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originally posted in:The New Dojo
10/29/2016 11:10:30 PM
78
[b][i]Hard Times[/i][/b]
[b]Inside the Dojo[/b]
[i]Wilson's Vertibird sat in one of the courtyards, the aircraft's cargo spread out and displayed, an enticing lure for anyone looking to pick up a weapon. However, living accommodations in the craft were suitable for only one individual, and that person was Wilson. For Jackson Wolfe, silence and cleanliness were much more in-line, and so, he had set about procuring himself a home in the Dojo. This place was new, foreign to him. Unlike Wilson, this was his first prolonged stay in the Dojo, and he had few of the privileges that the Courier had.
And so, after loading himself with his normal combat gear, he set out to speak to someone, to get a home and be allowed to duel, should the issue arise. Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. He also supposed it wouldn't hurt to get out and meet new people. Most of those he had seen were unrecognizable, aside from Riley. The others, at least from what Wilson had told him, were likely from after the time of Venom Incorporated; or had little to do with it. Those that knew were likely not the fondest of the company or Jackson's father, but he knew better than to bring certain things up.
The armed assassin was not a strange sight amongst the other formidable warriors, but he was certainly noticeable. There was not a pride to his step, no cockiness, his movements did not exaggerate a thing. He was silent, and perhaps to those he did not know, cold. Many avoided him, his appearance not particularly inviting, some, perhaps, because they knew his father. Either way, it did not matter to him. He was not there to cause trouble. He was not his father.[/i]
[spoiler]Open, if you want to meet Wolfe.[/spoiler]
English
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[b]A girl with black hair and blue eyes looks at him[/b] You look familiar.
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I get that a lot. [i]He said, not looking back to her.[/i]
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I guess so. I hade that question before aswell, nearly got arrested because they we're looking into a chain of assassinations in Taiwan. It totally wasn't me. [b]winks[/b]
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[i]He did not reply, rather, he continued on his walk silently.[/i]
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Bump. Not gonna scroll through 200 different posts just to get here
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[spoiler]Makes sense.[/spoiler]
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*A sombrero-wearing sunbather inclines her head in respect for the assassin as he passes, promptly ignoring him afterwards*
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[i] The Dojo bustled with curious figures dressed in all sorts of armor and clothing from every corner of the world. Knights, samurai, soldiers, the like. The man leaning against the brick building smoking a cigarette wouldn't be anyone special to anyone else, but to Jackson, it was the same guy who'd attempted to kill him only a day prior. Desmond Galloway, as Riley had informed him, was well built. Not exactly muscular, but more lean and only about 5'10, with slight muscle. He was in good shape, but he didn't look like a gym rat. If Jackson had a keen eye, Desmond carried himself like Riley. Like an assassin. His hair was short on the sides and swept back on top, and a hint of a beard was growing on his chin. https://imgur.com/a/q14oL A rifle sat beside him, a .408 Chay-Tac M200 Intervention sniper rifle, painted gunmetal grey. That, and the white handled Bowie knife on his thigh, along with an M45 handgun on his hip were the only weapons in sight. The only other notable thing was a solid black ring on his left hand, a ruby set into the metal. He was dressed simply in a white t-shirt and faded blue jeans, the see through shirt making several tattoos visible on his chest and stomach. What they were, Wolfe couldn't make out. Desmond didn't seem to notice Wolfe, but that didn't mean much in the Dojo. [/i]
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[i]Seeming to notice was always key. Assassins never made it seem like they were watching. Snipers never seemed like they were there. While he too seemed to be not paying attention, Wolfe had clearly noticed the man, and had scanned over him quickly. He travelled light, and wore no armor. It was strange for killers to show their faces. Even Jackson wore his father's mask, albeit painted differently now. Despite noticing the individual, Jackson wasn't particularly keen on speaking to him. The man had tried to kill him, Wilson, and from what Riley had hinted at, he was after her too. That didn't bode well... not at all.[/i]
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[quote]He isn't going to shoot you kid. Or try to anyway. No need to act like your walking on glass. [/quote] [i] A voice makes it's way into Wolfe's head, one of laziness and almost not caring. Low and unnerving, but not malevolent. Desmond's eyes catch Wolfe's, and he smirks while taking a drag of the cigarette between his fingers. [/i]
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[i]He turned to face the man, not replying to the voice. Clearly he was not trusting Desmond, regardless of this voice in his head. However, he did approach, albeit warily.[/i]
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[quote]Baby steps, there ya go. [/quote] [i] The voice said, almost mockingly. Desmond meanwhile, was still puffing on the cigarette and looking at Wolfe with a bemused expression on his face.[/i]
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You going to actually talk to me or sit around and play head games ? [i]He said coldly, voice metallic and without emotion. Had Lance been there, it would have been eerily reminiscent of Blackjack himself.[/i]
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"Nah. Those aren't head games. My favorite head games are where i make them pop like balloons." [i] He says, a smirk crossing his lips as he emphasized, making a "pop" sound with his lips. [/i]
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I was told you're a force of vengeance, so why the joy in slaughter? What differentiates you from any of the rest of us? [i]Jackson was clearly having none of it, tone still emotionless and cold. It wasn't anger, it was something more akin to a dissatisfaction.[/i]
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"A force of Justice." [i] He corrects him.[/i] "Vengeance is only one of the three faces of Justice." [i] He says, flicking ash off the cigarette and tossing to the cobbles, stomping it out.[/i] "What differentiates me from you? Hmm.. maybe that I'm a lot better than most of you. Or perhaps I'm the only one who's willing to stain his hands with the blood of the unclean." [i] There was that brash cockiness there, but Desmond didn't think he was the best. He just thought everyone else was worse. There was a difference. [/i]
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Better didn't make the cut. Better let an unexpected variable save your target. Better failed to kill any of the three while still concealed on higher ground. [i]Wolfe replied. Cockiness was one thing, looking down on others another, but this man had failed to complete what he set out to do. [/i]
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"You weren't my target kid." [i] A strange thing to call him, considering they were probably around the same age. Early twenties at best.[/i] "The big guy in the armor was, but even I couldn't account for Riley Daltry showing up and deflecting a round with the one of two swords in the world made of Xarite." [i] He says with a shrug, almost nonchalantly.[/i] "Shit happens."
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Sh*t happening is caused by improper accounting of outer variables. Sh*t happening is what lets your target live to see another day. [i]Wolfe had been trained in the art of perfection. Clarkson lived by the motto of the British Special Air Service; "Who dares, wins." Good operators didn't blame "sh*t happening." They made due and changed plans. There was no room for failure.[/i]
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"Yeah yeah." [i] Damien waves a hand. He seemed to take his killing very seriously, but the fact that he'd failed didn't seem to bother him. Almost like he didn't care. Desmond glanced over Wolfe's form, taking in the details, his eyes lingering on the rifle behind him.[/i] "Let me guess, special ops? Some big wig government agents bitch?" [i] He says, a smirk crossing his lips once again. [/i]
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Initially, it was more along the lines of vengeful child becoming assassin. The government job's just to make sure I don't go to jail for killing the scum of the Earth. [i]He said, rather truthfully.[/i]
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"You and me could probably get along quite well." [i] He says with a grin. The only reason he'd become a wetboy was for vengeance. It was also his only way out of the Warrens, but swearing himself to Durzo was the price. [/i]
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I'm not much on friendly conversation with men trying to kill my friends. [i]he said, the flat tone of his voice making it sound almost as if he were being sardonic.[/i]
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"Fair enough." [i] He tilts his head in a "touchè" manner.[/i] "At least you have a decent taste in rifle. I'd probably try and kill you again if you had anything that wasn't American."
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Nobody else but the Brits make any good long-range anti-armor rifles. [i]He said blandly. The weapon he carried was reliable, powerful, and easily serviced. Wolfe liked the rifle for its efficiency and its sentimental value.[/i]
