Dimitri MakarovFebruary 6th, Corner Cafe
To think, he'd be back here so soon after the attack staged on the lab. Of course, those who had seen his face and lived, they wouldn't be coming here. Why would they? Wealthy government employed scientists had no reason to come down here where the lower class not only worked but lived and organized crime reigned supreme. It was why he could be here, looking as he did, and suffer no reprocussion such as mugging or interrogations. Many of the mafia higher-ups knew who he was, knew what kinds of things he could do for them...or against them. Those lower than the crime lords, the pick pockets, muggers and blaggards, most did not want to approach him. It was the air he gave off. Like nothing in the world could touch him, like any that tried would suffer the very worsts of fates. That very well may be true.
It wasn't the best little place settled in the south district, a corner cafe complete with a small patio. Sitting upon that patio in one of the wrought iron chairs, Dimitri looked comfortable. A black suit that was perhaps just a little too big for him he wore so easily, a white shirt beneath it, the collar open by two buttons. His right ankle rested on his right knee, the leg held at a right angle out to a side, displaying the worn down sole of a scuffed, dull black shoe. Resting on the small table before him was a small, white glass cup. Dark, murky coffee seemed to swirl inside it, it's scent slightly bitter. It might make some wonder why a man like that was just biding his time in a cafe that served terribly flavored coffee and in such a bad part of town. The fact was that he had business here.
An arms deal to be precise. When government resistance movements wanted to get messages across they had to do something other than wave home-made signs and chant their messages hoping that those in power would be moved by their pleas. Instead they needed firearms to take control of situations and explosives to give their messages a much more potent point. All who bore witness to these events could argue it all they wished. Yes, innocents died from these events and yes, people commited crimes but the concept could be made that there had to be a breaking point to the populace and it's way of life. When that limit was reached things like this were the final result.
On the other hand, Dimitri was a man seemingly without a breaking point. No matter the odds or the enemy he was always calm, cool, collected. He always had a plan. He did not feel for the people nor did he believe in the causes he fought for. No, they just wanted him to fight with them because he was the man with the plans to achieve their goals. Of course, they didn't know that about him. They all just had it in their heads that he was with them for the long haul. Ignorance was bliss. He would leave them to their happy thoughts. He had other things on his mind. His gloved hands were settled on his legs, waiting for the munitions supplier to show. It waas clear he'd done this before, how easily he waited, never figeting or checking to see if the revolver under his blazer was still there. He knew it was, he knew his weapon of choice well. After all, coming to an arms deal unarmed was foolish.