A New Mission

Log Title: A New Mission

Location: Southeast United States - North America

Date: July 29, 2016

Summary: Hannibal has a mission for the Dreadnoks.

As logged by Hannibal - Friday, July 29, 2016, 7:10 PM

Southeast United States - North America[]

Like the Northeastern US, this area extends from the Mississippi to the Atlantic and encompasses a variety of states, including those states most associated with the Old South. Once considered a backward region, the South has indeed risen again to become an area of culture and industry.

The flame-haired Dreadnok slows his motorbike and stops, scouting the area for anything unusual he might see. No particular reason, simply a desire to see the sights in this familiar area of the United States. It's very close to home, very swampy, but Zandar has it covered. He walks the rest of the way back to base. Back home. At last. He wonders if his siblings would even remember him, with a hitch of resentment and sadness.

When Zandar arrives home, a visitor is waiting outside for him. Straddling his own motorcycle, Hannibal is wearing a tight white T-shirt, tight blue jeans, and a black leather jacket. His olive skin is tanned, and the Florida wind blows his long black hair. As Zandar walks up, Hannibal does more than notice him - he gives the Dreadnok a warm smile. "Zandar," he says pleasantly. "So good to see you again. I hope you don't mind me dropping in like this."

Zandar walks quickly toward the motorbike as he spots the rider. He can't help but break into a smile. So happy is he to see this familiar face in particular. He reacts with pleasant surprise, "Hannibal," his grin grows even wider, "Good to see you! What brings you here?" For the moment Zandar doesn't give a damn if the other Dreadnoks are here. It is impossible not to notice the tight shirt, those tight jeans, and that jacket, over...

"I've been gone for months."

"Well, I picked the perfect time to arrive, then," Hannibal says with a grin. "I have a mission for your Dreadnoks," he says, with a natural assumption that Zandar has authority without questioning it. Hannibal parks the bike and swings one of his powerful legs over the seat to stand. "I want you to use your network to distribute weapons to various bike gangs throughout the country. We'll provide the guns. You sell them and keep the money. Sound like a good deal to you?" Hannibal gives Zandar a winning, questioning smile.

Mesmirized by that smile, Zandar just barely hears what it is Hannibal has proposed to him. It stuns him, too, that Hannibal presumes an authority he just does not have -- or doesn't think he has. "Sounds good," he comments, "That can be arranged, I'm sure, but I'd have to ask my brother Zartan before I commit to anything." Zandar shifts position, to get a better look at Hannibal from another angle. The flowing hair, the strength of the legs, magnificent... Zandar swallows and mutters something to himself. Zandar mutters to himself, "... wish... liked women."

Hannibal pretends not to notice Zandar's interest, but he's not above using it to his advantage. "I realize you should talk it over with your family. Discuss with them and get back to me." He reaches into the pocket of his jacket with his fingerless gloves and produces a business card with a number but no name. "Call me when you get an answer. I'll be nearby, and I'll be sure to come when you're ready." He gives Zandar another devastating smile.

And Zandar is surely, miserably devastated by it as he reaches for the card and takes it. 'I'm ready,' Zandar thinks to himself. 'Oh God I'm ready. This is ridiculous,' He thinks, miserable, pocketing the card. Zandar reaches up to touch the back of his neck, distracted, "I'll--I'll call," he clears his throat, "I can't see my brother losing out on an opportunity like this." Zandar, too, tries to pretend not to be interested. Who's he fooling? Zandar again mutters to himself, "... ready.... damn... ready.... come."

Hannibal nods and looks pleased. "If you have any questions, feel free to contact me immediately. I greatly look forward to working with you, Zandar." A half-smile quirks the side of his face attractively. Walking back to his bike, he mounts it with a smooth swipe of his leg and revs the engine. "I hope to hear from you soon." Hannibal gives Zandar a wink, and prepares to roar off on his motorcycle, long hair blowing in the wind.

Zandar feels his stomach flutter at the grin, feels it bottom right out at the wink. He bids Hannibal goodbye as collected as he can, "You'll hear from me soon." As Hannibal drives off, however, Zandar swipes a hand down his face, which very nearly threatens a scowl, "Why couldn't I be like my brother..."