Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-26130256-20170711055926/@comment-26130256-20170714062453

Azulius/Edom whistled softly at the size of Flagg's property. After five generations of crime, the Cardamoms were obviously a well-to-do family. And during his career, the mobster had played in the wealthiest casinos in the world, and visited the homes of several drug kingpins. So the fact that Flagg was wealthy enough for him to be surprised said quite a bit. This place had "major corporation" levels of money, bordering on "soverign government" levels. The only thing keeping Zephrion Flagg from declaring himself Generalissimo was finding a suitable dictator hat.

The general aesthetic of the campus was lots of brushed steel, technology for spectacle's sake (holographic receptionists?  Seriously?  No wonder Flagg gear was so pricey.), and lots of abstract art. Fritz and Honara once mentioned some of the clubs back in the capital had some classier aesthetics; he would have to visit once he had some spare time. Thankfully, the robo-receptionists were knowledgable enough to point him in the right direction. The right direction being, for this story, the Havasu building, where the actual training of the Eliminators took place.

As he walked under the glass skybridge, Edom saw a suspiciously familiar face above him. Fair-haired, short, and with stripes barely visible through the names on the wall. Estellia Corlyson, Fritz's main squeeze and devoted disciple of the run-and-gun. Just his luck, he had barely been on campus five minutes and he had already seen somebody he knew. While the odds were slim she had noticed him, and slimmer still she recognized him, rolling the dice enough times would eventually get snake eyes.

The wind blew, and Edom shivered without any free hands to close his coat. Being born and raised in Vacuo, Azuliius felt most at home in the dry heat. Walking around the desert in a suit and tie was nothing to him, but this cold felt fatal, and he hadn't even been outside that long. Perhaps it was a portent. Deep down, he knew that this whole venture smelled like a cry for help, the kind of thing that deserved a full intervention. But he walked forward anyways, hoping that some of Flagg's money went into a decent central heating system.