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Fic: Foul Weather
Aug. 14th, 2019 09:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
meridian_roseDouble drabble (200 words). On a wet night a man approaches the meeting point. For this month's prompt 'rain'.
The rain hammered against his black umbrella as he walked toward the streetlight, the collar of his jacket pulled up, his footfalls splashing rainwater onto his polished oxford shoes.
He slowed his pace; it wouldn't do to hang about too long on a night like this, far from a pub or café, taxi rank or bus stop. It would draw suspicion. Thankfully he spotted his contact approaching, a tall man in blue baseball cap with a green puffer jacket left unzipped, and they reached the designated meeting point together.
The handover was smooth, the small brown envelope passed into his free hand without either man breaking stride. He tucked the envelope into his pocket and continued on his way, taking a convoluted route back to his car, parked half a mile away.
There was a low rumble of thunder and he thought of his half-brother's cosy suburban home and mundane but well-paid office job. Not the life he'd chosen nor would want for himself but sometimes the waiting, the cold or the heat, the snow or the rain, made the idea of such domesticity desirable and he pondered the wisdom of his profession.
Espionage was not a fair weather job.
The rain hammered against his black umbrella as he walked toward the streetlight, the collar of his jacket pulled up, his footfalls splashing rainwater onto his polished oxford shoes.
He slowed his pace; it wouldn't do to hang about too long on a night like this, far from a pub or café, taxi rank or bus stop. It would draw suspicion. Thankfully he spotted his contact approaching, a tall man in blue baseball cap with a green puffer jacket left unzipped, and they reached the designated meeting point together.
The handover was smooth, the small brown envelope passed into his free hand without either man breaking stride. He tucked the envelope into his pocket and continued on his way, taking a convoluted route back to his car, parked half a mile away.
There was a low rumble of thunder and he thought of his half-brother's cosy suburban home and mundane but well-paid office job. Not the life he'd chosen nor would want for himself but sometimes the waiting, the cold or the heat, the snow or the rain, made the idea of such domesticity desirable and he pondered the wisdom of his profession.
Espionage was not a fair weather job.