ArchivedLogs:Revenge

Revenge
Dramatis Personae Killian and Anette
In Absentia	2015-12-06 "The last thing before death is always the most earnest"
Location <BOM> The Nightfort - Ascension Island
It's pretty simple in here, sparsely furnished as yet. A futon, a coffeetable, a bookshelf (largely stacked with programming books). No decorations or personal touches to make it seem all that homey. Small bedrooms branch off of either side of the cozy living room; there's a tiny kitchenette in the back, and a small bathroom with a very large claw-foot tub that takes up much of its space. It's late afternoon, the sun only beginning it's descent when Anette slowly walks up the path to one of the cabins. Though she's made an attempt to make herself presentable, she hasn't given much thought to her appearance today, having thrown the first shirt and pants she found on the floor on, her hair only given the briefest of brushings before being tied in a pony-tail. Then, of course, there's the black eye and split lip. Just outside the door, Anette pauses, reluctant to step further. With a deep breath, she wills herself to take the extra steps and, before she can convince herself to do otherwise, knocks on the door to the cabin. The sound of nails clicking on wooden floors comes rapidly, a panting dog pausing on the other side of the door. The door knob turns awkwardly, rattling, and then abruptly smoothly. The door swings open gently, but Killian's back is already turned to go back into the main room. The room, while still somewhat minimal, is scattered with dog toys. Everywhere. And the edge of one of the area rugs /might/ be chewed to thready bareness. "Come in." He says over his shoulder, neither overtly welcoming nor unpleasant, kicking a kong toy and a rawhide out of the entrance hallway and through an open door that's presumably his room. As she's welcomed in, Anette is ushered in. Looking around this particular cabin for the first time, Anette can't help but crack the faintest of smiles at the sight of chew toys and dog bones laying everywhere. This amusement lasts only the briefest of moments before she looks back up to Killian. "I...have a gift for you. Two gifts actually, depending which you I ran into. And they're more peace offerings." Over her shoulder hangs a cloth bag, which she reaches into and pulls out two items, setting them on the table: a bottle of rum and a dried pigs ear. With his hands mostly in his pockets, thumbs hooked over belt loops of his typical black jeans, Killian pauses and swivels slightly to look back and over the offerings as they're set on the table. One brow rises, curious as he speaks, "Changed my windows to not need thumbs, but the front door still not quite dog-friendly. The way to a man and dog's heart, love, y'got 'em dead on. Could only do one better." And just as the beginnings of a suggestive smirk might start to capture the edges of his lips, his blue eyes capture the changes of Anette's face. His grin falters slightly, his words slow, almost cautious, "Did you lose to officer shits-his-pants, sweetheart?" For once, Anette isn't quite as responsive to Killian's suggestive words as she usually is. In fact, a discerning eye might notice her flinch at his words, though she doesn't say anything about it. His questioning of her face has her side glancing to the floor. "I brought peace offerings because...you were right. I shouldn't have gotten mixed in with G and coke and I'm getting clean. I don't know how but I'm going to." She sits down at the chair, pulling her bag into her lap. "I know the last thing I have any right to do right now is ask you for a favor. So it's not a favor, it's a job." She pulls out a manilla envelope that looks like it's been through hell recently and sets it on the top. "I wa-...I need you to take care of all of them." Killian watches her quite silently, listening as much as observing her expressions. While his grin doesn't entirely vanish, it does change in character. Darker, cruel, "So you had to learn the hard way." The shapeshifter finally moves, arriving at the table to take the bottle of rum from where she'd placed it. Turning it over in his hand, his attention appears to fall to its label in a drawn out pause. His free hand rubs the stubble over his chin, as if thoughtful. When his gaze flicks to the envelope following her request, he sets down the bottle too-hard, the sound too-loud on the table. "Did you think I was fucking kidding?" Is almost chuckled, almost. But he fails to respond directly to her 'job', his eyes narrowing slightly as he tips his head up slightly to ask, "How'd you get out?" The bottle, labelled Shipwreck, isn't exactly a high-priced brand but for the zombie apocalypse, a damn good find. As Killian's expression darkens and he vents his frustrations, she waits it out, the arm resting on the table clenching into a tight fist, eyes focused on the table, studying the various nicks and scratches from years of use. "You were right. I'm sorry," Anette says, taking great care to keep her voice steady. "I didn't think it would be anything I couldn't handle." The question of how she got out gets a deep breath. Finally a question she can answer. "Pedro. I brought him with and...well, he's a hell of a lot more powerful than you might think." Killian's fingers tighten on the bottle, knuckles whitening. Then he releases it altogether without taking from it. He pushes his black hair back roughly, hand lingering there on his head. A few bangs fall back into his face in the moment. "Apologies don't mean a damn thing." The talk of Pedro makes him look at her again, something somewhat unreadable, a question there that goes unspoken. "A job." He reiterates her words, dropping his hand back to his side, his tone and volume lowering with what seems to be an agreement "But I don't need your drug money." A deep breath is taken, exhaled slowly, "Where are they?" "Well, what else do you want me to say? I already said you were right and I should have listened to you. And what do you care, it's finally not your problem. I'm not protecting him from you anymore, you can do whatever the fuck you want," Anette finally snaps, shouting as yellow eyes pierce Killian, brimming with frustration and pain. Once it's released, she closes her eyes, taking a few deep breaths before she continues in a calmer voice. "Yes. A job. I don't know how much you charge but this is how much I have. If you need more, I can get it." As he refuses the money, she doesn't push it further. "In that case, I have one condition. I want to be there, too." She pulls out a piece of paper with a scribbled on address. "They tend to stick to the Bronx. This /was/ their location though Pedro more or less destroyed it so I don't know where they'd be now. But it's a place to start." Killian's gaze lifts to meet and hold hers as she snaps at him, though his remains cold, unspurred to react further. Instead, he's fixated on the paper she pulls out. He steps closer to be able to read the scribbles, though it's nearly close enough to touch her as he leans on one palm on the tabletop, the other hand reaching to take it from her if she'd give it. "How much of my involvement does Pedro know?" Killian asks, his tone not quite as raw as his previous questions, and after a length of consideration; "I don't take your money, so you make more requests?" It's at least not a direct denial of it. "-Do you have anything of G's?" Anette doesn't stop Killian from taking the paper, allowing him to approach as close as he feels. "Your involvement? If you mean me asking you right now, I haven't told him I was going to. Though he suggested it in the first place. Seems to think you're more protective than you let on. If you're talking about my mess from before, I don't remember what I've told him. I think I only mentioned that I single-handedly destroyed any relationship you and I might've had. Don't think I gave details." His questioning of her making requests garners a raised brow and the first attempt at a smile all evening. "Did you really think I wouldn't have requested it even if you had taken the money? Hell, if you refused, I'd have gone off on my mind. With or without your help, G is dead." "I mean what I do, exactly." Killian straightens, taking the paper with him. As he tucks it away in his back pocket, his other hand reaching to touch a strand of her hair and subsequently withdraw whether or not she allows it. "Just one person knowing the details makes it complicated enough. Need-to-know basis and all that." Her other details evoke a small turn of a grin, still dark but at least present. "Relationship." The shapeshifter echoes in his dimmed amusement, "I think Pete has that covered. I'd say it bothers me that they saw his face, but won't fuckin' matter soon enough." Most of this seems more mutterings to himself than anything. And soon enough her correction gets a small, slow shake of his head, "If I'm so unnecessary, why'd you come?" "No, I...don't believe I mentioned what you do. Sorry, my mind isn't all here," Anette mumbles, rubbing at her eyes tenderly as Killian adjusts her hair, an action she doesn't appear to mind. Killian's reaction to the word 'relationship' gets a faint grin and chuckle. "I was referring to our friendship. Or acquaintanceship. I don't even know what to call it. Mmm, Pete's doing pretty good for himself. Variety is the spice of life, though," she says, finally getting into the spirit of playful teasing. His questioning of her intentions gets an odd look from her, her smile falling. "I never said you were unnecessary. I came to you because you're one of the only people I trust. I'd rather do this with you. Going alone was only Plan B and, quite frankly, I'm pretty sure that would end poorly." "You didn't trust me before." Killian responds, though lighter than the weight the words could carry. "Plan B being a sure fire way to get yourself killed," A pause, a sort of hesitance, "Or worse." But he looks away from her with that, and leaves the kitchen for his room not so far away in the smallish cabin. He'd return no more than a minute later with a small pouch that also is tucked into a pocket. "Didn't answer me before, you got anything of his? Fastest way if I got somethin' to sniff." "That was different," Anette mumbles, reaching for the bottle of rum and twisting the cap off. "And that is why I'm here asking for your help." As Killian turns to leave, she stands up and begins searching the cabinet, looking for glasses. She pulls two clean cups out and sets them on the table, in the process of filling one of them as Killian returns. "Something of his? Besides the drugs, no. Though I do have my clothes from yesterday, his smell should be all over them." Killian's eyes change at that statement, an aggressively abrupt hue and pupil shift to something obviously feline that isn't- or can't be- stifled. "That will have to do. We'll go as soon as you're ready. And I will make him regret it, love." The shifter takes a glass of rum, watching the surface of liquid as he swirls it. It's then lifted in a cheers sort of gesture, tipped to her. "I'll make him beg while he looks at you. /That's/ when apologies mean something." His breathy chuckle comes with a lopsided, vicious grin, "The last thing before death is always the most earnest."