“I kindly suggest you go fuck yourself. пиздюк.” She grabbed the to drinks from the bar and made her way back to the two leather chairs, in which one her fellow agent was already sitting.
“Sorry. Had to cut off some gentlemen who were quite adamant in the pursuit of lovemaking.” She put one glass down in front of him and took her seat on the opposite, crossing legs. A high end bar in Moscow in winter, with view of the skyline of the city, quite empty, curiously. Not the worst assignment they had gotten, and she was allowed to wear a suit and not yet again a damn dress. Didn’t stop some idiots trying to chat her up quite aggressively, but it was more the allure of an easy target to trick than her feminine wile. Didn’t matter anymore. Anne had already forgotten about them as she sipped her Scotch.
“Any signs of Korlov? He was supposed - shit.” Over Harry’s shoulder, she saw the guy who tried to chat her up talking to some others, wildly gesturing in her direction, and not soon after, they were surely coming towards them.
“Trouble ahead, on your six.” More like trouble for them.
“You tell him to go fuck himself?” The now appearent leader was standing uncomfortably close to her chair, mercilessly staring her down. She looked at him, then at Harry in an almost weary manner, before she put both her legs back on the ground. Not yet getting up, but ready to. Her Russian was a bit rusty, so she hoped they’d unterstand her.
“Is he deaf and send you here to check? Or are you just here to get your arse beaten?”
STARTER CALL | @gclchcd
