Curiosity Is The Key To Trouble


isis_icon.gif buck_icon.gif

Scene Title Curiosity is the Key to Trouble
Synopsis Isis runs into the Cowboy, Buck. Things are casual with a little chat over a few drinks, only to have Isis's curiosity, and alcohol intake, get the better of her and have her revealing a little information to the anti-terrorist.
Date June 08, 2009


The pulsing beat of bass throbs through the walls of Rapture, a high-class nightclub in the heart of Harlem. Rows of expensive cars line up out front of the exclusive club and a crowd of would-be patrons wait outside, cherry-picked by the bouncers to have only the cream of the crop on the interior, while leaving just enough eye-candy outside to entice other patrons. The club serves as a respite for the trendy and the influential from the grind of daily life.

On the inside, Rapture is as much a spectacle as it is a structure. Multiple dance floors in tiered balconies overlooking an enormous central dance floor ringed by plush leather-upholstered booths. Pale blue light shines on the wrap-around bar that curved around the back of the establishment, and the entire building is filled floor-to-floor and shoulder-to-shoulder with the pulsing, flowing sea of people dancing to the rythmic beats of electronic dance music piped through the expansive sound-system.

Having returned from Staten Island and stashed his gun (and his overshirt) back in his hotel room, Buck is currently in line trying to get into the exclusive club. Probably nobody has told him how high the cover charge is. His wifebeater and jeans may do little to further the club's prestige, but the hat makes him a bit exotic, and his good physique probably gives him even odds on getting in. He smiles hopefully, however, politely moving along as the line inches up, careful not to jostle anybody.

Isis slips down the dark streets - perhaps a silly idea for a woman of her small size, but it seems to make no difference to her - she couldn't spend another moment locked up in that tiny apartment, waiting. She's prepared herself in a unique attire - an emerald green, gossamer shirt that clings up the elegant little column of her neck and down the slight stems of her arms, revealing a black brazier beneath. Her sleeves billow around her wrists, kissing around her gloved hands, while her legs are clad in her usually preferred ebon slacks. She slows her paces as she comes along the line growing outside the nightclub. She gives the stretch of lingering people a curious glance and slides herself into the midst of the mass. Perhaps it was the cheap buzz from a few drinks at home, perhaps she was that confident in her appearance, who can say - either way, she flips her crimson curls and glances over her shoulder to offer a flirtatious wink to whoever she cut ahead of - lo and behold, it's Buck.

Buck doesn't seem to take much offense to the cutting. "Hey, there," he greets mildly enough, showing a smile. "You come here often? I never been before an' I sure hope it's worth th' damn wait, I'll tell you that much."

Isis lofts a brow at the man's response. She turns her body, standing perpendicular to Buck in order to keep an eye on the slowly shifting line while denoting a devision of her attention granted in the gentleman's direction. "Can't say I have. Just moved out to this area this morning, actually. Relocated from over in Queens. But, by the looks of this line, I'd say there's gotta be some fun brewin' on the inside." She extends one of her small, gloved hands. "Isis."

Buck smiles at this information. "Queens, huh? I came from Texas couple weeks ago." He takes her hand and grasps it firmly. "Buck," he returns, bouncing on his heels a little.

Isis's little shake is surprisingly firm given her slight frame, more strong than is appropriate for a proper lady no doubt. She smiles brightly. "Ah! You know, I think I've seen you before. The Night Owl. Good to finally have a real name for the handsome cowboy." She winks. "How ya likin' it so far?"

Buck doesn't seem to mind a firm handshake. He only grins, then squints at Isis. "Oh, yeah," he says, whether he remembers the girl or not. Nice t' see y' again. I think New York's all right so far, but I ain't got a job, so I'm runnin' outta money."

The little redhead chuckles brightly, stumbling back a slight step before rebalancing her slender frame on those broad boots. Perhaps she'd downed a few more shots than she'd thought. "Oh? Well, I just got hired at a Irish bar. 'Sfar as I know, their looking for all sorts of people to fill all sorts of fun positions. You got a pen and paper? I'll give ya the guy's number." The line scoots forward a smidgen.

"Yeah," Buck says, pulling out a creased piece of notebook paper that is covered haphazardly with notes taken in bad handwriting. Phone numbers, people's names, maps to places. He gets out a stub of a pencil from the same back pocket. "Thanks," he says. "Might have ta do somethin' temporary." He smiles. "They give you free drinks?"

Isis takes over the writing utensil's, closing the small distance between herself and the man to use his chest as a writing surface for her jotted name and number of the establishment - Biddy Flannigan's. "I certainly hope so. It's under construction at the moment. It'll be open soon. I'll be tending there, so I'm sure I can find a way to hook you up, Cowboy." She grins, apparently more fond of the petname than the gentleman's more rightful name.

Buck grins at that. He doesn't mind being called a cowboy, since he has been one in the past. "Listen," he says, taking the paper and pencil back and stuffing them into that pocket, "C'n you help me get inta this club? They ain't gonna want me in, cuz I look like a tourist an' all that, but yer a real pretty girl, so I reckon they might let us in t'gether."

Isis lofts a thin brow, tipping her chin like a curious pup. "Two birds with one stone - flattering the girl and gettin' into the club. Smooth." She grins. "Alright. I'll see what I can do." She turns herself back towards the line, falling into place at Buck's side, and loops her arm around his own. She carefully figets a moment, meticulously tugging and fixing at her dark, satin gloves to assure their placement, before looking up as they take their turn at the head of the line.

Buck grins as she goes along with his plan. "Thanks," he says, and then adds, "Oh, it ain't flattery, Miss, an' I reckon you know it, too." This is accompanied by a teasing smile. He glances down at her gloves. "Don't yer hands get hot?"

Isis looks up sharply, her dark gaze shining beneath the fan of her velvet lashes. "You know, most people are polite enough not to point out my quirks…" She begins with a little tickle of sarcasm across her honey-alto vocals. "Trust me, doll, you want me to keep these on…" She grins and quickly ditches the subject in favor of turning her attentions to the bouncer standing before them. The large man begins to shake his head as his attention wanders over Buck, only to let his greedy sights slide along to Isis first in appraisal, and then in a more lengthy wandering that he allows himself as the 'perk' of his position. "Alright," he grunts, and nudges his head in invitation towards the assumed couple.

Buck lifts his eyebrows at her look, blinking with bovine innocence. "I wasn't pointin' nothing out," he protests quietly. "'S jus' a question…" but he's more than happy enough to let the subject rest. He watches the bouncer while the bouncer watches Isis, and grins when the ploy works and they get to go on in after showing ID. Once they're in, Buck gently separates his arm from Isis's. "Hope I didn't offend ya."

Isis rolls her shoulders as she's freed from the contact with her companion, lifting a hand to comb her fingers back through her fiery curls. "You're too polite," she teases, even as her eyes roam the vast, pulsating interior of the lively nightclub. Ultimately she turns her attention back to the gentleman. "No harm, no foul." She waggles her brows. "Why don't you let me buy you a drink? I'd have been out there another hour if I hadn't had the luck of cutting in front of you instead of some angery New Yorker."

Buck grins. "Sure," he says. "Lord knows I can't start buyin' too many, myself," he answers, grinning. His eyes leave her, though, and travel over the writhing crowd. He seems satisfied, even after such a long wait. "Looks like a good place!" he says over the music.

Isis laughs aloud and begins to lead the way towards the bar. She notably shies away from the mass of people at first, tentative at the first few bumps and jostles, before beginning to shoulder smoothly through the bustle and steal a place at the bar - a little word to the man at her side creative a void for Buck to join her. "I hadn't pegged this as your type of scene by the look of you, Cowboy," she calls back. "This what you like to do on your days off? No rodeos for you?" She grins and lifts a pair of fingers towards the tender, who begins to work his way slowly down the line of people in their general direction.

"Y'all don't have rodeos up here," Buck complains to Isis. "An' anyway, it's my sister 's in the rodeo. I ride, but I pr'fer a trained horse, m'self." He glances over at her. "Y' know, we got clubs in Texas, too. Whole time I was in c'mmunity college I spent mostly in Austin bars." When the bartender arrives, he requests, "Jack Daniels."

Isis turns her attention to the barkeep - priorties, of course. "Shot of Jose and a White Russian, please." The bar keep nods and fixes the drinks in front of the couple, giving the bottles a few fancy turns before sliding the freshly filled cups forward. Isis takes up her shot and tips it back, licking her lips to leave a subtle glisten behind before turning her attention back to the southern gent. "I'll have to take you back to Massachusetts with me - prove to ya we do indeed have some rodeos." She grins. "Ooo. Cowboy's educated. What'd you study?"

"Bus'ness management," Buck answers, making a bit of a face. "Think I got more educated on th' bar scene, though…" He looks happy to get his drink, and knocks it back. "You tell me where they have a Yankee rodeo an' I'll get my sister up here," Buck answers. "That'd be a helluva thing."

"Hell yeah! I didn't get these hips and this ass…" Which, by the way are some of the girl's more lovely assets. "From sittin' on a sofa. While I can't say I'm any fan of the Western scene, I'm a damn good Enlish-style rider, thank you much." She nods her head with a playfully stubborn gesture and pushes away her empty shot glass in favor of a the White Russian awaiting her.

Buck snorts. "They don't have no English-style rodeo," he asserts, putting his empty glass down on the table. "But I respect ya if y' know yer way around a horse. "Don't know how much it does fer yer ass, though. My sister's skinny as a beanpole."

Isis laughs aloud and waves her hand. "I'm just saying we're not all ignorant of farm up here," she teases, only to chuckle further at the mention of your sister. "Sounds like you and your family are tight back home. What brings you up here, then?" She lofts a brow, the question a bit more prying and curious than is called for the casual conversation. Yeah, she's a hypocrit.

"Little too close," Buck says. "Got nine people buzzin' around that ranch, which's too many, no matter how much land y' got. Well, I mean, my sisters don't /live/ there most o' the time, but they're always /around/… So when I recuperated, I hauled my ass up here t' fight th' terr'rists."

"Recuperated from what?" Isis asks curiously, only to continue on with polite conversation to hide a bit of her prying nature. Ah that's right," Isis says, lifting her glass in a slight gesture of salute and recognition before tipping it up to her lips, compounding her little bought of intoxication with a sip of the sweet cocktail. "Just all the terrorists, eh? You're not pickin' sides?

"Oh," Buck says, "I got my skull blown apart overseas," he explains, "So I got a disability discharge when I came outta th' coma an' they let me go home." He unobtrusively taps a toe to the music. "As fer terrorists… In my experience, terrorists kinda switch sides anyway, so it might be a bad idea to pick a side too carefully. Whoever's killin' innocent civilians… I think they oughta go. But I'll go after who I get paid to go after, if they're hurtin' people."

Isis experession quickly lights up with further curiosity before she quickly mask it behind an arrangement of beautiful disinterest upon her features. "Oh? Well aren't you quite the mercenary." She turns herself towards the crowd of the club, leaning back upon the bar and watching the Cowboy from the corner of her dark eyes. "Any bites on that job market so far?"

Buck frowns a little. "No," he says, "I ain't a mercenary, there's just a long list o' bad guys an' I can't go after 'em all, so I might 's well leave the choice t' somebody else." He turns around and motions for another drink from the bartender. "Not really. Still hopin'."

Isis nods slowly, growing quiet for a minute as her gaze wanders off to pick through the bobbing crowd. "I think I've got something for you…" She leans her side to the bar now, shifting her weight onto one shapely hips and fipping her chin up to banish a few errant curls away from her soft, porcelain features. "It could be a dead-end, but it could be a great lead. I'm not sure if she's guilty or innocent, and I've stopped trying to figure it out. I don't have much money, but the information could get you in on whatever's going through with the Humanis First group." She clears her throat and sips her drink, looking over the brim of her glass as if this was just an average, casual conversation.

Buck gets his new shot and downs it before he answers Isis. "Well, you tell me what y' got, if y' want, an' I'll see what use I c'n put it to," is the former cowboy's drawled verdict. He brings out the creased paper and the pencil stub.

"If you find anything proving her guilt or lack thereof, think you could contact me?" Isis sips at her drink again and continues on either way. "Her name is Candace, but she goes by Candy. She hangs out in the Night Owl - little Asian-looking, busty girl. If you keep an eye on the Cliffside apartment complex, she might show up there looking for me. Thrid floor, room 302. I don't know her last name, but if you do a search on a rally a short while back with a refrence on Humanis First, you should be able to find a clip of her spouting at the mouth. She says she was fibbing, but I can't be sure." She empties her glass and steals a moment of contemplative silence as she slides the cup away from her. "I, uh… I can't tell you why, but you're going to want to be extremely careful with that one. Okay?" She lofts a brow and finally looks back up to her taller companion.

Buck nods slowly, still making notes on the information. Apparently, he doesn't trust his memory. Which might have something to do with the broken skull. Finally, he gives Isis a nod, looking grim. "Need yer number, though, or some other way t' contact you."

Isis nods and lists of her number. "It's a cell, you can reach me any time." She gestures towards the bartender and waits for him to finish with a few other patrons before he comes by to refill her drink. "I really appreciate it. While I hope it gets your foot in the door, I'm also hoping you find something to clear her. Strange world." She shrugs. "Like I said, just be careful."

Buck writes that down, too, then pockets the paper and pencil. "Well, what exac'ly 'd she do wrong? I mean, if it's just a video? Nothin' illegal, I reckon?"

Isis cringes. "Honestly, Cowboy, I promised my secrecy on the things she's told me. You're going to have to do your own digging." She frowns apologeticly. "Honesty before all - I hope you'll understand." She lifts her drink in another little salute, giving a little sway before she supports herself by propping her elbow back on the bar.

Buck shrugs at Isis, nodding along with her sense of honor. "You oughta be careful," he advises, "Little thing like you drinkin' so much."

Isis wrinkles her tiny, button nose at her companion's 'concern'. "I'll have you know, Cowboy, that I can hold my liquor quite well. One of the perks of being Irish." She flashes a quick wink that doesn't help her swirling perspective and blurring vision on reality. She shakes her head, trying to clear the affects of the alcohol - with no success, of course. She sighs and pushes her drink away, laying a few bills out on the counter with a tip that makes the tender smile. "Though, I think I'm going to try and walk some of this off. Give me a call if you here anything, Cowboy." She flashes a quick peace sign and begins to maker her way to the door, again notably starting out on tentative steps before beginning to shoulder through the crowd with more confidence until she finds the exit and slips away.

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