You Tear Me To Pieces,, Mero

[Mila Mika Eppolito]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background-image:url(http://i462.photobucket.com/albums/qq345/originalscenesta/black_.jpg) ] you tear me to pieces,, It's just the way that we're diseased It's the blade that stains us. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - It wasn't often that Mila found herself in a situation like this; where she was going to a somewhat reliable lover seeking aid. Whether or not one would see it as such was another matter entirely. But, she knew the truth of what brought her here, and that was the fallout between herself and Lucas. After the sudden confrontation of their… emotions she knew that she had to leave. It was childish, to say the least. It was a sign of weakness. And now, while Mila was very good at keeping everyone at arms length, she found that she now had her own, personal, kryptonite. It was information that Dax would kill for. But something told her that her dear friend already had a bit of an inkling as to where her heart truly lay. However, one wouldn't be able to tell that she was crawling away from an argument from the way that she carried herself. No matter what kind of mood she was in, she had this cold and aloof demeanor that drove most up the wall. Many had fallen for her, and tried to steal her away from her lifestyle of sin and debauchery, but she couldn't be bothered. As she had demonstrated to herself, emotional attachment was nothing more than weakness with a flowery title. And that was something that Mila had vowed to herself, a long time ago, would never happen to her. Ever again… But, that was a story for another time, for far more respective ears. Unlike Lucas North. If she were a far less resourceful person, she would have been at a complete loss as to what to do. However, courtesy of her inability to keep her legs closed (or unwillingness, depending on how one looked at it), and her knack for finding those of influence, she knew exactly what she was going to do. The easiest, and most obvious choice would have been to go running to Dax; after all, they had the longest, most amicable relationship out of all of those that she made it a habit to… see. Or, she could have went off with Mikhael, a man that, seemingly had her heart, as well as a very extensive collection of the panties he had taken from her as souvenirs. But, those choices were too obvious. What Mila needed was something that no one would think of. She needed to go pay a visit to Mero. Mero was another one like her; a Raider. And a rather successful one at that. An entrepreneur of sorts, who capitalized on something that everyone wanted to do,(but couldn't succeed at doing in a more civilized time); off someone. Sure, there were hitmen… But things were a great deal more hush hush back then. You couldn't go about handing out names. Here, Mero made a reasonable living at being honest about what he was, and what it was that his people did. Mila was no stranger to killing, and had been in more than a handful of her own altercations. She knew how to take care of herself, and knew that she would be a valued asset. It would take away her ability to travel around on a rig for the most part, but that was something that she was okay with. Anything just to get her back on her feet and moving. Not to mention it gave her something that she loved more than anything: power. What could be better than to play God? Have control over life and death? Especially for a woman like her. Dragging her Slave up to the store front, she tied her up to an old bike rack that had somehow managed to remain unscathed. Her eyes roamed over the front of a rather forlorn looking building; his 'base of operations' as some would call it. Mila sauntered up to his office and knocked on the door, a hand on her hip as she waited, slumped against the wall of the hallway. "Oh, Mero. You do know that I hate waiting…" she said in a rather amused voice as she picked at her black lacquered nails. TAGGING, MERO, THE ASSASSIN. 689. OUTFIT.

[Merovingian King Pryce]

Life wasn't meant to be like this. This was supposed to be a relatively calm place, like it always was, with humans and other creatures continuing to live their lives the way they always did. Mother Nature had its own plans, but it hadn't really occurred to him how much the world would be affected with these toxins that were turning people into degenerative zombies. Disappointing, because now people were reduced to either fleshbags for the infected, or running for their lives, and making sure not to ingest something that would ultimately turn them into flesh-eating creatures. For him, things were altered to some extent. Contracts had now become assignments to track down zombies; there wasn't as much freedom and flexibility as it was before, and he saw his little agency become nothing more than a tool to hunt down those infernal creatures.

With every clink of metal in his office, it drive a deeper determination to kill off every single infected creature that could potentially cause even more damage to the health of this already shaken world. Every gun was well prepared for the sole reason of taking down the infected, and making sure that the ones who weren't would stay as such. Knowing how Merovingian's tendencies were, things had to be have been perfected. From sniper rifle to semi-automatic handgun -- he couldn't spare himself any expenses. A knock on his door. While he would've expected it to be one of his other Raiders coming back from their search parties, they weren't supposed to have arrived this soon. So a part of him could've misconstrued this as a threat almost entirely. Once it registered enough inside his mind, he reached out for one of his weapons, tucking it within his pocket, and calmly approached the door, keeping on high alert what could be behind the door, whether it be intelligent flesh-eaters, or a long-time enemy.

The moment he opened the door, his eyes capturing the sight of an alluring old friend would've sent shivers down the bodies of any man, and perhaps even women. He could only utter a single word to the woman's arrival. “Mila.” It had been a very long time since he had seen her, perhaps too long by Raider standards, and here she was, still as beautiful as ever, as radiant, and presumably as sexual as ever. Which were all good things for him. The slight tinge of excitement crawled throughout his entire body, the reasoning the anticipation why she would be here in front of him. Though it wasn't as if they were long, lost friends, having met each other from time to time, but that usually came with a phone call, or a promise to meet up against. Considering this to be out of the blue, he merely shook his head of the entire thing.

If there was one thing he noticed, though, it was that she looked good still. Seemed that for some women, time served to be their ally, rather than their enemy. The silky auburn hair, the thick and luscious lips that were most likely perfect for a certain act, and then a body that could sway a man to rebel against his lover. All of that, standing there right in front of him. She was right, though -- she was never a woman for waiting, and him standing there, almost dumbfounded (but he'd never show that to her) didn't really help things.

Tilting his head to the side, he noticed a petite young woman tied and chained with a leash against a store rack. While he could easily go and question why she had a woman tied up as if she were a slave, it wasn't of his concern, so he asked not. "This must either be a dream or a death wish." He flashed a flirtatious grin, while stepping to the side and allowing her to come in as she wished. Hell, it could've been both, but he wanted to at least think that she was here to fuck see him, and not kill him.

[Mila Mika Eppolito]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background-image:url(http://i462.photobucket.com/albums/qq345/originalscenesta/black_.jpg) ] you tear me to pieces,, It's just the way that we're diseased It's the blade that stains us. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - A deceivingly sweet smile came to her lips as she looked up at him. Batting her eyelashes a few times, she leaned forward, her fingers moved over the collar of his shirt, as she pushed against him, as though pushing him into his office for a night of carnal bliss. "Nice to see you haven't lost your way with words, Mero." she teased, her demeanor as relaxed and collected as ever before. No one would have guessed that she was technically a homeless woman with no prospects, and nothing but the clothes on the rig, and the slave that she dragged at her heels.... Who was, well, currently tied up outside. Like a good doggy should be. As soon as he welcomed her into his office, she stepped forward, conscious of the already seductive sway to her hips as she moved before him. A wry laugh came to her lips as she looked around. Somethings just... never changed. It was good to see that there was a chance of normalcy while everything around them was changing and shifting. In normalcy, there was comfort. In comfort there was weakness. Weakness that Mila was not above exploiting to get what she wanted. And judging by the way that he reacted, it wouldn't be too hard for her. While, she couldn't say for sure what went through his head about Mila, she figured that it was safe to say that they enjoyed each others company, to a certain extent. And every time they took each other to their beds, there was always a good time to be had. All that she would need to seal the deal would be a few uttered words of a promise of intimacy, and a reminder of the skills (outside of the bedroom) that she possessed. Beyond that, what would make a better assassin than a disarmingly beautiful woman? Pushing herself onto Mero's desk, she crossed her legs and picked up a rather inexpensive and impersonal nick-knack. Rolling it around in her fingers, she leaned back on her free hand, and kept her honey brown eyes glued to it. "I have a proposition for you, Mero." she purred, her eyes never leaving the object that she held in her slender fingers. "And it's one that I know you're going to be pleased by." she let her eyes flit up to his for a brief moment, a seductive smirk curling at the corners of her lips. Placing the nick-knack back down on the desk, she leaned back on both of her hands, an almost inviting look to her as she watched him. It was as though she was a tigress, ducked low under the cover of tall grass, watching as her prey loomed ever closer to the trap that she had laid out. When they were least expecting it, she'd pounce, and take from it what she pleased. It was a tempting thought to most men... And she knew Mero well enough to know that he would never refuse such an attack. What harm was there in a simple romp in the bedroom? "I grow tired of Raiding." she admitted, keeping her eyes locked on his. "I crave some semblance of normalcy and stability. I'd like to become a part of your employ." she said, bluntly. "And I'd like a stable lover." she cooed, the smirk returning to her lips. Slowly, and deliberately, she uncrossed her legs, only to switch from one leg to another. She slid her heel up her calf as she switched, reminding him of... just how flexible she really was. It was a game that she liked to play; a tease before the real teasing began. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to work him too hard. She was tired from traveling. And could use a bit of relief. TAGGING, MERO, THE ASSASSIN. 632. OUTFIT.