#p:lysander

[nightcityswolverine-blog]

Hollow Words | Lysander & Xio

  Initially the article had not come to her attention, a few days had floated by before finally someone within the unit had piped up that her name had been printed, again. Although strictly speaking nothing was printed these days. Xio had loaded up the article on her terminal with a sour face, not that she ever seemed remotely happy or pleased, and read it to it’s entirety. It had taken all of her inner strength to not tear her office apart, instead she’d stalked out jacket flared behind her like a villain’s cape. She was pissed and someone, not just anyone, a certain someone was going to pay.

  She needn’t have to imagine as to where she might find him, coiled up like a dreadful little disgusting snake but to be on the safe side Xio tracked down a ‘runner. From there it wasn’t hard for them to pull up his address, a cosy apartment in the city centre – perfect. Held tight within her palm was an override key not strictly legal but a toy her ‘runner had perfected and was going to give her entrance (without breaking the door down).

  Xio did however knock quite politely when she reached his door, as polite as she physically could manage, her patience running thin for a man who was as deceitful as he was bothersome. She mightn’t have minded quite so much only the article had delved into her competence and dredged out aspects of her life she’d spent years clawing back to be private. Never-mind that the title was practically (but not quite) screaming psychobitch.

  When the door finally opened she didn’t offer him a polite smile, she wasn’t a Jehovah’s witness trying to convert him into the light. “I believe we need to talk.”

  You little shit.

  It was hard to conceal her anger and all she just about managed was to calm the flexing of her hands, so that they were now permanently balled into tight fists. She ran the command to keep the safety on her wolvers at all costs. Xio was here to talk with him not shred him.

[onexye-blog]

Pretty Lies | Lysander & Q

  The city had grown cold, turned into a bloom of orange and reds where the occasional dotting of green used to be. Q didn’t entirely fancy the new weather changes, tugged his coat around himself a little tighter and hurried on in the direction he’d been heading. Vaguely remembered where he had been going from last time he’d been here, which felt like a whole different time now. Before the fixer had truly come to know night city’s very own vigilante, more importantly before he became aware that he was going to lose him, just as he’d already lost his surgeon. There was no fighting this, he couldn’t run half way around the city hunting for hope. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he half hoped it was Dante, forgetting, sighed a little and stuffed it back in his pocket.

  Q came to a stop outside of the building, which loomed tall above him, pressed a slim finger against the appropriate numbers to call his apartment. “You gonna let me in or what? Fucking freezing out here,” strained and forced attempt to keep his usual tone intact. It would be enough over the grainy intercom but he’d have to focus a little harder when he got inside, wondered if Lysander would even notice—or care. Their friendship was odd to say the least, half the time he couldn’t tell if the man genuinely had a pole up his arse or simply didn’t like him all that much.

  “And if you don’t have booze then you’ve brought me over here on false pretense and gotta say, that’s pretty rude,” pretense, not the kind of word that the fixer usually used.

  He waited for the door to click open, ignoring whatever his response might have been and darted inside into the warmth to begin his ascent up the stairs. He was huffing slightly still when he finally reached his apartment door. Knocked once and leaned against the door frame to catch his breath, coat blaring its usual imagery to the horror of one of Lysander’s neighbours who scurried on by.

[threeeyedsniper-blog]

Fourth House Hounds| Terri + Lysander

It wasn’t her normal kind of work, but it looked to pay well.

Terri’s networking had picked up a few interesting, but different, jobs as of late. Some were no-gos, out of the country work. One looked too much like a catfish, a job in Russia paying more than anyone would ever offer, looking for guards to some new company?

‘Нет.’ She wasn’t stupid. And even if it was real, no amount of money in the world would make her want to go back there.

So, she’d looked and looked, and eventually, her next gig dropped into her lap. Some media man, looking for a bodyguard. Preferably someone with a good rep for sticking to the work. Her reputation had landed her a recommendation, it seemed.

Now, dressed in a slightly more formal attire than her norm, and sans her helmet, Terri was headed for the rendezvous point. It was a mid-ranged bar, well known for being a media hangout. Safe, secure, but dark and slightly dingy in that endearing, old-world way.

They’d had some light conversation prior. Purely digitally. Negotiations of pay, hours, some duties. Terri’d gone over the information about this “Lysander” with a fine tooth comb. Well-to-do, but not incredibly so. Harsh at times. Reputation for being not the most personable. Hardly a saint.

Perfect kind of gig. Keep my distance, watch his back, should be alright.