prosperity conscious . . .

When asked who he’s dealt with he gives a grumbled “yeah, something like that.” They talked around him more than at him and months in that cage felt like a prison sentence. “None of them have much originality as far as names go. But no one should be surprised, look at the people that make them up.”

“I do take Cashier’s checks.” He says with a laugh. “I can give you a routing number and you can make the transfer through them. I prefer Swiss Accounts, if you have them.” Less scrutiny when its not coming from the islands, he’s learned that through past transactions.

The discussion of America makes him tense, not physically of course but in the way of why. Giving any American agency the power of- fuck or even their Government? That’s a headache and a half.

“Are you supplying the papers for crossing, or am I?” It’s no matter to get his ‘American’ one, he knows he hasn’t been flagged and there’s nothing remarkably off about his accent that would give anyone pause. Honestly might even encourage him to do a surprise visit with Sherry. But if he brings her into this- he can’t do that. She already has enough of her own shit to handle. He’ll just give her the play by play after.

“You know what kind of missiles you were hit by? Air to Air, Surface to Air?” He’s already thinking about how closely they’re going to be watched and the headache is already making him think about a six month vacation after this. Jake looks him over with a mercenaries eye, if push came to shove a fight shouldn’t be a problem.

"Papers will be provided. You'll have to accept a Singaporean passport. They have the most amount of visa-free access. It shouldn't be much of a problem. The ship will be departing from Rome, and should arrive in New York City some two weeks from now."

Vin tilts his head about the question of missiles, but he obliges. "Most likely air to air, I don't believe the Connections would attempt to settle in one location long enough to set up ground ordinances. Then again, it's hard to tell what they have going on."

Vin can tell the tone of Jake's voice makes this last question the most important. He sits up a bit, shoulders pulled back, and looks Jake over. He doesn't have a choice. This man is the only person he can really trust in regards to transport.

"I have a scientist, up in the Midwest. He's a bit... stuck, at the moment. He can't go anywhere. I want to try moving him, getting him out of the country, but I think he, understandably, doesn't trust me. I've been trying to contact him, in vain, for a few years now. Ever since Kijuju, in fact."

"I need him to help develop a vaccine. He's the only person I'm familiar with that would be capable. Believe me, I've tried. It's not like Vicari Hospital staff isn't trying their best it's just... the virus within Wesker's DNA is rather complicated. It was hazardous material, mixed with something Umbrella developed, some 50 years in the making. I need someone with expertise. In the attempts we've had so far, we've wasted too much tissue. I should have known better and pulled out sooner, but now... we're left with very little to work with."

He tries to think of how to appeal to Jake's better judgement, but he supposes there is no way around it other than to show him.

"Would you like to see him?"

“You need me to brush up on any languages for the passport to pass, or is English enough.” Being on the ocean for two weeks sounded like a new type of specially trapped hell, but if it paid what did he care. Though hearing about someone’s distaste for Vicari raises some flags. He hates these political games, but they keep him employed.

A sigh. “If you’re having me kidnap a scientist thats more than a delivery cost.”

Simple words that turn his world on its head. Everytime he manages to get his head above water and start to tread, start to feel he has a handle on it, he’s shoved back under by yet another person with more knowledge about a man who’s DNA he shares. It reminds him of Sysphus, because who is he but someone tasked with the impossible.

Vicari offers him the impossibility of seeing his father. The slight widening of eyes followed by a clenched jaw, all to be shown for the opportunity for an orphan to know his origins. It’s easier when the mercenary persona is on and poised to stay in the shadows.

“Not particularly.” That part is true. He’s already spent more than he’d ever admit to find scraps of Wesker, a grainy photograph, records half destroyed. Dead drops in the middle of the night where he scrapes through a manilla file with scraps of anything related to him. A bad photocopy of a grainy photo is all he can go on and for a moment he wonders if that’ll be enough. He does not want to see the monster who could not be assed to help him or his mother in any way. But he can play along for the big reveal, even if the tightness in his stomach gets worse.

"Be honest, sarge," this is the kind of thing Carlos can expect Nikolai to be honest about.

Not yet 0930, and Carlos has already had quite the morning. Found a letter taped to his door first, demanding his appearance for a surprise fitness test. Couldn't find a single stick of deodorant before or after, either (even after refilling the stolen stashes!). How much help can tap water and mass-produced bathroom soap really provide against three hours of sweat soaked, mandated efforts? That's just what Carlos is imploring his test instructor to tell him — with an arm folded up above his head, brown eyes steeled for criticism.

Armed just in a flack vest, he should know better than this. But Carlos’s water- no actually, it’s that sweat slicked on the back right half there. Large nose is buried in his armpit for several good whiffs, before lifting up the other arm. Two sniffs on that side then “no, no.” Back to the first. “This one smells more than other. But not so bad that I think anyone notice.”

“It seems like the loss impacted both your friend and you greatly. I hope time has helped.” Separation and acceptance in one package. Jake understands more than most that sometimes it’s the only way to keep going forward. Distance yourself from the pain enough, from the tragedies and you got it wrapped up in a nice little compartmentalized box.

Businessmen are always that, about business before all else. They never let someone like him enjoy something, hell he doesn’t even get the time to enjoy the wine before the talk turns to the job, but how could it not. There were not many reasons for a man of Vicari’s status to look him up, except for business anyway.

“I don’t typically do transport jobs.” They’re frankly usually too boring and if they’re not, they aren’t worth the risk. He acts like the contents aren’t something worth knowing, already calculating the numbers they’ll be talking and puts aside the rest. “Usually in negotiations, you don’t tell someone that they’re the only one for the job, really gives them the chance to hold you by the short hairs.” Those sharp eyes look at him, as if evaluating where he wanted to land in this.

“I need answers to a few questions before I’ll agree. Three hundred thousand up front, three hundred after, cash.” Vicari’s lucky he’s more interested in the job than negotiating a price all day. Blue eyes stare into their green counterparts, looking at him as if he looked long enough, maybe he could figure out his thoughts. “

“Where are you transporting it? I was thinking a crematorium, really make sure he’s gone.” The sarcastic way he speaks signals they both know that won’t be it, of course someone would want it for… shit he can’t even begin to hypothesize but it’s making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He finally scoops up his wine and takes a sip, leans back. If he has to move it, that means someone is sniffing around, which means- “BOW’s are extra, I run into any named agencies and the price goes up. I’ll keep a running total and tell you what you owe.” Terms that are easy enough to agree to, as long as he’s serious.

"I will be transporting it to America. It will be a long trip. I cannot do this by airplane, not even by private jet. Even if I could bypass an airport security, there is too much of a danger in going airborne." Vin pauses, and looks to the blue skies over the property. "BOW's I highly doubt will be a concern. The last time I attempted something, no such problem arose." Vin tilts his head, looking Jake over. "The problem was a guided missile striking the aircraft."

"As for named agencies, I apologize, I'll have to admit the agency is rather unnamed. Despite that, they are, at least typically, referred to as 'The Connections'." Vin shrugs his shoulders. "About as vague as 'Cosa Nostra' but what can you do? Although I suppose you've dealt with worse. What was that group the Americans had you dealing with...? The Family?"

Vin smiles slightly at the price tag. That much he can afford, although he supposes he'll need to find a way to hand it over. "That should be easy, but I can't exactly print out the money and hand it over in briefcases. I can prepare a bank account, and give you the credit card associated with it."

When asked who he’s dealt with he gives a grumbled “yeah, something like that.” They talked around him more than at him and months in that cage felt like a prison sentence. “None of them have much originality as far as names go. But no one should be surprised, look at the people that make them up.”

“I do take Cashier’s checks.” He says with a laugh. “I can give you a routing number and you can make the transfer through them. I prefer Swiss Accounts, if you have them.” Less scrutiny when its not coming from the islands, he’s learned that through past transactions.

The discussion of America makes him tense, not physically of course but in the way of why. Giving any American agency the power of- fuck or even their Government? That’s a headache and a half.

“Are you supplying the papers for crossing, or am I?” It’s no matter to get his ‘American’ one, he knows he hasn’t been flagged and there’s nothing remarkably off about his accent that would give anyone pause. Honestly might even encourage him to do a surprise visit with Sherry. But if he brings her into this- he can’t do that. She already has enough of her own shit to handle. He’ll just give her the play by play after.

“You know what kind of missiles you were hit by? Air to Air, Surface to Air?” He’s already thinking about how closely they’re going to be watched and the headache is already making him think about a six month vacation after this. Jake looks him over with a mercenaries eye, if push came to shove a fight shouldn’t be a problem.

"First, I would like to offer you some condolences. I hear your mother has passed. It has been some time since then, but I'm sorry to hear it." He walks around the table, setting down a bottle of wine, and coming to the other side, sitting across from the titular Jake Muller.

"My..." He took a pause, forgetting himself, and correcting what he was about to say. "My friend, as a child, he lost his mother when he was young. They said, she died of a broken heart, after her husband died. I... My friend, he resented her for it, very deeply. He felt, as if, he didn't matter enough to her. That she'd rather die than be with him."

"I don't mean to imply anything, these stories have nothing to do with you, I'm merely reminiscing... What good are fathers, really?" The sound of the cork is sharp, a pop, like a sigh, and he fills a goblet with wine, for himself, and his guest.

"I'll cut to the point. I know you've been harmed by the specter of a man once dead. I empathize. I understand this might be opening up a wound you want to stitch shut, but I needed someone to do something for me, and I'm afraid, quite literally, you are the only man in the world for the job."

A sigh. Vicari looks Jake in the eyes, his green eyes are like jade, pale and dull. "When the Vicari Corporation assisted in cleaning up the Kijuju Incident, some of the remains of your father was found."

“It seems like the loss impacted both your friend and you greatly. I hope time has helped.” Separation and acceptance in one package. Jake understands more than most that sometimes it’s the only way to keep going forward. Distance yourself from the pain enough, from the tragedies and you got it wrapped up in a nice little compartmentalized box.

Businessmen are always that, about business before all else. They never let someone like him enjoy something, hell he doesn’t even get the time to enjoy the wine before the talk turns to the job, but how could it not. There were not many reasons for a man of Vicari’s status to look him up, except for business anyway.

“I don’t typically do transport jobs.” They’re frankly usually too boring and if they’re not, they aren’t worth the risk. He acts like the contents aren’t something worth knowing, already calculating the numbers they’ll be talking and puts aside the rest. “Usually in negotiations, you don’t tell someone that they’re the only one for the job, really gives them the chance to hold you by the short hairs.” Those sharp eyes look at him, as if evaluating where he wanted to land in this.

“I need answers to a few questions before I’ll agree. Three hundred thousand up front, three hundred after, cash.” Vicari’s lucky he’s more interested in the job than negotiating a price all day. Blue eyes stare into their green counterparts, looking at him as if he looked long enough, maybe he could figure out his thoughts. “

“Where are you transporting it? I was thinking a crematorium, really make sure he’s gone.” The sarcastic way he speaks signals they both know that won’t be it, of course someone would want it for… shit he can’t even begin to hypothesize but it’s making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He finally scoops up his wine and takes a sip, leans back. If he has to move it, that means someone is sniffing around, which means- “BOW’s are extra, I run into any named agencies and the price goes up. I’ll keep a running total and tell you what you owe.” Terms that are easy enough to agree to, as long as he’s serious.

it matters to sherry that the two men get along. he reminds himself to remain civil, show interest despite how little he cares to know the man on a personal level. it matters to sherry and so it matters to claire. they are family, claire is as close to a mother as that girl has, her blood buried in the bottom of a hole that he can feel like a limb missing. like the bullet wound in his shoulder which still aches when it rains. it matters to claire and so it matters to him.

he reminds himself to smile.

❛   things change, friends leave. life doesn’t stop for anybody.  ❜  

" hmm. " a grumble low in his throat, a dutiful nod. his mouth has not curved upward in the corners to present a smile but a straight line is more hospitable than the downturn frown. " can say that again. " he taps his fingers along the body of the can. it sweats and dampens his fingertips. he wishes it was something stronger than a spritzer but a little hair of the dog is all that keeps him going most days.

sherry's apartment is small, claustrophobic. pushing the strangers together more than he would like. they sit on opposite sides of the couch. leon fights the urge to reach for the television remote on the neat coffee table in front of him, find some game to act as a buffer. it is football season, there has to be something on. he does not even care what teams are playing, anything to fill in the silence.

" not sure what's going on with you too, but strange how the world worked, huh? " it is none of his business to the nature of the relationship between the pair, he is not here to play father figure approving of his little girl's new boyfriend, if that is even what it is. for all leon knows, sherry is taking pity on the kid. some familial guilt driving her to house a stray she happened across. " of all the people to meet each other, a birkin and a wesker. " a scoff. " strange. " he tips his head back and empties half of the can.

“Dude.” Jake thinks he should have started pregaming a half hour ago now. If he didn’t already know he loved her how he felt about Sherry, this sealed the deal. “Since I’ve got to spell it out for you, I’m going to give you the ‘Unapproved Topics’ list.” Yeah, he does the finger quotes around the neck of his beer bottle.

“ One, no talk of our parents. Two, as far as I’m concerned Claire is an only child tonight.” Blue ryes narrow sharply, pointing a finger a little too close to Leon’s face, “Third, I am not a Wesker.”