#sokolthegrinder

[hiisdarliing-blog]

          the scene was one that was familiar enough; a dingy room with poor lighting, the empty table with multiple chairs, the board that was reminiscent of high school. one essential part of the room was missing for her, however; her husband. the chair next to her was empty, had been for a couple of months now. whoever spouted the ‘time heals all wounds’ bullshit had obviously never been through something like this before. but her jason wouldn’t have wanted her to just give up on his account, and she knew that -- though it didn’t make every single waking second any less painful. which is why she found herself accepting another job, the first without her buddy at her side, and everything already felt wrong: the silence, the lack of warmth against her.

(  she was missing her other half.  )

          a slow inhale and she steeled herself, allowing her gaze to wander around the room. she wasn’t sure how many people would be showing up, but so far, there were only two: herself, and a male sitting across from her. dark eyes didn’t linger for too long, though she noted him to be young, like herself, probably still in his twenties. age didn’t speak experience, in her mind; she was the odd one out here, always was, dainty thing like herself with her heels crossed under her chair. didn’t make her any less lethal, and she’d give anyone else the same chance to prove themselves. another brief breath, full lips parted, though to attempt to speak is quickly stifled; what would she even say? introducing yourself politely seemed extremely out of sorts, especially given the unfamiliar situation. she didn’t have doc anymore, either. last she’d read, baby was in jail. it was just her now. but hey, a girl has to make a living.

          “i’m darling.” finally breaking the silence, it’s the least she could offer to someone that was supposed to watch her back, and possibly defend her life. “have you done jobs for this guy before?”

@sokol-the-grinder ♡

[n0t-a-nice-person]

Car Shop

They had been dropped off a little ways down the street and made the walk toward the dealership quietly. It was only when the building was in sight that Jacket paused, gently caught Sokol’s shoulder for his attention - he glanced for the man’s arm and motioned to his own that mirrored it. Silently double-checking that Sokol was healed and feeling up to the heist. 

Of course, he expected Bain wouldn’t have allowed Sokol along if the man wasn’t truly recovered. Also somewhat reassuring was that most of this heist would be quiet and nothing too intense, requiring sneaking behind the scenes to retrieve the target car’s keys without triggering the alarm until the last possible second; getting police involved would mean too great a danger to the merchandise.

Truthfully, it was probably a little out of the usual for Sokol to be assigned this job instead of Houston or Clover. But perhaps it was seen as a good warm-up heist for him, not like an extended shoot-out or anything too hard on his arm, and no doubt his improved teamwork with Jacket as of late was taken into account too. 

And there was no question why Jacket had been put on this job.

He would help with the first chunk of the heist, controlling whatever employees were encountered upstairs and doing his fair share of lock-picking. But it was the escape where he would really shine, and he was feeling rather excited about it. For all his experience with cars, it had been a long time since he had stolen one.

[themxniac]

New Faces

Washington's streets always carried an air of novelty.

It was hard to really put a finger on it, though. Was it the rich and absolute ludicrous amounts of history? Was it the people there? It might have been the people, he thought. They all seemed like such colorful folks. It was during little "experiments" like this where he really enjoyed getting to really know the general behavior of the folks who lived in a region.

The main thing he got out of today's experience was that Washington's denizens don't particularly like the homeless sort.

He sat cross-legged at the foot of a brick wall, a large duffle bag by his side. Baggy cargo pants covered his lower limbs, and a track jacket hugged his torso. While it wasn't too cold at this time of year, he mainly preferred the clothing for the comfort it would provide during nights sleeping by the streets. Plus, they had character. He was all about character. Which is why he couldn't help but smile beneath his matted, scraggly beard whenever he said the same line with each passing person:

"Spare some change, friend?"

Fifty percent of the time, the general response was a sad smile of acknowledgement, with a subtle shake of the head. Forty percent, he was met with a scoff, the person sometimes telling the one besides them that the homeless man would only use it on drugs. Finally, the remaining ten percent of people would be the ones who actually offered him a pittance of money. He always said the usual to those folks. "Bless you, sir." "Thank you so much, miss."

Not like he needed the money, but it was fun to pretend. After all, he was here for a bigger reason. Should luck send one of them through this road, he’d know just how to greet them. He had something in store for them, after all.

For starters, he would tell them the same thing, putting on his best puppy dog eyes.

"Hey there," he'd begin, "Spare some change?"

@sokol-the-grinder

[gxttricky]

💰 @sokol-the-grinder;;

“Humor me, will ya?” he was a man with a plan and that plan was to somehow set up a shot that Sokol could NOT make. There was an obnoxious amount of red Solo cups littered about the man’s rink, some standing alone and some stacked into intricate arches. 

          “You make a shot from either of these spots and I’ll sit my goddamn ass down tonight and find seats for a Capitals game. No fuckin’ joke, I’ll shake on that shit if you want.” Disregarding that he’d technically already promised the outing.  He gestured to the three spots he’d littered with obstacles and seemed decently pleased with himself. Not IMPOSSIBLE, but it sure as hell wouldn’t be an easy shot.

“Sound like a deal?”

[n0t-a-nice-person]

Safe House

Bain’s timing was almost suspicious, sometimes. Jacket had gotten home and had a nap, and into the evening received a text with an address. Cryptic at first, until Bain elaborated about a new safe house.

Presumably everything had been moved. Jacket hadn’t had much there, anyway; some weapons, some spare clothes. Nothing that would be missed if it had been thrown out, really. But, curious, he roused himself from napping to grab his mask and keys and head over to see the place.

It was definitely larger. It looked at least a little nicer even from the outside, he thought, but still nondescript. And it seemed to be in a good part of town to go unnoticed - better than the last location, maybe.

He hadn’t brought anything over, deciding he could do that later after he had taken a look around and checked out whatever space would be his, but he had picked up fast food along the way and so trailed inside with a to-go bag and drink in hand, gazing over the new living room. It was nice. Enough that Jacket felt rather out of place, peering up at how high the ceiling was, and what he could see of the second floor, and around at the living room and how clean it was and how new the furniture all looked.

[n0t-a-nice-person]

I don't remember which limb I said was going to get broken. Ah well. [grabs a quarter]

@sokol-the-grinder

[n0t-a-nice-person]

[chin hands]

Drop a character name and I’ll rate Jacket’s feelings toward them

VISUAL ATTRACTIVENESS: 💗💗💗💗💗(purely aesthetic appreciation of looks)

FRIENDSHIP LEVEL: 💗💗💗💗(how close a friend they consider them)

SEXUAL DESIRE: 💗   (he’s not yet conscious it’s there)(wanting to have sex with them)

ROMANTIC INTENT: 💗💗   (again, not yet conscious it’s there)(hoping for a romantic relationship)

💔 Non-existent💗 Very low💗💗 A little💗💗💗 Hopeful💗💗💗💗 High💗💗💗💗💗 Maximum

[getgcne]

Right place, wrong time;;

@sokol-the-grinder

He’d gotten BRAVER. With each cleaning session he’d joined in on, each he’d added under his belt, he grew more prone to wandering off on his own. In truth, he wasn’t even contributing much. He’d just walk around, stare down at corpses and make dull, idle notes on how the blood always seemed to clash with the color of the walls. Brody didn’t do a lot of cleaning for a cleaner.

He was calm, without any real worry. It was just him and the bodies of the dead. It wasn’t as though there could possibly be a repeat of one of his first cleans. There was no way he would stumble upon a survivor a second time.

He’d gone from a hallway to a backroom and then out a door. The scattered cigarette butts that littered near the stairs implied it had been a smoking perch for the men that now littered the rooms inside.

His hand curled around a railing, noted how the peeling pain scratched at his palm. For such a scene and such an environment, he was such an unobservant fellow. He was more concerned with peeling paint than he was of potential dangers that could still lurk.

A clatter near the dark corner of the apparent alleyway had him looking up with furrowed brows less so than with a start. A glance back to the door and then around. There was no way else out into the area aside from the door beside him and they exit of the alley that was in clear view. Whatever resided there with him had been there since before he’d stepped outside.

Instead of retreating, he only leaned over the railing some to try and peer through the darkness. He did not call out, did not say anything at all. He just sort of waited in silence for whatever it was to reveal itself.