattered around, and a fair number of bullet holes in the walls and grimy furniture. He wrinkled his nose as he looked around the room. “What a shithole,” he muttered to nobody in particular. Getting to his feet, Nick took out his Tommy gun, drumming his fingers across it. He glanced to the bathroom, which had a mirror in it, albeit slightly shattered. Not that he’d need to use it, though he wasn’t looking forward to the whining of some of the others when they didn’t get a chance at the target. Regardless, he took a shard that had fallen to the floor and pocketed it. Just in case.

The job was going to be quick and easy, just the way Nick liked it. He’d never seen the point of playing with his food – it had always been much more satisfying to end it with just a few bullets. Besides, he didn’t like to get blood on his suit. Nick also wanted to make sure to avoid civilian casualties. Not that it bothered him particularly when they got caught in the crossfire, but it was easier for everyone involved to get things done with no witnesses. Although judging from the state of the apartment complex, he wagered that it wasn’t exactly unusual for the residents to hear gunfire. Feels just like being back home, he thought to himself, recalling the memory he had been given of his old apartment back when he was a child. Nick left the apartment without a sound, moving closer towards the stairs down to the entrance. If this Redd had just arrived then he had to be close to there. Positioning himself at the end of the stairwell, he waited, gripping his gun and feeling in his pocket for his lead pipe. Soon enough, loud steps began to echo closer and closer, and Nick raised his gun with his finger on the trigger. Hope this is the guy, Nick thought, recalling a job a while back where he shot the first person he saw and they turned out not even to be the target. The others wouldn’t let him hear the end of that for a while

The man turned the corner to the stairwell, and Nick opened fire. It had to be the guy – a real big and ugly son of a bitch. But he was faster than Nick had anticipated, and as soon as he had seen him standing there, Redd had dodged for cover behind the corner. Though not before a bullet hit him square in the forearm. That had got to hurt. Nick heard Redd curse loudly and take out his own gun, and so he moved back up the stairs to find cover of his own, close to the apartment he had been resting in. He had hoped that his first round of bullets would take the guy out, but it looked like it wasn’t going to be that simple. Then again, when was it ever? Their targets didn’t tend to be the easiest to kill. That was why guys like Nick got to take the jobs. He grinned wildly, enjoying the thrill of the hunt. And as Chuck Redd turned the corner, they both opened fire, cueing people from inside other apartment rooms to scream at the sudden noise. Nick hissed as he felt a bullet graze his side. Quickly glancing at the wound with a scowl, he saw that it had just scratched past him.

At the break in fire, however, as Nick began to reload, he found himself caught by surprise. Rather than waiting and reloading like any sensible person would do, Redd rushed forward. The man had tossed his gun aside – perhaps it was already completely out of ammunition. With rather alarming precision, Redd knocked the gun out of Nick’s hand. Oh right, good hand to hand skills. Motherfucker. Out of reflex, Nick threw a punch which landed square in the other mobster’s jaw. He’d never been one for hand to hand, but he certainly knew how to punch. It didn’t seem to affect the undead man all that much, though he did stumble back. Yet immediately after, he lunged forward again and slammed an equally forceful punch right where the bullet graze was. Nick winced, staggering back, and shoved his hand in his pocket for his lead pipe.

Redd, however, backed up slightly – only to pick up Nick’s gun. Not good, Nick thought irritably. He wouldn’t be able to get to Redd with his sealing weapon before he fired off the gun. Quickly digging into his other pocket, he pulled out the mirror shard from before. With a frustrated huff that he wouldn’t be able to finish the job all by himself, Nick looked into the mirror and gruffly said “Jonathon Jones.”

@Bishop

With glass in hand, he heard Abigail's order and was about to deliver on it as soon as he gulped down his. Tilting his head backwards, the glass edge 2mm from his lips...POOF, he disappeared. What alarmed him first was the feeling, suddenly everything got more real in contrast to the kind of mind numbness you feel as a spirit. Looking in front of him, the gangster Redd was starting to aim for Jonathan. Fuck..
*BAM*

Before he pulled the trigger Jonathan had already rushed for the mafiosi with a leap to his right, cane already in a swinging motion with his right hand and his left arm against his chest. *BAM* The shot pierced his shoulder. With an angry scream and luck superb aiming skills he hit the pistol's barrel with the handle of his cane, making the next shot miss. The was pistol still in the gangster's hand but out of position as he was gripping it awkwardly, finger not in the trigger. Taking this small opening while Redd rushed to fix his grip and aim to shoot again, Jonathan performed a quick and powerful upper swing with the handle of his cane right towards his nuts.

His pistol was the fourth thing to drop, after his voice and balls. The man dropped to his knees while holding his abdomen with both hands. An out of breath groan escaped his lips as he doubled over and threw up. Then he turned towards his gun and attempted to reach it, something easily prevented by a goal scoring head kick from Jonathan. Well you had to give the man some credit, most would be unconscious by now but he was already making for the gun. Well even if he got it, Jonathan doubted that he would be shooting anything but blanks from now on.

Pressing the end of his cane atop his chest where the left lung would be, he rotated the handle *click* and then another shot was heard, this one muffled from the body. Now he was left squirming on the ground, not much moving, probably a broken neck ,skull fractures and pierced lungs. Pain still pulsing from his shoulder, fueling his rage more and more he proceeded to unleash it on the broken body before him.
"YOU..*kick*..FUCKING..*kick*..CUNT..*presses the cane on his abdomen*. YOU DARE SHOOT ME?"- he yells as he gives another powerful kick. Finally calming himself, more or less, he got atop the unfortunate soul and gave one last punch to his face. One last punch to seal the deal.

Randy was sitting on the couch in front of the 'television,' alternating between watching the fight and watching the other 'assassins' bicker. He was drinking what, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be a glass full of Guinness, with the ghost of a smile on his face. It was funny how the eight other Jones, after all this time, still fought like children. He supposed staying cooped up in one room for such a long time would do that to anyone, even though most of the other Jones were adults, or at least, were supposed to be. Taking a swig from his drink, Randy downed it in one go. He wished he could get drunk, but apparently undeath didn't let him. A shame, because he wished he could be drunk when everyone was talking.

Standing up, Randy stretched, and popping his back, walked towards the 'television'. The target had Nick in a bad way, and, more than likely, he'd switch out with someone who was more skilled with hand-to-hand. Probably Bill or John. And as he predicted, Nick's words came through the 'television', reverberating in Randy's chest, calling for Johnathan. Laughing as he just poofed out of the room, dropping his drink on the floor, Randy turned to Nick, who stood in front of the television, a bit on edge from just being in a fight. Raising his glass in greeting, Randy said, "Thanks for getting that arsehole out of here. I swear, that shitweasel makes me want to kill myself. Funny, innit. " Finishing the last of his glass, Randy walked up to the bar, setting the empty glass in front of Jarvis. "I'm done for now, Jarvis. Thanks for the Guinness. Been a while since I had any."

Turning to the rest of the room, Randy said, "I can assume we all enjoyed seeing dear Johnny get shot, right there? I mean, I'm glad he completed the mission, but... schadenfreude is a funny thing."

William flicked through the pages of his book, largely unconcerned by the events going on inside the clubhouse. It was fairly standard affair, after all, and he didn't really want to get involved. He wasn't yet as comfortable with his companions as he would be in an ideal situation, or rather, he wasn't as comfortable with them as he was with his old companions when he was alive.

William turned to the next page before grabbing for his drink on the coffee table next to him. His fingers hovered briefly above his gas mask, before he grabbed his drink. He sipped at it as he continued reading. William wasn't sure if spirits exactly needed to eat or drink, but Jervis's drinks tasted good, so he didn't mind the details so much. He made a mean coffee and William was in the habit of drinking a cup every morning, regardless of the logistics of it all. This was his second cup today, and it wasn't exactly getting worse.

He turned to the next page. It was a book on electronic locks and digital security systems. The world had changed rapidly after his death and he wanted to be up to date. Or rather, he needed to be. They were the Deadly 8, after all. They were the best in the business, they couldn't wait for the world to catch up to them. The forceful ways of people like Nicholas and Jonathan would always remain effective but the skills that William was required to exhibit would be forced to change with the times. William was nowhere near the most active of the Deadly 8, but he still needed to pull his weight.

William glanced up as Jonathan disappeared in a crash of glass, replaced by Nicholas's damaged form. He watched idly as his compatriot unloaded his characteristic cruelty. He envied Jonathan's athleticism, how easily his body flowed from one move to the next, the power and confidence that belied his violent actions. It was a world he would never be able to reach with his frail body. Nevertheless, there were things only he could do. One day, his turn would come.

William drained his cup and set it down quietly. Averting his gaze from Jonathan's scenes of violence, he continued reading.

Active Jones: Jonathon

Jervis picked up the empty glass from Randy's hand while walking past Alejandro and retrieving her glass too. He glanced up at the television while attending to his duties as butler, his stoic face did not not wince at the violent manner in which Johnathon killed Chuck Redd, it made no difference to the contract 'payment' the job was done. Jervis approached the kitchen of the bar and began fixing drinks for the Jones 'family'. He picked up the phone on the bar counter as he loaded the empty glasses into the sink.

Master Jon, I am glad you enjoyed completing the job, but you have been shot, I advise you switch with another here so we can tend to your wounds. We have a new contract and I think you want to be here for the briefing instead of losing blood in that wretched neighborhood. Speak to you soon sir.

Jervis hung up the phone and loaded the newly mixed drinks on to the tray, as he entered the main room he called all of the Jones' to attention for their next briefing. The next song on the jukebox began to play. An Intruging Breifing.



Here I have freshened everyone's drink, please get comfortable as I explain your next contract.









Master Randall and Charles you have just finished your drinks so I'll wait a few mins before topping you up. Ms Rassia, I know you are particular so I didn't want to guess your beverage. Now let me get your attention. The latest contract came through last night, but I didn't want to distract you from the Chuck Redd contract until he was succesfully dealt with. We shall be recieivng a memory payment soon from the Afterlife.

Jervis walked over to his suitcase and handed the group dossier files, all in silky black folders with a golden C stamped on the back. He also picked up the telephone and put it on speaker so John could listen in.

I was fortunate enough to be contacted by a very well respected land owner in Utah. His name is Calvin Corvin and apparently he has 5 contracts for all of us. They are his adopted daughters. All running wild and terrorising the mortal world. Obviously, you are the only ones who can handle this. But I say with extreme caution that these are some of the most powerful targets I've ever laid eyes on. The trouble is they were brought back to life after dying by some sort of black magic that I dont fully understand. The stories of these young women are quite.....distrubing. So please take your time in reading these dossiers. Once you are all finished, I'll leave it up to you who we should go after first. They are spread out around the country. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me.

The Dossiers

Alejandra Jones

Alejandra cringed as the sound of shattering glass would interrupt her peace of mind . Looking to its direction, she found no surprise in spotting the careless handling of Jonathan. He would offer to make a drink if anyone would take it up. There was no interest for herself to ask a drink from him, too big of a trust to place upon anyway....

Returning back to the screen, she watched as the target would finally come to view, the brawl beginning. Good she mused, her attention focused entirely onto the screen. Alejandra could tell the fight would take longer than one would expect, merely because Nick and the target seemed to be of the same built and from what she heard, the same background. Course, in the beginning, she had decided to not doubt others limits, but as the body was still living, it did not require much force to hold them back. As soon Nick would land a shot on the target, they changed their positions.



“No se puede-” she turned, ready to hiss as she then spotted the sudden appearance of Nicholas by the bar counter. “Ah.” Looking back toward the monitor, Jonathan had then taken place within the fight. Very quick, she had to admit. Watching as the active Jones would force the target to the ground and beat him to death, she gave a satisfied sigh before looking around the room. We are killers. This is what we do.

Alejandra strolled away from the the monitor, sitting down by the little one, Charlie, as the silent film that was playing had piqued her interest. She had no memory of seeing a silent film, much less an actual film. I’ll probably get something later.. though she doubted it. Oh well, whatever this is-

"Hm?" she looked at the black folder as she was handed along with her two shots from Jervis. "Thank you," she replied. Taking one shot down before reading, she took out a random contract, skanning over Delores Corvin. Alejandra could not help but feel chills down her spine from the case. A scandalous crush gone wrong? To die so young as well... To go in her extent of direction was, as Jervis had said, disturbing. As another gulp of Tequila went down her throat, she began looking over the other cases, amused by the new task at hand.

Whoops

Raissa snorts and begins laughing as soon as she realises what had happened to poor Jonathan. He wasn't the only asshole of the group, though the correct term for her was childish. "Hehehehe! Oh my god, yes! I was about to say you should've switched with me, brother Nicky, but watching Johnny boy get shot at like that was definitely a good call! And before you lecture me about success taking priority, I know, but that doesn't change the fact it was hilarious."

At least Randy had the right idea, Raissa raising her arms as though to emphasize his point. "Yeah, the shander-food-thing! It's almost poetic, aue?" Her question toward Randy was accompanied by the mindless shuffling of cards, soon followed by Jervis' announcement of a new contract. After being handed her file, she surprisingly read through all five Corvin daughters' profiles in relative silence, her intrigue and curiosity clearly visible. She took particular interest in the youngest daughter, Tabitha, staring at the young girl for a... disturbingly long period of time.

"No worries, Jerv. I'm not feeling that thirsty now." Her response was almost monotonous, her attention fixated on the five daughters of Calvin Corvin. Dolores's story also seemed to heavily interest Raissa, the 'falling to her death' method ringing a few bells in Raissa's own memory. She'd already worked out which of the five targets she could be of use in, and which she'd probably die in. "Can we just put in our requests now? I'd rather not be killed by someone smarter or fitter than me. So try not to count on me too much for them, yeah?" Although she knew the assholes would probably call for her more in those missions now, at least they knew who to call for when it came to the other three. After all, being a stalker, glamorous at events, and walking into the unknown were all things she was good at, both in life and un-life. Having someone challenge her creative genius and annihilate her in physical activities were not things she had yet grown accustomed to.

Her gaze turns to Alejandra, who was looking at Dolores as well for some time. "Irmã," she began curiously "você quer matar o assediador? Shall we kill the stalker?"

William nodded his thanks to Jervis as he took his drink and the dossiers. He put his drink down while he scanned the documents, noting how relatively young their targets had been when they died, although certain members of the deadly 8 matched their ages. Their profiles were rather unsettling but what bothered him the most was the lack of information. They didn't really have enough to go on at the moment, not enough to find the girls, first of all, and they'd need to know what they could do to effectively fight them. And there was one part that really deserved looking into.

"Before we start looking to seal them, we need to find more information don't we?." William commented. "I'm wondering how exactly they're supposed to 'destroy the mortal plane'."

As the deed was over with, he grabbed a mirror with intention to switch back. Saying the first name that came to his mind: "Chaaaaarley"- in a sing song voice. As he got teleported back he looked at Nick while smiling, almost ready to burst in laughter. "Well played youuu half-arsed fuckup! Nicely done!" - he went on as he swept the bar counter clean and lay down on his back on top of it. Giving a low laughter as he reached for a drink, opened it and started drinking as he was.

Abruptly getting up after gulping down 1/4 of the beverage, with the hand that he was holding the drink Jonathan pointed at Jarvis. "Since I'm the one doing the actual job here, I better get a fucking raise! You could take it out of Nick's share. I believe in payment by work, not participation."- he finished before Jarvis retreated to the kitchen

A bottle of Whisky on one hand, he turned to the files and started quick reading only focusing on the relevant info.

Spinning the bar stool in circles, an excited Abigail was soon filled with complete disappointment as she heard the crash of glass. Upon completing her spin, she realized it was Jonathan that was the next up. Her sad eyes flicked down to meet the small puddle surrounded by shards of glass. Her excitement began to die down and she rested her chin on her hands, imagining all the fun times she could have had if Jonathan gave her her drink before she left. It was truly a tragedy. Abigail let out a light "Aww," before redirecting her attention to the rather large display that played Jonathon’s perspective. If she couldn't drink, watching some awe-striking combat would definitely supply a bit of entertainment.

Jonathan's duel did not captivate Abigail's interest for long, though. Her eyes flicked to Nick as he appeared in the Deadly Room. "Well that must have been a fun time. The important thing is that you tried," she jested. With few words, Abigail graciously accepted her drink from Jervis. "Looking perfect as always, dear butler friend." Swirling and admiring her drink for a moment, Abigail began to casually sip at it as she was handed the dossier file. A giggly chuckle escape her lips as she eyed the entry for one 'Marina Corvin'. Abigail's finger gently traced down the paper as she took in all she could about the individual. "Well well... They don't seem to tough. I've got some ideas for this little lady." It seems Abigail's fixation with the one girl in particular had caused her to zone out from the current conversation going on about the dossier files. She had been completely oblivious to the comments of Raissa and William in favor of her own imaginative assassination methods.

As Jonathan poofed back into the Deadly Room, he caught Abigail's attention for a short moment. As he laid down upon the counter, Abigail gave nothing more then a "Hmph," in acknowledgement. She knew he wasn't able to do anything about getting switched in and not getting her drink, but she felt like being difficult either way. After a quick shake of her head to clear her thoughts, Abigail attempted to refocus on the matter at hand: the new mission. "And as always. Call me in when something needs destroyed!" Her upbeat tone, left her words rather hollow sounding despite their meaning.

Randy winked at Raissa. "We are all the judges and the judged, victims of the casual malice and fantasy of others, and ready sources of fantasy and malice in our turn. Iris Murdoch. I'd think that's pretty poetic." Nodding at Jervis, Randy accepted the dossiers, sitting down at a barstool, flipping through the pages with incredible speed. The author had always been a quick read, and writing had improved his speedreading.

As he read through Dolores' dossier, Randy blanched, face turning white. "Th'fuck... Sweet mother Mary, this poor girl... Died so young... And what she did..." The man set the dossiers down at the bar, and covered his face with his hand. Her story read like a Shakespearean tragedy, and ended like one. But... what she had become scared Randy. He simply couldn't conceive of someone doing what Dolores was doing in the name of 'love'. That wasn't love. That was... perversion.

Randy didn't really react to the others after that. He just thought on the poor girl, and signaled to Jervis for another beer. It appeared that he would need it. He didn't have any strong opinion on any of the girls except Dolores.

She... scared him.