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Two spies on a park bench (Closed)
Who: Brock Rumlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ukase) & Byerly Vorrutyer (vorrutyer)
What: Two perfectly normal gents meeting on a park bench to people watch, drink alcohol, and gossip.
When: The evening after this thread occurred.
Where: Park bench. In a park. Per the map.
Warning(s): Probably language. Will add as necessary
[Rumlow had been amused that they had agreed on friendship over discussion of orgies, then moved to attempting a dinner date somewhere and finally settled on drinking on a public park bench. That seemed to be his stride, and he recognized that this was one of those situations that would either allow them a better assessment of each other and keep the 'friendship', or they would likely hate one another for life. That's how most of his relationships went anyway. He was either liked and respected or he was loathed.
His opponents generally didn't survive long. He'd hate to have to go that far with his first friend of new beginnings.
He had come to the park bench earlier than the set upon time, performing some general recon on the area, the escape routes, the general population that came around here, and noting all the points where he could have his head blown off. There were many of the last point, but that was the risk with public meetings. He didn't consider himself well-known or infamous enough to earn a hit so soon.
He stepped up to the bench at ten minutes to seven and settled himself upon it, armed with a sidearm on his hip and a knife hidden on his calf. He might not be expecting trouble, but he was always prepared for it; he was from a country where openly carrying a sidearm was allowed in the law, and he saw no reason to change that here and now.
He slung an arm along the back of the bench and watched people as they did their evening walks. All chatty, all hands gesturing, all with weird manner of pets in tow. He set one ankle on his opposite knee and looked perfectly comfortable, like he belonged there. He also had a bottle of his own alcohol of choice, since friends shared. The bottle was sealed; he hadn't looked into the laws of public alcohol consumption.]
ukase) & Byerly Vorrutyer (vorrutyer) What: Two perfectly normal gents meeting on a park bench to people watch, drink alcohol, and gossip.
When: The evening after this thread occurred.
Where: Park bench. In a park. Per the map.
Warning(s): Probably language. Will add as necessary
[Rumlow had been amused that they had agreed on friendship over discussion of orgies, then moved to attempting a dinner date somewhere and finally settled on drinking on a public park bench. That seemed to be his stride, and he recognized that this was one of those situations that would either allow them a better assessment of each other and keep the 'friendship', or they would likely hate one another for life. That's how most of his relationships went anyway. He was either liked and respected or he was loathed.
His opponents generally didn't survive long. He'd hate to have to go that far with his first friend of new beginnings.
He had come to the park bench earlier than the set upon time, performing some general recon on the area, the escape routes, the general population that came around here, and noting all the points where he could have his head blown off. There were many of the last point, but that was the risk with public meetings. He didn't consider himself well-known or infamous enough to earn a hit so soon.
He stepped up to the bench at ten minutes to seven and settled himself upon it, armed with a sidearm on his hip and a knife hidden on his calf. He might not be expecting trouble, but he was always prepared for it; he was from a country where openly carrying a sidearm was allowed in the law, and he saw no reason to change that here and now.
He slung an arm along the back of the bench and watched people as they did their evening walks. All chatty, all hands gesturing, all with weird manner of pets in tow. He set one ankle on his opposite knee and looked perfectly comfortable, like he belonged there. He also had a bottle of his own alcohol of choice, since friends shared. The bottle was sealed; he hadn't looked into the laws of public alcohol consumption.]
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[ By raises a cautioning finger. ]
Don't confuse laziness and idleness, dear fellow. I'm rarely idle. I'm always out seeking new pleasures. But lazy, yes. For example, nothing sounds more irritating and stressful and altogether beyond my interest than trying to dig some truth out of you. At least not without a guarantee that the truth'll be nice and juicy.
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Where I'm from, laziness and idleness tend to go hand-in-hand. [It was all he said to that; it was an interesting call out to have, and he respected that.]
Well, it depends what kind of truth you personally find nice and juicy.
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I love gossip. [ A winsome sigh. ] I love drama. Do you have anything dramatic?
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He snorted and set the bottle between them, taking a break from drinking. It wouldn't do well for him to get drunk after all. He knew what he was like.]
Definitely dramatic. Gossip... well, not much into that. I'm more of a straight shooter when it comes to stuff I've heard.
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[Intrigue. Definitely. He had learned the hard way that telling anyone about what he was almost always ended up with them being thrown in a shallow grave. He learned to keep to himself.]
Besides, you wanna be my friend or just my drinking buddy?
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[He hoped there was something in there about Jessica, if only to troll her about it at a later date.]
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[He grinned broadly and swept a hand through his hair, looking casual but as curious as his tone was.]
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Yes, I have. You?
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Good lawyer or set the evidence to point at someone else eventually? And yeah, I landed in prison a few times, though it was juvenile prison. Where I'm from, your age makes a difference on how deep they throw you.
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[ He leers suggestively. Though - good god. Framing someone? Byerly is clever, but he wouldn't have had the skill to do that in the days when he was getting arrested. (And, admittedly, his honor wouldn't allow it.) ]
But ah, now my head is filled with such images. You as a daring youthful bandit. Knocking over old people, snatching their jewels...
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[There was a time when he hated people like that, people who could afford to defend themselves, who had the rules bent for them. Familial privilege. He had thankfully grown out of that angry teenage idea.
As for framing someone, he had done that. Many times.]
Knocking over old people is an assault charge. Stealing from them takes real skill so they don't notice right away.
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When you're me, you have both skill and strength. I know the value of both and when to use them.
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And modesty.
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[He really had no shame. He'd done and seen way too much for that.]
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Oh, very much so. I'm handsome as Ivan Tsarevich, clever as Reynard the Fox, and more charming than the first springtime dandelion - but you'll certainly never hear me talking about it.
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Where I'm from, dandelions are weeds. At least you know what you're about, which means I likely will enjoy your company in future.
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