Fic: Should Have Known Better
Sep. 16th, 2008 10:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanTitle: Should Have Known Better
Fandom/original: Original
Rating: PG
A/N: The prompt, from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rougen, is the title.
He had no reason to be nervous. Alert, yes; nervous, no. How many times had he done this?
Granted, he wouldn’t have chosen their own home, if free to do otherwise. He preferred settings the marks didn’t know. But timing trumped his preferences.
He heard a sound and stopped, pistol ready. There would be no attempting to conceal it, if he was found, and he couldn’t afford the time it’d take to draw.
He wished for the old days. His employers would leave everything to him. Timing, execution. Those plans were achievements in elegance. Now, it was always “Do it on the cheap,” and “before the end of the fortnight,” and “Will it be messy?” Hell, he was surprised he hadn’t been hired to shoot someone’s dog for them yet.
But times were hard. A job was a job.
A panel slid open behind him, and he spun just fast enough to be smashed in the face with a cast iron skillet. That…. that was just humiliating. But efficient, as even with his quick recovery, it gave the second person time to press a gun barrel to the back of his head.
“Drop the gun, please.” The voice was clipped, female. Very professional, and very calm. He dropped his gun, wincing. Mark’s house….always a bad idea. He made a mental note to refuse to do it again, if he lived that long.
The man who’d hit him with the pan, it was now apparent, was the butler. He reached down and retrieved the gun.
The woman behind him said, “You actually came alone? Brave of you, but not very professional. Unless times just are that hard.”
She was a professional. So he had to decide… was she a professional bodyguard, or another bounty hunter after the same quarry.
He took a gamble. “I’ll split the bounty with you. 70-30. I get the thirty of course, as you did get the jump on me.”
The hammer cocked. Damnation. Wrong choice.
“Well, you clearly did not do your research thoroughly enough. What is your name.”
“Vashenka.”
The butler hit him with the frying pan, in the shoulder, but he didn’t dare avoid it. There was a crack of bone under metal.
“Let’s try that again,” the woman said.
“Gods, it’s Renilokov. Hell.”
“Sergei Renilokov? Well.” She almost sounded amused. “Your reputation led me to expect better. But you could, perhaps, be useful. Though I’ve no doubt Sir Willoughby and Miss Evans would just dispatch you, were they here, I’ve a proposition, if you’d like to live.”
“Well, then, ma’am, I’ll hear it.”
“Wise man,” she said. The butler smirked a little. “Now. Fyedka here will blindfold you, and lead you away from this place in whatever direction he finds amusing. When he leaves, you will count to one hundred before removing your blindfold; your weapons will be nearby. I have no wish to rob you.”
…but she hadn’t taken his… damn it.
“Your freedom is yours on the condition you spread a story… any story that amuses you, about why accepting hits on this family is a poor idea. As much or as little truth as you like, but people should swallow it. Do this, and you’ll never hear from me again. Fail to do this, and…” He could hear a tiny smirk in her voice. “Well. Good bounty hunters make the best quarry. Such a challenge. But I wouldn’t stake your life on my failure, if I were you, Renilokov, hm? Have we a deal.”
He wouldn’t get a better offer. “…yeah, that’s a deal.”
“Good.” The gun barrel left. “Now be a good boy for Fyedka. I won’t be far.”
He turned to ask her something… but there was no one behind him. The butler said, “Will I have to knock you out?”
“…no, not necessary.” He knew, at least, when he’d been beaten. But who had bested him? Not that he didn’t deserve it, sloppy as he’d been but… He looked back once more, before turning and submitting to the blindfold.
Fandom/original: Original
Rating: PG
A/N: The prompt, from
rougen, is the title.He had no reason to be nervous. Alert, yes; nervous, no. How many times had he done this?
Granted, he wouldn’t have chosen their own home, if free to do otherwise. He preferred settings the marks didn’t know. But timing trumped his preferences.
He heard a sound and stopped, pistol ready. There would be no attempting to conceal it, if he was found, and he couldn’t afford the time it’d take to draw.
He wished for the old days. His employers would leave everything to him. Timing, execution. Those plans were achievements in elegance. Now, it was always “Do it on the cheap,” and “before the end of the fortnight,” and “Will it be messy?” Hell, he was surprised he hadn’t been hired to shoot someone’s dog for them yet.
But times were hard. A job was a job.
A panel slid open behind him, and he spun just fast enough to be smashed in the face with a cast iron skillet. That…. that was just humiliating. But efficient, as even with his quick recovery, it gave the second person time to press a gun barrel to the back of his head.
“Drop the gun, please.” The voice was clipped, female. Very professional, and very calm. He dropped his gun, wincing. Mark’s house….always a bad idea. He made a mental note to refuse to do it again, if he lived that long.
The man who’d hit him with the pan, it was now apparent, was the butler. He reached down and retrieved the gun.
The woman behind him said, “You actually came alone? Brave of you, but not very professional. Unless times just are that hard.”
She was a professional. So he had to decide… was she a professional bodyguard, or another bounty hunter after the same quarry.
He took a gamble. “I’ll split the bounty with you. 70-30. I get the thirty of course, as you did get the jump on me.”
The hammer cocked. Damnation. Wrong choice.
“Well, you clearly did not do your research thoroughly enough. What is your name.”
“Vashenka.”
The butler hit him with the frying pan, in the shoulder, but he didn’t dare avoid it. There was a crack of bone under metal.
“Let’s try that again,” the woman said.
“Gods, it’s Renilokov. Hell.”
“Sergei Renilokov? Well.” She almost sounded amused. “Your reputation led me to expect better. But you could, perhaps, be useful. Though I’ve no doubt Sir Willoughby and Miss Evans would just dispatch you, were they here, I’ve a proposition, if you’d like to live.”
“Well, then, ma’am, I’ll hear it.”
“Wise man,” she said. The butler smirked a little. “Now. Fyedka here will blindfold you, and lead you away from this place in whatever direction he finds amusing. When he leaves, you will count to one hundred before removing your blindfold; your weapons will be nearby. I have no wish to rob you.”
…but she hadn’t taken his… damn it.
“Your freedom is yours on the condition you spread a story… any story that amuses you, about why accepting hits on this family is a poor idea. As much or as little truth as you like, but people should swallow it. Do this, and you’ll never hear from me again. Fail to do this, and…” He could hear a tiny smirk in her voice. “Well. Good bounty hunters make the best quarry. Such a challenge. But I wouldn’t stake your life on my failure, if I were you, Renilokov, hm? Have we a deal.”
He wouldn’t get a better offer. “…yeah, that’s a deal.”
“Good.” The gun barrel left. “Now be a good boy for Fyedka. I won’t be far.”
He turned to ask her something… but there was no one behind him. The butler said, “Will I have to knock you out?”
“…no, not necessary.” He knew, at least, when he’d been beaten. But who had bested him? Not that he didn’t deserve it, sloppy as he’d been but… He looked back once more, before turning and submitting to the blindfold.
