| Mission One |
[10 Apr 2008|10:20pm] |
Grace was practicing her quick-draw, having tucked her spiffy new identification wallet into the pocket of her heavy leather jacket. She'd whip it out, unfold it to flash the shiny badge within, then snap it shut and put it away again, looking at her shadow where it had been cast on the wall by the fluorescent lights overhead. No reflection meant she couldn't use the mirrors, which was kind of a drag, but making her own fun - even of the non-killing kind - was something she was good at.
Black jacket, dark blue workpants, heavy boots, white wife-beater. She felt very Erik Estrada right now, getting ready to go out and be all law-abiding. Wonders never ceased. "Oh, yeah, I'm hot," the vampire muttered, putting the wallet away again.
What she wasn't crazy about was the idea of a partner, especially the partner they'd assigned her. A girl was known by the company she kept, after all. But whatever, she wasn't going to kick over it. She knew what her agenda was here. As long as she followed the rules on the surface, she could get done what she needed to get done.
Grace's new 'partner' eyed the spectacle from afar.
" 'Cause nothing puts the fear in a Gnaral demon quite like gold plating." Rhiannon made no effort to check her facial expression. Distaste. If matches within the U.S. government were made in Hell, then they'd gotten this just about right. The only thing more absurd would've been sticking her with Deanna. One or the other would be dead before they got outdoors.
True, Grace was rumored to be a decent fighter. Someone who could keep up. That was a plus. But a slayer/vampire duo was probably asking for disaster, like pouring a bottle of bleach in with ammonia. Particularly when they had a history of not liking to share.
(Matthew)
Perhaps that was a tidbit the Feds hadn't been able to dig up. Rhiannon slouched in her chair. It was a straight back, set against a conference table where she supposed they'd get 'debriefed' by a suit before they were dispatched on Mission #1. At least they'd been allowed to skip basic training. There were people doing actual aerobics in the room beyond.
"Gold plating's the shit, man," Grace responded with a distracted look at the Slayer. "I was thinkin' about putting some gold rims on the Plymouth, but it wouldn't look right against the whitewall tires." Shwe shook her head, still fiddling with the ID wallet. She looked around for a 'No Smoking' sign, then said a mental fuck it and lit up anyway. She was on the payroll now, the least they could do was let her have a smoke inside. Screw regulations. The Marlboro was quickly lit, the lighter tucked out of sight. The chair creaked as she slouched back in it, crossing one booted foot over the other.
"Some world, ain't it?" she asked Rhiannon, her tone not quite idle. "Us at the same table. Reckon next pigs'll start flyin'."
"Mm." The noncommittal noise didn't give much away. As verbose as the Slayer was with demons, not only at the bar but on patrol, she felt very tight-lipped now. If she was being honest, she probably wouldn't have been any chattier had another Slayer been sitting across from her. The whole situation was uncomfortable. No matter who her partner was, they felt like an enemy, because Rhiannon didn't want to be there.
Her eyes eased up to the vampire's face. Sooner or later, Rhiannon knew, they were going to have a problem. No way would Grace let the Slayer turn a blind eye to somebody like Connor. She'd have to figure out how to manipulate the circumstances, unless she had a bargaining chip. She wondered what loyalties Grace hid.
Everybody had them.
( Ground Rules )
( Target Acquired )
[Thread: Open to Grace]
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