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Snippet #2624654

located in International, a part of Hit List, one of the many universes on RPG.




Characters Present

Character Portrait: Charlotte Neilson Character Portrait: Roksana Volkov
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LOCATION: Romania, Hotel > Warehouse || MOOD: Indifferent || ATTIRE: X

Roksana's peered over her crescent-tipped nails with a bored expression, her gaze travelling up to the mirror of the hotel's supplied dressing table and meeting that of her steel-eyed reflection. Her blonde locks were well-hidden beneath a wig of sharp, chocolate strands, the realistic but nonetheless faux locks curling slightly under her sharp chin in a neat bob. Reaching for a string of pearls, each of which contained a dose of highly toxic, highly flammable substance, in case she needed a quick escape.

Or one of her beloved 'co-workers' chose to piss her off.

Rising from her seat, she slid on her coat, before abandoning the room. As she passed the luxurious hotel's front office, the young man behind the desk smiled at her in the typical, false-friendly manner that all workers at joints such as this were expected. "Good evening, Ms Campbell! Going out?"

'Jessica Campbell' shot a smile at the bow-tie-donning man, her gold and pearl earrings catching the light from the chandelier above. She replied to his query in an accent that would make not a soul doubt her apparent Manhattan heritage. "Yeah, I am. I heard that the city's most beautiful at night. I hope I'm not disappointed." The hotel-worker laughed, his Romanian accent thick, but his English understandable, "Ah, yes. I'm sure that you won't be."

As she slid into her car, she slid the wig from her head, and allowed her blonde locks to tumblr briefly about her shoulders before tying them into a somewhat wild bun. Her gloved hands reached for the steering wheel, and she began her journey in silence.

The warehouse was a grotty place, thick with grime and long-since abandoned. The night seemed to accentuate its gloominess, and the dark paid it no favours. But then again, one could hardly have expected high class and extravagant for a meeting place, considering what they were all meeting for. Roksana looked up at the building, eyebrow raising a couple of millimeters, before she stepped inside.

There was a single occupant of the warehouse's vast interior. A blonde woman with a slender frame and a gun in her hands. She was polishing it with vigor, and Roksana approached her with her typical, unreadable expression. "You missed a spot." She said, her Russian accent returning with its renowned smoothness.