Lara Croft
Sergeant
You know I can't resist a bit of fun.
Posts: 53
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Post by Lara Croft on Jun 2, 2004 14:40:49 GMT -5
Hazel orbs faultered a bit. Features almost taking on a guilt ridden look. Had she really outbursted that badly? It seemed so... her temper was always worse when tired. And she was tired. She glanced from the corner of her eyes at the man next to her. The young rather handsome man. Slightly Lara shook her head, reminding herself that the young form next to her was no more than a shell for a tyrant. But was he really still that bad? The way he spoke about the experiament that had changed him the Brit was beginning to believe so. Still the same man, just a different mask.
Still she stared at him, watched as his mind seemed to wander and then... he spoke of her Father. For a moment her face lit up, eyes that were once clouded in susipicion now filled with curiosity," You knew my Father..." Her tone was almost questioning this revelation. Afterall Kenneth Irons had the uncanny and natural ability to get people to believe almost anything, but then it made sense that he could have both men had been archeaologists. She pushed away the tears that liked to pool at the corners of her eyes whenever her Father was mentioned and stared at the world below in silence.
And then he broke the silence and for a moment Lara hesitated in answering, but did," A bit tired is all." She confessed and tucked a strands of dark auburn behind her ear and out of her face.
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Post by Everett Boswell on Jun 9, 2004 3:26:18 GMT -5
Slick leather loafers paced against the wooden flooring while his eyes gazed around a moment. Only a year ago he’d acquired the lavish penthouse and redesigned it with items from Armani Casa furniture, he’d always been a man of style, even in his youth, it hadn’t hurt that daddy had plenty of wealth. But perhaps that’s what got him a lack of friends, or rather, friends who were merely using them for their own amusement and jokes, men like Terry Sheridan. The two had nearly grown up together until he applied to a prestigious school in England. For some years they had lost contact, it wasn’t until the first day of MI-6 training that Everett saw his smirking face again. Sheridan. Always late. A scowl pulled against his lips, making the scar that ran from just under his nose down through his upper lip all the more noticeable. He’d been born with it, though his mother had quite expected him to be a girl. Six years later she died leaving him to his father. Though he couldn’t say the man never did anything for him, he inherited his fathers estate and assets as well as MI-6, the elder Boswell was always too busy with MI-6 to ever attended anything Everett had taken a fancy too.
He was back in New York on a generous offer. But it wasn’t all about money, he had plenty of it and it didn’t even shame him to flaunt it. The designer furniture to designer clothing, hell even his aquarium was designer. Which now he paced before while fingers slid over the glass surface of, with a reef salt water set up. Though his prized items were the sting ray and the shark. With a small sigh he picked up the small radio. “Shadow Team engage the target, disable courier, and acquire package. Use of deadly force is prohibited… repeat, use of deadly force is prohibited.” He needed Sheridan of course, just as he needed Sara Pezzini. Though she perhaps was another matter, the woman had a grace to her and a beauty that could rival the models he’d dated, and she held Sheridan’s fancy. Of course there had also been Lara Croft. Saucy, English, had a head on her for trouble. Yet women of his country didn’t fancy him, they didn’t spark that intrigue.
Placing a cigarette between his lips he waited, thumb sliding over the silver cover before flicking the lid open and lighting the cigarette. Yes, he’d been keeping tabs on, Terry Sheridan, ever since the ‘sniper incident’ as a friend, Everett had warned Sheridan it would be best if he left England, got away from the questionings as to the fashion of the hit, done in Sheridan’s style of shooting. Smoke wafted from his lips as he set down the lighter picking up the phone receiver upon the small round table, he pressed a button and within two rings it answered. “It’s taken care of, I’ve done my part.” He breathed out, shadowed by the half closed drapes. The interior of the penthouse was fairly dark, save for the aquarium and the moonlight dancing through the rain drop covered windows, that went floor to ceiling. Fingers unbuttoned the top button of the white shirt, long cuffs came out from under the undone jacket of the black fitted Armani suit.
It had been nearly an hour when the doorbell rang, blowing smoke from his lips he placed another cigarette butt into the thin standing silver ashtray. He opened the door and brows knitted together slightly seeing the buff, Sara Pezzini within the man’s arm. Hand waved towards a west side bedroom, “There’s a silk nighty in the top dresser drawer, dress her in that and lie her in the bed.” After closing the door he followed, catching a glance over the woman before his team lead dressed her and accommodated the New York detective as his boss had instructed. The team lead closed the double doors as he followed Boswell out. “Sheridan took out two men, Sir. While the detective took out another two.” Entering the open living room he seated himself into a plush chair “Well that it’s a bloody good thing they were New York hired help, isn’t it? Go get changed, tell Chase the same and you two have to look like the decent MI-6 Agents you are…Oh, and call in the good doctor will you? I noticed bruising upon my prize.”<br> He grew impatient with Sheridan’s phone until the groggy voice answered, Boswell’s voice sounded civil as ever, thought with a slight hint of knowing. He hung up before explaining why he was in New York. Moments later and elderly gentleman was escorted in, raising to his feet Everett moved “Ah, Doctor Scott, I’m glad you could make it.” The Dr. patted him on the arm as he was guided to the room Sara was in. Back leaned against the wall as the doctor examined her “The drugging will wear off in a few minutes, she received quite a shock. I’ll stay until she wakes, shall I?” With a nod of his head he walked forwards, seating himself upon the bed next to her side, taking a damp cloth from the dish. Fingers brushed back strands of hair as he tipped his head slightly. She was even more beautiful from her picture. “Don’t worry, Detective Pezzini, your in good hands.” Two casually dressed men entered the room and stood by the doorway. Eyes drew away from the detective for a moment before he looked back, the tranquilizers effect was wearing off. Leaning forwards he whispered against her ear, “It’s a good thing I was here to save you. That and the help of Agents Chase and Agent Fuller. If I hadn’t come to make sure Sheridan was alright…lord knows what might have happened. I’ll be sending Chase to fetch, Agent Sheridan in a moment.” His accent was slightly stronger than Terry’s and it held a more proper tone to it, rather than the coy and sly remarks Sheridan made.
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Kenneth Irons
Patrolman
"I have been generous until now, but I can be cruel."
Posts: 37
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Post by Kenneth Irons on Jun 9, 2004 12:52:32 GMT -5
Irons simply nodded at her inquiry about his association with Lord Croft, and spoke no more of it. “Indeed, I am quite exhausted myself. I think it’s time I retired for the evening. If you require anything do not hesitate to ask the staff, they are more then ample. Oh I almost forgot, I have an early appointment in the morning, so if you are in need of transportation or whatnot I’ve informed my personal assistant to remain on the premises for your disposal.” He nodded to Lara backing a few steps. “Thank you for the company Lara, I can’t tell you how much of a privilege it has been. Goodnight.” Again his features softened as his mouth pursed into a half smile, the barest of creases crinkling at his now flawless brow. With that he departed, leaving Lara to her own devices.
Once securely sealed into his office, Kenneth pivoted in his chair, taping a few commands on his computer. The screen flashed as room after room flickered over the screen, before the electronic eye honed in on Lara. The camera auto zoomed, on her figure, following her movements almost to the letter. Irons withdrew his pocket watch, and noted the time. With his lips curling into a smirk, his hand hovered over the desk phone moments before it began to ring. Twice, he allowed it to sound out, knowing full well who was on the other end. “Good evening Mr. Boswell, I hope things went off without a hitch? I do know that our little detective can be quite… spirited in her own way.” The phone crackled a voice over the line, “It’s taken care of. I’ve done my part.” Kenneth tapped the screen zooming in even closer on Lara, “Splendid! I look forward to our meeting, cheers!”
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Post by Sara Pezzini on Jun 9, 2004 17:04:55 GMT -5
The darkness was like nothing that Sara had ever experienced before. The blackness was inky and clouded, like a veil that was relentless in its efforts to cover her senses. Within her dreams the darkness made up the faces that haunted her waking world. Irons, Nottingham, Estacado, and most disturbing… the face of Lara Croft welled up over all of them with her signature Desert Eagles poised to gun her down. Then like a beacon of light the voice cut though it all… calling to her, and comforting her with a cool and reassuring touch.
Sara’s lips parted and her lungs filled with a sharp intake of breath. “Gods… please don’t hurt him,” she repeated, her mind recalling her last memory as her consciousness bubbled to the surface. She felt the light tickle of breath against her ear, her attentions fully roused. Sara’s figure jolted as she breathed again, her inhalation mingled with a whimper of pain as her hands immediately sought out the fractured ribs. Her eyes flashed open revealing and expression of angry fire of emerald and gold.
Her hand shot out toward the unfamiliar figure that was speaking to her, grabbing at the front of his shirt and pulling herself toward him with a ferocious growl as her teeth grimaced in reason to the agony that this action was causing her. Her fingertips clenched tightly about the custom tailored shirt, nearly to the point of ripping buttons and fabric. “Where am I?” she demanded with a crackly voice on the verge of breaking into a scream.
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Lara Croft
Sergeant
You know I can't resist a bit of fun.
Posts: 53
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Post by Lara Croft on Jun 9, 2004 18:23:24 GMT -5
She eyed the nod, it was almost like he was hiding some truth from her. Most likely was, brows gave a slight knit and listened," I doubt I'll go anywhere, but thank you all the same." She replied halfheartedly. Lara was growing a slight impantence towards Kenneth Irons, he was keeping things from her, acting in his usual ways. He had not changed at all, only the shell that held the monster changed. He was still the same, always would be and why she had tried to believe anything else was beyond her. He was charming her, that much was obvious... sad part was, she was letting him get away with it.It was times like these when Lara hated her sexuality, hated being a woman with needs and wants.
" Goodnight." She returned his farewell for the evening and slowly made her way into her room. For a moment she paused, having the distinct feeling of being watched. Hazel orbs slowly moved about the room searching for a small red light or any other tell-tell signs of a camera, oddly enough she found none and despite that, the harder she tried to focus her brain the more tired she became. Her slender form slowly settled into the large bed again. Ajusting herself into a comfortable position, Lara began to find a heavy sleep over come her and she drifted away without protest.
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Post by Everett Boswell on Jun 9, 2004 18:32:04 GMT -5
Everett could still remember the day, Kenneth Irons waltzed into MI-6, a man with power, money…it wasn’t a wonder why the young Boswell took to the man. They were similar. Everett however was more of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. After a brief phone call moments earlier, and a prior planned meeting. Soon enough business would be taken care of. Though he hardly saw the woman lying incapacitated in the other room ‘business’. Ah, but of course he mustn’t forget she was the wielder of the Witchblade, an item that Iron’s held in high to-do about. Everything thus far was going as planned. Green eyes scanned the woman’s face, as her eyebrows twitched with whatever horrid nightmare that haunted her. The chemicals in the tranquilizer darts were known for such things.
A brow rose as she started to stir, grasping for breath as words found voice. The corner of his lip twitched slightly as he pursed them before relaxing, his calm accented voice falling from him easily. “Hurt who, Miss Pezzini? If you mean Sheridan…I wouldn’t dream of it. He an I are mates.” Her reactions under the stressed condition were more or less as he had figured them to be. “Don’t get too riled, I’ve called in the doctor, wouldn’t want you causing any more damage to yourself.” Eyes scanned down against her slender arm to where she firmly gripped his shirt, pulling herself up. Boswell remained almost unfazed by it.
The hand, which had held the damp cloth, replaced it then proceeded to close about the hand that held a grip of him. “Your in my penthouse, near Fifth Avenue. Allow me to introduce myself, I’m Sir Everett Boswell, one of the head Agents of MI-6. The two men by the door are Agents Clayton Fuller and Daniel Chase, they came with me to New York. I’d sent them to find Sheridan, instead they caught the end of an attack.” His head shook and he looked towards the window. A sigh pulled past his lips, “It was what I’d come to warn Terry about.” He turned his attentions back towards Sara, still his hand remained upon hers. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright…You’ll beg my pardon for dressing you, somewhat, the nighty was the only article of clothing I had here for a woman…it belonged to an ex. From the way Fuller had carried you in, I can only assume that you’d fallen for Sheridan’s charms. Lucky Bloke, always had a way with the women.”<br> Shifting against the palm that rested upon the bed supporting some of his way he gave a nod towards the elderly doctor. “This gentleman is Doctor Scott, I’m sure he’ll take fine care of you. Please let me know if there is anything I can do or get you.” While he’d been explaining things to her fingers worked about hers until her grip was of his hand rather than his shirt. He studied her facial expressions, they way her eyes flicked about with the slightest hint of anger behind them. Her lips perhaps attracted him the most, even with their treating scowl. “Don’t worry Miss Pezzini, I’ll be in my study if you should happen to need me. Just send Fuller, Agent Chase will be heading to check up on Sheridan.” Thumb rubbed against the backside of her knuckles and hand before lying it upon the bed and raising to his feet, his other hand smoothing the shirt of wrinkles.
With a small nod to Doctor Scott the jacket swayed with movement as he walked towards the double doors stopping as he opened them. “By the way, Sheridan’s alive…and well. Rest easy won’t you.” Agent Chase followed him out as the doors closed. The shoes made light sound as they met with the wood flooring that differed from the plush carpets in the bedrooms. “You know your orders…and make sure he’s dressed.” Chase nodded his head “Sir.” And turned down the entry hall while he headed towards the study, pouring a small glass of Scotch for himself before lifting the fencing sword from its stand. It moved easily in his hands twirling before continuing on in a thrust, feet moving easily over the ground, and not a drop of Scotch was spilt from the glass as he tipped it to his lips and finished the amber liquor off. Turning a one-eighty he fell onto the curves of the leather couch crossing his ankle over his knee, the glass set upon the small cherry wood bar running against the wall next to the sofa. “How’s it going to feel Sheridan…when I take from you what you’ve taken from me?” the tip of the fencing sword hit against the ground as his hand rested upon the cupped hilt.
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Post by Terry Sheridan on Jun 9, 2004 19:04:57 GMT -5
“Boswell…Ev…EV!” he growled to the phone and snapped it shut quickly before slowly pushing himself up. “Ah…bloody…wankers.” Fingertips touched the temple of his forehead and pulled away looking at the red that covered is fingertips. For men lie scattered about the once clean apartment, glass had rained out over the bedroom floor nearly to the side of the bed. Standing a bit groggily he looked around. “Sara?” there was no answer “Shit.” He growled and stumbled over to one of the fallen men. Maybe he’d get lucky and one of them would have a pulse. Checking the first one there was no such luck, the other three were the same as the first.
With a growl he over turned one of the tables near his couch when the sounds near his door attracted his attentions. Moving the door opened quickly, grabbing the front of a mans suit pulling him in and slamming him against the wall. “Gods sakes Sheridan! Let the bloody hell go of me!” he recognized the voice and loosened his grip. Chase rubbed his throat and looked up to the taller, fired up Brit. “Nice to see you too mate.” The man coughed. Terry nearly had to force himself to breath in deeply to calm himself.
“Where’s Boswell?” he demanded to the other agent with a scowl “Do you know anything about this? Answer me.” Chase’s hand when up to Sheridan’s shoulder “Calm down…Boswell’s at his place, sent me to check up on you. Lucky thing too…Those black clad blokes would ‘ave ‘ad you man. We were coming to warn you when it all happened. Boswell heard rumors floating around MI-6 that there might be a hit out on you.”<br> Sheridan moved away from the man and headed towards the bathroom to clean up the blood. “And, Sara…you know anything about her?” eyes winced under the light as it flicked on, and he removed some supplies from under the skin. “If you mean that lovely lil’ darhling you were with. Shaggin’ no doubt?” an emptied rubbing alcohol bottle flew out of the bathroom towards Chase. Ducking it Chase moved forwards “She’s safe…she’s with Boswell.” Terry came back out of the bathroom a wrap around his arm and his face washed. “Well good thing its Ev, and not you. You were my only compotation, Dan. Take me to him.” Chase folded his arms and chuckled slightly “I can’t help it if women want t’take of their knickers around me.” But a brow arched looking at Sheridan “Once you bloody get dressed maybe. I don’t want your naked arse sittin anywhere in my car.” Sheridan complied and got dressed in a pair of jeans and a gray tee-shirt along with his boots.
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Post by Sara Pezzini on Jun 9, 2004 22:19:33 GMT -5
Her hand clenched tighter, the very fibers of the shirt straining to break as fabric practically squelched in the confines of her fist. He heard his offer for a doctor, but ignored it. Her eyes sizing him up as she used what training she had at the academy to gauge if he was lying or telling the truth. He sounded sincere, and yes she wanted to believe him if not for the Witchblade speaking in her mind. <<Gee… another British bloke here to charm your pants off… Oh wait, your pants are still on Sheridan’s floor.>> She could almost hear cynicism in the gauntlet’s voice/impression and with it came a pang of guilt. The blasted thing was right.
Her eyes glanced over to the two ‘heavies’ he pointed out, and then right back to him. She could feel her grip relaxing little by little, but her anger was still swelled to the surface. The only problem was that Sara had no idea where to direct that anger, so in her irrational ‘Sara ways’ she continued to simmer in Boswell’s direction. It was totally unfair to be awoken in scantily clad attire, with two broken ribs surrounded by a bunch of strangers! And now this pretentious (although she had to admit incredibly handsome) asshole actually had the nerve to… to… Sara glanced toward her hand as if he’s left a stain.
The doctor closed in trying to examine her, his calm words reaching deaf ears. “Touch me again and you’ll be pissing though a catheter!” Sara slapped the elderly man’s hand away wincing as she swung her feet over the edge of the bed. The agent stepped forward as if unsure as to whether or not he should stop her, but one glaring look from Pezzini silently noting that the same would befall him, and figured that in her mood it was best to just step aside.
“Oh I don’t think we’re finished yet mister. Just where do you get off? I find myself wearing a half a slip, surrounded by four strangers, None of which I might add being the man I was actually in bed with at the time a half a dozen ‘men in black’ decide to come crashing though the windows like a S.W.A.T. team gone mental and you expect me to just lie down and allow myself to get poked and prodded by that guy?!” Sara was livid, her bare feet closing in on Boswell’s location and her voice growing in strength.
She came to a halt in the massive room, her hand folded over her chest, as she uncaringly (at least at the moment) pressed the silken material tighter against her figure, revealing even more the shape that nature, and a full time workout schedule, had given her. Sara’s cheeks were flushed, each painful breath sending a shockwave of intense pain though her torso, and with each intake, her figure would tense, enabling the long chords on her neck to jut out until she forcibly drew in her pain and tried to remain untouchable.
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Post by Everett Boswell on Jun 9, 2004 23:09:03 GMT -5
Sara Pezzini was indeed quite the heated individual. Could he honestly blame her? No. After all, who wouldn’t feel similarly placed in that position. There were slight flecks of gold within her iris’ and idly he wondered if it was more evident while in her steamed mood. He and Sheridan were nearly complete opposites. He was planned out, and did far better in deep cover situations where Sheridan tended to go in guns blazing. Still he watched the woman before him until the moment he left the room. The voices from within carrying through out the hallways. There was a sigh as he continued, he’d let her come to him. Which was something he’d be expecting her to do. Within the study only one small desk top lamp was on, the rest of the room filled with the moons glow, and shadows. It was a habit he’d picked up from his father. He could remember as a child sneaking from his bed when ever his father came home, watching him in his study. His father did it because of the memories he held for his lost love. Maybe he though he could reach her in the darkness.
Form shifted against the sofa, hand rotating the hilt of the fencing sword back and forth until the woman entered the large room and he saw her figure stop just before the open doors. Thumb ran against the scar for a moment as he sat in silence before raising, replacing the sword to it’s rightful spot. Green eyes looked up towards the woman has he moved forwards, stopping just before her. “Miss Pezzini, I’ll ask you to direct your vocal threats dripping like venom with the anger you must feel towards me, not my personal friends and aquatints. I’ll not allow it, they’ve done nothing to deserve your lashing out towards them.” He paced past her thumb resting against the small square buckle of the leather belt looking over his shoulder as he stopped. “I can understand how you might be feeling threatened, Miss Pezzini, but I am trying to be hospitable. It was not my intentions of this evening to have you feel such ways. My men risked their own lives stepping in on behalf of Sheridan.”<br> Turning upon his heels he looked towards Sara “I do what I feel is in best interest of those involved. You may try to be tough as nails, but your body screams otherwise. If you wish to disrupt your injuries further, please be my guest.” The light from the windows caught his facial features as he watched her, shoulders lowering some as he breathed out deeply. “For your pain I am regretful. I wasn’t able to warn Sheridan earlier, as I had in London. Perhaps I can only offer you my word as a gentleman, and you can choose to listen or not.” His voice had remained calm, smooth, even his demeanor held that cool statute. “You seem as if you’re a woman who prides herself upon physical peakness, so why then are you so quick to disregard your evident pain?” Moving forwards once again in a semi circle around her he looked upon her face “ If you’d feel more comfortable, I can offer you a pair of pants…there’s also a fresh robe in the bathroom connect to the room I had placed you. Once Sheridan arrives, you’ll be free to leave. Until then…make yourself at home.”<br> Stepping away from the detective he pursed his lips a moment as he faced the aquarium. Crouching opening one of the wooden panels near the tank which opened to reveal a small fridge. Fingers moved pulling out a small cup opening the lid, stepping up the small wooden ladder close to the tank. Tipping the contents into the water. Immediately the surface became slightly murky with the tint of red, while bits of swordfish, squid and other fish began to sink within the water. The ray moved along the bottom as the shark brushed close to the reef going after the larger bits of chum. Stepping back down her turned with a last glance towards Sara before heading off to the kitchen, rinsing the cup within the chrome skin positioned in the marble island. Stools at one end of the island decorated with a simple black and white Japanese settings. Tomorrow morning he’d meet with Kenneth on a privet PGA course for an early morning tee-off.
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Post by Sara Pezzini on Jun 9, 2004 23:45:34 GMT -5
It was the last straw. Sara realized she was acting like her usual self and this wasn’t ‘Sara being chewed out in Siry’s office’… This was Sheridan’s colleague in M1-6, and it was his home. The emotions she’d been holding back welled to her throat, aided by the agony in her side. It all came rushing back to her. The real reasons she was yelling wasn’t because of what she was wearing, or the strangers surrounding her, it was that she had feared that she had gotten another person that she cared about killed. Her father, her sister, her former partner… all of them cold and dead, and when she had woken up alone part of her didn’t believe that Sheridan was alive until this moment. Part of her feared that once again, fate had once again stolen her moment of happiness and left misery in its wake.
“You’re right you know, sometimes its pain that reminds me I’m alive. And sometimes I think I deserve it.” She hugged her bare arms her head tilting downward as her figure began to shudder, her tears silent for the most part. Waves of chestnut brown had fallen over her shoulders hiding either side of her face in a soft curtain. Sara didn’t speak, but perhaps she didn’t have to, her lone figure at that moment seemed to be the hollowest place on earth. It was simply uncanny. In one instant Sara had gone from powerhouse to piteous. As she cried, her voice hiccupped in a reactionary reflex against the internal swelling, and as much as she wanted to release and let herself fully cry her tenderness simply wouldn’t allow it.
Tears fell off of her chin dripping half a dozen droplets on the floor adjacent her bare feet, but she didn’t move. She didn’t dare move save the shuddering of her shoulders and the painful hitches in her side. Her hands slowly moved up to her face, covering the shame that her release meant. And the drill sergeant in her head started berating her. ‘Sara! Stop that crying this instant! You weak pathetic girl! Toughen up now!!’ but it did no good, her tears continued.
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Post by Terry Sheridan on Jun 10, 2004 23:44:06 GMT -5
Sheridan followed Chase down to the charchol Lincon LS and got into the passanger side as Chase took the wheel. Still the tall British agent couldnt help but wonder why they were here, he hadn't had it fully explained to him. the ride was in silence until the pulled up to the grand building near Fifth Ave. Exiting the car he glanced at Chase. "You think Ol' Bos is trying to...compensate for something?" there was that roguish smirk playing against his lips as they took the elevator and entered the door with the golden numbers 1268 on it. the two agents entered the hallway and Chase continued forwards, while Sheridan took the opertunity to take in his surroundings. It was then that his movements carried him forwards. Sara. Was she crying?
Stopping a few feet before her a brow arched, she'd been redressed somewhat in a silken nighty and that smirk pulled his lips. true he should have been thinking about everything that had just happened, but he couldn't hide the images that kept surfacing to his mind of the woman who hours before lie in bed with him. It was something they'd have to...complete. Eyes scanned passing their gaze through the massive tank, a figure was on the otherside. Boswell. Yes, he'd be able to pick out his metro style from the likes of himself or Chase. "Well, Ev...still picking out womans lingere are we?" though eyes turned back towards Sara and voice whispered to her as he stepped closer. "Are you alright?"
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Post by Everett Boswell on Jun 11, 2004 0:47:47 GMT -5
"No one deserves pain, it's just something that's there to try us and allow ourselves to grow." Were the only slight response he'd given the woman, but he could read her feelings from her body language. They way her arms curled up about herself, he was sure she'd been through much pain in her life, and plenty of losses. When he'd stepped away he allowed her that moment of solitued, allowed that emotion that made every woman as such. Tears, were something Everett hadn't shed much of. Perhaps as he was younger, but not as he became a young man, nor grew into the man he was. The sound of the door opening drew his attentions from the marble sink. Sheridan, with his long stride even defeted he held that arogence which he despised.
Movements were made as he removed a scarlette hankerchief from his inner jacket pocket, the corner embroydered with his initals E.P.B. in a fancy script. A moment later he appered within the large room extending the cloth towards the detective. "If anything shames me more, Miss Pezzini, it is when a woman cries due to words I've spoken." his upper lip twitched from hearing Sheridan's comment and he turned to look upon the agent. In his calm dignified demeanor he responded. "I'm surprised you still have your wits about you, Terrance, after the numerous clocks to the head you must have recived over your lifetime." as he motioned to the cut upon the man's temple. His humor had been fairly dry, and he was quite accustom to the remarks the man before him was capabul to make. That was of course if he didn't put his foot in his mouth in the process.
Eyes made their way back to Sara "As a man of my word, your free to leave with Agent Sheridan. Though I don't think it wise to return anywhere that you may or may not be in danger. Might I sugest the hotel room I'd previously reserved at the Grand, for Agents Chase and Fuller to you both.They'll not be needing it tonight." Shifting his weight upon the loafers he moved walking in an almost pace like manner. "Unfortunatly MI-6 has their hands tied in the matter, but as a friend I'll look into it. While Chase and Fuller clean up the mess of your apartment. What ever we find, Fuller will give full report of to the respected jurisdiction of the NYPD come morning. That is of course, if it's alright with you, Detective." His movements stopped before Sheridan. "I'll have Chase drive both of you there. And once more my apologizes I cannot do more...and for your inconvenince of the evening. Cherrio, and do try to get some sleep." Green eyes scanned the pair before motioning Agent Chase forwards with his hand, turning to depart down a hallway of the penthouse.
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Tan golf shoes pressed aginst the grass as he stood from being seated within the small cart, a caddy dressed in all white readied his tee. Exhailing a bit of smoke he removed the butt from his lips, not before taking one final drag to kill it. "All seemed to go well, I released Sara into Sheridan's care. He's taken a fancy to her as she to him." Flicking the ciggarette towards the small trash can the course had at every tee. "And like every woman, she's a weakness." Eyes scanned the course of the hole while right extended open handed for his club "Four iorn." the caddy did as he was instructed then removed himself from the grass. feet moved slightly with bent knees as he positioned himself, rasing the face of the club back muscles tensed in anticipation of the release. Swinging forwards from the hips he made easy contact with the small white ball, sending it into a arch within the sky, following it as it bounced twice two thrids of the way down the fairway. "And like any weakness...it can be manipulated."
Walking past the caddy he handed the club back, pulling down slightly upon the leather glove worn on his left hand, before smothing the pessed folds in the tan slacks. a pair of Gucci sunglasses were replaced upon the bridge of his nose, while the second caddy readied the tee. "Women fear hurting those they love, or rather having those they love hurt. Sheridan could very well be a means to an end in the matter of getting the fiesty New York Detective to submit." thumb moved against the collar of the Lacosta polo shirt "Though I won't say he isn't of use. In fact he's a great asset. As for you Kenneth?" lips pursed a moment against the scar. "How goes your ongoing... pet project? She showing any effects as of yet? As you know I'm highly intrested in it's process."
The sun cast faint shadows from the trees that swayed every so often with a light breeze. The course was privet, exclusive. Donald Trump had been said to play a round or two upon its well maintained greens. Not to mention the chic course side restruant that over looked the flowing rock waterfall, which feed into the the lake that had been most of the water hazard upon the sixth hole. Which there were lunchon reservations for at the VIP table, with the best possibal view in the afternoon sun to come.
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Lara Croft
Sergeant
You know I can't resist a bit of fun.
Posts: 53
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Post by Lara Croft on Jun 11, 2004 2:28:12 GMT -5
Despite it's heaviness, Lara's sleep was a restless one. Her slender fit frame was all over the bed in her tossings and turnings. Incohernent words left her lips and her head wavered back and forth across the pillows, causing her dark locks to tangle slightly. Dreasm plagued her, memories of lost times and places. Cool evening air wafted in from the open balcony doors and a quiet gentle voice floated in apon it," Lara...Lara Love..." Her Mother's voice. Hazel orbs instantly flashed open and the young woman found herself staring wide-eyed at a figure coming in from the balcony," Mum..." The figure nodded, her light weight settling apon the bedside," You are so beautiful Lara." Soft hands cupped her face which by now was moist with tears," What-- Why are you here?" This was just a dream it had to be... right?
" I've missed you so, but I come with a message. A warning, do not trust Kenneth... He hides many secrets from you, but the most important ones can be answered in this very house if you look just right." The Mother embraced her silently crying child, who's arms clung tightly to the figure which had birthed her so many years ago," I don't understand... all I know is I don't want you to leave. Ever. You and Daddy both left me all alone." Her tone was angry and full of hurt towards her parents," Hush now, you know it's not possible for me to remain. My time has come and gone, Lara don't be selfish." Her full lips set and arms unraveled from about her Mother," I'm not being selfish! It's just not fair!" More tears fell and a scowl pressed across her features, arms folding.
The Tomb Raider watched her Mother's features change, become soft and very sad," Please don't be like this. It was my time Lara, I couldn't help it...and I know it's not fair. But it's how it has to be." The woman leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the forehead of her daughter and then stood," You've grown up so beautiful. Remember what I told you." Vivian Croft turned and left the room, softly closing the door behind her. With tears streaming down her face now, Lara stood and raced after the figure she so resembled," Mum! Wait don't go...Mummy!" Through the door Lara went, her long auburn locks trailing behind her as she ran down the hall. Suddenly she skidded to a hault, her bare feet sliding just a bit across the wooden floor," What in the bloody hell..." There in the study of Kenneth Irons sat a very familiar picture of her Mother.
" No!" She instantly went for the knife under her pillow, but found nothing there. Startled, the Brit began to toss the pillows franatically from off the bed, she was just about to call for Hillary when she remembered," Bugger. I'm at Irons' little palace in the city." Her tone tinged with sarcasm as she tried to catch her breath. How Lara hated those kind of dreams, how real they felt. This one had felt very real, too real. Curiosity was becokoning to the Raider, was it really there? That picture of her Mother... was it really in Kenneth Irons' study? Obviously one way to find out.
Quietly Lara left the so called safety of her room and moved down the hall, tracing the very steps she had taken in her dream. Within her mind she counted to doors; One, two, three, four. Stop. brwos knitted a moment, a deep breath was took and slowly she openned the door praying Irons was not within. Low and behold he was not, and it wasn't really a study, but rather more of a library as books lined the walls. Taking a quick glance at either side of the hall, the Archeaologist entered and moved towards the desk, atop it a picture frame. She hoped it wasn't... she was silently praying it was not. Hand trembling she picked the frame up, turning it around and then with a crash it hit the floor. Lara stood wide-eyed, for there amongst the glass lay the picture of her Mother just as she had seen in her dream.
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Kenneth Irons
Patrolman
"I have been generous until now, but I can be cruel."
Posts: 37
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Post by Kenneth Irons on Jun 11, 2004 13:18:16 GMT -5
She followed him, laughing, out of the club. She'd never seen him around the scene, and though he wasn't the most talkative of men, he was devastatingly handsome and so mysterious! With a few drinks in her, she was brave enough to talk to him. After a couple more drinks, she was more than happy to accept his suggestion that they go to her place. She didn't waste any time in the taxi, but had her tongue in his mouth as soon as she had given the cabbie her address. The short drive to her apartment was a blur of lips and hands. After he tossed a wad of bills at the driver, she pulled him into her apartment and didn't even wait to get to the bed. She pulled him down onto the couch with her. Giggling, she pulled his shirt up and fumbled at the waistband of his pants while he yanked up her skirt.
With a growl, he pulled her arms above her head and pressed his forearm to her throat. "Ow! You're hurting me," she complained, trying to pull her arms down. "Tell me you want me, Lara," he growled at her, holding her arms tighter. "My name's not Lara," she said, struggling now. "You know that. Let me go!" the girl’s voice was amassed of panic now. "Tell me you want me! Tell me you love me!" he demanded, pressing his arm harder against her throat. "Tell me!" Her vision began to darken around the edges as she tried to get away. He kept pressing harder, and soon, she couldn't breathe at all. The last thing she saw was his wide, angry eyes.
~~~
The sun had barely broken over the horizon, staining the sky like weak tea. A flock of sparrows flew overhead, darkening the sky with a streak of maddening wings like a tear in the fabric of the heavens. This truly was a magnificent sight to behold. From the meticulously maintained grounds and sweeping landscape, down to the platinum embossed lettering upon their signature collection of golf clubs the private gentleman’s club was unparalleled. Sandy whips of blonde caught the ever growing sunlight, flickering this way and that in the crisp almost damp air. Wearing a pair of light charcoal slacks, a button down white oxford underneath a vest sweater of similar grey hue, Kenneth Irons measured the green with his experienced eye. Only a week earlier when he had stepped onto this course he had a head full of grey, crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and a significant ache in his knee due to old college old rugby injury from when he had attended the University of Oxford.
A gloved hand depressed the tee into the earth upon which was set a Titlist golf ball. And after lining up the edge of the club he took his swing. Hip rotated in perfect alignment with the arc of his swing, his foot flexing a bit and lifting slightly from the ground as his knee bent with the movement. This was a sport that in all of his years was something that he was still yet to master to his satisfaction. But the same could be said about many things in the multibillionaire’s life. Dissatisfaction, and the obsessive way he strove for perfection was the core of what defined him. The small tuft of grass was wrenched from the green along with the tee and ball, and in that moment of perfection he paused to watch what he had accomplished before answering Boswell.
“While Sara still possesses the Witchblade, correction… while the Witchblade still possesses Sara, she is a liability. I can only assume that Sheridan fancies her in much the same way my Nottingham did. And it is only though study of the past that one can evolve. Ian coveted her, but he lacked vision, much like Sheridan I gather that Ian's wants were simply carnal. It takes dedication to want with a greater purpose.” Kenneth replaced the golf club into the bag and started walking the fairway with Boswell for their next round.
He nodded, proud that at his age Everett was so learned in his psychological breakdown of the human mind. It was refreshing to converse and work with some of like mind and interest, not to mention intelligence. How he hated the uneducated. “Indeed! Women are more elemental. They are closer to nature. The Witchblade finds them superior. Sara Pezzini is a lioness; fascinating as a zoological specimen but worthless for me as a pet. Yes, I think the Witchblade will be quite content with the new wielder I have selected.” Kenneth tugged on the edge of his sleeve, covering the rune scars that peeked out. “The process is coming along quite well. I have to admit the side effects from the ‘Ortus Project’ have put an unusual spin on things, but perhaps this new visage will be an asset I did not foresee.”<br> Kenneth stopped for a minute allowing the caddy to continue on without them so that he might speak without anyone overhearing. “Once Chase returns from South America with the Ah Uincir Dz'acab Mayan glyph I need to complete the regeneration device I will know if these efforts to save Nottingham were in vain. Either way, I’m sure Lara will prove herself invaluable, once she is …shown the light.”
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Post by Everett Boswell on Jun 12, 2004 4:00:53 GMT -5
A slight scowl pulled against his scared lip as he walked forwards with a slight nod. "Sheridan how ever hardly has anything else upon his mind than a good shag. He too can be manipulated...how eles would he be in New York, than listening to a trusted friends warning. And for a price he's been know to take less than reputable jobs." the corners of his lips pulled slightly as he watched Kenneths stoke, and the white ball sailing into the air. "As for the Witchblade, do what you wish...my intrest doesn't lie upon it. Though it is an item that sparks my intrigue." a hand waved dismissing the caddy from his side as he joined in the strides of the multibillionar.
Green eyes drifted towards the man, who in looks seemed no older than he, though in actuallity was far more. It was different speaking with Kenneth, from Chase or Fuller, and all those like them. Needing to be explained too. The man stiding besides him understood. "As regards to Sara...I'll need her to trust me. You can't just send a wolf among the fold without it going unnoticed." he listened as the words were spoken, as if a pupil to his professor. "And for the item Croft assumidly once possessed? It isn't a wonder why the two woman have made that sisterly bond. Which in itself could prove as an unexpectent twist, if turned. Then again...what would be quicker to sever such ties, then perhaps a lover and his ex reunited in some manner, guided as predators against their prey."
"Ah yes, Nottingham, was the one chosen of exclaibur was he not?" There was a nod of his head "And what is your perposal should, Croft be able to resist? She's known across England for her stubbornness, as well as her rather...unethical means of getting the job done." he began to walk once again towards his caddy removing a club from the bag. "Perhaps a little pressure upon the wound." the grass flattened slightly under his feet as he walked towards his ball, Kenneth had the better lie. With ease he chipped the ball upon the greens, following it within his sights towards the hole until it stopped. He enjoyed a good game of golf, though not quite as highly as he did fencing. There was something about the way the sword flowed with his movements, the controll, the smoothness. Moving away he stood hands clasped over one another upon the head of the club, the grip pressing against the grass between his feet. "Under the right care, I'm sure she well be quite as you say, Kenneth."
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