* FONTS */>
|WORST CASE SCENARIO||Help Search Members Calendar Shoutbox|
|Welcome Guest ( Log In | Register )||Resend Validation Email|
|REPLY NEW TOPIC NEW POLL|
Posted: May 29 2012, 03:22 AM
( nic just barely 20 — chis 17 almost eighteen )
Rules- the fine text in the document and the subtext in orders. Every fine line and tight leash Nicholi Barrett had been gnawing at for years. He was not a pet- not a possession. And not a man who could not be held back by words.
A portion of road into Berlin had been closed the morning Nic returned. Detours making an excruciatingly long ride even longer- as though he'd needed the time to think. He'd had six weeks to himself to think. Six weeks on another assignment solely his own- but not his first. At eighteen, he'd been assigned a simple stakeout just outside of Berlin. Two more at nineteen, and one since he'd been due to be twenty. That had been yesterday.
Early day, November 25th, 1929. The sky sat dark where the sun had not yet risen. Dull green eyes watching the drops chase each other down the cab windows like perfect glass beads- shop lights and signs caught brilliantly within them. Tiny tiny jewels- brighter than the filthy life outside them. That man was controlled- Easy sighs and languid, controlled breaths all from the same lungs that had, only hours before, been dragging in pants over a P38 Walther and the body at his feet. But it was done. Excitement again starting a mindless drum of his fingers against a knee and a hand to clutch at the bag strap over his shoulder.
And why shouldn’t he be excited? Coming back- coming home- that restless, hurried pace only matched by an eager child at Christmas the minute he arrived. Mouth dry where he hadn't been drinking- ribs prominent beneath that dark jumper where food had been deemed distraction rather than necessity. But he was home, and that lay the only track his mind raced down. He manoeuvred effortlessly through the halls as he had done thousands of times before- knowing every crack and boot scuff on white tile better than anywhere else. Being back where he had been for nearly ten years ( and would be for awhile yet ) He made quick work of finding the door number too his and Christopher’s room, capricious and restless from travel. He’d be there, wouldn’t he? Right where he'd left him that very last morning. Lingering memories of quick, chaste fingers carding gently through that sleeping boy's hair - gone before dawn when he would wake for training.
It had been awhile- longer than the young Barrett had ever taken to be away. He’d been happy to leave—thrilled by the proposition of a man hunt through Vladivostok. In after a minor in the German government- suspected of selling German information to Britain. Retreated to Russia where he were Nicholi had been sent to monitor, assess, and detain. But death, he’d found in the end, was a far more permanent solution.
“Bring him back for questioning. And that means Alive, Barrett.” Had been his direct orders ( at the end of an unnecessarily long speech regarding location details and instructions he hadn't hardly listened to ) Arrogance was not a feat he had been paying too much mind to. He’d been scolded, in the end, but as a new HOUND Nicholi was sure the job had not been given with the thought that this man- this Jerson Baum- was not a prime concern. Minor, as had been said. More a test than a job. But nonetheless, completion had left the barely adult bright with pride. Rules hadn't ever been his area.
The door pushed open with a hollow click- louder than he had been anticipating but controlled nonetheless. Because despite his estimated time of arrival, Nicholi was, in fact, trying his hand at slipping in unannounced. How often did he get to sneak in on his little brother with the chance of surprise? Not often, given, that the older Barrett was often more the type to bust into a quiet room all groans or laughter or obnoxiously endless chatter that could drive a man dead with annoyance.
He had certainly tried, on many more occasions than he could possibly count, to sneak up on the boy all for the sake of getting a laugh- but damn- little ever got passed Christopher. Little. He was small and quick- attentive to everything around him every moment of the day. And it took real work to slip under that radar. But, of course, no matter how many failed attempts outweighing the successful, Nocholi never did give up. That long, lanky body moved in soundlessly- peeking around corners and through doorways till he met the bedroom where finally, Christopher appeared. Moving inside on light steps, Nic had to side step a few tall stacks of heavy books scattered sporadically about the room. Studying? Likely. Extra research no doubt. Christopher always had been a better student to the HOUNDS than he. It didn't satisfy his mind like it did Chris- this 'greater purpose' gig... and it most certainly didn't keep him out of the trouble it did for his brother, either.
Whether he had been seen by now or not, Nicholi moved in behind the smaller boy and wrapped his arms around his neck loosely. Chin coming to rest lazily atop a shoulder so that their cheeks brushed together, pulling Christopher back against him whether he approved of it or not. "Que faites-vous?" he asked curiously. A fractional smile crept across his lips, voice softer than its usual baritone growl. "Allez-vous pour me souhaiter un joyeux anniversaire?" there was a pout behind that, their first language fitting comfortably on his tongue- more so than the German they continually encouraged to keep up on. He kicked at the bag previously dropped. “Bought a few cakes on my way in, if you were interested.” He wiggled his brows playfully, speaking close to Christopher's ear "avez-vous me manquer?" the edges of his voice softened, arms giving the boy another firm, affectionate squeeze before releasing him to move away.
Nic fell back onto Christopher's bed ( having entirely ignored his own ) to stretch out across it. “Mmmph… Chris-“ That tired voice groaned, turning himself to face the wall, laying back and propping his feet up against it so that his head hung off the edge, upside down. “Frère... Mon frère merveilleux..” the older Barrett chimed in a sing-songy, lingering voice. Somewhere halfway between real need and inclusive boredom. “Pourriez-vous faire du thé?”
impatient they start, fearful at end
Posted: Jun 3 2012, 02:41 AM
Posted: Jun 5 2012, 01:29 AM
( nic just barely 20 — chis 17 almost eighteen )
God blind me. He hurt. Like a sudden wakening, the minute his muscles began adjusting to the drastic change from bone cold to the comfortable warmth that met him inside. He could feel every joint as white hot pain- crouching too long in watch- sitting too long in the same position with that pistol raised just at eye level for aim; unmoving for hours as his target remained oblivious. If it had been his choice, he’d have gone straight to bed.
Work done. Accomplished. Fin. Fait. And he deserved a rest now, didn’t he? A nice long lie in without the constant nag and heart face of instinct telling him to be on alert. He never slept when he was on an assignment—only kips here and there for only a few hours at a time when he could no longer keep himself focused.
The older Barrett held in the urge to yawn, making his enterence as quiet as HOUNDly possible ( save that Nicholi had never been a very good HOUND. Hell. He couldn’t even do his homework on time ) which... appeared to work as far as being called out from his quiet place went. By the time he’d gotten all the way and managed to place himself right behind the younger boy, a bubble of pride was creeping up from his stomach. Chris didn’t jump- but there was a spike of energy in that touch- a subconscious prick that perhaps anyone other than Nic might not have picked up on. But it was there- and Nicholi had caused it- and there wasn’t much else that could make him feel better than it did knowing so.
“Essayer de décider si je devrais vous tuer.” That made him smile, then. A quick, deliberate action that cued eyes to wander over the book in his hands as well as the paper. That was as typical a greeting as Nicholi could have hoped for. Shoulders relaxed just enough to allow his ahcing body the relief it so desperately needed. “Et la lecture.” the latter was an afterthought. Nicholi hummed at that, pulling his head away just long enough to set a well placed—and quite sharp—bite atop that shoulder where the collar of his shirt exposed a stretch of sallow skin. “Hmm,” he rumbled thoughtfully, placing his chin back atop it. “you really should go outside more— You’re starting to get very pale.” but whether he was genuinely concerned or looking for the excuse to even his brother’s threat, his flat, matter-of-factly voice gave no evidence to either.
Sharp green eyes dropped again to the note as it was folded away. Curious, Nicholi caught Christopher’s wrist just as it was tucking aside the folded piece of paper. Lifting it up in quiet question, but not taking it for himself. He turned Christopher’s wrist over once or twice to examine the paper, noticing, then, the burn just down his forearm- hand sliding delicately down to brush a thumb over it observantly. “Oh? Qu'avez-vous été à la hauteur, petit frère...” Not large but definitely not tiny enough to be an accident. Who was the unlucky antagonist this time? “You were supposed to stay out of trouble while I was gone.” and he shouldn’t have been speaking English, either. But being a primary language of study ( given their design ) Nicholi was sure Christopher wouldn’t argue the extra practice.
Trained eyes watched that mark for a long time, considering biting this as well out of frustration ( and perhaps to test the his curiosities of how much it still might hurt ) but other than the firm grip he had to the wrist, his fingers remained gentle until at length he let the wrist drop.
“Je n'ai jamais aimé les anniversaires.” Neither of them ever really had. Nor had they ever celebrated a real one; If Nicholi hadn’t managed to snag their forms in the years they’d been in that little orphanage, they might not ever have known the exact dates. It was all so sentimental- the whole thing to do with honouring birthdays. But Nicholi’s spirit on the matter was more towards making Christopher uncomfortable—or just otherwise annoyed with the fact that he still remembered those sorts of things; the things Christopher spent so much time, it seemed to Nicholi, trying to leave behind him. And perhaps he should have followed the example- pushing away all those things that made them human. Because that wasn’t ethical for their line of work, was it? Their sole purpose and design. It didn’t matter to a HOUND.
Christopher was speaking again, and as that boy tended to do, he had all of Nicholi’s attention. “J'ai eu un cadeau pour toi.” both brows shot up at once. But he wasn’t too convinced he actually had. It was likely to be one of those last minute paperclip necklaces or something like a punch to the gut he wouldn’t likely forget till he was through being sick from it. ( or on one occasion a very cold shower. But that had been a congratulations present ) “Mais je l'ai enterré dans la pelouse. Si vous pouvez le trouver, c'est le vôtre. Je voulais le donner à vous semaines il ya,” He would, wouldn’t he? That bastard. Nic wasn’t quite sure he believed him, but on the other side, it didn’t surprise him one bit. The older Barrett rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to flick Christopher’s nose like a disobedient pup. “vous auriez pu choisir quelque chose de plus difficile. Et moins .... sale.”
Which, of everything given, the game was probably Nicholi’s favourite part. Mental stimulation- the kind he couldn’t seem to find in their studies and training. Sure, it was unarguably useful- and he acquired and stored each lesson as it was taught. But it wasn’t the same- it wasn’t what he needed. The mystery and the challenge because everything here came so natural. Since they were just boys- it wasn’t a game anymore. It didn’t intrigue him anymore. “J'ai pensé que vous pourriez l'avoir voulu il avant votre départs, mais je me trompais.” Now that, shocked him. For the first time, the look that crossed his face was genuine surprise. He had remembered? Christopher had? But only his. That was it- just his. Had he known sooner... he might not have left like he had. But the Barretts weren’t good at that sort of thing, were they? Hellos and goodbyes- the sort of things that were supposed to mean something. It was all emotions and attachments and that became far too messy. ( but one could only stop themselves from feeling for so long ) “Quand je apprendre à lire dans les pensées, je vais attendre que les choses plus tôt- Tu ne vas pas à me donner un indice?” he wasn’t annoyed as much as he was... intrigued. If Christopher was going to play games looking for reactions, Nicholi was going to do his best not to provide them.
“I’ve skipped reporting straight in, and they’ll know I haven’t before too long. I’ve got-“ he checked his watch. “-trois heures et quarante deux minutes- before they realise something’s wrong.” he understood he’d have to face castigation sooner or later. But it could wait. He hadn’t been home in over a month, and that had most certainly done something for his head. What more was a bit of tardiness going to hurt?
Nicholi retreated to Chris’s bed and peered back at him from his odd angle upside down “Je peux faire du thé, mais je ne vais pas en profiter - et vous ne le serez.”. Nic made a face, imagining only all the horrors Christopher could possibly get up to with something even as simple as a cup of tea. That look- the one they’d shared the mischief they’d shared equally between them so many times. He couldn’t possibly help but grin back. A growl just at the tip of his tongue. “Vous avez survécu à six semaines sur votre propre. Je pense que vous pouvez faire votre propre thé.”
Nicholi rolled his eyes, letting out a flat, sardonic sigh. “Hm. You make a shit cup of tea anyways.” he’d make some later. Just before he’d have to leave to report in to their superiors. Just for another excuse to be later than was necessary. But there was something else on his mind for now... something nagging at his stomach- pinching and turning uncomfortably until he couldn’t keep it down any longer. Those pale eyes sought Christopher out again and studied ever fine detail of his face. He was nearly eighteen. January wasn’t far off... was it? He’d get his chance just as Nicholi had at his year. Nic swallowed, watching him intently until finally the will to speak came. But his voice cracked and he winced, taking another breath.
“It’s your turn next, you know.” He hummed pleasantly, sliding down from the bed with a solid thump. Dragging Christopher’s pillow with him. He rolled the thought around in his head. Toying with it—breaking it in and tasting it on his own tongue. Considering it and exploring every angle of it. “You’ll be eighteen next January, Christopher.” he paused to let that devious grin twitch just out of reach at the corners on his lips. Energy bubbling across his skin with every word.
Large, nimble hands took the book from Chris and set it aside, replacing it with the pillow he placed in the boy’s lap and settling himself down lazily ( and probably quite roughly ) to lay his head upon it, staring up at him with little more than an emptiness they had practiced many times before. “You’ll have an assignment of your own. A real one.” This, whether it was his place or not, excited him. Not in a giddy happy manner it might have someone lesser, but with a feeling he couldn’t place as anything other than pride. He wasn’t blind. Ignorant, bratty and the world’s most pompous asshole at the absolute worst of times. Of course. But he couldn’t get away with saying he didn’t care. He knew Chris often became jealous- didn’t understand why he was never given the same opportunities. But it was close now... and soon Nicholi would be doing his own time waiting. And no matter how much faith he had in his little brother’s capabilities, somehow it still didn’t cease to scare him any less.
He picked up that same wrist from before and examined it closer, bringing it over his face and running his fingers over where a small scar was sure to show through. “Vous allez me quitter, trop.”
impatient they start, fearful at end
Posted: Jun 7 2012, 01:10 AM
Posted: Aug 27 2012, 04:37 PM
( nic just barely 20 — chis 17 almost eighteen )
"Vous êtes comme un chien, mon frère." Nicholi gave him a sideways look, studying that assiduous smirk with nothing short of amusement. Chris, Nicholi’s no nonsense brother did play games of his own. He couldn’t convince Nic he was at all the serious child he made himself out to be. It was a delusion unto himself to believe such nonsense. "Une chienne qui ne s'arrêtera pas mordre." the smirk vaporized instantly from Nic’s face. Instead reappearing a moment later as an animal snarl that, perhaps would have been comical, had he not flicked Christopher’s nose an instant later. The fake expression fading the very next moment in order to make room for a few light hearted laughs. “Aaaah- now see there are the insults I’ve missed so much!” he clapped Chris roughly on the shoulder, smiling like the bright young man he just might have been had they been allowed to live a life in free Rouen. But the darkness and worn decay in his smile never washed out here. “et vous, petit frère, sont comme un chiot qui refuse d'être dirigée par un chef de file. I will let you decide which is worse.”
”I did.” the pause left room for Nicholi to give his kid brother his best sardonic snort. Bullshit you did. he was tempted to mutter, but kept quiet long enough for Christopher to force the rest of his statement out. "C'est arrivé ce matin, et il ne vous regarde pas." Nicholi watched the paper roll from his fingers, reading the upside down lettering as it drifted to the floor space beneath Chris’s knees.
“Tout ce que vous ne me préoccupe, Chris. Je suis responsable de vous que vous le vouliez ou non. Comprendre? Ne les laissez pas vous regardent comme si ils me regardent...” Attention meandering soberly back to Christopher’s wrist once it had been tugged from the loop of his own fingers. A hand covering over the wound before Nicholi’s eyes could catch it again. He kept still. “I never could write like that,” his chin lifted to nod at the paper. "You have a...” they narrowed in concentration, trying to find the English word he knew was stuck somewhere on the tip of his tongue. Regretfully recognizing just how much he’d put off his studies. “a cadeau. I never did so well.”
God he knew how Christopher looked at him for it. For his work at the HOUNDS. As a HOUND. How he didn’t study nearly as fervently, or how every assignment left him a bottled shipwreck he could only barely conceal if he smiled the right way or talked with more confidence than the whole German Soldier and Spy body combined. How hard he worked to wear the superiority that hid his faults. But knew—how Christopher knew—that he could not purge his sins. To cleanse himself inside and out of his wrongs. And for that alone, he would always be a failure. And every task only cracked the study dish a little more.
Neither had ever brought it up. Knowing though, whether it had ever really been acknowledged or not, that is was there. The elephant in the room, if they let it grow for too long. And maybe it was hope that kept them strong; kept them pushing. Maybe things would be okay and both would cope despite what had been taken and forced onto them both. But Chris didn’t always understand what this did to his brother. The hardship was theirs to share but the blame was Nicholi’s to burden alone. He hadn’t grown into this life as well as Christopher had—hadn’t adapted to meet standards and follow training because he knew what they had done. Followed because no, there wasn’t a choice for him- them- but to the absolute minimal. He’d take them away from here if he could. He’d give Chris anything if they’d lived a life permitted those luxuries... but here... there was nothing.
Resurfacing from thought, Nicholi sighed and summoned the discipline to keep quiet long enough to allow Christopher to speak first. There was clearly something on the younger’s mind stealing a great portion of his attention away from Nicholi. His attention. The attention that belonged exclusively to Nicholi McKinley Barrett. Six weeks gone and of course Chris would still deprive him of his habitually greedy interest. Because Chris was greedy, too. Like Nic. Like man. Like every able bodied soldier promised a place in power or a piece of land and a warm, king worthy meal free of ration cards once the war was over.
But war didn’t stop.
Nic snapped his fingers somewhere near Christopher’s left ear, cooing gently from outside of wherever it was Chris had retreated to. “Hey... NB to CB...” stop thinking. “Don’t complicate things...” it was meant to be a yielding statement, but the sharp edges made his tongue sting. But the hand still outstretched over his head did its best to smooth over the statement; redirect its meaning. Fingers bent fractionally, first knuckles dragging vigilantly over the side of Christopher’s face. From his cheek to his chin till he could grasp it gently between his thumb and his index to guide his brother’s eyes back to him.
He’d never have followed advice like that. Not when he was younger. And not now that he was older. Nicholi was a child of his own free will and ideal. He was his own rule and his own government. The selfish son and the spoilt prince. A temper greater than Poseidon’s seas, the women of their care used to laugh years ago. But Christopher was better at this—the philosophy advice. And for that, he already the better man; an easier fire to tame.
For Nicholi, at least. And even though Nicholi too received the sharp end of the blade from Christopher almost as often as the others, it never hurt him like it did them; didn’t possess the hopelessness and coliseum of defeated purpose to help like it did for everyone else. Because Nic had what no one else seemed to give enough damn of their own to stick around and look for— Actually look for—And that was his humanity.
Christopher wasn’t the stone cold angel at their beck and call they’d made him believe himself. He wasn’t the pawn sent to do the king’s dirty work. Not the empty canvas waiting to absorb all their sin and greed and wrong so that they themselves did not have to carry it. Christopher Carwood Barrett was Nicholi’s baby brother and most sacrosanct possession. The look in his brother’s eye was a question. Interest without being eager
Nicholi knew before he’d even opened the door, what he would find behind it. In fact—that was actually quite the lie—because what he did find, was a lot less contrast the horrors he had imagined up for the bored teen, having confined himself to the dark and the quiet of their barrack room. What he saw once inside was very tame compared to the imagination. He expected bullet holes in the ceiling. Citations taped in strawberry rows where the paper targets hung. Knives stuck in walls everywhere but stuck to it. Broken windows and week old plates of food. Except that, especially now with Christopher’s stress, that he wouldn’t have eaten much of anything since Nicholi had left. He was too much like his brother. But at least, what he did know, was that Christopher hadn’t spoken to anyone during that time. Yet alone probably been out of the room for anything less than his lessons and training sessions in the courtyards. He’d have isolated himself almost entirely to his studies.
“You did not even set a trap for me at the door, my brother. I should be offended.” he grinned with that, slipping from the bed to walk a slow, deliberate circle around Christopher’s stoic body. Feet tucked beneath him with that much too smug expression on his soft face; so much unlike Nic’s sharp and angled one. “Anyone could have walked in while I was gone and stuck you with a knife. You would have never even seen their face.” It was a lecture just as much as it was Nicholi teasing. He was thoroughly pissed about his gift being buried in the yard instead of given to him directly, being how exhausted his screaming joints warned he was. No matter how much he was hiding it and forcing himself not to show. A challenge or not, he could not beat exhaustion forever.
"Vous êtes un homme intelligent, Nicholi. Figure it out yourself."
“Vous avez raison, je le ferai. But don’t you think it would be more fun if I dug around for hints, first? Your head ought to be full of them, you little rat.” there was a grin auditable in his voice just before he stopped behind Christopher, so placid in his place on the floor.
Nicholi dropped to his knees in a practised instant, hand snapping to his hip to slide the large, smooth hilt of a blade from the leather holster at his belt. Thankful that his brother from this time prior, hadn’t given him so much a sideways glance the whole time he had been here.
In one swift movement, the generously sized dagger was brought to press firmly against the soft skin below Christopher’s jaw. Barely shifting in that steady hand he used to hold it there. “Is it in the room?” His eyes did a slow sweeping motion around the room. Dropping over piles of books- shelves- his own be-.... “Did you touch my things?” god fucking damn it he should have invested in a lock. One Chris couldn’t break into. “I’m going to kill you.” Nic suppressed the groan on the edge of his exasperation, keeping his head low beside Christopher’s, holding him firmly in place by the knife.
“I brought you something, too. But don’t be disappointed when I tell you it didn’t cost me anything more than a corpse.” Nic growled close to Christopher’s right ear.
It might have been a tad crude, even for Nicholi, but it didn’t stop the smile from reappearing any quicker. The pressure of the blade increased threateningly, before it was being pulled forward and away to hold out in front of Christopher so that he may inspect it for himself. The unadulterated ivory hilt has been grooved by skilled hands—a fine craftsman—despite the blade’s obvious age. It had been taken care of. Treasured by its beholder. The traitor Nicholi had been sent to bring back. Looting was illegal even here; its men, far too proud. But the blade was far too great a prize to leave with the dead. It was better suited a gift. “It’s weighted well. Very well. I think it’s time you had something proper to keep you armed. Protégé.” the older HOUND bounced the knife in his hand a few times, demonstrating the balance of it almost proudly. “C'est un ami pas un outil. Understood?” they weren’t made to kill, they were made to protect. To survive. And Nicholi hoped that message, many times told, had been translated.
’Vous allez me quitter, trop.’ The minute Nicholi had said it, he regretted it. The truth wasn’t what Christopher needed right now. But it was all he was going to get from the older Barrett. At wit’s end and exhausted from weeks of travel and playing the gundog left him threadbare and stiff. His muscles protested very fraction of movement they were forced to make. Even as he rested, the constant throb of his heartbeat sent sparks down his arms and legs. He sat as still as possible... listening, without quite believing.
"Je ne vais pas vous quitter.” Christopher spat back, doing his best to double over the emotion he’d let spill there. But not before Nic could catch it. Hold it. Breathe it in and understand what Christopher was really saying. But Nic couldn’t listen to Christopher set himself up for a lie. He’d have to break that promise whether he liked it or not. “Shh..” he hushed- quickly interrupted by the next string of stressed conversation. Sighing but listening faithfully.
“They took me off of the list today.”
Nicholi fixed the boy with two wide, dazed green eyes. And it took awhile for the words to process- an unusually quick mind stopping to check a surefooted a normally surefooted path. Stepping slowly... uncertainly... Damn it Christopher. Nicholi brought his hands to his face, rubbing away the expression from his eyes and releasing long, almost agonized breaths. He would do this to him, wouldn’t he? Complicate things. Make Nic feel like he had really done this child his wrongs. But Christopher wouldn’t be a child anymore. Not in a few months. And that too frightened Nicholi more than any death sentence or battle threat. This wasn’t even about him, it was about Chris and the things he would be setting out to face. Alone. Places where Nicholi wouldn’t be allowed to jump in and tell him he was making a stupid move. Or approaching things too fast. He couldn’t stop Christopher from making his mistakes.
Eventually his hands fell away, and that upside down, self-possessed stare returned, listening. “Are you certain?” he fell back into his mind for only a brief moment. Calculating the likelihood of a successful retrieval of the documents... they couldn’t have taken a paramount trainee off the lists... not for- whatever the hell it was his kid brother had done. It couldn’t have been that ba- damn it. The room here was hardly damaged beyond the clutter of build up books and paper. Had he really taken his anger out elsewhere? Nic shook his head. “They’re trying to intimidate you. I’ll find the lists on my way to my briefing..” steal them, he means. They’d done it to Nicholi plenty; swore exclusion and gave but a slap on the wrist and if you were lucky- a fair beating to set you straight. But the Germans were desperate for this operation. Their sacred HOUNDS. They needed every able bodied trainee and Chris had always been, without a hint of the doubt, one of their best. Christopher didn’t believe it... the boy didn’t believe much of anything that hadn’t come directly from Nicholi’s mouth, and even then, that percentage was almost just as low. Christopher was of his own command, just like Nicholi.
"Je vais être dix-huit et ils viendront jusqu'à avec une autre raison de me laisser derrière.” Nic saw the way Christopher’s jaw lay tight. Fingers flexing against his pale palms and soft eyes staring callously. He understood the frustration... but it was wrong. All of it. Christopher WAS their best, and they weren’t going to toss him out that easily. They HOUNDS were much too desperate for progression and results. “Je ne vais pas les laisser vous tenir en arrière, parce que j'ai fait de mal.” he said softly with all the honesty he could muster. He’d fight to the end of the earth not to let them hold him back from the end result of his training. He knew what it meant to the boy and the reputation of his eldest brother wouldn’t be enough to ruin that. Nor anything else. Nicholi was shaking his head before the question was even out of Chris’s mouth.
“Viens ici.” he said after some time. Voice far too faint for his normal hoarse tone. Gentle and almost, had the ears listening been trained, needy. A hand slid away from where it had been resting atop his chest to extend back out to chris, welcoming the smaller boy near to guide him onto the bed beside himself. “Vous êtes le meilleur homme ici. Vous le savez. Ils savent ce qu'est un atout parfait dont ils disposent. They will not give up what they know they need.” the older Barrett’s eyes flickered to a far wall, voice lowering where he could not stand to raise it any higher. “Vous rappelez-vous ce que je vous ai dit? Quand nous étions petits. Je vous ai dit que nous serions toujours frères. ensemble,” he stopped to sit up, and like a lion tamer to its feral companion, reached out to run a hand through his brother’s short, dark hair. Long, gun calloused fingers brushing it from his forehead in order to see him fully. Completely. “You already know I lied... you know even I can’t ensure that.”
He crossed those much too long legs and kept the heavy, waiting sigh from appearing. Instead setting to moving that too rough hand down to cup Christopher’s cheek, making sure he kept eye contact. “Mais vous devriez être heureux ... au moins. You are a survivor and a warrior clever enough to outfox any man. And when you leave, I will be proud.” and in this, in some undecided, greatly subconscious sort of way, Nicholi had known even before he’d be made to leave for his final, primary assignment somewhere away from Germany, that he was not a warrior of the HOUNDS. And that if he was to die, it would not be in the honour of a death someone like his brother’s would be.
“Avez-vous l'apprécierez, Nicholi?” Nic was quiet for a long time. Thinking this over with great detail as it shifted around in his thoughts. Enjoyed... Had he? It was a fun game—if you counted the hunt and chase—yes. Nicholi rather enjoyed that a lot. But the kill itself... that was different. That was messy and hard on his mental stamina. It made him heavy and rattled every time he was made to take a life. But Christopher did not have to know all of that... “Yes. In some ways more than others. He didn’t give much of fight. I think locating him was the best part. I couldn’t possibly name every unknown route into Berlin. It would take half a lifetime. “ there was even a grin after this. Mischievous and light enough to fit in quick flick to Christopher’s head. Sniggering quietly to himself. “When you are of age, you will receive your own assignment and judge for yourself. But for now I can share what I’ve done. It might help.” he could not always be with Chris, but he could certainly prepare him.
impatient they start, fearful at end
Posted: Sep 1 2012, 08:18 PM
|TOPIC OPTIONS||REPLY NEW TOPIC NEW POLL|