the tall tales
[this is the story that I utilized in my original form to win Ashley]
“Agent A.”
“Hmm?”
The younger plumie cleared his throat and clutched his clipboard a bit more securely to his chest. “Chief L wants you.”
Ashley nodded and put his feet down, his computer chair wobbling dangerously and squeaking like an alarmed mouse. “Sure,” he said, standing and sliding his gun into the visible holster on his thigh. “Tell her I'll be right there.”
He turned round and vanished, leaving Ashley alone. He pocketed his cellphone, tugged his suit into place, smoothed back his hair and feathers and stepped out into the hall. The building was thick with activity and Ashley passed a few agents while en route to the Chief's office, greeting them by name. None of them knew his real identity of course but they seemed genuinely pleased to see him when they half-lifted a hand and said, “Agent A.” He nodded to everyone who paused to tell him good morning and when he ambled into Chief L's office he was smiling roguishly.
“L,” he greeted, throwing himself bonelessly into the chair she kept in front of her desk. “What can I do you for, Chief?”
“Agent A,” she said coolly, straightening a collection of already neatly organized folders. She set the pile down with a loud thump and looked hard at him, though there was little effect. Ashley was familiar enough with her style of intimidation and so he only remained absently smiling until she said with a short breath, “I have a new assignment for you.”
“Really?” He leaned forward. She tossed him a manila and watched as he paged through it, studying the minute shifts of his expression. When he finished he had schooled his face into a bland smile, one far less genuine than what he'd worn earlier. He rested the folder on his crooked knee and set one hand over it.
“I know,” Chief L said before he could speak, “But I can't give this to anyone else. You understand?”
Ashley set his jaw and nodded once.
“Then you're dismissed,” she said. “I'll forward a finance packet to your desk in ten minutes. I recommend you buy a ticket for the 3:40 to California. Good hunting, Agent A.”
+++++
It was hot in California. Ashley walked off the plane wearing white boardwalk shorts and a shirt that kind of blinded him when the sun struck the glossy gold material. He'd worn sunglasses the entire flight like a hungover rich kid and when he entered into the cool interior of the airport he let his bag drag behind him. Ashley was a good agent. He could play at predator just as well as he could wounded prey.
“Can I help you?” Someone purred behind him and one corner of Ashley's mouth quirked up.
When he turned around he looked about as unimpressed as anyone could imagine. “Help me?” He repeated disdainfully. The mark looked steadily back at him with an amused smile and Ashley memorized the slope of the plumie's face, the hue of his eyes and feathers and the freckles dusted across his nose. He memorized the tan line on his ring finger from a lost wedding ring, the slight limp in his left leg from the fight he'd gotten in last week. Mick Maloney, Irish mob boss, renowned for his love of all things beautiful. Mick Maloney, who had a nine year old daughter he adored and twenty three executions under his belt. Mick Maloney, who was looking at Ashley like he was something good to eat.
“Fine,” he said, summoning up a sigh to make it sound as though it was a chore for him to acquiesce to aid. “Carry it.” He pushed his bag into Mick's arms and then slowed down enough that the plumie could walk beside him. He pretended to not see the three bodyguards that fanned about behind Mick and busied themselves like normal pedestrians.
“I'm Mick,” he said over Ashley's bag, drawing his attention back to him. “What's your name, beautiful?”
Ashley smiled. He pushed his sunglasses up into his messy hair and said, “Adrian. Adrian Waller. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mick.”
Mick grinned delightfully. “Let me take you out tonight, Adrian,” he said. “I'm new in town and I could use the company.”
Ashley simpered and didn't let even a thread of anger creep into his eyes. (New in town? Mick lived in California, and it was rumored he'd been flying home from 'cleaning up' a rogue agent in Minnesota. But of course, Adrian Waller wouldn't know that.)
“I guess I could do that,” he said. Mick extracted a promise from him to meet outside the world renowned Club DV8 at eleven and then gently passed his bag back. He pressed a chaste kiss to Ashley's cheek before he left, tossing over his shoulder, “I'll see you tonight, Adrian.”
Ashley let the smile seep from his face when Mick turned the corner. He ran a hand back through his hair and groaned aloud. “Take this assignment, Agent A,” he muttered under his breath as he walked, “It'll be fun, Agent A. You're the only one pretty enough, Agent A. Next time I see the Chief I'm going to tell her exactly what I think of this crap mission.”
+++++
Six hours later Ashley found himself hurtling down an alleyway and bleeding from a bullet wound in his side. He was too angry to really think clearly about Chief L's carelessness, and mostly he was thinking about how annoying Mick had been up until he'd put a gun to Ashley's temple and demanded his FBI personnel code.
Dumb, dumb. There was a leak somewhere, and Mick had either known from the get-go or shortly thereafter that Ashley was an agent. One bullet hole later and Ashley was pushing through the club's thick and sweating crowd, shoving his way outside and tripping over loose legs and stretching feet. His suit jacket was damp with blood and he felt it sticking on his ribs as he sweat. He fired blindly over his shoulder, heard someone curse, and ducked into a narrower alley to try and get out on the street. Mick Maloney was a mobster but he wasn't stupid; he wouldn't execute a federal agent on a public road.
He stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk, went down on his hands and knees, and felt a bullet scrape a furrow in the air above his head. He jerked down instinctively then rolled forward into the road, so the next car had to stomp on its brakes and even then nearly hit him. Someone got out shouting and Ashley touched fingers to the back of his head, breathing hard through his nose; his hand came away gory, and the pebbles of the road were swimming underneath him.
“Take me to a hospital,” he said, fighting to keep conscious. “And call the number in my coat pocket.”
The driver squinted at him. “Your head's bleedin' a lot--”
“Call it,” Ashley mumbled. He could feel his voice wobbling, his words bending in and around each other. “Tell them I've been shot.”
He fell onto his side and distantly saw the driver dial 911, blinking hard against the black creeping in at the edges of his vision. When he passed out it was to the plumie pulling Ashley's phone out of his pocket and searching his jacket for the number.
+++++
As Ashley had countless times before and would countless times after, he woke up in a hospital bed. There was a machine to his left making a rhythmic noise and the sound of someone breathing by his feet. He very slowly opened his eyes, looking with some confusion at the stranger who was sleeping in a chair racked up against the wall. His head felt thick and foggy.
“Don't say anything,” the sleeping plumie said, startling Ashley from his reverie. The stranger didn't open his eyes and nor did he move; had Ashley not just heard him speak he would have assumed he was still sleeping.
“You're being watched,” the plumie said, scarcely moving his mouth. “The Agency's got your back, but Maloney's men are everywhere. We can't evac you until tomorrow morning.”
Ashley tugged at the itchy hospital sheet and pretended to scratch his cheek so to cover the movements of his mouth. “Who are you supposed to be in the meantime?”
The stranger's mouth jumped in a half-imagined smile. “Your brother,” he said. “So do play along, Agent A.”
[unfinished, I will hopefully continue asap]
“Agent A.”
“Hmm?”
The younger plumie cleared his throat and clutched his clipboard a bit more securely to his chest. “Chief L wants you.”
Ashley nodded and put his feet down, his computer chair wobbling dangerously and squeaking like an alarmed mouse. “Sure,” he said, standing and sliding his gun into the visible holster on his thigh. “Tell her I'll be right there.”
He turned round and vanished, leaving Ashley alone. He pocketed his cellphone, tugged his suit into place, smoothed back his hair and feathers and stepped out into the hall. The building was thick with activity and Ashley passed a few agents while en route to the Chief's office, greeting them by name. None of them knew his real identity of course but they seemed genuinely pleased to see him when they half-lifted a hand and said, “Agent A.” He nodded to everyone who paused to tell him good morning and when he ambled into Chief L's office he was smiling roguishly.
“L,” he greeted, throwing himself bonelessly into the chair she kept in front of her desk. “What can I do you for, Chief?”
“Agent A,” she said coolly, straightening a collection of already neatly organized folders. She set the pile down with a loud thump and looked hard at him, though there was little effect. Ashley was familiar enough with her style of intimidation and so he only remained absently smiling until she said with a short breath, “I have a new assignment for you.”
“Really?” He leaned forward. She tossed him a manila and watched as he paged through it, studying the minute shifts of his expression. When he finished he had schooled his face into a bland smile, one far less genuine than what he'd worn earlier. He rested the folder on his crooked knee and set one hand over it.
“I know,” Chief L said before he could speak, “But I can't give this to anyone else. You understand?”
Ashley set his jaw and nodded once.
“Then you're dismissed,” she said. “I'll forward a finance packet to your desk in ten minutes. I recommend you buy a ticket for the 3:40 to California. Good hunting, Agent A.”
+++++
It was hot in California. Ashley walked off the plane wearing white boardwalk shorts and a shirt that kind of blinded him when the sun struck the glossy gold material. He'd worn sunglasses the entire flight like a hungover rich kid and when he entered into the cool interior of the airport he let his bag drag behind him. Ashley was a good agent. He could play at predator just as well as he could wounded prey.
“Can I help you?” Someone purred behind him and one corner of Ashley's mouth quirked up.
When he turned around he looked about as unimpressed as anyone could imagine. “Help me?” He repeated disdainfully. The mark looked steadily back at him with an amused smile and Ashley memorized the slope of the plumie's face, the hue of his eyes and feathers and the freckles dusted across his nose. He memorized the tan line on his ring finger from a lost wedding ring, the slight limp in his left leg from the fight he'd gotten in last week. Mick Maloney, Irish mob boss, renowned for his love of all things beautiful. Mick Maloney, who had a nine year old daughter he adored and twenty three executions under his belt. Mick Maloney, who was looking at Ashley like he was something good to eat.
“Fine,” he said, summoning up a sigh to make it sound as though it was a chore for him to acquiesce to aid. “Carry it.” He pushed his bag into Mick's arms and then slowed down enough that the plumie could walk beside him. He pretended to not see the three bodyguards that fanned about behind Mick and busied themselves like normal pedestrians.
“I'm Mick,” he said over Ashley's bag, drawing his attention back to him. “What's your name, beautiful?”
Ashley smiled. He pushed his sunglasses up into his messy hair and said, “Adrian. Adrian Waller. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mick.”
Mick grinned delightfully. “Let me take you out tonight, Adrian,” he said. “I'm new in town and I could use the company.”
Ashley simpered and didn't let even a thread of anger creep into his eyes. (New in town? Mick lived in California, and it was rumored he'd been flying home from 'cleaning up' a rogue agent in Minnesota. But of course, Adrian Waller wouldn't know that.)
“I guess I could do that,” he said. Mick extracted a promise from him to meet outside the world renowned Club DV8 at eleven and then gently passed his bag back. He pressed a chaste kiss to Ashley's cheek before he left, tossing over his shoulder, “I'll see you tonight, Adrian.”
Ashley let the smile seep from his face when Mick turned the corner. He ran a hand back through his hair and groaned aloud. “Take this assignment, Agent A,” he muttered under his breath as he walked, “It'll be fun, Agent A. You're the only one pretty enough, Agent A. Next time I see the Chief I'm going to tell her exactly what I think of this crap mission.”
+++++
Six hours later Ashley found himself hurtling down an alleyway and bleeding from a bullet wound in his side. He was too angry to really think clearly about Chief L's carelessness, and mostly he was thinking about how annoying Mick had been up until he'd put a gun to Ashley's temple and demanded his FBI personnel code.
Dumb, dumb. There was a leak somewhere, and Mick had either known from the get-go or shortly thereafter that Ashley was an agent. One bullet hole later and Ashley was pushing through the club's thick and sweating crowd, shoving his way outside and tripping over loose legs and stretching feet. His suit jacket was damp with blood and he felt it sticking on his ribs as he sweat. He fired blindly over his shoulder, heard someone curse, and ducked into a narrower alley to try and get out on the street. Mick Maloney was a mobster but he wasn't stupid; he wouldn't execute a federal agent on a public road.
He stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk, went down on his hands and knees, and felt a bullet scrape a furrow in the air above his head. He jerked down instinctively then rolled forward into the road, so the next car had to stomp on its brakes and even then nearly hit him. Someone got out shouting and Ashley touched fingers to the back of his head, breathing hard through his nose; his hand came away gory, and the pebbles of the road were swimming underneath him.
“Take me to a hospital,” he said, fighting to keep conscious. “And call the number in my coat pocket.”
The driver squinted at him. “Your head's bleedin' a lot--”
“Call it,” Ashley mumbled. He could feel his voice wobbling, his words bending in and around each other. “Tell them I've been shot.”
He fell onto his side and distantly saw the driver dial 911, blinking hard against the black creeping in at the edges of his vision. When he passed out it was to the plumie pulling Ashley's phone out of his pocket and searching his jacket for the number.
+++++
As Ashley had countless times before and would countless times after, he woke up in a hospital bed. There was a machine to his left making a rhythmic noise and the sound of someone breathing by his feet. He very slowly opened his eyes, looking with some confusion at the stranger who was sleeping in a chair racked up against the wall. His head felt thick and foggy.
“Don't say anything,” the sleeping plumie said, startling Ashley from his reverie. The stranger didn't open his eyes and nor did he move; had Ashley not just heard him speak he would have assumed he was still sleeping.
“You're being watched,” the plumie said, scarcely moving his mouth. “The Agency's got your back, but Maloney's men are everywhere. We can't evac you until tomorrow morning.”
Ashley tugged at the itchy hospital sheet and pretended to scratch his cheek so to cover the movements of his mouth. “Who are you supposed to be in the meantime?”
The stranger's mouth jumped in a half-imagined smile. “Your brother,” he said. “So do play along, Agent A.”
[unfinished, I will hopefully continue asap]