Running with The Pack [Casey]

[riskkoltun]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,400,true]

[atrb=background,http://i867.photobucket.com/albums/ab236/AxeMar_Equals_Me/risktablemid.png] Risk Koltun was not happy. It was evident by the way the fingers of his right hand slid beneath the cuff of his left sleeve--tugging the already crisp, carefully starched fabric taut--fingertip circling the edges before pinching the corner suddenly, as if focused on a particularly stubborn wrinkle that simply refused to straighten. The cue was a subtle one, leftover from the days when he had been much more inexperienced. A rookie's tell, Avel had called it--always quick to correct with a firm grip of his wrist. And Risk knew it was. It had irritated him then, and it irritated him now. Heaving a sigh, he dropped his hand, pausing just long enough to adjust his cufflink. They were small, plain things--the only real extravagance he allowed himself. Rolling the slight tension from his shoulders, Risk heaved a sigh. He didn't particularly enjoy the missive he was tasked with delivering, but then, he supposed it was his own fault. He'd been the one, after all, to complain about how slow things had been recently. Ironic, he supposed, in the face of the recent conflict. What he hadn't expected, however, was for Adam to fix him with a patient, thoughtful look--his eyes narrowing in that slanted, calculating manner that--in all the months the two had been friends--had never boded well. He hadn't, however, expected such a request. It was almost insulting, really. "Do I look like a woman to you?" he'd demanded of Adam. The man's sole response was to quirk a brow, delivering a smirk that seemed to hedge on the offensively inappropriate. But all he'd said in answer was a simple "Take Casey with you." Still, Risk had noticed with mounting irritation, wearing that shit-eating grin. Which is how he had found himself in this...rather unconventional position as he made his way down the halls, seeking out the freckled-scout in question. "A puppy," he repeated to himself, muttering under his breath with incredulity. "The man wants a puppy." He could have at least made up something more challenging, Risk thought. Though he supposed, as far as frivolous runs went, he'd fared far worse before. Just as he'd begun to give up on locating the elusive scout, however, a thought occurred to him. There was roughly half an hour before dusk--and if he remembered correctly, Casey had one of the few rooms whose windows faced the direction of the sun. It didn't particular get much light during the hours between dawn and mid-afternoon, but by dusk, it was flooded with a soft, atmospheric light of pale gold. The boy had a penchant for taking to his room during that hour, taking advantage of what light remained in order to wile away the hours before dark with his painting. He turned in that direction a second later, his steps brisk and purposeful. It didn't take long for him to reach the other man's room. The door was open only a crack, making it difficult to see inside. Not wanting to intrude, he raised a fist, giving the door a sharp, polite rap with his knuckles. "Casey, you there? Let's roll, Freckles. Adam's orders." Ooc: Ta-da? 8'D

[/size][/color][/td][/tr]
[tr][td]

[/td][/tr][/table][/center]