Nails
Sebastian Moran was cold, as tough, as sharp as iron nails. He lived for two things: 1. Work. 2. Booze. There was nothing quite like that perfect shot. Give him a target and he would not hesitate. The work kept him in the alcohol and the alcohol kept him up after that initial rush faded. There was no room and no need for extras. Guns. Bullets. Bandages. Bed. There was no sentimentality in taking another's life. As a gun-for hire, it was him or them.
James Moriarty was a criminal genius with immaculately groomed nails. He lived for two things: 1. Work. 2. Games. There was nothing quite like the exhilaration of playing with the perfect opponent. The work kept him in business with the best and the best brought him the games that kept his razor mind from tearing itself to pieces. Criminals. Crimes. Detectives. The stage. There was no sentimentality in taking another's life. People were optional: just pawns, little pieces to play with until they broke.
Moriarty only wanted the best. What was the point of being ordinary? Boring. Commonplace. He'd rather die. Every detail was important: the fewer mistakes, the better. If he needed a gun, it'd damn well better be the best gun he could find. And that's what brought him to Moran.
Living as an out-of-work ex-military sniper in London was not easy. Although Sebastian usually thrived on 'not easy', the food was starting to run low and there were very few that needed or could afford his… unique talents. So when his communications network brought word of a certain man that needed a very special sniper, he found his way to Jim.
Serpentine. That's the word that came to Sebastian Moran's mind when he stepped into the opulent office. James Moriarty was a huge snake: cold-blooded, coiled, poised, ready to strike. Venomous. The kind of man you should not take your eyes off for even a second. Some might describe him as a spider, sitting on an elaborate web. Web, yes. Spider, no. Spiders were small and easily crushed.
"They say you're the best," said the consulting criminal with a disarming smile, dark eyes searching. Smile? No, a baring of teeth. A wolf looking at its prey.
"They would be right," replied Moran, without a trace of boasting. He was angular, sharp-eyed, strong. Powerful. A veritable tiger. The sort of man you could trust to take on a difficult job and do it well. He was different too; he didn't bow and scrape like the rest of these pathetic boot-lickers. Perhaps he was still ordinary, but after all, you can't have everything!
"I like you. You're hired." The smaller, dark-haired man leaned forward with a grin: conspiratorial, like they already shared a secret. Sebastian didn't bother to hide the flicker of surprise that crossed his face. That easy? "But don't slip up, or I'll make you into shoes."
A/N: Playing with a new style. I just love these two, and I hope I got them in character right. I might make this into a series if I get enough interest.