Sebastian L. Moran, 38, Chief of Staff for J. Moriarty
Victor inclined his head when Sebastian offered him the glass, accepting it and glancing up at the other man when he spoke. He noticed the faint, very brief curling of Sebastian’s lips- not his taste, then. A selection of Matt’s. Dark merlot wine…interesting. Some people said that wine taste reflected on the chooser…it was a bit of a stretch at times, but for someone who orchestrated themselves as carefully as Mr. Parker…
it could say he was classy, sophisticated, and constantly aware of communicating that. Went well with black shades, often held by someone in a suit, an expensive suit. A few people called it the power-broker wine. Power was certainly an element of it, but confident power, power that wasn’t afraid to hold a fruity wine, despite how it may affect their appearance.
Of course, someone like Sebastian would appreciate that all little…but someone as seemingly simple as Matt might not either. A bit of a spark lit in Victor’s greenish eyes as he glanced automatically back into the kitchen- he’d have to keep this in mind- before he smiled back. “I do doubt it would be possible to be in a room with Mr. Parker and not have his enthusiasm exuded to you.”
Victor inclined his head at the explanation, giving an understanding nod. “It’s no trouble…certainly something I can sympathize it. Besides, your absence allows me to disillusion myself about my speed and strength for a short amount of time, at the very least,” he chuckled a bit, good-naturedly. He never minded having to pause for breath or stop along the way. It was nice, having a running partner as challenging as Sebastian.
“Work is as ever. It seems to go smoothly until the moment I turn my back,” he sighed lightly. “And with you? Must be terrifically busy, of course.”
Jim took the pot of rice off the stove, resisting the urge to peek into it as he set the timer. Everything was good to go, table set, just needed to let the rice sit for ten minutes before they could sit down to eat. He stood back with his hands on his hips as he went through his mental process, then laughed to himself. Always a weird sensation when you weren’t precisely certain if it was you or a character thinking something through. Bizarre. He glanced over, catching sight of his reflection in a glass-front cabinet. He smiled to himself, then walked out of the kitchen and into the room Sebastian and Victor were using.
Their conversation was already in progress, so he didn’t say anything (he didn’t think Matt would interrupt Seb), just smiled as he walked in. His quick dark eyes took in the glasses…the…two…glasses.
Sebastian hadn’t gotten a glass for him? First of all, rude. Second of all…what would Victor Trevor make of Seb Moran not even remembering to get a wine glass for his devoted boyfriend. Ugh!!!
He sat himself on the arm of Sebastian’s chair, leaning just a bit on his second. That wasn’t an act, really; he leaned comfortably against Sebastian in the backs of cars, on plane rides, on the sofa on some quiet evenings while the tall sniper read and Jim worked out intricate plans on his laptop. So even though Jim was playing at displaying Matt’s affection, even he didn’t recognize how natural and comfortable his pose was.
Jim was attentive to their conversation, reaching over and lightly taking the wine glass from Sebastian’s hand to take a sip himself. It was a good wine; he was actually sharing one of his favourites with Mr. Trevor. Not a merlot, actually. A Malbec, brought back as a little souvenir from Argentina. A 2009 Catena Zapata. A sign of respect for a good opponent. And a damn good wine, at that.
Sebastian nodded sympathetically as Victor talked about business, a rather unfortunate lump in the back of his seat cushion pressing into his most recent wound. A small bruise, but it was a very sharp impact from the side of the car he had crashed earlier in the week. He shifted again and took another sip of his wine, smiling slightly and ducking his head as Victor spoke about his running fantasies.
“Meetings all over Europe. I don’t know when I last got a proper week without suffering from some sort of jet lag. Real estate can’t seem to stay in one place, can it?” Sebastian asked playfully, his voice soft, undercutting the humor of his remark. He wasn’t usually so vulnerable; opening up his personal home to his neighbor was one thing, inviting the man for a dinner that Jim Moriarty was preparing was an entirely different level of meta-reality that Sebastian was sure he didn’t understand. It was completely mad, and if he had any say in it at all Jim Moriarty would be in his posh flat uptown, Sebastian would be at the shooting range and Victor would be high on the drugs that Sebastian had ordered for him.
Looking over as he heard Jim enter Sebastian’s eyes flicked over him and he attached a smile to his face that he thought looked sincere but probably came off as simpering instead. He let his glass go and relaxed as Jim pressed against him, sliding an arm up over the edge of the seat cushion, not wrapping his hand around Jim, just keeping a thumb lightly on his spine. His expression affecting a bit more genuine turn he looked over at Victor and smiled slightly.
“D’you like the wine? Matt picked it himself.”
tigerjaw said: you would probably send mhio more often. -sm
didnt realize you were so interested on getting alerts every time im open for business.
JH
you’re like a tescos. not always open, but always doing business.
-sm
The afternoon had been busier than Jim Moriarty had anticipated, what with that petty little issue with the bribe for the transport company. Jim found he had very little patience for grandstanding any more; it just wasn’t necessary. When he gave a price or a time frame, it was rarely up for negotiation any more. The operation was bigger now, it ran more smoothly. And with the efficiency came even more of a reputation. And the Irish criminal mastermind was very comfortable with the fact that that reputation provided him with everything he needed to expect perfection. He didn’t make mistakes.
And his right hand man didn’t make mistakes. Generally. Perhaps a few. Perhaps he made some mistakes where Sebastian Moran was concerned. No, not mistakes. Miscalculations due to not having all the correct variables needed to settle out the equation properly. That night, a bit over a week ago, that was a miscalculation. There was no reason to think Sebastian hadn’t been alone. The forgotten salad.
She makes good Italian.
He knew more about her now, Naomi. He was a man all about information. There was no information that was secret from him, even if he had to work for it. And some office girl mooning over the man he’d fashioned into the second most dangerous man was no secret. He knew first hand she had an annoying screech. He knew second hand she cooked for him.
And now Thursday evening found him stirring a few meatballs in a San Marzano tomato sauce. ‘Balls’ may have been a bit generous; they were not quite spherical, but he’d never made anything like them before. He sent another demanding text to Sebastian; the pasta had been done for a bit and he’d been waiting on the sauce. And now the oven timer was shrieking at him while he tried to read another email from a client (damned Glasgow supplier apparently still hadn’t learned that in this day and age using all capital letters constituted bloody yelling) and that was about the time he noticed the splash of red on his white shirt sleeve from the bubbling sauce.
The Irishman punched the button to turn the heat off as he opened the oven door. A little dark brown crisping along the edge (fine, black maybe? if one chose to be exacting on colour) but otherwise an intact garlic bread.
It was like planning any other job, making Italian food, he decided. And apparently he hadn’t been as well-prepared as he’d thought. Miscalculations where Sebastian was concerned again. He pulled two plates down as he heard the knock on the door. His shot a warning glance at the pan of sauce before walking out of the kitchen.
Jim undid the locks and pulled the door open. Should he have checked to see who it was? Probably, yes. Definitely yes. But that sauce was going to boil over. He looked up at the tall sniper.
“That took you forever. Did you walk?” He stepped back. “Come in, quickly. I figured we could sort out that LA thing that’s been tormenting you over dinner.” He walked back to the kitchen without waiting to see whether or not Sebastian was following him. If nothing else, curiosity should have compelled him; Jim Moriarty had only ever used the kitchen in this suite to make tea and eat something kept in the fridge. Dinner had never come from his hands in there. Ever.
Sebastian stuck his phone in his jeans pocket just as Jim opened the door. He smiled thinly and nodded, taking the few steps across the foyer and into the main hallway. Nodding, he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up. What was that smell?
“It’s a decent night. I didn’t bring my computer, so you’ll have to give me some of the more detailed information.” He turned and frowned as he saw Jim slip into what he assumed was the kitchen area of the hotel room. That was odd; he had never seen Jim make a grilled cheese. Sebastian assumed there was a hotel bar — but that didn’t make sense either.
“Are you cooking?”
It wasn’t unexpected that his voice was incredulous. He could clearly smell the sauce, the garlic and tomatoes, the slightly tangly odor hung in the air. He wondered absently if Jim had lost his mind, but when he entered the the kitchen he was faced with a scene so domestic he could hardly believe it. He blinked a few times and watched Jim move through the kitchen.
“What brought this on?”
Sanaa walked into WHSmith and reached for one of the baskets available near the front door. Soft classical music greeted her as she breached the doors of the bookshop and walked towards the magazine’s arts and culture section. It was a busy day at the shop and customers were standing around reading their prospective magazines as she was trying to make her way through.
A tall blond man with a dark wool coat had his back to her and stood between her and the particular section she was trying to consult. Every time she tried to bypass him, more customers would block her way. She witnessed him searched through his pockets, pull out his phone, checking the screen then walk away. She then noticed that he had dropped something in his haste to leave and picked it up. It was a money clip with quite the amount of change. She looked around and just saw him disappear around the corner so she sped up to reach him. She posed a hand on his shoulder and he turned swiftly, frowning down at her.
“Sorry sir, I think you dropped this.”
Walking back to the woman, Sebastian frowned slightly. He took the money clip from the woman and nodded.
“Thank you miss.”
He pulled out a bill - a twenty - and handed it to her.
“For your time.”
M-My apologies, sir; someone from this address had a delivery placed. I believe I spoke to a Mr. Haury?
give it here. i’ll sign for it.
jiminwestwood replied to your post: tiger.
On special occasions, anyway.give us an example.
That night in Naples. The belt and the big window?
italy never really disappoints
