“I Honestly Don’t Know What to Think” (O/O Closed)

Annnnnnnd double shit. Deimos swallowed, eyeing the phone. Please please please just put the phone away, no pictures, gosh please no pictures, Deimos silently prayed. If Cameron took a photo, he whole career- no, his whole life would turn to shambles. “I have to deliver this to someone eventually, no?” Deimos replied softly, subconsciously chewing on the inside of his cheek. This was such a dangerous position he was in right now, and he knew one wrong word and he’d be done for. One wrong word, and Cameron might call the police. One word word, and Cameron might take a photo. One wrong word, and Cameron knew very well his own life could be as in danger as Cameron’s was right now.

But Deimos wasn’t exactly in the right position to kill him, was he? He hands were tied by the sheer probability that someone could walk in at even a hint of noise, see him, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it when someone called the cops and they were put on his trail. And Deimos’ father would be absolutely furious if he was caught or even just on the radar. Deimos relied on completely stealth, and it was so easy to slip up when it came to assassinating people.

Cameron crossed one sassy leg over the other, sitting back in a relaxed sort of way, puffing his cigar.
“Mmhm. Sit down, then.” He gestured to another spinny chair on his left, originally an intern’s he had been shadowed by for a while. She had left it with him after accidentally breaking the mechanism that worked the elevation of the seat. It was much lower than the chair Cameron sat in, and especially so when he turned to face it. He was almost looming over the other man, except they both were in the same general zone of height, and both sitting.

Cameron hadn’t been thinking of a picture, but as soon as he turned on his phone and saw that little picture icon on the lock screen, he’d immediately be reminded of the feature on his phone. Currently he was busy memorizing the features of the man. To his very American-esque eyes, how they pointed up and the sharp eyebrows at a fine point, and the dark eyes with the rounded nose and thick lips. Ah, Cameron probably didn’t look Russian, but this man definitely not Russian. It was laughable, actually.

“Where are you from?” Cameron finally asked after his observation.

Deimos knew he was being backed into a corner, but he couldn’t find a clear, easy way to escape. So he slowly sat down, regretting the action even more as he noticed how short he seemed with the chair in comparison to the other male. He didn’t know what was coming -well, he knew it’d be very bad- but he was tight lipped. Deimos had been trained to withstand torture, he’d survived that. He survived starvation, knives, almost drowning, intense heat, and many, many more things. He could survive whatever this man was planning.

“Canada. Just above the Great Lakes, my parents moved north from the states when I was a baby,” Deimos explained, making himself make eye contact with Cameron. It was a complete lie, but not an unbelievable one. Deimos had practiced his story, many, many times under his father’s pressure. Deimos knew his fake identity almost better than he knew himself. He wasn’t going to mess this up. He couldn’t.

“Canada. You don’t have the accent,” Cameron observed, his dark eyes still unreadable and strange. They were steady under the careful gaze of the other man, the Russian not backing down.
Cameron honestly wasn’t planning anything. He was considering to just sit this man down and chat with him idly until he couldn’t take it anymore. Psychologically drag him out and torture him on the brink of insanity until he couldn’t take it anymore. Sometimes words were the best form of torture, and they were both sitting in an open office on a Friday morning, and the only weapon in the room was Cameron’s knife.

“Not all Canadians have distinct accents,” Deimos pointed out swiftly with a casual shrug, though internally he was scrambling. Out. He needed out right now. What was he going to do? When was he going to make the first move? Deimos was convinced he’d see blood before he left his office. He just didn’t know whether it’d be Cameron’s or Deimos’ blood, he didn’t know if he’d leave the office victorious or in a body bag. Or worse, he could end up walking out with shackles on his wrists.

Deimos knew very well Cameron was a dangerous man. He had yet to see what he could do, but he didn’t doubt it. And slowly, seeds of fear grew in his chest. What ifs spiraled out of control, and he broke Cameron’s gaze to quickly sweep the room with his eyes. Weapon, weapon, need a weapon, what will I do if he comes at me head on?

But Deimos made himself keep a straight face, the only hint of his panic with how his eyes moved a couple seconds ago.

(I’m gonna head to bed. I’ll be on almost all day tomorrow. Goodnight!)

(Gn/Good morning lol)

(lmao I was just about to go looking for this. Good morning!)

(Lol, also I prolly won't be on much until school is over oof, so my responses will be pretty slow, but I'll try to get on during lunch or something)

“I’ve chatted with a lot of Canadians. They are very distinct from the other English-speakers of our world.” Cameron hummed, almost shouting out Aha! after his words as he saw the other’s gaze flicker away nervously and stare around the room, barely stopping his own face from lighting up. He kept it solid and steady, careful to keep his gaze buried into the other’s eyes.

“You seem nervous,” Cameron finally observed as the other man steadied himself to look back into his eyes.

(Lol, also I prolly won't be on much until school is over oof, so my responses will be pretty slow, but I'll try to get on during lunch or something)

(same lol. I have a bunch of tests today too since I missed Friday last week.)

Deimos pursed his lips, "Well, I lived very close to the US border, so I can see why you may be confused," Deimos said with artificial sweetness, "Though please don't assume me to be like them, I have standards." Deimos chewed the inside of his cheek more as he made himself stare at Cameron. This was going horribly wrong, and so far Deimos didn't know how to fix it, other than reversing time itself of course.

"Maybe I'm a bit nervous to get my food delivered, I don't exactly want to get fired from my job," Deimos told him, but he couldn't stop his gaze from flickering around the room one more time. He needed something to defend himself, now.

“You have standards,” Cameron just simply repeated back at the other, squinting slightly. “That’s something an American would say. Where are you really from, guy? You’re not fooling anyone.” He sat back more in his seat, huffing his cigar more. He was almost finished with it. His left hand still toyed with the phone he pulled from his pocket, a reminder of the deadly blows that Cameron can lay down on this man. But his hand was starting to straighten out slightly, ready to pose it up for facial recognition and unlocking.

Deimos saw the phone move and panicked a little more. He had dealt with things worse than this, he really did. But it was just something about this that had him freaked out. Maybe it was the height difference with the chairs, it felt all too familiar to Deimos. And Deimos knew he'd curse this moment a thousand times when he blurted, "Stop." He swallowed, his eyes shifting from Cameron's face to the phone in his hand, and back again. "Put the phone away and I'll tell you where I'm from," Deimos said softly, chewing on the inside of his cheek so much that he tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.

Cameron complied, setting the phone on his muscular quad for safekeeping in case he needed it in a snap. He obviously didn’t trust this man enough to not have his phone out and ready.
“This is the most I’ll do,” He finally said in his heavy, thick voice, his eyes still squinted slightly. He didn’t say anything else, just tossed his head slightly to tell the other to start speaking. Cameron had finally cornered this man, now with his doughy eyes never leaving his flickering gaze, he must admit that this man was really quite the coward. If he wanted to stand and leave, Cameron simply would’ve allowed him to. This wasn’t America, but one was still able to leave a room.

Deimos watched the phone as it was set down. "I'm from America," He finally confessed quietly, but not meekly. "Why does it even matter? I need to deliver my food," Deimos told him, trying to regain his composure. He was fine, Deimos was fine. His shorter height didn't mean he was disadvantaged, he was still a killer. Deimos was a weapon, he was a machine. He did not have 'human error'. Deimos didn't realize the thoughts weren't exactly his own, but they fueled him nonetheless.
Deimos formed his mouth into a tight line turned his face to steel, relying on his vigorous training. He'd trained for this, he'd endured interrogations before.

“From America. Right, there was no need to lie, then,” Cameron huffed with a sneer, spreading smoke over the other from the last few puffs of his cigar, before crushing it into a pan at his shoulder.

“I think it matters is because you’re not from here. It feels as if everywhere I turn I see you. You make me suspicious.” He tapped his now free fingers on the screen of his phone, still scrutinizing the other man, slicking his dark hair back and readjusting his legs so they were spread with his feet tapping on the ground.

Deimos shrugged it off, “Small town, is it not?” He crossed his arms over his chest, keeping eyes contact this time. “It’s only natural that I explore around a little bit after I’ve moved here.” Deimos crossed one ankle over the other and leaned back in his seat, trying to appear casual and calm. He wouldn’t give Cameron the power of panic over him, at least not anymore. He’d learned that lesson many, many years ago.

Deimos kept eye contact as he said softly, “May I go now? I’m sure I’ve humored you enough.” Deimos still needed to not seem threatening, since it seemed everything else was shit. For all this man knew, he was just a creep stalking him with no other motives in mind, for all he knew Deimos wasn’t a murderer.

Cameron grabbed another cigar from his desk, clipping the butt and lighting it before offering it to the other.

“Would you like a cigar?” Cameron asked, knowing full well that any suggestion of a disagreement would make the “delivery guy” upset more. Cameron knew damn well this town wasn’t exactly small; the influx of interns came from the wave of Russians coming from larger towns. So seeing each other so often all the time wasn’t exactly a coincidence, in his opinion.

Deimos eyes the cigar carefully, all his instincts telling him to decline. He knew very it could easily be laced with something unsavory. He knew very well that drugs would only hurt his performance. He opened his mouth to turn the offer down, then closed it like a fish taking in air. “Okay, I suppose,” Deimos finally said, taking the cigar and inspecting it. He cautiously tried it out, clearly unaccustomed to smoking, shown by how he awkwardly held the cigar. Deimos’ father had smoked from time to time, but Deimos never really got into it. Besides, he’d been kept on a tight leash when he was in training, Deimos knew they wouldn’t have hesitated to deal out punishment had they caught him smoking something.

Cameron watched curiously with the whole thing, his expression turning to that of dogged confusion as the other went about holding the cigar in the completely wrong direction.
“I’m assuming that giving you a cigar is not quite the thing to do? You don’t smoke, do you?” Cameron offered his large hand to take the cigar back, which again, was facing in the complete and utter wrong direction, and if the other went to take a puff of it, would just end up burning his lips. As much as Cameron would like that, for it would end up as the other leaving him alone, he wasn’t about to be responsible for going into district court for this guy.

Deimos let out a soft, tiny little laugh on accident as he placed the cigar back into the other male’s hand, where it was probably safer. “No, I don’t,” He confessed, though it was quite obvious. “Never really learned- I don’t know, can you even learn that kinda stuff?” Deimos let out another quiet laugh. “Didn’t had those bad influence friends to peer pressure me way back in high school, and never got the true college experience I guess,” Deimos explained as he glanced down and picked some dry skin from his nails, which caused him to bleed a little bit but he quickly pressed his hand into his pant leg—too lazy to get a bandage for the small cut.

“Well, yeah, how do you think I learned?” Cameron asked loftily, tilting his head slightly as he watched the other laugh and squirm in the smaller seat. “I just learned by when I turned eighteen by buying my own cigar and smoking it.” But he was also in the armed forces, where many men smoked often, and allowed Cameron some of his own when he became of age (which is also when he joined the army). Cameron took a puff of the cigar, sighing it out.
“Of course that was thirty years ago, and I daresay I’ve had a lot of practice.

Deimos laughed a tiny bit, even though he knew he should be focusing on finding a way to subtly leave right now. “Please, not all of us are as lucky as you, my father would’ve beat me if he caught me smoking when I was eighteen.” Deimos let out a small chuckle again, which was partially forced. It really wasn’t as bad as what he made if sound like, but still, it was personal. Not to Deimos, but to his father. The man was was politician after, and words could be exaggerated and they could wreck his father’s career. He probably said too much, and quickly stood up from the too-short chair. “I should go,” He said softly, but put on a half smile. “I hope you know my boss won’t be too happy with me because of this.” It was the truth, really. Sure, he tried to make it sound like his boss would be mad at him for failing to deliver an order in an efficient manner, but it was very true to his actual story as well. If his boss knew about how Cameron had become suspicious of him and they carried out a whole conversation… the man would be furious. But that was if he found out, and Deimos had no intention of telling anyone about this slip up.

(hmmMmmmmmm wanna skip again?)

(Yeah sure, probably a couple days/weeks since Deimos would lay low for a little bit after this encounter?)

(Yeah that sounds great, but how do you want them to meet again? I had ideas but I lost them thanks to testing season. Besides I’d like some ideas from you!)

(Oof, hmmm that's a good question lol, um so all I can think of right now is like Cameron going like grocery shopping/somewhere out in public and Deimos is following him, but then someone tries to like bother him or mug Deimos or something and Cameron notices and steps in, or it could be the other way around when someone tries to bother/hurt Cameron and Deimos steps in but idk, just an idea. I'm feeling kinda brain dead rn)

(ooo i like that idea a lot tho lmao. I feel like with Cameron someone would attempt to, then somehow he’d end up punching Deimos in the face or something then his true, really soft-hearted personality will kick in)

(Lol sounds awesome, so we want to do it with Cameron getting mugged/attacked/whatever? Sounds awesome, u want to start?)