[ four years ago, nill would have never imagined that she would be skating in a rink this vast.
competitions weren't really her thing. growing up at the orphanage, skating had just been one of those things that she and the other children did on winter days chill enough to freeze the bone but not quite enough to snow. while initially bow-legged like a baby deer and shy, she had quickly discovered that she had a talent for balance, for leaving etchings on the ice surface like carved trails of her passing, and later, the realization that her physical appearance and what she did while playing around on the ice caught people's eye.
the training after that had been tough, and learning tricks and how to use edges and toepicks instead of flat blade had been fun, but tougher. after a few months, she could feel the difference in the steadiness of her legs and arms. a few more months, dryland ballet no longer left her heaving by the side of the auditorium. level routines, music memorization, dance routines morphing into full-out competitions, one after another lined up. a few wins, here and there, a few losses that she tries not to take to heart. how gruelling the ice could be at times nearly took skating away from her once or twice, when bruises racked up, the fatigue set in, the memories of racing with the orphanage kids in contrast to skating alone in a lit rink under strangers' judging gazes 'she's slow, she has no competitive spirit, she lacks presence' -- she's not ashamed to admit it, she was almost frustrated to hating it once.
but somewhere along the lines, the steel of her bladed shoes became the steel in her backbone, and she had realized this, one day, standing in front of a panel of judges after a difficult routine, the roar of the audience had heard her voice. just from that, though the frustration remains (i just want to skate, it had once been fun -- but who says this couldn't be fun?), she makes the decision to stay.
still, 'she is skillful, but something is missing. she lacks presence.'
it's a national-wide competition, a stage far bigger than she could have ever imagined earning. it only follows that the practice rink is olympic-sized, a vast-echoing space that makes her feel very, very small. sliding onto the ice and bending into the familiar scratch of blade against frozen water, she follows of the edges of the rink to gauge its size in awe. the stands are empty -- she's only here to practice, after all -- but the silence makes her feel self-conscious, and so she turns away from them to look to the other end of the rink where the second entrance is. a national-wide competition, and she's been partnered up for doubles.
she's skated with other people before. never in a competitive capacity, but for all the dance levels, doubles were a requirement. she's not quite sure why-- while she's not particularly attached to solo skating, it's pretty much all she's really done, so the sudden change in assignments is strange. perhaps her evaluations from the previous regional rounds had influenced this decision, or perhaps they did not. she didn't really know. what she does know is that there is a nervous flutter there in her breastbone at the thought of sharing this rink with someone else now. though that someone else is not here yet, it's still a bit nerve-wracking. what if she isn't good enough? what if she can't keep up? what if they can't communicate? fingering the notepad and pen in the custom pocket of her outfit, she casts another glance to the other end of the rink, before breathing out.
it's practice, so she should warm up. gracefully, she begins to weave across the rink, settling into her routine. ]
[ from his first official competition to his last, this hadn't been his choice. why he even continues now is a question he can't answer. a tribute and an apology, maybe, to someone long gone; or maybe it's just all he can do.
maybe he just needs another hobby.
heine's been skating competitively since he was qualified, but he hasn't skated pairs since—her. that's left him out of several competitions recently, but skating singles is fine. easier, even, because he doesn't have to worry about lifts or carries or synchronizing. he could say that it's because he doesn't need a partner and doesn't need to compete in those events, but that isn't all of it.
his coach is off talking to hers somewhere, so he's alone when he finishes slowly relacing his skates at the edge of the rink. heine read her skating history, but her actual record didn't mean much to him. he just has to see her skate, and try not to think about how the look in her eyes seemed a little familiar.
he could watch her do her routine through the glass partition (and he does, for a few minutes), but he can't put it off any longer. heine steps onto the ice, shutting the rink entrance loud enough to make it echo around the room to announce his presence. with quick strokes, he gets close enough so that they can talk without shouting. there's still a long moment before he opens his mouth, though. ]
[ her warm-up routine serves to ready her for practice as much as it serves to momentarily distract her from how nervous she is. it almost succeeds, too-- she doesn't think about her unknown partner as she picks up speed into an ina bauer, and then proceeds to not think about him again as she tilts into a more relaxed camel. near the edge of the rink she comes to a slow sweep, reducing speed into small swizzles so that she can fix her hairpins, catching a few loose strands and tucking them back into her bun.
she's still fixing her hair, hairpins sticking out of her mouth, when she notices movement across the rink. it isn't her coach-- for one, they're too tall, and for another, they're male. all of a sudden, the nerves hit again and she stills on the ice, hurriedly pinning her hair back up before pushing off with her toepick towards the centre of the rink.
it must be her partner.
he's tall. that's the very first thing she notices, watching him cross the ice towards her. the second thing-- his eyes are fierce. nill stops in the centre of the rink so as to meet him half-way, feeling self-consciously short and lacking. still, she waits until he's within speaking distance, and then another long moment when nothing but silence stretches between them. inwardly, she's nerves a-flutter-- she's used to silences, but that doesn't make them any less awkward. clumsily, she goes for her zipper pocket, when the first syllable is uttered.
'hey'.
she slows for a moment, her fingers catching on her dress. her eyes lift, and she smiles slowly, shyly, lowering her head in a slight nod. her hands then dig out her notepad and pen from her pocket. it takes but a moment for her to scribble in her neat cursive. nill then turns the paper pad towards him, holding it upwards. ]
[ heine's not, well... very nice, let alone easy to hold a conversation with. his coach told him that this girl—nill—is unable to speak verbally, so the notepad doesn't throw him off completely. heine looks on as she writes, dragging his skate across the ice. the repetitive scratching noise is at least predictable. ]
Yeah. Nill, right?
[ this is the part where people are supposed to shake hands, but at their age and with heine's lack of manners, the only movement heine makes is a brief nod. he still has his hands shoved in the pockets of the hooded jacket he's wearing. ]
[ nice or not has never been nill's worry-- not causing other people trouble with her lack of voice, on the other hand. she tries not to flinch at the sound of his skate being dragged across the ice, her eyes automatically dropping to watch the little pile of ice shavings grow. she remembers the kids at the orphanage doing that, too, making small piles of shaved ice and then spraying it at each other. somehow, the sound is nostalgic.
she nods in response to heine's question, and doesn't wait for formalities: nobody would ever offer a hand to a small girl like her, anyway. they're afraid that she'd break. she's just glad that she didn't have to awkwardly put her notepad away. ]
It is nice to meet you. [ she writes, and then, another line. ]
Would you like to warm up with me?
[ a friendly offer more than anything else. she's already warmed up, but she doesn't mind doing more-- and she'd rather them skate than them standing around awkwardly while she watches him pile up more ice shavings. also: she's curious about how he skates. the best way to see if she can keep up is to follow. ]
[ heine tracks the moving tip of her writing instrument instead of her expression, not making eye contact. somehow, it's easier this way, even without verbal communication.
at the question, he nods, a sharp movement, before pulling away slightly to make some space. ] I stretched, but—yeah. I should warm up.
[ heine pulls his arms closer to his body for a second before releasing the tension in his shoulders again, purposefully. he waits for nill to put her notebook away before going into his usual warm-up routine. he skates a few lengths of the rink, then goes into a series of practice moves. he skates quickly, with an edge of recklessness that cuts deep into the ice. still—it's clear that he's been doing this for a long time, long enough that he can keep an eye on his new partner at the same time. ]
Milan in winter is bitterly cold and windy, but somehow, there always seems to be slush on the ground. Heine's been following the target for over a week at this point, closing in but always careful to stay at a distance so that he won't be detected.
It's late evening when he makes his move. Heine follows the target's position on GPS to a building on a quiet side of town. He waits outside, alternately smoking and checking the tracker, until he sees his target exit. Casually ashing his cigarette, he comes out from the sidestreet where he's been waiting, and follows, a few steps behind. After a moment of trailing, he increases his speed abruptly, moving to get his target into a chokehold.
The street is deserted. There's no one to notice, and even if there was, they'd be more likely to look the other way.
He'd noticed being followed immediately-- but, unfortunately, Mello had made the mistake of assuming that he was only being followed, had started planning on how to ditch his tail or lead him somewhere useless, try to get a better look at him, maybe information. What he hadn't counted on was for this to be an attack.
He barely reacted in time, throwing his arm up to try to get in the way of his assailant's attempt at grabbing him around the neck, other hand going for the holster at his belt.
Heine doesn't expect that attack to fail, exactly, but he's prepared for it—he has to be—because an agent, even a rogue one, was still with the agency at some point. Foiled, he steps back, seeing the target reach for something at his belt too late.
Jaw tightening, Heine sidesteps to get out of the direct line of fire before closing the distance between them again and reaching for the hand the target is using to reach for his weapon.
Mello is a quick draw, but his attacker is someone experienced, and clearly also quick on his feet. The gun is out before Heine can stop him, but the first shot misses.
Mello aims again with a hissed curse, quickly stepping back to get a clearer shot and barely avoiding being caught.
The sharp pop of the handgun going off is way closer than he'd like. Heine misses, withdrawing his hand quickly and backing up toward the street to avoid getting pinned against the wall. His target's blond hair stands out under the faint lights, and the metal of his gun shines, too; Heine tries to dodge to the side again and make another grab for it.
[ The client wants a Klimt: fine. The painting is secured in the deepest part of a private collector's safehouse: also fine.
But the fact that he's been assigned a partner (a coworker, if such a word can be applied to their occupations): really not fine.
They've met a few times to discuss logistics, things that they each can't or won't do, and a very basic framework for a plan. Heine has his own way of doing things. Usually, he likes to get in the back way, usually by giving himself access technologically, grab the target, and get back out. There's no need to get into conflicts, so really, there's no need for him to work with a partner.
Especially not one like this guy. Heine scowls at the plate of mediocre salad in front of him at the thought. He's sitting at a cafe ten minutes from the private collector's safehouse to do some more recon before going in. Theoretically, they have enough information to do the job. The real problem is working it out together, unless they end up throwing one another under the bus.
Heine hasn't eliminated that possibility yet. They're running out of time for the job. He's been sitting at this table for nearly an hour by now, picking his way through the security system's specifications so that he'll be able to get through them without a problem later. As soon as Joel shows up, Heine barely glances up before speaking. ]
[Heine gets maybe half a grunt by way of reply. Joel's not much of a talker himself, but Heine's attitude through this whole thing has well and thoroughly pissed him off. All he wants is a workable fucking plan, but his "partner" has been nothing but cagey and dismissive through this whole process.]
Got the equipment in the bag. [The equipment that Heine had asked for, and couldn't be assed to explain why. The hell does he need tin foil, two balloons, and a powder pact for, anyway?]
[ Heine makes a motion of his head that could be a nod. ]
Thanks. [ And as for the guard rotations, he gestures at the laptop he's using. ] Got them all down. You should only meet two on the way in. You can handle that, right?
["You can handle that, right?" His mouth tightens, holding back a sharp retort. Joel isn't one much for bravado, but what the hell does Heine think he's here for if he can't take two guys in an (un)fair fight? He settles for a completely flat response instead.]
...I'll take care of it. What've you got for me?
[Earbuds, button cams, electro-magnetic phasers, a walkie talkie? Joel's used to getting things done alone, quietly, with a minimum of equipment besides his fists and a gun, but this client had been all about the high tech gadgets and fancy whiz-bangs, and he'd had gritted his teeth and agreed to it for the sheer number of zeroes appearing on the end of the payment for this assignment.]
[ Heine would rather keep his expectations low than be surprised when something inevitably goes wrong. Not that he thinks that much about the future, except in terms of storing his money behind three shell companies and also in cash.
As for tech for the job: ] Here.
[ He takes out a small plastic baggie with two semi-translucent earbuds in it. Then, after some more searching in his pockets, he also hands over a dollar-coin-sized black item. ]
Keep those in at all times. That's a frequency decoder for the keycodes. It should work on everything in the first two levels.
[ Other than that, Heine's keeping the more delicate tech on his own person. He very definitely does not trust anyone else with them. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
puppies figure skating yea
competitions weren't really her thing. growing up at the orphanage, skating had just been one of those things that she and the other children did on winter days chill enough to freeze the bone but not quite enough to snow. while initially bow-legged like a baby deer and shy, she had quickly discovered that she had a talent for balance, for leaving etchings on the ice surface like carved trails of her passing, and later, the realization that her physical appearance and what she did while playing around on the ice caught people's eye.
the training after that had been tough, and learning tricks and how to use edges and toepicks instead of flat blade had been fun, but tougher. after a few months, she could feel the difference in the steadiness of her legs and arms. a few more months, dryland ballet no longer left her heaving by the side of the auditorium. level routines, music memorization, dance routines morphing into full-out competitions, one after another lined up. a few wins, here and there, a few losses that she tries not to take to heart. how gruelling the ice could be at times nearly took skating away from her once or twice, when bruises racked up, the fatigue set in, the memories of racing with the orphanage kids in contrast to skating alone in a lit rink under strangers' judging gazes 'she's slow, she has no competitive spirit, she lacks presence' -- she's not ashamed to admit it, she was almost frustrated to hating it once.
but somewhere along the lines, the steel of her bladed shoes became the steel in her backbone, and she had realized this, one day, standing in front of a panel of judges after a difficult routine, the roar of the audience had heard her voice. just from that, though the frustration remains (i just want to skate, it had once been fun -- but who says this couldn't be fun?), she makes the decision to stay.
still, 'she is skillful, but something is missing. she lacks presence.'
it's a national-wide competition, a stage far bigger than she could have ever imagined earning. it only follows that the practice rink is olympic-sized, a vast-echoing space that makes her feel very, very small. sliding onto the ice and bending into the familiar scratch of blade against frozen water, she follows of the edges of the rink to gauge its size in awe. the stands are empty -- she's only here to practice, after all -- but the silence makes her feel self-conscious, and so she turns away from them to look to the other end of the rink where the second entrance is. a national-wide competition, and she's been partnered up for doubles.
she's skated with other people before. never in a competitive capacity, but for all the dance levels, doubles were a requirement. she's not quite sure why-- while she's not particularly attached to solo skating, it's pretty much all she's really done, so the sudden change in assignments is strange. perhaps her evaluations from the previous regional rounds had influenced this decision, or perhaps they did not. she didn't really know. what she does know is that there is a nervous flutter there in her breastbone at the thought of sharing this rink with someone else now. though that someone else is not here yet, it's still a bit nerve-wracking. what if she isn't good enough? what if she can't keep up? what if they can't communicate? fingering the notepad and pen in the custom pocket of her outfit, she casts another glance to the other end of the rink, before breathing out.
it's practice, so she should warm up. gracefully, she begins to weave across the rink, settling into her routine. ]
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maybe he just needs another hobby.
heine's been skating competitively since he was qualified, but he hasn't skated pairs since—her. that's left him out of several competitions recently, but skating singles is fine. easier, even, because he doesn't have to worry about lifts or carries or synchronizing. he could say that it's because he doesn't need a partner and doesn't need to compete in those events, but that isn't all of it.
his coach is off talking to hers somewhere, so he's alone when he finishes slowly relacing his skates at the edge of the rink. heine read her skating history, but her actual record didn't mean much to him. he just has to see her skate, and try not to think about how the look in her eyes seemed a little familiar.
he could watch her do her routine through the glass partition (and he does, for a few minutes), but he can't put it off any longer. heine steps onto the ice, shutting the rink entrance loud enough to make it echo around the room to announce his presence. with quick strokes, he gets close enough so that they can talk without shouting. there's still a long moment before he opens his mouth, though. ]
Hey. [ good start. ]
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she's still fixing her hair, hairpins sticking out of her mouth, when she notices movement across the rink. it isn't her coach-- for one, they're too tall, and for another, they're male. all of a sudden, the nerves hit again and she stills on the ice, hurriedly pinning her hair back up before pushing off with her toepick towards the centre of the rink.
it must be her partner.
he's tall. that's the very first thing she notices, watching him cross the ice towards her. the second thing-- his eyes are fierce. nill stops in the centre of the rink so as to meet him half-way, feeling self-consciously short and lacking. still, she waits until he's within speaking distance, and then another long moment when nothing but silence stretches between them. inwardly, she's nerves a-flutter-- she's used to silences, but that doesn't make them any less awkward. clumsily, she goes for her zipper pocket, when the first syllable is uttered.
'hey'.
she slows for a moment, her fingers catching on her dress. her eyes lift, and she smiles slowly, shyly, lowering her head in a slight nod. her hands then dig out her notepad and pen from her pocket. it takes but a moment for her to scribble in her neat cursive. nill then turns the paper pad towards him, holding it upwards. ]
Are you Heine?
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Yeah. Nill, right?
[ this is the part where people are supposed to shake hands, but at their age and with heine's lack of manners, the only movement heine makes is a brief nod. he still has his hands shoved in the pockets of the hooded jacket he's wearing. ]
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she nods in response to heine's question, and doesn't wait for formalities: nobody would ever offer a hand to a small girl like her, anyway. they're afraid that she'd break. she's just glad that she didn't have to awkwardly put her notepad away. ]
It is nice to meet you. [ she writes, and then, another line. ]
Would you like to warm up with me?
[ a friendly offer more than anything else. she's already warmed up, but she doesn't mind doing more-- and she'd rather them skate than them standing around awkwardly while she watches him pile up more ice shavings. also: she's curious about how he skates. the best way to see if she can keep up is to follow. ]
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at the question, he nods, a sharp movement, before pulling away slightly to make some space. ] I stretched, but—yeah. I should warm up.
[ heine pulls his arms closer to his body for a second before releasing the tension in his shoulders again, purposefully. he waits for nill to put her notebook away before going into his usual warm-up routine. he skates a few lengths of the rink, then goes into a series of practice moves. he skates quickly, with an edge of recklessness that cuts deep into the ice. still—it's clear that he's been doing this for a long time, long enough that he can keep an eye on his new partner at the same time. ]
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It's late evening when he makes his move. Heine follows the target's position on GPS to a building on a quiet side of town. He waits outside, alternately smoking and checking the tracker, until he sees his target exit. Casually ashing his cigarette, he comes out from the sidestreet where he's been waiting, and follows, a few steps behind. After a moment of trailing, he increases his speed abruptly, moving to get his target into a chokehold.
The street is deserted. There's no one to notice, and even if there was, they'd be more likely to look the other way.
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He barely reacted in time, throwing his arm up to try to get in the way of his assailant's attempt at grabbing him around the neck, other hand going for the holster at his belt.
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Jaw tightening, Heine sidesteps to get out of the direct line of fire before closing the distance between them again and reaching for the hand the target is using to reach for his weapon.
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Mello aims again with a hissed curse, quickly stepping back to get a clearer shot and barely avoiding being caught.
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WRONG ACCOUNT
<3
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But the fact that he's been assigned a partner (a coworker, if such a word can be applied to their occupations): really not fine.
They've met a few times to discuss logistics, things that they each can't or won't do, and a very basic framework for a plan. Heine has his own way of doing things. Usually, he likes to get in the back way, usually by giving himself access technologically, grab the target, and get back out. There's no need to get into conflicts, so really, there's no need for him to work with a partner.
Especially not one like this guy. Heine scowls at the plate of mediocre salad in front of him at the thought. He's sitting at a cafe ten minutes from the private collector's safehouse to do some more recon before going in. Theoretically, they have enough information to do the job. The real problem is working it out together, unless they end up throwing one another under the bus.
Heine hasn't eliminated that possibility yet. They're running out of time for the job. He's been sitting at this table for nearly an hour by now, picking his way through the security system's specifications so that he'll be able to get through them without a problem later. As soon as Joel shows up, Heine barely glances up before speaking. ]
We're going in tonight.
[ No hello, no nothing. He's a real charmer. ]
i can't contain the teal deers
Got the equipment in the bag. [The equipment that Heine had asked for, and couldn't be assed to explain why. The hell does he need tin foil, two balloons, and a powder pact for, anyway?]
You got those guard rotations down?
just imagined a paddock full of teal deer :U
Thanks. [ And as for the guard rotations, he gestures at the laptop he's using. ] Got them all down. You should only meet two on the way in. You can handle that, right?
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...I'll take care of it. What've you got for me?
[Earbuds, button cams, electro-magnetic phasers, a walkie talkie? Joel's used to getting things done alone, quietly, with a minimum of equipment besides his fists and a gun, but this client had been all about the high tech gadgets and fancy whiz-bangs, and he'd had gritted his teeth and agreed to it for the sheer number of zeroes appearing on the end of the payment for this assignment.]
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As for tech for the job: ] Here.
[ He takes out a small plastic baggie with two semi-translucent earbuds in it. Then, after some more searching in his pockets, he also hands over a dollar-coin-sized black item. ]
Keep those in at all times. That's a frequency decoder for the keycodes. It should work on everything in the first two levels.
[ Other than that, Heine's keeping the more delicate tech on his own person. He very definitely does not trust anyone else with them. ]
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TFLN.
I am not going to talk about sex in relation to that thing. even if the alternative is going to jail
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we better swap alibis. good luck learning to braid a friendship bracelet
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"nearly" though. you should've actually stabbed him.
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