Sebastian Moran @snipingpantheratigris - Tumblr Blog

snipingpantheratigris:

Sebastian Moran

Sebastian and James had had the most mercurial, erratic sex in the late hours of the evening, exposed against the hardwood floors of 18 Conduit Street as life roared on outside, howling their allegiances to each other so boorishly, fucking so viciously. Yet in the early morning light, when all seemed well and the twisted evil of what they had done no more than a mere memory Sebastian was reserved. He shied away from him like an insect from a spider, desperately trying to flit away, but to no avail. He had marked him and together they would run London crime, owning police and criminals alike.

James Moriarty cursed under his breath as he heard the front door open and closed. Gone again, like a wind in the grass. He would certainly have to keep closer watch on his tiger from now on. He couldn’t always be disappearing when he needed him or when he thought things became to wretched and terrifying for his mind to bear. Unpredictable as he was, Jim was not to be teased, it was a dangerous game, like Russian roulette. He with spin the cylinder and only the devil knew where the bullet lay. He groaned feeling the hot water kiss each bruise, admiring it for what it was. Ownership.

From now until the day one of them died they would be a one-stop shop for all things illegal, from murder to high-class heists. Moriarty and Moran would have a stream of nefarious visitors to their Conduit Street rooms, from zealots, to bloodthirsty despots. And they would belong to each other.

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It took Sebastian the entire morning to come to terms with what had happened and reassure himself that he wasn't gay. Which he wasn't. He wasn't sure what happened the night before and the more that he racked his brain, the more that he was unsure. He remember Lisbeth, he remembered drinking with her and the “attack” in his flat. He remembered bits and pieces of fucking with Moriarty, but for the life of him he couldn't recall what had gotten him from having a gun pointed at his date to him sleeping with a man. He was not that drunk and the scare the smaller man had given him was enough to kill the buzz that he would have had.

It was nearly lunch before his stomach made him aware that while he was in no mood to eat that he should. Of course when he checked his pants he realized his wallet along with his cell phone were both missing. Probably in some dark corner of the living room. With grave reluctance he turned and headed back to his flat. He prayed that Moriarty had beat a fast retreat as well as he really didn't want to talk to him about what happened, or for that matter his future with his 500,000 pound salary job.

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snipingpantheratigris:

Sebastian Moran

The University of Cambridge was a large and famous university located in central England. Founded in 1209, it was one of the oldest universities int he world and was known as one of the world’s leading scholarly institutions. The university consisted of over two dozen colleges of which King’s College and Trinity were the most well known. The bonds between these colleges were somewhat looser than in many universities, although they all pull together in the rivalry with Oxford. While Moriarty spent his time there he was not only known for his outstanding intellect, but his isolation as well.

He saw the world in a way no one could have imagined. Moriarty was a genius and as such the minds of others were quite boring to him. Save one. Alfred Ross was a husband and a father when he first met the 17-year-old Moriarty. And it seemed that up to that point, the mathematician had been attracted to his wife. However, she was pregnant with their second child and as she underwent her gestation, Ross became seriously turned off. Disgusted even. And there was the young, attractive Moriarty, determined to seduce a mind who thought he was much greater than his own. Alfred Ross had been his first blackmail and the man had paid dearly to hush up any scandalous and controversial indiscretions.

As he had already lost his maidenhood long ago, Sebastian’s intrusion on an all together untouched body was not as painful as one might imagine. Instead he had relished in it, taken great pleasure in his full strokes, in the hot breath against the back of his neck. The way Sebastian had taken him over and over again as if the dawn would never come. He had watched him, legs pulled up over his shoulders, bound arms over the tiger’s shoulders because they had no where else to go as the man christened the sofa with their bitter and unjust hating. It had been a glorious copulation

The following morning Moriarty was abruptly woken by a jostling. Every part of him revolted. It had a raw quality, as the realness of a person consumed by a pain that knew no end or limit. It felt as if his whole body had been beaten and every movement caused some muscle or bone to ache. Regardless, he needed to turn and face his attacker. He would not show fear in the face of danger, it wasn’t in his nature. He sat up, feeling his head start to swim a bit at the action, but instead of facing that small annoyance he turned looking up at the man with his back against the wall. He stared up at him, eyes squinted, vision still blurry from sleep as he tried to focus. Then it all came flooding back and he tried not to let a wicked smile escape his insides.

Instead he allowed it to sink deep inside him and fill him with such hedonistic glee that he could hardly contain himself. He stood slowly, allowing himself to stand much taller, even in his shortened state as if the night’s events had not bothered him in the slightest. He moved forward, coming at him slowly, like a demon ready to eat Sebastian’s soul. He closed the distance between them, pressing a kiss to the sniper’s lips before moving away muttering something about a shower and leaving him standing there speechless.

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When Sebastian heard the movement of the floor he immediately looked over his shoulder, seeing Moriarty look up at him. He full expected the man to be emotional: yell, scream, perhaps even cry a little given what had happened. Instead, the man just looked at him as if nothing had happened, other than the fact he had been awakened from his nap. He watched the man stand before moving over to him and kiss him on the lips. Sebastian could only stand in shock as the Korean man mentioned taking a shower, before leaving to do so.

He watched him disappear into the hallway before he heard the shower running and at that moment he felt his mind snap into place, telling him the only thing that seemed rational at this moment: get the hell out! He found his clothing and quickly dressed, stopping long enough to find his keys that he been left in the door before going out. His body complained at the movement, but his drive took precedence over the pain. He needed a drink, but he was painfully aware that no place was serving this early in the morning. His only option was to walk and try not to think.

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Moriarty did not have the benefit of alcohol to cloud his judgement or allow him to forget what happened to him on the floor of 18 Conduit Street. No, he must remain present. It seemed that Sebastian’s entire being moved with purposeful clarity. With each movement he made, it became more painfully obvious how much he was giving in to his carnal passions. He took him down with certainty as if working solely on an instinct like the great wild tigers of northwest China. He had never seen a man so driven completely insane by his actions and it set the fire in his belly on an instant blaze of feeling, which drove out from there and into the rest of his nerve endings.

He stretched him open, the tip entering with some difficulty before he forced the rest of himself inside. When he was well impaled he began thrusting in an all together erratic rhythm. He wondered silently how many women Sebastian Moran had been with, in his research their had been to many to count. None of them important, none of them lasting more than a night had not given James Moriarty cause for worry. He didn’t need his sniper and body guard attached to anyone. He wanted him to have no loyalties, but to himself and that was what he was going to get. If he thought for one moment that someone mattered from this point on, he would destroy them. Not from a jealous rage, but to do what was necessary to protect them.

Naked and bound before the altar of the tiger Moriarty allowed himself to be sacrificed. Even if he had refused, the claws of the tiger would only sink deeper into his flesh. The gods desired blood and this sniper seemed more than willing to provide. Life was unpredictable, and when the tiger woke, his strike was swift. The tiger would teach him when to move, when to remain still and in the end experience an incredible strength and power under him that no one else had been able to elicit in the soulless creature. He felt as though the hunt was at an end as Sebastian pumped into him with wild energy, his paws firmly pinning down his hips.

When he released him, Moriarty could feel the evidence of their copulation dripping from inside him. He lay on the floor, bruised and fatigued. He dare not move, not yet. He allowed Sebastian to enjoy what he had done to him. To see the disturbing circumstances of his actions and come to the realization of the reality of such a thing. While Moriarty lay there on the floor panting, his eyes fluttering softly with the exhaustion of being taken in such a way he was surprised to feel the man’s hands on him once more, lifting his hips up, so that his face must ultimately be buried in the hard wood. He listened as the seed dripped onto the floor, unable to keep everything in that the tiger had given him. What would he do next, it was unclear, but James was more than willing to bet it was going to be….awesome.

snipingpantheratigris

Somewhere among Sebastian's belongings was a book belonging to Maxine Annabell from New Zealand. It was a book on tigers, a gift from one of England's museums when he donated his trophy to them after being forced to downsize his life into the one bedroom flat he now called home. He had only kept it to allow himself to do more research on his prey, but during torrential downpour that lasted days, he found himself running out of things to do and finally opened to book. It went through the life cycles of tigers from cubs to near death, explain why tigers became man-eaters when they usually avoided humanity. To this day the most interest part for him was the mating habits, which he had never witnessed himself, but had heard what he realized now to be their fruits of their labors.

Th e primary concern of any tiger is the personal safety and potential mates may come together and part again, a number of times before trust is gained. The tiger is a solitary animal by nature so the first encounter between a male and female is often accompanied with much snarling and snapping. Gradually the pair will move closer, until they are whisker to whisker, but they continue to snarl for a time.

Once they calm down the tigress starts to make a series of gestures designed to attract her mate. These include grooming, nuzzling, licking, rubbing along his side and giving him “love” bites. She then rolls on the ground waving his paws in the air. Snorting and foot stamping may be part of the act. The male watching this with disdain until she lies on her belly presenting to him, forelegs fully extended and hind legs partially bent. At this point the male moves over the tigress and mounts her in a knees bent position, which places no pressure on her body. Sometimes he will vocalise loudly.

Copulation require the tigress to assume a vulnerable position. During ejaculation the male lets out a sharp cry and takes hold of the loose skin folds on the neck of the female. The exposes her neck to a bite and possible death. The reason for the neck bite is to ensure both are in the correct position at the time of the climax but they have been instances where a mistake by an inexperienced couple has led to death

As he dismounts, the females responds by growling and jumping up so as to dislodge him. She may slap or “box” at the male, inflicting quite severe, but superficial, scratches. Both cats will vocalise loudly and its during mating that tigers are at their noisiest. Other than this, they are quiet creatures, as marking noise only alerts potential prey to their presence.

There was nothing nearly as poetic happening on the floor of Sebastian's flat: no dance, no true submission, just angry and impulsive sex that wouldn't end in anything but a pair of exhausted bodies and a mess on the floor.

As the sunlight tried to force its way through the clouds of the next morning, Sebastian attempted to put his arm over his face, only to find it trapped under another body. Lisbeth... He felt a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth and rolled over frowning when he saw a head of short dark hair and immediately his face fell as the night returned to him suddenly. He had sex... with a man... And even worse it was his boss.

He jumped from his place on the floor, feeling (too late) the complaints from his joints, particular his hips and knees as he stumbled to the nearby wall to steady himself. He looked back the man on the floor seeing the bruises and dried blood. He was so fucking fired....

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snipingpantheratigris:

Sebastian Moran

His head spun as he tried gasping for air. He clawed at his hand uselessly, but was better than to use his last breathes to call for help. He wasn’t the type. Small ragged gasps escaped his throat as he could feel his efforts doing little in the way of stopping his attacker. His fingers curled around his neck, pressing, closing. Sebastian’s eyes burned with emptiness and anger as Jim’s lungs burned with pain. The edge of his vision went dark, his mind grew hazy and his thrashing slowed as his energy escaped him. His last thoughts were a blur of ecstasy as he felt himself slowly slipping away. To die at the teeth of a tiger would be an art.

He tasted copper. Swallowing back his whimpers, he tried to push against him again, but the killing machine wasn’t letting up. Jim felt his senses heighten as he came back from the brink. And Sebastian was kissing him. Once, twice, until he had had a taste and replied that he would never have enough. He was everywhere kissing him deeper; with a reverent urgent need he had never known before. His intensity made him cling to him as the only solid thing in a dizzy swaying world. Sebastian’s insistent mouth was parting his shaking lips, sending wild tremors along his nerves, evoking from him sensations he had never known he was capable of feeling.

Nothing about what he did was gentle. It was like a bonfire, filled with the wood of self-loathing and fueled by the gasoline of urgency. His coarse, whiskey-soaked tongue licked at his skin, his fingers crushed his trachea and held him in place. Moriarty dare not close his eyes for fear of missing any of the act. Sebastian’s face lit up with passion and lust. Jim let his head loll back like a rag doll, his breathing evening as his lips continued their exploration. He became angry, his force controlled as he found the collar of Jim’s shirt. The criminal enjoyed watching the sniper’s problem solving skills, like an ape at the Tower of Hanoi.

Move One: He took his hand away from his throat, pinning it down with his arm instead. Moriarty still had to know he was in control. His grunted as he made his movements, clearly working on instinct alone. Move Two: He worked both of Jim’s hands above his head, stretching his arms as far as they would allow in order to keep him pinned. He didn’t hide his face, like some would, keeping a demure and sober countenance in the face of danger. Instead he continued to stare at him, boldly, his eyes dark and ready. Move Three: Sebastian removed his arm from his throat. The instant relief of pressure allowing him to breathe more freely. In the same move, he remove his belt, tying it around his wrists and knotting it with military expertise. The last four moves would be crucial to the end game.

Move: Four: Now that he had freed up his hands to do as they like, they found purchase pulling his shirt out from the waist of his slacks, forcing it higher, covering his face with it as he proceeded to bite him in other places that made Jim moan. Move Five: He felt Sebastian’s steady hands find his belt, removing it swiftly and taking with it his pants. Move Six: One minute he was staring up at the ceiling, the next his face was smashed into the floor. He’d flipped him, in a very bold move, he might add, hoisting his hips higher. He’d never forget the sound of the zipper on his jeans, the way it jerked down hastily in and effort to please its owner. Move Seven: Something wet, spit, he imagined and then pain, sweet, beautiful pain.

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Sebastian's body was moving without his brain because he would have stopped himself long before he got the this point. He was straight and there was no question in his mind or in anyone else's. He had been with plenty and in close proximity of many men, drunk, sober, naked and clothed and not one time had it every crossed his mind to glance more than once in their direction.

And yet his body wanted to use the smaller man beneath him and his mind wasn't fast to correct his body about the difference in anatomy from his other conquests. His movements were fast and skilled as if he did this all of the time. There had been a few girls who liked the rough stuff but he still held back as he could easily kill them if he wasn't careful. Now his body moved to satisfy himself, not to protect or service his partner.

He snapped into the man, not knowing or caring for any kind of preparation beside the bit of spit that he used to coat himself before the assault. He felt the heat and tightness engulf him in a way that he had every felt and his hips snapped forward in instinct to wrap the entirety of his cock in his boss. Had he been in his right mind, the copper smell of blood would have stopped him. Instead it made his thrust became harsher, his hands pinning down Moriarty's hips down prevent his prey from scrambling out from beneath him.

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snipingpantheratigris:

Sebastian Moran

His first consolation had been with that of Samuel Saville Kent, an Englishman and Inspector of Factories for the Home Office. Dear Jim, will you fix it for me and so it was that sometime during the night of 29 June and the morning of 30 June, Francis “Saville” Kent, almost four years old, disappeared from his room in his father’s house, called the Road Hill House, in the village of Rode, Wiltshire. His body was found in the vault of a root cellar on the property. The child, still dressed in his nightshirt and wrapped in a blanket, had knife wounds on his chest and hands, and his throat was slashed so deeply that the body was almost decapitated.

The boy’s nanny, Elizabeth Gough, was initially arrested. Elizabeth was released when the suspects of Detective Inspector Jack Whicher of Scotland Yard moved to the boy’s sixteen year old half-sister, Constance. She was arrested, but released without trial owing to public opinion against the accusations of a working class detective against a young lady of breeding. After the investigation collapsed, the Kent family moved to Wrexham in the north of Wales and sent Constance to finishing school. Five years later she made a confession of guilt to an Anglo-Catholic clergyman and expressed to him her resolution to give herself up.

James had been more than disappointed with the outcome of it all, but he couldn’t help if Samuel’s mentally unbalanced daughter accused herself. Only Jim knew the truth. Samuel Saville Kent was a known adulterer and having an affair with the nanny and in a fit of rage murdered the child after coitus interruptus. Oops! Most humans would never know what it felt like to take another human life; if there was some intangible sensation that came with watching someone breathe their last breath and known it was because of something they had done. Depending on the person, listening to killers describe their crimes could be anything from exciting to just plain boring.

Watching a killer re-live his greatest moments to give himself or herself a perverse pleasure sent Jim into unequivocal glee. In that frozen second between stand off and fighting he saw his eyes flicker. Jim’s face was unreadable, no fear, no invitational smirk. The pain that shot through his temple was dizzying. He stumbled back as tinnitus affected him and he shook his head to stop that damned ringing in his ears. He was on him again, but Moriarty was ready. He forced his mind to the pattern his attacker wove, he grabbed him and Jim brought his fist up sharply and quickly, into his jaw sending him sprawling backwards.

The scuffle lasted onto a few minutes as items were broken and James Moriarty found himself mounted on the floor. His lip was bleeding, his hands pinned above his head to keep him still. In his eyes were confidence and internal power. He had the eyes of a tiger, a warning to the impending death of anyone who stood in his way. The strength of what had been building between them was staggering. Mind-blowing. Anyone less than the smaller Korean man wouldn’t be worth of the monstrous tiger that lay just under his human skin.

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Some fighters when they got far too deep into the rage lost of sense of self and often explained that they simply blacked out and when they blacked in, their opponent was disposed of in some way. Witnesses to said fights would say that the fight would seem to be tireless and stronger than they appeared, only stopping when there was no longer a “threat”. For Sebastian fighting when angered was different. He was acutely aware of everything that happened and the world seemed to stand still as limbs flew.

This particular fight, he saw the gun skitter around the floor and out of view. He didn't care for the mediocre weapon, he wanted to see blood on his hands, to taste it in mouth as his littered his face with red spots. He more saw the fist connect with his jaw more than felt it even as he fell to the ground.

If he were in any kind of right mind, he would be surprised at how good of a fighter this pencil neck man was, instead he took pleasure in pinning him to the ground one hand pinning Moriarty's hand to the floor, the other tightening around his throat. He pulled the man's face close to his own, wanting the watch as the blood vessels popped in his eyes before the light finally left them. He would never recall his lips pressing against the smaller man's, his teeth biting, attempting to draw blood from his face.

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snipingpantheratigris:

Sebastian Moran

For soldiers fighting was an exceptional circumstance, rather than the norm. For many, life consisted of toiling to keep those at the front supplied. But the frontline themselves were rotated to ensure that time spent facing the enemy was balanced by periods of rest and, occasionally, home-leave. The determination of soldiers to keep fighting could be strongly influenced by the regularity of rotation. Some armies were more efficient than others in this respect. This discouraged war-weariness and desertion. However, a sniper’s work was never done. It was a strange profession whose skills were both morbid and sensationalized at the same time.

There was nothing glorious or sexy about the position. It was hard on the body and it was not something he would likely want to chat about at a cocktail party. Decent people with regular office jobs seemed to have formed their opinions so decidedly about someone in his line of work: what type of person he must be, what morals he had and that he must be a little off, long before he even met them. He had spent days crawling, climbing, slinking, stinking - getting bit by ever bug, scratched by every thicket - attempting to relieve himself while laying on his side, looking through night vision or scopes for endless hours, sleeping in fifteen minute bursts just to get to a target area.

There were so many different skill sets that needed to be constantly refined as tactics, equipment, weather, enemy and ballistic trajectories change dramatically. It was one thing to hide in a jungle with vast areas of cover and concealment and quite another to be an effective sniper in a city or urban warfare environment. The difficulty factor went up. The amount of practice, study and hours spent mastering every type of environment shooting from buildings, helicopters, ships, shooting through glass, walls, different mathematical calculations for temperature, humidity, altitude, load, etc was a non-stop learning game. With a life like that James Moriarty could not see how Sebastian Moran had not become a monster.

As a monster he had always gone unnoticed in the city. He wasn’t invisible, but his skin perfectly projected the image any normal person would expect to see. Sebastian was a tall man of six feet, his bearded face and muscled, tattooed arms spoke volumes for his tolerance for pain, as well as good health, good genes and strong immune system. Moreover, he was perceived by others with respect to personality as a bad boy, more masculine, dominant and aggressive. No one would know what lurked just beneath the surface. He couldn’t take back all the damage he had done. James wasn’t sure that he really wanted to. He could see it raging inside of him, just under the surface. Just loud enough for James to hear, but there was a door between them, between James and the monster he so wanted to see.

At his words he let her go. “Get out and if you call the police darling, I will find you and I will kill you.” She scrambled from the place where she had been cowering, running through the front door and down the stairs. They both heard the street-level door slam and she was gone.

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Sebastian fully expected for the gun to be leveled on him as he stared defiantly into the Korean man's eyes. He wouldn't put past Moriarty his willingness to shoot him and he would take it. His long night of drinking the night before made his misery clear and he knew it would only get worse from here. The re-emergence of this darkness meant that if that contract was truly for life he would lose his life, either to an enemy or to the fiend he tried to force back. Though he had preference in that regard, he would rather not have to think of it either way.

He hardly heard Moriarty's word to Lisbeth but felt her presence leave the flat. The alcohol haze he had been at the bottom of the stairs was gone, leaving the predator must like the nickname he had been given after putting another monster out of the misery he had inflected on it.

His victory over the tiger had been hollow. While in the mountains on leave, he had been asked by an old man to help them track a tiger that would come into his village and carry off anything small enough to fit in its mouth, including but not limited to small children and smaller adults. He had evaded every trap the village had put out, even a few that he had set up himself and most of his tracking expeditions ended up in circles.

On the final night, he had barely caught a glimpse of it and was able to shoot it in the stomach. The creature took off and he knew that its death would be inevitable, slow and without any kind of dignity. So as the village congratulated itself he went into the night to track it, not realizing others were fast on his heels. It took until midday to find the small ditch that seemed to go for at least 2 kilometers. There his prey lay, panting and growling in pain as he came upon it. He watched the creature rise and look him over as if it knew he was the one that would send him to the next world.

The pair stood staring at each other, as if appreciating one another for what they were before the tiger let out one last roar and rushed for him. He didn't toy with him or attempt to aim for a fatal shot that would allow him to make a good trophy. As the smoke cleared from his rifle he watched the creature collapse and its eyes go dull. As he collapsed himself, he told himself that was how he would die. He would insure that he was regarded as a danger to the very end and that the one to take him out would be a worth adversary – a monster just like him. Anything less wouldn't be worthy of the tiger he himself had killed.

When he heard the door, it seemed to bring him back to the man in front of him and before he could think of anything else, he took a single step forward, headbutting Moriarty. “You wanted me here I am!” He roared as he moved forward to grab the stumbling man to inflict more pain on him.

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snipingpantheratigris:

Sebastian Moran

Romance was the expressive and pleasurable feeling from an emotional attraction towards another person. This feeling was associated with, but did not necessitate sexual attraction. For most people it was eros rather than agape, philia or storge. Humans had a natural inclination to form bonds with one another through social interactions, be it through spoken communication or nonverbal gestures. He wondered how many of the two it had taken to make a connection with the young woman sitting on his sofa. He was sure that given his stature, the strength that would obviously come from his muscles had made him a suitable choice for her. Alpha animals were always given preferential access to food and other desirable items. Of course, in Sebastian’s case it was booze, women, guns and cars. He’d displayed his dominance in more than one bar across the West End and was certain he could have any woman he wanted; not this one, not tonight.

Jim looked over the woman, the way she clung to Sebastian as if he were the only life preserver on a sinking vessel. Little did she know that he was just as terrible, just as dangerous at the man with the gun. He had killed people, innocent people for money, without a second thought. He was well versed in killing: androcide, democide, and homicide. From the look he was giving him he imagined that Sebastian would love to preform his first act in the art of dominicide, but that would have to wait for another day. As he watched as the larger male worked out the language. Approximately 80 million people worldwide spoke Korean and he was pleased to see that Sebastian was one of them. The words tumbled over his alcohol kissed lips as he asked the same question he had asked in English. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you, of course.” He mused as he suddenly grabbed the nurse by the back of her hair, pulling her off the couch. His voice which had been soft and melodic as it spoke to Sebastian now held the tone of demanding. He held her in front of him on her knees facing the tiger. She was crying, trying not to whimper as his grip in her hair tightened. He held the gun to her head and the once melodic tone he had used with Sebastian was gone. His voice was strong, commanding as if he wanted answers and he wanted them now. It was all just a show, put on for the benefit of the victim. “You should have been home hours ago. I have much to discuss with you and all you can think about his getting your dick wet. Shall I kill her and end the suffering of the room at large?“

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Sebastian frowned as he felt Lisbeth be pulled from her side and placed in front of him in an executioner's victim's kneel at his feet. For a second, he heard screaming, gunshots and women pleading in languages that he couldn't understand and wasn't meant to.

He would never admit this to anyone, especially not the his team psychologist when they came back from missions: With every bullet that left his barrel, a piece of himself whizzed behind it. No man with any kind of soul could do the things he had done without losing himself, that what the doctors would tell the special team leaders when they were brought in for a quarterly meeting to watch their teams for PTSD or other issues. It was true, when he first started out it was a great rush, but as taking people's lives became more and more common place, he could feel himself becoming disconnected- dissociate that was the word the doctors would use.

What was different from himself was he didn't feel sympathy for his targets, and would blow away anyone he was told to, but there was still something about taking another life that drove him closer to something dark he couldn't explain. That's why he drank and fucked his way through life: the less he could think about himself the better off everyone was.

Seeing the nurse on her knees trying to hold back her tears, beckoned to that dark thing in his mind. He could feel his eyes focus in that way it would just before he pulled the trigger on a target. He could see the front of her head cave in and the back explode in the blossom and red, pinks and purples as her eyes slipped closed for the last time. She would never be suitable for a casket and yet so beautiful in his mind...

He shook his head clear of the picture and the darkness that had conjured it. He wasn't going to let Moriarty kill her, because he was having an infantile tantrum. He stood to his full height glaring down at the smaller man.“You're not my mother. And if you are going treat me like you are then only way to end our suffering is by you shooting me.” He growled dangerously in Korean.

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snipingpantheratigris:

Sebastian Moran

The person Jim was depended on who he was talking-to and what he wanted. He could be everything from bad-ass to vulnerable, albeit with a new story of each new situation. He had an infinite number of childhoods; his parents were happy, divorced, fighting, abusive or dead. His father had been a banker, a road digger, a burglar, or unemployed. His mother had been a drunk, a politician, a home-maker or a tart. He was an only child, the last of eight, brought up in foster care or the heir to a fortune. Today, at this very moment, he was an officer sent by the NIS just as Sebastian had suspected on first meeting them. He smirked as he stood from his chair at the tiger’s outburst and the woman’s screams. This was going to be fun.He shouted at them in Korean, commanding them to sit down. If Sebastian was as good as he said he was he would sit and take the woman with him.

He was pleased to see he hadn’t been mistaken in guessing Korean was one of the many languages his new employee was versed in. Keeping the woman behind him, he moved around until they were both seated on the sofa. “You thought we wouldn’t find you.” He said in broken English as if it wasn’t his first language. He moved towards them gun fixed on them, safety off, fully loaded and ready to fire at will. The look in his eye suggested he was enjoying this. His pupils were dilated, the smirk on his face giving Sebastian the understanding that he should play along or suffer the consequences. He moved over the freckle-faced woman, gently brushing the hair out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ear as he continued in Korean.

“She’s a pretty one, where did you pick her up?”

snipingpantheratigris

Sebastian watched as Moriarty stood before shouting something in Korean. He felt his body shift and start pushing Lisbeth to the couch before his brain recognized what he said. He sat her down before doing the same feeling her hover close to him. He listened to the broken English before looking the man over. Sebastian could have punched his lights out. This bastard was enjoying this! His lay was shaking like a leaf and there was no way he was getting his dick wet now and this asshole was having the time of his life! He felt the skin tighten over his knuckles as his hand balled into a fist.

He heard his next question and it took him a moment for the gears in his head to start working cognitively instead of instinctively. The hardest thing about Korean was pronunciation, like some Slavic languages as well as other Asian languages there were letters that weren't clearly pronounced but there omission changed the word completely, he had to be careful how the back of his tongue moved, especially since he had been drinking. “At a bar, obviously,” he snapped back at him. “What are you doing here?”

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snipingpantheratigris:

Sebastian Moran

James had only brought what belongings he would need with him on the train. The rest were set to arrive later tomorrow. Three Vivienne Westwood suits, several pairs of socks and underwear, his mobile phone and his laptop. He folded them neatly away in his travel suitcase and began making all the arrangements for his stay at 18 Conduit Street. Coming from Sussex would be the rest of his wardrobe, his personal affects that were less important that the mobile or laptop. Judging by the size of the building combined with the fact that Mr. Moran lived quite alone, there would be plenty of room and it would be the perfect opportunity to be as close to his bodyguard as possible.

At eight o’ clock he walked through the street-side door of 18 Conduit Street. The smell of cheaply made Chinese food and Bisley Gun Oil and Bore Cleaner Scrubber Solvent filled the air. Someone was certainly excited at the prospect of using their arsenal again. He chuckled as he closed the door and ascended the stairs to the upper floor where he would now be residing. He didn’t bother knocking on the front door. There was no need for social graces in this situation, he owned the place and the man with in it. The contract had made that clear. He noticed that the place was quite like it had been the night before, besides the stench of disinfectant and solvent.

“Honey, I’m home.” He said in a sing song sort of way. He put his suitcase down by the door, but when he wasn’t greeted by a slur of insults and swears his back straightened. Eyes narrowed as he went from room to room. His eyes missed nothing. Sebastian had been here, he drank excessively after he left. He’d ordered takeaways as was evident by the light smell of Chinese food still lingering under the disinfectant. Then? His eyes noticed the wall, just behind the armchair where he had been sitting. His fingers traced the rough brick, feeling the indentation where one had not been before. There was also a spot of blood that the man had missed in his clean up, minuscule at best, but not unnoticed by his keen eye.

There was a breaking point of the tiger’s patience. Anger was the vexing of the soul. A swelling of the veins waiting to explode and unleashing the monster that everyone had inside them. He liked the idea of seeing the large man brought to his baser instincts by anger. Control, calm and purpose were for the field, but here in the confines of his cage he wanted to feel that anger boil over like a kettle. He wanted their war to rage on, to see how far he could push him. Sebastian Moran was going to be his new favorite distraction. But at the moment he was painfully aware of his absence.

Three hours later, his own soul had grown quite impatient with waiting. Moriarty ruled with a rod of iron over his people, his discipline was tremendous, it would be no different for the tiger. There was only one punishment in his code: death. Her giggling is what brought him out of his contemplative state. He’d been imagining all the ways he could hurt the great brute, each one as delicious as the last. He moved to the front windows, pulling back the curtain, he watched the couple cross the street and a smirk grew across his face that promised every sort of wickedness. He pulled out a gun, any old gun of Sebastian’s would do, even if they were all right handed. He sat in the armchair, gun facing the door as he waited.

snipingpantheratigris

The walk back to his flat had been pretty fast and Sebastian was glad for it as it was clear that Lisbeth had no issue being his bedmate for the night, despite her coy behavior. They took a quick tour of Conduit St before moving to the door of his flat. The pair stood on the landing, kissing and allowing their hands to wander over each other's bodies. As he pulled back, he took her hand and reached into his pocket for his keys. There was no protest about it or excuses, even as he pulled her inside and pressed her against the wall for a much more intense kiss. They stayed there for several minutes, pushing at jackets and fabrics. “You know there is a bed upstairs...” He smirked against her neck, waiting for the small acknowledgment before bring her up to the second landing and unlocking that door.

If his senses hadn't been dulled by the alcohol he would have sensed Moriarty's presence long before Lisbeth let out a scream. He spun around quickly, seeing the man sitting in his arm chair once again, yet another one of his pistols in his hand, this time his Walther PPK- most people thought it was a replica of the gun made famous by the James Bond movies, as it sat on display on the shelf next to the remastered DVDs of the fictional agent, but it was real and once again, loaded. “What the fuck! What are you doing here?” He asked as he stepped quickly in front of Lisbeth and she buried her face into his back.

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snipingpantheratigris:

Sebastian Moran

Laughter overpowered the jukebox. Conversations swirled in a dirty cloud of smoke, the stagnant stench of cigarettes hides within the collaboration of mephitic odors. A sharp smell of drinks wafted toward them, like black plumes bellowing from the windows of a burning house. The bar was hundreds of conversations told in loud voices, all of them competing with the rock music that dominated the atmosphere. The crowd was young students from university for the most part. She followed Sebastian as he wound his way through the warm bodies to order a drink - the dark local beer. Before the drink was poured he felt her melt against his body from behind.

She lolled her head to one side, pushing out her red lips just a little. She wasn’t drunk yet, but she liked to give the impression that she was. The bartender was there to take their order in a flash, eyes dropping only momentarily to her low-cut neckline. She twiddled her hair in a seemingly absent-minded way and giggled girlishly before ordering. She looked up at Sebastian, there were muscles under that shirt. His face was above average with those green eyes and tanned skin, she was glad that she had given him her number. His beard had tickled her when he kissed her cheek on seeing her again. She had never kissed a man with a beard, but she knew because she was ticklish that if they did end up kissing it would send her into a fit of giggles.

He met her gaze with the smile of one who knew the upper hand was his and lights up a cigarette to add to the hazy cloud, lingering, spiraling in stagnant air. She folded one leg over the other, dangling her high heel, showing more leg. She wanted him to know that she was available for whatever he had in mind. She was practical. Lizbeth had just graduated from nursing school, she worked a job that she loved and she wasn’t looking for a long term relationship right now. In Sebastian’s eyes she was the perfect woman.

snipingpantheratigris

Sebastian had come home directly from the hospital, having skipped the liquor store completely, popped his pills as directed and started to immediately clean the house. With the exception of the mess he had made the night before, his flat was usually in pristine condition because he spent most of his time out of it. He cooked, drank and slept here. He had all the amenities that were expected of a man of his age, but just never felt a need to stay in when London buzzed by him all times of day and night.

He took particular care to clear the blood and flesh from the wall before the medication really kicked in. While he knew that seasoned nurse wouldn't take the bar fight story with his wounds (and probably the doctor hadn't), he didn't want to give her any reason to think that he would be violent toward her when he brought her upstairs. With the flat cleaned to his specifications, he laid down for a nap, setting an alarm that would allow him another shower as well as to make one last sweep of the house to insure that it was clean but not too terrible so.

He met Lisbeth at the small dark bar of his choosing at a halfway point between his flat and the hospital. It wasn't as swanky as the bars on and around Conduit St, which meant cheaper drinks and a better atmosphere. I would be intimate and simple, instead of stuffy and presumptive. He felt her hanging all over him and smiled at her. She was giving all of the signs of an easy lay: the faux drunken college girl mannerisms, the hair twisting, lip biting. It was all a ruse that he was willing to fall for as long as she was willing to come out of the dress she was in.

They chatted about her life and his and he gave the usual story he gave everyone else. His father was a well-to-do man who felt that his son needed structure and he ended up flourishing from it. He was discharged due to a disagreement with an superior and was now working for his father's company -unemployment was an unattractive trait. He smoked and chatted with her well into the night until the faux symptoms of inebriation became real and she was starting to get handsy. He moved around the small table as she chatted about a joke she had heard in medical school and as she stumbled through the punchline he leaned down kissing her. As he pulled back he could see the dazed look in her eye and smirked. “Lets go for a walk, shall we?” When she agreed he smiled. Hook, line and sinker...

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snipingpantheratigris:

Sebastian Moran

She watched him cautiously as she assessed the extent of his injuries. He had really done a number on his knuckles and she did not believe for one-second that he had injured his hand in a bar fight. If that had been the case then the other man would have had serious injuries. Though she was certain the man sitting on the bed was capable of inflicting such injury she didn’t want to think that he could be so violent. She bit her bottom lip and she determined that the knuckle was broken. She explained softly that the most common type of treatment was known as neighbor strapping, which mean they would stop, or tape, the finger with the broken to knuckle to the one next to it.

As she turned away from him to get the doctor she was surprised by his question. Not entirely, because it wasn’t the first time she had been hit on by one of her patients, but the small grin on his face as she turned back to him brushed away any doubt she had in her mind that he was just being polite. She squared her shoulders, giving him a bit of a smile as she moved closer to him, her eyes brushed against him as she leaned over to grab the remote for the bed, television and the call button for the nurse. She put it in his unbroken hand and whispered in his ear as she did so. “Don’t waste my time soldier.” She felt a self satisfied smirk slip onto her face as she moved away from him and he let out a noise of frustration.

The doctor had the posture of a soldier. Every action he took was precise and purposeful. He smiled in the cold and distant way professionals do. His eyes were devoid of any sympathy behind his round spectacles as through his examinations he gave commands rather than requests. Lizbeth had hovered two feet behind, her relaxed expression of earlier replaced with a grim slash for a mouth and knitted eyebrows. They did exactly as she had said, setting the index finger against the middle finger and strapping them together in order to give the bone something to mimic.

“Three weeks and then you should follow up with your primary to make sure it has set.” The doctor informed him and with that he was gone. Lizbeth mouthed an embarrassed apology on behalf of the doctor. She left and was gone for at least another ten minutes before she returned with his discharge paperwork as well as his prescriptions.

snipingpantheratigris

To say that Sebastian hated to see her go, but loved to watch her leave was cliché but it was accurate, especially after brushing her assets against him. He watched the TV, deciding on a game show before the doctor came and and as soon as the pair looked at each other, they read each other immediately. Military men could always read each other immediately and with people like the doctor it was amazing that civilians didn't. Sebastian's shoulder squared slightly, as the man introduced himself, and it was all he could do from throwing the title Colonel before his name.

He watched the man move and speak with method and roughness of many of boot camp sergeant that he made stand at attention a little too long in front of their recruits. His light smile turned into the blank expression of the soldier as they reset the bone and fixed his middle finger to the index. The one thing that he was say for the bluntness and precision of military doctors was that they were often done quickly. He pulled his hand back onto his lap, the entirety of his hand throbbing now and his headache slightly abated by the adrenaline that still pulsed through his veins. He smiled back at the nurse as she silently apologized and started getting dressed and gathering his things.

He would like to say he planned to pull down his shirt as she came back in, but getting dressed was a lot harder now that one hand was practically useless. He pushed his right hand through his hair as she told him everything about his discharge paperwork and medications. He smiled at her thanking her for her hard work. “If you don't mind, I would like to thank you personally...” He added with a sly smile.

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snipingpantheratigris:

Sebastian Moran

The hospital was stuffy and the air had an undertone of bleach. The walls were magnolia and scraped in places from the hundreds of trolleys that had bumped into them. The pictures on the walls were cheap benign prints of uplifting scenes and above the large double doors were large blue plastic signs with the areas of the hospital that lay ahead. Accidents and emergencies was relatively quiet this morning with its automatic sliding glass doors, ambulances lined up outside and paramedics wheeling in patients on trollies.

With nothing in the waiting room but a television, outdated magazines and plastic chairs it was about as comfortable as a train station. The first nurse he was greeted by took his information and gave him a wrist band. It has his name, date of birth, date of admittance and precautions which was left entirely blank. They always asked the same questions didn’t they? Name, date of birth, reason of visit, if the patient had been outside the country in the last three months or if they had come into contact with anyone who had been outside the country in the same amount of time. The last question they asked was if they thought they were a danger to themselves or others.

The check in process had been tedious enough, but after an hour wait between the uncomfortable lobby chairs and the backless bed it was enough to drive anyone mad. Lizbeth was a person of uncommon gifts. She was like a bird in flight, making something so impossible for others appear easy and natural. On the ward she calmed the patients deemed “difficult” by others. One glance at her freckled cheeks and their respirations eased to a more relaxed rhythm. When her eyes fell on him it had the warmth of patience and understanding.

Her voice was deep yet honeyed. Her speech had a liberal dose of terms of endearment: “honey, sweetie, sweetheart and love.” With just her presence his pain seemed to dissipate or at least he forgot about it for half a minute until she picked up his hand. She looked it over and asked all the traditional questions: how, when, where and why. She teased him that the other guy must have looked horrible compared to what he had suffered.

snipingpantheratigris

To add to the list of things that made the last 24 hours hell for Sebastian was the hospital. He had been in share of a few for various reason, mostly broken bones, but he never liked how dull they were. He didn't mind people watching for a while, but there was hardly anyone to watch here, which left him subjected to mid-morning teley which was mostly trashy reality television and poorly acted commercials between. Despite the deserted wait room it took nearly an hour before he was seen by a human being. As he sat he fuse grew shorter and shorter as the pain and throbbing increased along with the swelling in his hand and the intense pounding of his head.

When the curtain pulled back he nearly berated the orderly that walked in but was glad he still had some control of his tongue. The nurse was sweet and cute which was doing her tons of favors as she ask the same questions he had answered twice: once at the front desk and the second time with the person who took his vitals. As she took his hand, he attempted to not show his pain on his face, but when she pressed down on the bone, he gave a grunt. He minimized the pain he felt and when she told him that the doctor would be in, he protested flirtatiously about her leaving his side so quickly. “What will if I need you in the mean time?”

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snipingpantheratigris:

Sebastian Moran

The tiger had come more willingly to captivity than he might have thought. Although Moriarty had certainly made it easy for him to accept the gilded cage. First came General Daniel Orson, the man who had sent the letter of admonishment. Born the son of John and Elizabeth Orson he attended Eastbourne College and was commissioned into the Royal Artillery as a second lieutenant. He graduated with a degree in international relations. His pressure point had been easy enough to find. According to his reports he had been involved in an extramarital affair with the woman who intended to author his biography. It had been easy enough to purchase the building on Conduit Street, though he seemed quite glad to be rid of it.

Next came the financial aspect of things. In school James had excelled in mathematics. He’d discovered exactly how much a sniper made in the army, before taking several meetings with the Arifs and the Clerkenwells, allegedly two of the most powerful criminal organizations in the United Kingdom. He’d posed as a banker, who had done run some money through the laundromat. He wanted someone killed and he wanted to know how much. Their prices varied depending on the target, his status and level of security. The median had been a reasonable enough number, but what he wanted was the average. After that he had estimated how many people he had contracted for the gallows in the past year, then doubled it.

Next came the breakdown of cost of living: Housing 35%, Utilities 5%, Food 10-20%, Transportation 15 - 20%, Clothing 3 - 5%, Medical 3%, Personal and Discretionary 5-10%, Savings 5-10% and Debt Payments 5-15%. These guidelines of course were created for someone who really needed to put together a tight budget. If his finances were not strained, which they weren’t, he could decide to be more lax and go beyond them in areas. He had of course tailed the tiger for months: watching every swipe of his bank card, every cash transaction. He knew exactly how much he would have to spend in order for Sebastian to live within his means and beyond them. He’d allotted for this as well.

Of course, if the man hadn’t found the terms satisfactory he could have just shot him in the head. He considered himself lucky that he had not succumbed to dirtying his hands. He instead was happily placed in The Westbury, a stone’s throw a way from where his tiger’s head rested at night and well within his territory. He would keep an eye on him in the following days while he prepared to have his things moved there.

snipingpantheratigris

The next morning found Sebastian on the floor of his flat, having fallen a mere 50 paces short of his bed. As he sat up, he felt the contents of his stomach rush up his throat and on shaking legs darted into the bathroom, barely fitting his head inside the gaping hole of his toilet that took all he gave it without complain. Ever since he was a boy, Sebastian hated vomiting. Admittedly it was the only time his parents took pity on him, his mother would coddle him and his father simply laid off. Despite that, the feeling of his abs forcing up what his stomach didn't want anymore always hurt more than it should and the lingering taste and smell of the bile in his mouth and nose simply made his nauseous again, and hate himself all the more.

When he finally found his feet he stood to rinse his mouth and brush his teeth only to be met with the throb of his head. Whether it was from the collision of his head on the hardwood floor, as was evident from the slight inflammation near his temple or the hangover, as was evident from his slightly blurred recollection of having finished at least two fifth of scotch, he wasn't sure, but he figured it was easier to cure for both.

As he started to take off his clothes to shower his knuckles gave protest to his movement and he looked down shocked at the swollen and bloody flesh there. Of course he had been blackout drunk and fought before but he had never sustained that much damage before. As he tried to recall what happened, he remembered the wall that had took his beating and the face of the man that had caused him to take out his anger on it and felt his rage boil up. As he clinched his fists he could feel the scabs rip open and sighed, release the tension in his hands. He had to take control of this situation and of his frustration, he reasoned.

But the longer he stood in the shower the more his frustration turned to hopelessness. This was his sentence: servitude until death. He felt his left hand hit the tile and stifled a cry out. He had forgotten he broke something too.... He cleaned up his knuckles and dressed, knowing the way to the closest clinic by heart. He would go there get his hand examined, get pain pill and on the way back stop off at the liquor store for a refill. He was not ready to coop with this new life yet.

As he left he glanced over at mess of three empty bottles and cheap takeaway, and it crossed his mind to clean it up. He blinked at his own thought, told his brain to piss off and left everything as it was, heading toward the door. He may be a slave but he wasn't going to change everything about himself for the son of a bitch.

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snipingpantheratigris:

Sebastian Moran

Bated breath waited for the colonel to put pen to paper. Though his face was a mask of indifference he wanted him to sign it. It was reasonable to assume that an oral pact could have been made and been legally binding, but James always preferred to get things in writing if possible, as it made persecution and sentencing much easier. In the past others had treated him like a demon whispering invocations and performing rituals that attracted him to them. When he’d presented himself the conjurer would ask for favors and offered their soul in exchange. He’d devoured them all. However, Sebastian was different, he hadn’t asked for this to happen. He hadn’t spoken to the darkness, alone, in the bitter watches of the night, when all his life seemed shrinking.

The contract contained many articles regarding signature validity, agreement terms, intention of form of relationship and rights and responsibilities. That, without out a doubt had to be his favorite part. “Mr. Moriarty and Mr. Moran agree that within this relationship each person has responsibilities, each person has responsibilities to themselves and to each other. Mr. Moriarty will consider it a right to expect that all of Mr. Moran’s responsibilities are carried out. Mr. Moran will obey Mr. Moriarty’s commands and follow his protocols as Mr. Moriarty decrees.” It was just as he had said earlier. If he wanted him to walk until his feet bled and then keep walking, he had to do it. There was no other option.

When he handed it back to him, Moriarty looked at the salary he had written in, before signing it himself. He tucked the contract back into his case and stood from the armchair. He eyed the knife in Sebastian’s hand, wondering briefly what it might feel like to be stabbed. He imagined himself laying in a pool of his own darkening blood and his face split into a grim that arced in a sickly way, never making it to his dark eyes. James moved around the burly man, the worst was over. He had made his sentiments known, he had acquired the commodity he set out to purchase. It had all gone over so smoothly that he was pleased.

He stopped just short of the door. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He turned, Sebastian Moran’s own gun leveled on him. He held the gun firmly, aligning the sight on the target, his arm straight. It actually looked like he knew what he was doing. He certainly didn’t hold it to the side like some street hoodlum who really had no business holding a pistol. He allowed his finger to curl around the trigger and smiled grimly before letting it fall and loop around his finger. He smiled that maniacal smile once more. “You might be looking for it later.” He put it on the entrance table, right next to Sebastian’s keys and several pieces of mail, with that he was gone.

snipingpantheratigris

Sebastian watched as the contract was signed before the piece of paper that represented his entire life for now until the grave disappeared into the case where he was sure was every step of his life up to this point was documented as well. If he were one of those fluffy types he could make some metaphor about the case and how life was boiled down paperwork, but right now, he just wanted to reduce this man's life to a pile of ash and blistered bone and could only hope his gaze would facilitate it.

He watched as the man walked past him, no worry about his own danger as he turned his back on a man with a knife. Before he could consider all the way that he could kill him within a few feet of his front door, he watched the man reach into his pocket, producing a gun. He could tell immediately that it was the Daewoo K5 DP51C that he had been looking for under the floorboard in the entrance hall. It was (ironically) the service pistol for the ROK and was nearly two centimeters short in length and and nearly three shorter in height than the SIG L105A2 that was in his bedside table, but it took the same caliber bullets. In his own hands it looked like a water pistol, but in the hands of its countryman it looked rather fitting.

He stood stock still, eyes darting to the safety and noticing that was indeed off. Sebastian of course always left his guns loaded, so the chance of this idiot discharging it in his direction was real. If he ended up getting shot by a goddamn pencil neck, the bastard had better kill him because he wouldn't let him live if he had one breath left in his lungs. In retrospect, he would recall how steady his stance was, but right now his rage was barely containable as he watched him spin the gun on the trigger guard and set it on the table by the door and leaving.

Sebastian stood listening to the man descent the stairs and close the door entrance door and counted to ten before turning and charging directly for the wall between the window and allowing his fists to hit the aging brick there.

He had only taken out his anger on his flat a few times, but this time, he could feel his rage building as the nerves in his hand implored him to stop. There weren't enough abuses he could scream at the red hardened clay as he beat it mercilessly. He felt a bone in his left hand give way sending a sharp pain up his forearm and forcing him to stop before he could take another swing. He pulls back, hearing the echoes what he could only describe as a guttural roar ring in the rafters as he look at the blood and skin it sat embedded into the half meter wide radius that he was determined to take out.

He felt himself move away and going to the liquor cabinet grabbing a bottle, not really caring for what it was as he opened it in shaking hands and drank from the bottle directly. He should have never let himself get trapped in such a way. He should have slit the bastard throat before he signed the contract. He continued berating himself silently, no caring if he bled all over the floor or if the wounds on his hand got wounded. At this point, both options were better than what awaited him as a future now. At that thought he finished the first bottle and moved onto the next in the same manner.

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snipingpantheratigris:

Sebastian Moran

Humans thought themselves the most intelligent among all the living species on earth. They took a certain amount or pride in that as well. However, other animals did not necessarily have a lower level of intellect? Some scientists refused to acknowledge that animals possessed intelligence; rather they attributed it to actions of intuition. He had a healthy respect for the way this particular tiger’s mind worked. He could practically hear the thrumming of the organ as it tried to work out exactly what he was saying. When he came to the obvious conclusion that he didn’t have a choice in the matter, he honestly thought it was the most adorable thing. He owned him and the way Moriarty saw it, he could work for him or he would put a bullet through that disused skull.

Delighted by the idea of gaining a second in command he reached over the left side of the armchair pulling up and into his lap his attaché case. He clicked open each of the locks before pulling out a file folder. Inside were important documents regarding Sebastian Augustus Moran everything from birth certificate to information regarding his primary and secondary education. His military career and even a letter from the head of the military informing him of his immediate dismissal for drinking and fighting. He handed him over a contract that he had already written up. It didn’t have legal jargon or anything that would need interpreting.

“This agreement is a contract between James Alexander Penryn Moriarty (hereafter referred to as “Mr. Moriarty”) and Sebastian Augustus Moran (hereafter refereed to as “Mr. Moran”). It is intended to set out, in broad strokes, the terms and conditions under which Mr. Moriarty and Mr. Moran enter into a relationship that is purely and entirely consensual. This is a living document, the agreement remaining in full force from the time of its inception until Mr. Moriarty or Mr. Moran dies or Mr. Moriarty determines its termination. There is no duress understood, implied or exerted upon Mr. Moran, and both Mr. Moriarty and Mr. Moran have had the opportunity to look over this agreement and agree on any changes necessary prior to execution. Thus, both parties are actively participating in the shape and form of this agreement, and by their signatures legally give full and unconditional consent to govern their relationship within the boundaries outlined herein, with full understanding and acceptance of all implications expressed and implied.”

There were plenty of allotments allowed to Sebastian in the contract. He would retain his residence at 18 Conduit Street and conduct business as usual. He was provided with a new cell phone that James Moriarty provided. It was much nicer than the old flip phone he’d acquired after being removed from the military. There was also the matter of transportation. James had seen no vehicle in the entire time he had tailed him, so he also handed him a pair of keys that belonged to a black Triumph GT6 Coupé. There was also an addendum regarding the giving and receiving of gifts. Moriarty was going to scratch Sebastian’s back and in return he was going to kill for him.

“Do you have any other questions?”

snipingpantheratigris

He watched as joy (not necessarily a smile) sprung up on his new “employer's” face and he reached for a small case that was sitting next to the chair. He watched as he opened it and flipped through a folder before producing a small document, not more than two pages long detailing their... “relationship?” Sebastian quirked his eyebrow at the language, finding it rather odd. It wasn't what he expected a contract for employment, even one as unorthodox as this was, would be worded in such a way...

He looked up as he finished reading to see a pair of silver keys swinging in front of his nose. He didn't take a rocket scientist to know that they were for a car and an older one at that. They reminded him of the keys to his old Rover SD1 that he drove when he in school. His father had bought it used as a kind of punishment for him as it looked like something a middle-aged woman would drive, but what the old man didn't realize that the car had a V8 engine in it. It took Sebastian complaining about a loud clunking sound when he shifted to get the car into the hands of a highly capable mechanical engineering students at Oxford, whose eye lit up like Christmas came early when he opened the bonnet. Sebastian kept that car until he was discharged and ended up wrapping it firmly around a pole in the middle of the English country side.

When Moriarty spoke, he snapped himself out of thought looking back down at the contract. He wouldn't say it wasn't being signed under duress but still its not like he had choice either way. He quickly wrote in his salary on the bottom of the contract between the last paragraph and the signature lines letting the Asian man look it over and agree before signing and handing it over. “You don't want it notarized?” he added snidely.

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snipingpantheratigris:

Sebastian Moran

Considered an integral part of the transaction process in many parts of the world, haggling often threw those from lands of fixed prices off-kilter. They walked away from markets stands with sweat on their brows, festering feelings of frustration and vows of restricting their shopping to air-conditioned venues with price tags. However, for some, haggling was an everyday survival skill. Everyone loved a deal, but what was the proper etiquette for price negotiation? Well, he had a tip for the trained sniper, it certainly wasn’t by laughing the face of the person who held the purse strings. Luckily he had come prepared for such a scenario. As the man laughed he didn’t bat an eye, in fact he waited for his laugh to fizzle out and die in the silence of the flat.

Of course he knew all about the trip to Eastern Europe, where Sebastian Moran had been forced to do a much dirtier job that he was accustomed to. James Moriarty was offering him job security, never wondering where his next paycheck would come from and he had laughed in his face. That was perfectly fine by him, he had a brilliant poker face. He watched him stand back, going back to moving the knife. His thoughts occupied on just how much it would take to ensnare Sebastian Moran. How much could he really afford to pay him to do his counsel him, to guard him, to kill for him. He of course knew exactly how much, but it looked better for him if he mulled it over for a minute or two. He seemed to decide on a figure before looking up at him, his face just as stone cold as it had been while he laughed.

“Let’s say that the average hit costs £30,000, then if you factor approximately forty killings per year that’s £1,000,000 a year. Subtract the fact that I just purchased this building from the government for a lump sum of £3,495,00 and could turn you out on the street if I wanted because I have no obligation to you as well as subtracting expenses: housing, utilities and other housing expenditures, food, transportation, debt repayment, saving, clothing, entertainment and other miscellaneous expenses I think a reasonable fee for your trouble should be £500,000 a year. Surely a man of your means can live off so little?” He gave him a questioning gaze, one that seemed filled with concern, even though he had just schooled him in finances.

snipingpantheratigris

Sebastian Moran prided himself on being smart. He wasn't like most of the bookworms at Oxford, he had gotten in on legacy and his father's purse, but he didn't finish anywhere near last in his class. He also prided himself on knowing his self worth and 100,000 quid wasn't it. He had turned down cushier jobs that would pay at least that much. He wasn't going to be this man's personal go-fer for such a small amount.

He figured that man would be insulted by his laughter and leave. Instead the man stood there milling over his options, before opening his mouth and started to spewing out numbers, but the only one that caught his attention was the one concerning his flat. He had been living here for years without rent because the Army was taking care of the expenses but according to Moriarty the government had just sold the building and effectively himself to a man who didn't really need him like the intelligence community did... He was certain this would be an oversight that some people in MI5 would want to fix, but he doubted they would be able to at this point.

He glared at his new landlord who sport a faux look of concern. He gripped the hilt of the knife, the blade stock still as he considered his options. He could tell this bastard to piss off and raise a stink with the Chief of Defense Staff again, but it had taken weeks for them to find him a place to his liking and he doubted he would get carte blanche as he had before. He could kill this man: the knife in his hand wasn't weighted for throwing but he had been working on throwing it and it would certainly working as a good distraction for him to tackle this man to the ground. Assuming that there was not a sniper or henchman that he had missed his sweeps.

That left the most obvious option: join Moriarty. The man owned him and didn't have any true remorse about it. If he said no, he would find other ways of showing his superiority. Then he would have no choice but to kill him...

He felt his lip curl up in a snarl, the metal, the plastic starting the dig into his palm along with his nails. He was fucked. But at least if he was, he was going to take this bastard down with him. “Put it in writing along with all of the expenses you listed.”

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