Bangkok is not Bora Bora. So per Rhys’ personal truth, the place was simply tolerable. However, even Rhys could appreciate the opportunity to at least indulge in a few Bangkok delights amid his hunt. After all, there’s no fun in work without some play. Should he not be on business here, it would have been more than tempting for Rhys to desire a sample of a private bedroom showing of what those in Bangkok have to offer. But alas, he’d have to pass on such lovely pleasures during this trip. Well, he did treat himself to new clothing, but he truly could not pass up an opportunity to add to his wardrobe. And what he found delighted him, in the sense his new favorite outfit was light, comfortable, hung on him perfectly, and was easy to maneuver in. A simple long sleeve linen button down, in a duller white shade of color to match his equally dull white cabo shorts. The urge to gather a snazzy belt and jewelry was there, but he resisted. At least Rhys found peace in his new shoes though; light tan canvas sneakers.

The Englishman had put an end to his outside aid upon making landfall in Bangkok, mostly because he really didn’t want to share more than he already had to out of his take for Haven and the Drive. And as luck -because he refuses to believe he hasn’t got any- would have it, a grocery store was a small piece to Rhys’ nearly finished puzzle. And sure enough, it was upon Haven exiting the store that Rhys laid his eyes on him, while Rhys fancied himself with a new pair of sunglasses at a lone stand across the way. After purchasing a rather nicely tinted black pair, Rhys kept a fairly great distance as he subtly trailed Haven through the streets.

Rhys could not relent from the small, unimpressed scoff he had given upon seeing the hotel Haven had seemingly chosen to reside in. Sure, somewhere less than luxurious would be a logical choice for anyone on the run, but Rhys would have respected a bolder move of a man striving to experience every luxury in life while he can. Because that would have been his own move, but Rhys can’t force people to live their lives to the fullest. They’ll just have to settle with mediocrity without his input. Such a pity. The Englishman was a little less patient when Haven had entered the building, and Rhys picked up his pace to hopefully get a glimpse of the direction Haven was going inside. If he could have a visual on the room Haven was staying in, or at least the general area of the room, it would make Rhys’ life far easier.

It presented itself to be that Rhys only had to enter and snap his attention in the direction of the sound of a door clicking closed to know where Haven was. Success was so close that Rhys could taste it now; and it tasted like a very expensive Chardonnay. And after this fun little chase was done for good and his payout was secured? For certain Rhys was going to spoil himself rotten. A faint smile -wolfish in nature- crept onto his face at the thought before he continued through the establishment to situate himself with a room here as well. Granted, Rhys already has a room just below suite quality elsewhere at a hotel, but it’s not as if he didn’t have money to throw around at any given moment for the purpose of catching Haven.

A few times Rhys had paced the interior of the hotel causally, making note of any movement from Haven’s quarters. And while he didn’t take notice of anything, it didn’t mean Rhys wasn’t contemplating whether Haven had got out without Rhys noticing. Regardless, he was going into Haven’s room. Whether to secure Haven, the Drive, or blessed be if he can manage both. Prowling places at night was hardly a difficulty for Rhys either, and in the mean time he had primarily fixed himself up in his own room in wait of the late night hours. And when it came, Rhys was on the move. The only changes he made to himself over the course of time was holstering a handgun on an old belt, with the gun invisible to the naked eye with how the shirt he wore fell a little past his waist, concealing the weapon wonderfully.

Getting into homes and rooms has always been fairly easy for Rhys, as his self-taught lock picking skills have served him abundantly well over the past several years. And once he was confident of himself having quietly gotten the door open without any lurking spectators, Rhys didn’t hesitate to slip inside and silently shut the door behind him. Anticipating the heavy darkness, at least Rhys could lay visual to the silhouettes and shapes within the room, and as the seconds passed, his eyes became better adjusted. The shadows within the room were things Rhys quickly observed, but his senses were primarily trained on the obviousness of a being habitating in this space. And as Rhys’ airy steps furthered into the room, the eventual sight of a bed holding a sleeping figure enlivened him. If there had been any decent light in the room, it would have surely reflected the malevolent but pleased glow in the green-eyed monster’s orbs.

Excitement coursed through his veins, like a child on Christmas after opening a present to see the toy they had been dying to have for months. And after reveling in his near complete success for a moment, he continued to creep closer to the figure while unholstering his handgun. A final pause is where Rhys stationed himself to be standing over the sleeping Haven, with a villainous smirk of victory etching itself onto his face. Leaning over enough to make sure he would be ready in the event Haven tried to spring up from his position, Rhys extended his hand with the gun out before firmly placing the cold metal of the gun to the side of Haven’s head. A quick action of clicking the safety off followed, and confident that would all be enough to rouse any sleeping human, Rhys looked down on the man before whispering in a chillingly joyful tone, “I win.” The words of two fell past Rhys’ lips with a rush of pride following in their wake. But Rhys won this little game, as he did with practically all of his games. And this was clearly no different, as here he was; with his target in a vulnerable position at his mercy. Is there a sweeter feeling than this?

Haven couldn’t remember when his eyes finally slid shut, all he knew was that they did. He could hear the barely audible breathing before everything went to shit. Only moments after he registered that someone was in the room he felt it. The feeling of something cold pressing up against his head and a chilling click was enough for a shot of alarm to spring through him. A gun? He really should’ve kept his own gun aside of him, because who cares if he accidentally shot himself in the middle of the night. It would’ve been more handy in his bed than inside the drawer. He didn’t immediately open his eyes, and he was happy about that, because the chilling statement of ‘I win’ slithered down his spine, he would’ve been a mess if he saw the man saying that statement. If he wasn’t trying so hard to stay still he would’ve shivered right then and there. He slowly blinked his eyes open, trying to come across as confused. The black fringe of his hair casting a very slight curtain over his eyes. In front of him was the man he had seen surveillance footage of. He had known this was coming, but really in his sleep? Both of his hands were still under the covers so he took no time in attempting to inch one of his hands to the pocket where his knife was.

Once finishing his act of blearily opening his eyes he took a quick look around with his eyes, still very enthralled with the position he was in. A man standing over him and a gun pressed right up to his head. Now this was definitely a morning he would like to not revisit. Actually… Was it even morning? It was still dark inside the room and with an inward groan he started to bash himself for not being more careful. He’d gotten lazy since reaching Bangkok, hooked on the idea that the change of plans was so unexpected it would take longer for him to be caught up to. Obviously he was wrong.

“Oh, hey man. Are you here about the vacuum sale?” Haven said practically the first line in his head. Hoping to at least confuse the hunter who was currently still leaning over him. Without even waiting for a reply he took a deep breath in before starting to yell.

“Oh my god! Someone send help! Someone! Anyone!” He started his screaming in French, before turning it over to Spanish to repeat the mantra. His hopes were that this hunter would be too busy trying to shut him up that he wouldn’t notice Haven attempting to pull his knife out. He was going slow and steady trying not to draw too much attention to it. Haven didn’t really want the hotel staff to come by to see if he was okay so he was trying his best to be quick about this, and if he got out of this unscathed he could just pretend it was the tv being too loud. If that didn’t work, he’d probably just leave then and there. Or something along those lines. He was a little concerned originally that this certain plan wouldn’t work, probably because he’d be shot dead once he started trying to do anything. Yet, he imagined that any bounty hunter with the intent just to kill would have shot him the moment they had the chance. Unless they had some sort of fetish for watching their victim squirm before their death. Leaning on the hope that this man had no intention of killing him, he continued to yell out.

Haven refrained from looking down to his hand and very carefully grasped the knife in his hand. He slid it open so that the knife was ready. With his free hand he attempted to grab the wrist holding the gun to tilt it away from his head and swing the knife up and out from under the covers. The knife appeared to be aiming anywhere between the shoulder to neck area. It wasn't supposed to be a direct hit, he just wanted the man to back up so he would have room to get away. He wasn’t going for the kill, at least not right now. Haven didn’t like killing people, if it came down to it he would, but it just wasn’t something he liked to have on his mind.

Haven in the up close and personal flesh.

Perhaps it wasn’t in good taste for Rhys to say that he was mildly disappointed with the sight of the slumbering man. Yet he was. For what reason spurred such dissatisfaction? The impending sense that the thrill he’s been chasing might at last be at its end. Ah yes, that’s it. Rhys is a sentimental man, and now that he had the man he’s been chasing for some time on the other end of a gun… already he was beginning to mourn his fun. It’s a rather good thing money buys happiness, and with the money the Englishman will be pulling in from delivering Haven and the Drive, he’d have more than enough to fill that hole in his cold, thinly existing void he calls a heart.

Awaiting and spectating the -boring- process Haven took to reanimate himself and insert his consciousness into his current reality, Rhys quite frankly desired a shock and awe spectacle out of Haven. Rhys wanted to see the realization of having been bested reflected back at him through those still bleary orbs. A tight, but faint smile remained unwavering on the blonde’s face, with it threatening to further curve upwards to express his appeasement with where they now stood -or where Rhys stood, and Haven laid.

However, as per the entirety of their game of cat and mouse, Rhys did not receive what he desired from Haven. The smile failed to waver, yet the Englishman couldn’t help the slight tipping of his head to the side. Vacuum sale? That’s a first. While the hunter didn’t so much as move an inch, other than the tilt of his head, he was at the very least intrigued. A hint of confused as well. Rhys was ready to throw a remark down to Haven, yet the little twat didn’t give him the time of day before sucking in a breath and screaming mad. Quite honestly, Rhys wasn’t fazed though. “I didn’t think you to be the kind of man to play the part of a damsel in distress.” He muttered, but made no real attempt to cease the squawking. After all, should anyone actually have the decency to check on this obnoxiously loud little man, then Rhys would just get to exercise his fluency in lie telling about the situation here. And he was confident he could cast an oddly convincing veil of deceit with his lies.

Just when he had made up his mind about removing the gun from Haven’s head and politely asking him to shut his cake hole, Rhys’ eyes caught the movement of a hand going towards and gripping his wrist. But Rhys’ eyes also caught the movement of an upward thrust from beneath the covers, which meant he would sacrifice countering with the hand holding the gun. Instead, Rhys’ other hand moved to strike down at least the base of Haven’s hand that was holding the object coming for him, just to pin it down long enough for Rhys to better act. And in the moment he realized he more than likely had two advantages Haven did not have at this moment; experience and size.

Splitting his attention for a second’s notice, while still pinning Haven’s hand with the knife, Rhys jerked his wrist from Haven’s grasp with enough force to twist it and re-angle the gun to point towards the base of the man’s neck. Or at least he hoped it was pointed somewhere along Haven’s neck, but it didn’t matter in the moment anyway as he took a bolder jump. Literally. Planting his now empty hand to the side of the bed and using that to help give him leverage onto the bed, Rhys was attempting to at least keep Haven down to secure fully pinning him to the bed. Which ultimately, Rhys deduced would be best done by practically semi-straddling the man to keep him efficiently down. And just when Rhys was confident his position was secured, the Englishman tsked his tongue in amusement. “Go on then, scream a little louder. At least from where I’m sitting now… it’s rather fitting.” Rhys said in a dropped tone, a ghostly smirk upturned at his lips while ever so slightly leaning down.

“If you’re ever going to attempt to stab me again, you damn sure better make it a lethal blow, Haven Mannix.” Rhys spoke in a sweetly threatening tone. “You’re worth quite the pretty penny alive, but I could just as easily make a killing off of your worth as a dead man. You’d be surprised by the demand in the deceased human market, not to mention the pay. So do yourself a favor, love, and don’t try a cute little stunt like that again.” He finished. What he said wasn’t a fabrication either, and while Rhys had every intention to keep Haven alive to secure an easier payout, Rhys did have that chilling bout of information of a dead man’s worth from experience. Not that anyone needs to know about the more horrific things he’s done to squeeze a little more money out for himself to have though.

He’d like to think he’s grown up a little since his more ruthless youth, he would consider himself a changed man even. And that he is. After all, Rhys now holds at the very least loose morals -such as ensuring no harm comes to children-, whereas money hungry eighteen-year-old Rhys had none whatsoever. The one thing that’s never changed within him though is seeing the world through price tags. Haven was a living paycheck, a pretty nice paycheck sum at that, and that was enough for Rhys to bring Haven in the way he was supposed to. Alive and relatively unharmed… although the next time Haven begins screaming or tries to oh so rudely stab him, he’s getting slapped. That’s for certain.

Haven knew he wasn’t well enough off in hand to hand combat to successfully get out of this situation. Damn though, at least he had tried. Haven shut up quite literally as soon as his hand with the knife was slammed up beside his head. He wriggled the wrist around, but when he realized it wouldn't budge he settled his focus on other things. He was faintly aggravated that his little act hadn’t done more to distract this hunter. A sneer had decorated his face up until the very quick movement of being practically straddled. The gun sat right against the base of his neck and with his free hand he scrabbled to pull at the man’s elbow. Of course, those efforts were also futile, that didn’t mean he let go though. His other hand was still furled tightly around his knife, unwilling to drop it. Even if ordered to let go, it might need to be pried from his fingers. Not because he just wanted to piss this man off, but because his options were slim and Haven’s cornered position was not helping him out with his mindset.

Go on then, scream a little louder. At least from where I’m sitting now… it’s rather fitting. Haven tried to keep the gentle blush from rising on his face. Not that it mattered, it was probably too dark to see the coloration on his cheeks. His eyes were cast anywhere but the man’s face. Constantly searching for anything that he could potentially use. Unfortunately the only other thing he had in his pockets was his keys, which wouldn't do much for him. His phone was on the nightstand, and that wouldn't help him either. He and Kristoff had check ins, so he would know if something had happened to Haven. That didn't mean he would be able to do anything to help. Once the man seemed settled on top of him and uttering another sickeningly threatening bout of a sentence did Haven meet his eyes. Haven’s lips were pulled tight in a frown and his hooded eyes were glaring, hard.

Haven was definitely regretting not going for something fatal, just like the guy had suggested. This was stupid. God, this was so stupid. Haven felt like a child being scolded. Cute little stunt?

“Well forgive me, for not wanting to kill you. I can see now that it was a mistake on my part. I won’t mess up again.” Haven replied back in a steady tone. He was proud too, there was no waver in his tone and it came off as slightly cynical. Haven knew he was worth more alive, but he had to take into consideration that this man would kill him. Now at least since he had said it. Sure, he could be bluffing or just trying to scare Haven with his facts. Nonetheless, it was something to keep in mind. Haven couldn’t keep his thought process clear off of his face. The way he tightened his grip on the knife also expressed his anger at the situation. Just like he had deduced earlier, he wouldn’t be able to get out with brute force. He’d need to be a bit more sly in the matter. He was sure he could cook up something overnight, unless of course the hunter decided to move out as soon as he had Haven secured. He really hoped he didn’t.

With a frown he twisted his hand in the hunter’s grip and unfurled his fingers from around the knife. It plopped on the bed to the side of his chest. Simultaneously he unlatched his free hand from the elbow that he had been holding on to. Keeping both of his palms facing up and his fingers relaxed in an obvious surrender. However the surrender wasn’t a promise of cooperation, he was about to be far from compliant. Not to lose his problematic flair he started talking almost immediately.

It was dark enough already, but now with Rhys’ own figure casting its own semblance of darkness over Haven, it was even more difficult for the hunter to make out blatant expressions of the man beneath him. Much to Rhys’ displeasure, of course. However, he could tell for certain that Haven’s gaze wasn’t strictly locked onto him, and thus spurred Rhys to briefly move his gaze to their immediate surroundings. Haven would know if there was anything nearby that could be weaponized, but from what Rhys could see, there was nothing else that could be easily gotten to or used against him.

“Well forgive me, for not wanting to kill you. I can see now that it was a mistake on my part. I won’t mess up again.” The steady, subtly cynical response was one Rhys didn’t expect to come from Haven. But the Englishman was far from being intimidated by any means. “Apology accepted.” Rhys replied with a wolfish grin. In all honesty, he did find it insulting to know anyone was pulling a punch -or stab- with him though. Rhys was also half-tempted to call Haven’s ‘I won’t mess up again’ statement adorable as well, just to attempt to further ruffle the feathers of the man beneath him.

The tightening of Haven’s grip on the knife didn’t go unnoticed by Rhys either, but Haven’s anger only entertained the Englishman further. It felt long overdue to finally be the one ahead in their game, and if Rhys were to say so himself, he is the absolute victor of this cat and mouse game. A thin shred of Rhys desired Haven to at least attempt a weasley effort of escape right now though, just so Rhys could further savor the feeling of besting him again. Success is a rather addicting feeling, and shamelessly Rhys was high on it.

Haven’s release of both the knife and the elbow signaled his submission, and as the thief faced his palms up, Rhys took the opportunity to release Haven’s wrist and acquire the knife. The hunter wasn’t about to toss it away or sheathe it somewhere on him -just in case- so rather he kept the blade firmly in his grasp. Haven’s submission apparently came with vocalization though. Rhys’ gaze didn’t relent from boring down on Haven, but he did stifle a snicker as to kindly attempt to not aggravate the man already in defeat.

As Haven finished speaking, Rhys straightened in his position, but made no clear attempt to remove himself off of Haven yet. “First of all, if we’re rating things that the other is terrible at, then your sense of fashion is a hard 10 on the scale of ew. Our first order of business should be to find and burn that horridly grotesque bucket hat.” Rhys’ tone was absolutely dripping in passionate disgust, but he strayed from a lecture on why Haven’s attire was a crime against fashion. Rhys then gave a thoughtful hum in regards to Haven wanting an explanation as to who he is. “I’m the guy hired to catch you, and I did.” Rhys smiled along with the simple answer, and only then did he begin to move off of Haven, and the bed entirely, to be standing on the ground once more.

Being vague about himself pridened Rhys as well. Mystique is a pretty thing too, is it not? “It’s not in my best interest to give you a villainous monologue detailing who I am. My relevance is only limited to you knowing that I will be paid handsomely to some people that really want you, and a Drive, back in their grasp.” Rhys explained. “But for the mean time, you can call me…” Rhys paused in thought, debating whether it was worth giving his real first name out or not. “You can call me Sir.” Even the deaf would have been able to hear the smirk in Rhys’ tone, but it felt safer to the hunter than giving out his actual name for now. In all of his jobs, he’s never seen the importance of his target knowing anything more than that they were his paycheck anyway.

“So, Haven, this will go much easier if you can produce that Drive for me. And then we’ll be on our merry way back to the states.” Rhys was more than ready to retrieve and holster his gun somewhere behind him on the floor, as well as start turning some lights on to start looking for where the little thief had stashed the Drive, but just maybe Haven will make one aspect of this job easier by handing that piece of technology over. Maybe. The sooner Rhys can get Haven and the Drive back to his employers though, the better. The hunter was very much internally teeming with anticpation and excitment to get his money's worth of this job. And for certain Rhys has earned his cut for finally getting his hands on this thieving, talkative thorn in his side.

Haven really was starting to get more pissed off by the minute. The hunter seemingly had an answer for all of the quips Haven had uttered. He didn’t try to contain any of the squirms that resulted from being held down. Instinctively shifting uncomfortably from his spot underneath the hunter. His wrist itched after it was finally released, but he kept himself from scratching it to feign compliance. Just relaxing back into the pillows behind him.

Apology Accepted

God, what a bitch.

This man was getting on his nerves. It was just… everything about him? The sly smiles plastered across his face, the pretty much insulting comments. Haven wasn’t much of a match for someone who could also relay their insults just as quickly. Of course, Haven had no intention of sticking around for much longer. His phone was on the nightstand which was in fact in grabbing distance, he could text Kristoff to get some sort of detail now that he was in trouble. Or at least just let him know. Kristoff was handy, he had gotten Haven out of quite a few close calls. Perhaps he could do it again.

Haven scoffed, his bucket hat was a national treasure, and he was going to point out that it had helped him evade the hunter at the airport, so maybe it wasn’t so bad. However the blonde moved on before he could butt in. Haven refurbished his glare once more at the mention he had been caught. Thankfully this followed by the hunter finally getting off of him. The weight lifting off meant he could now bend his legs back in, they had been cramping in that position for the past moment.

The blonde was still talking even after getting off of Haven, so instead of remaining laying down he slowly pushed himself up onto his knees and pushed the covers off. Then he froze at the mention of what this hunter told him to call him. Sir? That was hysterical in an almost maddening way, had he been in any other situation Haven would have probably gotten up and smacked him. This just had some sort of unknown comedic value to it though. In fact Haven didn’t even try to stifle his laughter, a hushed laugh made its way from his lips before he brought his hand up to cover his smile in the already dark room.

“Like that's going to happen...That’s fine, I can just give you a name of my own choosing. How do you feel about Gustav?” Haven said in between laughs while simultaneously shifting his weight to make it easier to get up in a hurry. The hunter wasn’t standing too far away from him, but it’d be stupid if he didn’t try to at least do something. He shut himself up again when the hunter asked for the Drive. Oh, well this was going to be a sorry day for this hunter. Haven almost wished the room was brighter so that he could see any form of anger that might pass over the hunter’s face after realizing that it wasn’t here.

“The drive? I don’t think I have any idea what you’re talking about. Oh, and I’m good here. I think Bangkok has plenty of potential for me. I’ve grown tired of the states anyways. They never did wonders for me afterall.” Haven finished with a small smirk. He mentally started to double check his possessions. His keys are still in his pocket, wallet too. He wasn’t wearing any shoes, but he could still end up buying some at some point. His phone he was about to reach for.

“Also, who hired you? I don’t remember having any enemies?” That part was an absolute lie. He knew exactly who and why. Similarly to what he had done with his screaming fit earlier and the knife, he had barely finished talking when he snagged his phone off of the nightstand and quite literally threw himself off the other side of the bed. Heading the direction away from the hunter. He landed on the ground hard and was instantly scrambling to get up. The tile of the kitchen worked against him and his socked feet. He was at the door though, on his feet and in the dark blindly looking for the door guard that must’ve gotten pushed back into place. His heart was pounding in his chest, if he could get out he was home free. He wasn’t overly attached to his possessions, he had what he needed.

Rhys was more than certain of one fact after he had felt the squirms of Haven; the smaller man was just as physically weasley as he was weasley in terms of theft. Of course, even Rhys could take away that Haven was respectfully sly. Sly enough to evade Rhys for quite some time, which is an achievement in itself. Although, the Englishman was far from handing out an award for such a feat. Let alone remark on Haven’s triumph up until now.

Nothing could have been more offensive to Rhys than the audacity Haven had to scoff after the very accurate statements made on the bucket hat. If this bratty little man wanted to put the matter up for debate, Rhys came packing. It hardly seemed to be the time, or place, for such a debate… but it was nonetheless something a topic Rhys wouldn’t easily let slide. Childish? Unnecessary? Perhaps. But try telling that to Rhys.

While Rhys was laxly noting Haven’s movements after having moved off the bed, the hunter hardly had any inclination to thwart any of the movements thus far. Besides, deep down, a part of Rhys was still thirsting for the thrill of chasing. Opening a margin large enough to instill a sense of hope into Haven before ripping that feeling away delighted Rhys in a sickened sense. There was always a sense of pleasure he found in deriving others of hope and freedom, but why? Well, he just couldn’t explain. However, it was Haven’s laugh that really drove the shift in Rhys’ gaze to truly reflect a predatorial gleam. That look was brief, but the reaction was not vexing enough to wipe the smirk from his face. “Gustav?” He repeated as a thoughtful question, as if trying out how the name rolled off his tongue. “Works for me.” Rhys added with a passive shrug. It’s certainly not the worst thing he’s been referred to as, so Gustav worked for now. However… Sir still has a nice ring to it, but Rhys would refrain from harshly insisting he be called that. For now.

As partial as Rhys is to games, he was not appreciating Haven playing innocent to knowing the whereabouts of the Drive. It was a very important key to his payout, and if Rhys truly had to strip this room down to the drywall he would. “Mm, I’m afraid that the states aren’t done with you yet though.” Rhys replied coolly, imitating what he could see of Haven’s smirk right back to him. And furthermore, Haven pursued playing by asking stupid questions. This time, though, it was Rhys’ turn to release a subtle huff of amusement. If you were as good as lying as you are stealing, you’d really be going places. Rhys had desired to make that remark vocal before Haven moved after speaking… yet again. Such a wiggly creature he is.

But the predator in Rhys couldn’t resist the urge to chase. And while they were both seemingly disadvantaged in the dark, Rhys was listening to the mistakes Haven was making. Scrambling, for one, was the most costly mistake the thief made as it gave Rhys plenty of time to catch up by hurtling over the bed and following the meek figure towards the door. And once Rhys’ eyes locked onto Haven’s figure as best they could, he spared no time before lunging quick enough at Haven to get one arm to tightly coil around the smaller man’s neck to pull him back into his chest, while his other hand that had been clutching the knife raised to gently press against the skin just beneath Haven’s left eye. “It was specifically requested that I bring you back relatively unharmed… but the fine print never said you couldn’t be missing an eye.” Rhys growled in a deeper tone, which was the first vocal shift he’s made so far to express his seriousness. For added measure, he pressed the tip of the blade in just enough to where it would threaten to break skin, or worse… to fully stab into the skin beneath Haven’s eye should the little man squirm this time.

The arm coiled around Haven’s neck wasn’t tight enough to deprive him of oxygen, but it was enough to keep him constrained. “Unfortunately, neither of us can go anywhere until I have that Drive. And my dear Haven, I am very creative when it comes to getting men to squeal out the information I need. Last chance, love; tell me where the Drive is, or I will be driving sewing needles up and into your nasal passage.” Would Rhys really go that far? Probably not, but his tone was dripping with enough threat to express it wasn’t quite a bluff either (Rhys didn’t have sewing needles on hand, either, but maybe there were a few toothpicks laying around the kitchen that he could use as a substitute should push come to shove). After all, the hunter has done worse. Rhys has been responsible for a multitude of despicably cruel, yet truthfully creative, methods of torture. Not all of his more heinous actions have been conducted on wicked men though, but merely out of the dire need for Rhys to collect money quicker. So if his patience were to be truly tested with Haven… Rhys just might get a little creative. It’s just one silly little Drive anyway, surely he’ll have little to no problem getting Haven to hand it over now though.

Haven couldn’t stop the yelp of surprise as he was forcibly pulled into the hunter’s chest, the arm encircling his throat was tight enough that when he tried to pull against it he choked, bringing up his hand without the phone to attempt to try to pull against it. He didn’t have the opportunity to try again when his own knife was pressed up against his face, the sharp point digging in right underneath his left eye. Very carefully as to not move so much that he started bleeding, he reached out with his left hand to where he knew the lightswitch was beside the door and flicked it on. Getting his first good look at the hunter since he’d ambushed him. Unfortunately, something he had noticed beforehand in the pictures Kristoff had sent, was that the hunter was attractive. Not that it would have made too much of a difference if he was ugly, but as rude as it was Haven could’ve confidently used the man’s appearance as a part of his insults. Sure, it was childish, but he didn’t care.

Haven leaned his head back, trying and failing to relieve the pressure of the knife on his face. He was cushioned by the hunter’s own shoulder, keeping him from craning it too far back since his head didn’t completely come all the way past the man’s shoulder. True to his nature, when the hunter started talking, Haven’s attention shifted, moving just the slightest bit to face towards the hunter that the knife dug in and he suspected at that moment for emphasis, Gustav had actually added pressure. He inhaled sharply and froze as a sharp pain made its way across his face. It was only a small scratch, he’d stopped himself before it got too bad. A bead of blood did continue to run down his face though. Haven cringed, he hated blood, especially on himself. The scratch probably wasn’t big enough to cause him any sort of distress, but if Gustav didn’t let him at some point clean it off, he was going to be angry.

Fine print never said you couldn’t be missing an eye

“Maybe you should revisit the fine print then? I think you’ll find that someone, me, would be fairly unhappy about missing an eye. A-and that my work says that there is an added benefit to having both of my eyes. You know, for surveillance and all that jazz.” Haven uttered without moving his head. He simultaneously opened his phone, barely being able to see it and took a picture of his little predicament. He took the picture from a very low angle, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if Gustav couldn’t have seen him do it. Haven was quite literally in the way, but that was only hoping. No, Haven did not smile, he did think about it though. Had Gustav only been holding him with one hand he wouldn’t have chanced it. He almost hoped that the hunter would reach to stop him to give Haven an opening, but he doubted the hunter was going to make too much of a fit over it. It took him only a few seconds to send it to Kristoff and shove the phone in his pocket, just so he could have both hands available. He didn’t comment on what he had just done, just allowed the man to keep talking. He also didn’t look back up at Gustav again, changing his focus to defiantly stare straight out instead.

Sewing needles up an into your nasal passage

Haven couldn’t stop the internal cringe while thinking about that situation, on his face it was just a scrunch of his brows though. He remained silent for upwards of 30 seconds his fingers wrapped around the hunter’s arm keeping him captive were drumming involuntarily. This was exactly why he didn’t keep the drive on him, and for once he was proud of his plans. It was delaying his forced trip back to the states. The more he sat in silence the more his mind drifted, replaying what had happened right before this. Gustav had purposefully given him enough room to try an escape again. A frown crossed his features. He could feel the hunter breathing because of how he was shoved up against him, and it reminded him he should probably start talking.

“I think the sewing needles are a little rude. You could’ve just said please, it’s not that hard to be polite.” In all truth, Haven couldn’t remember if Gustav had said anything polite, but at this point he didn’t really care. “Well, you can search me and this room, and I can tell you with confidence you won’t find it. The Drive isn’t here.” Haven knew he was treading on thin ice with that statement. The hunter had asked where it was, but hopefully that was enough information for now to keep him from driving needles into Haven.

The height difference between the two men hadn’t been something Rhys considered until now that he had Haven trapped against him. The blonde had to angle his head down to fully gauge the entity he had ensnared, and he remained deathly still at the attempted pull from Haven’s part as well as the smaller man’s free hand moving up to his arm. If the hunter lacked a complete sense of self-control, he would have already begun making thin, clean slices in different places on Haven’s face. Yet he was attempting to practice that pesky little thing called patience. The green eyed monster’s orbs caught the movement of one of Haven’s hands reaching out, but once the light was switched on, Rhys’ attention was pulled back to Haven’s face. Looking at him so clearly, and so closely, evoked a sense of both accomplishment and vexation, which created an expression incapable of reading to wash over the hunter’s features.

Rhys probably would have allowed Haven to try and fail to squirm or relieve the blades pressure for several minutes before he grew bored, but Haven seemed sensible enough to know pursuing such things would be pointless. A sickly twinge of a smile however did grace the blonde’s features as Haven inhaled sharply and his expression reflected that of pain. The trickle of crimson beautifully glistened as it grew to an amount sizable enough to earn itself a small stream down Haven’s face. Rhys never has minded blood; his own, or others. It was a pretty substance, but that could just be Rhys’ bias when it comes to adoring anything in the color of red.

“Maybe you should revisit the fine print then? I think you’ll find that someone, me, would be fairly unhappy about missing an eye.” Now Rhys had no reason to hide the expression of subtle amusement that danced its way onto his face as his eyes flicked around their surroundings. “A-and that my work says that there is an added benefit to having both of my eyes.” A low chuckle escaped the blonde’s lips, more so finding Haven’s brief stutter humorous. “Your happiness relies on my happiness, Haven. If you value both eyes so much, for work purposes of course, then I suggest you do your best to keep me in good spirits, yeah?” Rhys responded in a condescending tone, as if speaking to a child. Moving his gaze back down to Haven after feeling slight movement coming from the short male, his face regained its formerly unreadable essence.

Was it just Rhys, or did Haven have a very punchable face? Perhaps repressed irritation from the thief slipping away so many times gave him the tingling urge to just deck Haven… and come to think of it, that would make Rhys feel pretty good. Haven’s silence -and the tapping of his fingers against Rhys’ arms- only encouraged thoughts of violence to run rampid. “I think the sewing needles are a little rude. You could’ve just said please, it’s not that hard to be polite.” “Please is the word of beggars, silly. Besides, I would call my relent from carving more lines into your face a rather polite gesture in itself.” Rhys quickly quipped, offering a smile that almost could have been mistaken as sweetly sincere. However, the sweetness of that smile faltered as his jaw clenched upon hearing what Haven said next.

Rhys lightly shook his head in disappointment with a breathy chuckle before tsking his tongue. “Wrong answer, Haven.” The hunter angrily cooed, tightening the grip of his arm around Haven’s neck to make breathing an uncomfortable notion. Before taking any other action, Rhys moved the knife beneath Haven’s right eye before giving him a matching, minor scratch to the one beneath his left eye -just for added malice. “I’ve changed my mind, Haven. You can keep your eyes. But I’ve come to the conclusion that I’d be doing the world a favor by cutting out your lying tongue a little sliver at a time,” Rhys mused cynically. “The best part is that you control how much of your tongue you lose tonight, love. All you have to do is tell me where that little Drive is.” Rhys added, moving the tip of the knife to now press against Haven’s bottom lip. “Last chance… the Drive. Where is it?” The hunter was confident it was in this room, somewhere. Rhys decided the Drive wasn’t on Haven’s person, but it had to still be in close proximity, because it would make this easier. And after everything, Rhys deserved for this to go a little easier! Besides, Rhys’ employers might appreciate the return of a quieter Haven. It’s not like Haven would be robbed of communicating with others, as Rhys would be polite enough to allow the thief to keep his hands to write with. It seemed fair enough to the blonde’s grayer sense of morals.

Gustav was insistent on his returning quips. All focusing on how if Haven wanted to keep on being intact that he should start putting his forces toward making the man happy. Haven couldn’t help but somewhat shy away from Gustav’s penetrating green eyes. (Not that he actually could though, unfortunately) They were predatorial and gleaming with malice, which wasn’t something Haven had seen often. In his line of work, it was normally a solo mission, but he had come across some deranged individuals through the SSC. That’s what his eyes reminded him of. Serial killers and shit. Haven couldn’t deny that his normal calm demeanor was slowly starting to crack. It didn’t help that he was being talked down to… Literally. With the hunter’s height and his tone he was being belittled. Haven was extremely tempted to stomp on the man’s feet, but again decided against something so temperamental.

“You’re so right, it is fairly polite of you to not go crazy slicing my face up. Why don’t we keep it that way? I’m far more agreeable when I’m not being actively tortured.” Haven’s voice was wavering, and he wanted to punch himself for it. He was normally stoic and as some of his supervisors would say ‘annoying as hell’ and ‘feisty’. His responses were starting to sound a little too desperate for his liking.

Wrong answer, Haven

How many times did he need to think about the pile of shit he was standing in. A lot apparently. Another sharp pain shot across the other side of his face. This one welling a bit more, and faster than the first had. Probably because it wasn’t an accident, it was most likely a little bit deeper. The first stream of blood had already dripped its way down and off of his chin, and he almost wanted to whine a bit when he felt the second start to also slide down his cheek. Haven let out a small grunt as more pressure was added at his throat, tipping his head back involuntarily as Gustav seemed intent on choking him. His face scrunched in discomfort, a small crinkle forming in between his brows and nose. He was once again given an up close look of the hunter. If Haven turned his face to the side, he would bet their noses would touch. He could tell that the hunter was upset about hearing that the drive wasn’t at the premises. He didn’t think that he would accuse him of lying though!

Cutting out your lying tongue

“Now wait a second, I didn’t lie about-” He shut up the instant the knife made contact with his bottom lip. He could feel his throat bob in discomfort as he tried to draw in a deep breath. He wasn’t actively choking, but he did have to be careful about it now. The hold was just barely loose enough for him to suck in a breath if he kept calm. For a second he had thought Gustav was about to shove the knife in his mouth, but to his relief that didn’t happen. He almost started talking even with the knife resting on his lip, but he thought better of it and decided to remove the object so he could actually answer the question without cutting himself open again. He brought both of his hands to grab at the knife hand. Haven’s nails were sinking into Gustav’s hand as he pulled hard enough to get the knife off of his lip. It was still threateningly close to his face, but enough that he could talk.

“The hell man. Calm down. I didn’t lie, its in fucking Norway. You think I’d carry it around with me? I did that literally for this reason. So, just calm down, put the knife down… Just another helpful tidbit, most people think I’m actually pretty funny and would agree that I should keep my tongue.” The last part was practically a grumble and had not been in his original plan of what he was going to say to Gustav. His voice was a little breathy from straining to talk around the arm he was trapped against. Still, Haven was actively trying to dislodge the knife from Gustav’s hand, sliding his thumb and forefinger onto the grip and trying to move it. The other hand was still digging in, potentially drawing blood, but he wasn’t about to look to see. He was a tad busy. Both of these actions caused a slight tremble in his arms, not from panic, but from the strain. If he pulled too hard and accidentally let go, he'd probably find himself stabbed in the face.

Haven was running through several different things he should do, but he didn't feel safe about any of them considering how close the knife was. Eventually he gave up on pulling the knife away from his face, wincing as it came in contact again with his lip. The angle of how he had been trying to pull Gustav's hand back had been strenuous and frankly it wasn't very surprising he had to give up on pulling. He didn't say anything else, or move, his hands still holding onto Gustav's. Now he was just focusing on keeping still so that the knife wouldn't draw blood against his lips. He couldn't promise that he wouldn't throw up if he tasted blood.