[b][COLLIN][/b]

<< Alaya Stratospheric flight number AS4577 is currently delayed. The arrival time of that flight is now 17:40, with boarding to begin no later than 18:00. We sincerely apologize for any inconvenience, and ask for your understanding and patience. >>

The small group of passegers waiting at gate 7-A listened to the announcement with groans and a few hushed curses. AS4577 had already been delayed once, and now again? Their flight had originally been for 15:00! Unbelievable! 

Only one person waiting did not express some form of irritation or impatience - a Fox. The Fox's ears perked at the announcement, and he'd listened attentively, but when he'd gotten the gist of it, he tuned it out and returned his attention to the newspaper he was reading. 

[b]「 Yellowstone Beats Sonora to AHL Playoffs : Details on Surprising Upset Win 」[/b]

Not that he was interested much in sports. It was something to read, though.  

He was fully aware of how much he stood out, here.  He wearing a very nice (and very expensively tailored) suit, with golden claw-caps, and even a very delicate gilding on his whiskers. He practically oozed wealth. The chair he was in was probably getting richer each minute the Fox's ass was in it. No one else here looked to be even a tenth as rich, which was odd, considering the flight cost nearly $100,000 a seat. One didn't fly Alaya because they wanted to simply get somewhere - you flew Alaya because you wanted to get there in [i]style[/i]. And style ain't cheap. And yet, here he was, surrounded by middle-class (at best) humans in casual wear.

 If he had known it'd make him stand out so much, he wouldn't have worn the suit. Scratch that, actually - he'd have worn a [i]better[/i] suit. It wouldn't do for Collin Marlowe to be caught in jeans and tank top.  International assassins were supposed to be elegantly deadly "men of mystery" types, and who was Collin to buck tradition? 

The "Fox of mystery" folded his newspaper and stood up, leaving the folded paper and his coat on the seat and ignoring the eyes on him. He could understand the staring - he had golden fricken' whiskers, for Dog's sake! His entire [i]appearance[/i] was designed to be eye-catching. Let 'em watch, he always said...though the circumstances here were decidedly different from when he usually said that. 

He made his way to the restrooms, drawing a few scandalized mutters when he chose the 'Humans only' facility.  Here in Mississippi Territory, 'segregated' facilities were commonplace, but enforcement was almost nonexistent. Collin only drew murmurs from the other passengers, and maybe - just maybe - someone might complain to airport security.  Security would make a big show of scolding Collin for the faux pas, but he wouldn't be charged with anything. 

Entering the restrooms, he paused and assessed the room. Three toilet stalls to the right of the door, opposed by a row of sinks. Directly opposite the door, along the far wall, were two 'adult' urinals and one lower-set 'child' urinal. Standard layout, really. He saw that the middle urinal was occupied by a member of airport security. On the ground to the guard's left, there was a briefcase whose color exactly matched Collin's suit. The assassin smiled, and walked up to that urinal. 

He didn't have to piss, actually, but he opened the fly of the suit pants and made a show of it. The guard startled at Collin's sudden appearance next to him, but kept his cool and finished his business. He was apparently frazzled enough that he forgot his briefcase. 

Still facing the urinal, Collin spoke, "Give my regards to Henry, yeah? I heard his girl got sick again, which is why [i]you're[/i] here. 

The security man, who was not exactly a weak fellow, audibly gulped before replying, "Yes, sir, Mr. Marlowe...sir."

Fastening his fly, Collin crouched and picked up the briefcase, "Your pay is wrapped around the newspaper I left on my seat.  Look for the Sonoran Hockey logo. Hurry, before some lucky cleaning staff member gets an unexpected bonus."

Once the guard was gone, Collin set the briefcase flat over one of the sinks, and hurriedly opened it. Inside was a single pistol - Hölzchen Arms' classic "Type 7", an extremely reliable weapon, though nowadays it was considered a tad obsolete. With the gun were two full clips (plus one already loaded), a Skirmish Corps-grade silencer, and Collin's shoulder holster for it all.

He screwed on the silencer, checked the clips, stored everything where it belonged on the holster, and only then did he quickly remove the suit jacket to strap the holster on. Just as he tightened the last strap, his phone began chiming, leading him to grumble and fish the device from the inner pocket. 

He didn't bother looking at the caller ID, just answered the call and brought the phone to his ear,  "Who the fuck are you, and who the fuck gave you this number?"

"Hey, Collie. It's...ah...been a while, yeah?"

Collin almost dropped the phone, "Rick?"

"Yeah."

"You're a bastard and I hate you," the Fox spat, and was surprised by the laughing bark on the other end. 

"Ha! That's fair, though," Rick replied, "I [i]did[/i] leave you in New Spain. How'd that work out, by the way? Not terribly, if the thriving murder career and loaded offshore bank accounts are anything to go by."

"I ended up in [i]foster care[/i]!"

"Ah. Yes. Like all the best international assassins. Collie, let me put it this way - I'd feel worse about what happened to you if you hadn't been well cared for. Your life after I bailed in New Spain hasn't exactly been [i]shit[/i], don't even pretend it was."

"Except for the part where the Wolf I'd looked up to as almost an older brother [i]abandoned[/i] me! You! [i]You[/i] were that Wolf!"

"Two years teaching you how to take a knot, and I was only [i] almost[/i] your brother? Geez, Collie."

"Maybe that's why I felt so betrayed when you disappeared."

There was a long silence on the other end, until Rick finally spoke again, "Collie, I'm sorry. Really. When I found out who you were, I had to be pushed into making this call. Listen, I gotta contract for you. Twice your normal rate."

Collin growled, "Double it again, and I'll at least listen to the details."

"Marcus Delmain. Heard of him?"

"Of course I have. He's a Big Fish down in New Spain - got his claws into everyone and everything. Runs the Black Tree smuggling empire. If he's the target...Rick, I'm not [i]you[/i]."

"Columbia, two years ago. You killed the head of police there, in broad daylight, right inside the station. You were literally surrounded by cops, and you did the job and got out clean."

"Not clean enough if [i]you[/i] heard of it," Collin groused. 

Rick scoffed, "I'm much better informed nowadays than [i]la policia[/i]. Anyways, my point is that you come highly recommended as the very best in the killing-for-hire business. My boss and I have a preference for hiring the right people for a job."

"Fine. I'll settle for triple my normal, and [i]you, personally[/i] are to deliver the cash. I'm supposed to be going on a vacation, you know."

"You mean a mysterious, all-expenses-paid stay at the exclusive Black Tree resort at which your target will also happen to be staying? Why, I know nothing of it."

"As soon as you told me the target, I had suspicions. At least I won't have to cancel my trip," Collin admitted, sighing, "Boarding starts soon. I gotta go, Rick."

"[i]ᚺᚪᚱᛖᚱ᛫ᛋᛌᚢᚹᚾ.[/i]"