exsiliumlogs | [CLOSED] you don't look so good

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[CLOSED] you don't look so good

Date & Time: 5/14, evening
Location: The Hold, Training Rooms
Characters: Charlie and Nikolai
Summary: Disreputable men in low places.
Warnings: Probably a lot.

With the housing building still in the process of being rebuilt and most of his things lost in the crash that had caused the damage, Charlie finds himself taking his frustrations out on anything willing to take a hit or five. This particular evening finds him down in the training facilities of the Hold taking swings at a bag until he's breathless, edge of frustration worn down to a blunt flat. Just when he'd started to feel comfortable, they drop a bloody spaceship on him. Of goddamn course.

Charlie gives the bag one last solid jab, then takes a few steps backwards. He shakes out his fingers, not having bothered himself with gloves. Hell, he's still in his street clothes sans jacket having come in straight from the pub (and maybe that's got a bit to do with it as well; a pint or two, all that talk floating around over his head about new housing assignments and new information trickling down from the Initiative higher ups--). Ranging in slow, purposeful circles, he takes sharp even breaths are he tries to wind down. The training rooms are mostly abandoned at this hour.

It's been a long week.

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Nikolai liked knowing his surroundings and environments. He was a spy. There was a benefit to being able to blend into the shadows, or the scenery when needed, to watch people. Even the most basic knowledge, even placing a name to a person, would be plenty important if there was need for it. Nikolai had been keeping away from the network, creeping through the shadows of the city, watching people (though he didn't ever eavesdrop on them unless it was actually interesting), going out towards the Outlands until he knew all possible routes for all possible situations.

Or at least, most of them. All that he could think of, really, and Nikolai supposed that should be enough for now.

He realised this man came over to the training rooms often, and Nikolai figured that it was time he should keep an appointment that he was around six weeks late for. His feet was almost completely silent when he stepped into the room despite the neat suit, slacks and tie he was wearing, and Charlie's first impression of him (hopefully) was a long glass knife that flew right past his knife to slam into the wall. The blade went all the way in into concrete, and Nikolai crooked a half-smiled. His eyes darted over to Charlie.

"Little bit late," he shrugged. Tipped his head down and looked over his dark sunglasses. "Offer still open?"

The crack of the blade sinking into the concrete nearby brings Charlie's head jerking up. He stops mid-stride, the lines of his shoulders taut and fists half on the rise - clearly in no mood to fuck around. That dangerous, half cocked look doesn't exactly diminish much when he recognizes the man coming out of the dark into the clinical, cold fluorescent pools of light of the training room.

He's not a fan of being snuck up on, especially not with knives (doubly so for tattooed Russians). Charlie slowly start to pick the tape from his knuckles, visibly wary.

"Well it's not closed."

Oh, so the man was clearly not a fool. Nikolai didn't think it was, but watching and knowing from afar was a little less effective than an uncontrolled reaction right in his face. He curls his lips upwards into a sharp-edged smile and hops off his perch, walking towards the concrete wall. He leans against the wall, beside the blade, and doesn't pull it out. Not just yet.

"Smart answer," he drawled. His fingers tapped against his own elbow, letting the silence stretch between them and keeping his eyes on Charlie's face.

"If I say I found places to disappear," he said. "You still interested?"

Predatory. That's the word that springs to mind as Nikolai moves to the knife in the wall: a wolf in the room. It wouldn't be the first one he's met, though that doesn't make him easier about it. Charlie continues to pull the tape free, hand over hand until his knuckles are bare. He balls up the tape, working his hands in ond out of fists to stretch the tension free from his fingers.

"Depends on the job, but sure. If there's somewhere to go to ground that at least affords a bit of--" He gestures with his hand, wobbling it parallel to the floor. "Maneuverability."

Charlie tips his chin in Nikolai's direction. "Have something in mind?"

If Nikolai could hear those thoughts, he would chuckle, because they were certainly appropriate. Now he just cast his eyes to the side, looking at the hilt as he pressed down very gently on it. The blade cut through the concrete with a loud, screeching sound, and Nikolai grinned as he pulled it down, making it disappear up his sleeve with a sleight of hand.

"There is plenty 'maneuverability'," he drawled out the word, "if you know place well enough. Problem is people. People here, very obedient. Almost terrified of breaking rules. Very boring."

His grin widened, "But you know people better, da? What kind of job you think you can do here?"

The grating noise of the knife as its dragged through the concrete doesn't exactly do much to put him less on edge - though he assumes that's the point. Charlie resumes pacing in that slow, small circle; it's as much to catch his breath as it is to switch gears, get his brain moving on a different track.

He does know people. And this isn't strictly his type of racket - not anymore -, but he knows the theory just fine. "There's nothing worth boosting here and no one to sell it to besides, but you're right. People here follow the rules so long as it keeps them comfortable. You make people more comfortable, do a few things here and there - people like perks and whoever's doling them out has the power and enough leverage to do what they like. I'll admit it's a bit Godfather-y, but--" He shrugs. "This place is just waiting for someone to step up and get a little power hungry. Which, given the shit poor economy they've got here, is really the only thing worth running in."

The problem with that kind of thinking, Nikolai thought, was that there were different levels of 'comfort' around here. Different ways for people to feel comfortable. He tipped his head slightly at Charlie for a long moment before he slid out a packet of cigarettes, deliberately ignoring the 'no smoking' sign right outside the door before he lit it up, smoke curling around his lips.

"Plenty of people here who wants comfortable; wants to be safe until one day they get to be sent back home," Nikolai smiled, a curl of his lips that was patronising and gentle all at once. A sense of awww, aren't they cute? "But plenty more who are getting restless. Not just people who wants to stir things up, but who wants to do something." He cocked his head to the side.

"They not comfortable, da?"

"Well nothing's going to be a catch all, if that's what you're looking for. You need a target demographic." This shit isn't one size fits all and even he knows as much. "You can either appeal to the people looking to put their feet up or to the ones who're bored out of their skulls and looking to get into a spot of trouble."

Or run one racket for each. Feed the bored ones into the ones who wants favors, want special treatment - use the former to stir trouble and then swing your dick about a bit to get the latter what they want and earn a string of debts owned from here to the UE and back as a result.

"You don't have to limit yourself like that," Nikolai said idly, and he knew he wasn't saying anything Charlie wasn't already thinking. But he only looked at the other man for a long moment without speaking, slow curls of smoke appearing between his lips before he took the cigarette in his hand and exhaled hard.

"Get bored ones to guard those who need it. Quite a few will do something like that. Bored ones won't even need to be paid, especially if they like pretending to be good people." He grinned as if thinking of a private joke. "Problem is- ones who wants comfort, they don't seem to do much, da?"

Money had no real power here. Favours and connections, on the other hand...

"Everyone wants something. And everyone wants to feel like they're doing something."

Which is as simple as he knows how to make it and the most true thing he knows. Particularly here, where their personal agency with respect to the Initiative and their own fates here is about as nonexistent as it gets. Give people a little credit, offer them a little finger hold -- It's a safe bet that anyone would jump at the chance.

"Look, you have something in mind mate or are we just talking in circles here? I prefer dinner before anyone takes me out dancing."

Nikolai barked a laugh at that. It was almost a relief of sorts to speak to someone who is so open with what he wanted. Nikolai had spent too long with Semyon, with Kirill, both of whom - in very different ways - hid their intentions in shadows and waved something else entirely before his eyes. He grinned.

"Need to find like-minded people first," he said eventually. "Know a few people who might be be interested in such things," mostly through listening in the network, "but most of them will rather stay quiet. Hidden." He quirked an eyebrow. Like you.

"We can start off something. Maybe find place for people to fight each other. Start off from there," he shrugged slightly, spreading his arms outwards. His eyes lingered, for the briefest moments, on Charlie's fists. "What do you think?"

Charlie may not catch the lingering glance, but he doesn't really need to - hard to argue when someone's caught you throwing punches and he can't very well put up much of a fight against any of the rest either.

"Sounds like a good enough starting place." He risks a sidelong glance, a twitch of a grin and a brief quirk of his eyebrows. "I might know a thing or two about throwing punches, so there's that."

"Many people know how to throw punches," Nikolai said idly. His eyes glanced over to Charlie. "You know them?"

The thing was- the thing where he was disadvantaged about this was- Nikolai wasn't particularly well-connected in this place. He was still a fish out of water, and six weeks of listening and looking didn't gain him connections as much as information (they're not the same thing). He knew that Charlie most likely had acquaintances, or even friends, and that was what made this helpful.

(Then again, he could put up an advertisement on the network. But that seemed a little bit too obvious. And lazy.)

Sure, he knows a few. And god knows he spends enough time down here in the gym to be keeping tabs on a few individuals even if he's not directly acquainted with him. But that's not really what he's asking, is it?

"You need a front man." Because throwing knives into concrete and the whole chain smoking and bulky prison tats maybe isn't the best first impression for someone not already connected to the business, is it?

Nikolai burst out laughing. Oh, Charlie was good. He was smart. Even most of the vory Nikolai had worked with hadn't wigged onto what he was saying so quickly- and most of them didn't have the balls to say it out right. He grinned, showing all teeth as he flicked ash onto the gym ground.

"You only have one word wrong," he said, chuckling softly under his breath still. "I want front man. Someone with friends. But also with brains."

Never underestimate the power of a bit of laughter - real and honest even if it comes accompanied with that wide flash of teeth. Still, the high line of Charlie's shoulders smooth a bit and his trajectory veers off out of that slow, rambling circle he's been walking so he can fetch his coat where it lays folded on the floor near Nikolai.

He fetches it up off the ground and shakes it out. "Lucky for you I've got both then." Shrugging into the coat, it's Charlie's turn to give Nikolai the obvious once over. "So if I'm the honey, that make you the sting?"

He's not grinning, not at all - or maybe a little, quirk of his mouth right there at the corner.

Nikolai noticed. Ah, so that's how he could get Charlie to trust him a little bit more. Show a few of his cards, show a bit of who he really was- and that was his answer to Charlie's question, wasn't it.

He cocked his head to the side. Turned his head and stubbed his cigarette out on his tongue, the sizzling sound of the fire being killed loud in the room. He glanced sideways.

"You know people, I know of people," he said, and lifted his shoulder in a shrug. "I like information and like using it. You find the people, I find use for them."

Which sounds just fine to Charlie. Smart he may be, but even he knows himself well enough to admit he's no bloody mastermind. No ambition, a teacher had told him once in primary. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he can't lie to himself: not much has changed.

"Good at that are you?" It's hypothetical though. Must be - Nikolai's here, after all and Charlie likes to think he doesn't need to be told something twice. So after a beat (there's a glance to the mark left in the concrete wall from the knife, a faint twitch of his fingers), he offers his hand to shake. "Partners then?"

Partners. Now that words just brought back memories, and Nikolai curled his lips up. It was a strange smile, something that might intrigue Charlie a little more, but his hand was solid as he reached out and took it.

"Da," he said. Then he withdrew his hand, shoving thumbs into the hem of his pockets and letting his arms hang loosely on his side.

"You have some name for me now, or should I wait?"

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[CLOSED] you don't look so good

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