(no subject)
Date: May 12, morning
Location: Restaurant
Status: Public
Summary: Exploring the manor... Coffee sounds like a good start. Feel free to drop in!
If he had ever been a morning person, he certianly no longer was. Somehow his body managed to stiffen up over night, and it took him far longer than he liked to get into any kind of shape in which he was willing to face people. In his former trade, showing weakness more often than not meant you were dead. Carefully, he went through the stretches and exercises that had kept him in shape since long before the first of his assignments had gone awry. By the time he had reached the last of the kata he preferred to start his day, he was feeling almost human again.
He took a quick shower then and dressed in black jeans and awashed-out shirt that had once been red. It had the advantage of buttoning tight at the wrists and high up at the neck. Plastic surgery had taken care of the scars on his face, but the rest of his body still looked like a battlefield, burned, torn open, shot at, stabbed and cut open for surgery to repair the damage done. Distinctive marks of the kind someone in his trade - his former trade, he corrected himself - shouldn't show because they were too easy to recognise. Old habits died hard.
Well, two days into his retirement was maybe a bit early to change all that much anyway.
He grinned as he thought it, and took three more things with him: a butterfly knife that he attached to his belt, a small pistol that went into a concealed sheath, and a fountain pen that was actually an injection needle that would send anyone to sleep who was stabbed with it. He put that in the breast pocket of his shirt.
Then he went downstairs. As far as he remembered, the restaurant opened early and offered coffee. Coffee seemed to be a fitting start into the day.
Location: Restaurant
Status: Public
Summary: Exploring the manor... Coffee sounds like a good start. Feel free to drop in!
If he had ever been a morning person, he certianly no longer was. Somehow his body managed to stiffen up over night, and it took him far longer than he liked to get into any kind of shape in which he was willing to face people. In his former trade, showing weakness more often than not meant you were dead. Carefully, he went through the stretches and exercises that had kept him in shape since long before the first of his assignments had gone awry. By the time he had reached the last of the kata he preferred to start his day, he was feeling almost human again.
He took a quick shower then and dressed in black jeans and awashed-out shirt that had once been red. It had the advantage of buttoning tight at the wrists and high up at the neck. Plastic surgery had taken care of the scars on his face, but the rest of his body still looked like a battlefield, burned, torn open, shot at, stabbed and cut open for surgery to repair the damage done. Distinctive marks of the kind someone in his trade - his former trade, he corrected himself - shouldn't show because they were too easy to recognise. Old habits died hard.
Well, two days into his retirement was maybe a bit early to change all that much anyway.
He grinned as he thought it, and took three more things with him: a butterfly knife that he attached to his belt, a small pistol that went into a concealed sheath, and a fountain pen that was actually an injection needle that would send anyone to sleep who was stabbed with it. He put that in the breast pocket of his shirt.
Then he went downstairs. As far as he remembered, the restaurant opened early and offered coffee. Coffee seemed to be a fitting start into the day.