✣???
@bclletiisms liked for a starter!
→ mercenary work was great. one would meet so many interesting people and about a third of them wouldn’t walk away from the encounter. deaths happened on both sides as that was simply the name of the game, the throw of the die on who made it out and who didn’t. mccree was either lucky or good, and he was not quite the type to question which one it was.
in a world gone digital there were some jobs still kept offline: this included jesse’s particular brand of merc work. positively medieval, some would SCOFF because it was still in back alleys and seedy bars that he came across his work on vague notes pinned to cork boards, pin boards, sometimes stuck on walls--a contact alias, a crowded room, instructions that reminded him of scavenger hunts.
𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙰𝙳𝙳𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽 𝙽𝙴𝙴𝙳𝙴𝙳 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙲𝚁𝙴𝙴𝚃 𝙹𝙾𝙱
that was it. ‘discreet’ usually entailed some variant thereto of gritty, unseemly, arguably illegal but he reached up with one MECHANICAL hand and seized the paper with its torn edges, looking at it with an arched brow. discreet job. well, there was no shame in looking in on it.
jesse found soon enough as he ascended stairs about on par with a fire exit (was he entering through the fire exit? well, hell it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done something along those lines for a DISCREET JOB, honestly) with the note folded up in his back pocket. someone damned well may have already filled the position but--knock twice then wait and knock a third time the note read so tap tap pause tap--he was coming to check in.
what exactly he was expecting could really be a mystery: he’d stepped in to places just as seedy as one would expect but he’d also stepped into places sterile as a hospital or those that were essentially someone’s home. this was firmly between the extremes, a mostly empty room with a total of two people.
one of which was a woman with hair that very nearly touched the floor and a splattering of tattoos over her rather revealed body. this was the other mercenary, he had to assume, because the portly fellow sitting on the couch didn’t look like he had it in him.
a shift from one foot to the other, fabric on fabric and a thumb hooking into his belt loop.
❝ so what’s the details on this discreet job? ❞
