Castiel (
wouldbeking) wrote in
dappered2012-08-06 06:09 pm
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OPEN KINK MEME

1: TOSS A PROMPT AT ME (pairing or image or song or scenario, w/e)
2: REQUEST CHARACTER
3: GET IT GIRL
~any and all settings, game or canon or au welcome~
Active Muselist! And non-smut open musebox post over here.
v a l e n t i n e :)
/hits like the fist of an angry god
He's scowling, hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket, wandering around like a jackass because Daniel is still in class and Valentine can't take another second of being on that goddamn fancy-ass private school campus and getting all of the dirty looks from the rich kids. There's a very specific limit of dirty looks he'll tolerate before he's contractually obligated to start shit.
Maybe he ought to wander his way into a bar and pick up something that looks like a college student, just for a little revenge. Get some ass, steal their wallet, maybe talk them into doing something they'll feel ashamed about in the morning. That would brighten Val's day right up. ]
duke or erik AND I'M DONE I WON'T SPAM YOU
no subject
Rufus Shinra wanted to dig up some dirt on his father. Rufus Shinra wanted to undermine his father's authority and steal the company out from under him. Rufus Shinra wanted this and that, the spoiled little princeling, and he knew that Duke had never been his man or even his father's man, so he'd used the only weapon that could still make Duke cave: Veld. The implied promises that Rufus would remake the Turks into something more than thugs, something that Veld could be proud of being part of. That Rufus would throw Hojo, his father's ridiculously well-protected pet mad scientist, to the wolves. That he would never let 'accidents' like what happened to Vincent Valentine happen to another Turk, ever again.
Duke doesn't believe a fucking word of it, powerful men in suits have been promising him shit since day one of his professional career as a fixer (because Duke can fix anything, make any problem disappear with the proper application of explosives or poisons or blackmail), but he can't decline. Not in front of Veld.
I've got a team in mind, Shinra the younger tells him. I want you to check them out individually. Get under their skins any way you can, and get me some leverage. I can't have them going to my father for a better deal.
So this is Duke, back in the old game of spying on people and categorizing their behavior, sitting at a nice hotel bar and sipping his martini sparingly, keeping an eye on the frankly gorgeous young man in the tailored suit.
He's trying not to let himself think about the resemblance to another dark haired young man. Trying, and failing. The pale skin, the slender build, the graceful way he -- Arthur, the mark's name is Arthur -- moves, everything seems fucking calculated to remind him of Vincent Valentine, and Duke still isn't entirely sure this isn't some kind of elaborate trap laid out for him by an enemy.
Not that he would leave now, even if it was. ]
no subject
When most men stake him out, they don't usually do it while Arthur's out of the States on a job, or while he's unwinding after a long day of work, but this guy is obviously different, and Arthur's seated at the opposite end of the island counter, popping peanuts into his mouth as he stares up at the television directly above Duke's head. The man is tall and wiry lean, with a handsome face and a handsome smile, oozing a kind of rough and rugged charm that Arthur's sure has gotten the better of many men and women alike.
It's the kind of charm that seems innocent enough at first, until you realize you've waded too far into the ocean and that pretty smile you liked so much from faraway is actually a shark's smile up close, sharp, deadly, and well, by then your realization has come a few seconds too late.
He's a fucking shark, and Arthur doesn't know why he's here or who the fuck he is or who sent him, but the whys and whos and whats don't really matter, either. Not to Arthur.
The man is nursing his martini, and Arthur cuts him a quick glance as he slams down his scotch and slips from the bar, pulling his jacket from his stool. He shakes his arms into the sleeves and shrugs the jacket up his shoulders, and he walks—
—and walks, right past the man at the bar and out into the hotel lobby. )
no subject
He doesn't have to, but he's going to, because Duke is a goddamn masochist and he's never been able to walk away from things that are bad for him.
He leaves the rest of his martini sitting on the bar and gets up.
But not to follow, because Duke is older, now. He's not going to be that stupid rookie Turk, following in the shadow of what he wanted desperately and couldn't have. Now he takes what he wants, so he exits the bar in the opposite direction--
--and is waiting for Arthur in the elevator, leaning casually against the back when the double doors slide open.
They're both professionals and Arthur is surely aware that he's being followed, especially given Duke's less than subtle staring because of the resemblance. No reason to beat around the bush. ]
no subject
A quick cursory glance over his shoulder immediately tells Arthur that Duke isn't at all where he left him. He pauses and straightens, heading right past the lobby desk to the stairs and the elevator.
To the open elevator.
Duke stands with his back to the elevator wall, and he's taller than Arthur would've guessed, in his black suit and black shiny shoes. He looks as calm and cool as he'd look at the bar, as if he hadn't purposefully cut ahead of Arthur to reach the elevator before him, and where Arthur should feel irritation or concern, he feels—slightly impressed, instead.
He smiles and steps inside the car, turning his back to him as the doors roll closed behind him. )
Where you headed?
no subject
[ He smiles back, disarming, knowing the second the doors close there will probably be guns drawn and a very tense conversation. ]