01 The Vague and Vague(er)
>Pre chapter note; Valkry is misspelt purposely, as it is not pronounced “Valkyrie”.
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Chronicles Of The Rift: Hells Ambassador (let’s see how long it takes me to mess this up.. 3rd person)
Chapter: 1 Lands Of The Vague
“Valkry Hadavur Smirnov, a heavy Serbian name if ever I saw one”.
Two staunch men sit across from each other, separated by a generic office desk, one in a stylish, formal suit, the other in a heavily worn, leather trench coat and black cargo pants, seemingly one size too large. Valkry stares down at Chuck Brown the tailor, unfazed.
“Yes... Chuck Brown... a generic name if ever I saw one” ‘Valkry responded
“You don’t sound very Serbian” ‘Chuck’ inquired
“If I remember correctly.. Isn’t ‘Chuck’ a shortened version of ‘Charles’?” Chuck’s eyebrow raised.
“If I remember correctly, you came for a contract, not to discuss origins of names” Charles’ patience waning. He disliked Valkry’s small talk.
Valkry, whilst crossing his arms, his mangled hair partially obstructing his eyes, sighs, his voice softening, “In good time. Charles, please, tell me what it is you wanted.”
“Yes. My client wants you, and several other PMC’s to be deployed in Beijing” His tone implied he had rehearsed this many times.
“Beijing, China...why?” Whatever happened to the contracts in Africa and the Middle East?
“You and many other PMC’s will be deployed there. You are to terminate a solo target, the location of which is unknown” Valkry simply raised his eyebrow.
“Why are you sending so many for one target, overkill much? What’s so damn important about him?”
“In case you have forgotten, let me remind you, your job description states you are to not ask questions irrelevant to the contract” Charles eyes spew anger. Valkry feels slightly grated but has had worse, much worse.
“Now, if you will excuse me, you are to take the papers and the contract and we’ll bring this pathetic excuse for a conversation to an end” Charles slides a thick, beige folder to Valkry, he carefully traverses the desk with his hand, reaching for the folder. A loud “SMACK!” can be heard as Valkry’s hand is stopped by that of Charles.
“Not here!”, He glances at an old watch on his wrist. “Hurry, I have an appointment in five minutes. Do you accept the contract?”
Valkry, somewhat offended by Charles’ hospitality, nods regardless.
‘Well, it’s not like I have a choice.’ Murder was not murder, if there was money involved.
“I’m sure you’ll find this contract a lot more enjoyable than stumbling through African slums.”
A second glance towards his watch, “Out.”
His finger points to the door, and Valkry sees himself out. A heavy draft terrorizes the office room as Valkry violently swings it open, at a startling pace almost tearing it from its hinges
“enjoy your appointment ‘Charles’” Valkry slams the door storming through the poorly lit corridors of a corrupt corporation sure just throw him in there with he holds the beige folder in a death grip why was he so nervous... who is this guy? He stumbles through the corridors and down stairs to a very vintage style lobby with dark highly treated wood.
The environment made him feel out of place, he could almost feel the curious stares of bystanders, he deeply wanted to leave as soon as he could attacking the revolving door exit with his gloved palm only to get slammed from behind, he was thrown out of the building face-planting the snow covered pavement he groaned in agony staring daggers at who ever dared to push him into the ground, only to find the spinning revolving door. His palm immediately met his face the icy cold sludge burning on his skin.
“i hate winter” he regains his footing eyeing the revolving door brushing the snow off of his coat making his clothes wet and uncomfortable before storming into the hazardous streets, a pitch black British taxi pulled up on the side of the road that reminded Valkry more of a Hurst, a man yelled of a rolled down window
“Mister Smirnov!”
“Call me by my first name, you make me sound old!”
***
A pair of deep lavender eyes scans pages of ancient literature that most would see as gibberish, in a room only lit by a single candle light endangered by the occasional draft
“Spike!?” a feminine voice called “take a letter” a small fatigued juvenile dragon came into the dim light of the candle “who to?” the lavender entity brought herself into the light of the candle revealing a purple mare withering with excitement, she turned her attention to the young reptile “the top of the hierarchy, its important”
“Red wrapping, got it Twi”
The velvet being gaze’s into her suddenly interesting ceiling
“Dear Princess Celestia” the emerald reptilian eyes proceed to roll at the formalities
“I believe I have found an ancient document that may be of interest to you”
“You know, you could just say you found an interesting book” Spike suggested
“OR, you could write the letter, anyway, this document revolves around things like ‘fabric of reality’ and other in-comprehensive concepts”
The purple reptile sighs at Twilight's choice in wording
“is this really worth using the ‘red wrapping’ I mean, I’m sure its interesting, just... is it really that urgent?” it was rare for Spike to question Twilight's motives when it came to use of ‘red wrapping’
“Spike, this is about the very fabric of our reality!” the purple dragon nods recording the last few notes of the very vague letter before setting it ablaze.
“Twi, isn’t messing with, um.... the very fabric of everything kind of dangerous?” Spike never considered himself to be any kind of egghead but something about messing with the fabric of reality made him feel uneasy
“of course not Spike, if it were why would a book like this be lying around, it’s as if its asking to be found” the purple reptile remained unconvinced
“Whatever you say twilight” the lavender mare scans the pages further
Spike huffs at the mare’s enthusiasm
“there’s this great new thing called sleep, you should try it”.