[Day 6] - FIC: Business Meeting - M7/Alias - PG
It's Day 6 of 14valentines and today's issue is Motherhood. The essay can be found -> [here]
Title: Business Meeting
Series: Spy Life #1
Author: Lyl (lyl_devil)
Rating: PG
Character: Ezra Standish - Magnificent Seven
Fandom: Alias, M7
Disclaimer: I don't claim any rights to either show. I just like to play in their sandboxes occasionally.
Prompt table -> HERE
Prompt - 001: Beginnings
Words: 1033
Summary: Sark makes a new and interesting friend.
Note: I actually wrote this before Black Market Favors (xover Burn Notice), so please ignore any similarities. :)
~!~
Idly swirling the amber liquid around in his glass, Sark looked down upon the writhing dance floor with mild disdain. It was a look he'd taken years to cultivate, and one which he was especially proud of.
Under the mask, however, Sark was completely bored. He'd been sent to gather information on a new organization that was just starting to grow and gain attention. Irina had certainly noticed them. However, whether that was their goal or not, Sark couldn't be sure.
Glancing at his watch out of the corner of his eye, Sark tried to keep his irritation under control. His contact was suppose to have arrived over twenty minutes earlier, yet had still not shown up. Gaspar had always been a reliable as a source of information, one which Sark appreciated as much for his punctuality as the information he doled out. This, however, was quite unlike the man and Sark was on edge.
He'd give him another few minutes before leaving, because good assets were hard to find, but there was only so much pounding bass he could tolerate. The one downside to dealing with Gaspar was that he always wanted to meet in places like this, where he could ogle young, half-naked flesh while he went about business.
Sark became aware of the man before he sat down across from him, but made sure to keep all expression off his face. The newcomer was slightly older than he was, with dark hair and a clearly expensive suit. His entire body became alert and focused, noticing the hidden weapon. It was a barely-there shadow and an extra fold in the material of the jacket, but Sark was good enough at what he did to notice it immediately.
Sark looked at him and raised an eyebrow in question, though whether it was about the gun or the invasion of his table, he let the other man decide.
All he got was a wide smile and a flash of what he suspected was a gold tooth in return.
The stranger poured himself a glass of whiskey, swirling and tasting the alcohol like a true connoisseur. Sark waited patiently, keeping his professional mask in place as he tried to analyze the situation.
"I believe you had some business with a man called Gaspar," said the stranger. Sark was mildly surprised to hear a southern US accent, but didn't let that show. The world he lived in didn't make any allowances for where you were born or where you lived. The only thing that mattered was whose interests you were looking after, and how you went about it.
Sark remained silent at the question, taking a sip from his glass. He wasn't about to overplay his hand when he didn't know what the game was.
"Unfortunately, Gaspar is no longer with us, and I find myself having to clean up his loose ends,"
Sark mentally reviewed his escape routes, because phrases like that usually led to quick deaths. He should know, he'd used them enough times in the past.
"Never fear, Mr Sark," he said, seeming to relax back into his seat. "I have no desire to prematurely end what will likely be an advantageous business relationship."
"How so, Mr...?" he was searching for a name, but wasn't too worried about being obvious.
"Standish."
Sark looked at him closely, trying to reconcile the man in front of him with the whispered rumours he'd heard. Standish was a ghost, an information broker who knew everything there was to know. It was said that if Standish didn't know it, it didn't exist. People whispered about him like he was either the anti-Christ or St Nicholas, yet no one could name a single person who had done any sort of business with him. Before, Sark would have said he was a myth, like Area 51 in the US, but now he had to wonder. Perhaps his clients simply didn't divulge his existence in order to keep on his good side.
"You have a loyal clientele, Mr Standish," he said after a moment.
"It is simply an understanding that our dealings are private, Mr Sark. I do not wish to have my name bandied about like some prima donna movie star." he said, looking intently at Sark. "I am not Google - open to any and all. I choose my business associates very carefully."
Sark took that for the warning it was, nodding his head slightly in agreement. If this were on the level - and he was beginning to suspect it was - Standish was about to become one of his most prized contacts.
He didn't know what had happened to Gaspar, but found he couldn't care less at the moment. The man's death - most likely related to Standish in some way - had been a blessing.
Small talk flowed for the next while, banal conversation interspersed with offers and counter offers, until a deal had been hammered out which would set the price for all future interactions. Standish handed over a small USB device once payment had been secured, declining Sark's invitation to join him for another drink.
"I fear these places leave me with a foul taste in my mouth," said Standish, finishing his drink. "Next time we meet, it will be somewhere more condusive to business, Mr Sark."
"I look forward to it, Mr Standish," he said with a smile.
"One last thing, Mr Sark, free of charge." said Standish, rising from his seat. "Irina Derevko is many things, but trustworthy is not one of them."
Sark met his eyes for moment, understanding the unspoken message. Irina didn't know about him, and Standish wanted is kept that way. At least that answered his question about whether Irina had ever dealt with this man before.
"I am well aware of that." replied Sark with a slight quirk of his lips.
"I knew you would be."
With that, Standish offered him a two-fingered salute, turned and left him alone to contemplate these newest events, surrounded by the thundering base and flashing lights of the night club.
A small curving of his lips was the only indication Sark gave that he was exceedingly pleased.
END
Title: Business Meeting
Series: Spy Life #1
Author: Lyl (lyl_devil)
Rating: PG
Character: Ezra Standish - Magnificent Seven
Fandom: Alias, M7
Disclaimer: I don't claim any rights to either show. I just like to play in their sandboxes occasionally.
Prompt table -> HERE
Prompt - 001: Beginnings
Words: 1033
Summary: Sark makes a new and interesting friend.
Note: I actually wrote this before Black Market Favors (xover Burn Notice), so please ignore any similarities. :)
~!~
Idly swirling the amber liquid around in his glass, Sark looked down upon the writhing dance floor with mild disdain. It was a look he'd taken years to cultivate, and one which he was especially proud of.
Under the mask, however, Sark was completely bored. He'd been sent to gather information on a new organization that was just starting to grow and gain attention. Irina had certainly noticed them. However, whether that was their goal or not, Sark couldn't be sure.
Glancing at his watch out of the corner of his eye, Sark tried to keep his irritation under control. His contact was suppose to have arrived over twenty minutes earlier, yet had still not shown up. Gaspar had always been a reliable as a source of information, one which Sark appreciated as much for his punctuality as the information he doled out. This, however, was quite unlike the man and Sark was on edge.
He'd give him another few minutes before leaving, because good assets were hard to find, but there was only so much pounding bass he could tolerate. The one downside to dealing with Gaspar was that he always wanted to meet in places like this, where he could ogle young, half-naked flesh while he went about business.
Sark became aware of the man before he sat down across from him, but made sure to keep all expression off his face. The newcomer was slightly older than he was, with dark hair and a clearly expensive suit. His entire body became alert and focused, noticing the hidden weapon. It was a barely-there shadow and an extra fold in the material of the jacket, but Sark was good enough at what he did to notice it immediately.
Sark looked at him and raised an eyebrow in question, though whether it was about the gun or the invasion of his table, he let the other man decide.
All he got was a wide smile and a flash of what he suspected was a gold tooth in return.
The stranger poured himself a glass of whiskey, swirling and tasting the alcohol like a true connoisseur. Sark waited patiently, keeping his professional mask in place as he tried to analyze the situation.
"I believe you had some business with a man called Gaspar," said the stranger. Sark was mildly surprised to hear a southern US accent, but didn't let that show. The world he lived in didn't make any allowances for where you were born or where you lived. The only thing that mattered was whose interests you were looking after, and how you went about it.
Sark remained silent at the question, taking a sip from his glass. He wasn't about to overplay his hand when he didn't know what the game was.
"Unfortunately, Gaspar is no longer with us, and I find myself having to clean up his loose ends,"
Sark mentally reviewed his escape routes, because phrases like that usually led to quick deaths. He should know, he'd used them enough times in the past.
"Never fear, Mr Sark," he said, seeming to relax back into his seat. "I have no desire to prematurely end what will likely be an advantageous business relationship."
"How so, Mr...?" he was searching for a name, but wasn't too worried about being obvious.
"Standish."
Sark looked at him closely, trying to reconcile the man in front of him with the whispered rumours he'd heard. Standish was a ghost, an information broker who knew everything there was to know. It was said that if Standish didn't know it, it didn't exist. People whispered about him like he was either the anti-Christ or St Nicholas, yet no one could name a single person who had done any sort of business with him. Before, Sark would have said he was a myth, like Area 51 in the US, but now he had to wonder. Perhaps his clients simply didn't divulge his existence in order to keep on his good side.
"You have a loyal clientele, Mr Standish," he said after a moment.
"It is simply an understanding that our dealings are private, Mr Sark. I do not wish to have my name bandied about like some prima donna movie star." he said, looking intently at Sark. "I am not Google - open to any and all. I choose my business associates very carefully."
Sark took that for the warning it was, nodding his head slightly in agreement. If this were on the level - and he was beginning to suspect it was - Standish was about to become one of his most prized contacts.
He didn't know what had happened to Gaspar, but found he couldn't care less at the moment. The man's death - most likely related to Standish in some way - had been a blessing.
Small talk flowed for the next while, banal conversation interspersed with offers and counter offers, until a deal had been hammered out which would set the price for all future interactions. Standish handed over a small USB device once payment had been secured, declining Sark's invitation to join him for another drink.
"I fear these places leave me with a foul taste in my mouth," said Standish, finishing his drink. "Next time we meet, it will be somewhere more condusive to business, Mr Sark."
"I look forward to it, Mr Standish," he said with a smile.
"One last thing, Mr Sark, free of charge." said Standish, rising from his seat. "Irina Derevko is many things, but trustworthy is not one of them."
Sark met his eyes for moment, understanding the unspoken message. Irina didn't know about him, and Standish wanted is kept that way. At least that answered his question about whether Irina had ever dealt with this man before.
"I am well aware of that." replied Sark with a slight quirk of his lips.
"I knew you would be."
With that, Standish offered him a two-fingered salute, turned and left him alone to contemplate these newest events, surrounded by the thundering base and flashing lights of the night club.
A small curving of his lips was the only indication Sark gave that he was exceedingly pleased.
END