Realistic or Modern Contract 113 (1x1 Thanny + Xillia)

[Thanny]

(( Xillia , all set when you are. =) ))

---

EARLIER
Rennes, France, European Union, 20:00 Local Time



As the woman massaged moisturizer into her face, her eyes burrowing into the cosmetic mirror before her. Here, in the privacy of her home on the outskirts of the lovely city of Rennes, France, and protected by the most state-of-the-art alarm systems she could afford with her luxury, she still felt on edge.

Youth felt lost, makeup not leaving scars as much as a feeling of her face being worn. Too many false smiles. Too many applications of manipulation. She had money in spades. She just needed a real reason to retire. A worn face and a feeling of weariness was not enough of a reason, and, besides, she was good at what she did. Perhaps too good, as she realised that she was smiling in the mirror without meaning to.

She set the mirror down low as she slid out of the half-lit bathroom in a silk robe and into the open living room of her country cottage. It was a comfortable location, elegantly established, new and crafted to her liking. The furniture took some work to get where she liked them. With work throughout the world, it was a rarity that she was home, so she was happy to sag into a comfortable loveseat as she stared at a wall of art, some traditional and others more evocative than that. Art was important; it made her feel human.

Her flip phone chimed a simple, quiet dyad, and she crossed the fluffy rug at her feet to fetch it. Cold blooms of the distant city lights shone enough in from the glass French doors to make visible the cell phone whose inner light had burned out long ago. She lit a red-shaded lamp to see the message.

"Call quick. Big gig. Invites sent to all five. --M"

The lettering was so small that the woman squinted without her contacts in, followed by pursing her lips fretfully. She knew what this meant and raised the phone to her ear.

Brrrr . . . brr -- "Took you long enough."

"I just received the message not even a minute ago."

"Still slow. Keep your phone on your person at all times. We have big fish to fry," came the voice on the other end, modulated and switching every four or so seconds. A young man's rich voice at one moment, a low and husky older woman's voice the next, it certainly led people to speculate what M's voice really sounded like, or who was behind the hacker's veil. "Details in Vienna. I have a plane ticket printing out for you from your local airport. 23:35 tonight, Gate 9, so don't get too cozy before leaving."

Having the time told to her made her tired just thinking about it, but she could certainly hear her printer drop a paper onto the floor a room away.

"Couldn't you have--"

"No, Lille," M barked on the other end, "I could not have. Time is money, and this item is hot. Others are needed urgently. There will not be another chance like this for years. Contracts are slim pickings as they are."

Chills ran up Lille's spine, and she covered her mouth and speaker unconsciously.

"Contract? Like, the contract?"

"You're catching on," the other voices responded, laughs alternating between each speaker. "Yes, Lille. Heist of the century. I've invited another as well. You know, the other field type. See you in Vienna." Click.

The woman sagged, the phone lowering as she started to rub the backside of her hand absentmindedly. The small group she was with had been searching for dirt on this faction of elites for a while, though connections were sparce and limited. Barring high-risk double hits, they had little to prove matters regarding contracts. However, heist . . . that word left her with goose flesh. She could be part of history like she always wanted. If it was what she thought it was, she could tell stories of the time she stole a contract right from under the Undying Legion's noses, possibly bringing them down in the process.

She looked over to her bed, an ancient thing that had sentimental value to her, and approached. Once close, she felt the sheets one last time before pressing a button on the interior of the footboard, causing the mattress and boxspring to lift via a bar and unveil her hidden stash of covert items. She had a lot of work to do, and less than four hours to prepare.

---

PRESENT
Vienna, Austria, European Union, 03:00 Local Time

An address chimed on her phone as soon as she stepped off the plane. At the time, she looked down in surprise. The phone was turned off before the airplane even took off and laid it to rest since.

M certainly has his ways, she thought as she stepped up to a government building, 03:00 in local time. In four more hours this place would be a busy hub for taxes, clerical work, and lawmaking, but not now. She could feel the eyes on her as a camera buzzed left inside the unlocked building to follow her. M was controlling the cameras there too, she rationalised. That, or it was a confused night guard that would sound the alarm. She hoped this was not the case.

Third floor, second door on the left of the left staircase, and there she found it, a meeting room where normal people had agendas detailing work duties. She smiled at the idea of her doing the same thing with completely un-normal people.

A large oaken conference table with a panning camera lay within the middle of the overlarge room, the only furnishings that, uncomfortable chairs decorated with stiff upholsteries, a TV, and curtains over the windows. It seemed oddly prepared, even with sparsely printed notes on the table, but not a person was--

"Welcome."

She turned sharply to see who the speaker was, a middle-aged, dark-haired, and large man in both height and girth with a full goatee and a suit that seemed crisply pressed. His amber eyes behind shaded digital glasses singed holes through her like a woodburning kit, and voice low and phlegmatic, prone to coughing. She could almost feel him crunching some code even though he was looking mostly at her.

"Lille," he spoke unblinkingly, his voice monotone. "I was looking forward to seeing you in person. The other is on their way."

She turned to the table and stayed silent, placing herself with her back to a wall instead of a window. She wondered who this other member of the five would be, and if they lived up to the vision she had for them. She only had ever heard of their initial and their exploits, after all. So far, M did not seem to match . . . if this was M.

 

[Xillia]

Edinburgh, England; 19:42 Local Time.

"The Carnival Of Animals XIII: The Swan. Such an Elegant song, peaceful, wherein it follows the grace of the water-bound bird it so eloquently takes inspiration from. The swan itself, such an unbespoken animal in terms of setting one at ease, gentle, pleasant, and all the while, no one ever quite wonders why it is they're so denounced as the singing bird. A guise, a ruse, a carefully laid ploy by nature itself to lure in predators."

A crystal glass of wine met cherry-red lips amidst the steamy warmth of the mosaic-tiled bathroom, leaving a frail strain on the glass itself as the serenade played its hearty tune. The maroon dryness slipped down the woman's throat as she gulped silently before letting her slender, refined fingers trace the glass back to where it had been seated on the edge of the tub, sandy-blonde hair tied up neatly to sit above the water while the pale-pink flesh soaked within the sudsy rose-scented foam of the waters.

"And just what is the purpose of this swan, madam? I assume there's more to your mindless prattling than just idle philosophy?"

A chalky voice, grizzled with age, yet possessed all the refinement of an old-English transcript lurched out, flicking a set of seafoam eyes toward the man garbed in a black tailcoat. Thin-wiry glasses adorning his wrinkled face with his own features poised ahead, and not at her.

"Albert," The sultry voice of the woman spoke above the sloshing of water as the figure lifted and approached, being handed a lavender-tinted towel to wrap around her frame, "No one ever really considers what would happen if the swan was given a nine-millimeter handgun with two decades of experience in the business of subterfuge and death. To them, it would always be a swan, a harmless bird."

The servant kept his gaze lifted, even as the distance closed between the two and he nodded his head, turning on his heel before exiting the bathroom, leaving the woman to her own devices to dress appropriately. A well-needed sentiment as the woman sat before her vanity mirror, adjusting her strands of well-kept hair and crossing her legs with pointed toe at the top, a reapplication of mascara and eyeshadow beyond the steam of the brightly-lit domain in which she'd presided. After nearly an hour of silence, she stood, casting off her towel and moving over toward the hangar rack closest to the door, drawing a robe around her shoulders before exiting into the chill of the air-conditioned home.

Her hips swayed with natural disposition as she maneuvered her way around the vintage furniture of the modern apartment, with the man dressed in black reclined pleasantly within one of the armchairs in the living area, a book in his lap and eyes cast downward as they flicked over the contents of the words within.

"All finished, madam?"

"Yes. Thank you for the recommendation on wine, it was delectable."

"I figured you'd enjoy the earthy tone, that hint of strawberry you so very much lust for."

"Indeed, dry and sweet, a perfect sipping blend."

Albert had always been a near and dear friend, even when Naomi had just been a little girl. When her life had been taken from her in most normal senses when her parents had taken one bad business deal that had cost them more than just their finances. The old cod had been at her side, raised her, taught her, trained her. His seventy-third birthday had just been the week prior and the two of them had gone out to a renowned steak and whiskey restaurant. The badger certainly had enjoyed his fine vintages over the years, but the way his eyes lit up when a proper bottle of the blend had been at his lips was a feeling not even Naomi would forget.

Like a regression of those seventy years wherein a child had received his first toy to play with. It was magical.

Her pleasant thoughts were interrupted by the calloused ringing that spurred from the landline over at the corner of the living space nearest the kitchen's half-wall.

"I'll get i--" Albert placed his hands against the leather of the armchair thought found himself situating back in when Naomi waved her hand and nodded, moving towards it herself without the faintest sound of her feet touching the freshly waxed mahogany floor.

Four times it rang before the seductress lifted it off of the receiver and placed it to her ear, remaining eerily quiet as the warped voice from within spoke hurriedly and excitedly.

"So to which fairy tail creature am I speak to this time?"

"A recent infatuation with the swan, but a fox shall do, cunning as ever and just as wily. Speak, I presume this is M."

"Keen as always. This is it."

Naomi went dreadfully quiet for the moment as her breath hitched in her throat and her shoulders visibly tensed upward and inward.

"How many involved?"

"Five, including myself."

"Where?"

"Vienna. Be there no later than three past midnight."

"Conditions?"

"Money, what else?"

"Identity?"

"We'll keep it as Fox, if you'd prefer."

"That will do just fine."

Simultaneously, she hung the phone back and turned her head over her shoulder to Albert who had seemingly vanished from his chair and was huddled over an end-table, scrawling down the information on paper before extending it her way.

"How long will you be gone this time?"

"No telling." Naomi grasped at the paper and glanced down at it, "If this is what I think it is, this will be the last."

"Good, you're getting too old for this you know. You don't want to wind up my age and realize that you've could've been wed and retired someplace remote to enjoy the latter years of your life."

"I assure you, Albert, this is the last. When it's all said and done, I'll bring you with me, somewhere quiet. Perhaps tropical, you always did enjoy a margarita."

"And those tacky Hawaiian shirts?"

"Of course!" Naomi stifled a giggle before approaching him. "I'll go pack my things, hold down the front for me, will you?"

"Without question."

---

Vienna, Austria, European Union, 03:15 Local Time

Darkened, glassy frames, rounded and reflective glazed over the government establishment. A pitch-black trench coat and comfortable leggings rested beneath with a pair of wedged boots rising up to her knees as Naomi ascended the steps, taking the most direct entrance she could. A lazy beret lined the top of her updo, keeping most of her features out of sight as her heels clattered atop the marble flooring of the foyer.

It was still quite early in the morning, dark outside and with all the commonality of a nearby passing headlight as rare as a crow flying across the sky in winter. While uncommon, it was not unseen. Navigating the building itself proved very perplexing at first until she got a lay of the circular corridors and rising levels. Cautiously, the briefcase the remained tucked in her gloved hand waved ever so slightly from side to side, masking the gear within. She climbed a flight of the steps, then another, and another until the golden-engraved number three came into view at the pinnacle of her climb.

Her freed fingers dove into the pocket of her attire and pulled out the sheet of paper, glancing over it once more before she nodded with all the disposition of a woman on her way home after a long day at work. She knew where she needed to be, now she needed to get there. She took the long way around, branching right and circling around the maze of hallways until arriving at the aforementioned door. The air there, it smelled fresh, not of her perfume, but of others.

Must be the place.

Cautiously, she raised her knuckles up to the oaken divider and tapped three times, then with a long pause, a fourth before grasping at the handle and opening it slowly.

 

[Thanny]

Vienna, Austria, European Union, 03:16 Local Time

Lille looked up as her attention was seized by the rapping of the meeting room door, reverberating both ways in the desolate building. M, as she figured the man that had greeted her to be, was a quiet, impatient, and antisocial individual who did not crave the company of others as much as sating his own curiosity. She wondered what the reason would be for this after professing that he "was looking forward to seeing her in person." Perhaps he was so adept at multi-tasking that he could not keep himself occupied by any one thing for long.

"It is open," she replied in English, her voice sounding crackly from being unused for hours. She had gotten precious little sleep beforehand, and had felt the inklings of lulling sleep tug at her consciousness. She feared this might show when she managed to meet F, the Fox themselves.

When the door opened, she was surprised to see that F was a lady wrapped in a burly trenchcoat. She expected a man for some reason, and let her eyes droop toward the edge of the table, disappointed, but was swift to recover. Eyes up, posture straight, she smiled coyly and stood as tall as her head-shorter frame could allow.

"F, I presume?" she started, offering a hand to the newcomer and looking to see if M was going to surprise her like he did Lille. He did not. In fact, he was not there, though she heard his voice pipe up, interruptive.

"Indeed it is, indeed it is," came the oscillating voices from the loudspeaker of the conference table, the camera swiveling to see and listen to both individuals in the otherwise rather barren room. The TV flashed on, and after warming up displayed three icons on a black surface, each with a letter face on a green circle. They seemed hastily set up, with the exception of M's which was meticulous. "We are fifteen minutes early now, but time is of the essence, so we should chop-chop. Every second matters. Have a seat, ladies and gentlemen, while we get this started. English is the language of choice."

Lille offered an apologetic smile before returning her hand to her side and sitting down. Her maroon skirt patted down, she was ready to listen in to the meeting. Only two were present in this room, and the assumed M was not among them. Two other letters, Y and C, flashed when they spoke up with a green circle. Y spoke first, voice unmodulated, as she supposed her voice and that of F's would be.

"C and M have be informed of this, so that leave our two field persons F and L with the learning," spoke a woman in a thick Egyptian accent, her consonants retained and often having an uh at the end of each. Y flared to life. "Is the connection secure?"

M huffed harshly one second, but the voice was soft and ladylike after: "When isn't it?"

"Fair enough. C, you may continue."

An older gentleman struck up, soft-spoken, and naturally speaking but noticeably comfortable with relaying information: "Seven hours ago, we received an anonymous tip that a contract is on the move. I'm sure that you are familiar with the Undying Legion, a . . . cult of sorts who can live forever and have been in some measure of power over the past three centuries. We do not know much about them, traces here and there and certain peoples that have been in close contact. They are a secretive bunch, keeping to themselves and holding clandestine meetings. Contracts were mentioned over and over, what we assume to be written contracts that hold some power. From Heaven or Hell or somewhere else, I don't know which -- none of us do -- but we can put our thoughts to rest by having one in our possession."

Lille could feel the tug of a smile through the aether as the man gave a pause, and the screen shifted to a large cube being transferred to an armoured truck alongside a volume of unmarked briefcases. She assumed it was unmarked money, or precious metal bullion.

"This was being loaded south of Saint Petersberg. The anonymous tip provided this photo. The convoy is going to meet with another at the Austrian-Czechia border. You know the drill. Estimated time is 7:30 in the AM when they will make the drop in a quiet location north of the border police. M will mark it for you. Expect resistance, though this kind of heist has never happened to our knowledge. We may be the first to catch them with their figurative pants down. Any questions thus far?"

Lille waited for F, curious of how learned and impressive she would be. She had a few questions herself.

 

[Xillia]

The smell of lacquered wood hit Naomi's nostrils immediately as the door swung open, being just as calloused and calculated in its closing. It wasn't as though there was anyone around at this hour to hear them regardless. Her brows flicked upward behind her glasses and instantly, her shaded eyes flicked over towards the voice that had called out to her.

"F, I presume?"

The glare beneath the lenses reflected downward to the outstretched hand, though without meeting it, a black-leather gloved wave dismissed the attempt at the physical greeting. In no manner of disrespect, but simply out of professionalism, they weren't businesswomen, not in the socially regarded normalcy anyway. She brushed past the woman toward the large conference table and laid down her briefcase as the monitor from the other end flickered, another voice, distorted, confirmed the woman's suspicion. It was like the room had come alive in the matter of an instant, breathing down its electronic heartbeat as all things move in simultaneous fashion, directed at the two of them.

"Indeed it is, indeed it is. We are fifteen minutes early now, but time is of the essence, so we should chop-chop. Every second matters. Have a seat, ladies, and gentlemen, while we get this started. English is the language of choice."

As if in line with the voice itself, Naomi perched herself upright in one of the swivel chairs around the table nearest her briefcase, the reflective shades flicking towards the translucent glow from the whirring of the television. Her reply was simple, basic, uninspired, and rather formulaic.

"Understood."

Two arms crossed over her chest as she nestled her fingers into her elbows, leaning back ever so slightly as the chair squeaked in response, tilting herself into a more relaxed position. "C and M have be informed of this, so that leaves our two field persons F and L with the learning, is the connection secure?"

Naomi matched M's response at the break in professionalism. She'd been working alongside the man for a long time, though never face-to-face, it was a stout understanding of just how the two operated in their militaristic disposition. The next response was sitting on the tip of her tongue, restrained by the silence to let the overhead voices prattle on.

"When isn't it?"

Moron...

"Fair enough. C, you may continue."

I suppose these are the rich and wealthy.

"Seven hours ago, we received an anonymous tip that a contract is on the move. I'm sure that you are familiar with the Undying Legion, a . . . cult of sorts who can live forever and have been in some measure of power over the past three centuries. We do not know much about them, traces here and there and certain peoples that have been in close contact. They are a secretive bunch, keeping to themselves and holding clandestine meetings. Contracts were mentioned over and over, what we assume to be written contracts that hold some power. From Heaven or Hell or somewhere else, I don't know which -- none of us do -- but we can put our thoughts to rest by having one in our possession."

"Familiar is a relative term, knowing of is a different story entirely. They're a myth--"

An image flashed overhead and Naomi sealed her British lips, halting the accent or verbal overflow for any longer than necessary as the armored vehicle and secreted capsules played out before them.

"This was being loaded south of Saint Petersberg. The anonymous tip provided this photo. The convoy is going to meet with another at the Austrian-Czechia border. You know the drill. Estimated time is 7:30 in the AM when they will make the drop in a quiet location north of the border police. M will mark it for you. Expect resistance, though this kind of heist has never happened to our knowledge. We may be the first to catch them with their figurative pants down. Any questions thus far?"

The woman cast her glance across the table, meeting the new girl. If she was there, then she was capable, that much she understood, but as to how green or experienced she was--that remained a mystery. A few sways back and forth in her chair as her tongue met her cheek and Naomi opened up again, casting her attention back towards the television and cameras, making her voice clear and concise for the microphones to pick up.

"Armed resistance, how much? Is the military involved in this? What sort of gear will we be provided? Do we have a rule of engagement for this operation? Are we leaving this covert or being blanketed and opaque?" She shot them out like it was a machine gun, clearly considerate of just what she was asking, though the why remained tucked behind her ears and between her skull.

 

[Thanny]

Lille did not feel injured in any way from the repelled gesture of a handshake, and withdrew her hand back to her side at the time, planting herself as mentioned before. Still she was quite contented with the thought of being in the same room as the Fox themselves.

She leaned back against the rigidly built structure of her chair, uncomfortable in its design, but interested in the job. The Undying Legion was, as F had said, a myth that bounced in the secretive corners of forum chatrooms and whispered conversations, and while there had been said to be some head honchos for the group they were merely speculative and voiced as conspiratorial hearsay. Dyrieu Tennington, Rhiannon Forsyth, David Hines, Heather Wells, and other prominent people were labeled and branded. Who knew what was the truth, but maybe . . . just maybe this contract would open up a wave of new information if favours are called in exchange for the object.

The woman in the trenchcoat opened up with questions in the standard practice of a soldier or a hitman. Perhaps that should be unsurprising to her, though she felt that it teased of a past left forgotten by all but the Fox herself. The camera whirred in and out to capture F's full visible self. Lille felt distracted by the sounds of gears and focuses as she listened.

C continued, coughing on the other end as if to clear his throat: "I am not too familiar with most terms, but I will be as clear as I can. I counted ten people from all of our tallied photos." He flipped through a small assortment of stuttering photos one after the other of the armoured vehicle and its surrounding people, armed with modified carbines and shotguns that seemed grainy and unrecognisable. The camera was not meant to handle these far distances. "Two cars, one in back and one in front, cover the truck. We have provided you with a number of weapons. M has them locked away somewhere in the building you are in."

"I thought ahead this time," M stated proudly. "Check the closet."

Lille leapt to her feet, swift on her toes, and opened up the closet. A light was toggled and revealed a number of weapons, ranging from fragmentation grenades to burst-fire semi-automatic rifles and many kinds of handguns, one of each kind.

"I'm not sure how proficient you are with guns," M continued, "but there are concealable ones and more apparent ones. Some armour-piercing tracer rounds are in rifle clips for your disposal. Take out the escorts or disarm them, it doesn't matter, but don't blow up the truck or its contents. If we can drive off with it, it would be a double win."

C came alive again on-screen: "These are all para-military, either mercenary or private company. They will not celebrate their failure, but we want to be as quiet as we can on this. No names, no familiar callsigns. Communication is by radio if apart, channel 12 being on a secure wavelength."

The Egyptian voice of Y followed suit.

"We wish you the greatest success. If your other assignments are badges of honour, you will no doubt succeed. We will let you know of an out. There are many nooks to hide a vehicle in Austria."

"What is our purpose for getting the contract?" asked Lille abruptly, the camera panning toward her quickly. "We want the contract, but what for?"

Silence reigned for a time before M took the lead: "We have a number of things to exchange it for. Essentially we are holding it hostage. They do not want their precious cargo to be seen by the world. We will contact them and they will provide us what they know, or else. In this world, knowledge is power, but knowledge can be old very fast, in years or seconds. We want to pants them and share our knowledge with black market vendors and friends in high places."