Post by >V< on Sept 11, 2009 18:58:41 GMT -5
The worst part about a kidnapping situation is the unknown. During the days, weeks, months, and sometimes even years or decades that someone you care about is missing, the questions that pile up will keep you up at night. Are they okay? Will they ever return? Are they even still alive? It's enough to drive someone crazy, even if they weren't already well on their way there already.
Nathan Korpi is at his wits' end. The past few weeks of uncertainty have left him looking haggard. He hasn't been sleeping much, and the bags under his eyes are heavy and dark. His posture has slumped, leaving him looking even more like a homeless, crazed war veteran than the long hair and beard already had.
He'd only met Jezebel Saint a brief time ago, and yet her easygoing personality and the way that she treated him like an actual human being instead of a useless rookie put him instantly at ease. Her immediate acceptance of him made him feel like they could eventually become good friends, confidants, adopted family even. He was glad to have met her, that rare breed of person who brightens your life simply by being a part of it.
That's why the inaction of the rest of the group he's found himself a member of has frustrated him so. Sure, they've spent an awful goddamn lot of time sitting around talking about what to do, fuming over the unfairness of Mickey Dragon's actions. There's been a whole bunch of words and nowhere near enough action, in Nate's humble opinion.
But alas, what can they do?Their hands are tied, metaphorically speaking. They have to play the game, unless they want to jeapordize the whole thing and essentially sign Jezebell's death sentance. Even so, the game is unfair. Mickey Dragon already broke their deal when he refused to give up his prize after the match with Salem. So, what in the utter fuck are they to do?!
Nate: "Goddamn it!"
His blasphemous exclamation is punctuated by the smack of his gloved fist against a heavy bag. Herr Zimmermann looks around the training equipment from where he's been holding it still, spotting Nate in his accelerated training.
Zimmy: "Zat vas ein gut one, ja!"
Nate: "Fuck!"
The huge German's approving smile wilts into a frown. His brow furrows in confusion as he steps around the heavy bag and crosses his arms over his chest.
Zimmy: "Vas da matter? I approve of ze intensity, but ze focus...it ees not zer."
Nate: "Focus? How the fuck am I supposed to focus at a time like this? You tell me that, you goddamn Kraut. Go ahead and tell me how I'm supposed to do that shit."
Zimmy: "I take eet zat zis is about zat fraulein, ze red-haired one....?
Unbelievable. This ridiculously shallow premise for a supporting character doesn't even know her name. How is that possible? I mean, seriously. What good is this tool? He's a gigantic waste of space, I'm telling you. KvK is a fucking moron for keeping him on the payroll.
Nate: "Perfect, just perfect..."
Zimmy: "Vas?"
Nate: "Nevermind. The fuck am I even talking to you about it for? You can't even be bothered to remember her name! I mean, shit....can you even understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?"
Herr Zimmermann merely shrugs, then points at the heavy bag.
Zimmy: "Vell, if you don't vant to share your feelings like ein guest on Oprah, vhat do you say we get back to ze training? Ich mean, zu dust has ein big title match any day now, right?"
The Nordic Horror sighs, then runs his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair.
Nate: "How bout we take a break, eh?"
Zimmy: "Du bist ze boss."
Nate scoffs, wiping his mouth as he ruminates that it's the first time in awhile that he's heard that. Imagine that, him....the boss. That's quite a change from being verbally crapped on every five minutes by people who are supposedly his friends. He turns to look around KvK's cavernous garage.
Nate: "Right, that'll be the day. Where is the boss, anyways? I thought he was supposed to be in on this."
Zimmy: "I zink he stepped out to macht some phone calls. Somezing about fishing for leads mit his connections."
Shit, what kind of connections does a man like KvK have? Thinking about that'll fuck your brain up way more than worrying about some kidnapped redhead.
Nathan Korpi is at his wits' end. The past few weeks of uncertainty have left him looking haggard. He hasn't been sleeping much, and the bags under his eyes are heavy and dark. His posture has slumped, leaving him looking even more like a homeless, crazed war veteran than the long hair and beard already had.
He'd only met Jezebel Saint a brief time ago, and yet her easygoing personality and the way that she treated him like an actual human being instead of a useless rookie put him instantly at ease. Her immediate acceptance of him made him feel like they could eventually become good friends, confidants, adopted family even. He was glad to have met her, that rare breed of person who brightens your life simply by being a part of it.
That's why the inaction of the rest of the group he's found himself a member of has frustrated him so. Sure, they've spent an awful goddamn lot of time sitting around talking about what to do, fuming over the unfairness of Mickey Dragon's actions. There's been a whole bunch of words and nowhere near enough action, in Nate's humble opinion.
But alas, what can they do?Their hands are tied, metaphorically speaking. They have to play the game, unless they want to jeapordize the whole thing and essentially sign Jezebell's death sentance. Even so, the game is unfair. Mickey Dragon already broke their deal when he refused to give up his prize after the match with Salem. So, what in the utter fuck are they to do?!
Nate: "Goddamn it!"
His blasphemous exclamation is punctuated by the smack of his gloved fist against a heavy bag. Herr Zimmermann looks around the training equipment from where he's been holding it still, spotting Nate in his accelerated training.
Zimmy: "Zat vas ein gut one, ja!"
Nate: "Fuck!"
The huge German's approving smile wilts into a frown. His brow furrows in confusion as he steps around the heavy bag and crosses his arms over his chest.
Zimmy: "Vas da matter? I approve of ze intensity, but ze focus...it ees not zer."
Nate: "Focus? How the fuck am I supposed to focus at a time like this? You tell me that, you goddamn Kraut. Go ahead and tell me how I'm supposed to do that shit."
Zimmy: "I take eet zat zis is about zat fraulein, ze red-haired one....?
Unbelievable. This ridiculously shallow premise for a supporting character doesn't even know her name. How is that possible? I mean, seriously. What good is this tool? He's a gigantic waste of space, I'm telling you. KvK is a fucking moron for keeping him on the payroll.
Nate: "Perfect, just perfect..."
Zimmy: "Vas?"
Nate: "Nevermind. The fuck am I even talking to you about it for? You can't even be bothered to remember her name! I mean, shit....can you even understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?"
Herr Zimmermann merely shrugs, then points at the heavy bag.
Zimmy: "Vell, if you don't vant to share your feelings like ein guest on Oprah, vhat do you say we get back to ze training? Ich mean, zu dust has ein big title match any day now, right?"
The Nordic Horror sighs, then runs his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair.
Nate: "How bout we take a break, eh?"
Zimmy: "Du bist ze boss."
Nate scoffs, wiping his mouth as he ruminates that it's the first time in awhile that he's heard that. Imagine that, him....the boss. That's quite a change from being verbally crapped on every five minutes by people who are supposedly his friends. He turns to look around KvK's cavernous garage.
Nate: "Right, that'll be the day. Where is the boss, anyways? I thought he was supposed to be in on this."
Zimmy: "I zink he stepped out to macht some phone calls. Somezing about fishing for leads mit his connections."
Shit, what kind of connections does a man like KvK have? Thinking about that'll fuck your brain up way more than worrying about some kidnapped redhead.
