![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
"It's just a job." The man I'm speaking to is very down to earth. His accent is unplaceable; his voice is friendly; we're sitting in a very normal-looking living room, minimalist furniture and walls full of family photographs. We're drinking Stella Artois straight from the bottle, and he has his feet up on the coffee table. His shoes are pristine. He notices me looking.
"Italian," he says. Then he leans forward with a sharp grin and unscrews one of the low stacked heels, tosses it to me. "And that's a GPS unit. The other one - but that would be telling."
I'm talking to a Spy.
"It's just a job," he repeats. "People don't believe that. They get caught up in the details. I saw the look on your face when I showed you my gadgets, but if I were a plumber, say, and I showed you a pipesnake, you wouldn't be impressed, would you? And that's why you're here, too. You could be interviewing a Scout or a Medic, but everybody's met an annoying kid and been to see a doctor. You're here because I'm a Spy, and that makes me more interesting. I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint your readers a little."
Dramatic angle shot, his feet on the coffee table huge and blurry in the foreground, looking up at him as he picks his fingernails with the knife, cigarette at jaunty angle in his mouth.
"THIS IS ACTUALLY A TIMESHARE. I split it with my brother. He's an Engineer. I'm the evil twin."
Shot of him taking a cigarette out of the case, showing just enough of the inside for you to see that there's something other than cigs in there.
TOOLS OF THE TRADE. "One of my pet peeves is that people think I'm James Bond or something. Not everything I carry is some kind of secret gadget. My lighter is just a lighter, not some kind of laser weapon. My cufflinks are just cufflinks, not tiny hidden cameras. My pen is - well, technically it's an underwater hypno-pen, but I haven't run into any sharks to test it on yet."
Leaning against the middle of his living room wall, surrounded by picture frames.
FAMILY PHOTOS. "Most of these are of my teammates. I've switched sides a couple of times, so the frames are color-coded."
Artsy shot in black and white. Spy has his back to the camera, which is looking over his shoulder at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he does up his cuffs. No jacket; revolver in shoulder holster. There's a shaving mug and brush visible on the bathroom counter. No razor.
GETTING READY FOR WORK. "Policemen carry guns. So do mall security guards. Half the people you meet on the street probably have knives in their pockets. I'm not going to hijack the bus on my way to the grocery store.")
The only photo in which the Spy's mask is off is a nighttime shot, blurry and lens-flared to give a sense of Bustle and all that; he's entering a bar and giving someone one of those air-kiss half-hugs in greeting.
AFTER HOURS. "There are Classed bars in every city. The big towns like New York, LA, Las Vegas - some places you wouldn't expect, too - they'll have a Spy bar, an Engineer bar, the one sports bar where all the Scouts go. I usually don't bother, but it's nice to have one place to go where we can all complain about our jobs."
"Italian," he says. Then he leans forward with a sharp grin and unscrews one of the low stacked heels, tosses it to me. "And that's a GPS unit. The other one - but that would be telling."
I'm talking to a Spy.
"It's just a job," he repeats. "People don't believe that. They get caught up in the details. I saw the look on your face when I showed you my gadgets, but if I were a plumber, say, and I showed you a pipesnake, you wouldn't be impressed, would you? And that's why you're here, too. You could be interviewing a Scout or a Medic, but everybody's met an annoying kid and been to see a doctor. You're here because I'm a Spy, and that makes me more interesting. I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint your readers a little."
Dramatic angle shot, his feet on the coffee table huge and blurry in the foreground, looking up at him as he picks his fingernails with the knife, cigarette at jaunty angle in his mouth.
"THIS IS ACTUALLY A TIMESHARE. I split it with my brother. He's an Engineer. I'm the evil twin."
Shot of him taking a cigarette out of the case, showing just enough of the inside for you to see that there's something other than cigs in there.
TOOLS OF THE TRADE. "One of my pet peeves is that people think I'm James Bond or something. Not everything I carry is some kind of secret gadget. My lighter is just a lighter, not some kind of laser weapon. My cufflinks are just cufflinks, not tiny hidden cameras. My pen is - well, technically it's an underwater hypno-pen, but I haven't run into any sharks to test it on yet."
Leaning against the middle of his living room wall, surrounded by picture frames.
FAMILY PHOTOS. "Most of these are of my teammates. I've switched sides a couple of times, so the frames are color-coded."
Artsy shot in black and white. Spy has his back to the camera, which is looking over his shoulder at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he does up his cuffs. No jacket; revolver in shoulder holster. There's a shaving mug and brush visible on the bathroom counter. No razor.
GETTING READY FOR WORK. "Policemen carry guns. So do mall security guards. Half the people you meet on the street probably have knives in their pockets. I'm not going to hijack the bus on my way to the grocery store.")
The only photo in which the Spy's mask is off is a nighttime shot, blurry and lens-flared to give a sense of Bustle and all that; he's entering a bar and giving someone one of those air-kiss half-hugs in greeting.
AFTER HOURS. "There are Classed bars in every city. The big towns like New York, LA, Las Vegas - some places you wouldn't expect, too - they'll have a Spy bar, an Engineer bar, the one sports bar where all the Scouts go. I usually don't bother, but it's nice to have one place to go where we can all complain about our jobs."
