Mission: Impossible -- with mercenaries and Tal-Vashoth

[freedom_is_grey]

They've scoped out the three target merc companies over many long nights going over documentation and word-of-mouth. They've come up with a backstory for James, she's brought him what was essentially a bucket full of daggers from which to pick those that fit his purposes best, and they've gone through packing materials, bedrolls, waterskins, maps -- all of it.

They're as prepared as they can be, which is why Ysalwen, bundled up in her cloak and with a travel pack (and her sword) slung over her shoulders, is waiting by the front door for James to arrive. Liranan -- fitted out in his spiked collar and Lady of the Skies kaddith -- is there, too, tongue lolling out with excitement.

Travel!

Comments

[freedom_is_grey]

The shoving has just escalated to thrown punches when someone notices James and smacks the rest of them into alertness.

"Who goes there?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Me."

He manages to make it succinct and laconic both as he looks them over.

"Heard you were camped here, and came by to see if you were hiring."

[freedom_is_grey]

"Hiring, he says," one of them laughs.

The other punches him in the shoulder. Hard.

"You the upright kind, pretty-boy?" the woman asks.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Might as well call it something," he says to the man that laughed, then looks at the woman.

He knows what he needs to know for Meraad's sake already, but he suspects there's more here to find than that.

"I'm the kind that gets things done."

He lets the cold inside him rise and slip through as he meets her gaze - as a predator, not as prey.

"Whatever it takes."

[freedom_is_grey]

The woman's smile is wolfish.

"Well, then. You can come along inside, pretty-boy, see if we can get the chief to talk to you."

[nerves_of_ice]

He knows she's trying to get a rise out of him with the nickname.

It doesn't matter. He's been called worse.

Without saying another word, he scans over the little group one last time, and then steps up beside the woman.

[freedom_is_grey]

She licks her lips as he approaches, more to discomfit him than because she wants anything, if the active malice in her gaze suggests anything else.

There's a lot of malice to go around, really, as no one here seems to like anyone else, let alone trust them.

The walk through the camp toward the command tent reveals a lot of noise, a lot of mess, and a hell of a lot of suspicion in the ranks.

[nerves_of_ice]

It's not James Barnes moving through the camp now, not really. Instead, it's the Winter Soldier who stalks silently beside the woman toward the tent.

His back itches slightly between his shoulderblades as he catches a furtive motion out of the corner of his eye.

As the knife comes flying at him, he spins and blocks it with the armor of his left arm, letting the dull practice blade drop into his right hand. With a single swift motion, he sends it flying back toward the sullen man who'd thrown it, hard enough that the blade buries itself halfway into the surface of a wooden practice shield hanging from a tree nearby.

[freedom_is_grey]

No one looks much surprised, except for the sullen man.

Apparently he really wanted to hurt the newbie.

Someone standing next to him smacks the back of his head, almost pitching him into a nearby post.

[nerves_of_ice]

"The next one won't hit a shield."

Terse and flat. He doesn't sound as though it matters to him either way.

"One warning. Your only warning."

[freedom_is_grey]

The woman next to him laughs.

"You heard him, Skarn. Save the rest for when he washes out."

She looks at James sidelong, assessing.

"Or not."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Or not," he agrees, looking right back at her.

"Let's do this, and find out."

[freedom_is_grey]

She leads him to a slightly neater part of the camp, and a tall, slim man -- with pointed elven ears and a scar across his cheek -- sharpening a short sword.

"Hmm? Fallaril, if there's more trouble -- "

His voice is smooth, and laden with a threat of violence.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Doesn't have to be."

He shrugs his right shoulder slightly, coolly assessing the man in front of him.

"Heard you were camped here. I'm looking for work that pays."

[freedom_is_grey]

"So's everybody," says the man, unfolding himself from the crudely made bench and sizing James up.

"Why should we pay you?"

[nerves_of_ice]

Flatly,

"Because I'm the best at what I do."

[freedom_is_grey]

The elven commander raises one scarred eyebrow.

"Really? You'll have to prove it, then."

He turns toward the woman who led James to him.

"Who's weakest in the ranks? Have this one take him out tonight, see how he does. If he does it, eh?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Interesting means of promotion you have around here," he observes.

"But whatever."

[freedom_is_grey]

"Weak members are a drag on our resources and planning," the elf says, eyebrow still raised.

"If you've got a problem with that, the edge of the camp is right over there."

Now, they'll probably send some of their members to hunt him as an exercise, if he chooses to leave, but --

That's their business, now isn't it?

[nerves_of_ice]

James meets the elf leader's glance with a level one of his own.

"Seeing as I'm not weak, it's no problem of mine."

It's going to be a problem for someone, that's for sure. He's already decided that.

The question is for whom, and how many of them?

[freedom_is_grey]

"Heh," the leader says, nodding his head toward what might be the mess tent. Or possibly the barracks.

"Get to it, then."

[nerves_of_ice]

He steps to the side so that the woman isn't at his back, and strolls off in the direction indicated.

Confidence is key.

[freedom_is_grey]

"You're going to be looking for a redhead," the woman says keeping pace with him -- she doesn't want him at her back, either.

"Shaggy, long beard, kind of gangly. He goes by Wart."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Mm-hm."

He slants a sideways look at her (and also at the area around them).

"What do you go by?"

[freedom_is_grey]

She laughs at him, sharp and bright.

"You'll find out after you finish the job."

Or, you know. Not.