Just a God-Damn Job!
Apr. 6th, 2006 10:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonPart 1.
Part 2.
Pt.3: 3:13am: A question of diplomacy.
Rasheed and Brian are sitting on a bus stop bench on Baptist Boulevard, the long stretch of road that acts as the unofficial dividing line between Voodoo Town and Gallows City. Rasheed leans back and spreads his arms along the spread of the bench, while Brian leans in forward, his hands clasped in front of his face as if in prayer. Both men smoke their cigarettes with an air of private contemplation, neither one offering a word, as they watch the flames light up the apartment complex across the street from them.
"I thought you said you were a 'courier'?" Brian says, without emotion or expectation of a response, but rather out of a need to fill the void of silence.
"I am." Rasheed says blowing out a ring of smoke thoughtfully into the still night air. "You just assumed that when I said 'courier' I meant 'delivery boy'..." Rasheed raises a single hand, cutting Brian off before he can mutter a protest "...and you'd be right to the extent that I do in fact perform delivery work. No matter the time or the place, or the law of the land for that matter, there's always going to be real money to be made working as the Go-Between."
Brian shrugs a 'so what?' and Rasheed flicks his cigarette into the empty street and sighs.
"But what you have to keep in mind is that a 'courier' does more than just transport commoditys. It also means being an agent, someone charge with the retrieval and safe passage of information, it can mean being a guide to those who don't know the city, and believe me when I say i've played Virgil to many a Dante..." Rasheed laughs and Brian nods politely pretending he knows what his 'partner' is on about now.
"...but for me, when I say 'Courier', I mean a diplomat, a man of charcter if you will, who has been entrusted with the bearing of a message."
"That was a message?" Brians says motioning with a slight nod to the fire that is now pouring out of the windows and lighting up the street an Autumn orange.
"Nah man..." Rasheed snorts "... that was a warning."
Brian turns and looks over his shoulders at him. Rasheed is sitting back passively, his glasses mirroring the burning building, a twin dance of flames where his eyes should be. Sirens now begin buzzing faintly and a few of the locals are stepping outside in their robes and nightgowns to take in the show.
"Come on", Rasheed croaks, "We got one more job and then you can take your happy ass on home."
Part 2.
Pt.3: 3:13am: A question of diplomacy.
Rasheed and Brian are sitting on a bus stop bench on Baptist Boulevard, the long stretch of road that acts as the unofficial dividing line between Voodoo Town and Gallows City. Rasheed leans back and spreads his arms along the spread of the bench, while Brian leans in forward, his hands clasped in front of his face as if in prayer. Both men smoke their cigarettes with an air of private contemplation, neither one offering a word, as they watch the flames light up the apartment complex across the street from them.
"I thought you said you were a 'courier'?" Brian says, without emotion or expectation of a response, but rather out of a need to fill the void of silence.
"I am." Rasheed says blowing out a ring of smoke thoughtfully into the still night air. "You just assumed that when I said 'courier' I meant 'delivery boy'..." Rasheed raises a single hand, cutting Brian off before he can mutter a protest "...and you'd be right to the extent that I do in fact perform delivery work. No matter the time or the place, or the law of the land for that matter, there's always going to be real money to be made working as the Go-Between."
Brian shrugs a 'so what?' and Rasheed flicks his cigarette into the empty street and sighs.
"But what you have to keep in mind is that a 'courier' does more than just transport commoditys. It also means being an agent, someone charge with the retrieval and safe passage of information, it can mean being a guide to those who don't know the city, and believe me when I say i've played Virgil to many a Dante..." Rasheed laughs and Brian nods politely pretending he knows what his 'partner' is on about now.
"...but for me, when I say 'Courier', I mean a diplomat, a man of charcter if you will, who has been entrusted with the bearing of a message."
"That was a message?" Brians says motioning with a slight nod to the fire that is now pouring out of the windows and lighting up the street an Autumn orange.
"Nah man..." Rasheed snorts "... that was a warning."
Brian turns and looks over his shoulders at him. Rasheed is sitting back passively, his glasses mirroring the burning building, a twin dance of flames where his eyes should be. Sirens now begin buzzing faintly and a few of the locals are stepping outside in their robes and nightgowns to take in the show.
"Come on", Rasheed croaks, "We got one more job and then you can take your happy ass on home."