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churbooseanonSummary: Agent Maine is an unknown quantity and Florida wants to know.
New Blood
Agent Maine is an unknown quantity.
Of course, all quantities start as unknown. It’s a basic fact of life. Of course, that doesn’t mean Florida likes being saddled with the newly bumped up agent. In fact, he wasn’t happy with any of these new agents they were throwing into the mix. Didn’t like the self possessed confidence of Carolina, her determination that she was going places, that she was going to knock him out of number one. Didn’t like York, who talked fast, played loose, and had blown a lock on his first mission, leaving Florida to have to clean out a whole room. At least he shot well. Really didn’t like these twins that had been brought in, the Dakotas, one with a mouth like a sailor and the other with a soothing mothering manner than made even Florida want to roll his eyes.
Agent Maine, though, is still an unknown quantity. And not one Florida had wanted to be saddled with.
The man is seven feet if he’s an inch and built like a trash collector. The truck, not the people. In his stark white armor over the tight confines of their black undersuits he seems larger, seems like a monster, seems like the metaphorical bull in a china shop. And the helmet, that is the worst part. A large golden globe, for all intents and purposes, and Florida rolls his eyes at that one. Has to assume it is all they had in jumbo size.
And this man, this wall on legs, was supposed to keep up with him? Florida was pretty sure the only reason Carolina had managed to keep up on her shakedown mission with him had been because of those fancy speed mods the Director had in her armor. All these new ones had mods in their armor, some new toys that were supposed to give them an edge and be the main purpose for this program anyway. Wyoming had even been fitted with this strange device that he was still learning to use. Florida hadn’t, of course. His armor didn’t interface with this stuff that was being used, and he was too effective to be hampered by something else. He was the Director’s blade, while the rest of them were the experiment.
“So, Agent Maine, do you know what they’ve outfitted your stunning white armor with?”
Maine gives him this look, or at least Florida assumes that Maine gives him a look. Hard to tell with that gold bowl head. The answer comes out like a wet snarl and Florida recoils at that. There was no need to be rude!
He watches silently as hands come up to the gold bowl head, thumb clasps, work it off with something that says the man wasn’t familiar with this particular helmet style, and Florida just stares at what he finds before him. Mocha skin run through with milky cuts and ropes of scar tissue. Soft, expressive golden eyes that had a flash to them that sent a shiver down his spine. A broad, but well shaped nose that shows hints of breaks. A wide scar underlining his eyes and likely with a vicious story to tell. A bald head that clearly hadn’t had time to be shaved that morning from the five o’clock shadow on it and the man’s jaw.
Florida has never wanted to throw himself at someone so badly based on looks alone.
“Sorry,” Maine says, his voice low and rich and it sends trembles through Florida’s chest in the worst and best ways. “The mic in this thing seems to pick up fine for transmissions, but not conversations. Going to get it fixed.”
Florida just smiles, knows it comes through in his voice, and nods. “Well, you’ve just got to roll with life’s punches, now don’t you. Mods?”
“General force and speed,” Maine provides, and Florida smiles.
He won’t be able to keep up. But for once, Florida’s willing to slow down for someone.
Sometimes it was better to explore someone’s value first hand.
That’s what he tells himself. Tells himself it’s not because he wants to see how this man moves.
New Blood
Agent Maine is an unknown quantity.
Of course, all quantities start as unknown. It’s a basic fact of life. Of course, that doesn’t mean Florida likes being saddled with the newly bumped up agent. In fact, he wasn’t happy with any of these new agents they were throwing into the mix. Didn’t like the self possessed confidence of Carolina, her determination that she was going places, that she was going to knock him out of number one. Didn’t like York, who talked fast, played loose, and had blown a lock on his first mission, leaving Florida to have to clean out a whole room. At least he shot well. Really didn’t like these twins that had been brought in, the Dakotas, one with a mouth like a sailor and the other with a soothing mothering manner than made even Florida want to roll his eyes.
Agent Maine, though, is still an unknown quantity. And not one Florida had wanted to be saddled with.
The man is seven feet if he’s an inch and built like a trash collector. The truck, not the people. In his stark white armor over the tight confines of their black undersuits he seems larger, seems like a monster, seems like the metaphorical bull in a china shop. And the helmet, that is the worst part. A large golden globe, for all intents and purposes, and Florida rolls his eyes at that one. Has to assume it is all they had in jumbo size.
And this man, this wall on legs, was supposed to keep up with him? Florida was pretty sure the only reason Carolina had managed to keep up on her shakedown mission with him had been because of those fancy speed mods the Director had in her armor. All these new ones had mods in their armor, some new toys that were supposed to give them an edge and be the main purpose for this program anyway. Wyoming had even been fitted with this strange device that he was still learning to use. Florida hadn’t, of course. His armor didn’t interface with this stuff that was being used, and he was too effective to be hampered by something else. He was the Director’s blade, while the rest of them were the experiment.
“So, Agent Maine, do you know what they’ve outfitted your stunning white armor with?”
Maine gives him this look, or at least Florida assumes that Maine gives him a look. Hard to tell with that gold bowl head. The answer comes out like a wet snarl and Florida recoils at that. There was no need to be rude!
He watches silently as hands come up to the gold bowl head, thumb clasps, work it off with something that says the man wasn’t familiar with this particular helmet style, and Florida just stares at what he finds before him. Mocha skin run through with milky cuts and ropes of scar tissue. Soft, expressive golden eyes that had a flash to them that sent a shiver down his spine. A broad, but well shaped nose that shows hints of breaks. A wide scar underlining his eyes and likely with a vicious story to tell. A bald head that clearly hadn’t had time to be shaved that morning from the five o’clock shadow on it and the man’s jaw.
Florida has never wanted to throw himself at someone so badly based on looks alone.
“Sorry,” Maine says, his voice low and rich and it sends trembles through Florida’s chest in the worst and best ways. “The mic in this thing seems to pick up fine for transmissions, but not conversations. Going to get it fixed.”
Florida just smiles, knows it comes through in his voice, and nods. “Well, you’ve just got to roll with life’s punches, now don’t you. Mods?”
“General force and speed,” Maine provides, and Florida smiles.
He won’t be able to keep up. But for once, Florida’s willing to slow down for someone.
Sometimes it was better to explore someone’s value first hand.
That’s what he tells himself. Tells himself it’s not because he wants to see how this man moves.
