Full Disclosure
Johny is currently reclined on the couch, reading a book. What book? Why, the Collected Works of Mark Twain. Marcus will show you in.

Marcus is greeted in a very friendly manner - Jamileh likes him much - as she enters, peering at the man on the sofa. "G'day then, Johny. Oi, that's an antique."

Johny looks at the woman. "So am I." He offers with a smile. "YOu look… nice. Whats on your mind?"

Jamileh looks down at herself, then smiles in a way that says he said the right thing. "Ah, few things. First, I think I found a new flat. I think."

Johny ohs quietly. "Really." He asks curiously, setting the book to the side, a bookmark between the two pages.

"Yeah, that all right? I wanted to get away from Mountain Hills." Jamileh sits down near, but not in the personal space of, the man on the sofa. "Downie showed me McAffrey Towers. Bit pricey but I can afford a few months there. Probably have to sleep on the floor."

Johny slides a little closer, but not yet quite intimate. "The tower's a nice place, and I hear good things about the place across the way, Mooreland. They are finishing a refurbishment soon."

Jamileh nods. "Hoo, what Downie's done with his flat. I couldn't begin to afford that but I wish I could. He gave me a membership at the gym too. People there know you, seems like. I don't talk about you much, though. I…hope that's all right. Seems wise."

Johny nods to Jamileh. "It's probably best, Jam." He says, shortening her name a bit familiarly. "I'm a man who inspires people. To love, or to hate, but few fall in the middle."

"I noticed that." She smiles faintly, adding, "THere was a bloke last night who chatted me up a lot. Got the idea he was fishing for something. Here, here's his card." And she presents the card Denton gave her, with contact information.

Johny eyes Denton's card. "Let me guess." he says after a moment. "He mentioned his old car, he talked about his awesome warehouse and this and that, tried to get you to go for a ride and otherwise tried to seem like an international man of mystery?"
Johny wasn't even there, but it IS denton's MO.

Jamileh snorts. "Yeah, that seems like the man. He bought this horrible orange piece of trash car and wanted me to go for a ride with him. Show me his other cars. I kept figuring that of all the people he could have chatted up, he picked me? Jingoes. He wanted something."

Johny shrugs. "Denton.. he's a special case." He says shrugging. "We started around the same time in Denver, about ten years ago, but he let his love of the prettier ladies… blind him to getting -work- done and building skills. He's a runner who's just good enough to get you deep enough to be killed because he dosent know enough to get you -out-."

"Well, he seemed to talk a good game, and I learned a long time ago not to trust yappie sorts. Like little dogs." Jamileh slides a little closer, adding more quietly, "It's a little stupid for me to think this but I've worried people like him might see me coming here pretty often and get ideas."

Johny smiles quietly… "I could always set up.. something different. I have a lot of faces, kiddo." he says, shifting slightly. Not moving in to her or rushing at her, just shifting posture to let her know her presence is not offensive.

Jamileh sighs, querying, "Do you know what I mean, Johny? You're very rich and powerful, and if someone got into his head I might be used against you…what could I do about it?"

Johny ahhhs… "Sorry…" He admits, looking away, his posture shifting to more neutral again. "Yeah, well, thats the fucking rub on everything in my life, kiddo. I get a coffee, it could be poisoned, or some shit."
"That," she murmurs, "is not one bit funny."

"What? It's the truth. Everything is a risk, Kiddo." He says, standing up. "Everything. From where I eat, to who I talk to, to what car I drive, to where I go to sleep." He exhales… "But thats true for EVERYONE. It's all about risk management. It's about accepting that there's a risk that going out to get fresh corn, that on the way to the market, I could get hit by a goddamn buss."

Jamileh nods but points out, "It's just that most of us don't have people who'd be willing to drive a bus to be sure of it, Johny."

Johny chuckles. "Does the fact that I have enemies scare you?" He asks, turning serious then… "I can't tell you I'm a saint. I'm not. But I do alright."

"No, no. It's not that. I just don't want to be your Achilles heel." Jamileh manages a faint smile, but this plainly concerns her. "I know some ways to take care of myself, but … Let's face it. Here I'm just a dumb kid."

"Well." He syas, one hand reaching up to rub his neck. "That's not inaccurate. You're not a seasoned agent." He admits. "But I'm willing to take some chances, and to work with you, training you. But not because I want to kiss you more.." He says with a smile. "But because I think you're going to a good agent."

Jamileh smiles, albeit as faintly as before, as she remarks, "You understand, Johny…that's what I want. For you to work with me and train me. And ah…. Well, you know, the rest is nice too."

Johny nods, moving off in to the kitchen to get a beer. "Want a drink?" He asks then, reaching in to the fridge.

"Please," she calls in response, tugging off her boots to make herself more comfortable. "And something to eat if you can? I'm bloody peckish."

Johny reaches in, looking around. "How do you feel about potato salad? I have a container here from room service a few hours ago. I never got around to eating it."

Jamileh laughs. "Beggars aren't choosers. Sounds fine. Thanks. Hey, I bought some gear last night if you want to have a peek at it. It's in my bag."

Johny nods, his ass sticking up in the air as he bends down to the bottom shelf. "Yeah, sure, I can look it over for you."

Jamileh isn't looking. No, really. (She's totally looking.) "I don't know that I want to share that."

Johny bounces a bit, pulling out the containers and setting them on the countertop. He sets the two beer bottles on the counter next to them. "So what else was sold last night? I had to fly to Salt Lake City on short notice… didn't get to go."

"Oh, some cars, some really handsome antique revolvers…this incredibly unattractive orange car, a classic. A coat with built-in sensors." Jamileh pads into the kitchen to keep Johny company while he's mucking about in there. "A ninja in a box, Pete called one thing. Strewth, the amount of cash floating around for absolute crap, Johny…."

Johny raises an eyebrow, looking to the woman. "Ninja in a box. ANd I heard about the car. Some kind of old TV show thing."

Jamileh shrugs. "Maybe. It was bloody ugly, if you ask me. Denton bought it. I refused to ride it in. Completely obnoxious horn. Ninja in a box was a nice bike - reminds me, I need new transportation - and some relatively cheap gear. Ridiculous. I wanted the bike but the price went clear out of logical range."

Johny nods to Jamileh. "What kind of a ride do you prefer?"

"Mmm…dunno. I can afford another bike. That's fine. Nice thing about them? They're transportable and honestly? I look less noteworthy on a bike. Though," she admits with a little chuckle, "they get away a bit slower. I mean a bicycle, you know. I'd love a motorcycle, but…"

Johny nods to the woman. "What kind of bike? SOmething sporty, something hawgish?"

Jamileh, shrugging, opens up one of the containers and starts looking for a spoon or fork. "Whatever I can afford. Oi, you're not buying me anything else, you know."

Spoons and forks are in the drawer to the right, so noted by the pointing finger. "Naw." He says, thinking that over. "I have some bikes in storage I don't use. Not your style though. Harley's."

"Oh, something I can borrow?" That seems different, judging by her tone. She plucks a spoon out of the drawer and sniffs the potato salad before taking a seat on the counter. "I can ride a cruiser but probably safer in a car. I'm good walking, you know."

Johny nods. "I have a BMW somewhere… a GHT-50 Turbo-lux… could you drive a BMW?"

Jamileh stops with the first spoonful halfway to her mouth. Yes, she intends to eat out of the container. "A…BMW? Car?"

Johny eats out of the container and drinks out of the carton. "Yeah, sports car, one of those newer models."

Swallowing, the Aussie murmurs, "Um, you could…don't you have anything like an old banger that I won't cry over if I scratch?"

Johny shrugs. "It's insured."

"It's a bloody Beemer, Johny."

Johny shrugs. "IT's a car. A pile of rubber, steel and plastics." he says, reaching in to a small cabinet lined with keys. "Here we go. Silver BMW."

Jamileh shakes her head several times, saying, "Think about this. Why you'd flaming do it. You barely…I mean…anyone who knew it was your car…"
Johny shrugs. "look. No one knows how many cars I have. Because I usually just STEAL my cars. This one, I own, or rather, a holding company does."

Jamileh ohs. She purses her lips, licks them free of the one mouthful of potato she's eaten, then puts the container down and slides off the counter. "I don't mean to be a fuss and all, Johny," she explains softly, "and seem ungrateful. I'm worried that you think the cash you left, this BMW…it's why I'm here."

"If I thought that, Jam… I'd just kill you and bury your body in my favorite lime pit." A pause after that monotone delivery, before he cracks a smile. "I'm kidding. But even if you're after my money?" He shrugs. "I'm out a weeks income. Boo fucking hoo."

Jamileh, smiling a little, comments, "It's not that. I just don't want you -thinking- that."

Johny slides the keys across the counter. "I don't. If I did, I'd be a willing partner in it. It's a common enough thing, old white men, young pretty women of color."

Jamileh looks at the keys, then at Johny, and says honestly, "I don't have any idea how I can repay you for all of this. Other than busting my arse working for you."

He pops the top off his beer now, taking a swig. "SOunds like a plan, kiddo." he says with a grin."

She closes her hand over the keys, pulling them to her, then tucking them into her front jeans pocket. "You," she remarks with a wry little smirk, "are a complete whacko jackaroo."

Johny nods to the young girl. "ANd don't you forget it!" He says pointing at her, firmly. A heart beats pause. "Uh… whats a Jackaroo?"

Laughing a moment, Jamileh compliments, "Good bloody comic timing. But in case you weren't joshing, a jackaroo's someone who works hard in the Outback on a station. Sunbaked."

Johny grins, one hand drifting forward to touch her hand; almost like a teenager… "Look. Stop worrying that I think you're a gold digger. If you are, my posse will sniff it out. If you're not, if your legit? Then you have nothing to worry about. So take what I offer, ask for what you need… and give as good as you get."

Jamileh's eyes narrow, expression shrewd, then she gives a firm nod and a soft, "Onya then. Righto," leaving her hand where it is. Her arm goes around his waist, however, and she draws close enough to bestow a lingering, gentle kiss on his lips. "Thanks."

Johny returns the kiss, then placing his lips to the womans forehead. "It's just being human, kiddo. It doesn't come natural for me much… so it's nice when it does."

"I'm calling bullshit on that," Jamileh counters, "because I know you care about other people. I think you prefer people to think you don't."

Johny exhales. "No." He says, pulling back then a bit. "It's.. not like that. I care about select people. Very special people. People who matter. Everyone else… is a statistic walking."

Jamileh's hand rests, then, on his hip, her head tilted a bit as she weighs his words, then she nods once. "I'll count myself on the lucky side of that, then."

Johny exhales. "Okay. So lets get something 'straight'." He says turning away and leaving the beer there. "I'm mostly metal and bioengineered meat. More importantly, I'm a functional psychotic." He says, looking over his shoulder. "By all traditional definitions, I should be scraping off your skin, tanning it, then wearing it while I masturbate. I have more psychological quirks than the AMA's Clincal Handbook of Psychological Disorders."

HE steps away. "Tell me something. Tell me the date and time you first had sex." He looks back to her then. "Go ahead."

Uh, no, not right at first. Because what he's said, that description, seems to have been the verbal equivalent of a frying pan in the face. Beer is paused on its way to her mouth, as the bite of food was earlier, and she just…stares.

Johny smiles. "Don't worry. I'll explain. Just… give me that detail, that very -real- thing about you. Something you will remember forever."

Jamileh takes a deep drink of beer - happens to be his beer, but hey, it's closer - before answering. "April 18, 2068. I told you I waited a bit."

Johny nods then, listening to her. He exhales. He starts to talk once, then stops, his mouth hanging open a moment. He tries again, then closes his mouth again. He exhales again, closing his eyes. "January 3rd, 2028. Just outside Moscow, it was the dead of winter. Me and Olga Marichinko were in the back of an abandoned van. I was 15. December 12th, 2031. I was 18 years old in Upstate new york, in a refugee camp left over from the forced expulsion of the Anglo from the west. Jessica, I think, was her name. In 2029, three days before the crash, I was 16, in NEw Orleans… and I lost my virginity to a prostitute." A pause. "And when I Was 12, in 2025, I was living in Chicago when I was attacked by a gang of orc supremacists, raped and brutalized. I'm still unable to get an erection." A pause.

He looks to her, levelly. "All of these things are true. To me. And none of them. I am not MPD, don't think that for a moment." A pause. "I… had a career for a very long while, that left me with 4 distinct memory strings, full lives… that go all the way back to childhood, and a half dozen less complete strings from 12th birthdays to other random memories."

Johny nods to the door. "I won't stop you or hold it against you."

Jamileh crosses the floor with his beer and hers, offering him one bottle. "I think," she says in a quiet voice, "we had better sit down." Or she had.

Johny follows behind her, taking one beer and settling down, watching her carefully, considering.

By the time she sits on the sofa, Jamileh's beer is empty, but she's still holding the bottle. Her knuckles? A bit white. "You had a career," she repeats a little flatly.


Johny nods to the woman. "What I do know is sometime in the mid 2030s… I entered the service of the Central Intelligence Agency. I specialized in deep cover operations in the awakened world. I was very good at what I did. Unfortunately, in the awakened world, being very good is not enough. Programmable ASIST Biofeedback was in its infancy, but it was pioneered by the Intelligence Community to assist in penetrating terrorist organizations and… other governments, who might possess Magi capable of reading thoughts and parsing memories."

He has her attention. Oh, does he ever have her attention. "Go on," she whispers.

"So." Says he, sipping his beer, looking down at the floor for a moment. "I was very… very good at what I did. Becoming other people. Entirely. For years at a time."

She nods. Once. Has she even blinked?

He shrugs then. "In the process… I lost track of who I actually was. And so did the Company."

Jamileh queries, with great reluctance, "You have no idea who you really are?"

Johny looks to Jamileh with a slight smile. "We are who we chose to be, Jamileh. Identity is just self perception. I know who I am. I don't know who I -was-."

"And all the implants, all the cyber…?" she murmurs, voice just above inaudible.

He doesn't answer. "Origionally, government issue. No longer. I've long since outgrown the ware the lowest bidder put in me."
Johny guesses he did answer.

"But…why? I mean…why?" Poor kid looks so lost now, as if trying to absorb it all.

He exhales. "That… is something I can only answer to the best of my ability. The identity I choose as my own, Samuel Thayer… He's 56 years old. When he was 3 years old, he was living in POrtland Oregon. His family had a large farm. He had a great little life. And then, in the space of an hour, it all ended, Jamileh. Four volcanoes in a 200 mile radius blew their tops. Simultaneously. One was only 20 miles away. The sky turned black, the ground shook and flaming chunks of ROCK slammed out of the sky, destroying houses, smashing cars and lighting fires that only added to the chaos. Then came the ash, smothering everything. Our livestock died, our barn burned and the house collapsed. My grandmother died. And then came the treaty of Denver."

HE gets up, pacing now. "We were forced off our land. Uprooted and marched across the nation. We had nothing, living in a refugee camp while the world literally convulsed around us. VITAS, wave after wave of death, Jamileh… Dragons. Magic. Orks and Trolls. Elven nations… And at every turn, my people, the American people, were kicked in the teeth. Every new power lessened our own, made us less safe, took more of our dignity."

He exhales then… "And I wanted to defend what we had left."

A rapt audience. Jamileh - too trusting, perhaps? - looks engrossed in the tale, watching breathlessly as the man unfolds his history. "So you joined this spy group?"

"Yes." he says simply. "I did. I joined, was given augmentations years before the shadows had them, training and assistance. And I traveled the globe, met interesting new people, and killed them. Or set them up to be killed. I've been the boogy man, Jamileh. I've been the man that people whisper about."

"What…." She needs another beer, but perhaps because she needs one she doesn't GET one. "Do you know why you left?"

Johny nods. "I do." He says quietly. "In 2055, I was deployed to Dubai. I had a wife. I had a child. Julia and Alicia. Julia, my wife, was 38. A company analyst specializing in Native American Affairs, and Alicia, a precocious 9 year old. Samuel Thayer was my dominant identity at that time. We lived in Chicago. Do you know what happened in Chicago in 2055?"

14 years earlier. Not that long ago, really, though Jamileh would have been eight or nine at most and a half a world away. "The containment zone?" she queries in that low tone she has used since the subject was first broached.

Johny nods to the woman. "My condominium was 300 feet away from ground Zero. They told me that Julia had been gotten out safe. I was in Dubai. I was a half world away. I was in deep cover… and the Company wouldn't let me go home. I was mission-critical. No one went in to remove my family. No one tried to get them to safety. No team was ever sent. I came home and learned the truth." He's quiet then. "I snapped. Everything I had spent 30 years working for, dedicating myself, my identity and my soul too… was gone."

"They lied to you," summarizes the young Persian Aussie woman sitting on the edge of his sofa. "They bloody lied to you?"

Johny nods. "The… Bugs… they are what we were supposed to be defending against. Defending the American People from the goddamn things that went bump in the night! THEY were the ones who suffered, the People! They died because someone didn't pay attention. And they lied to me. I snapped. I really… snapped. I don't remember much about the next two years, but I was… -very- unpopular in certain circles. Mostly because I will killing people. Lots of people. CIA. NSA. FBI. Ares Macrotechnologies. Anyone and everyone associated in some way with the colossal blunder that led to Chicago. I had some help, people sympathetic to me, to the situation.. and those who were less sympathetic tried to stop me. Oh, they tried… but they were the ones who trained me. I knew their tricks and had learned ones of my own."

Jamileh doesn't say anything for a long moment. She just watches, listening, eyes bright, perhaps shining a bit.

Johny gestures dismissively. "I don't know who I was. But I know who I am." He says quietly. "And I am a man who has done very… very bad things. And I have a long road of atonement to go before the scales are even."

Gingerly Jamileh puts down her bottle of beer, then she crosses the room to where Johny has paced. Under her olive complexion, she is pale, her eyes a bit wide and, yes, a little damp. Not much, just a bit. All that she can offer after that soul-baring story is a hug. So that's what she offers, if he'll have it.

Johny exhales, taking her hug for what its worth. "I am pinochio, Jamileh… I am not like other men. I am a self-made man in the classic sense." One hand comes up to touch the back of her head. "And being associated with me… has its quirks."

Head on his shoulder, face turned away from his, Jamileh murmurs, "If you're having me on, I deserve what I get for believing you. But all that matters to me is what you said a minute ago. About evening the score."

"Keeping score is a poor way to go through life, kiddo." He says, exhaling. "So do as I say, and not as I do."

"No, no it's not. Trying to keep a balance…it's what my sensei used to say to me over and over again. I just didn't bloody get it." On his shoulder, her head turns so she can look at him. "So much to know about you. Crikey, no wonder you call me 'kiddo.' I must look like a babe in the cradle to you."

Johny chuckles quietly, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Alicia would be your age, if she'd lived."

Jamileh stiffens a bit at that. "If…if that's weird, that I'd be…that I'm the same age as…you know. If it's weird, we don't have to…push that." Even if she sounds disappointed.

"You're a woman." He says simply, stepping back. "And Viviana is only 6." He says. "But she's in Italy with her mother."

Jamileh nods to that, taking a deep breath before she mentions, "You gave me a bloody lot to think about. You know that."

Johny nods. "You should probably… go think about it. Then come back later and tell me if I'm still worth the trouble."

"Can I ask something, before I go?" she queries, fingering the keys in her pocket. "How many people know what you just told me?"

Johny thinks that over. "Four. Kassandra. Aladriel. My Ex Wife. You." He answers after a moment. "Everyone else is dead."


Jamileh nods, as if the answer given was what was expected, no surprise. Warily she goes on to ask, "Do you think telling me all this is a bigger investment in me than the keys in my pocket or the cash you left in my old flat?"

"By far."

"That's what frightens me." Jamileh moves toward the door, hand in her pocket. The bag of gear she brought is picked up on the way. "That's precisely what scares the bloody piss out of me."

He offers a nod. "You deserve to know just what you're getting in to with me." He says simply. "No wives a year down the road."

Without turning around, head bowed, Jamileh replies, "You could have said anything else, given me anything else, and none of it would have made me think you might, just might, think me attractive and desirable and worthy of your time more than what you just said. But…" And now she glances over her shoulder, "if it's all bullshit and you're having one over on me? Hell hath no fury, love."

Johny comments simply, one hand reaching up to run through his hair. "I been to hell." He says with a wry grin. "It's over rated."

The bag she is carrying is dropped, and, turning, Jamileh displays some of that quickness she must have used to get his book, because she crosses the room in a few swift and soundless steps, puts her arms around him and presents him with a fiery embrace. Definitely not the sort that friends give each other.

Johny takes the woman fully, not giving ground nor stepping back to get away. He lets her kiss him, returning it with full fire, full vim and vigor. The kiss is allowed to go on for a long moment, one hand sliding around the small of her back and lifting the smaller woman, moving with her as the kiss directs. After that languid space, that time where time slows down, one hand moves in to her hair, jerking back roughly, but not so much to be painful, more of a dominance and control… He looks at her then, blueish green eyes with steel at the outside edge.

"You need to go." A heartbeat. "Now."

Jamileh does not need to be told twice. She turns back toward the door, collecting her bag on the way, and is gone with cat-like tread a moment later. Utterly soundless…other than the roughness of her breathing.

Johny turns away then, one hand snagging his beer and bringing it to his lips, looking out over the picture window, silent, the city below.

Jamileh steps out in to the hallway to the outside.
Jamileh has left.

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