<div class="floatleft">(http://www.inyourbones.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/David400-228x350.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Ryan 'Private' Murray (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=250173.msg12379624#msg12379624)<br/><strong>City | Date | Time:</strong>Louisiana / August 1st, 2017 / 10:00 AM<br/><strong>Tagging | Mentioning:</strong>Vivienne Rayne Beaux<br/><strong>Content:</strong>Shooting the Breeze<br/><hr/>It was going to be a hot day. New England didn't have many of those, not even in the summer. It was barely past ten, and the heat was already sweltering. It was an oppressive heat, the kind which you couldn't escape even in the shade. The only kind of relief that could be acquired was entering an air conditioned room, and that was precisely how Ryan was escaping the heat today. It had been a mistake to come down south on his trip to the West Coast, but he had wanted to make his trip as long and as arduous as possible. Nights were only slightly less depressingly hot than the daytime, but it was still... survivable. As it stood, he has sweated through his patch at 9 in the morning, so coming across the a mechanic shop that he had run through on a previous trip Westward, and decided to take a break until the worst of the heat was over.<br/><br/>For fuck's sake, how did people survive down here?<br/><br/>The older man that ran the place had been inside when he heard the rumble of the Sportser come into the lot. The two fellows that were working in the abusive heat, even under relative shade, looked up and squinted at the new arrival. The owner stepped out, his own eyes looking huge as they squinted from behind what looked like an inch and a half of lenses. Ryan parked the bike under the shade of a tree.<br/><br/>"Jesus fucking Christ. It's Private or I'll be a son of a bitch."<br/><br/>"Goddammit," Ryan growled under his breath.<br/><br/>"What's that?"<br/><br/>"Good to see you too, Vern. I was wondering if I could come under some shade, partake in a beer or so to get out of this damned heat."<div class="floatright">(http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YGLQQZTHoU0/SZeK63zRsTI/AAAAAAAAHYY/gK1sImjWQAk/s400/levon_helm.bmp)</div><br/><br/>"I got me some chilled ones in the fridge. Not the thick shit that you like, but it's cold and it'll be free if you're up for it."<br/><br/>"My favorite kind of beer is free, Vern. I'll pay for a quick look at the bike, though."<br/><br/>"Fuck that. What's your second?"<br/><br/>"My second what?"<br/><br/>"Your second for a duel. The fuck do you think? Your second favorite beer?"<br/><br/>"Cold."<br/><br/>"Shit, get right on it outta the damn heat," He opened the door to his office with a big grin and turned to the young men working," You boys get lunch in an hour, ya hear me? No slackin'! We're already behind on that Beemer, Mace!"<br/><br/>The grumbled responses made Ryan smile a bit. His first job had been in a shop like this. There had been little problem with the heat in Boston, but on the flip side, he still had to work Winter Months, and as a Prospect for the Wildlings, he had been taking care of the shop alone in the dead of winter.<br/><br/>Ryan and Vern stepped into the air-conditioned heaven that was the man's office. Vern walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a pair of beers. He was right, they were weak piss but they were beer and they were cold, so he gladly accepted his, taking a seat across from the old man.<br/><br/>"So what you doing around these parts?"<br/><br/>"You know. Getting into trouble."<br/><br/>"This town has enough trouble, I'm here to tell you. Lost two of my best boys to some big shot car dealership in the city."<br/><br/>"Shit."<br/><br/>"Yeah, been having to make do with those shitheads out there. Pretty sure one of them's high right now, but I can't afford to fire them. But they can't afford to lose their jobs here, so I can overwork them, the lazy cunts."<br/><br/>"That's a... capitalistic way to look at the world, Vern."<br/><br/>"You say that like it's a bad thing. Shut up, don't answer. What happened to your old '85 FXR?"<br/><br/>"A dumbass put a couple bullets through the engine block. I still got it in the garage, it still runs but it smokes really bad and needs constant work. Got me a 2010 Sportser."<br/><br/>"Shit, they don't make bikes like they used to anymore. All looks and brand recognition, not a cent of real feeling in the build, you know what I'm saying? Leave that shit heap here for a week or two and I'll chop it up nice and sweet for ya."<br/><br/>Ryan chuckled and sipped his brew," I already got her chopped up the way I liked her, Vern. She'll smoke anything you've ever ridden."<br/><br/>"Bull. Shit,"The older man growled vehemently," I got me a Panhead back in '66 when they stopped makin' 'em."<br/><br/>"No shit."<br/><br/>"My first bike ever, and she'll be my last. I love that thing more'n I love my wife, but don't tell'er I said that."<br/><br/>"I'll have to take a look at her someday."<br/><br/>"The Panhead or the Ball and Chain?"<br/><br/>"Either or."<br/><br/>"I called her Vera back when I got her. The Bike, that is. Your lady got a name, or you still riding her for one?"<br/><br/>"She's got a name. I called her Charlene."<br/><br/>"Fuck, that's a stripper's name."<br/><br/>"I've seen her naked more times than I've seen any particular stripper, I'll tell you that."<br/><br/>The old man opened his mouth to respond, but his eyes quickly shifted outside," Shit, looks like I got me a customer."<br/><br/>Ryan followed his gaze, and saw a tow truck coming into the lot," I daresay you're right. Can I smoke in here?"<br/><br/>"Nah. Smoke outside if you feel the need, I gotta go see what the problem is 'fore one of my guys scares my customer off."<br/><br/>"Sure," Ryan stood, pulling his lighter and pack out of his patch pocket and tapping one out," You want one?"<br/><br/>"Quit three months ago. Wife made me do it. Can't stand my breath."<br/><br/>"No shit," Ryan braced himself as the door opened and the muggy heat rushed in like the world's most uninviting tidal wave.<br/><br/><hr/><br/><div class="floatleft">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/cc/04/03/cc0403bccab4556a308aa15f1d30a366.jpg)</div><div class="floatright">(https://s3media.247sports.com/Uploads/Assets/406/958/2958406.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Agents Davis and Davis (No Relation)<br/><strong>City | Date | Time:</strong>Louisiana / August 1st, 2017 / 10:00 AM<br/><strong>Tagging | Mentioning:</strong>Vivienne Rayne Beaux<br/><strong>Content:</strong>Shooting the Breeze<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Robert Davis was a lifer. He had been with the ATF for 5 years before his chance with Tac 6 had come along five months ago. Ever since then, he had been tracking three different Evolved Suspects before the office finally decided to stick him with the bike gang member. He ahd been told to tail, be discreet and report any suspicious activity. It kept Robert on the line constantly. Ryan 'Private' Murray was about as career as criminals came. He was a gang member, and of pretty high standing too, and the kind of muscle that the Irish Mob liked to employ when they wanted some delicate work done. He was a 'Sergeant at Arms' for his part of the Wildling Biker Gang, or Motorcycle Club as they legally called themselves, and an amateur boxer and fist fighter in his spare time. There were videos of him fighting that him and Agent Cameron Davis had been told to watch before starting their surveillance detail. The guy never would have been a belt contender if he had gone pro but he was good enough to go pro, even without his Evolution. And that power that he had, which the office had never been able to really pin down, made things really unfair to anyone in any kind of ring against him.<br/><br/>This whole Evolved thing had only happened to the wrong kind of people. It was unfair. Good folks that would have actually done the world some good were left weak and defenseless while scumbags and criminals like Private had a slice of the superhero life and decided to become comic book villains. The universe was all about that bullshit.<br/><br/>"You ever killed anyone, Cam?" Robert asked suddenly. The two had parked outside the repair shop about ten minutes ago and had remained in complete and utter silence.<br/><br/>"I... no, I have never shot anyone, Robert."<br/><br/>"Shit, have you ever drawn your service weapon?"<br/><br/>"Y... Yeah, of course."<br/><br/>"Outside the target practice room, man."<br/><br/>"Uh... there was this one time..."<br/><br/>"What?"<br/><br/>"There was this guy..."<br/><br/>"There was this guy..." Robert mimicked mockingly.<br/><br/>"Okay, fuck, I've never drawn my weapon. I mean, that's a good thing, right?"<br/><br/>"How long have you been on Tac 6?"<br/><br/>"Three months. I finished my masters in criminology and I got the offer."<br/><br/>"See, I come from the ATF, you know?" Robert had been through this conversation at least three times, with different 'rookies' and he never got tired of it," I worked my ass off. I got folks coffee. I did paperwork out my ass. Never got promoted. You know why?"<br/><br/>"No..."<br/><br/>"Because they didn't respect me. I was just another fucking desk jockey to everyone. Why would they promote someone who's a desk jockey, you know? They looked at me and though,' Shit, why would I give this guy any kind of responsibility if he can do my paperwork, get my coffee and be my little office bitch while I'm out in the field?'"<br/><br/>"I'm<em>really</em>hoping that there's a point here, Robert."<br/><br/>"And then, in my second year, I got into a firefight. Some scumbags were trying to take some coke," Or pot, who cared about the details," Across state lines, and I had caught them, so I was in on the bust. The guys pulled some serious firepower," He imitated the motion of pulling a particularly large firearm out of his coat," And started blasting at us as soon as they saw us. They were some fucking Colombian drug lords, I'm telling you. So then some shit went down. We were shooting, they were shooting. I'd never been in a firefight before, but there was this one guy with a huge machine gun," Or a Mini-Uzi," And he was circling around. So I flicked the safety off my gun, since I'd already drawn it, and put him right in my sights, and BAM," He imitated the motion of firing a pistol to the minutest detail," Put two right into his chest."<br/><br/>"Still not seeing a point here."<br/><br/>"Shut up. After that, two weeks later, there was a spot open for a promotion, and I got it. You know why?"<br/><br/>"Respect."<br/><br/>"Respe... goddamn it, you ruined the punchline. Anyways. What I'm saying is, when it comes to these kinds of organizations, they're just gonna pin you with some dumbass shit missions like the one that we're on now, and we're gonna keep getting scumbags like this... Privates guy, until we actually show the higher-ups that we've got the balls of steel required for the next level shit, you know? The assault teams, the international missions. It's office politics, and it happens everywhere, from the lowliest sheriff's in Podunk-Neverheardofit's Ville to the F. B. fucking I. man. That's how it works. They need to know that we have the big, huge, heavy sacks containing..."<br/><br/>"I get your point, Robert, but I'm really not comfortable discussing testicles with you, no matter their... metallic composition."<br/><br/>"You get it though, right?"<br/><br/>"I get the picture. Just stop talking about balls of steel."<br/><br/>"Okay."<br/><br/>"Hey look, there's a tow truck coming in," Cameron said, quickly taking down the plate number of the truck.<br/><br/>"Yeah. That's gonna be the highlight of our stop here. For real."<br/><br/>"There's another car coming though," And Cameron took those plates down too, and ran them and the tow truck's through their on-board computer. After a few seconds, the machine beeped.<br/><br/>"Shit."<br/><br/>"What?" Robert said, trying to peer into the screen.<br/><br/>"That grey sedan... it's one of ours."<br/><br/>"But we haven't heard of any Tac 6 activity around here. That means..."<br/><br/>"That means that they're also on surveillance detail. Which means that there's an Evolved in that truck."<br/><br/>"You gotta stop ruining my punch lines, Cam. For real. I'm gonna try and hail them on our radio network. You just... shut up, okay?"<br/><br/>"Jeez, fine."