FourtyTwo

State of Siege

First Sergeant Lewis Bastion

Taken in Kabul, Afghanistan, 2013

Lewis is roughly 6"2 tall, and has a fairly athletic build, able to still keep up with the requirements that any US Marine would need to go through despite being over thirty. He has brown shaven hair, and brown eyes, also being clean shaven with minimal stubble, as would be expected of any Marine, even in Embassy duties. A tattoo sits on his shoulder, of 1/1's symbol, "First of the First" which has not ruled him out from Embassy work. He has a light scar running down the right side of his chest, coming from a relatively minor wound sustained in a training exercise four years ago.

In Valverde, he can be seen wearing a standard Marine woodland green MARPAT uniform and BDU (Battle Dress Uniform), with a Marine-standard Lightweight Helmet in the matching camouflage- with other elements of the BDU, such as the IMTV plate carrier and vest, as well as attached load-bearing pouches for magazines, tools and other equipment. Due to the sound of shit going boom outside, the Marines have appropriately scaled up their specialized armory in Valverde, and Lewis is armed with a MARSOC-issued Mk18 MOD 0 rifle, with an attached CompM4 optic and Magpul VFG foregrip, this being a specialized protection rifle suitable for close-quarters battle. The shortened M4A1 is useful in closer-range encounters, but Lewis will still be reliant on his team's marksmen and automatic riflemen if any longer-range fire is required outside. An M45 MEU (M1911) has been also issued to Lewis.

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Age: 31

Gender: Male

Nationality: United States

Occupation: Commander of Marine Security Guard at the US Embassy in Esmarcion, Valverde

Psyche:

Lewis is a battle-hardened veteran, being a Marine since the age of 19- and as such, his mentality has been forged by that. He's seen multiple deployments for the last decade, but adopting MSG work is different, being something that requires a different change in attitudes. He seems to have a calming presence, even in the worst of situations, somewhat able to not panic and make the wrong decisions. He has served for more than long enough, however, to see that the only thing that matters is the brotherhood between the men, and while his job is to protect and serve the US Ambassador to Valverde, the arrival of the Presidente is something that is going to sit as a deep conflict for him. He views the Presidente as the better of two evils, though Lewis still personally questions the decisions the Presidente and Ambassador made, even though on the outside, he appears to be amongst the most loyal of the men in the Embassy to it's defensive. He is deeply suspicious of the foreign mercenaries and even the Presidente's own security detail, sensing their loyalty to Ochoa is temperamental, and that at any time, they could switch sides if they realize Cortes' forces will kill them as well. In that sense, he wants to keep the Ambassador and any civilians alive, but he can't take sympathy with anyone outside of that circle, as they seem similar to the insurgents that they are fighting.

Lewis seems to have a precarious balance between his patience and his wroth, sometimes demanding the crap be cut from others when he is fully aware of the situation. His experience has given him a breadth and wealth of knowledge, but this is the first time that he is in the comparatively smaller force, and he has to adapt to this- with the additional pressure from his men, and the Ambassador making him run double to make sure that no harm comes to those inside. Despite his quick nature under pressure, he knows it will only be a matter of time before he folds and says precisely what he thinks inside to one of Ochoa's men in regards to the whole situation they threw the US Embassy into.

History:

Lewis was born in 1985 in Bangor, Maine, to a schoolteacher for a mother (with roots from Puerto Rico) and a truck mechanic for a father (a Maine local) who had served in the US Navy as a weapons engineer, born into a upper working class background. He had a good upbringing, one that was fairly stable, his parents bringing him and his older sister, Alison, up in a place to do well in life. In this regard, Lewis was lucky, as he did well in school, getting grades that would have usually merited him a place at University. He was even fluent in spoken Spanish, though But this was not for him- he was far more of a sportsman, and his father's tales heeded well with him, as he looked to do something better than simply studying all day, to serve his country instead. He wanted to become a Marine, and was physically and mentally fit enough to undergo their tough training. It was in this way that he left home, with limited support from his parents, and headed to Camp Pendelton.

He joined the United States Marine Corps aged 19 as a bog-standard Infantryman, joining A Company, 1st Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment (1/1) in California- a big shift from rainy and snowy Maine, on the opposite side of the country. This being around the period of the Invasion of Iraq, this was something that Lewis participated in, with three tours in the country, following a redeployment to Afghanistan a few years later around Kabul. He rose through the ranks, and by 28, was promoted to First Sergeant, with the photo being taken on one of his last patrols through a suburb of the city, leading a platoon-sized element of Marines on patrols. He saw several occasions where squadmates were killed, twice to IEDs; yet this doesn't haunt him, as he has always vented the horror to such a situation in a different manner, becoming a little desensitized to it all. He didn't suffer from any PTSD, so to speak, but death was not something that made him feel ill any longer, such was his mind's way of dealing with it all.

He asked his CO to transfer into the Marine Security Guards following the Battalion's withdrawal from Afghanistan in late 2013, leaving for training and qualification back in the States. He felt like it was the best option for him, a quieter one that would put his language skills to use, and one that would allow him to continue to serve the Marines and see the world, albeit in a different fashion. Due to the length of many of his tours, any relationships that he had quickly melted away when he left for Afghanistan, and he saw the same happen with his family when he left for his duties as a Marine Security Guard, his sister Alison almost pleading with him to give it up and settle down into something more comfortable closer to home. It was perhaps Lewis's knowledge that it would leave him bored and lackluster that made him defy that request, and continue on regardless.

Initially, Lewis was posted as a second-in-command to the Commander of the MSG in Panama, working as an ad-hoc interpreter at the Embassy due to his knowledge of Spanish, and following 18 months of service in Panama City, he was given the offer to work in Valverde, a South American "Democracy" of sorts, as the Commander of the US Marine detail there. Willingly accepting this, Lewis found himself working with the Ambassador on many an occasion, and prior to the civil war, saw the intensifying disdain for Ochoa fill up in the air, thick like soup.

Halfway through his deployment 18 month deployment, the civil war arose, and six months after that, the forces of Cortes were at the gates of Esmarcion, and shells were going off outside. Lewis gathered quickly from the Ambassador that an evacuation would be difficult for their own embassy staff, let alone Ochoa at this point- the full evacuation of the embassy was not complete, and the Marines would be the last men out, with the Embassy running throughout the facilitate the evacuation of foreign nationals in Valverde. With Ochoa arriving at the Embassy, tensions are running high- Lewis sees it as a needless risk to the Ambassador's safety, that of which his personal and his men are there to personally provide. First Sergeant Lewis Bastion is aware that there is no way out for anyone, but the way he sees it, Ochoa is not helping that situation one bit.

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Elizabeth Emily MacAlpin

Elizabeth is roughly 5"7, and despite pushing almost forty years of age, still looks remarkably young on the whole, though the aging process has clearly begun with parts of her. Her blonde hair and white smile go perfectly well with her role, representing the highest level of diplomatic authority in Valverde that the United States has, her gravitas matching her appearance.

Due to the conflict, Elizabeth has been issued a Dragonskin vest and been told to stay away from windows and entry points in the embassy, her usual dress exchanged for something a little more practical; that of a woolen black jumper and a skirt, as well as having her handbag with US diplomatic chits and authority. She has been issued a concealed-carry Glock 17, to be used as an absolute last resort, though she has very little intention of putting her life on the line and using it if the embassy becomes breached.

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(To be referred to as Ambassador MacAlpin/Madam Ambassador or simply Ambassador by all those who DO NOT know her personally/closely within the Embassy. Diplomatic protocol and shit, apparently.)

Age: 37

Gender: Female

Nationality: United States

Occupation: US Ambassador to Valverde

Psyche:

Elizabeth is a tough woman for an ambassador, this young in the diplomatic trade to be an ambassador is a remarkable feat, considering some of her peers are a whole decade older when posted to countries as turbulent as this. She seems to have a strong resolve, one that has clearly shaped her thinking in regards to the situation in Valverde, and she is a strong supporter of Ochoa, perhaps slanted in her view of his efforts in the country. Though she takes problem that he has put more of the Embassy at risk, she understands that him and his men must seek refuge in the US Embassy building, and that it will be defended, so to keep the status quo of Ochoa's government alive. She seems kind and exceptionally gregarious on the outside, putting others first before her own evacuation in order to serve the American expat community in Valverde, from geologists working for oil firms to ecotourists, yet still seems steely and cold about the reality of Ochoa's regime, supporting him in his actions and seeing no wrong with such a great Presidente- with the rebels clearly narco-terrorists seeking to cause anarchy in the country, from her view. She is worried for her own safety, but understands she is in safe hands, and that at the end of the day, she is an American diplomat- and that her status will keep her safe even if the night ends with Ochoa dead, one way or another. Hopeful thinking, but to Elizabeth, it is a probable reality from her point of view.

History:

Elizabeth Emily MacAlpin was born to a diplomatic family, and perhaps, that was precisely where she took her roots from. Her father Roy worked in the US Embassy in Mexico as the US's Ambassador, while her mother was an ex-divorcee from a CEO of a steel manufacturing company, both being very rich indeed and giving Elizabeth a comfortable upbringing indeed, to go ahead and achieve whatever she wanted in life. And Elizabeth did precisely that, when she went abroad to the United Kingdom, studying Political Sciences at Cambridge University.

She was set for a career in politics, and her multi-lingual nature, being able to speak French, Spanish and Portuguese due to her father's personal tutors also teaching Elizabeth, meant that she was to follow in her father's footsteps. Despite having broadly Democrat views, she didn't see herself as a Representive or a Senator of sorts, not wanting to go through the chase of politics in the US, but rather, to serve the United States abroad, and do what he father had done.

Graduating from Cambridge, she worked in a Consulate in Rio de Janiero, before being made the Head of Consular Services at the age of 30 for Chile, working out of Valparaiso and Santiago for four years. Diplomacy came naturally to her- she found herself able to adapt to the cultures of the different countries she worked as a Consular Representative in, being able to help expats and those in trouble from the United States to the best of her ability, as well as being able to represent the USA and it's mutual interests with other nations' leaders. In this period, she was entrusted to work with several NGOs in the broader South American region, from US-backed think-tanks to Poverty-Reduction schemes, one such scheme being FutbolAid- a scheme helping to kickstart grass-roots football leagues for teens in Spanish-speaking South American countries, in order to reduce pressure on drug users. It was a moderate success, and Elizabeth's talent for things such as this would only be picked up by someone higher than herself.

She was promoted once more, selected by Obama himself, to be the American Ambassador to Valverde, and this is a role she accepted gleefully, working alongside Presidente Ochoa, a man that she met on several occasions. The two made a strong friendship, and despite some disagreements, she gave the US a line on which to occasionally peer in on Ochoa, and that his fight against the rich Cartels was actually working. On the surface, Elizabeth believed it, and still does; with the Valdeveran Civil War being an event that she sees as being triggered by Cartel leaders wanting to depose Ochoa with a moderate, Anti-US figurehead.

This could not happen, and while the Embassy became higher and higher guarded, with the number of guards doubling from 10 to 20 and having various protection elements installed, it proved to be that Ochoa would rather hold his last stand inside her embassy. Following a limited evacuation of staff throughout the last three months, airspace and other issues, relating to the fact that Cortes' forces are believed to be threatening and even killing US expats, Elizabeth has given the order for the Embassy to be locked down, and held against any further attacks from Cortes's forces. Only problem is, Ochoa is making the Embassy look like a bigger target, and she has little idea of the reality of the systematic high-level corruption in the country (knowing only of low-level events), despite her diplomatic nouse. Putting faith into her Marine Security Guard and the UN's peacekeepers, she wants to keep the peace and hold the line, until there can be a wider American support to quell the situation before Ochoa is finally deposed.

Backdrifts (Space Survival RP)

You go ahead. I'll be ready when you are.

State of Siege

This is interesting as fuck, actually. I will keep my eye on this. I would love to play a US Marine of sorts, in charge of a squad-sized element, someone who has weathered conflict before. A badass, but I always do like to see that idea of cracks in characters which can shake things up. I've done plenty of military-themed RPs, but this seems to take a fresh new take on the genre, and if I must say, the political slant of it too of questionable morality makes it ever more exiting.

Any UK RPers here?

Living in Swindon, ye old Wiltshire. Swindon is pretty soulless to be fair, our only history is a big fucking railway and a roundabout that I use everyday that seems to mindfuck the planet. Seriously, five mini roundabouts around a contra-rotating central roundabout is not that hard to navigate- it's not enough to be Magical....we haven't got a lot else in regards to culture I suppose. :D

I'm a 3rd Generation Pole, so I've lived here all my life, no blood from these Isles (grandparents/great grandparents on my father's side came over following the Second World War). I'm bilingual, and I have no Polish accent when I'm speaking English (virtually none at all), yet when I speak Polish, I am told I have no particular accent either in my second tongue. Strange. So I'm sort of between cultures, I can consider myself both English and Polish, though I speak the former language far easier.

EDIT: Oh, and tuition fees, they are not bad compared to 'Merica. We have £9,000 a year to pay for university, in my case, including ones for accommodation, it will come to about £50,000 for four years. This is owed to the government, but you only pay it back if you earn over 21K a year, and it's such a slow rate of payback, you'll probably die before you do. Doesn't affect your credit score, or anything- I see it as a graduate tax (which is less depressing than saying I'm 50K in debt to the government). Moving abroad or going over 60 writes it off, by the way (in the former case, you best be ready to stay the fuck away from the UK so long as to not get hounded), and if I'm honest, gets you a pretty good deal. You get more cash if you're disadvantaged, more owed money yes but this money is basically never going to get paid back (it is dodgy as fuck, but you have to live with that fact as this is now stupid levels of money), and it means that almost anyone can go to university if they want. The key word there is almost- and while I'm off to Bristol, I know that some people aren't too fond of it.

Vigil!

I'm not really down for it- it was a good RP, but too long ago. Sent you a PM by the way :)

Backdrifts (Space Survival RP)

Nice- I know that Makoto didn't have a lot on his end, but I do soon hope to remedy that.

Juggernauts (BigPapaBelial and kingkonrad) IC

Ross nodded, looking over at Felix, simply saluting to respect his senior officer. This was a man that was particularly famous around these parts, and his role in all of this was no doubt, an instrumental one. He was a stern man, even on the other end of the projector. He seemed to know what he was doing, and explained it in enough detail for Ross to understand, fully aware of what they were going in on. After the end of the General's brief, the reality of this was falling onto Ross. It was a big job- this was a holdout that had to go, and 500 men against 50,000 sounded fairly unbalanced. The Captain knew, however, this was an enemy that was exceptionally well-equipped, and would give no quarter on the route up. You couldn't fit 50,000 men on a handful of routes up the mountain either, no matter how elite they were. No, it would be a task down to a few hundred, and it would be one that would force them to at the very least, put the key in the lock to get the rest of the task force in.

"Understood, General." Ross simply replied, as they were dismissed, Ross's Devonshire accent sticking out as he looked out to the other two Juggernauts, Carl and Jennifer. He knew that Carl should be combat ready sooner or later, but it did linger in his head that the ankle was going to still be weak, with all that weight thrown in. Ross just didn't want anything to happen to him, because he was sure as hell not carrying him out of this again.
"So, a head on assault then. It's going to be interesting, that is for certain. We'll need a punch to take them on and win, so at least we'll have backup in the form of those fucking monsters." He added, Jenny nodding in response.
"No doubt. 500 men is a bit too much for us, but if we hit them fast, they won't be able to get their explosives on us. I will need to do some EOD work on that road, but if they have the height advantage, they'll rain down shit on us. I suppose that is where Natalie and Victor come in. Crazy motherfuckers. I still can't believe how much firepower they have." She added, as she looked over at the topagraphical map, taking in the details, as well as the LZ that had been marked out.

"It's why they're coming. We need firepower and armor on two feet, and they are practically invincible so long as they don't get shredded. If they're paradropping a platoon to a company of men in, to reinforce how badass those two are, then we're going to have some serious fighting along that whole trail. That mountain road is going to be sugar coated in snipers and TOWs. Both could stop us in our tracks, and I suppose we offer the best protection from them. Those giants will be a big target for any of their AT capabilities, and their men would be susceptible to even light fire. We're an in-between, if you could call it that." Ross looked over at the same map, seeing the winding route head up to the fort, occasionally doubling back and occasionally going a little gentler along a lesser gradient of the mountain, checkpoints dotted along with potential IED fields. It was going to be hell, but no doubt, once it was cleaned out there would be a chance to actually get inside the fort and wipe it clean, and Ross could understand that element to all of this.

"There's going to be traps all along, I can tell. It's perfect ambush territory. We've got advanced bomb detection kit that we can grab, with a pair of sweepers and my ATO stuff, I can pick most things apart. That said, if they put a large enough charge, that road is going to collapse, let alone the whole fucking mountainside, and with it any chance of us getting in there at all. Command probably doesn't want to bomb it due to the high value intel inside." Jenny commented, looking through the maps once more, the Scottish Royal Marine just contemplating this all over.
"Most likely. Here's to hoping we don't have to pick up pieces of people once we're in position." Ross said, as he looked at the LZ once more.
"We're dropping into hell, from the looks of it. Small area, it's on a flatter gradient. But it leaves no room for error. Fuck it up, you'll get seriously injured. So we'll have to regroup and set up a movement along that road as fast as possible, snipers covering throughout. They'll be our eyes and ears on what will be above us. A couple of MAV drones wouldn't go amiss, to give us a view of what we're going to run into before we even hit it." Ross added, as he looked to Carl.
"This might be the craziest thing we've done yet."

Task Force Lima (COMPLETED)

Gonna edit it one last time- I looked over it one more time and wasn't happy with it. Feel free to post in any order, by the way.

Burning Rubber (Bee and kingkonrad)

Ross followed suit, throwing himself into his Black Horse, and seeing Kimberly pull out, followed her lead. Dust sprayed up, as Ross shifted from first into second, the sound of Ross's brakes allowing the turbo to spool a little, with a distinctive whine that followed almost immediately after. Pulling a left, Ross saw the other cars take flight, alongside Kimberly's R34 and Joanne's 911, with half a dozen hypercars and insanely hotly tuned cars now putting foot to floor. The Garmin on Ross's dash lit up, as the GPS recieved instruction, and the route came up. This was an interesting route, to say the least. It was around London Docklands, a real mixture it seemed. Someone had done their research. A close call with London City Airport, through the old Docklands, and through Canary Wharf and the Isle of Dogs, a route that was pretty much a sprint race from the site to a location on a suburban fringe, perhaps in Dagenham somewhere. The old Ford factory, to be specific. Classic, at least someone was thinking this through.
"Let's dance, then." Ross said to himself, as he threw the car into third, the car hurtling forward as the sound of the turbo and anti-lag was almost overbearing, very little sound protection inside. The short shift was wonderful, and throwing gears was great, as Ross saw he was towards the rear of the party. A P1, and an Aventador held up the area in front of Ross, as he took a left onto the dual-carriageway A13, the sight of the occasional car making this interesting. Those Hypercars had the edge here, but their drivers weren't as ready to use that, and were twichy on the damp tarmac, while Ross was absolutely pinned here.

Weaving out of another car, he took the exit and passed the Aventador, to a very confused driver, barely letting go of the throttle as he made a hard shift right, passing on a roundabout under the dual carriageway, the wheels barely getting sideways as Ross headed for the P1's rear like a heat seaking missile, the P1 out accelerating but not outgunning Ross on the exit. Turning hard left, for a sign signposted "London City Airport"- the smallest of London's web of airports, Ross saw the approach arise, as well as the sight of cops get exceptionally shocked as they headed through the tunnel that passed under a DLR route, or the light railway system around the Docklands of London. Turning hard right, he passed the P1 with a well executed four wheel drift, the P1 trying to close him down but to no avail. Now, there were at least half a dozen cars left to close in on, but Ross knew he had this. The sound of distant police said it all. They were going hell for leather, and Ross indeed was not letting go. Going onto the other side of the road to avoid a HGV, he noticed where the GPS was going to take them.
"How you fucking did this, I don't care, I don't know, but this will be fun to explain to the fucking police..." Ross added, as he hit the handbrake, a beautifully executed drift turn throwing Ross around the 120 degree bend, and into sight of the rest of the cars, as he realized what this was. This was a Cargo Entrance to the Airport, not a dart around the drop off areas. They were entering the runways.

Ross could only guess that this was something that would lead to having more than just his licence taken, and more than just a little prison time, as well as his garage of cars probably impounded. More likely, it could be far, far worse. Speeding through the gate, Ross turned hard through a set of containers, as a set of cones marked a route through the boxes and crates on this side of the runway, the GPS having one single marking towards the western edge of the runway, where another exit was marked off. This was insane. How the fuck they were doing this, he didn't know, but he knew it wasn't going to be a case of getting on that runway. If a plane came in, they'd be dead, the backblast and the risk to those people on board too. So he stayed in the taxiing area for cargo flights on the southern side of this runway, where they had entered, and he could tell the rest of the cars were too. Distant police sirens were getting closer, and even a slight buzz of a helicopter could be heard. Now this was a street race done properly. Foot to floor, he turned hard, passing by a pair of luggage carts, aware that the P1 was tailing him. It ran straight past, and thundered off, before braking hard, the driver suddenly spinning out as he came up to the checkpoint, unable to control the incredibly powerful hypercar and take it through the exit gate. Ross chuckled, speeding past, catching air on an exit ramp off the concrete runway, a couple of sparks flying from his low-down rear splitter. It hurt, but Ross didn't give a shit now. They were racing, and things happened that could be fixed.

Out of the airport, dozens of police cars could be seen, as Ross weaved past a couple of forklifts and HGVs by a few warehouses on this side of the airport's cargo and logistical nerve centre, exiting through the final gate as he finally caught sight of a C7 ahead. The V8 roared in that Chevy, but Ross knew the driver was holding it now on pure speed and tyre smoke alone. Not great, because Ross knew he would pass him, and pass him good. Shifting down, through a mini-roundabout Ross didn't even need to let go of the throttle for very long to be right back on it, a tiny tail kick from the Subaru allowing him to catch his tail very easily, the sight of a massive backfire and flame from the Subaru's exaust as he exited the corner saying it all. This car may have not had the power of some of it's peers, but in it's delivery, it was vicious. It felt like a Go Cart, with the tyres almost glued and pinned when he took it through corners, drifts either incredibly scary and near impossible to recover or simply a joy to execute depending on the angle of attack. In the case of the latter, it was whenever Ross had too much speed through a corner, and rather than under-steering, this car was primed to simply stick the rear down and give a little leniency on the tighter stuff.

Watching ahead, Ross saw the checkpoints on the GPS wind through the new housing that had been built here, taking a left through a couple of smaller roads, winding and weaving through parked cars and cars, cutting red lights as Ross shifted down to take a 90 degree bend. The C7 took it wide, and Ross capitalized, taking him on the outside, the C7 futile in trying to cut him off, as Ross saw Kimberly and Joanne ahead try to take on the pack leaders. This was turning out to be a race and a half, and the police were having trouble catching them. It seemed the route was clever- it kept the cops on their toes, and really intercepting where they would go next was proving exceptionally difficult- there were so many roads and numbers that the police were having a very diffiult time on their hands- interceptor vehicles wouldn't even catch them, such as the Met's own Subaru WRX STIs and EVO IXes. Ross had seen the car hit 170 on the taxiway, and through these roads, was averaging almost 90, often exceeding that on roads a few car widths wide, parked cars and traffic about. This was called lunacy at it's finest, but this was the street racing scene at it's perfection.

Sierra Vanguard (Espionage RP)

Martin looked closely at the team, nodding with a certain approval of what had been said. It was a mutually agreeable thing, that this was how it worked. It was a smooth atmosphere, but he knew that if there was work that had to be done anytime soon, then even in his state, Martin could get the team to work. Performing while drunk was a whole different approach to operating, but sometimes, it had to be done. Just reminding yourself at all times, no matter how shitfaced you were, of what your endgame was, was how you got through it, and the rest sort of somehow fell into place, especially if you weren't an essential asset. Martin had never passed two whiskey or vodka shots, when it came to dealing with operative issues- though for a day like today, he was prepared to drink a little more.

Looking across as Cassie, and then back at Drevan, he chuckled.
"Let it trend. It's not like we have any identifiable source of where it came from. And it's always a good laugh to see my boss wonder how on earth it even made YouTube. Virtually no suspicion of you know, the real perps." He added, a soft chuckle joining it as he drunk a little more of his vodka, putting it back down once again as he nodded, Thom drinking a little of his vodka shot, Martin checking the time once again.
"To be short, he's been dealt with. Which is good, because the paperwork is off my desk, it's been all filed on my end. Nothing too violent in the way you extracted him, even the Pakistanis aren't angry. Which is great, because they're likely to shit themselves at the worst of things. That was why I asked for you not to go guns blazing on this one." He simply stated, as Thom looked over, somewhat agreeably, but interrogative.
"Couldn't you just delegate it back to HR?"

"Human Resources has it's limits, that fucker might be a goldmine as an intel resource but he isn't fucking human. I draw the line when you start cutting people's heads off. It's too sensitive, so I had to do it. In this fucking line of work, I swear we could do with PAs." Martin simply replied sharply, chuckling as he saw Thom have something hit his chain of thought.
"What, temps with big tits? George would be too busy fucking them anyway to help us out."
"Precisely. Your charm has no boundaries George to be perfectly honest with you; shagging that Princess in Monaco was fucking impressive though, all so we could go on with that work down there in dealing with that criminal ring. We aren't having a repeat of a small pornographic empire that Drevan created from sex tapes on hacked hard drives either, especially not with PAs of that kind. No matter how good it was at the time, we aren't going through that explanation again." Martin said, chucking, just reminiscing in his head about past times.
"Anyway- we could just get male ones instead to stop that from...well, distracting us, but they'd shit themselves every time they saw our lovely Cassie here. But Cassie is again, out of their league. Probably would half kill them before they tried. We don't need to speak about Prague again. Even I felt sorry for that guy that Cassie dealt with." Martin replied, shaking his head.
"Here's to temps with big tits and four kids." Thom said jokingly to break the conversation up, as he raised his glass, as even Martin didn't put his glass up. Shrugging, Thom downed the rest of the shot, as Martin took the expensive bottle back into his hands. Unscrewing the lid, he refilled everyone's measures, up to a double standard, before placing it back on the wooden table.

"Yeah. Well, regardless. We need our heads in the game again. We're going to have work to do soon. Lot more juicy work that they will want us to follow up on. Will keep us busy." Martin continued the flow of the convorsation, as he sipped his vodka a little, Thom also joining him in having a short swig of the spirit, Martin looking at the team once more.
"And no doubt, there are people of a certain nature that I'm sure are going to have very bright futures, once our mutual friends spills what he knows."