Post by Jack Fascino on Apr 30, 2013 18:53:52 GMT -5
Babysitting.
Tonight was Jack's turn to babysit. It was always a bittersweet thing. Being at the base--as the Goonies (another nickname) liked to call it--allowed him to poke around both physically and verbally. Being on the inside, so to speak, gave him ample opportunities to speak with the merchandise, any other Goonies that might be loitering around which was typically Lukan, since he lived there, and Elena, who all but actually lived there. But every once in a while Erik or Lara would show up unscheduled, or Jack would be the one showing up unscheduled. And there was always poker night. Easily his favorite weekly activity the group did together. It was almost ironic that the group even did anything together outside of seeking out, capturing, maintaining, and selling other mutants.
Jack disliked their boss, Schneider, but not once had he ever let on to the small man about that fact. It wouldn't do for his business if the boss was ever given any reason--or, rather, further reason--to be suspicious of him. Suspicion bred a watchful eye, and a watchful eye would cut down on his freedom. No, Jack was an expert when it came to manipulating others and recognizing when someone else was attempting to manipulate him. Take Yuri, the silent but deadly Russian that had been given The Mute for a nickname. Jack was equally as sure that the lie detector was aware of his own manipulation tactics, but the son of a mob boss viewed theirs as a kind of symbiotic relationship. After all, it hadn't taken him long at all to conclude that Yuri was basically the only one of the captives worth talking to.
It was one part boring and two parts potential.
Shutting the engine off in his corvette, Jack locked the corvette behind him and sauntered his way into the house. The door shut loudly behind him. "Knock, knock!" he called, his voice resonating throughout the building. He'd like to know if he had arrived to an empty place or if he was going to have some company.
As he waited for an answer--if he was going to get one--he made his way into the kitchen and stopped in front of the fridge. He threw the door open and leaned one arm against the metallic frame as he idly peered inside. He clucked his tongue. Those were some slim pickings.
Tonight was Jack's turn to babysit. It was always a bittersweet thing. Being at the base--as the Goonies (another nickname) liked to call it--allowed him to poke around both physically and verbally. Being on the inside, so to speak, gave him ample opportunities to speak with the merchandise, any other Goonies that might be loitering around which was typically Lukan, since he lived there, and Elena, who all but actually lived there. But every once in a while Erik or Lara would show up unscheduled, or Jack would be the one showing up unscheduled. And there was always poker night. Easily his favorite weekly activity the group did together. It was almost ironic that the group even did anything together outside of seeking out, capturing, maintaining, and selling other mutants.
Jack disliked their boss, Schneider, but not once had he ever let on to the small man about that fact. It wouldn't do for his business if the boss was ever given any reason--or, rather, further reason--to be suspicious of him. Suspicion bred a watchful eye, and a watchful eye would cut down on his freedom. No, Jack was an expert when it came to manipulating others and recognizing when someone else was attempting to manipulate him. Take Yuri, the silent but deadly Russian that had been given The Mute for a nickname. Jack was equally as sure that the lie detector was aware of his own manipulation tactics, but the son of a mob boss viewed theirs as a kind of symbiotic relationship. After all, it hadn't taken him long at all to conclude that Yuri was basically the only one of the captives worth talking to.
It was one part boring and two parts potential.
Shutting the engine off in his corvette, Jack locked the corvette behind him and sauntered his way into the house. The door shut loudly behind him. "Knock, knock!" he called, his voice resonating throughout the building. He'd like to know if he had arrived to an empty place or if he was going to have some company.
As he waited for an answer--if he was going to get one--he made his way into the kitchen and stopped in front of the fridge. He threw the door open and leaned one arm against the metallic frame as he idly peered inside. He clucked his tongue. Those were some slim pickings.