Who: Leo and Chris What: Chris has the misfortune to run into Leo right after a job. Leo is not pleased. When: Around 10/11, Vegas time. Where: Los Vegas Warnings: ...Language?
Walking quickly, but careful not to make himself noticeable, Leo deftly set about taking his main gun apart under his coat - one-handed - as he slipped into a shadowed alley-way, exactly what he wanted.
Kneeling on the gritty stones, he replaced the gun-and-silencer in their black case, leaving it on the lid of a metal dustbin as he stripped off his jacket and shirt. The rucksack was turned inside-out to become grey instead of navy blue; his red shirt he crumpled up into a ball before pulling on a skin-hugging white sleeveless, vanishing his coat into the bag with the gun case. Gel changed his hairstyle from professional and business like to carelessly mussed, and contacts turned hazel eyes deep green.
Still without making a sound - and why did he need to? - Leo knelt down to shake a good few drops of gasoline over the blood-stained shirt, hid it behind a bin, and dropped a match. There.
Straightening again, some of the tension having left his shoulders, Leo replaced his watch with a bracelet of braided leather thongs, sliding a gold stud into his ear as he watched the flames, making sure it burned itself out quickly and safely. The whole point was not to call atttention to himself, after all. Someone calling the fire brigade wouldn't do at all.
He'd been in Los Vegas for two days, and was flying out on the midday flight tomorrow. His mark had been eliminated; he was looking forward to the fat paycheck waiting for him when he got back to London, and steadily ignoring the brand-new - and completely unwanted - feelings of guilt coiling in his stomach.
Whatever. Swinging the bag over his shoulder as the shirt dissolved into ash and smoke, Leo turned to leave. He could get public transport back to his hotel from half a block away.