How did I get here? Its been three years, I thought I was doing the right thing... I don't know what to do. Captain please, forgive me.
Fingers laced together at the back of of his neck, clasping to hold his arms up as cleansing water rained down across lithe shoulders, droplets running rivulets down over plains of well built pectorals. Following the lines and curvature of muscles forged by hours of dedicated training, all the way down to the bottom of the shower, circling the drain. He'd been standing there for hours, for what seemed like an eternity, hoping and praying that the water would wash him clean of the sins he knew he was guilty of. Warmth and steam had long since fled, replaced by the chilled droplets kissing his tan flesh. He had been so wrong about everything, water was meant to wash it away, but instead he felt them clinging to him, sucking the life from his body, the vampires. Finally running his hands over the back of his scalp until they came forward over his features, he tipped his head back down, watching the droplets that fell from his chocolate colored hair, he gathered himself, flipping off the shower head. This wouldn't help him. Standing here and allowing now cold drops of water to send goosebumps up his skin wouldn't make his crimes any less incriminating. Or was that the idea of what would happen next, the fear it caused to coil in his stomach and die? How could he ever explain himself if he didn't understand this himself? Who was he, really?
Staring at the uniform, pristine on its hanger beside his bathroom mirror, Piers bit the inside of his cheek. He had worked so hard, striven for so long to get that prized gift. He'd sacrificed his body and mind, trained religiously for that patch placed so proudly upon its shoulder. This is what he wanted, not the life he'd chosen. Not the path he'd fumbled down so blindly for the last few years. Piece by piece he'd make himself to the man he was meant to be, not the one he had been led to pretend to be. He was meant to save the world, meant to be the one that made a difference. The man outside, the one so proud of him, that was a man of honor. How had he not understood? Was he that naive? He'd been accepted into the B.S.A.A., he could never go back to that fatal mistake he'd made. He'd let himself become a weapon.. never again.
"Hey kid, you want really want to serve your country?"
A gravelly voice, almost bass hit Piers' ears as his eyes fluttered shut, trying to tone out the world as he took hold of the scope of his M4 rifle, tucking each piece in its proper place, within its specialty foam casing. He'd been on leave approximately thirteen minutes... whatever it was could wait. His fingers were coated in gun oil and the scent of sulfur was intoxication coy on Piers' senses, tingling and stinging his fingertips, manuevering over his weapon. If anything he had an affinity for the cold steel under his hands and he didn't want anything dragging him away from it, including someone looking to get an easy rise out of him. Love for a weapon was inaccurate, but this man was invading in a moment the man generally spent alone, not much unlike the rest of his life. Two years in the army and he was already evading the comradery that people tried bestowing on him and substituting it with the clutching beauty in his hands.
"Word is, if I need a sniper..." The words trailed off, whoever it was taking note of obvious dismissal, a knife slamming down into the table, banging. Wood picked, gouging a hole into the splinter surface and free standing, the meat hook of a hand clenching into a fist about the hilt, keeping the resonation from the blade quite. The force of gravity yanking whoever it had been jarred the entire table, the attached benches shaking under the weight, and forcing Piers to stop his work, a eyebrow cocking upward in sheer annoyance. Canting his head only slightly, he took in the appearance of the statue across him, not pretending to hide the feelings that spoke better than words. Gruff and sculpted from stone. Every man in the army had some story to tell but this guy was easily 6'3 and weighed a truck load. Built of anger and will power, heavy brows knit together, watching as hazel orbs looked him up and down, from the blond hair, the only thing well kept on his body apart from a straining uniform across an upper body that might have belonged once to a colossus, passed his five o'clock shadow of straw, and down to the markers of rank situated on his being. His arms were thick with ropes of muscle, flesh clinging to them so taut that you could see the veins beneath bulge with his ferocity. "You deaf or what boy scout?"
By obligation alone was he forced to respond. There was no denying a captain, even one he'd never met. Piers jaw clenched considering the man, his soft lips pursed as his lithe fingers tightening around the butt of his rifle, locked in a stare with the man, his gaze narrowing. It was obvious he was waiting for something and staring only made the larger hands clenching around the hilt of the knife cram in deeper into the table top before summoning it free. "Just got off duty..." It wasn't that Piers wasn't interested in whatever he needed, but whoever this was, wasn't looking to make friends and it was obvious he was looking for trouble. Who wasn't in their line of work? Soft tenor was almost inaudible, but forceful none the less, not concerned with speaking his mind. He drew a line down his rifle with the tip of one finger teasingly before continuing to disassemble it with rapidity afford to a man who knew his weapon well, never tearing his eyes away from the man before him. It didn't seem to bother him that the younger man was watching him as carefully as one would watch a lion, in fact it seemed to do the opposite, a large shark like smile had bgeun spreading across his face, strangely out of place on such a large chiseled jaw. "I'm on leave sir..."
"Sir? Heh." The man across from him finally broke the silence, shaking his head and looking about them with the hustle and bustle about, spreading his fingers and giving a wave about them, walking along passed the wooden area. "All these boy scouts around here ready for action and I asked you... makes you think doesn't it? I'm not looking for some second rate shit. Like I said, looking for a sniper, and from what I hear, you are thesniper. Nivans right?" A large mitt scratched the hair at the back of his head, a beret cap lopsidedly hanging in place. "You telling me you aren't interested boy?" There was such a rumble in his chest Piers almost had to strain to listen to him, but he was sure that from the pack of cigarettes poking out of his left jacket pocket. He was all bass, and sarcastic humor, biting every word like a viper that was poised to strike.
Spotting what Piers' eyes had finally settled on, the man in front of his countenance chuckled, pulling the red and white packet from his pocket, resting a cigarette between his lips and lighting it, cramming his supplies back begrudgingly into a breast pocket before taking a long drag, blowing the smoke back in the younger man's face, unflinching. Peeling the stick of toxins from his own mouth with middle and finger, he tipped it and offered the butt of it to Piers, who's eyes followed him briefly, leaning forward and letting him press the end betwixt his lips, taking in a breath against the thick fingers that held it in place. A deep throat chuckle managed from the unsavory blond, pulling it back to his own mouth greedily as smoke coils blew against his face from Piers' slightly parted lips. "Cute." The word snaked out sarcastically, taking one more drag to expand into his lungs before pressing it back to the younger man's mouth, lithe fingers coming up to catch it.
"What's so important, that I can't go on leave then captain? That you need... me." Whoever this was, they were asking him, not ordering him, which meant they didn't have orders at all. No commanding officer asked nicely for a kid his age to come on mission with him. He danced the cigarette between his fingers before dashing it on out the splintered wood. No matter what Piers Nivans was, he loved the game, and he knew his skills well enough to know that there was no second option. He loved hearing men like this, tell them they needed him. More importantly Piers was a weapon of his country, he was there to serve it, and thrived by doing so. Playful as his tone had been, anything concerning the safety of men was his business, that never stopped him though from getting what he wanted. "So important a tough guy like you is giving up his last cigarette."
"Grab your gun, boy. It's time we got to know one another..., the name," A wide smile split across the man's face, gnawing at the savage pleasure of it all, "Jack Krauser."