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 A NIGHT TO REMEMBER, @elegant
Lovelorn Tragedy
 Posted: 31 Jul 17, 20:10
Quote

"you"

intelligence agent
female
single
3 posts


Lovelorn Tragedy
THEY WON’T TELL YOU FAIRYTALES OF HOW GIRLS CAN BE DANGEROUS AND STILL WIN. THEY WILL ONLY TELL YOU STORIES WHERE GIRLS ARE SWEET AND KIND AND REJECT ALL SIN. I GUESS TO THEM IT’S A TERRIFYING THOUGHT, A RED RIDING HOOD WHO KNEW EXACTLY WHAT SHE WAS DOING WHEN SHE INVITED THE WILD IN
Sometimes all it takes for you to break is one word. Or, in this case, a name. Lovelorn gripped the door of the gold champagne armoire so hard her knuckles turned white. In all likelihood, her informant was wrong and the case folder lying open on the ornate four poster bed was wrong and one of the most notorious, deadly men in their profession wasn’t currently in Rome at all. Her heart pounded out a staccato rhythm, her hand clenching harder before she slammed the armoire door shut, every instinct she had acquired in the last year screaming at her that it couldn’t be this easy.

Turning around, she grabbed the file and read it in snippets: ‘not to be engaged’ … ‘far more complicated with his involvement’ … ‘unpredictable past behavior’ … ‘avoid detection at all costs’. She threw the file across the room, papers scattering across the wine-colored duvet and drifting to the finished oak wood floor. What utter bullshit. She raked her fingers through her hair, dragging the long, blonde strands offer her neck and shoulders, tying it off in a bun with a sharp twist of her wrist. She bent down, pulling the black duffel bag out from under the bed, tossing it on top and unzipping it to reveal an armory. This was meant to be a simple extraction job; there hadn’t even been a need for her to do her own grunt work. A level 3 agent had been given the task of staking out the woman, watching her for the better half of a month, learning her schedule down to the very second. It was all in there with that file, along with that goddamn name.

Choosing a Sig Sauer p226 for herself, she quickly zipped the duffel and swung it over her shoulder. She sent a concise, encoded message to her superiors, letting them know to send in a clean-up crew for the room.

She checked out of the hotel, the valet bringing around her black Sedan in a matter of minutes. Her target – a twenty-six-year-old toxicologist – worked in the business district but always left for lunch. The woman was a certifiable genius, but her breakthroughs in the medical world were starting to draw all the wrong attention. The threats on her life were so real that her employers had hired bodyguards to shadow her 24/7. It was ridiculous. She’d nearly been kidnapped six months ago, some pseudo pharmacy wanting to use her to develop biological agents, yet they thought a handful of guards was going to deter anyone? If her agency believed that she was going to simply pull her from her lunch as arranged and ship her across the sea to be given a new identity and life, they were sorely underestimating the name in that file. Lovelorn squeezed the steering wheel harder, aware that she was so pathetically broken that she couldn’t even consciously think his name. She had waited a year for this, and here was her opportunity, but none of this was what she had planned. He was always two steps ahead of her, no matter what she did, or how hard she tried. So, if they were in the same country, same city, at the same time… It had to be by design. Yet for all her paranoia, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that Jack – there it was – didn’t even realize that she was looking for him. Didn’t even know she had a score to settle with him. Which only left one conclusion: they were working the same job. But she had no illusions of what his orders were.

She let loose a string of curses that were her first words since being handed that file, swerving through three lanes of traffic to exit off the freeway, unable to breathe as she gathered her thoughts. She was instructed not to so much as be detected by Jack, much less engage him, but she knew it would be next to impossible to extract her target successfully if he had eyes on her. She should contact her agency and request backup, but she couldn’t bring herself to screw up the first chance she had at Jack in a year. She parked her car three blocks down just to be safe, the gun holstered at her hip a hidden, comforting weight. It was sweltering in the ninety-degree heat, but the cobblestone streets were still a flurry of activity, merchants and shop owners appealing to the wide-eyed tourists that looked charmed by the Roman lifestyle. The bistro that her target always lunched at was quaint, four neat wrought iron tables lining the restaurant front, the smell of the Italian cuisine overwhelming. Lovelorn slid into a seat across from a dark-haired woman, her green eyes locked onto her dark brown, and didn’t fail to notice when she reached for the panic button beside her plate that would send an alert to her four guards nearby. Lovelorn was faster, however, intercepting her hand and covering it with her own, her nails pressing into her wrist hard enough to make the older woman flinch. “I am not here to hurt you, Ginevra. I know you have guards and I am aware of where they are stationed. If you scream, look anxious or afraid, or otherwise act in any way that alerts them that you don’t know me, they will act. Remember how long you were locked away last time there was a threat to you?” she murmured, searching the face across from her with unnerving intent. Her target seemed frozen in fear and Lovelorn was calculating how fast it would take her to neutralize her guards when the woman laughed. She flicked her brows up, sitting back when the guard in the flower shop across the street relaxed, his hand sliding off his hip. Her own hand released the woman’s and she watched as her target assessed her before quietly clearing her throat.

“Who are you?” Her accent was distinctly Tuscan, articulate and lovely. Lovelorn only smiled, shaking her head with a small, manufactured chuckle as if they were just two old friends catching up. The guard patrolling the street shifted, looking away boredly. “I’m here to offer you a new life. My agency can protect you and allow you to continue your work, Ginevra. You would be anonymous and safe.” She stressed the last word, noticing the flash of fear in her eyes as she glanced at one of her guards. “Don’t look at them. You will only draw their suspicion. You don’t have much time to decide.” She didn’t have any time – she was instructed to take her with or without her consent. “There is a threat to you here today,” she continued in a low aside, the look Ginevra gave her full of fright that made her hiss. “Control your face or you’ll get us both killed,” she snapped, her smile still pasted on her face. “I will protect you, Ginevra, but you have to trust me.” The older woman seemed to come to some sort of decision, her shoulders squaring as she stared at Lovelorn. “Va bene. Yes, I will go with you.” Lovelorn merely nodded, thinking she must be at the end of her rope to have agreed so quickly. Or there were other factors that her agency wasn’t aware of.

She lifted her head, scanning the terracotta rooftops and down the cobblestone roads, but if Jack was out there he was keeping a low profile. It made her all the more nervous as she stood, looking down at her target – forcing herself to think of the woman as only that and not a person with a name and a life she was robbing her of. “Go to the bathroom in five. Wait three minutes and then exit, and meet me in the back of the restaurant. Be discreet, but don’t sneak around.” She barely moved her lips, aware of the guard that watched her from across the street, and turned to seamlessly blend into the crowd. Come on, Jack, show your cowardly ass already, she thought fiercely, willing the man to make his move even as she made hers. She turned down a corner, her arm snapping out to close-line the guard that had followed her, spinning to bring her knee up against his groin as she twisted him around and slammed his forehead into the concrete wall. He crumpled, a trickle of blood trailing from his temple and she stepped over him, no more out of breath then if she had shaken his hand.
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Jack Abrahm
 Posted: 02 Aug 17, 01:17
Quote

"show me your teeth"

Central Intelligence Agent
Male
Never going to happen, baby
3 posts


no thank you is what i should've said, i should be in bed but temptations of trouble on my tongue, troubles yet to come. one sip, bad for me. one hit, bad for me. one kiss, bad for me, but i give in so easily and no thank you is how it should've gone. i should stay strong
The sun was tenacious at his back. Tuscan rays doused his spine in a warm caress, beads of sweat dripping from his hairline in the mediterranean heat; the constant warmth was the bane of his northern European blood. Jack didn’t necessarily loath the heat, but it wasn’t his favorite, either. He much preferred the cold grip of Siberia or the bone chilling breeze of Ireland’s coast. Even the base of summits in his native Germany would suffice, but he hadn’t been home in years, and the desire to go back was nonexistent. Jack didn’t do things twice.

The plain white t-shirt stuck to his back, his perch in the bell tower district and undetectable. He shifted sluggishly, defected by the weight of the humidity at his spine. The people in Rome were beautiful, their skin always glistening with a hint of warm, with the suggestion of being sun-kissed, but he’d come to understand it wasn’t a natural glow that made the population seemingly flawless. Instead, he now understood it was just a hazy level of body heat and perspiration. His teeth grit, irritated by the constant pummel of heat striking his back. If he had half the mind, he would have moved and scouted an alternate location to observe from, but he was already situated and the wire running down his throat attached to the communication hub attached to his upper arm had the best reception exactly where he stood. Jack released a faint sigh, his dark brows furrowing in growing irritation. He’d been stationed there for a couple of hours, unmoving and soundless, a merger of brick and bone. “Target in sight. There’s a security entourage surrounding the target, dressed as civilians. Extraction planned at eleven-hundred hours.” His voice was low, pitched for the microphone attached to his headset, the earbud invisible to inexperienced eyes. He took a casual glance at the Rolex on his wrist, his lips pursing at the time. “Ten minutes.” The confirmation came with a brisk, clipped automated tone in his ear. Jack lifted the binoculars to his face, the magnification superior enough for him to see the small dimple in the target’s cheek.

If it were any other case, he would have ended up ensnared in the sheets, the Tuscany heat trapped between two bodies enough to make his breath short. Another time, another instance.

The bistro bustled with life, casual civilians unaware of the threats that surrounded them. “Beginning extraction.” He began to step away from the brick at his back, the window outlet Shakespearian, and he knew if he lingered to the evening, tourists would find themselves warm with wine, pointing to the window and calling him Romeo. He drew away with a breath of disgust, his gaze drawn back to the target out of habit. Every muscled triggered at once, body suddenly rigid as he notices the foreign involvement with the target. He triggered the communication hub at his bicep, grabbing the device from his pants’ pocket to sync up the microphone planted at the door above the target’s table. Jack remained still, turning the dial until the conversation came through the speaker, his icy gaze situated on the blonde seated across from the target. He listened, anxiety growing with each word, hissing and drawing away from the window at once, his footsteps calculated on the rickety floor of the stone church. He’d gone months undetected in a ring of illegal weapon trade, a ghost among mass killers and dreamers of genocide. He wasn’t about to be discovered because of some squeaky floorboard. “Target intercepted. Immediate action required. Who the fuck is this?” he snapped into the com unit, rushing around the backside of the church to slip into the designated alley, sprinting to the corner.

He arrived just in time to watch her slim elbow drive into the throat of the mass of a man. Jack didn’t bother to watch how hard he fell. His eyes were instead focused on the petite blonde, her hair a gleaming beacon of strangeness in a sea of dark hair, dark skin, and dark eyes. Jack moved with the speed of a viper, his strike just as deadly. Iron-wrought fingers gripped the base of her throat, dragging her backwards as he burst into the supply room behind the bistro. His grip only tightened, an imprisoning hold that pinned her against the door, keeping her back to him. He held her there, her face pressed into the cold metal of the door’s casing, the room dimly lit by a single bulb swinging above his head. Icy eyes raked the length of her back, aware of the discrete bulge at her him, accessing her quickly, grabbing the base of her gun and tossing it behind him. “Who are you?” His tone was cold, clipped with years’ worth of being professionally angry. This wasn’t a game, despite the toy he held in one hand. ”Target fled. Too many civilian eyes for recovery.” He growled fiercely at the digitally-compressed voice in his ear, his hand jerking on her neck, slamming her face back into the door. “And why are you costing me a fucking month’s worth of intelligence findings for a fucking toxicologist?” He released her neck, his grip lightning fast, transferring to the thick blonde strands falling down her back, fisting her hair to rip her head back, eyes flicking over her face, finding no reason for recognition. “Blonde and blue eyed, but an ass too sweet to be German. Are you Russian? Why are the Russians always so damn interested in the States’ business, huh?”

Tight fingers released her hair, stepping back, unbothered by the potential of her trying to retaliate. A lifetime spent fighting for your life made the fear of death a fright in itself. Jack placed his hands at his hips, inked skin shadowed in the poor lighting, his face a shade darker than usual thanks to the Tuscan sun. He stepped forward, unbothered by the harshness of his own touch as he grabbed her hips and forced his palm down along the line of her thigh, checking her pockets, his breath exhaled in a short hiss as he began to grip device with the likes of a cellphone. “Call daddy and tell him about your booboo, and tell him if he wants to see you alive, he’ll call off whatever little save the damsel mission you’re on. I don’t have time for this.”
jack abrahm
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Lovelorn Tragedy
 Posted: 08 Aug 17, 23:21
Quote

"you"

intelligence agent
female
single
3 posts


Lovelorn Tragedy
THEY WON’T TELL YOU FAIRYTALES OF HOW GIRLS CAN BE DANGEROUS AND STILL WIN. THEY WILL ONLY TELL YOU STORIES WHERE GIRLS ARE SWEET AND KIND AND REJECT ALL SIN. I GUESS TO THEM IT’S A TERRIFYING THOUGHT, A RED RIDING HOOD WHO KNEW EXACTLY WHAT SHE WAS DOING WHEN SHE INVITED THE WILD IN
She was bracing herself for his appearance, knowing what it would likely spark in her – memories she had tried in vain to force to the back of her mind all these years, memories that scarred her heart and destroyed the innocence of the young, naïve girl she had been when they met. He was the source of all her pain for the past four years; the cause of her distrust in men, her inability to form intimate relationships, her dogged determination for vengeance. Sometimes, she couldn’t think of anything else – if she were honest, the need for revenge had become an obsession that consumed her life. She could never get the last four years back and for that alone, she was going to destroy Jack Abrahm. The smart phone in her pocket began to vibrate, and she stifled a sigh at the distraction, wondering what her agency could be updating her about now. All information had been included in the file – if anything was missing, it wasn’t her fuck-up. She barely glanced at it, realizing it was an order for communications, not for a moment forgetting she had turned off her implanted earpiece back at the hotel. She didn’t have the opportunity to reach up to turn it on before she sensed, more then heard, the fast approach from her behind. Strong, masculine hands gripped her throat and she fought all her hard-earned training and instincts to react, letting her body go pliant despite the tension that threatened to make her spine stiffen.

The storage closet he managed to shove her into smelled like aged spices and old produce and was so poorly lit that her eyes adjusted too slowly to the sudden darkness, a faint whiff of dank coolness letting her know this small, back alley cache was hardly ever used anymore. Lovelorn grit her teeth as he disarmed her, hearing her gun clatter across the cobblestone, marking where it had landed by the sound – just behind her, a little to the left. She thought it was interesting he left her hands free, but she kept her arms at her side, more than capable of managing his manhandling.

She was calm, collected in the face of an inevitable situation that she had sought out, ready to confront him with all her pent of anger and umbrage, but all of that derailed as he addressed her for the first time in four years: “Who are you?” She would recognize that voice anywhere, but most often in her nightmares. She had wondered countless times whether she would remember that he abandoned her when she heard that voice, or if she would remember that she loved him once. But it wasn’t his voice that she focused on, but rather the words that faintly echoed in the small space between them when she realized that he had failed to even recognize her. Her cold blood boiled, her face growing hot, almost losing all control over her body as her fingers curled in fists that she wanted to sink into his face. She nearly hurled a retort back at him, but his hand on the nape of her neck tightened and pain radiated from the new cut on her forehead as he forced her face into the metal door. Blood trickled into her eye and she blinked violently, focusing past her hazy vision for a few seconds, sealing her full mouth shut and letting the rage simmer as he spoke again. Oh, she cost him intelligence? Boo-fucking-hoo. Lovelorn knew exactly what she was doing when she let her target out of her sight. Ginevra second guessed herself, and ran. It always happened. She compromised her mission for the chance at revenge, and the security around the woman was going to increase to such a degree that her agency would probably write the toxicologist off at a lost and simply end her. She didn’t dwell on that, feeling a distinct lack of remorse for her actions.

Lovelorn felt his fingers transfer to her thick ponytail, letting him yank her head back until her neck ached, glimpsing his face as he spoke. “My eyes are green, asshole,” she snarled, swinging her elbow around to connect with his ribcage as he released her and she spun to face him, the eyes in question darting to where her gun lay right where she had guessed before returning to him in the matter of a half second. She tensed, the emotional blow at seeing him again after so long hurting so much more than anything he could physically do to her. He appeared no different, but while he had barely aged a day, Lovelorn knew that she looked drastically changed. For one, she was no longer a child. She had filled out, had the body and mind of an adult, and the uncompromising resolve of scorned woman. Lovelorn made a move to step back as he approached, knocking his wandering hands off her with a warning sound that rose up from her throat involuntarily, trembling with rage. She let loose a harsh laugh, and it was not beautiful or mirthful in the least, as he spoke. “Mad I costed you a paycheck, Jackal?” she asked, the use of his well-known moniker drenched in scorn and hate. “I’ll let my agency know that you compromised my mission and we’ll see who ends up with a toe tag once they’re terminated for being an utter fuck up.” She was wholly intransigent. “Oh? And if you touch me again, I will cut off your hands and make you eat them.” She had gotten this far, and for a while now she thought she never would. She had no idea what to do now that she was faced with him. Now that he didn’t even know who she was. That stung. So bad that she had couldn’t bring herself to remind him of that young girl that he’d fucked and forgotten.

She lifted her hand, making as if to brush the stray strand of blonde hair that had escaped her ponytail back behind her ear, her fingertip barely grazing her hidden earpiece. “Where the fuck are you? Intelligence says the target fled! Lovelorn, I swear to God, answer me right now or I’m going to demote you back to level 5 and detain you for training until your ass is black and blue.” Micah’s voice bombarded her thoughts, her instructor’s French accent grating on her ears for once. She didn’t respond, fixing Jack with a level stare. “What was your mission here, Jack Abramh?” she asked coldly, her spine ramrod straight. “Jack fucking Abramh, Lovelorn?” she heard, “Your ass is mine when you get picked up. Which is in twenty.” She barely listened to the address he relayed, uncaring for once that Micah was going to beat her until she couldn’t get out of bed the next day.
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Jack Abrahm
 Posted: 25 Aug 17, 00:09
Quote

"show me your teeth"

Central Intelligence Agent
Male
Never going to happen, baby
3 posts


no thank you is what i should've said, i should be in bed but temptations of trouble on my tongue, troubles yet to come. one sip, bad for me. one hit, bad for me. one kiss, bad for me, but i give in so easily and no thank you is how it should've gone. i should stay strong
Despite being an internationally acclaimed government agent, Jack’s interest wasn’t in the details. Not in this case. This small interaction was a complete and total waste of his time, but he’d be kicking himself if he didn’t satisfy his curiosity, and Jack didn’t like to pine after anyone. Whoever she was, whatever she was, didn’t matter to him. She was a smear on his otherwise perfect campaign, and he was readily prepared to smudge her away. He felt the tension that his question caused, and if he weren’t so invested in the defamation of her involvement, he may have been intrigued. She’d cost him his target, and that alone entitled him to her life. The vengeance in her short words didn’t surprise him. Many of the women he ran into while on or off the job had been scorned by him before. She didn’t seem to be any different than the blonde last week or the redhead mid-July. Both had thought they’d teach Jack a lesson in romantics, in settling down with a white picket fence and two point five kids, and both had been wrong.

It wasn’t anything personal.

Jack just didn’t do the starry-eyed wife material type.

Except that one time he did and he had to dodge a furious fiancé, but after that, he swore he’d stick strictly to self-conscious girls with deep psychological issues that his dick could fix, if only for a little while.

A harsh snort sounded between them at her words, and he shook his head. He didn’t care about the miniscule details. Truly, he didn’t care about anything. All he wanted was to leave her unconscious in the gritty back alley, and she was lucky he hadn’t yet. “Like that’s important,” he snapped, voice just as, if not more, venomous than hers. Jack felt her body begin to shift, and he easily recognized the movement as offensive. Quick hands shot out to grab her elbow, twisting her arm into an uncomfortable angle to disengage her attack. His fingers pressed hard into her arm, letting her turn before he threw her back into the door. Target assessed. Target disarmed. Target disengaged. He scrutinized her then, eyes raking over her body. In any other situation, he probably would have fucked her. Maybe he already had. Jack watched her gaze move towards her gun behind him. A harsh, mirthless laugh drew from his plush lips. “Don’t even think about it.” Azure eyes remained pinned to her face, stepping back and reaching for his phone, thumbing through a few numbers, pausing at her words, looking up with a deathly glare. “And you think that’ll be me? My agency has scouts on location. You’re really fucking stupid if you think your picture hasn’t been taken at least a dozen times already. This was an abstraction, as it obviously was for you, too. I’ve got an entire team on location who’d probably love to make a biohazard out of your ass.” His voice was a sheer deadpan, utterly discouraged with her ability to put forth valuable information. Jack’s gaze returned to his phone, a series of texts rushing to the screen as he unlocked the phone.

“Your threats aren’t all that impressive. If you know who I am, then you know it’s worthless trying to defend yourself. You’ll die if you dare to try.” The spy pocketed his cell eyes never lifting from the screen, obviously unconcerned with her threats. He ignored the series of communication requests and error reports that flooded his screen. His face was dark when he looked back up, staring down at her with a tantalizing look. “Though you’re welcome to try. It’s always fun to humiliate a new recruit who thinks they’ve got God’s grace on their side,” he mocked, voice coy. He was toying with her, playing on the irritation he so obviously inspired. If she were so angry now, he could only imagine the anger his words would encourage. Jack had a habit of making toys out of his women.

And she’d make a nice toy.

He tracked her movements; a strange familiarity crossed over him as he watched her hand tuck her hair behind her ear. Perhaps her offense came from being unmemorable, but that wasn’t his fault, now was it? His eyes narrowed at her question, giving no response as he eyed her. He was more intrigued, now, a sense of wonderment teasing the forefront of his mind. Who was she? A sudden, bright laugh left his lips, genuine amusement enlightening his expression. Jack was a beautiful man no matter his mood, but the honest smirk across his lips highlighted his greatest features. Even in the dinginess of the dank supply closet, his stubble-shadowed jaw and dark, sultry eyes could make any woman or man weak at the knees. “Do you think that’s how this works? I just tell you everything and you report back to your superiors with every little detail? You’ve got a lot to learn, little one.” His tone was judgmental, short and sharp. He shook his head, suddenly disinterested. Jack’s gaze was sharp as he stepped back, bending down to pick up her gun, eyes never leaving hers. “I’ve had enough of this. It’s time for you to run back home to your little daddy.” The cool metal of her gun was cold against his back, the piece tucked into his belt.
jack abrahm

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