Actions

2043-09-28 Delhi Celebrations

From X-Factor

Delhi Celebrations
Date Posted 2015/10/29
Location Bar - Delhi - India
Participants Ciel, Sumit, Huruma, Rohan
Summary A Garuda team celebrates after a job well done.
 
Ciciel.jpg Sumsumit.JPG
As jobs go, this particular one was more complicated than their usual. A team of four, a neat psionic slip past heavy-duty security, a single-man duck into a vault despite the security system that set off tear gas, a quick escape through precisely placed portals that lead them back to the bikes they traditionally use for quick getaways in Delhi's tangled streets. Every merc important, every merc surprisingly safe and whole (despite the bullets that chased them on their way out), every merc unsurprisingly smug in the aftermath. They've already turned over the small box their employers were after, which leaves them on a post-job high that has most of them buzzing with adrenaline as they collapse into a familiar bar. It's the sort of bar that starts draining rather than filling as the hour grows late, which means that this particular group has a too-big table to themselves and all the attention they could want from the servers as the hour grows late.

Despite all the space, Ciel is sitting draped in Rohan's lap, her arm wrapped around his neck for balance as she leans forward to scoop up her drink - her third or fourth - and lifts it for yet another toast. "The best part," she announces to Sumit and Huruma, "was the looks on their /faces/ as we just stepped right out of the room. Tell me you saw them." Her eyes flash toward Huruma, bright. "Huruma. Tell me you /felt/ them. Was it amazing?"

"I think," says Rohan, a little too loud, flush with drink and success, "the word for that expression is 'gobsmacked.'" He lifts his drink and clinks it against Ciel's with a clear 'tink.' "What does that feel like?" he asks of Huruma, with a flash of a grin. "Gobsmackedness?"

Sumit laughs as he raisesa bottle of what can only be described as truely terrible beer, it's cold though, and alcoholic. "Course she felt them Shakra," he notes, looking over to Huruma, "that much negative energy, must have been like a feast!" A flick of his eyes to the empath and he asksm "that right Rakshasi?" Leaning back in his chair, so it's rsting on two legs rather than four, he starts to roll up a joint before glancing round the others and asking, "anyone else for one? Got to disagre with you there though, best bit was when Captain England over there," he gesture towards Rohan, "started talking to that security guy. Man I thought he'd get us through by sheer accent alone! Who said the fucking Raj was dead eh?"

Huruma enjoyed it all, for her part; the adrenaline was enough, and the thrill was a gift, as always. It is a rare beast when she does not find that familiar throb of her heart to be a comfort. Her seat is slightly apart, as per usual, the sizable bottle in her hand speaking of the last remnants to a whole.

"Of course I did." The dark woman answers, straightforward, before Sumit decides it comes to him to elaborate. Huruma's eyes dart to him, boring there a moment before they move back to Ciel, and by nearness, Rohan. Her eyelids narrow with a long, slow smile. "He is not wrong." She leans back, head tipping. "Feels like-- blood rushing from your face, a flash in the eyes. The moment of panic, surprise, and then anger when you realize you have been outdone. It is all very entertaining."

Ciel twists a bit to give Rohan a grin as their glasses clank, and she lifts it to her lips, her eyes bright over the rim when they turn back to Huruma. "Ahh," she breathes, settling back against Rohan's shoulder. "The anger. The /outrage/. That's it. The part where they realize exactly how much better we are than them."

"I don't think northerners ran the Raj," Rohan objects mildly to Sumit. "We wouldn't have cocked it up so much." So there. Or something. He chuckles softly, somewhere into Ciel's hair. "Should have known better to tangle with Garuda." Because it was entirely the others' fault, and not like they started it. "We're the best."

Sumit smiles that smug smile of having been right, ignoring the look he gets by pretending he doesn't see it as he rolls the backy. After another mouthful of beer he lights up, enjoying the first deep pull into his lungs. "You keep telling yourself that mate," he smerks back to Rohan, "or were your lot too busy realising that curry goes really well on chips?" At the mention of them being the best he aps the beer bottle onto the table top a couple of times, a gesture akin to agreement, then tilts it into the middle so they can all chink. "Damn straight we are, and sod nayone who says otherwise."

Huruma extends both legs, crossing them at the ankles and perching her heel on an empty chair. She lounges there, perfectly fluid in her pose as she watches the others. "I have a taste for that fine quality of embarassment." Her mouth tucks against the narrow mouth of the bottle in her hand, the smell of it sweet and cloying when she tilts her arm out to balance the bottom rim on the table near Sumit's. Long fingers remain strangling around its neck. "And they will tangle again. That is when we shine."

"I don't think they /knew/ they were tangling with Garuda," Ciel puts in with a low laugh. Her eyes settle on Sumit's rolling, clearly considering, but she doesn't make a request. Instead she tucks her glass against her lips again and says, "I mean, they do /now/. We're kinda unmistakable." Her glass, lowered, tips toward Huruma in indication. "I mean, some of us stand out."


"Hey, _someone_ had to figure that out," laughs Rohan with a gesture of his glass toward Sumit. "For the sake of the world. You should thank us." He tips a swallow of beer back and considers. "I almost wish one of those bullets had hit me. Just because stories are better with a scar to show off."

"I bet you tell that to all the guys," Sumit quips quickly to Huruma, offering a massively exaggerated wink as he does so. "I'm game for testing their security again though, specially if ti pays as much as this time." Another draw is taken on the smoke before he offers it silently accross to Ciel, addresing Rohan instead. "I could shoot you now if you like?" he deadpans, "promise not to hit anything important. Or, you know, you could ask Shakra nicely later, I' sure she'll oblige."

Huruma raises her brows to Ciel when the younger woman gestures to her, the arched expression punctuated by a purse of lips and a lift of her bottle to rest the base to hipbone. "I have //no// idea what you mean." Huruma drawls, voice level. You could not //possibly// mean her. No, no.

Ciel turns in a sharp twist to frown down at Rohan, emphatic. "Fuck stories," she says, fingers flexing at the neck of her bottle. "You don't have to buy every damned story with with blood." She ends with a nasty look shot toward Sumit, all sharp edges.

Rohan blinks at Ciel for a moment, and then smiles, a softer smile than his usual mad grin; he looks almost--touched. "Well, then," he says with a chuckle. "If I tell the story, I'll show one of my existing scars. What my possible future audience doesn't know won't hurt them."

Sumit seems more amused by the look from Ciel, then threatened, but he holds his hands up in mock surrender before taking another swig of beer. "Anyway, Ainsworth, you never said what was your favourite bit, don't keep us all agog. Or was it dreaming of chips and curry?"

Huruma's attention seems to be divided between Rohan and Ciel, the latter moreso, and especially when she defends tales of adventure without bloodshed. All the best ones have that-- there's no getting around it. "I am not 'agog'."

"Me either," Ciel grumps briefly, tipping her bottle back for a long swallow.

Rohan points at Sumit. "I'll make _you_ chips and curry." It's a threat. It's a playful threat, though. "I liked the escape," he said. "Us whisking away, as if we could fly, and them just shaking their fists at Delhi's tangles.

Sumit offers the smoke across the Ciel by way of a peace offering, but it's not terribly hard to see that really he's still pretty damn amused. Listening to Rohan a moment he considers for a moment then quips back, "damn it, now I want chips and curry." He's still grinning broadly as he listens to the answer given then nods a slow agreement, "that did feel pretty good." Then, more seriously and to everyone, "if I flag down a barman for food, does anyone else want anything?"

"Almost as thrilling as the helicopter." Huruma muses, a smirk on her lips. "With less chance of falling out, of course." She lifts her bottle, running her tongue over her teeth when she drops it again, tasting the liquid on her tongue. "I do not deserve //bar// food after finishing that job. So, no."

Ciel's ill humor subsides somewhat as the conversation moves on, and after a beat she leans forward to accept Sumit's smoke. She settles back into Rohan in lazy, comfortable lean as she tucks it between her lips. "I could stand some chips," she says, and then shoots an amused look toward Huruma. "Not much else to be had at this hour. What're /you/ in the mood for?"

"Chips and curry," repeats Rohan wisely, "I will keep saying that until the mere thought of chips and curry drives you mad." He grins at Sumit. Wrapping an arm about Ciel's waist," he murmurs, "Chips, warm and salty, on a cold dark night. Walking home after the bar."

"Chips it is," Sumit replies with a slightly nod as he turns towards the bar and whistles in the manner of a shepherd calling to his flock. It seems to work though as a couple of moments later an order is made for a large plate of chips, salt and vingar, curry sause, the works. Oh, and another round of beers. Rohan's words 'warm and salty' almost cause him to snigger like a schoolboy, but having jsut made peace with Ciel he hastily covers that by drinking the remainder of the bottle infront of him. "Tell you what English, tomorrow, you make chips, I'll make curry, and we shall eat like the Rajput themselves."

"Food that I have a terrible time getting in this country." Huruma frowns deeply for a moment, peering right through Ciel as Sumit calls for the food. "If I dare mention a thing that 'moos', it becomes more trouble than it is worth. There are not alternatives to everything."

"Ug," Ciel agrees, twisting a little to glance down at Rohan again. "You're not kidding about that one. Serious downside of this place." She inhales again, then leans forward to offer the smoke back to Sumit. "I could do with a decent pizza now and then, too."

"Hey," Rohan protests, waving his beer glass toward Sumit. "I can make curry too, you know. My mum ran the best curry house in Yorkshire." He says that as if this is an achievement--while sitting in Delhi. He drains his glass, and promises Ciel, "I'll make you pizza." He screws his mouth up thoughtfully as he sets his glass down. "It might taste like curry, though. Or chips."

"Do you ask about steak jsut to soak in the shock and anger that results?" Sumit asks Huruma. Ciel might be off teh windup list, but that doesn't mean the others aren't. Taking the smoke back he shrugs once, "Can't say I've ever really felt I'm missing out in that regard. If anything it's the lack of fresh sea-food that's demoralising." Finally Rohan gets a flash of a smile and as he suggest, "chicken tandoori pizza? I know a guy with a really nice tandoor that I'm sure I could borrow."

Huruma leans into her chair, feet stretching when she looks to Sumit, eyes meeting his with a slight smile. "Sometimes." The indignation of people is particularly touching, in fact.

"Proper pepperoni!" Ciel objects, nudging an elbow at Rohan even as she sends Sumit another look.

"Pepperoni!" echoes Rohan with a laugh. He inhales the smoke-laden air to steady himself. "All right, love. I will make you pepperoni pizza. Someday. Soon. Don't ask what I will have to do to get pepperoni here. Might have to kneecap some Italian meat smugglers."

Sumit rolls his eyes in mock disgust at Ciel, then shakes his head slowly, "americans, what can you do." Then, with genuine enthusiasm this time "I'll still see if I can borrow the tandoor though, it's been too long since I've had time to do things properly." Anthing else he might ad to that is cut off as a plate of steamin chips arrives, along with bottles of both salt and vinegar, and, most importantly, a large tub of curry sauce. Tucking in with gusto, he notes with his mouth full, "here's to another successful job, and another successful payday."

This page uses the Log form.