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Rhys Cadell

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“I'd tell you to go to hell, but I don't want to see you there.”

Full Name:

Rhys Eamon Cadell

{Rhys "Reese"--Passion}

{Eamon--Rich Protector}

{Cadell--Battle}

Nickname(s):

Reese's Pieces (An oh so creative play on his name, and a nickname he despises)

Age:

23

Gender:

Male

Sexuality:

Bisexual (No Dominant Lean)

Place of Birth:

Northampton, United Kingdom

“No risk, no story.”

Appearance:

Predatory in stature yet undoubtedly pretty is Rhys. The young man physically possesses a more chiseled diamond shaped face that has a set of defined cheekbones, sharp jawline, and a softly rounded chin. It’s a face that is completely clean shaven, and he keeps it this way at all times. Rhys’ eyes fall into the realm of eerily enchanting with the collision of various shades of green in his eyes. Ripple upon ripple of dark forest hues, vibrant jade shades, and even a bright electric lime all make up the green spectacle that are Rhys’ eyes. Framed by a thinner but dark and curled set of lashes, his eye type is best described as hooded. Rhys’ green orbs aren’t always expressive in emotion unless he wants them to be, but when he consciously channels emotion through them, it makes his intentions incredibly easy to read. Above are his eyebrows that are thinner yet possess a defined ending arch. Unlike his eyes, his brows tend to be fairly expressive whether he likes it that way or not. Rhys’ nose is best described as aquiline -average-; having that of a straight slope and base. Below rests an easily defined cupid's bow, which adds a soft flare of definition to his facial front. In addition, the lips that form his multitude of smiles, smirks, and grimaces are that of a soft shade of nude -with a faint blush pink undertone-.

Rhys’ hair is something he takes minimal pride in, although he hardly has to do much with it to sustain its sleek slicked back appearance. With his shade of hair primarily being that of a pale ice blonde, it also possesses a subtle drained-of-color oak ombre contrast at the roots. His lockes sit in a fairly straight fashion on top while the sides fare a little shorter. The longer tufts aren’t long enough to fall into his eyes, with only a few stray wisps curtaining the sides of his forehead and face from time to time should he not have his hair slicked back. While it’s lacking in frizz, as well as any semblance of “poof”, evidently his hair holds much natural volume to it. Not to mention shine, so perhaps he does take a bit more pride in his glamour worthy hair than he lets on.

Standing at a respectable 6”2, Rhys’ height serves his vast ego little justice. That alone is evident with his confident strides and disciplined yet haughty posture. His primary build is a bit more triangular; starting with broader shoulders and dwindling down into his narrower set hips. Rhys doesn’t have an insanely muscular build to him, but he does maintain and keep an evident presence of muscle and toning along his arms, legs, and core. Even with his fairly light share of toning, and primary build, the young man can still seem subtly feminine figured. That would just be the prominent nimbleness to Rhys, however. His body possesses a few marks and scars from training and various tasks, with the most noticeable surrounding his upper body, but even those are rather faint. Rhys’ complexion can be best described as a soft ivory. Complimentary cooler undertones to Rhys’ already lighter complexion allow his overall appearance to stand out in a way that’s still very much easy on the eyes as well. And while he’s not one to burn in the sun, the young man can say that if he spends enough time in it, that he can rock a nice tan. He’d call it a perk of his distant Portuguese ancestors, although one could hardly see that strain within the prominent looking Englishman.

Rhys’ voice is on the slightly deeper end of the vocal spectrum, but it’s not actually that heavy, as it possesses a smoother ring to it. Perhaps a little huskier at times, especially when he’s in an authoritarian mood, but otherwise it’s rather light and always easy on the ears. It does have a softer side to it, but overall his voice conveys a subtle exhaustion with a dominant tone of charisma and a hint of constant sarcasm.

Attire wise, Rhys is a young man who generally dresses according to his mood. More often than not though, lightweight attire that resides in the realm of greyscale is what he sports. Of course, this isn’t to say the young man doesn’t greatly enjoy strutting in lavish, expensive attire when possible. Because he does, very much so. And jewelry? Rhys enjoys most types of hand jewelry, ear cuffs, as well as the occasional flashy necklace and bracelet. Typically there are highly pristine looking black sneakers he parades in attached to his feet, but his shoes also have a diverse array to them depending on what he feels he should be wearing (the man loves his footwear, don’t judge).

"What you call 'swear words', I call 'sentence enhancers'."

Personality:

There are many ways to describe the complexities behind the makeup of Rhys as an individual. To some, he’s a dashing and daring soul. Charisma and cockiness are some of his most defining traits, which are only natural considering he’s a being full of pride (the mild swooning over his accent only fuels his ego). A suave charismatic creature is Rhys, and amid his many masks, his charm usually fails to waver regardless of circumstance. His charisma has just enough pizzazz to woo who he needs to, and to win over most people he desires. Flashing his dazzling smiles and using pretty words works well in his favor too. And as for his charm, it would be of little value if Rhys could not wield the essence of flirting well. And for certain, he is a rather flirtatious individual. It’s primarily his chosen method of communication for amusement, such as to fluster the men or women that are the object of his desire for entertainment, and more often than not he has little warmth or authentic affection behind his antics. It’s led to a few being led on, it’s led to scorned hearts, and definitely more than one fling. Not all lovers take his disinterest well, and this he expects, so once the fun is done… a line of great distance is drawn. Not all individuals abide by this line though, which is rather irritating, but Rhys usually manages to carefully dance his way out of any real consequences with exes.

Despite this initial facade, Rhys certainly possesses a more cynical nature to him. He is a man who is far from heroic, but just a touch out of complete villainy. There is lurking yet alluring danger to his entire demeanor, that akin to a flaming light to an unsuspecting moth. Sweet smiles with a seemingly trustworthy face could very well make up one’s first impression of Rhys, just as he ensures. Prowling beneath his surface though is where an entity that revels in the joy of faint malice and violence resides. After all, what would a good Bounty Hunter be without a touch of cruelty? It’s as if he was born for the role of a morally grey predator that disguises its wolfish nature beneath authentic sheep's clothing. And this, Rhys sees as an enthralling role in his games. Games he enjoys at the very least. To sweetly dance into the lives, perhaps even hearts of many, only to reveal his deceit at a moment far too late for his victim to ever cry wolf. But regardless of how he decides to play to win, Rhys always gets what he’s after.

This doesn’t necessarily condemn Rhys to being that of evil, though the word ‘nice’ in itself does not quite come close to capturing the better side of him. As per games, Rhys enjoys toying, and yet an enticing chase does tend to appeal to him every so often. It is possible for him to become bored of games however, though once committed, he does not tire of them and will persevere through his boredom. What he starts he finishes, and that is an absolute promise no matter his doings. In a sense this does make him a scarily ambitious man, and one that does not tolerate failure, nor does he respond well to things not going his way. One of the most dangerous aspects of Rhys is his more mercurial and moody tendencies. His emotions, as well as decisions, tend to be quite volatile and flippant without a shred of warning. It’s certainly a side to him that makes him rather unpredictable, and paired with his already highly flexible and self-serving moralities… it makes for quite the character.

Loyalty? Eh. There is no obligation Rhys feels to follow through for anyone outside of a very select group of individuals. This typically makes him a fairly selfish individual, and a selfishness more often than not fueled by his unquenchable greed. The man never can have enough currency, or awe worthy possessions. Prettily crafted weapons hold a special place in his heart, and oh can Rhys boast about his plethora of beauties. Even out of the realm of devices of torture, he naturally tends to pine after pretty things, including men and women… though hardly are his intentions pure with them.

Being manipulative is a very deeply embedded flaw etched into Rhys’ making. While not to the point he uses it strictly for malice, more often than not he does use it for his typical selfish gain. Playing people is too easy, and Rhys honestly sees no issue in using his puppeteering skills to his advantage. While his ego can be a part of his otherwise charm, it also tends to be one of his greater flaws. It’s so massive that he hardly has much empathy, sympathy, or otherwise care for those. So while he can come across as purposely apathetic, Rhys doesn’t always actually mean to, or even realize that whatever situation he’s in requires emotional availability. Rhys doesn’t actually have a large amount of that to offer. It could very well be because he himself is guarded and wouldn’t be caught dead talking girlishly about “feelings”, let alone acknowledging them. But anything involving genuine emotions has never quite been his strong suit, but he can certainly act if need be. Deceitfulness and a habit of lying tend to accompany Rhys’ personality points as well. Despite his knack for lying, he’s actually rather blunt when he wants to be. Otherwise, in terms of flaw, he can just be an absolute ass. That’s the absolute best way to describe him sometimes.

On a better note, the Englishman has quite the sense of humor. It can be light and witty, or it can be dark and offensive. Regardless, he can fire off humor for just about any kind of situation. With that being said, Rhys is a very snarky man. Usually not blatantly when he’s trying to achieve specific goals, but everything about his tone usually possesses some shred of subtle amusement. It doesn’t help that he has a judging yet mocking kind of gleam to his eyes almost all of the time either. In addition, Rhys is fully capable of spitting leveling insults at anyone bold enough to try serving him first. Easily he makes being rude an art, and he is the master of that craft. Rhys is also a man that has little problem with prying when it comes to learning about others, however he doesn’t appreciate when people do the same thing back to him. Perhaps he is a bit of a hypocrite in more ways than one, but he hardly acknowledges that fact. He doesn’t exactly acknowledge when he’s being insensitive, rude, blunt, or many other annoying qualities either, mostly because he doesn’t care if it bothers others.

"I would like to apologize to anyone I have not yet offended. I beg of your patience, I'll get to you shortly."

Likes:

Himself; that should be given

Experiencing The Finer Things in Life; money, clothes, accessories, pretty weapons, lovers, frequenting lavish places, travel, etc.

Alcohol; though he doesn’t drink obsessively… usually, unless he finds a cause worthy of heavily indulging for

Music; Rhys has an interesting taste in music to say the least, though usually it fares between alternative and varying rock genres, but he is partial to listening to music sarcastically (happy music in a horrid moment is something he finds humorous)

Plants; He may not strike anyone as a kindred soul to plants, but he does love them, although he tends to be more fond of the botanics he uses for poisons and remedies

Storms; Particularly thunderstorms with an abundance of thunder and lightning, as he’s always found a sense of peace amid natural chaos

Flirting; Flustering individuals is quite a fun pastime, even if his banter and antics have no premeditated outcome

Dislikes:

Authority; Rhys has never been good with others telling him what to do

People Chewing Gum; Call it a pet peeve, but it annoys the piss out of Rhys to see people chomping obnoxiously on gum, and he gets far too irritated to hold a conversation with someone whilst they chew it

Clingy People; He’s had his fair share of clingy exes, and people that try to leach to him are ones he will ditch as fast as possible

Being Abandoned; Rhys will always leave another behind before they have the chance to desert him, so he’d rather hurt others than to be hurt

Country Music; It’s rubbish, the Englishman will never come around to listening to such a horrible sound, he won’t even consider it a genre of music

Having His Slumber Interrupted; Seriously, there better be a damn good reason to interrupt his rest, he only gets so much

Being Belittled; Nothing gets Rhys to snap faster than anyone trying to belittle him, he loathes it

Strengths:

Charismatic; His charm serves him well in most aspects of his life

Combat; hand-to-hand, artillery, and knives are his specialty

Poisons and Remedies; Rhys is fond of deadlier plant species, and knows how to use them to his advantage

Quick Reflexes; Reacting fast to stimulus is something Rhys does with ease

Agile; Being a more nimble individual, it’s only natural that Rhys tends to be a more agile person in general, and his endurance is quite impressive as well

Ambitious; Rhys strives ferociously for success

Passionate; The few things that do capture Rhys’ more docile side are things he becomes abundantly passionate over, such as his love of plants… dear God could he go on for days about botanics

Weaknesses:

Brute Strength; Rhys is many things, but a lone power house is not one of those things

Mercurial; His flippant and unpredictable changes in mood and decisions are something that place him in dangerous situations often

Arrogant; His pride and ego drown out any ability to be empathetic, and because he thinks so highly of himself, Rhys also full-heartedly believes that death is a non-existent aspect in his life

Reckless; Primarily with his own life, but he has little problem with placing others in harm's way for his own benefits

Cruel; A breaker of hearts, bodies, and minds, and he acts with little to no remorse. Again though, he’d rather hurt others than risk being hurt himself though

Stubborn; To the point this side of him -as well as a combination of other things- could very well land him into deep trouble or end up getting him killed one day

Greed; The things he’ll do out of his lust for wealth is monstrous, and because he lacks the ability to deter himself from desiring more than what he already has… well issues do tend to arise from time to time

"My middle finger salutes you."

Kin:

Belle Cadell (Mother):

Unknown; Rhys liked to think that he and his mother had a good relationship before she left when he was 8 years of age. She was probably the first and last person Rhys has ever truly loved with his entire heart and soul, and her leaving rocked him to the core. She was a great mother, and they had an emotional last day together, and Rhys has never seen or heard from her since

Rhett Cadell (Father):

Alive, Northampton, United Kingdom; Rhett was a decent -just not always present- father before Belle had left. And after that, Rhett became a parent of most children’s nightmares. For whatever reason, in drunken despair, Belle’s absence became Rhys’ fault. Rhett was cruel in terms of mental and verbal harm, but that’s as far as he ever went. However, it was the abrupt robbing of a stable and affectionate household that dramatically altered the person Rhys had only started becoming.

Relationships:

Colin Weston (Ex):

Alive, Belfast, Ireland; The most toxic on again and off again relationship Rhys has ever had was with Colin. The worser parts of Rhys did enjoy the brutal toxicity, but ultimately work is what led Rhys to fully sever his ties and abruptly leave Colin behind.

Jen Killigen (Ex-Fling Turned Friend):

Alive, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania; Jen was a one night stand, a woman he met after a job, and unfortunately kept accidentally running into in the states. These coincidences sparked a friendship though, so now Rhys can say he’s found a rather good friend in the Yankee.

Too Many Other Various Flings and Exes to Name…

"I don't mind if you disagree with me, I can't force you to be right after all."

Theme Songs:

"The Devil Is A Gentleman" -- Merci Raines

"Sweet Dreams" -- Eurythmics

"Seven Nation Army" -- White Stripes

"Highway To Hell" -- AC/DC

"You're Gonna Go Far, Kid" -- The Offspring

"Honest" -- Nico Collins

"Shoot To Thrill" -- AC/DC

"Come With Me Now" -- KONGOS

"You're either on my side, by my side, or in my fucking way. Choose wisely."

Other:

Rhys could say he's been 'in the game' since 17 years of age. While he was known in his immediate community to be a fellow faring more as a troublesome delinquent, it was at 17 that he told his education to politely fuck off before he dropped out. As the greedy little weasel he was, Rhys found a plethora of opportunities to lie, cheat, and steal his way into small fortune. Until that is, he stole from the wrong man. However, Rhys found himself at the wrong place at the right time. This particular man called himself a 'Debt Collector', and was a notorious affiliate of UK mobsters. Instead of just up and whacking Rhys off though, this Collector saw opportunity to mold an already skilled boy in the arts of 'collection', and used this apprenticeship as a way for Rhys to make up for the attempted thieving.

Long story short, Rhys' contracted killing and collection skills eventually proved sought after outside of the UK for various organizations. At the age of 21, his nameless mentor passed away, but Rhys adopted the already renown name of 'The Collector' that his mentor had made for himself, and so the famed Bounty Hunter lived on through Rhys. Of course his hands have been dirtied around the globe, but in turn he's made some very powerful friends in some very powerful places. Within the UKSF, for one, is an organization Rhys has a handful of connections with. All Rhys gives in return is a small cut of his earnings to his 'friends', and business is well.

Then of course there are the underground, wealthier individuals that seek professionals to frequently do their dirty work. Not that Rhys minds, and his frequent work with a few of these individuals have earned him more than one favor from them all. And protection, Rhys has found that immunity to some degree is necessary when dabbling in his line of work. And he finds this protection from a multitude of sources depending on where he is, and what he's doing. However, even with these connections, Rhys still often finds himself in stickier situations. He's yet to fail a task though, with success only being handed to him sometimes out of sheer luck... and yet it seems this charismatic ass of an Englishman isn't short on his luck either.

Now he knows his skills and name have leaked into the States, and yet he's never quite received such an attractive promise of wealth from a U.S. based organization until recent; the SSC -nothing Rhys had heard of prior to being hired-. Now his instructions are rather simple, and yet he would have preferred a little more flexibility in the 'bring the criminal back alive' department. In truth, Rhys has always found dealing with living subjects more annoying and tedious than killing and disposing. However, he does enjoy a challenge.

"I'll see your hot mess and raise you a walking disaster."

Haven adjusted the light gray bucket hat he was wearing, attempting to pull it lower to cast more of a shadow over his face. He was currently at the Maastricht Aachen Airport in Germany and was trying to evade cameras as best he could. While he wasn’t terrified of being spotted fully on a camera, he didn’t want to be too carefree about it. He shouldered his only bag, a medium sized duffel with basically his entire life stored inside. He’d been on the move for four months now, and while those months had been relatively peaceful, he knew the luxurious time he had was beginning to come to a close. Fewer trips to the aquarium and art museums were in his future. Maybe none at all if it came down to it, and that thought pained him.

Haven moved forward in the line he was waiting in to send his bag through a detector. Fingers clutching hard to the bag strap, he kept running through what he knew about who was after him. He had little description of the man that was sometimes seen at locations Haven had previously visited. Kristoff also had trouble picking up on multiple details. He only knew that the SSC had hired him. Kristoff was the one who often sent him information on what was going on with this little manhunt. The fact that Kristoff couldn’t figure out who was hunting him was beginning to bother him more on the daily. Haven’s only assumption for that detail; Perhaps he was from out of the country and the states didn’t have much connection to him.

Originally the hunter seemed to be months behind on Haven’s trail, as of lately it only felt like hours. Haven had become too relaxed in his escape, and he was regretting that now more than ever. Haven gave a wide smile to the airport security who gladly took his bag from him to be checked. Taking his hat off through the detector, he kept a hand ruffling through his hair in order to cover his face. He didn’t think his arm did much to conceal him, but it made him feel better about it. He took his bag back from the workers and smooshed the bucket hat back down on top of his head.

Dropping the smile he had plastered on his face he started walking to his gate. He barely had an hour before it was to take off. If the lines had been longer he probably would have missed his flight. Haven was headed to Ravennna, Italy on this trip after Kristoff had suggested it. Maybe he’d go to France after that, he hadn’t been there in quite some time. In fact, he missed getting to speak French as well. His burner vibrated in his pocket a few times. That was odd. Kristoff and Haven had scheduled times to follow up. Now was not one of them. Frowning, the criminal took a detour to the bathroom where he piled himself and his bag into a stall. After locking the door he pulled out his burner. A few messages from Kristoff were displayed on it.

Change of Plans, don’t go to Ravenna

Get your flight changed fast, pick somewhere in Asia

I don’t know how they figured out where you were going, but I’m pretty sure the hunter knows you’re headed to Ravenna and is already there waiting, on the way there, or at the same airport.

Be careful

-K

Haven’s heart plummeted to the floor. In fact he might’ve stopped breathing. Well shit. This was turning into a problematic day. He didn’t have resources in Asia like he did in Europe. So that was a dilemma in itself. In order to stay undetected, he had been constantly reaching out to others. This hunter was going to be Haven's bane of existence at this rate. How the hell did they know? He could’ve sworn that he’d been careful when figuring out where to go next. Either this guy had friends in high places or was just that good. Hell, he could be both.

Will do. Thanks for the Heads up.

-H

Dragging a hand down his face he plopped down on the toilet behind him. He needed to be spontaneous about where he should go. The criminal had a few ideas of where he wanted to go, but none were sticking out like they should. He was barely aware of his leg bouncing up and down, causing the keys in his pants to create a fast paced clinking noise.

First off, the Hard Drive was still in Norway, so he had that leverage still in his grasp.

Second, he had enough money to last him at least a week in Asia. He could arrange for a flight out maybe in three days.

Third, Haven was going to lose his shit.

He was going to be absolutely fine, was the mantra flowing through his head. Standing up, he grabbed everything he had brought in. Once more pulling the hat down to shadow his face. Emerging from the stall he stared himself down in the mirror. He was wearing a black tee shirt with navy cargo pants that hung a bit on his frame. He would probably need to change on the plane too. Just change up the colors to be safe. He headed out of the bathroom in a brisk walk, aiming towards the nearest help desk.

“Hello sir! What can I do for you today?” A lady with bright blue eyes and dark blonde hair pulled up into a tight bun asked him.

Flashing a gentle grin and pulling one arm up to land on the table he said; “Good morning Ma’am. I’d like to change my flight's destination. How soon can you get me to Bangkok?”

“You know that thing you suggested the last time we spoke, love? Yes, I would like to firmly rate it a zero out of ten stars, would not recommend.” Came Rhys’ smooth, know-it-all tone as he adjusted the wireless earbud in his ear. The wonders of bluetooth are truly extraordinary, especially to someone who isn’t abundantly tech savvy, or at least compared to most men. “Patience?” The near vexed feminine voice in his ear replied, as Rhys crossed his legs in a seat overlooking a space in the airport that gave him a relatively clear vantage of who would be going where at the gates he was observing. But particularly, Rhys’ sights were set on those influxing towards the gate with a destination to Italy. That information was courtesy to the woman in his ear.

“Yes, that pesky thing.” Rhys responded in a tone of disgust. After all it’s not patience that’s gotten him so close to his mark. Haven Mannix. Rhys only knew enough of the thief from his employers to know how to keep decent tabs on the man. Or, at least relay what he knew of Haven to his friends so they could aid in his hunt. This particular chase has greatly perplexed Rhys though, as usually he’s not so easily thwarted in his attempts to collect a person. And yet this Haven sir has successfully evaded Rhys’ grasp for some time. Which is the only reason Rhys enlisted more aid than usual, as even his last bounty required no more than a solo three weeks search for his mark.

The many faces passing him by in the airport were ones he was studying with a carefree facade. But it’s best to not look abundantly interested in anyone here. The young man’s fingers tapped the handle to his mostly empty briefcase in the seat beside him, his other hand adjusting the open tan blazer jacket he had over his white button down. Fixing himself up with black slacks and shiny black dress shoes, Rhys considered himself to look the part of a successful businessman. And he is! Just not exactly in the kind of business he dressed to look the part of.

“Do you see anything yet?” The voice in his ear sharply questioned, to which Rhys responded with a few clicks of his tongue. “No, love, but I’ll sing you a hallelujah if I do, yeah? And you know, I’m starting to think you’re only on the line to confirm whether you’re getting your slice of my wealth pie this week, how selfish of you.” Anyone could hear the smirk in his tone at the last part, and surely his woman of the UKSF did, judging from her exasperated sigh. Green orbs didn’t relent from their search amid the sea of faces though, but there was only one he was after. As his eyes failed to land on the individual he desired, the more furious his rhythmic tapping on his briefcase handle became. He’s spent more time than he’s liked on tracking this Haven fellow, and not to mention resources. All for an artsy guy with a Hard Drive. It was mister Haven’s occupation in the SSC that led Rhys to deduce places that tailor themselves to appreciating the arts -such as museums- might be a place a man of Haven’s stature may seek. Perhaps it’s luck that he came to such a conclusion, as he’s not in short supply of it, or maybe mister Haven is just a smidge predictable to the experienced hunter.

Another round of minutes passed, and Rhys knew the flight to Italy was set to leave sooner rather than later. Rising to his feet, Rhys was damn well close to firing off a series of snobbish comments to the woman in his ear for being wrong about Haven being here. The Englishman already knew what the lady would hiss to him, ‘you’re being impatient’, she’d say. But he’s already made his stance on practicing patience abundantly clear. Grasping the handle and taking a few steps forward, Rhys came to a stop at the front of the queue space -or waiting space, lobby, whatever the bloody hell people of the Netherlands called this particular space in an airport-. “He can’t have boarded already, I was here too early to allow that to happen. Are you sure it’s Italy I’m looking for? Not Iceland? Or God forbid Ireland.” Rhys sighed as he pushed his free hand through his already neatly slicked back hair.

“Am I on hold?” Rhys further asked, following the silence. “Fucking cun-” Rhys cut himself short of that swear as a family stringed along in front of him, but he was on the move now. If he could head Haven off sooner, perhaps if he lingered beyond the security checkpoint, then he would have a clearer shot at getting him. As he navigated the strip of airport, his eyes continued to travel over a plethora of faces. None of which were his man. Coming to a stop roughly a couple hundred feet of the checkpoint, Rhys watched as people routinely stepped away and furthered into the airport in his direction. Not anyone currently furthering in the direction of the gates matched the face he had seen in images. Relenting a barely audible grumble, his attention flicked to a sea of obnoxiously loud Americans passing by a help desk. At least they were better dressed than the man in the pitiful bucket hat at the desk. Ew.

Rhys wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a hat of that grotesque fashion. The hunter was low key dissing on this gentleman’s taste in fashion, or at least what he could see of it from behind at a distance. Rhys shifted his head from the embarrassing sight, looking back towards the checkpoint. Seriously, who had the audacity to wear that hat with those style pants on and decided they were good enough to journey out into the public? Have people gone mad? Tech may not be Rhys’ thing, but knowing what is and isn’t fitting attire is. It earned him to once more adjust his blazer, which regardless of how stuck up he appeared to be in his dressage, this particular wear was actually quite easy to move in. Formal, stylish, and fit for movement. Quite the package if you were to ask the Englishman. Unlike the horrid garbs of sir bucket hat.

He wasn’t going to lie, the lady at the front desk was struggling. She had to call across the airport a few times. She was just about finishing arranging his new flight when the flight to Italy he was originally supposed to be on started boarding. Now this was exactly why he didn’t check bags in. If he had a bag to go under the plane, it would’ve gone to Italy at this rate instead of where he was now going. The lady hung up the phone once more and turned to him with somewhat of an exasperated smile. Haven couldn’t stop his fingers from tapping impatiently on the table. He dragged another hand down the back of his neck, trying to keep from losing his cool.

“Alright. We have a couple of options. The next flight we have to Bangkok is about to begin boarding in 10 minutes. Will that work for you?” The lady asked in her slightly wavering voice.

Haven could burst. Yes, that worked out perfectly. The flight was honestly sooner than he expected. He was imagining having to sit around the airport for another couple of hours in danger of being spotted. Instead of laughing out of stress, he responded cooly; “Yes ma’am that would be perfect. Thank you for working so hard to get that for me.” She gave a polite nod and started to print his new ticket. He rolled his neck in anticipation, standing still really wasn’t a strong suit of his and the lady had taken long enough for him to start fidgeting without any care to stop it.

She handed him his ticket and he thanked her graciously once more. Turning from the desk to go the direction of the Italy gate he started walking, again dropping the smile almost instantly. He made it only a couple of paces when he thought to check the gate for his new flight. The sudden reassurance had him dropping his guard and apparently losing his brain on the way. Pursing his lips, he refrained from smacking himself and turned around in front of what would have been his previous gate. In the far distance of the airport he could see the numbers that would lead up to where he would be boarding. Oh, and they started boarding in 10 minutes. Haven didn’t hesitate in breaking into a light jog. He appraised his surroundings, noticing some vibrant Americans, and a businessman. The man was dressed sharply, but Haven found himself focusing on his pristine shoes. Haven could appreciate the style, but he never understood why people wouldn’t want to dress comfortably at an airport. It called for a lot of sitting, and a lot of waiting. Across from the man, sitting in one of the gates was a crying child and her passed out mother. Poor dear.

Times like this he appreciated that no one was judging him for jogging down the long airport hall. It wasn’t suspicious, because he could be potentially late to his flight. If he slowed down, he was going to be late, so stopping wasn’t an option. Regardless, it would pull only a slight turn of heads. Nothing special though. After a few more minutes Haven arrived to the correct flight, to Bangkok, Thailand. He wasn’t sure why he had picked Thailand. He’d never been there, but hopefully no one would think he would go there?

Planting himself in line for boarding he pulled out his phone again and started trying to book a hotel room. There was a couple for dirt cheap, but he didn’t want to get mugged on his first trip in Thailand. Picking a mid-priced hotel on the outskirts of Bangkok, he solidified his room for three nights and then happily stepped up when the line started to move. Flashing his ticket to the staff he was let through. Relief washed over him in an instant. Everything after that seemed to go smoothly. He got on the plane, found his seat which was a single seat by the window, hallelujah. After throwing his bag up top, he settled into his seat and pulled out his phone and keys. The key ring he had carried over 20 keys on it. Some were just for show, but at least half of them were important. A few of them were for the houses Kristoff had lended him, one was for Genevieve's house, and there was one for the box the hard drive was inside. They were all approximately the same size. After confirming that he still had everything important on his person he opened his phone again.

New flight is secured. I’ll let you know when I’m back in Europe. Currently heading to Asia like you suggested. I’ll tell you where exactly when I get there.

-H

He tucked the phone and his keys back inside his pocket, snapped his seatbelt on and tried to get comfortable. These next 11 hours were going to be boring. Luckily there was a screen on the chair in front of him. He started to scroll as the plane prepared for takeoff.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The Englishman was sure that if he had a watch, it would be the rhythmic ticking to it that would have driven him mad. But his mental clock drew out every second of this waiting game, and Rhys only grew more and more vexed. His green orbs had already abandoned the sight of sir bucket hat, but amid the plethora of faces that whizzed Rhys by, not one measured up to the single face he sought. Why can’t things just go the way he wants them to, when he wants them to? If he had it his way though, Haven and that Hard Drive would already be in the states. And Rhys would be fanning himself with a wad of hundred-dollar bills in Bora Bora. So much for his lavish vacation plans.

By the time Rhys’ sights turned back to the help desk, the unseemly dressed gentleman had vanished. And unlike the man, the noise of a child did not leave. A mild ripple of disgust washed over Rhys’ face as he briefly observed both the mother and child, but the disgust was aimed at the little one. Children are filthy little twats, and not entities Rhys has an abundance of patience for. Perhaps though the Englishman is just a smidge envious of children, something of which spurs his distaste for them. That stage of innocence in most childhoods was vastly short-lived for Rhys, and it ticks him off a bit to see other children enjoying the splendors of innocence. Something he was robbed of. But in the case of this child in the airport, it was the crying that annoyed Rhys more than anything. Well, not more than him not finding Haven yet.

Fiddling with the earbud he had, Rhys’ eyes locked onto a figure that jogged past him, only to be met with the sight of bucket hat once more. Catching only a blink of a glimpse to the man’s actual features, Rhys’ heart thrummed with a burning anticipation. Was he so eager for action his eyes wanted to place the face of who he was after to people that pass him in a blur? Or did his eyes allow him the brief sight of which was really his target? “Denise, the most recent photos you’ve managed to pull of my mark, mind sending them my way?” Rhys asked, glancing in the direction of where the jogging man had been going, but Rhys didn’t have a visual at the moment. It was a sight based upon too much impulse for Rhys to decide it was the right course of action, so against a tightening in his gut, Rhys remained placed where he was just in case an easily spotted Haven did pass him by towards the gate to Italy.

The silence on the other end of the call was bothering Rhys quite deeply as he impatiently tapped his finger against the briefcase handle. Another round of minutes passed, and finally a voice graced Rhys’ ear. “Your man didn’t board.” The female stated with her own irritated edge to her tone, a background noise of furious typing following her words. In frustration, Rhys furrowed his brows and took on a snarky lace to his own manner of speech. “And you know this how?” He inquired with a slipping coolness. A few seconds passed before he was given the reply. “The camera over the gates boarding terminal, I ran the facial recognition software through the loop of the boarding peri-” Rhys’ childish groan of annoyance cut the woman off before she had the chance to finish her rather lengthy explanation. “Short story, love. Cameras got nothing, that’s all I needed to know.”

Rhys’ tone was condescending with her, but now he was certainly pissed as he began a brisk walk in the direction the bucket hat fellow had gone. As he scanned each of the gates, a vibration in his pocket compelled him to stop. “So you did hear me.” He muttered, realizing the notification was for a small load of pictures of Haven amid Rhys’ hunt for him. It was on the fourth picture that Rhys froze on and felt his heart plummet to his stomach. “Fuck me.” The Englishman uttered venomously, his eyes narrowing at the same bucket hat -and similar horrid clothing style- of the man he had seen at the help desk… in the picture. That was Haven. And he missed him, by a few feet. Twice! It took every ounce of Rhys’ self-control to not throw the briefcase on the ground and kick it at an innocent passerby in his now fuming mood. “I had a visual on him… and now he’s gone.” Rhys commented, and the noise on the line suggested he wasn’t the only person unhappy with himself at the moment.

Rhys carried forward in the direction Haven had gone, but just as he expected, there was no sign of the thief. The only thing other than his failure he could concentrate on was the continued background noise of the keyboard pounding from the woman’s line. “There was a last minute change from the boarding list on the Italy flight, within the last several minutes.” Rhys wasn’t sure whether that information excited or enraged him yet, but at least that gave him the semblance of hope that Haven was perhaps still in the airport. And still easily reachable. “Are you able to see the flight alteration?” The keyboard chorused in response. The poor piece of machinery sounded as if it was being abused by this woman’s hands, but if technology abuse is how Rhys got his man, then he could condone it.

“You’re not going to like this.” Denise spoke with an exasperated sigh, the keyboard typing finally ceasing. “Well?” Rhys snapped with demand, pausing his walk as his eyes scanned the load of faces still bustling around the airport and gates. “The flight he’s on already boarded.” She was right, that was absolutely not what Rhys wanted to hear. But before he could quip with a smartass comment, she continued. “Bangkok. That’s where he’s headed, the facial recogn-, the cameras confirmed it.” At least she simplified the answer for him, and reeling from his rage, Rhys turned on his heels to storm towards a desk to get his own flight. The abrupt change on Haven’s behalf was more than frustrating, why couldn’t he just play his part in getting Rhys what he wants sooner? No, he has to spontaneously draw this chase out. How rude of Haven. “I’ll be on the next flight.” Rhys confirmed to the female before he took the earbud out and ended the call with his phone. Placing both pieces of technology into his pocket, Rhys’ gaze landed on the desk. “Bangkok, here I come.” He muttered to himself, before masking himself in the familiar sweetly charming face he usually wore as he halted at the desk to acquire his own route there.