[center][h1][color=f5fffa]Abel Koeman[/color][/h1]
[img]http://38.media.tumblr.com/e157b0cb136f0170403dad91604089fb/tumblr_inline_n64pm2uEFf1r0ly11.gif[/img]

[b][color=f5fffa]Location:[/color][/b] Barracks Lounge, Argus HQ, Athens
[b][color=f5fffa]Interacting With:[/color][/b] Hephaestus, Romulus, Everyone[/center]
[hr][hr]
[color=A4DD59]"Aeneas, Romulus."[/color] Hephaestus turned toward the two, setting a tablet in front of the two, displaying an [url=http://i.imgur.com/dnmR7NA.png]image[/url], and a map specifically pointing to Paris, France. [color=A4DD59]"The individual in that photo is the supposed leader of an organized crime syndicate in France known as 'The Normans'. He's recently received a package we were tracking, which we believe may have information which actually implicates him as the groups leader. Your objective will be to find this man, tail him to his hideout somewhere in Paris, and secure the package."[/color] 

Impassively, Abel skimmed through the file. The mission sounded like something right out of a spy movie, and he had to suppress a grimace at the thought of gallivanting amongst the [i]bourgeoisie[/i]. Paris wasn’t at all what he was used to - he’d always felt more comfortable in the trenches of war - but then again, what was life without a little adventure? In any case, he was certain that if they were to encounter any pesky locals, his grasp of French would help speed the mission along.

...But that didn’t mean he had to [i]like it[/i]; this was his job, and Rucks’ unfailing enthusiasm only served to frustrate Abel further. Eyes narrowing, he set the tablet back down on the table, taking a brief moment to formulate his thoughts. As clichéd as the dynamic seemed, Rucks was very much the brains of the pair, and Abel the brawn. It was why they worked so well together, he supposed. When diplomacy didn’t work, there needed to be someone who could punch their way out, and Abel was more than happy to oblige.

[color=f5fffa]“The City of Love?”[/color] Abel scoffed, eyeing Rucks with a measure of incredulity. There was a strange lilt to his voice, a mishmash of accents that’d accumulated over the years. The most obvious was, of course, Russian - as evident by the way he rolled his R’s. But there were noticeable undertones of South African and Guatemalan, as well, bleeding together into something a little more monotonous and bland. It used to be worse, sharp stabs of the frigid Russian winter flavouring his speech at every turn, though he’s been working on smoothing things out a bit.

[color=f5fffa]“Like you said, it’s a simple tailing mission.”[/color] Leaning back, Abel’s gaze flickered momentarily to the others in the room. A number of them were already off, now that the mission briefing was complete, and he felt a quiet sense of relief that they hadn’t gotten Lucas and Risa’s jobs. Dorian and Elijah’s, on the other hand, now [i]that[/i] was something he was interested in. It was such a pity, really, that all they had to do was retrieve a package, and a part of him secretly hoped that the mark would put up a fight - it’d spice things up, for sure.

[color=f5fffa]“He’s unlikely to be alone, but I’d wager standard procedure still applies - keep a safe distance, etcetera, etcetera. Once he gets inside, all we have to do is grab the package and run.”[/color] At this, Abel cracked a smile, eyes darkening with ferity. [color=f5fffa]“Provided he knows what’s good for him, anyway.”[/color]