Lookin' back on the track for a little green bag,
WHO: Hans Sully (NPC) and Trowa Barton
WHERE: Administrative office of the ‘El Zorro Azul’ resort.
WHEN: Friday morning, as the meeting’s guests are arriving.
WARNINGS: Language.
SUMMARY: Trowa is trying to infiltrate the meeting. Fortunately, he has contacts and a reputation among the mercenaries guarding it from past jobs as a soldier of fortune. This makes it easy for him to get hired as Sully’s bodyguard.
FORMAT: Paragraph, present-tense.
The sign on the office says ‘Ramon Arius,’ but it’s just Hans Sully inside, sitting behind a surprisingly large desk for an administrative assistant. Despite how warm it is he’s wearing his suit jacket, and despite being inside he’s wearing sunglasses. A toothpick hangs from his mouth as he talks on the desk phone, speaking English. His voice is rough.
“Look, even if they did kill your cousin- hold on a second.” He covers the phone and sighs as an airplane roars overhead, drowning out all conversation with its engines as it descends towards the resort’s airstrip. According to the schedule, that would be the Yakuza delegation arriving, a last-minute addition. Once the noise fades, he resumes talking. “Sorry about that. Like I was saying, even if they did kill your cousin, now is not the time to settle scores, okay? The only way this thing’s gonna go off right is if everybody cooperates and doesn’t start pissing on each other over shit that has nothing to do with business. All right? So just keep your mind focused on the business, think about what you’re gonna do to them once it’s over, and if it looks like anybody’s about to start something just give the mercs a call.” He pauses, listening. “Yeah? Yeah, these guys can handle it, no problem. They’re all pros, real hardasses. They’ve got orders from the top that if anybody makes trouble, cut their balls off and use ‘em for Ping Pong.” Pause. “No, not literally, but you get the idea. Okay? Okay. Enjoy the meeting, huh? Check out the beach when you’ve got the time, it’s gorgeous. All right.”
Sully puts down the phone, then stretches his arms out over his head and sighs, putting his feet up on the desk as he leans back. Part of his face twitches, then is still. “Fuckers.”
The phone rings again, and Sully grunts as he picks it up, leaving his feet on the desk. This time he speaks Spanish. “Yes? Who’s here to- oh, the new guy. Yes, all right. Make sure that he’s clean, then send him in. I’ll check him out.” He puts the phone down, takes his feet off the desk, and leans forward, straightening up, looking professional aside from the toothpick still between his teeth. He folds his hands and waits for his prospective bodyguard. As he does, he cracks his neck, first to one side, then the other.
WHERE: Administrative office of the ‘El Zorro Azul’ resort.
WHEN: Friday morning, as the meeting’s guests are arriving.
WARNINGS: Language.
SUMMARY: Trowa is trying to infiltrate the meeting. Fortunately, he has contacts and a reputation among the mercenaries guarding it from past jobs as a soldier of fortune. This makes it easy for him to get hired as Sully’s bodyguard.
FORMAT: Paragraph, present-tense.
The sign on the office says ‘Ramon Arius,’ but it’s just Hans Sully inside, sitting behind a surprisingly large desk for an administrative assistant. Despite how warm it is he’s wearing his suit jacket, and despite being inside he’s wearing sunglasses. A toothpick hangs from his mouth as he talks on the desk phone, speaking English. His voice is rough.
“Look, even if they did kill your cousin- hold on a second.” He covers the phone and sighs as an airplane roars overhead, drowning out all conversation with its engines as it descends towards the resort’s airstrip. According to the schedule, that would be the Yakuza delegation arriving, a last-minute addition. Once the noise fades, he resumes talking. “Sorry about that. Like I was saying, even if they did kill your cousin, now is not the time to settle scores, okay? The only way this thing’s gonna go off right is if everybody cooperates and doesn’t start pissing on each other over shit that has nothing to do with business. All right? So just keep your mind focused on the business, think about what you’re gonna do to them once it’s over, and if it looks like anybody’s about to start something just give the mercs a call.” He pauses, listening. “Yeah? Yeah, these guys can handle it, no problem. They’re all pros, real hardasses. They’ve got orders from the top that if anybody makes trouble, cut their balls off and use ‘em for Ping Pong.” Pause. “No, not literally, but you get the idea. Okay? Okay. Enjoy the meeting, huh? Check out the beach when you’ve got the time, it’s gorgeous. All right.”
Sully puts down the phone, then stretches his arms out over his head and sighs, putting his feet up on the desk as he leans back. Part of his face twitches, then is still. “Fuckers.”
The phone rings again, and Sully grunts as he picks it up, leaving his feet on the desk. This time he speaks Spanish. “Yes? Who’s here to- oh, the new guy. Yes, all right. Make sure that he’s clean, then send him in. I’ll check him out.” He puts the phone down, takes his feet off the desk, and leans forward, straightening up, looking professional aside from the toothpick still between his teeth. He folds his hands and waits for his prospective bodyguard. As he does, he cracks his neck, first to one side, then the other.