Post by gryphon on Jun 7, 2011 21:41:16 GMT -5
The security cameras had caught some of the events of course, the InterContinental Milwaukee Hotel having not just luxury appointments but the state of the art as far as electronic surveillance went. Unfortunately as in most things, equipment is only as good as the people that manned it. Thus when the 'gentleman' in the black leather jacket, vivid blue jeans and polished rayskin boots stepped up and displayed a name badge with “Hello my name is Paul” and an invoice form from Chet and Leona's florist shop he was given the wave through by the harried desk clerk who barely registered much beyond that the man was carrying a long gold box with a black glacee-style ribbon and that the roses that peeked almost demurely out of the cut-away top were also black.
The pause while he stood outside the door, retrieving a BlackBerry Torch, thumb sliding the screen up to answer a call, that hoarse gravelly baritone voice...harsh, after the surgery but hadn't it always been just a bit cold, just a bit arctic even before?
Gryphon: “I'm here. Just have it ready, Sabra.”
Her voice soft in the hall, that Russian accent thick, heavy but her speech was flawless – she spoke English much better than its native speakers.
Sabra: “I am always ready.”
This generated a slight quirk of the man's lips as he closed the phone and replaced it in his jacket. Dark wraparound sunglasses hid his cold arctic blue eyes but he noticed a pair of old ladies tottering down the hall toward him, no doubt going for the bank of elevators at the end of it and he slid those glasses up to rest on top of his head over the black hair drawn back in a ponytail. They twittered like little old birds as they went by in a cloud that smelled of Shalimar and baby powder in an almost overwhelming wave, apparently finding the man charming and wondering if he was bringing those flowers to his sweetheart.
Well, that's not how he would have put it. But there was a bit of merit in the idea, wasn't there? The person that was in that room wasn't someone that Gryphon would waste much emotion on despite his cold and biting words when he'd delivered the hourglass to the protege of David Matthews...or rather Snake himself. There was quite a difference as he well knew. In his mind, Devon had failed her. And really that's all that mattered. Failure was not tolerated, and in this case most especially ignorance of that failure was neither protection or excuse.
Inside the room Devon Cole was relaxing just a bit. He'd had a great day. Dropped Alexa off at the airport and heard back just a bit ago that she'd landed safely. Gone to see a nice old lady and gotten a -bleeping- dream car... he couldn't wait to get home and work on that Impala, he'd already had Hector bring up the flatbed and pick it up for the drive back to Indianapolis. He was stretched out on the bed, boots off and laid neatly with their toes pointed under it, past the bed near the sliding patio door that was currently open was a large table with two decks of cards and a rack of poker chips on it waiting the company that Devon was expecting. A cooler filled with ice and a couple dozen Shiner Bocks was sitting on the other side of that table and Devon had just sat up to go get one clad only in his jeans when the rap at the door echoed through the room. A heavy fist on the wooden door, but Devon didn't seem worried. A random t-shirt was picked out of his open bag that lay on top of the long wooden dresser and he lowered the volume on his TV as the knock sounded again.
Devon: “Hold your horses bro, I'm coming.”
Devon slid the shirt over his head and then grabbed a smoke, lighting it quickly from his Zippo and taking a quick drag before he opened the door and then two things happened nearly simultaneously.
Gryphon: “Delivery, you pretentious little punkass!”
Devon: “Oh -bleeping- hell!”
Devon tried to slam the door on Gryphon, cigarette clamped between his handsome lips and both hands on the door as Gryphon shouldered into the room and bashed Devon over the head with the gold box of black roses. Fists were already flying and how the hell Devon managed to keep that smoke while throwing punches had to be put down to sheer talent one might guess. He got hold of Gryphon's shoulders and used the leverage to plant his knee in his gut three times...in a very familiar motion. Shoving him off got him a faceful of that box of roses, the ribbon giving way as the petals slung all over the room and Gryphon threw the box at the wall with its usefulness expended. His right fist cocked back and with almost machine-like precision he fired off a hard closed fist that connected flush with Devon's right eye, the skin instantly reddening in that fashion that let you know it was going to become a truly epic bruise.
A deep drag taken off that smoke preceded a stream of the silvery – and stinging exhale right into Gryphon's eyes. Not enough to do much more than make those cold eyes water but it gave Devon the seconds to back up enough to bring the heel of his bare foot right into the ribs of the Great American Nightmare...striking hard and protecting bare toes at the same time. Gryphon stumbled back, but then was right back on the Wolf, the two struggling as a small lamp was knocked off the table before Devon scooped it up and threw it at Gryphon who barely ducked in time, a small huff of almost a laugh escaping as he did. Devon's hazel-green eyes narrowed and he flowed into a spinning heel kick that drove Gryphon back against the closet door as high pitched yelps from the hallway indicated that someone had peeked into the open door of the room and seen them fighting.
Gryphon had shoved Devon back and into the dresser, the exhale as his hip struck making him finally lose that Lucky Strike... which landed for a moment to smolder on the toe of Gryphon's expensive rayskin boot. That look of rage came to those sharp features a moment as he plucked that butt off his boot and put it out in a opened bottle of beer before he reached for Devon who backpedaled out of his reach toward the open balcony door. Devon had turned to reach for one of the chairs that sat around the table just as Gryphon with a roar had ripped the 42 inch plasma TV off its stand on the dresser and swung it at Devon...and it slipped from his hands when Mayhem simply wasn't there for the impact, sailing out the opened sliding glass door and in a graceful arc went over the balcony railing. They both froze, Devon's hazel-green eyes locking for a second with those arctic blues, and he set the chair down as they both rushed for that railing. Devon's room was up about four floors and faced out over the pool area so they had just about enough time to get there before the loud crash of the TV hitting the pavement and shattering was heard.
Through the shattering of glass and rending of plastic the pair cringed, holding off in their determined assault of one another to ensure the safety of innocent people. While Devon Mayhem and Gryphon were most certainly not the best of friends, they could agree that collateral damage was not an option at this point. His knuckles whitened as Gryphon grabbed onto the railing and Mayhem raked his hands through his hair slowly, hoping against hope that nobody had been hurt. Angry looks and shaking fists were directed back up at the pair, and the two exchanged equally devious shit eating grins. Devon nodded to Gryphon who nodded back, and then drove his elbow sharply into Devon’s gut. The Wolf in Wolf’s Clothing doubled over, and Gryphon fired back an elbow again that caught him on the bridge of the nose—thankfully, though, Devon had been out of position and ate mostly triceps; instead of a broken nose, he got rattled by the blunt force of a well developed muscle! Staggering backward, Gryphon reached over and grabbed him by the hair and the back of his jeans, and with Devon in his grip charged across the debris strewn hotel room and out into the hall. With a thud, the former World Heavyweight Champion struck the wall and moved just in time, as that now marred rayskin boot sailed into the garish wallpaper and through the sheetrock. Snarling, Gryphon worked to dislodge his boot and ate a pair of sharp fists to the ribs. Gryphon responded by swiping with his hand at a just out of range Mayhem, until he ripped his boot from between two supporting studs.
Devon: “Oh shit!”
With another charge attempt, Gryphon stepped to the side, guiding a vicious hook from Devon Mayhem with his right hand into the wall. Reversing quickly, Gryphon dropped low, and drove the back of his fist into Devon’s gut. With a wheeze, he took a quick hop back and then charged in, ducking his head underneath the Wolf’s arm as he pushed at the backs of Devon’s legs to bring him up off his feet and into the sheetrock with a bull rush. Guests had begun to mill out of their rooms by this point and were watching with peppered expressions of outrage, annoyance and downright bewilderment. One frail looking older woman adjusted her bifocals and glared at the two brawling in the hallway before proclaiming in what may have been a warning or possibly even a threat.
Woman: “Damnit, I’m going to have Harold call Security! HAROOOOOLD!”
Gryphon stopped and looked down the hallway at the woman. With a smirk, he inhaled sharply through his nose before addressing the woman.
Gryphon: “Do you really think that the overweight bastard downstairs can stop me? Stop us? Do you think he can even break that old wheel gun from the holster before I get knee deep in his aa—AAAH!”
Too much time was given for Devon to extract himself from that predicament, and Gryphon paid for it by addressing an idiot bystander! He grunted as Devon drove him back into the opposite wall just to the left side of his own room’s entrance. He gave Gryphon another hard kick to the gut that doubled him over and then went to the wall. The Rembrandt copy of Sunflowers was snatched off the wall and the gilded, golden frame was lifted over Devon’s head. He shouted as he tried to drive the painting into Gryphon’s head, who threw himself to the side and rolled to his feet while Devon Mayhem however, smashed the picture. The old woman trotted back into her room and slammed the door. No doubt the police would be coming sometime soon!
They were trading more hard punches trying to gain an edge when Gryphon raised one of his rayskin boots and stamped hard on Devon's bare foot. A shout of pain and anger followed that and Devon had locked his hands around Gryphon's throat to shove him into the wall behind him when the security guard arrived – backed up by two members of Milwaukee's Finest. The old lady peeped out of her room and shouted at the cops, haranguing them to get after the brawling pair as they tried to shoulder them apart. This got Devon to let Gryphon go but as they drug him back Gryphon tackled him and brought all four men to the carpeted floor! It wasn't until the police threatened to shoot the pair with tasers that they finally stopped...though Devon shouted as they drug him down the hall.
Devon: “You'll never take me alive copper!”
Even the police laughed at this as they slapped both men in cuffs, leading Gryphon and getting Devon to his feet, herding them into the elevator as the old lady harrumphed and slammed her room door.
The pause while he stood outside the door, retrieving a BlackBerry Torch, thumb sliding the screen up to answer a call, that hoarse gravelly baritone voice...harsh, after the surgery but hadn't it always been just a bit cold, just a bit arctic even before?
Gryphon: “I'm here. Just have it ready, Sabra.”
Her voice soft in the hall, that Russian accent thick, heavy but her speech was flawless – she spoke English much better than its native speakers.
Sabra: “I am always ready.”
This generated a slight quirk of the man's lips as he closed the phone and replaced it in his jacket. Dark wraparound sunglasses hid his cold arctic blue eyes but he noticed a pair of old ladies tottering down the hall toward him, no doubt going for the bank of elevators at the end of it and he slid those glasses up to rest on top of his head over the black hair drawn back in a ponytail. They twittered like little old birds as they went by in a cloud that smelled of Shalimar and baby powder in an almost overwhelming wave, apparently finding the man charming and wondering if he was bringing those flowers to his sweetheart.
Well, that's not how he would have put it. But there was a bit of merit in the idea, wasn't there? The person that was in that room wasn't someone that Gryphon would waste much emotion on despite his cold and biting words when he'd delivered the hourglass to the protege of David Matthews...or rather Snake himself. There was quite a difference as he well knew. In his mind, Devon had failed her. And really that's all that mattered. Failure was not tolerated, and in this case most especially ignorance of that failure was neither protection or excuse.
Inside the room Devon Cole was relaxing just a bit. He'd had a great day. Dropped Alexa off at the airport and heard back just a bit ago that she'd landed safely. Gone to see a nice old lady and gotten a -bleeping- dream car... he couldn't wait to get home and work on that Impala, he'd already had Hector bring up the flatbed and pick it up for the drive back to Indianapolis. He was stretched out on the bed, boots off and laid neatly with their toes pointed under it, past the bed near the sliding patio door that was currently open was a large table with two decks of cards and a rack of poker chips on it waiting the company that Devon was expecting. A cooler filled with ice and a couple dozen Shiner Bocks was sitting on the other side of that table and Devon had just sat up to go get one clad only in his jeans when the rap at the door echoed through the room. A heavy fist on the wooden door, but Devon didn't seem worried. A random t-shirt was picked out of his open bag that lay on top of the long wooden dresser and he lowered the volume on his TV as the knock sounded again.
Devon: “Hold your horses bro, I'm coming.”
Devon slid the shirt over his head and then grabbed a smoke, lighting it quickly from his Zippo and taking a quick drag before he opened the door and then two things happened nearly simultaneously.
Gryphon: “Delivery, you pretentious little punkass!”
Devon: “Oh -bleeping- hell!”
Devon tried to slam the door on Gryphon, cigarette clamped between his handsome lips and both hands on the door as Gryphon shouldered into the room and bashed Devon over the head with the gold box of black roses. Fists were already flying and how the hell Devon managed to keep that smoke while throwing punches had to be put down to sheer talent one might guess. He got hold of Gryphon's shoulders and used the leverage to plant his knee in his gut three times...in a very familiar motion. Shoving him off got him a faceful of that box of roses, the ribbon giving way as the petals slung all over the room and Gryphon threw the box at the wall with its usefulness expended. His right fist cocked back and with almost machine-like precision he fired off a hard closed fist that connected flush with Devon's right eye, the skin instantly reddening in that fashion that let you know it was going to become a truly epic bruise.
A deep drag taken off that smoke preceded a stream of the silvery – and stinging exhale right into Gryphon's eyes. Not enough to do much more than make those cold eyes water but it gave Devon the seconds to back up enough to bring the heel of his bare foot right into the ribs of the Great American Nightmare...striking hard and protecting bare toes at the same time. Gryphon stumbled back, but then was right back on the Wolf, the two struggling as a small lamp was knocked off the table before Devon scooped it up and threw it at Gryphon who barely ducked in time, a small huff of almost a laugh escaping as he did. Devon's hazel-green eyes narrowed and he flowed into a spinning heel kick that drove Gryphon back against the closet door as high pitched yelps from the hallway indicated that someone had peeked into the open door of the room and seen them fighting.
Gryphon had shoved Devon back and into the dresser, the exhale as his hip struck making him finally lose that Lucky Strike... which landed for a moment to smolder on the toe of Gryphon's expensive rayskin boot. That look of rage came to those sharp features a moment as he plucked that butt off his boot and put it out in a opened bottle of beer before he reached for Devon who backpedaled out of his reach toward the open balcony door. Devon had turned to reach for one of the chairs that sat around the table just as Gryphon with a roar had ripped the 42 inch plasma TV off its stand on the dresser and swung it at Devon...and it slipped from his hands when Mayhem simply wasn't there for the impact, sailing out the opened sliding glass door and in a graceful arc went over the balcony railing. They both froze, Devon's hazel-green eyes locking for a second with those arctic blues, and he set the chair down as they both rushed for that railing. Devon's room was up about four floors and faced out over the pool area so they had just about enough time to get there before the loud crash of the TV hitting the pavement and shattering was heard.
Through the shattering of glass and rending of plastic the pair cringed, holding off in their determined assault of one another to ensure the safety of innocent people. While Devon Mayhem and Gryphon were most certainly not the best of friends, they could agree that collateral damage was not an option at this point. His knuckles whitened as Gryphon grabbed onto the railing and Mayhem raked his hands through his hair slowly, hoping against hope that nobody had been hurt. Angry looks and shaking fists were directed back up at the pair, and the two exchanged equally devious shit eating grins. Devon nodded to Gryphon who nodded back, and then drove his elbow sharply into Devon’s gut. The Wolf in Wolf’s Clothing doubled over, and Gryphon fired back an elbow again that caught him on the bridge of the nose—thankfully, though, Devon had been out of position and ate mostly triceps; instead of a broken nose, he got rattled by the blunt force of a well developed muscle! Staggering backward, Gryphon reached over and grabbed him by the hair and the back of his jeans, and with Devon in his grip charged across the debris strewn hotel room and out into the hall. With a thud, the former World Heavyweight Champion struck the wall and moved just in time, as that now marred rayskin boot sailed into the garish wallpaper and through the sheetrock. Snarling, Gryphon worked to dislodge his boot and ate a pair of sharp fists to the ribs. Gryphon responded by swiping with his hand at a just out of range Mayhem, until he ripped his boot from between two supporting studs.
Devon: “Oh shit!”
With another charge attempt, Gryphon stepped to the side, guiding a vicious hook from Devon Mayhem with his right hand into the wall. Reversing quickly, Gryphon dropped low, and drove the back of his fist into Devon’s gut. With a wheeze, he took a quick hop back and then charged in, ducking his head underneath the Wolf’s arm as he pushed at the backs of Devon’s legs to bring him up off his feet and into the sheetrock with a bull rush. Guests had begun to mill out of their rooms by this point and were watching with peppered expressions of outrage, annoyance and downright bewilderment. One frail looking older woman adjusted her bifocals and glared at the two brawling in the hallway before proclaiming in what may have been a warning or possibly even a threat.
Woman: “Damnit, I’m going to have Harold call Security! HAROOOOOLD!”
Gryphon stopped and looked down the hallway at the woman. With a smirk, he inhaled sharply through his nose before addressing the woman.
Gryphon: “Do you really think that the overweight bastard downstairs can stop me? Stop us? Do you think he can even break that old wheel gun from the holster before I get knee deep in his aa—AAAH!”
Too much time was given for Devon to extract himself from that predicament, and Gryphon paid for it by addressing an idiot bystander! He grunted as Devon drove him back into the opposite wall just to the left side of his own room’s entrance. He gave Gryphon another hard kick to the gut that doubled him over and then went to the wall. The Rembrandt copy of Sunflowers was snatched off the wall and the gilded, golden frame was lifted over Devon’s head. He shouted as he tried to drive the painting into Gryphon’s head, who threw himself to the side and rolled to his feet while Devon Mayhem however, smashed the picture. The old woman trotted back into her room and slammed the door. No doubt the police would be coming sometime soon!
They were trading more hard punches trying to gain an edge when Gryphon raised one of his rayskin boots and stamped hard on Devon's bare foot. A shout of pain and anger followed that and Devon had locked his hands around Gryphon's throat to shove him into the wall behind him when the security guard arrived – backed up by two members of Milwaukee's Finest. The old lady peeped out of her room and shouted at the cops, haranguing them to get after the brawling pair as they tried to shoulder them apart. This got Devon to let Gryphon go but as they drug him back Gryphon tackled him and brought all four men to the carpeted floor! It wasn't until the police threatened to shoot the pair with tasers that they finally stopped...though Devon shouted as they drug him down the hall.
Devon: “You'll never take me alive copper!”
Even the police laughed at this as they slapped both men in cuffs, leading Gryphon and getting Devon to his feet, herding them into the elevator as the old lady harrumphed and slammed her room door.