[M:0]
Post by Onas Knox on Jan 1, 2013 22:51:18 GMT -5
Monday arrived sooner than Onas' internal clock suggested was reasonable. If Onas had ever experienced how time flies when one gains a new toy for Christmas as a child, he might have described it like that. The Athena was operating far better than he could have anticipated. And now that he'd had a chance to put her through her paces, she preformed dutifully. His weekend had been a non-stop gauntlet of every tortures routine that his crew and he could think of. And they had far-fetching imaginations. Still, a test was not a job, she would have to preform under pressure before you could say she was a woman.
Onas was ever grateful to Cypher, though it might never be spoken, for his role in all this. These now felt less like jobs and more like markers that he owed. Onas walked back into O' Hanrahan's Pub as per his instructions, and set out to find his contact. A Mrs, Deschain, whoever she was. Onas checked his crono, he was ten minutes early. In any other job, that might be a good thing, but in jobs such as his, it was a good way to lose customers. As it was, Onas decided to stay, see if he could spot the young blond as she came in, as he had not seen her yet. He walked over to the counter, where the counter met the wall of the joint, lit a cigarette and leaned against the corner.
All in all, he felt a bit silly, folks meeting in bars, meeting over shots of whiskey, dark shadows with half hidden faces... It felt like some tabloid comic. He smiled at the thought, 'somewhere in here', he mused, 'is a private eye with a derby.' He resisted the urge to order a shot.
Onas was wearing what was amounting to his usual, jeans and a black tank under a black t-shirt. Both untucked. He had on a black leather belt, thickly cut, with a solid titanium buckle, though, who would notice? His feet were dressed in his only pair of combat boots, laces tied off on the ends in a comfortably loose fit, and each heel ground almost completely off from his dragging his feet when he walked. His jeans were over his boots, but if one looked hard enough, one would see its outline through his pant legs. He also wore a black leather bracelet that snapped around his right wrist with the letters and numbers e, p, h, 6:,1 and 3 branded into the tarnished band. On his left wrist were two more, one thinner of matching leather and one made of five fifty cord.
Not a grand improvement over last week in retrospect, but, ant least his pants weren't as greasy. If Nick were here, he'd probably question Onas for his attire outright. Perhaps Onas had a problem with authority after all. Destined to be different, or die trying, that sort of thing. Or maybe he just didn't plan la shi out far enough. He checked his crono again as his cigarette died, and he paused to light another one.
Onas opened his zippo and struck it across his jeans, then let the amber light ignite the end of his tobacco. When the end caught its full life, he sucked the smoke down in one breath, tasting it richly. Onas closed his eyes and savored the small true joy's in life. He snapped his lighter shut and returned it to his pocket. He scanned the pub again, looking to see if his contact had made her way in without his noticing. With his back against this particular wall, he should have been able to see her anywhere.
Onas was ever grateful to Cypher, though it might never be spoken, for his role in all this. These now felt less like jobs and more like markers that he owed. Onas walked back into O' Hanrahan's Pub as per his instructions, and set out to find his contact. A Mrs, Deschain, whoever she was. Onas checked his crono, he was ten minutes early. In any other job, that might be a good thing, but in jobs such as his, it was a good way to lose customers. As it was, Onas decided to stay, see if he could spot the young blond as she came in, as he had not seen her yet. He walked over to the counter, where the counter met the wall of the joint, lit a cigarette and leaned against the corner.
All in all, he felt a bit silly, folks meeting in bars, meeting over shots of whiskey, dark shadows with half hidden faces... It felt like some tabloid comic. He smiled at the thought, 'somewhere in here', he mused, 'is a private eye with a derby.' He resisted the urge to order a shot.
Onas was wearing what was amounting to his usual, jeans and a black tank under a black t-shirt. Both untucked. He had on a black leather belt, thickly cut, with a solid titanium buckle, though, who would notice? His feet were dressed in his only pair of combat boots, laces tied off on the ends in a comfortably loose fit, and each heel ground almost completely off from his dragging his feet when he walked. His jeans were over his boots, but if one looked hard enough, one would see its outline through his pant legs. He also wore a black leather bracelet that snapped around his right wrist with the letters and numbers e, p, h, 6:,1 and 3 branded into the tarnished band. On his left wrist were two more, one thinner of matching leather and one made of five fifty cord.
Not a grand improvement over last week in retrospect, but, ant least his pants weren't as greasy. If Nick were here, he'd probably question Onas for his attire outright. Perhaps Onas had a problem with authority after all. Destined to be different, or die trying, that sort of thing. Or maybe he just didn't plan la shi out far enough. He checked his crono again as his cigarette died, and he paused to light another one.
Onas opened his zippo and struck it across his jeans, then let the amber light ignite the end of his tobacco. When the end caught its full life, he sucked the smoke down in one breath, tasting it richly. Onas closed his eyes and savored the small true joy's in life. He snapped his lighter shut and returned it to his pocket. He scanned the pub again, looking to see if his contact had made her way in without his noticing. With his back against this particular wall, he should have been able to see her anywhere.