Wine Colored Roses [Reida, Uriel]

When she'd heard that there was a mission to Jefferson City that she'd missed out on because of her last assignment, the first thing Reida had done had been to go directly to the Sternritter and see if there was any chance she could make her way there late. There hadn't been, and she'd almost considered just going on her own, but that would've just gotten her in trouble.

Instead, she just hit the bottle. She had a good bit of leave saved up, given she tended to just work nonstop out. For once it was nice to just sit at the bar, order a bottle of whiskey, and drink her disappointment away. Hey, maybe it was actually for the best that she hadn't gotten sent off to Jefferson, yeah? Being back in America would probably just get her upset, and that wasn't the best thing to be when you were doing a job. 'Course, it did help with the motivation to see a good detonation, but that wasn't the point.

Ah well. For now she'd just drink in peace. Anyone who knew Reida knew that she'd probably be here. If she wasn't working or sleeping, she was usually at this little spot in the heart of the city. Wasn't the nicest place in town, or the quietest, but it got enough foot traffic that she could always make a friend or two. Drinking all the time was one thing, but drinking alone? That was a little too much for Reida.

Most nights, anyway.

Some may wonder where Uriel Sancroix had run off to, his presence had decreased noticeably in the past few months. It was as if he’d disappeared entirely from public view, leading one to think he may have left the Vandenreich. But nothing could be farther from the truth. He had invested himself fully towards the less than favorable duties, that few held the stomach for. If there was the need for wetwork, then he was on call to do it.

It helped that his past live had been filled with such engagements. Wherever a suspected terrorist cell, supremacist cell, or undesirables nah be located outside the purview of the Vandenreich he was dispatched. His results had proven to be ruthlessly efficient, and in doing so gained a reputation among the operators of the Vandenreich. When he placed in his application for Administrator, it was approved fairly quickly.

Now he was the defacto head of anything covert, or at least anything that involves getting their hands dirty. Really dirty.

He had to choose good, effective, people among the Coordinators. Every hack off the street could learn the business well enough, but there was a something innate that truly made those in the business stand above their peers. A name and profile was his answer, a woman whom history was as tragic as they came. It was no wonder she was within this profession of arms. But what was more was her decentralized method of game, running agents on solo operations to their own behest. Such tactics could easily back fire if one miscalculates an agent skill and temperament. What was remarkable she hadn't lost a single agent yet.

He intended to sweep her up, before anyone else could.

The sound of him opening the door to a drinking establishment wasn't out of place, but as he ducked slightly to step inside that was surely uncommon. He cut an imposing figure actually regardless of circumstances, but clad in the white Vandenreich uniform he really looked like he shouldn't be here. Blonde hair which was combed backwards, with a slight part on the left side of his hair in what was a rather vintage hair style. Blue icy irises seemed to scan the room quickly disregarding some surprised looks, before he found exactly whom he was looking for. As he walked towards her, his surprisingly light footsteps could barely be heard above the noise.

"Is this seat taken?"

Uriel Sancroix would looked down a Reida Ray Copeland with a thin smile on his lips. The type of smile which held some mystery behind it, that promised interesting things to come. The Knight of Two hand would go to the back of the chair, as if waiting for permission to take the seat.

"If nobody's sittin' there, it ain't taken."

Reida raised her glass of whiskey to the newcomer, glancing in his direction with a grin. Lot of people didn't like approaching her, thought she seemed a little too threatening. Total nonsense, of course, because anyone who drank with her knew it was a grand ol time.

Of course, she knew who he was. Her casual demeanor was just her natural way of greeting anyone regardless of the circumstances, but Reida was very much aware that this was someone important who'd slid up to the bar today. Probably not just here for fun, either, since she'd sure never seen him around here before. 'Course, she wasn't gonna say anything about all that. Better to let him break the ice on that if he really thought it was important.

"Drinkin' alone tonight?"

“If I can avoid it, it doesn’t have that comradery one might otherwise find.”

Uriel would comment with a large smile, as the behemoth of a man would go to sit down. His frame not so heavy as to get any embarrassing sounds from the chair. He’d raise his hand to the bartender, making an order for an Old Fashioned. He was a simple man, nothing fancy.

At this point while the drink was being prepared he’d turn his head over to Reida. A hand coming to smooth one of his sleeves out.

“I swear brass always wants to have a meeting right at the end of work, like c’mon guy. I want to go home and feed my dog.” He’d comment even going so far as to give a light laugh, shaking his head. His hand going to take the cocktail the bartender made for him, with a ‘thank you.’ His voice was slightly accented, probably French.

“Any pets?” He’d inquire with a slightly raised eyebrow, it looked like a genuine question rather than an attempt to break the ice.

"I'm with ya. The bottle's only good company when you ain't got nobody else."

Laughing at her own comment, Reida slammed back the rest of her glass before refilling it with the bottle on the counter. She'd paid for it, after all, and she wasn't gonna let it go to waste. Besides, it'd be a more interesting conversation with another drink or two in her.

"Nope, nothin at home but the bed and my tools, some paperwork on the desk. Don't spend near enough time there to take care of any critters."

Unlike Uriel's voice, which was only slightly accented, Reida's inflection was far more pronounced, a thick Southern twang to her words that, in all truth, she actually reined back in around most other people. If she'd simply spoken naturally, she doubted half the people she met around here could even figure out what she was saying. Had some perks though.

"What kinda dog ya got? Guessin' it's probably a big guy like you, right?"

"Perhaps in girth, but not height. A bulldog, English at that! Sometimes I feel he spites me just for being a Frenchmen."

The man would laugh as he lifted his drink towards his lip, easily downing the alcohol. Regardless if he wanted to get drunk or not, it was actually relatively hard for him. His biology was a bit different due to his hidden nature, but he'd become well at mimicry. But he wouldn't need to resort to that tonight, even if his life was a lie he could at least enjoy certain aspects with it. Of course in the back of his head, he knew the day would come where he would need to admit this. He did not look forward to it.

But as he lowered the now empty glass he shook his head, letting out a deep breath. Still burned going down, as he let out a sound which was akin to a deep sigh. The type after a good drink, or a hard one.

"Hard enough to see the little bâtard, we do live rather busy lives, yes?" He'd agree as he brought a hand to smooth out one of his white sleeves. "I have to admit, I'm a bit surprised at the success you've had as a coordinator." He'd remark coolly, as another drink was poured for the man. "But invest enough time into the profession, and you'll get admirable result."

"Who can blame 'im? Y'all frogs are always up to no good. Then again, them English ain't much better, so it's all a wash."

Aha, there it was. Reida's expression didn't change one bit as the topic turned to work, mostly because she'd already seen it coming even with one eye. She just drank down more of the whiskey, not nearly as bothered by the burn as she'd have liked. If he wanted to chat about all that, though, might as well indulge 'im.

"Yessir, puttin' in time does getcha results. But way I see it, I don't got much other choice, do I? Far's I can tell, we've got somethin' of a responsibility with all this. Not like anyone else on Earth's keepin the peace. Be pretty fucked up if I just sat on my ass."

Shrugging as she slammed down another whiskey, Reida looked over to Uriel with a bit more serious of an expression. Just a bit, though.

"Work's important. Results matter."

"Where you say responsibility, others may call it a duty."

The heavy baritone of the soldier's voice would almost grow solemn for a moment. He didn't need to say it for her to know he held his own burdens. No one entered this line of work without some great effect on their person, or on their soul. Uriel Sancroix may be a fabrication of lies, but the man underneath was not all that different. They where one in the same, and in that his words carried with them an uncanny truth. His hand would raise the glass to his lips, taking a deep drink finishing the glass as he settled it onto the table.

"But I have often found that those concepts carry with them few requirements or limits. That what we believe we ought to do, what our duties are, is often determined by what someone believes in. That in fulfilling it we often fall short, or exceed, the expectations of others." He'd explain his blue irises staring forward, before finally turning to her. In this moment icy blue eyes seemed to look through her, past her exterior, and gaze within her soul. It was almost uncomfortable how intense his look was, but within it was an assuredness. It was like gazing into the sun.

"If you believe everything you've done is your responsibility, then you carry with yourself very high standards indeed, Reida." He'd press before the corners of his lips tugged into a smile. He'd let out a chuckle to diffuse the air as he got to the point.

"You know I did not merely come to drink. I want you to work under me, directly. How does this sound?"

"Ain't about duty for me. Never has been, never will be. I don't do all this just 'cause it pays the bills. I'm here for my own reasons, and that's the only thing keepin' me here. Even if I was alone, I'd be doin' this."

Reida's own gaze met Uriel's, and in it there was no sense of fear or half-measure even from his own intensity. Of course, she did not match that intensity, despite her competence. Rather, she met it simply with a cold indifference so stark that it may as well have been as though Uriel were staring into the eyes of a corpse. For her, there was no sense that she ought to back down from anything.

"If you want me workin' under you, then you can go put in the paperwork. But I'm not changin' how I operate just because you tell me to. I get things done, I keep people safe. Orders that get in the way of all that go into the trash."

"I suppose we will have to agree, to disagree, Reida." In contrast to her corpse like stare, he merely offered a smile back to her. For some, the bright burning sun which was Uriel might be off-putting as a naive idealist. Who had yet to be sully by the horrors of war, or their profession. But he was sure Reida would understand that he was not such. He was merely a soldier whom understood the weight of their actions, and accepted the repurcussions for better or worst. If he was to be a leader of men, then he could not sulk- he could not allow himself to be anything less than a pillar for them.

In trying times, people turned to their superiors. What a pathetic excuse of a man he would be, if he allowed his inner cynic and fears to be displayed to those whom entrusted their lives to him.

With that however he'd lift his glass upwards with a grin, before taking another sip of it. "Of course not, Reida. I would not seek to recruit you to merely waste your talents with restrictions and limitations. What are we, sternritters?" He'd jest as he slowly set the glass down, a hand coming towards her on the table open waiting for a handshake. "I run a solid crew, based on the strengths of people. How you do what you do, is up to you so long as results are effective. I'll cover any flak. Save for the occasional group operation, things will mostly stay the same."

A grin spread across his features, perhaps even a bit unclassy to some.

"Speaking of which, I know of a little operation which needs a delicate hand. How do you feel about the climate of South America?"