#hitman verse

[frontierbound-archive]

Plotted starter for @alexis-vaughn​

“Honestly, I think Dirty is my favorite album, though Evol is also really good…”

A girl at the bar has noticed his Sonic Youth keychain and has started up a conversation while they wait for drinks. She’s young, probably just turned 21, wouldn’t have been born when Evol was released. Samuel is 39, too old for band keychains he suspects and nearly old enough to be her Father, old enough to know better too and he does, which is precisely why he accepts his Jack and Coke from the bartender and bids the girl goodbye with a wave before heading to another section of the room, hoping she doesn’t follow. Young woman these days are bold and forthright and while there’s nothing wrong with that, he’s found that many seem draw towards an older man, maybe they think it will give them some stability; a man with a good apartment and a good job. Truth is Samuel’s apartment is fairly basic and fairly empty, certainly no where someone would ever want to settle down, it’s not a home, was never intended to be; it’s a base of operations, a safe house, a temporary abode he can use until he’s forced to move on. Samuel doesn’t have a good job either, that’s not to say that the work he’s involved in doesn’t pay well, it does, extremely well in fact, but killing people for a living isn’t exactly what most people would consider a steady pensionable post.

This bourbon would taste better straight, he thinks, sipping from his glass and regretting asking for coke from the tap, it tastes like fizzy sugar water and is spoiling the liquor. Glancing up from his drink, he casts his eyes across the dancefloor towards the far end of the bar and it is there he sees her; a face he hasn’t seen in a very long time. 

For a moment he stands still, watching her closely, trying to determine if it is really Vaughn or merely someone that looks a lot like her but as she smiles his suspicions are confirmed; it’s definitely her. Alexis Vaughn…she looks well, very well in fact and Samuel can’t help but wonder if she is still with the CIA. The last time they were together was in Cuba, at least five years ago, Samuel there in his capacity as a NAVY SEAL, leading a black ops mission in the territory, Alexis there in her capacity as a CIA agent, to covertly gather intelligence and help smooth over inter-agency conflicts. She had been effective in her role, quickly earning Samuel’s trust and his friendship. Admittedly Samuel had often wondered if their regular off-duty drinking sessions, were simply a way for Vaughn to informally gather Navy intelligence, but even if that had been the case, it had made those evenings no less fun.

Throwing back the rest of his drink, Samuel leaves his glass on a nearby table and moves to the end of the bar, so he can discreetly interrupt her without the need for her to introduce him to her friends.

“I’d buy you a drink, but if memory serves, it’s your round Alex.”

[frontierbound-archive]

following on from x

“Tonight?”

She is gone before catching his question, something made clear as he listens to the sound of her heels clicking on the stone stairs as she rushes out of the building, clearly late for whatever prior engagement she had arranged for today. It isn’t unexpected; neither of them had planned to meet last night, but their sexting is frequent, heated, and in the past few weeks has resulted in Sam turning up on Alex’s doorstep whenever beckoned. Normally they both have breakfast before he departs but today work seems to have got in the way. Work…something Sam has been neglecting recently; he’s supposed to be in Poland right now, but he re-negotiated with the client and rescheduled his flight for tomorrow. He still hasn’t spoken to her about it of course, tried not to deliberately avoid it either; the last thing he wants to do is make Alexis suspicious about the way in which he makes his money.

Deciding to shower at home, Samuel quickly pulls on the remainder of his clothes and pours himself a cup of coffee. Sipping it, he shifts through Alexis’ apartment examining framed photos and the little trinkets she keeps in a bowl in the lounge; mostly old keys and foreign coins. Sauntering over to her desk, he leans against it as he examines a photo of a young girl that has been positioned pride of place. He has no idea who she is of course, and simply assumes she is perhaps a niece or God Daughter of some kind. Collapsing into her desk chair, he kicks at the foot of the desk and slowly spins in it as he continues to sip from his mug. It is then that he sees it; the crack in the bottom drawer where it hasn’t been closed properly. It’s full of files and while Samuel knows he shouldn’t look, he can’t help but take a little peek.

The first few files he pulls out are nothing special, a dossier on a French philanthropist who is clearly laundering money via a few banks in Switzerland and a Russian accountant who has been providing information to the US Government in exchange for extradition. In truth he is about to close the drawer when he decides to take one last look. Pulling out another folder, he opens it up on his lap and what he discovers is instantly shocking. This dossier is a carbon copy of the one in his apartment, a folder that contains information about the Italian diplomat Samuel was paid to kill only two months ago. Coincidence surely…surely?

Ten minutes later, Samuel is sitting on the floor surrounded by open folders, the majority of which link to him in some way; most are either people who have paid him to kill or people he has been paid to kill. There is of course no obvious link between them, no mention of Samuel at least, but the fact they are grouped together like this in a CIA agent’s apartment can mean only one thing; the CIA are investigating Samuel.

The noise at the door, is only that of a mail man delivering a package, but it is enough to cause Samuel to scramble, to gather up the folders and shove them back into the drawer haphazardly in panic. Slamming it shuts, he sits on the floor feeling confused and somewhat dazed as he tries to understand what he has just discovered. Does she know? Is that why she is interested in him, why she has been inviting him over, is this entrapment, just like the kind both of them used to employ back in Cuba?

The thought alone is enough to cause Sam’s stomach to violently lurch and he soon finds himself crouched on the floor, head leaning over Alexis’ toilet bowl as he desperately wrenches up the soured contents of his stomach, which at this point consist of no more than bile and warm coffee.

Wiping his mouth, he flushes before finally finding his feet, though he spends the next few minutes gripping the sink and staring at himself in the mirror as he tries to keep calm and settle his stomach. When his instincts finally kick in, they are enough to force him to return to the drawer and carefully replace the files in the correct order. He considers wiping his fingerprints off each and every surface here, but there is little point, given how intimate he and Alex have been lately, Sam’s sure his DNA is spread all over this apartment.

Grabbing his jacket, he quickly leaves, determined to work all this out when his head is a little clearer. Clearly Alexis Vaughn has intelligence he needs and Sam is willing to do whatever he has to, to acquire it. 

@alexis-vaughn​

[frontierbound-archive]

Modern verse: plotted starter for @lovelylostminds​

The taxi ride to Charlotte’s apartment isn’t excessively long, but it’s definitely enough time for Samuel to start to feel a little nervous, mostly marked by how strongly he suddenly feels the need to smoke. Pulling up his shirt, he slaps on one of the nicotine patches he hastily bought at the airport. There’s a chance Charlotte won’t mind him smoking in her apartment, though admittedly it’s been so long since he last saw her, he’s not really sure anymore what she minds and what she doesn’t. She didn’t mind him smoking before, sure; but she was only 23 back then and she’s 33 now; nearly a decade has gone between them and a lot can change in ten years, though admittedly Samuel’s nicotine addiction has remained fairly consistent and right now it’s demanding his attention. 

Back then, almost a decade ago now, they had dated briefly, for less than a year in fact, the whole time working around Charlotte’s commitments, which at times had involved a lot of international travel with the New York Symphony Orchestra. It was something they thought they could traverse, until Samuel had been offered a Senior position within the Navy SEALS, one that would involve him constantly travelling and regularly being out of contact. For a while they’d tried to make it work, matching up their schedules here and there, but the odd night in Paris, Sydney or Berlin just wasn’t enough for either of them and eventually they had decided to go their separate ways. They had remained friends of course, trading messages on social media every so often and trading new numbers so they could always keep in touch. Contact had been minimal at some points and they would often go for as much as a year without talking at all.

Lately, over the past few months, their messages have been more frequent and Sam supposes that is why Charlotte has offered him the space on her sofa for his trip to NYC. The trip itself is more business than pleasure and while Samuel has told her that he is meeting with a client to consult on security arrangements for a high-profile project, the truth is that his real Client is based in Hong Kong and it is his target that lives in New York. After leaving the Navy, admittedly Sam found it fairly easy to move into contract work and he is now an accomplished and well-respected assassin, one who is known to be efficient and discreet, one who only accepts a contract, if the target is proven to be a real piece of shit. Still, that hardly makes his occupation ‘moral’ which is entirely why he has chosen to keep it hidden from Charlotte. The Client has secured him a room at the Park Central Hotel, and it is there that both weapons and tactical gear have been stored for him. Despite that, he still accepted Charlotte’s invitation, because, in truth, he wants to see her, he’s missed her and the thought of sitting drinking with her, reminiscing about the past was a damn sight more attractive to him than sitting in a hotel room on his own watching re-runs and eating room service.

When the taxi pulls up at her address, Samuel pays the driver, steps out and grabs his bags. Heading up the steps, he presses her buzzer and with his heart in his throat, waits for a response.

[frontierbound-archive]

Memes for that specific kind of ship (still accepting)

@alexis-vaughn​ said:  “I want to keep you all to myself. I don’t want anyone but us to know the things we do in secret.”

Throwing back his drink, Samuel pinches the bridge of his nose, with a sigh of frustration as he considers her words before turning back to look at his contact in the corner, who is beckoning him over and looks to be becoming increasingly impatient.

“She’s an old friend, nothin’ more, a friend that has information for me, but she’s the suspicious type Alexis, she won’t share it if I don’t go alone. I promise, I won’t tell her anythin’ more than she needs to know to understand our situation.”

Grinding out his cigarette, he shakes his head, mostly at himself. He knows why Alex is acting this way, knows it’s likely because of their history, because there was a time where both were guilty of using tactics involving attraction to get what they wanted. This however, is not one of those times; if his contact is looking for any more than a pay-off, she’s not going to get it, no matter how valuable her information may be. The trust he has built with Alex; the trust they continue to build, is what is going to keep them effective and keep them together, and he can’t allow anything to get in the way of that.

“I am yours.” He affirms, turning in his seat, to hold her gaze, as he moves to stand. 

“Nothin’ is going to change that, but I have to go, I have a job to do and I need to do it alone.”

[frontierbound-archive]

non-verbal memes (not accepting)

@somniaxperdita​ said: [cover]

“You must be cold, here, take my jacket.”

Sliding it off, he drapes it over Olivia’s shoulders before continuing on.

In truth Samuel isn’t sure how he keeps finding himself in these situations with Olivia; situations which could be considered heavily romantic if it were not for the fact they are not romantically entangled. It is as if fate is conspiring to place them in these situations, situations like tonight where the air is crisp and cold and their detour back to the club has caused them to cross several canals, passing over bridges lit with bright little lights that softly reflect in the calm rippling waters. If this were a film, it would likely be the place they would share their first kiss; a soft and sultry affair under a starlit sky, their combined breaths steaming the cold air all around them. But this isn’t a film and the only thing the two of them are sharing right now is the gelato they picked up at a bodega they passed a few blocks back. Admittedly a strange choice for this kind of weather, but Samuel has a great weakness for butterscotch.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” He comments, arm slowly slipping around Olivia to bring her close and keep her warm, in a casual way that suggests it is done simply for her comfort and nothing more.

“We should do this more often.”

[frontierbound-archive]

@somniaxperdita​ asked for a plotted starter (Modern verse)

Following the doorman, Samuel nods to the Night Manager, slipping a handsome sum into his hand, a sum that will ensure the assassin can move through the backstage area of the Blue Sax club without having to justify his presence to anyone.

The club is opulent in a way that is entirely vintage, remaining fairly unchanged since its opening, retaining its obvious baroque influences. In truth it feels like 80s celluloid come to life, as if lifted straight from film noir, it is little wonder then that it is so popular with gangsters and crime lords alike. The dress code here has always been formal and so Samuel is wearing a suit, one that is simple and black, designed to blend in rather than attract attention.

Hearing someone yell out a curtain call, Samuel presses himself against the wall as a group of dancers round the corner, all dressed in glittering silver and large luridly pink feathers, wearing heavy, overly ornate head pieces. Trading smiles with them, he waits until they have passed before continuing on towards Olivia’s dressing room, knowing she will be expecting him. His visits to the club are fairly regular, once every couple of weeks at the moment and while the flowers in his hand may suggest he has come to court the club’s most famous star, the appearance is merely a ruse, something that works in both of their favours. Samuel is not here to curry favour with Olivia Winter, he is here as part of a business transaction; payment for information, intelligence provided by his most valuable contact. Olivia is well acquainted with most of the crime bosses in this city, all of those whom regularly frequent the club that is. Those that she does not know personally, usually know one of the girls who work here and make no doubt about it, they are all in on it – an intricate network of spies who know damn near everything that goes on in the underworld of this city and dutifully report it all back to Olivia.

Knocking on the door of her dressing room, Samuel waits a moment and when he does not hear a request to wait, as is agreed practice; he enters, speaking loudly as he does so, should anyone happen to be listening.  

“My darling, is that a new dress?”

[frontierbound-archive]

one-word prompts

@mercyprevaild​ said: [nightmare]  my  muse  coming  to  your  muses  aid  when  they  awake  from  a  nightmare.

He hates this fucking sofa, hates Rick’s sofa with a passion, not because of its size, colour, style or shape, God, he can’t even claim it’s that uncomfortable, no, Sam hates this sofa because despite it being in Rick’s apartment, it isn’t Rick’s bed and that’s where he’d rather be sleeping tonight. This sofa isn’t just a mere piece of furniture, no, it’s a statement, an assertion; a repeated assertion that they should be nothing more than friends and a reminder that Sam is only staying over tonight because he was too drunk to drive home and none of the cab companies were picking up. Glancing down at the floor, Samuel watches as Seamus makes himself comfortable on a blanket, one positioned directly between the bedroom door and the sofa, as if the Irish Wolfhound pup simply can’t decide which of them he wants to be closer to tonight and so has opted for the space between them – a space which to Samuel’s mind feels far too vast.

Fussing with his blanket, Samuel kicks his feet in an attempt to get more comfortable, but he can’t, can’t because he’s furious with himself for not making a move when the moment presented itself, for giving in to the strange coldness that seemed to drift over Rick when the late-night movie ended and the television channel suddenly turned to static. Rick had extracted himself from Samuel with a brief yawn and a laboured stretch as if both movements were somehow meant to draw a line under their evening and Samuel had sat in silence, sleepily watching Rick pick up their empty beer bottles, about to rise and head to the bedroom with him when he’d been handed a blanket – the sofa blanket…the fucking friendship blanket. He’d been so unprepared for it, all he could do was stand there and accept it with a dumb nod, staring in silence, expressing not a single word of dissent as he watched Rick stumble off towards his bedroom. That was three hours ago and Samuel’s still lying here awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about all the things he should have said before Rick went to bed.

Pulling the blanket around himself, Sam shifts onto his side, eyes closing once more as he makes a renewed attempt to find sleep. It is then he hears it; a sharp shuffle and the creak of bed slats – a sound Samuel recognises instantly given how many times the two of them have rocked that mattress until those same bed slats have damn near shattered.

Pulling back his blanket, the one he’s come to despise so much, Samuel tentatively rises from the sofa, his bare feet softly padding across the floor until he reaches Rick’s bedroom door. For a moment he stands in silence, only listening, instantly recognising the unmistakable sounds of frantic tossing and turning interspersed with intermittent moans, small shouts and groans, all of which tell him Rick is having a nightmare.

Swallowing down his pride and equally his fear of possible rejection, Samuel softly opens the door and ventures inside, finding himself immediately followed by Seamus who wastes no time jumping up onto the bed and making himself comfortable near Rick’s feet – if only it were that easy for Sam.

Making his way to the other side of the bed, Samuel remains on top of the sheets, being respectful of Rick’s wishes to sleep alone tonight, but that doesn’t stop him from gently shifting closer to wrap his arms loosely around Rick and softly soothe him.

“Shhh…” he whispers, coaxing Rick awake with a little shake. “Shhh…it’s okay, you’re dreaming, you’re okay, it’s only a dream, it’s only a nightmare Rick, wake up, it’s okay, I’m here.”

[frontierbound-archive]

sexual tension prompts - (still accepting)

@somniaxperdita said: 14. [that scent] - Your muse leans in to sniff my muse. When my muse turns their head to look, their faces are very close together.  - for modern Sam.

The scent she is carrying today is something different, something new and instantly leads Samuel to wonder if the singer has a new admirer, one that has been buying her a different kind of perfume. Normally the scent Olivia wears is commanding, the kind of perfume that nicely lingers when she leaves, the kind of perfume that leaves a pleasingly subtle and familiar fragrance on Sam’s suits, hours after he has left her company. 

This, however, is different; more floral and far too sweet, which means it’s unlikely to be something she chose for herself. As he leans in to get a better sense of it, she turns and he finds they are close in a way that the situation doesn’t at all call for. Still, he doesn’t back away. 

“You’re wearing a new fragrance...new suitor? It doesn’t suit you at all.”