[He waits for Vecchio to sort the keys out, watching like a hawk to make sure that bend forward never resulted in reaching for a possible ankle holster. Steady and calm, collected despite the constant jitter of nerves that were settled just under the surface. Scared? No, he was in control, this was his time, but he had to keep the adrenaline up and his senses ready just in case he needed to jump into action. Stanley's nerves never stopped, but that's exactly what made him so quick on his feet and so ready to jump from one emotion to the next with a split second decision. He was good, he could do this. If they both just played their parts then it'd all go just fine, no consequences, no deaths.
The door swings open and he trails inside after Ray, assessing the surroundings just as much as the other, all while keeping him in his peripherals. Every bit of the room he could see was considered, just like he'd learnt to do from an early stage in his career. Door placement, furniture, objects, windows. They'd already established no one else was in the house, unless Vecchio was lying, unlikely though considering he's allowing an armed male into his home.]
Ain't so bad. It'll do.
[The gun's out of hiding again, happy to keep it as a visual aid as it remains locked on Vecchio even as Stan side steps towards the coffee table and blindly reaches for the one remote that doesn't look like it controls the TV.]
Twitch and I shoot. I dare ya. [Enough warning that he can drop his gaze for the few seconds it takes for him to establish how to work the thing, power on and set to CD. Appropriate really that it sounds like some sort of classical, a music selection he seems satisfied with as he cranks the volume up; loud enough to drown out the sounds to listening ears, but not enough to get the neighbours complaining.
With the remote tossed aside carelessly (not his property so he doesn't give a shit), he's left standing, staring straight back at the male in the centre of the room. And for a few silent, dragged out seconds he just keeps on staring, fingers on his free hand twitching restlessly while he takes it all in. That face is one he never forgot. A face that had his instincts cringing away in anger and disgust the second Fraser had dragged him up to that hotel room. A face that he'd seen night after night for months after Vegas. A face that, right now, was enough to get his blood boiling hot, flushing red as it dragged a molten trail up his neck and ears.
Fucker.
It's a lightning fast shift that has him lunging forward, one swift step into Vecchio's space and the gun, still pointed determinately forwards, finally raising at the last minute, swinging the butt of it upwards to try and strike a solid, metal aided upper-cut for the Italian's jaw. His whole body ducks down minutely for one split second before propelling up to get more force into the blow. It's as vicious and speedy as a snake bite, and there's plenty of venom behind it too.]
no subject
The door swings open and he trails inside after Ray, assessing the surroundings just as much as the other, all while keeping him in his peripherals. Every bit of the room he could see was considered, just like he'd learnt to do from an early stage in his career. Door placement, furniture, objects, windows. They'd already established no one else was in the house, unless Vecchio was lying, unlikely though considering he's allowing an armed male into his home.]
Ain't so bad. It'll do.
[The gun's out of hiding again, happy to keep it as a visual aid as it remains locked on Vecchio even as Stan side steps towards the coffee table and blindly reaches for the one remote that doesn't look like it controls the TV.]
Twitch and I shoot. I dare ya. [Enough warning that he can drop his gaze for the few seconds it takes for him to establish how to work the thing, power on and set to CD. Appropriate really that it sounds like some sort of classical, a music selection he seems satisfied with as he cranks the volume up; loud enough to drown out the sounds to listening ears, but not enough to get the neighbours complaining.
With the remote tossed aside carelessly (not his property so he doesn't give a shit), he's left standing, staring straight back at the male in the centre of the room. And for a few silent, dragged out seconds he just keeps on staring, fingers on his free hand twitching restlessly while he takes it all in. That face is one he never forgot. A face that had his instincts cringing away in anger and disgust the second Fraser had dragged him up to that hotel room. A face that he'd seen night after night for months after Vegas. A face that, right now, was enough to get his blood boiling hot, flushing red as it dragged a molten trail up his neck and ears.
Fucker.
It's a lightning fast shift that has him lunging forward, one swift step into Vecchio's space and the gun, still pointed determinately forwards, finally raising at the last minute, swinging the butt of it upwards to try and strike a solid, metal aided upper-cut for the Italian's jaw. His whole body ducks down minutely for one split second before propelling up to get more force into the blow. It's as vicious and speedy as a snake bite, and there's plenty of venom behind it too.]