Charlie Cutter (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alittlesweptup) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crux_fleet2014-06-09 05:28 pm
alittlesweptup) wrote in crux_fleet2014-06-09 05:28 pm
Entry tags:
closed
Who: Charlie Cutter, Zoran Lazerevic
Where: Teuberg
When: June 01, backdated
Warnings: Skullduggery, mild swearing?? Will update if necessary.
Athena Hypertechnology contractor wasn't exactly the sort of thing you printed on business cards to flash in view of a bird you wanted to get under the skirt of and it wasn't nearly as fancy as it signed, but grunt work for a big fabbing gig paid the bills - and put him in a position to run about among the Teuburg's military cadets and beyond ever now and again which meant he could keep an eye out for their good friend the Serbian. It'd been mostly for nothing: there were big numbers in the fleet's military, half of them scattered either through the main fleet or the secondary marauding lineup and pinpointing one transplant military officer in a blood sea of them without simply asking around about the big bastard wasn't exactly easy. But he was patient when he needed to be: kept his head down, did his work, and kept an eye out. If they were going to get any leverage over Lazarevic, it sure as hell wouldn't be coming from Nate or Chloe's end. Which left him, desperately trying to operate from just out of bounds (and conveniently neglecting to tell either of them what he was up to, knowing full bloody well that neither would have much good to say about the plan of 'track down Lazerevic and stab him in the back when he isn't looking').
He can admit it's a work in progress - that running deliveries for a fabricator conglomerate's bound to only get him so far. But it gives him access to the personnel, the locales, and gets him a pass to equipment if he's smart. If nothing else, Charlie thinks he can sometimes be a bit clever. Which is why the first time he spots the Serbian wanker, he's careful to simply play courier: hand off his kit, sign the requisite paperwork with the receiving officer, shoot the shit about the games being holocast, take his truck and simply go. He takes six more delivery assignments in the next few weeks: same time, similar cargo, same receiving officer. Some legwork means on the last delivery, he's got a pair of terribly exclusive tickets to the arena for hiis new best friend. When prompted he offers a simple shrug, a clap on the shoulder - "No worries, mate. I've got a few strings to pull on." - and eventually Charlie climbs back into his vehicle and goes.
It's basic work and he hasn't any clue if it's working - if Lazarevic is actually keeping tabs on him as closely as Charlie is trying to keep tabs on him. But it's an effort made all the same and all things considered? Not nearly so painful or tedious as spending his nights in a significantly shittier, shadier pub (bar, really eughk) than even he'd usually be caught dead in. It's quiet and dull and greasy and the food's worse than the booze which is saying a lot, but it's the sort of place made for backroom deals tucked well away from the usual beat of most of the Teuberg's security officers. Easier to catch a fly with honey, a warlord with crappy atmosphere.
The holo though? Absolute shit. Charlie isn't even drinking his piss flavored beer as he squints at the screen above the bar, trying to make out the score of the mech match through the signal interference.
Where: Teuberg
When: June 01, backdated
Warnings: Skullduggery, mild swearing?? Will update if necessary.
Athena Hypertechnology contractor wasn't exactly the sort of thing you printed on business cards to flash in view of a bird you wanted to get under the skirt of and it wasn't nearly as fancy as it signed, but grunt work for a big fabbing gig paid the bills - and put him in a position to run about among the Teuburg's military cadets and beyond ever now and again which meant he could keep an eye out for their good friend the Serbian. It'd been mostly for nothing: there were big numbers in the fleet's military, half of them scattered either through the main fleet or the secondary marauding lineup and pinpointing one transplant military officer in a blood sea of them without simply asking around about the big bastard wasn't exactly easy. But he was patient when he needed to be: kept his head down, did his work, and kept an eye out. If they were going to get any leverage over Lazarevic, it sure as hell wouldn't be coming from Nate or Chloe's end. Which left him, desperately trying to operate from just out of bounds (and conveniently neglecting to tell either of them what he was up to, knowing full bloody well that neither would have much good to say about the plan of 'track down Lazerevic and stab him in the back when he isn't looking').
He can admit it's a work in progress - that running deliveries for a fabricator conglomerate's bound to only get him so far. But it gives him access to the personnel, the locales, and gets him a pass to equipment if he's smart. If nothing else, Charlie thinks he can sometimes be a bit clever. Which is why the first time he spots the Serbian wanker, he's careful to simply play courier: hand off his kit, sign the requisite paperwork with the receiving officer, shoot the shit about the games being holocast, take his truck and simply go. He takes six more delivery assignments in the next few weeks: same time, similar cargo, same receiving officer. Some legwork means on the last delivery, he's got a pair of terribly exclusive tickets to the arena for hiis new best friend. When prompted he offers a simple shrug, a clap on the shoulder - "No worries, mate. I've got a few strings to pull on." - and eventually Charlie climbs back into his vehicle and goes.
It's basic work and he hasn't any clue if it's working - if Lazarevic is actually keeping tabs on him as closely as Charlie is trying to keep tabs on him. But it's an effort made all the same and all things considered? Not nearly so painful or tedious as spending his nights in a significantly shittier, shadier pub (bar, really eughk) than even he'd usually be caught dead in. It's quiet and dull and greasy and the food's worse than the booze which is saying a lot, but it's the sort of place made for backroom deals tucked well away from the usual beat of most of the Teuberg's security officers. Easier to catch a fly with honey, a warlord with crappy atmosphere.
The holo though? Absolute shit. Charlie isn't even drinking his piss flavored beer as he squints at the screen above the bar, trying to make out the score of the mech match through the signal interference.