lights out (open)

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Russia, it was cold. The biting wind drove through him and all of the layers that he was dressed up in so warmly. Snow floated down gently, as opposed to the driving gale that had greeted him upon his arrival. He had been here for a few days, but still, the cold air was enough to make him cringe. He took a sip of vodka as he was sitting at a bar in a local resturant. He wasn't old enough by American standards, but his Russian ID stated he was over age. The contacts that he had inherited from his parents were well connected. Money still spoke volumes to the people that Gunnar occasionally had to rub elbows with. This particular man, was a high ranking general. He had been surveying the target for a few days now. The man frequented this particular bar with his comrades before heading home. Tonight was different. His employer wanted to make a statement and an example of this man. Gunnar could understand why. He was a dispicable man, sick and twisted. He lived off of prostitution rings and whoring out women under age. Gunnar was just the right man for the job. The target would be at a large promotional party which Gunnar had found himself mysteriously invited to as the son of a retired officer in his father's stead. His Russian was a tiny bit rusty, no doubt about it, but most people would chalk it up to the fact that he had spent many a year abroad, studying in the best schools as the children of officers tended to do.

Gunnar stood up and paid his tab. He draped a scarf around his neck. A hat, he thought as he stepped out into the snow. He should have brought a hat. But at least the snow was falling gently and not driving like a lashed team of horses. His eyes darted back and forth as he watched the cars gather at the hotel where his target was to be. Gunnar stepped out into the street, his hands in his pockets as he walked quickly, leaving foot prints in the snow as he ducked into the lit door way that was the hotel. As per usaul, inside was much warmer than outside. This place wasn't like the wilds of his homeland in Finland. He flashed his passport to a man who was checking a list, he was allowed to enter the dining hall and take his place at the back of the room. There was laughing as courses of dinner were served, there was the clinking sound of forks and spoons scraping against the nice china plates. It really seemed that the restaurant had gone all out to accommodate this swanky party. Communists, Gunnar though as he gave a small shake of his head. After the soup came the main course. It was a chicken dinner with portions small enough to barely feed a child. There were starving and freezing children in the streets while these idiots sat on top of their high horses and looked down upon people with disdain. Now was the correct time. Gunnar took in a silent and deep breath as he excused himself from the table. His pupils contracted as he melded into the shadows. He listened to the shadows. There, there it was. That was the heart beat he was looking for. Gunnar slowed his breathing, time around him seemed to stand still as he clenched his hand, reaching out through the void to the shadows that whispered his name. He knew the sound of gasping meant only one thing. Slowly the heartbeat ebbed away, finally vanishing from his hearing. There were screams as Gunnar melded through the shadows, seemingly appearing to never have left his place at the table. Craning his neck as others were trying to get a good look at the general.

There was much extensive questioning done by the police. But after the medical examiner ruled out anything that someone could have done, the people were let go. Gunnar strode down the street, purchasing two loaves of hard and dark bread. He felt a pair of eyes on him and sighed with a small trace of a smile on his face. He purchased another large bag of baked goods before turning on his heel and walking out of the store. Gunnar walked down a side street before turning and facing an alley way. There stood two children who looked as if they had gotten their hands caught in the cookie jar. They were starving by the looks at it. Gunnar gently put the sack of food down and motioned to them. They looked scared, he crouched down and watched them before speaking “Это хорошо, не бойтесь.” (do not be scared) His voice was halting, but it seemed that he would get the point across. He handed over the bag and was tugged by the hands of the little boy that squealed in delight. He was brought to a small hovel where a woman tried to nurse a crying new born. The children spoke to the woman in rapid Russian, too fast for Gunnar to keep up. The woman looked at him with a steeled expression before offering him some money. He raised a hand and shook his head. Again speaking in halting Russian that he wanted no compensation. There was a tense silence where the woman spoke only a simple sentence that she would pray for his soul. Gunnar offered up a rare smile that warmed the seemingly cold woman’s eyes. Not another word was spoken as he turned and left the small shack.

Gunnar was alone as he walked down the snow filled streets. His mind drifted to Tessa. He wanted her to be there with him right now so that she could just experience the wonder of seeing the lit up tops of St. Petersburg square. He wanted to show her the world he knew. Not the dark and decrepit world that he knew, but all of the wonder and glory that it could hold. There were many small things that held wonderment, he wanted to show her everything. Gunnar wasn't stupid enough to take her on one of the runs that he would go on. These things were much too dangerous for her to know about let alone tag along on. He would bring her back a trinket of some sort. He didn't know what, nothing in particular had caught his eye for her. Souviner shopping was always the most fun part of his little trips.

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The covert death was clever. Prometheus had seen it coming, since he had been keeping an eye on the assassin from Camp Jupiter, but that did not mean that he understood how it worked. So he played his part at the party, just another guest. It was dull really. Until he noticed the boy, Gunnar’s, seat was empty. Something that likely wouldn’t be noticed if not looked for. Gunnar really was good at his art. And down went the general. Right on schedule. So he waited until he too was allowed to leave the banquet before going out into the chill air. The questioning had been a bit tedious, but all the same. He pulled his knee-length formal coat a little tighter around himself, coving his tuxedo completely except for the very bottom of his pants. All that could be seen underneath was the white shirt and the tie in the V-neck of the coat. His hands were lost in thick brown gloves. The outfit had a nice way of burying most of his nasty scars, which was one of the deciding factors behind all his wardrobe picks. Not that weather didn’t play a hand. Just not as big of one. Seeing as he didn’t feel the cold or the heat as acutely as did mortals.

He kept as close an eye on Gunnar as was prudent. It was, of course, true that the boy could leave him with a few more scars if given the reason too. And with this particular young man, reasons were easy to come by, he gathered. The boy was dangerous, that was for certain. And hiding in the shadows lurking after him was not the best idea. So Prometheus did what he did best: wait. He tapped into his foresight and had a feeling he knew where Gunnar was headed, a handy trick that. So he positioned himself nearby. What he didn’t expect was to see Gunnar turn into an alley where there appeared to be several starving children. Curious. He did not strike him as the most generous type the first time they’d met back at Camp Jupiter. But perhaps he was wrong. Hadn’t he himself said that he preferred to live a life without emotions or other such complications? Curious indeed that he should be the charitable type then. Not that it was a bad thing of course.

As Gunnar left, Prometheus fell into step just beyond him behind him a ways, so he was hopefully out of range of most weapons. Not that he doubted Gunnar would have something else that would reach the required length. This was one of those times he was lucky he couldn’t exactly die. It would be painful, yes, but he would heal. It just wasn’t pleasant, and he preferred to avoid it to start with. So as hopefully not to seem the stalker, he spoke up. “So we meet again. Though I am curious, how did you manage it? Don’t pretend not to know what I speak of.”

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Gunnar was ready to get out of the cold, to go back home to camp or one of his places that he called home. While he always favored the colder weather as opposed to the humid and heat that plagued most of America like a hot and sweltering blanket. He reveled in the feeling of the snow falling on his face, settling in his hair and on his shoulders. The jacket was warm wool, keeping most of the cold at bay. Only the exposed parts of his face were frigid. There was a gust of wind and as it blew past his ears and nose, his eyes watered up. But he was quick to blink away the water. He took in a deep breath as he felt someone's eyes upon him. As was usual, he kept his knives and daggers close at hand, there was a number of things that could potentially end his life. Gods, monsters, well, there were other demi-gods and legacies too. Everyone could end his life, but the trick was to know who was the biggest threat at the present time. With a good bit of the problems going on, he really had to keep his wits about him. Even mortals could end his life and be a huge threat. But while he didn't feel threatened, he still felt as if he was being stalked like prey. It was a feeling that Gunnar had become accustomed to when he was younger. It was a feeling of fear and terror that rivaled very little. But as he took a deep breath, the frigid air stinking the inside of his nose, he continued to walk. He put on a mask of cold indifference, quelling the emotions that threatened to over ride his brain. His pupils narrowed and his ears gave a slight and almost nearly unnoticeable twitch. Now would be a moment on whether or not to decide to become the prey or the predator.

As he stepped out into the street, he heard the faint crunching of snow behind him. Gunnar tightened his scarf and drew the collar of his jacket upwards, moving his hands down. He shoved them in his pockets as he gripped tightly on one of his knives with a rather particularly potent vial of Arrizona Bark Scorpion Venom. While the venom itself wasn't fatal, it was enough to make the target foam at the mouth and convulse so bad they would wish they were dead. All he had to do was grip the handle tightly enough to shatter the vial inside the handle and stab whomever was tailing him. But as he walked, once again he turned into a dark and shadowy alley way, stepping in to the shadows, allowing them to envelop him like a blanket. But he moved through the shadows as easily as a child of Neptune moved through water. At the exhaling of the breath, he was behind the man who had been tailing him. Not close enough to be in arms reach, but after all, he had a weapon that would close the distance in less than a few seconds. He was armed to the teeth in a way that most others would find to be excessive. Thank the gods for the jacket that his Ukki had given him.

When the man spoke, Gunnar tightened his hand around the hilt of the dagger. Not enough to envenom it, but it was more of a confidence and pride thing. His mask of indifference was firmly in place, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the Titan with no hint or trace of emotion. “One in my place and position would do well to know how to separate emotions from themselves. Becoming emotionally involved would not be wise.” He stated, his breath coming out in poofs of white stream. Gunnar tilted his head to the side as he looked at the scarred man in front of him. Most of the Titan's scars were covered, but the voice and the stature, it couldn't be anyone else. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of the visit, Lord Prometheus?” Gunnar gave a bow. He still didn't take his hand out of his pockets. For starters it was cold and while the stories of the titan facinated him as a young child, he could easily kill the legacy of Death. This was an ancient and powerful being, Gunnar knew how fragile his mortal life was, nearly coming close to dying at the hands of his ridiculous waste of space cousin.

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No emotion at all. Not that Prometheus was surprised. Gunnar was a man of mystery, dedicated to his work. And in his particular line of work, that meant the difference between life and death. There were reasons that Prometheus left such work up to others. That was not his game. While Gunnar took a great deal of cunning, but Prometheus liked to think his job took a smidge more. Perhaps that was his pride talking though. Some would argue he had no pride, the way he switched sides so easily. Picked the winning side instead of standing on a sinking ship. That was his style though. He considered it wisdom, not cowardice. His help was valuable, and he did not give it away lightly. He regarded the young man coolly. “Of course. Emotions easily get in the way. Smart policy.”

The wind bit at him, even though it was hardly a chill for the Titan. It was whipping his suit jacket about though, which was moderately annoying. He calmly fastened the buttons to keep the wind from its little game and slid his hands into the pockets of his pants. He wasn’t as intimidating as some of the other Titans, no, but that didn’t make him powerless. And he did rather like people knowing that he was not powerless. So keeping a strong stature made his relatively smaller frame of just 5 feet 10 inches a little more impressive. Or at least as impressive as simply standing there could make him.

Bowing. Well, that was a pleasant little addition to Gunnar’s improving reputation in Prometheus’ own mind. It wasn’t often that people paid him much of any respect like this. He was a lesser Titan to most. Wasn’t even worthy of his own cult back in the day. He wasn’t bitter about it though, it just made him all the more grateful when true respect did crop up as it did here. It was refreshing. Boosted his ego, even if he didn’t like to admit to that part. He smiled slightly in response to the gesture. “I knew you would be here, and one couldn’t help but wonder why. Such an unusual place to end up. But it seems a little simple observation answered my question. So now that just leaves one last question. What you plan to do next. Go home? Go on to your next task? Forget this ever happened? Perhaps you are working on orders, or on your own. You know, curiosity is not limited to mankind. Of course, you need not answer my questions if you don’t feel the desire to, I merely thought I’d ask them anyway. You fascinate me, Gunnar.”

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This Titan was quite an enigma. There was a great deal that Gunnar wished to ask the immortal. Questions would be a bit rude. After all, this was Lord Prometheus, not his grandfather. He felt more at ease around death. Forethought was different. He knew how this particular titan worked. The stories told of him switching sides. Gunnar didn't feel as if this was a bad idea, it was merely self preservation. The amount of knowledge that this titan had was invaluable. What Gunnar wouldn't give to know what he knew. But standing here in the Russian winter, in the howling wind and driving snow, anyone would ready to get out of the streets. "To rely too heavily on emotion in this line of work can get troublesome, though one might argue that emotion drives people to rather extraordinary things. Dealing in death is no easy task and not many are suited for such that are in the business." His voice was neutral, no emotion. There was only one or two people that knew of any emotion he had, neither of them were present. Though in this particular country, one of those who knew him well was often present in such a state. Starving children, people struggeling, a constant state of terror whether it was from the harsh winter or the threat of people in power, Death was always present.

Gunnar was fearless. When a person could embrace death like an old friend, what had you to be afraid of? He was not afraid of the immortal that stood before him, though if Gunnar had to pick someone to be afraid of, it would be him. While Mars and jupiter were great in their own rights, the knowledge that Prometheus had was enough to startle any sane and competent man. Or it should have. Knowledge was more of a weapon than a blade, if not more deadly. It was one of the reason that if he was able to fear, he would fear Charlie over Remus. Venus over Mars. the calculating and surprising ways of those who thought things through and planned out their moves, it made it all the more threatening.

"My next move?" Gunnar raised an eyebrow. "I simply return home, to one of my many apartments. Return to camp and continue to prepare for war." His job was delicate when it came to camp. There were little few people there that knew of his existence. Those that did that weren't in power, they would have preferred to forget his existence, to forget the experiences that led them to becoming one of his 'friends'. He was good at extracting information, good at dealing with the rather seedy part of camp. "And you, Lord Prometheus, would you care for a drink?" If he could have rolled his eyes at himself, he would have. Asking a Titan out for a drink? Not quite what he would have done in hindsight. "I am glad, however, that I could provide some sense of fascination and amusement for you." His words may have been harsh sounding, but they were filled with sincerity.

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Prometheus nodded at the young man’s response. Nothing short of what he had expected. “Of course. Emotion is very dangerous. Just ask my brother, Epimetheus. As I’m sure I need not say, he got in a spot of trouble for it. I believe it’s safe to say we all have at some point. Even myself. Even you, I imagine. Something had to teach you not to rely on them. However, I do not pretend to know, nor do I intend to pry.” Yes, he knew better than to pry. Especially when the subject was someone like Gunnar. The young man was a puzzle, certainly, one that Prometheus would love to know more about, but he also knew the dangers of getting on his bad side. He’d seen him work plenty enough to know that. He may be immortal, but that did not mean that his ichor would not flow as easily as mortal blood. He may not die, but he of all people knew physical pain possibly better than anyone.

He nodded slightly at Gunnar’s answer. Simple enough. Kill someone, go home and relax. Not really his cup of tea, maybe, but he knew of people that it would be. Gunnar possibly being one of them. That wasn’t to say that Gunnar was a cold-blooded murderer. Far from it. He did nothing in cold blood that Prometheus knew of. No, he was the calculating type, which Prometheus could certainly respect. “Ah yes, and the war rears its ugly head once more. I suppose there’s no real avoiding it is there? Will you fight alongside camp then?” There was something he was intensely interested in. Whichever side Gunnar Erikson fought for had a significant advantage. It was one of those instances he wished his foresight abilities were a little more tightly controlled, but alas, he could not see the answer himself, so why not just ask?

Prometheus looked over at the young man at his unexpected question (yes, it was possible to catch the Titan of Forethought unawares; not something he flaunted). “A drink? Well, why not? It’s on me.” He chuckled when Gunnar continued. “It’s a compliment, Mr. Erikson. Some people are terribly boring, not innovative at all. Just go along with whatever life hands them. But you. You are quite unusual. You have a knack for coming up with creative new ways to go about your…erm… line of work. And I mean that in the most positive of ways. I appreciate people who dare to take on what others would deem impossible, much as you do.”