Beryl Greyson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
roughcutgem) wrote2024-07-01 09:04 pm
roughcutgem) wrote2024-07-01 09:04 pm
Entry tags:
So let's chat.
Who: Beryl, Danny, Nat?
When: The day after her (failed) kidnapping.
What: A chat with an ex-spook.
She settled in chair, eying the oddly calm man across from her. He was still handcuffed but he wore them well, like they were just a formality and hell who knew they might be for him. They were being civilized in one of the rooms at the Circus, chairs, tables, he even had an untouched burger in a bag. She looked him up and down, trying to get a read on him, but he just came across as...mild. Forgettable. "That's a terrifying skill," she admitted easily as Nat leaned against her back, arms draping over her shoulders. She could feel the half angry, half stressed rumble through his bones and lifted one of his wrists to her lips to nip gently in reassurance.
"A useful one though," Danny noted mildly. "Sadly a born skill not a learned one. You're looking well."
"I shake shit well." Like hell was this guy learning about Khem's healing ability.
"Of course," he nodded easily. "And now you have questions. There isn't much I can tell you you don't already guess though."
She smiled sharply, "then just tell me everything. Better details than assumptions when you're willing to throw bodies at me."
Danny laughed softly, then stopped as he noticed Nat tense, "sorry, wasn't mocking anyone. Where do I start?"
"Who you are, who you work for, and then the details of this 'job'." Beryl was firm on that, tugging Nat's arm gently until he rested his chin on her head.
"And then?"
"And then I think things over." Simple as that.
Danny considered that then nodded, "Alright. I was CIA once upon a time, don't bother looking for records, it's not how my division worked. When I retired I was approached with an offer to work for a private outfit. I didn't like their moral standards and declined, so my girlfriend was killed and my daughter was taken. Every time I complete a mission now I get proof of life." Simple, stark, but utterly honest.
Beryl snorted, passing a pad of paper. "your name, her name, etc."
THAT made him narrow his eyes but he finally complied, "she's seven now. I haven't seen her in person in six years," he admitted quietly. "You can access pictures of her at the address I've listed, I move all proof of life to secondary servers so friends can run facial recognition for me." But more eyes were better. I DO maintain several covers and aliases though, one of which is the reporting job. The article is real, and well written if I do say so myself."
"I don't give a fuck about the article."
"He does," Danny noted easily, glancing at Nat. "But anyway. My 'boss' is someone better than me. He calls himself Maison, he's NOT CIA but he had to have come from a similar global outfit I'm sure. He one damn step ahead every time. And this job is a high ticket one. Retrieve a runaway child, whether she agrees or not. Two million down payment. Thirteen mil on delivery, any condition, injury...preferred," he spat, hating that. He had been slotted to join a GOOD company, one that rescued people from being trafficked, and pulled kids out of cults...
...instead this and he hated it.
Utterly.
"He's not a vamp, my boss. I know that. Fucked if I know anything else about his biology though. I can swing the setback, he won't kill my daughter because I failed, and I made sure to hire people who DESERVED dying for the grab because it was fucked from the start honestly. None of this felt at all right, especially since I had to ID you from cane scars on your back and the aged branding scar," he growled.
Beryl blinked, considering that, "most don't know what they are." Old, faded scars now. Amorphous.
"I got reference pics when they were fresh." Just. Saying. "Your blood relatives are a horror show."
"I'm aware." Very.
He sighed, getting his composure back, "and I imagine your cousin isn't dead like they said." Wishful thinking on their part.
"I don't have a cousin."
"Yeah, he's alive, good on him," he nodded. "They don't want anything to do with him, don't worry."
She tensed at that, seriously considering if they just needed this guy dead but..."we let you live what are your intentions?"
"Well, figuring out this mess with you and yours, they'll hire someone else if we fail," he admitted. "Apparently they...lost their house slave and that means they need a new one."
"Glad she's gone," Beryl sighed. "Auntie had a rough life."
"...yeah." That was a very grim agreement.
Yeah.
"Eat. We're not going to fucking kill you today," she sighed, standing. "I need to discuss things." With Nat. And others maybe.
Danny nodded, poking the hamburger bag finally. "Alright, you know where I'll be."
When: The day after her (failed) kidnapping.
What: A chat with an ex-spook.
She settled in chair, eying the oddly calm man across from her. He was still handcuffed but he wore them well, like they were just a formality and hell who knew they might be for him. They were being civilized in one of the rooms at the Circus, chairs, tables, he even had an untouched burger in a bag. She looked him up and down, trying to get a read on him, but he just came across as...mild. Forgettable. "That's a terrifying skill," she admitted easily as Nat leaned against her back, arms draping over her shoulders. She could feel the half angry, half stressed rumble through his bones and lifted one of his wrists to her lips to nip gently in reassurance.
"A useful one though," Danny noted mildly. "Sadly a born skill not a learned one. You're looking well."
"I shake shit well." Like hell was this guy learning about Khem's healing ability.
"Of course," he nodded easily. "And now you have questions. There isn't much I can tell you you don't already guess though."
She smiled sharply, "then just tell me everything. Better details than assumptions when you're willing to throw bodies at me."
Danny laughed softly, then stopped as he noticed Nat tense, "sorry, wasn't mocking anyone. Where do I start?"
"Who you are, who you work for, and then the details of this 'job'." Beryl was firm on that, tugging Nat's arm gently until he rested his chin on her head.
"And then?"
"And then I think things over." Simple as that.
Danny considered that then nodded, "Alright. I was CIA once upon a time, don't bother looking for records, it's not how my division worked. When I retired I was approached with an offer to work for a private outfit. I didn't like their moral standards and declined, so my girlfriend was killed and my daughter was taken. Every time I complete a mission now I get proof of life." Simple, stark, but utterly honest.
Beryl snorted, passing a pad of paper. "your name, her name, etc."
THAT made him narrow his eyes but he finally complied, "she's seven now. I haven't seen her in person in six years," he admitted quietly. "You can access pictures of her at the address I've listed, I move all proof of life to secondary servers so friends can run facial recognition for me." But more eyes were better. I DO maintain several covers and aliases though, one of which is the reporting job. The article is real, and well written if I do say so myself."
"I don't give a fuck about the article."
"He does," Danny noted easily, glancing at Nat. "But anyway. My 'boss' is someone better than me. He calls himself Maison, he's NOT CIA but he had to have come from a similar global outfit I'm sure. He one damn step ahead every time. And this job is a high ticket one. Retrieve a runaway child, whether she agrees or not. Two million down payment. Thirteen mil on delivery, any condition, injury...preferred," he spat, hating that. He had been slotted to join a GOOD company, one that rescued people from being trafficked, and pulled kids out of cults...
...instead this and he hated it.
Utterly.
"He's not a vamp, my boss. I know that. Fucked if I know anything else about his biology though. I can swing the setback, he won't kill my daughter because I failed, and I made sure to hire people who DESERVED dying for the grab because it was fucked from the start honestly. None of this felt at all right, especially since I had to ID you from cane scars on your back and the aged branding scar," he growled.
Beryl blinked, considering that, "most don't know what they are." Old, faded scars now. Amorphous.
"I got reference pics when they were fresh." Just. Saying. "Your blood relatives are a horror show."
"I'm aware." Very.
He sighed, getting his composure back, "and I imagine your cousin isn't dead like they said." Wishful thinking on their part.
"I don't have a cousin."
"Yeah, he's alive, good on him," he nodded. "They don't want anything to do with him, don't worry."
She tensed at that, seriously considering if they just needed this guy dead but..."we let you live what are your intentions?"
"Well, figuring out this mess with you and yours, they'll hire someone else if we fail," he admitted. "Apparently they...lost their house slave and that means they need a new one."
"Glad she's gone," Beryl sighed. "Auntie had a rough life."
"...yeah." That was a very grim agreement.
Yeah.
"Eat. We're not going to fucking kill you today," she sighed, standing. "I need to discuss things." With Nat. And others maybe.
Danny nodded, poking the hamburger bag finally. "Alright, you know where I'll be."