Jim grinned devilishly to himself as he called up his line. Former body guards, former intelligence agents, personal assistants, and snipers. Maybe twenty or so… It was one long line of idiots. He liked to call up the ones who were retired, or currently out of work. It made recruiting easier in the long run.
Moriarty, feeling childish, pulled a sucker from his back pocket and stuck it between his teeth. He looked over the group as he sucked it. He watched some frown, while others remained expressionless, one or two even smiled lightly, probably amused.
Jim stuck out his finger, pointing to man who looked unimpressed with his theatrics, "You sir."
The man tensed suddenly, "Yes?"
"Is there a problem with snacking?"
The man shook his head, "No sir… it's just… not something you'd expect from a famous-"
"That'll be enough." Jim cooed, his grin never fading.
He scooted himself closer to the man, reaching out his hand to give a light shove, "Fired." Jim started to walk down the line, pushing various people back a few steps, "Fired, fired, thank you, fired, fired…"
There were a little over ten still standing in the front row. Moriarty plucked the treat from his mouth, tossing it onto the ground behind him. "Well then. If you were just fired I suggest you be on your way."
The small groups bustled their way out of the large room, murmuring to themselves with less than satisfactory tones. "Now then," Jim started, "How many of you can actually shoot a gun? If you've got any experience please take a step forward, and know that you will be asked to prove it."
Nine of them left. The other three or so left, shaking their heads. Jim snapped his fingers, calling a man from behind the door. Now the room, well, it was standard. The walls were bare and cold, and would probably have given off the feeling of a garage if you excluded the random couch and small carpet set up by the wall behind them. Jim gave his man a slight nod before he dropped a large crate on the floor. It was the kind of trunk you'd find in your relatives house, the old styled top that clamped down.
One of the ladies looked at the large man wearily. So Moriarty extended his finger once more, "Thank you ma'am but you can go now." She left rather angry.
This was the elimination process. If you couldn't deal with his childish attitude then you were useless. If you couldn't handle a gun you were disposable. If you were easily frightened you were worthless. Jim Moriarty, the 'consulting criminal' as they called him. Sebastian Moran wasn't easily scared. He'd heard all the horror stories of this man, and he'd only grown more intrigued.
Jim jumped onto the crate, his grin never fading throughout. "Alrighty. In here are a bunch of guns. I'm gonna be the responsible adult and- Who am I kidding. Go for it. Hit 4 targets straight on and you can stay. Also, no killing your siblings." He took a motherly tone, "Alright sweeties. Go play."
Moriarty then promptly skipped off to his little corner, taking seat on his couch and watching. Sebastian chuckled as the others looked hesitantly at the box. He took a few steps forward, flipping the lid open. Inside were guns yes, but he could help but laugh a little when he looked closer.
"Paint ball guns?" one of the others asked.
Sebastian wasted no time. He scooped up a couple guns, grinning over at Moriarty once he'd stalked over to a wall, shooting at it three times with each gun experimentally. Each gun shot a different color. "I see…" he muttered. He really was amused with Moriarty.
He turned to see the others still bustling about the trunk. One of them shot another, and the battle began. Sebastian worked skillfully, dodging as many shots as possible and shooting whoever he saw. They hadn't been given any protection however, one man was shot in the eye and was eliminated, another in the hand. He whined as he walked over to join the previous losers.
There were six of them left.
Two women, four men. Sebastian took out two more men, getting hit for the first time by a brunette woman. He took care of her immediately.
Three left.
One of the poor bastards was shot in his genitals, he limped his way over to the losers. The last man shot for Moran, but missed, the ball whizzing past him. Sebastian was about to take care of his last competitor when Moriarty interjected, "Stop!"
The men froze, turning to face Jim. When he saw him, Sebastian tried to contain his laughter. The missing paintball has splatted him across the arm. "You idiots ruined my suit!" he groaned, "If you were out, then you may go." He looked over to the row of losers.
Most of them looked like walking rainbows.
Sebastian fought to control his laughter as the 'ever so threatening' powerful killer strode up to them, covered in hot pink splatters. Moriarty glared at the other shooter, "This is one of my favorite suits. It's Westwood!" he whined.
Moran couldn't hold it anymore. He started laughing, his smile catching Jim's attention. He really did try, but he couldn't stop his laughing, all the while Jim staring at him. He looked amused. Finally, he managed to tone it down, "Sorry sir… You're just a lot more fun then I'd imagined you to be."
Moriarty looked quite interested now, "You mean you don't find me terrifying?" he asked, ignoring the other man completely.
"On the contrary, you're inviting."
A half-grin twitched onto Jim's lips. "What's your name?"
"Moran. Sebastian Moran." He replied, still on the giggly side.
"Sebastian, I could cut my initials into your skin this second and now feel a second of remorse. I'd murder your family in their sleep and I arrange near death experiences for fun. You think I'm inviting?"
Moran smiled, "I think you look like fun."
Now Moriarty was full on grinning. "Alright sir," he turned to face the other shooter, "You're dismissed. Sebastian Moran, you're hired." He extended his hand, "Welcome to the team."