Drunk and Looking for Jobs

"Another Job well done"

Travis praised himself for his recent work.  Sitting in a Chicago bar, the smell of cigarettes and marijuana running through the whole building.  The smog from the flames made it hard to see anything in the place.  Travis sat in the back, his feet up on the table.  A single light with a glass lampshade swaying back and forth hung from the ceiling over Travis' table.  Travis sat there in the booth seat, a brown hat lowered to his nose.  He sat there motionless for the most part, except to occasionally take a drink of the Blue Moon bottle he held in his right hand.  

As he sat there, eyes closed, he thought about everything that had happened that day.  Making money, but at what expense?  At least no-one innocent got hurt, whenever someone who was nothing more than a bystander gets hurt, Travis would never be able to shake the feeling of guilt.  He took another swig of beer.  His thoughts began to wander to his father and what he would say to him if he saw him now.  Travis had nothing more than memories of his father left.  He wish he could say the same about his mother, but he doesn't even have a memory to remember.

Suddenly he received a text on his phone, the phone vibrated for a good 10 seconds before Travis reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.  The text was from his landlord in Pennsylvania.  Travis had told him he would pay his whole year's worth of rent this week.  The text was about his lack of fulfilling that promise.  Travis sighed and switched to his mobile banking app,  25K gone just to pay for a house he only used once or twice a year.  The whole series of events made him start thinking of what his next job will be.  A vicious cycle, earning money to spend on beer and partying to forget about how he earned the money and then barely having enough to pay the people he owes.

Now to the next job...  Whatever that will be.

It was a seedy little establishment Katrina found herself in today, with low walls and lights strung from cords hanging from the ceiling. Dirt clung like echoes of dust bunnies past to the the walls, while cobwebs set up permanent residence on the ceiling. At least the floor was clean, save for the smattering of bug carcasses huddling in corners that would suggest they were attempting to stay warm. One would almost be afraid to spray for bugs; most of the foundation of the building seemed to be made out of the creatures. It reeked of poverty and desperation and for the first time in a long time, Katrina felt uncomfortable in her skin. Even the security and safety her armor and weaponry gave her was diminished simply by the looks she was receiving from many of the bar patrons; some angry, others greedy, while many more were of a far more lascivious nature. It was true she was very pretty; it was something she tries to exaggerate at times - after all, a ninja uses every weapon available to her - but in this outfit, you could not even see anything! Her face was covered by a niqab, her body by layers of leather and steel, and even her curves were obscured by the large and rather ostentatious utility belt hanging at an angle. The only thing showing were her eyes; flashing blue orbs through which ran her emotions like shadows behind tinted glass.

”... tch.”

The scoff was directed at a man of rather large proportions who had just attempted to grope the girl, only to be redirected by a judicially placed and surprisingly sturdy hand. Katrina could have killed him three different ways with the salt shaker - and perhaps he saw this in her eyes, because he withdrew, looking somewhat perplexed, though very drunk - but he wasn’t worth her time; she came hear to recruit … let’s call it help (because that’s a better word than pawn.) That drunken lout was certainly no warrior, but - as far as she can tell - neither was anybody else here. Only one person held such certainty, and even he was a far cry from what she expecting. Way younger (and drunker) than the experienced soldier she was expecting. But the ease and confidence with which he held himself - and the scar stretching across his face, briefly illuminated by the dim light cast by the shrouded light above him - was enough to convince her that he would be her best choice.

”I have a proposition for you.”

She had slipped into the chair opposite him with barely a noise, and was now studying him with sharp eyes. Her voice was professional, but unmistakably feminine, and without the barbs and ice she has cultured to cut deep into the heart of a person. She wants to enlist this mans help, after all, not scare him away. Her long ponytail swung behind her as she adjusted herself to a new position.

”I need to get something from a … colleague of mine. I need someone to serve as aid. I pay well, I promise.”

A quick flourish of her utility belt and a wad of cash was produced, slid across the table to him. It was easily $20,000.

”For one night, I need help.”

He hadn't noticed her till she had spoken her first words to him, this alone made him jump a bit as Travis was used to being hunted down by people whose enemies he had helped.  When he finally comprehended the words spoken by the figure who had just taken a seat at his table, she had already started speaking more words.  Dazed, he took his hat off and set it to his side on the booth seat.  He began to study the lady for a bit, the only reason he knew it was a female at first was by her voice as his vision was blurred by the shadows and alcohol.  Before he could get pass the black pony tail and the two blue eyes, his eyes were attracted to a significant amount of cash that she slid to him.

Finally his ears caught up and he heard the words "For one night...".  One night stands is what he was used to, get the job done quick, collect the money and then party like hell.  He grabbed ahold of the money laid before him and brought it to his nose.  Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and smelled the aura of the bills.  After a few seconds passed, with beer bottle in one hand and the cash in the other he opened his eyes and spoke,

"Sounds fun...  Let's hear the plan."

He sat there in blue jeans and a brown shirt with a trench coat, legs on the table, cash and beer in hand, and a whole lot of regrets on his mind waiting for the response of what he determined to be an assassin, sitting across the table from him.

As soon as he picked up the money, Katrina smiled; it was an expression hidden by her mask, but still it set her eyes on fire, like twin glaciers suddenly melted. He was hooked - they normally were by the display of wealth - and his next words sent a thrill of satisfaction down her spine.

”Not here, too many ears. We are not planning something completely legal, you know.”

This was said with a hint of playful sarcasm as she suddenly stood, her ponytail bobbing almost rhythmically with her steps. She could barely hide the relief as she stepped into the fresh air; she hated enclosed spaces at the best of times, and with a place like that? She couldn’t leave fast enough. Regardless, she waited at the door for her erstwhile companion, one hand firmly planted on the hilt of her wire-wrapped hilt, leaning against the slightly-sticky surface of the outer door.

”We’ll talk as we walk. I have a room.”

She headed out of the bar, into the streets, and very briefly let her eyes flutter close as she felt the cool air flood her wings. For a brief moment, she considered pulling down her niqab to breathe properly, but quickly dismissed that notion; she didn’t know anything about this man, or even if he’ll be useful to her. Until that point, her identity must remain a secret. Not that an American would know who she was in the first place, not unless they were uncharacteristically familiar with European foreign families.

”First, introductions. I am Night Terror. My skillset is in subterfuge and assassination.”

Her voice was much softer now, an English burr entering her voice. On some level, she was aware she was dropping her guard, but on the other … well, she could not perform very well if she had to guard her back as well. And performance was a key aspect of what was coming. She had to start trusting this man, this oddly attractive stranger she found herself in the company of.

As Katrina got up from the table, Travis tried to move his feet off the table, but he was slow to do so as his whole muscle system was extremely lax due to the alcohol in his body.  Stumbling out of his seat, he put the cash into his left pocket and grabbed his hat off the booth.  He staggered following the masked client of his out of the bar.  He swayed so much that he bumped into practically everything, including individuals of a local gang.  They look at him as he moved away from them, their eyes fixed with rage.  One of them began to throw a punch at Travis, but he quickly snapped his fingers and shot to about 5 feet to his right.  That caused the gangbanger to fall to the floor after missing his mark.  Travis quickly looked for the blued eye girl he was at that moment working for or wait, are the eyes red...  He honestly swore that he saw red in those beautiful blue eyes a moment ago.  

Travis slowly moved towards the door as she was walking out of it.  As he shoved himself out of the bar, still extremely impaired, he threw his hands on his knees trying to refrain from puking.  He straighten his back up as he saw his client walking away from him again, "Does she ever stop moving?" he asked in his head.  It was at that moment that he realized the size of woman, why he was a giant compared to her.  The only way he was able to walk steadily behind her was by mentally focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, making him think of the Christmas special.  He began to sing the song in his head as he followed her, "Put one foot in front of the other And soon you'll be walking 'cross the floor Put one foot in front of the other And soon you'll be walking out the door..."  He stopped when he heard her speak again.  Her voice was so sweet that it caused him to clear his entire mind and focus only on her.  

Introductions, that is what she wanted.  What to say...  Well his name for one and since she gave a phony boloney name, so will he.  And she also gave him her skillset, a weird thing to say in an introduction.  She was an assassin, Travis mentally patted himself on the back for getting that one right.  Finally he got his wits about him and answered the woman,

"You can call me Snap.  I teleport, I don't have a second thing."

He continued to follow his client, his trench coat blowing in the breeze, waiting for a response from her.  He pondered a bit about what she looks like out of the whole costume she was wearing.  In his drunken mind he deduced that she would look like a hobbit, he snickered a bit about that thought, but he kept it as quiet as he could.

Well, he was certainly not what she expected. For a man his size and description, she expected tall, brooding silence, a bruiser of some sort, maybe with telekinetic or perhaps pyrokinetic abilities. Not … well, not what she got. Almost bumbling and quite graceful in his movements (when he’s not tripping over his own feet). It was quite charming, in it’s own way. At least, the bumbling. The vomit part was less charming. They were both lucky it avoided Katrina’s shoes; she has an anger problem that she would (rightfully) give him a front row seat to had he actually managed to get any bile on her person.

”Teleportation?” That was very unexpected, but useful. And fortuitous. ”That’s great to hear. You will be a great asset.”

Almost as soon as she finished that sentence, the petite assassin entered through the double doors of a very elegant, fancy hotel; The Silversmith. Her soft-soled boots made no noise on the marble floor as she slipped into the elevator. She would say nothing unless spoken to, her gaze so intense it was almost as if she wished to set the door on fire. Golden walls and floors with streaks of black and silver greeted them as the door opened on the top floor; the penthouse. The view was spectacular, the Chicago skyline twinkling like so many stars around them. A couch sat with it’s back to them, positioned so that anyone sitting on it could take in the view. Another, matching one faced a wall-sized television. A hallway led off to the bedrooms and bathroom, and fully equipped kitchen stood off to the side.

If he had any indication of monetary value, he knew it must cost a fortune.

A jangling of metal and buckles broke through the silence and the golden utility belt, weighted down with swords and knives, was hung on the hat rack (ironically devoid of hats). Without the aid of the belt, the leather tunic hung loose around Katrina’s thin frame, and these she took off, tossing them almost haphazardly over the back of the couch. This left her only in a tight black outfits and her dappled niqab - similar to what people typically associate with cinematic ninja - that did little to hide her definitely feminine frame. She turned towards him, her blue eyes flashing with something eerily similar to a threat.

”We are going to be working together and, if we are to fully trust each other, you should at least know what I look like. After all, we might not survive.” The last was said with a bit of dark humor, but regardless, after a steadying breath, she pulled down the face covering, letting the material pool around her neck. Her lips were stained a dark red, clashing with the slight scattering of freckles across her pointed nose. Her eyes burned, daring him to judge her, but the corners of her lips pulled into a tight smile, as if she didn’t care if he did.

”My name is Katrina Russel. If you ever tell anyone my identity, I will skin you alive and pour acid onto your bare flesh.”

This was said with all the subtlety of a charging rhino. She seemed skittish, almost, even if her eyes bravely faced defiance. She had one arm crossed over her chest, as if trying to shield herself from any disparaging remarks she could make about her … or specifically, her height. The remark about his death wasn’t an empty threat, of course. She hadn’t spent the last nine years learning how to knit.

”And how about you, Snap? Are you one of those metahuman’s whose entire lives revolve around their secret identity? Or are you interesting?”

Travis kept his eyes on his client as he was led into an elegant hotel, the like of which he was used to breaking into and stealing stuff from, not walking through the front door following​ a girl.  Most of the girls he's useally with, tend to follow him and useally to some shady motel.  

Once they reached the penthouse suite, Travis' was shocked that this is where she wanted to do business.  Thinking to himself, "she goes into a shady little bar in Chicago, pulls a scumbag like me out of it and then she brings me to a freaking top floor hotel."  He watched as she began to take her weapons off her being as well as her utility belt.  He was again shocked, what was she doing opening herself up to him like this?  Most of his clients would threaten with one of those weapons she was hanging up trying to scare him into submission, something that rarely worked.

When she took off her tunic and left only very tight clothing on, his eye twitched a bit just looking at the sight of her, again side affects of thinking with alcohol.  To Travis the chick before him was tight and he was immediately checking out every corner of her.  But of course he couldn't​ help but notice her height again.  He snickered again, probably a bit too loudly, but she was damn near perfect forgetting that issue.  He was attracted mostly to eyes though and that's where his eyes landed on for the longest time.

Travis watched as Katrina revealed her face to him.  "What the hell..." he thought.  He was used to being tortured, kidnapped, given orders through extremely discrete ways so he never sees his client, and even being given a job by men who died​ almost immediately after they give him the orders, but never has he had any client open up to him like this.  Was that her actual name?  Why would she tell him that?  What is this penthouse?  Freaking amazing that's what!  Why did she bring him to such a high profile place?  What could be her game?  He should just leave and keep the money, clearly she won't miss it and does he really want to deal with her?  As all these questions entered his mind he realized that he still hadn't answered her question about him.  

What was he going to say?  Was this some sort of exchange of life stories?  Some sort trap to get him to admit something?  Welp he has to say something, so in a sort of drunken haze and also being completely confused by the whole situation he blurted out.

Travis the drunken, suicidal, sorry for himself man, *burp*, that's me!"

"Well shit" he thought, "I could have handled that better.  She must think I am a nut."  He quickly thought of something else to say.  He propped himself up against the couch and tried to act cool by slyly saying,

"I mean, I'm just a street man, I get paid for a job and I do the job.  That's all there is to me.  I keep it straight with everyone, no lies."

To Travis that sounded a whole lot better than what he had just said a few seconds ago.  He waited there, focusing his eyes solely on her eyes as he literally couldn't pull himself away from them, they were hypnotic.

He was the … what? For a moment, before his second, far more eloquent, reply, Katrina was sure she had found herself a nimrod which, come to think of it, really would be her luck. Finding a tall, attractive, superpowered man willing to work for her who was also a complete and utter retard? That certainly sounds like something that could happen. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. Still at least one part of that was true; she could smell the alcohol from here, and it was not a pleasant smell. She despised even the most expensive wine, and that was certainly not what Travis had been drinking; it smelled like cheap beer.

”Drunken? You don’t say”

While her eyes didn’t quite roll, the sarcasm and cutting inflection in her voice certainly implied the motion. Everything about him screamed drunk; the listless glaze of his eyes, the slight slurring of his voice, the swaying in his stance … even the way she looked over him. She chose to ignore the laugh, though her eyes narrowed dangerously, right hand twitching towards her hip where her blades normally hung. Still, he was not entirely in control of his actions … which, Katrina realized with a sigh, meant he would wake with both a massive hangover and no knowledge of the nights event, if what the movies said were true. She’d have to do her dramatic reveal all over again; a real shame, he seemed really impressed the first time.

”Sit.” Her voice was softer, though still guarded, as she gestured to the couch facing the city. ”I’ll get you some water. It will make the morning more palatable to both of us.”

She darted into the kitchen, returning moments later with a cup of crystal clear water and ice. This she placed on the coffee table, protected by a layer of metal, and waited for him to drink it. She was framed against the lights, her silhouette one of sharp angles softened by the curve of her hair. She faced the lights of the city, her shoulders relaxed for the first time since she came to the city. She loved this view; it was one of the best she’s seen, the scattering of lights and cars below her like a tapestry of stars being woven before her eyes. But she tore herself away from that view, instead spinning towards him, her eyes flashing and a smirk on her face, one that spoke of both dry humor and mischievousness

”Let me make it simple for you; we’re going to rob a bank.”.

Travis watched as Katrina darted into the kitchen.  Slowly he moved his tired body onto the couch.  His trench coat was bunched up on his back causing him enough discomfort that he stood back up trying terribly hard not to fall over and slid his coat off, tossing it to the floor leaving just a plain brown shirt.  He then flopped down onto the couch, extremely exhausted, thinking to himself that it was going to be a miracle if he made it through this alive.  

As Katrina sat down the water Travis reached for the glass and began to take a drink as she stared out into the city.  Travis came close to swallowing the whole glass as he had just realized he was extremely thirsty.  When his client finally turned around, with an oddly cheeky smirk on her face and explained her plans for him, he couldn't help but laugh a bit.

Was that it?  A bank?  Freaking easy, he's done it a million times and he will do it again a million times.  He began to think that he was gonna make it after all.  It was at that time that his mind started to work just a bit better, he then searched his brain for a smart-ass response.  He found it and with a laugh retorted,

"Let me make it simple for you; coffee is the best drink for a drunk man."

He sat there cup in one hand and his other idling on his jean covered knee looking right into her eyes which again he could not stop looking at.

He was met with a cool, dangerous look at his snarky comment, a cocked eyebrow the only motion she made. Honestly, she was a little upset he laughed at her plan; she thought it was sufficiently dramatic, and robbing a bank wasn’t exactly something to be taken lightly. Had she not paid already paid him, he would most likely been kicked to the curb for daring to take light her theatrics. She enjoyed the drama that came with her position, and this flair certainly kept her life interesting. Thankfully for that indulgent side, it was a tad bit more complicated than that; but first, she couldn’t simply let that coffee comment slide.

”Is it really?” Her voice was innocent and sweet, her face a mask of politeness, and anyone who worked with her would almost feel sorry for the poor man who aroused her ire. ”Well, I certainly don’t make a habit of getting so inebriated I require copious amounts of any fluid to bring me back to the brink of what I can only assume is intelligence.” Despite staying sweet, her tone was as cutting as any blade. Her eyes were like two frozen lakes, no longer warm and swimming with emotion. They conveyed perfectly the cold, merciless eyes of a killer - though no anger, so it was unlikely he’d get a front row seat to that side of her.

”I’m not trying to get you sober. I just don’t want you hurting in the morning, and apparently, water is the way to do that. But if you require all of your faculties to sit and listen, there’s coffee in the pot. Be my guest.”

She sighed, already regretting her brief flash of anger, but she refused to allow any of it show through. Strength was the key here; she had to present a strong front or else Travis may think he had a chance to take over this operation. And a common street thug like him could have a field day where they’re going. Again, her eyes flashed to him, though this time they seemed to stare straight through the teleporter, her mind a million miles on the mission at hands. From underneath the coffee table, she drew a folder, and from within this folder she drew a page; a photocopy of an ancient book, written in an ancient language it was doubtful he would understand.

”This is a photocopy from “Kitab Majik W 'asrar 'anaha Taemal”, an ancient arabic text dating back to the time of Muhammad.” Next to that she pulled out blueprints, the blueprints to the Federal Reserve of Chicago. ”It details a repository of sorts, kept by some sort of guardian over the ages, which I believe is located here.” A blue-painted nail pointed to a place between two floors. ”Or, more accurately, underneath it. What we’re looking for there is a book. That’s all you need to know for now, but it is likely to be highly guarded, and not just by guards. The book details all kinds of traps and ‘tests’, of some sort. It’s quite an interesting manuscript.”

She narrowed her eyes at the script, her ivory teeth worrying her lip as she thought. This was going to be difficult; the Federal Reserve was no normal bank. It was run by the American government, and they didn’t joke around with security. There was likely to be guards, retina scanners, metal detectors … everything she could think of and more, and that’s not more mention the more inventive and - dare she say - magical traps they may find. She may not believe in the arcane, but that doesn’t mean other’s would go out of their way to convince any would-be intruder of it’s existence. Clouds of acid and pits of lava instantly entered her mind, and a shudder ran up her thin shoulders.

”First thing tomorrow we scout. For now, we’ll turn in. I’ll review the plan tomorrow if, gods willing, you’re capable. The bedrooms are to the left, bathroom is down the hall. Get plenty of rest, you’ll need it.” At that he was dismissed and she left, leaving the folder on the table and departing quickly to the main bedroom. She had many things she needed to discuss.

Travis sat there as she sweetly cursed at him, at this point he was so desensitized that he didn't care.  His face was just a blank expression looking at her.  When she mentioned that she never needed to get drunk he thought, "You don't know me, stop thinking you know me.  You don't my pain, you don't know what I've done..."  He repeated that statement about 20 times in his head as she continued on about the job.  He didn't really listen as he was too focused on his distaste for her comment.  While she pointed to some papers on the table he just sat there idly rubbing his scar and playing with the now empty glass.

Finally she was done and she gave him his bedroom assignment, which he was again surprised at for he thought he was just going to go back to his apartment for the night.  As she left, Travis looked over the files she left on the table, he really didn't understand any of it.  Setting down the glass, he reached for the photocopy of the ancient text and attempted to read it,

"Kitab Magic W 'assroar 'Ana Tamale"

He scoffed at the text and tossed it to the side of the table.  He reached for the blueprints of the building they were going to sneak into.  After a few seconds he realized what that building was, he spent the next few minutes searching for something on the blueprints.  After a few he spotted what he was looking for and went to go mark it, but he saw nothing around to use.  He bent down and reached into his trench coat sitting on the ground.  Going through the inner pocket he found his pocket knife.  He took the blade out, a bit rusty and old and stuck it into the place he targeted on the paper.  The blade stuck into the paper and into the wood below it.

After he spent another few minutes reading through all the mumbo jumbo, Travis picked up his trench coat and got off of the couch.  He walked towards the window and looked out at the sight of Chicago, after a few seconds he scorned,

"Los Angeles is better"

He turned around and stumbled down the hall searching for the bathroom.  He used his hands to steady himself on the wall as he shuffled his feet into the room.  Closing the door and flipping the lights on behind him he turned to look at himself in the mirror.  He dropped the trench coat on the ground and took off his hat.  He turned his hat around in his hand so that the front was facing him and read the front, "CAT Altorfer."  He had no idea what that meant or how he got the hat.  He threw it to the ground on top of his coat.

Then he began to look at his face, specifically his scar in the mirror.  He studied it for a few minutes, remembering the details of how it got there and who did it.  He put his hand through his hair which had grown quite long and needed to be trimmed back.  The brown hair was sweat filled and sticky in many place.

Travis decided to take a shower before he fell asleep in this place as he realized how much of a mess he was.  He face was dirty along with his hands and his clothes were as filthy as filthy could be as well.  He swayed over to the shower and reached for the controls.  He turned it so that just enough hot water was coming in so that it wasn't freezing cold.  He then stripped down and stepped into the shower.  There he stood blankly in the cold water stream for a good five minutes before he finally reached for one of the complimentary toiletries.  He chuckled to himself about the size of the toiletries, it appeared that even the super rich got stuck with the same small useless bottles.  

He grabbed the shampoo and ran it through his hair, he tried extremely hard to get rid of all the knots in it.  After he let the hair rinse out he reached for the soap and rubbed himself down, the alcohol smell was so bad that even he could smell it.  After a good wash, he threw his hands onto the shower wall and just stood there taking in the night's events.  The water dripping off his face and the coldness of the water making him shiver a bit.

He turned the water off and travelled out of the shower reaching for one of the nicely folded towels sitting on the rack.  As he pulled one out, the other three fell to floor causing him to curse,

Son of a -...!

He kicked the other towels to the side right next to where the toilet was located and began to dry off.  After he had successfully dried he looked down at his clothes and tried to decide what to do with them.  He thought about teleporting back to his house and grabbing some cleaner clothes, but thought that teleporting while so drunk could end him up somewhere not as nice or even kill him.  So instead he wrapped the towel around his waist and picked up his dirty clothes and walked out of the bathroom to the bedrooms.  

Once he reached one that appeared to be empty he turned the light switch up and threw his clothes onto the floor.  Closing the door behind him he dropped the towel and opened up the neatly prepared bed.  Before Travis even had a chance to really observe the room he was in, he jumped into bed and closed his eyes.  Pulling the sheets over him he began to sleep...  Dreaming...  Nightmaring is what he would call it...  Remembering things he's done, people he's hurt, and all his past regrets replaying in his head...

Often times his father would appear in his dreams, but that almost always made the dream worse.  He was completely asleep on that bed, but his mind was busy constructing a prison for him, one he'll never teleport out of.

The sun rose bright and early on the large penthouse, streaming in through the wide windows to find activity already buzzing inside the abode. The young assassin was wide awake, well-showered and dressed for the day ahead. She had it all planned, her I’s dotted and T’s crossed. Her armor was left at home, for obvious reasons, as were any weaponry; they were, after all, going to a bank, and she couldn’t afford to be weaponless. Not that she was ever really weaponless, not with her powers, but still, it felt odd without the familiar weight of Charm and Dignity at her hip, nor without the comfort of her armor. Still, the dress she was wearing wasn’t completely normal, and she had her skills, and her mutation; she should be fine.

Should, however, is the operative word. She stared down at the stranger - at Travis, they were working together, she may as well make an effort to remember his name - bright blue eyes inches from his sleeping face. He wasn’t entirely horrible to look at; a good thing, in a companion. His muscles certainly moved nicely, visible as they are every time he breathed. Though, Katrina amended with a grimace, his breath could use some work. She sighed; at least he was useful, and willing to work with her for a price. Half of the members of her organization were less than that. As fun as it was to stare at him, however, it was time to wake him up - as rudely as possible. Her pride still stung from last night.

”Wake up!”

Her voice rang out loud in the small bedroom at the same instant the bucket of ice water hit him, dropped by the smirking figure crouched on the nightstand. The dress she was wearing was a far cry from the thick armor she was accustomed to; a metallic, glistening blue column of silk adorned what figure she had. Her lips were stained a bright red, her eyes subtly black and flecks of glitter sparkled across her face. Her nails, previously matte black, were now blue and decorated with a black phoenix, the symbol of her house; her toes, visible now as she stepped off the table, were painted similarly, peeking like so many daisies from the heels she slipped into. She walked, confidently and with a much more defined sway thanks to the heels, to the door, leaning against the frame of the door to glare at him almost playfully.

”I’d apologize for the rude awakening if I thought I had any other choice. There is a suit in the drawers. It should fit. If not, we’ll figure something out. We leave in an hour, please be ready then.” The threat was only implied in her voice this time, though just as dangerous.

The suit was a fine black silken one with blue trim and matching gloves and shoes. It would fit him almost like a glove; Katrina would never admit it, preferring instead to pretend she got lucky, but she took his measurements while sleeping. Purely as a precautionary measure; some of the tellers who work at banks, and particularly where they were going, are able to tell pretenders from a mile away. Things had to be perfect. That was why, though he wouldn’t know it, there was a golden ring underneath all his clothes; a wedding band, fitted for his ring finger.

"STOP THERE!"

Travis shouted from the car with a Remington shotgun pointed right at the hit.  His hit was valued at over $250,000, Travis was practically salivating at the thought of all that cash.  His hit was a 6'4" beast, scars all over his body and honestly was probably the scariest person he had ever seen.  He stood there with his back to Travis, hands thrown up above his head.  

"How about you turn around!"

Travis commanded the hit.  The hit, however, thought it was best to run.  "Idiot" Travis thought and fired a round right at the man.  It was a quiet day except for two sounds, the bang of the gun and a man hitting the ground face first.  Travis slowly opened his door and slid out of the leather seat of his 2005 Fusion.  Walking towards his target he got this odd suspicion he was being watched and looked around the surrounding area looking for anything weird.  As he reached the man he kicked him to see if he was living, it appeared not as he didn't even flinch a bit from the kick.  Crouching down, Travis flipped the guy over.  Travis quickly stood up and backed up, he couldn't believe it, his hit was his-

"Wake up!"

Shouted the man on the ground, shocking Travis and soundly he felt a freezing sensation around his back.  "BAM!"  His head hit the head board about as hard as it could without shattering the thing.  

"What the hell?!?"

Travis muttered, his head pounding from the sudden stop or the alcohol from last night, either was probably true.  He struggled to open his eyes as he saw her, feeling absolutely soaked...  Words entered his head ranging from "Kill her" to "Take her".  He shook his head trying to clear his head, but all that did was aggravate the pounding.  He tried to get his hands free, but they were under his body, a habit he picked up after he teleported in his sleep.  Tokyo was not fun at 3 AM in the morning.  Once he had his hands free he pushed himself up turning himself towards Katrina while sitting on the bed, letting the sheets pool right at his waist.

After Travis had finally got his thoughts together he looked at Katrina, she was wearing a dress, a fitting one at that too.  He was happy that out of everything that could have woke him up like that, it was something with the form of that.  As she wandered out the door he made sure to study that buet.  He should remember her name and what he was doing here or what the job was, but he didn't nor for that moment care.

She explained to him the clothes situation, which reminded him, he didn't have clothes on.  Thankfully, the sheets covered him below his waist, still it exposed his upper body, which was right at the verge of being well trimmed and average.  As she walked out, he attempted to dart to the door to close it, but his head started pounding so hard that he stumbled to his knees after about three steps.  Not wanting her to see him like that, he snapped his fingers and shot right next to door and slammed it shut.

As he picked himself up, he looked at the dresser that contained his attire for the day.  He swayed over there, trying to keep his head from hurting.  He opened the drawer he saw a suit, a mighty fine one that he was not used to wearing.  "Well" he thought, "might as well put it on."  Realizing that he was drench from his encounter with that woman, he ripped the sheets of mattress and used them to dry himself off.  After he was dry, he moved back to the dresser.  He thought it was strange that he had to wear these fancy duds for whatever job this was.  Wait, what job was this?  Was he killing a king or something?  He mentally said screw it and began to put it on.  Travis was used to not remembering anything about a job, he would drink to forget and it worked.  Sometimes way to well and it ended up bitting him.

As he was putting it on he couldn't help but notice how well it was fitting and even though it was a bit tight, it was really a perfect fit.  As he reached for the pants at the bottom of the drawer, he heard something cling around in the drawer.  Travis did a double take and reached into the drawer for the thing that caused the disturbance.  He couldn't believe it, it was a ring...  A golden ring...  Yep golden, he could tell as he used to steal gold a ton a few years ago.  Why was this here?  "Unless...  No...  No..."  Travis was disturbed.  He was used to forgetting things he did, but this is something he should remember.  He looked at the room, specifically the window trying to figure out where he was.  He noticed the building across the road and deduced this was the Silversmith.  AKA the place Chicagoans would honeymoon if they were on a budget.

"NO!....  No this cannot be the reason..."

Travis reasoned to himself.  He slipped the ring into his pants pocket and noticed his old clothes laying on the floor.  He bent over and reached for the pants, searching the pockets for anything that would aid him in what he was doing here.  His left pocket held part of the answer, 20K dollars at least was in there.  He also found his phone and some keys, for what he didn't know.  He threw them both in his suit pockets. 

Travis finished putting on the suit, shoes and all(except for the ring and the gloves) convinced that the money was proof this wasn't a honeymoon.  He walked out of his room and walked down the hallway only to notice his pocket knife was stuck in a coffee table.  "Now what is that for?" he thought.

From the knife, his attention would immediately be drawn to another site, one far more intriguing than a blade. The woman from before was kneeling on the couch, brushing her hair till it glistened; he had yet to notice he had entered the room, and as such her face lost all it’s sharpness, her mask down. She was humming to herself. Her guard down, it was like a different person; one completely soft. Even her eyes as she glanced up were softer; more like a deep ocean than the iciness he would remember from the morning. The dress was still on her; he would see it was barebacked, with a cut straight down her back. Her skin was ivory soft, the only mar on it a silver tattoo just barely glistening underneath her shoulder blade. She let her hair fall, cascading down her back again, obscuring the slice of ivory skin her witnessed. As she did, her hum turned into singing.

”Boys and Girls come out to play,
The moon doth shine as bright as day.
Leave your supper, and leave your sleep,
And come join your playfellows in the street.

Come with a whoop, and come with a call,
Come with a good will, or not at all.
Up the ladder and down the wall,
A penny loaf will serve you all.”

Her voice was hauntingly beautiful, caressing each syllable before unleashing it’s melody. She still hadn’t noticed him; her nimble fingers were fixated on her earrings, glistening, gemmed things probably more expensive than any house Travis may own. As the verse ended, she reverted to humming again, her eyes closing. She was rocking in time with the simple tune, and a look of pure joy crossed her face, unfiltered by any perceived judgements on her parts. It was unadulterated and made her look much younger. With a sigh, she finished her preparations, her humming stopping as she made a noise of frustration.

”Where is he? I woke him up five minutes ago.”

She whirled, her dress twirling about her legs as she did, only to gasp in surprise as she saw him standing there. For her part, she recovered smoothly, masking her reaction so quickly and slowly it was doubtful it was there at all. Katrina had to admit, he looked great in a suit. And she did choose well. Her lips curled into a smirk at this thought; she knew how to dress guys, oh yeah. She rounded the couch, and Travis would probably be interested in the ring on Katrina’s finger; a slim golden band, with a small diamond set in the center. It was definitely a wedding ring, and definitely an expensive one, and it matched with the one Travis had in his pocket. By the point Katrina reached the young man, her smirk had grown to absolutely Cheshire proportions.

”Hello there, husband. Sleep well, I hope.”

Her voice purred out and her eyes flashed with amusement.

"whaaaaaaa....."

Travis growled under his breath...  His heart stopped...  He was about to faint...  And then his brain kicked in yelling at him in his mind, "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TRAVIS???  WHAT IN THE WORLD DID YOU DO?  NO NO NONONONONONONOONON. FUCK....  FUCKFKKCKCKJW"  Immediately Travis had a headache the size of a mountain and he was ready to die...  He thought about teleporting to the top of a building and falling off and just ending it...  He couldn't believe this...  At all...  Like at all...  This had to be a dream, but why was the pain so real in his head?  He ran through every possible scenario...  and finally he snapped back into reality and spoke after a very long pause,

"How was the wedding and who was there?"

He was frozen...  Completely...  He couldn't move...  He needed her to respond to give him some kind of reference point...  Maybe she'll say that his parents were there and then he'll know this was a dream or maybe a sick joke...  This was something he couldn't have done... He couldn't have... He looked at the girl and she was fine...  Her dress was fine...  She was amazing... He could see him taking her home, but marrying her?  He couldn't even remember her bloody name and he married her?  She better be 10/10 plus 5...  He waited for a response...  He was ready to lose it if he was given any indication that this was real.