Participants:
| Scene Title | Lioness |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Ships pass in the night. |
| Date | March 3, 2009 |
A stone's throw away from the little makeshift harbor on the foreshore of the Arthur Kill river is this little even more makeshift bar. Little more than a shack, the interior barely fits more than its own stock of alcohol and kitchenware, and the seating spaces are outdoors under a rickety wooden cover decorated with fishing paraphernalia and nets. The chairs and tables are broken down cheap things that look like they've been scavenged from all over the place, mismatched but comfortable with some cushions or blankets thrown over them. The ground is sandy and dirty, as if the beach extends right under your feet, and despite being outdoors, the place is cluttered. Simple alcohol is provided - whiskeys, rums, and beers - without a chance of food, and you'll mostly find yourself in the company of thieves, considering the kinds of boats that dock here.
Not a reputable establishment by any means, if a normal bar were upscale dining this place would be Waffle House. Complete with the cigarette smell in the business part of the bar and the urine and vomit smell in the restrooms.
Fortunately the floor is dirt, like from the beach dirt. One wouldn't be wise to call it sand, because sand doesn't usually have squishy bits as a significant percentage of its make up. Wear Proper Footwear.
Jake Hunter finds himself sucking on a glass of warm Maker's Mark, which is a hell of a chore. It takes dedicated alcohol apathy to drink this shit when it's warm, or else being so drunk your sense of taste has left and leaves behind it only the sensation of liquid going down. He's currently sitting at a small round table raised high off the sand and with one of the very few unused stools left in the place opposite him. It's his foot-rest beneath the table. That's why he likes it there.
It's been an amazing night for the courier. No, Sam did not get laid. But pulling that trigger, was almost as good. Her body is still abuzz with an adrenaline high when she rolls her cycle into the parking lot and kicks down the kick stand, pushing the bike forward. Her helmet comes off and is placed on the rearview mirror before she unstraddles her beast.
She takes a moment to comb her fingers through her long blonde hair, a typical stall as she performs a quick situational awareness assessment on this place. All she wants is a drink or five, and she pulls into the first bar she saw. She almost immediately regrets it at it seems the type to cater to rats. Of course, there are probably rodents as well. But hell, a drink is a drink is a drink, right?
She steps up to the bar and order some whiskey, taking only a moment to take a second glance at the male who was sitting as she passed. They say that once military, always military and something about him strikes her as being former service. She turns back and takes her bottle and glass and moves back out the door and towards him. Not fat. Check. Not ugly. Check. Not wearing pastel. Check. "Evening." she says, as she slips into the stool of a nearby table.
That man is about as former service as they come. He's even wearing boots they stopped issuing new about eight years ago. The blonde got his attention when she came in, but he didn't give her the turn of the head. Just followed her with the eyes. Once she actually speaks first though, the code's broken. Jake gives her a glance and says, "Hey yerself." And it's his turn to check her out more thoroughly. Looks like business, but pretty. So she takes care of herself, but there's something else there. A vaguely familiar look to the eyes and the way she stares right back at you that almost nobody, male or female, really pulls off the same.
With an invitational toss of the head he adds, "Wanna drink alone or you mind using this stool I found here?" And Jake kicks the stool opposite him out just a little to convey the message better.
And thus he passes her fourth test, which would be 'speak without grunting'. You'd be surprised. She offers a smirk and slips off her recently acquired stool, relinquishing it for the one offered as she moves to his table. "I figure if I don't want to be shouting from one table to the next, I may just as well." There's no reservation at all when she speaks. She knows exactly what she wants to say, and just says it. Might not always be the best tact, but it's how she works.
She slips off her jacket after setting her bottle and glass on the table and drapes it over her chair before sitting. "I'd say Army, but you smell more Marine to me." Her brow arches up as she waits for a response, taking the cap off her bottle and pouring some into the small glass. She sets the bottle down and picks up the glass, holding it with both hands as she leans forward with her elbows on the table, and swirls the liquid around for a moment, as she peeks over the top of the beverage at the man.
Young men would grin toothily at that, like it was music to their ears. Men who've been around the block like this one, though, "Good nose." Beat. "Blackwater?" Then tips the glass back as he brings its contents down to about half of what's left. He's got his eyes on her though. You don't waste time checking out the body on a woman like that, because it's a given thing and anyway it's secondary. Jake's already pretty sure he's seen what she's got in her shirt and pants, so he's moved on to what's under the eyes.
She just arches her brow and with a grin, bring the glass to her lips and she tips her head back, letting the contents move down her throat. When she throws her head forward, her blonde hair curtains her face for just a moment, as her throat swallows the remaining burn of the liquid. Her eyes lid for a moment before she brushes her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ears as she sets the glass down.
At the question, she shakes her head as she resumes eye contact with him. Let him look. She doesn't show much, except what she chooses for him to see. Eyebrows tilt, offering a more friendly, slightly seductive posture as she leans forward. "Just came down from Drum." she says. "Watertown bored the shit out of me, and they weren't about to offer me any prime locations, so I bailed."
The bottle is picked up and the glass refilled. "You've been out a while." It could be a question, though it wasn't addressed as such. All the while her eyes remain fixated on his.
"Oh I'm still workin'." replies Jake with the first grin he's offered her. So she's Something Else. "So're you. You got that look. I'm Jake." And he's done asking her about what she does. It's one of those things. Either it'll get talked about or it won't. When it comes right down to it he doesn't care, but he's beginning to enjoy the game this is becoming. His own jacket betrays thousands of miles of use, but not so much as a stitch where a patch used to be. Interesting thing about blue-eyed people like both of them are, they tend to have pretty good eyesight too better than half the time.
Her finger tips into the whiskey as she stirs lightly. Her nails are not manicured, but kept trim, nor does she wear makeup. His jacket would be a complete contrast to hers, newly purchased just months ago. It still has that new leather gloss on it. Of course, she's sitting on it and only wearing a white t-shirt underneath. Black jeans and biker boots, all new as well, as she tilts her head, raising a single eyebrow just so, and responding. "Sam."
She could ask him what he means by that look, play coy, but it wouldn't come across as believable. She knows. Really, in this sort of situation, small talk is just that. She learned a long time ago, it's never what you hear. It's what you see. It's the body language that tells the complete story, no matter what words come from their mouths. Her blue eyes drop down to the beverage, then back up as she continues to play with it. She would ask if he comes here often, but in reality, she wouldn't care. She picks up the glass again and drinks it down, this time with much less flair than the first time.
All the same, the pleasure's in the chase isn't it? Jake picks up his glass and looks into the amber liquid therein. Magic medicine that makes things stop mattering as much. "Where you from, Sam?" he asks, taking the assertive posture. Neither one of them is much of a chatterbox, but the way he forms his words he's either from the midwest or the south.
Well, the pleasure's in the chase unless you're the one being chased, in which the pleasure is in the escape. Sam has not yet decided if she's ready to be captured or not. One thing Sam has worked very hard on is her accent. Being from a hicktown in Idaho, and you have the full blown redneck talk that is hard to shake unless you're gone from it for a while. "Northwest." She at least narrows it down some for him by adding. "Northern Idaho. You? Kansas? Nebraska?" she tosses out a few ideas based on his dialect.
"North Carolina." he says with ease. Okay, so south, not midwest. "I guess I don't sound it. Sometimes home isn't behind us anymore." Jake adds while draining his glass to empty.
Blond strands sway as she shakes her head. "Sometimes it's best to just leave all of that behind. It's the future that really matters." she says, with some conviction in her voice. Suddenly she's tired of being the prey, tired of the chase, and tired of all the pretense. She reaches for the bottle cap and twists it back on the bottle. She reaches into her pocket and tosses some bills on the table next to it. "You live around here?' she asks, sliding from her chair.
"T-A-D." replies Jake. Temporary Assigned Duty. "But it'll be a stretch, I can tell." He's not playing particularly hard to get unless that's a lie. But then lying's cheating isn't it? Still, the question has another half to it also and his eyes cut to the side as if to indicate some place down the street. "Got a little shithole hotel room with thinass walls and shaky locks on it. Why, you wanna see?"
Because he hasn't made a move to get off his barstool just yet.
Sam reaches for her jacket and throws it over her shoulders, tucking her arms down into the sleeves as she turns and looks at him. "Yup." Because you see, the buzz she had before is starting to fade and..
The glass in Jake's hand gets set down with a solid tap on the table and he flicks eighty bucks out to leave behind.
It's not that generous a tip. That was just his most recent drink.
His prep to go is less than hers since he never took his jacket off, but soon after dismounting his stool he's got hands in pockets and manages to walk without a significant sway at all. At least he's not blitzed. Getting out of the place isn't such a hard deal since it's relatively wide open and nobody wants to keep a couple of patrons from leaving and making more space. "Ever been to Egypt?" he asks as they walk.
Her hands go into her pockets, well, just the fingers as the thumbs stick out. She walks along side him. Her drink was far less than his. In fact, when he tossed down the money, it was a quick glance and she was duly impressed. She couldn't afford that on her pay, considering most of her pay goes to her extracurricular activity. She might have to look into a higher paying gig at some point. The question causes her to smirk. "Are you serious, or is that just a pathetic attempt at small talk." She walks next to him. "I haven't been, and what's in Egypt?"
"Serious for the moment." Jake admits with an answering smirk of his own. He walks directly aside Sam, positioning himself to her right. "Heard a story out there from an old Legionnaire once. He told me this story about an Egyptian Goddess named Sekhmet who'd come and look for men when she was hungry. She'd appear as a beautiful woman, find em drunk and lead em out to the desert where she'd turn into a lioness and then eat her prey alive."
Judging from the amused tone in his voice it sounds like he's not too worried about the prospect of being eaten alive.
Well, one could get lucky. Right? She turns her head to look up at him as she continues to walk along side. The story amuses her. Though, there just might be some truth. Of course, it also sounds like one of those stories that guys use to disarm their companions, and makes them sound more knowledgable than they really are. However, she's not getting that vibe. "And you're not trembling yet?" she asks with a smirks. "Besides, have you ever eaten human before? Animals really only eat us if we're all they can get. Stringy and chewy. We really only make real good stewing meat." she turns her head forward, continuing onward.
"Besides, I don't know many goddesses from up in the panhandle."
"Hm. That's a pity." comes the reply with one of those looks he's good at. The kind they've been trading so far since meeting eyes. "I've chewed on a few people here and there. Haven't done a lot of swallowin though." Jake avoids the obvious and trite opportunity to call Sam a goddess. How insincere is that? Maybe in a few hours it'd sound a lot more heartfelt. "I hear that a lot, you know. About how inedible humans are. All I know is every year there's a whole lot of people go missin at sea. And Nature ain't used to wastin things."
Discussing long-pork, not your typical charming conversation, right?
A street needs crossing and Jake just steps off the curb without a care. For whatever reason it's at a lull in traffic, so maybe he saw that coming or maybe he just doesn't give a damn. He could certainly be excused on the cause of distraction.
"Well, I didn't say it wasn't inedible, just that it wouldn't be someone's first choice. I imagine you'll eat anything under the right circumstances." she steps off the curb with him. She'll be walking back for her bike, but it wouldn't be the first time. As far as conversations go, she's had worse. Investment bankers. The worst. She was ready to slit her wrist. But that's another story for another time. She steps up onto the curb when the reach the opposite side. Maybe it was the drinks, but time seems to be going fairly fast for her as she steps.
Sure enough there's a hotel, and just as advertised it looks pretty sleazy. Jake didn't sugar coat that one bit. Once they cross the doorway to the lobby he shuts up, but aside from a desk clerk utterly engrossed in one of those trashy romance novels they have no company. He pauses by an elevator and lightly punches the button with a knuckle so he doesn't have to touch it with the pads of his fingers. Sometimes you gotta have standards.
"So what's your first choice?" Jake asks by way of waiting for the elevator to get to them.
A grin crosses her face as she notices the knuckle-bump with the button. His question draws up her eyebrows, then she rattles off. "Elk, deer, rabbit. All good stuff."
She was already scoping out the place when they arrives, quickly assessing the exits. Not that she's planning to make an escape, but you never know. He could have an axe sitting up in his room. She's almost certain there must be a few axe murderer staying in this place. "You're tossing around for 80 dollar drinks, but you stay here?"
"Yeah. I know." comes Jake's answer to that. "I'll drink eighty bucks but I'm cheap with the room. But I had this place already. When it comes down to it I don't care where I stay." Once the elevator opens he steps in and turns to face Sam, raising his eyebrows. "Unless you got a place?"
He waits to see if she's coming or not before hitting the 2 to bring the elevator to the second floor.
She's coming. She steps into the elevator and shakes her head. "Got a place. It's no upgrade from this. Of course, I can't toss down four bills on a drink either." she smirks at him. She doesn't ask anything further. Not really her concern. She stands next to him as the elevator starts to rise. She unzips her jacket and tugs it off, folding it over her arm as she waits the short time for the elevator to reach the second floor.
"Work's not good to you? You might wanna reconsider Blackwater, Sam. I hear they pay people like us more than we're worth." Although if Jake worked for them he sure wouldn't be here. He'd be in the middle east or central Asia somewhere.
Once the door opens it's just three doors down and Jake's got a key out to open the door. And quite without shame he puts his right hand behind himself in his middle back, beneath the jacket. Clear signal he's closing it around a pistol grip. When he enters there's a sense that he's taking a brief look around, and once he checks the single corner that separates the tiny entry hall from the solitary queen sized bed, gives a glance into the bathroom, he pulls the pistol out and sets it by the TV. It's a full sized piece, a Sig p226 in forty.
And he leaves it right there with his back both to the weapon and the TV as he shrugs off his own jacket. "You don't mind, do you?" About the pistol perhaps. Somehow he's betting she doesn't.
Still outside the door, "Work's just fine. Gives me an opportunity to take care of a few hobbies." she mutters as she sees him reaching for his piece. She immediately steps to the side of the doorway until he's cleared the room.
She doesn't ask. She doesn't really care to know. As long as they don't show up while she's here.
He asks, she answers. "Mind what? Your shitty place? Please." she grins and sets her jacket on the table as she takes a glance around the room. "Been here long?" She can't really tell if he's moved in recently, or just doesn't have much to his name. "Are we done talking or what?" she asks. To the point. To the point.
All Jake really has to do is turn around and he's within easy reach. When he does so he takes advantage of it and his hands go toward Sam's shoulders so he can push her back until she finds one of those thin walls he mentioned. "Don't like a talker?" he asks in a low voice, allowing himself a last little second of savoring before finding out what some human flesh tastes like. Gotta give him credit, he's not just an instant gratification guy.
This one promises to last for a while.
And last a while it does. It's the wee hours of the morning before the room is still again, except for the panting of breath. Whatever light there might be, reflects off of her sweaty skin as she rolls onto her back, not even bothering to cover up. Why bother with modesty now, as there was nothing at all modest about what the past few hours held.
Of course, then there's the 'afterwards'. She always hates these moments. The compliments and the patting on each other's back for a job well done. Always seem to. contrived and insincere, even when they aren't so. So she does what she usually does.
She sits up and reaches for her clothing.
Indeed what point to modesty anyway? Neither one of them has been particularly modest or immodest. Simply real. As he lays on his back on top of the rumpled paper-thin sheets, cheapest money could get away with, Jake watches Sam go for her clothing and makes no move to stop her or slow her down. "Be nice to take that ride again sometime." he offers easily. It's an offer with no expectation.
Already having put on her t-shirt, she tugs on her jeans before reaching for her boots. As she begins to lace them up, she glances over at him. "Oh, I'm sure our paths will cross again at the Pelican." she offers nothing more than perhaps they will have another chance meeting on a chance date in the future.
She stands and reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a card and sets it on his table, before grabbing her jacket and checking for the keys to her bike. Sometimes when something is good, there's no need for a compliment, it's just /known/. She gives him a quirky smile before she turns and without another word, slips from the room.
The card she leaves behind says:
Courier Express
Followed by a phone number. In case he needs a package delivered in the future.
 March 3rd: It's Our Country |
 March 4th: Tonight |