Vagrant Primate Gunslingers


calvin_icon.gif odessa4_icon.gif

Scene Title Vagrant Primate Gunslingers
Synopsis Happenstance (or stalking) finds two co-workers crossing paths. And behaving unprofessionally.
Date January 3, 2011

Outside a Bar on Roosevelt Island

Roosevelt Island, formerly known as Welfare Island and before that Blackwell's Island, is a narrow island in the East River of New York City. It lies between the island of Manhattan to its west and the borough of Queens to its east. Running from Manhattan's East 46th to East 85th streets, it is about two miles long, with a maximum width of 800 feet, and a total area of 147 acres.

The island is part of the Borough of Manhattan and New York County. Together with Mill Rock Island, Roosevelt Island once had a population of about 12,000 prior to the bomb. The land is owned by the city, but was leased to the State of New York's Urban Development Corporation for 99 years in 1969. Most of the residential buildings on Roosevelt Island are rental buildings.

Following the bomb, Roosevelt Island suffered a great deal of damage from the throw debris from the explosion of Midtown Manhattan. The tram service connecting Roosevelt Island to Midtown was destroyed on the midtown end, leaving one small bridge connecting to Long Island City in Queens as the only means out of the city. Subsequent fires, looting and food riots on the island left what was once a prosperous neighborhood in ruins in the aftermath of the bomb. Business began to close one by one, residence left for the outskirts of New York City, and now Roosevelt Island is like a shell of its former self, a proverbial ghost-town with a population of only 700 on the island. Streets are untended, cracked and dusty, weeds growing up between the broken pavement. It is not an uncommon sight to see old newspapers blowing across the street and the boarded up windows of shops and apartments.

Odessa's pretty fuckin' sure she left way more cash on the bar than she was supposed to. But the Insitute pays her good money, damn it. She will drink shitty rail liquor and tip way too well if she pleases. And she will stumble toward the Octagon after last call, on her own, without a care in the world, too.

Except for the bit where it's all those cares she has that drove her to the bar, to drink surrounded by strangers and music and chatter and so much noise. They say it's better than drinking alone. It keeps Odessa from admitting that she hates being alone.

But not now. Now, she's too drunk to care. And also, unfortunately, too drunk to realise she's so not heading in the right direction. It's a shortcut. She swears. There's the tramway station shithole thing. She knows where that is! She's so not lost.

There are some places in the world where it's harder to kidnap a government agent than others, and Roosevelt Island happens to be one of them.

Of course, being dead drunk tends to scramble the home team advantage somewhat. Even here.

So someone's picked up on Odessa's trail. It was only a matter of time. An inevitable shadow in a long coat that hangs back just far enough no to tickle the little hairs at the back of her neck while she lists however inebriatedly and he watches, as men sometimes do. Without helping.

As asshole men sometimes do.

It's a scuff of boot on icy cement that finally breaks his cover — an audible scrape and rustle when he nearly goes over and catches himself against cold red bricking in the nick of time.

That Odessa is suddenly much closer to her follower than she was moments ago speaks to her still having some unfair advantage in the form of her ability. Perhaps. Rather than be angry at being followed or confused, she wears a great big smile with wide eyes that convey her excitement. "Hey, it's you!" she beams.

There's a squeal that accompanies the twirl and subsequent swirl of yellow skirts and red peacoat. How Odessa manages to to stay upright in those four inch yellow and black striped platform heels is a marvel in and of itself. "What'cha doooin'~? 'Sides tryin' not'ta slip, I mean. I mean, ooooobviously you're tryin' not'ta fall and break yer fuckin' face. So other than that!"

Contrary to expectation, it's Calvin's turn to startle at her abrupt nearness and. Swirling and squealing. Right hand still braced to dirty bricking, he twitches in such a way as to suggest a reach for the gun under his coat without ever actually getting anywhere close. Automatic and impulsive and certainly less jovial than the norm.

Granted, his face already looks fairly broken. Bruising fades gradually from black to blue across the side of his jaw and temple, creeping into a line along the edge of his eye socket on the same side. It's a wonder the entire eye isn't purpled in, really — left hand poised up at a defensive lift to hold her off a bit that is the finale of his abortive grab after concealed carry.

It takes him a beat to notice the heels.

He does a doubletake once he has.


Odessa stills in her jittery alcohol-fueled enthusiasm and tilts her head to one side quizzically. "You weren't following me, were you? You already know where I live because you claim you did the Googles." Pfft! The dismissive gesture is more than just a touch exaggerated.

"But I'm on to you, mister! I'm not on the Googles. You totally abused your Registry privileges." Though it's an accusation of sorts, it's an appreciative one if the wide, lopsided grin across Odessa's face is any indication. She tips her head back, a lazy sort of loll. "I'd say it's cos you wanted to watch my ass, but you totally cannot see my ass in this coat."

Christ she's super drunk.

Mouth still felled open on the tail end of that initial stammer and hesitation, Calvin twitches his brows into a subtle knit to better consider his position. And hers. Especially hers, once her head tips back to show her neck and his brain goes clickity clack in time with a smooth-oiled change in track. If he intended to discuss something, he has forgotten instantly what it was, teeth shown in a not-quite-wince-or-grin at his own easy distraction.

People potentially in trouble, time off from work, trouble sleeping, kidinapping, blah blah. Of all the things Calvin could say, he eases his eyes down a few degrees and says, "I can if you take it off."

Odessa's lips part to reveal straight, pearly teeth. It's almost a stark contrast how perfect her teeth are compared to the pitted plane of her face. "But it's so cold, Agent Rosen," she purrs as she works free the buttons of her coat. "Are you gonna keep me warm?" She giggles and tips her head down to watch her fumbling fingers work at chunky black buttons. It's more difficult than it should be.

Her head comes back quickly, a toss of shaggy white hair that sticks to mascara-laden lashes and glossed lips. "You don't really wanna see my ass at all, do you?" Odessa asks with a dubious squint.

Wow. She's doing it. A little disoriented by his own good fortune and still, perhaps, slightly concussed, Calvin lets both of his hands fall back to his sides so that she can stand there and watch her start to undress herself in dumbly removed silence. The same way man has a tendency to stare into fire or. The discovery channel.

So he's caught a little off guard at the sudden snap of her focus forward again, his own shoulders hunched and squared in a touch of defensive bristle that's as immediate as it is instinctive, his gingery dreads rifled slow in the cold. "…Yeh, I think so," sounds queerly reasonable, for all that they are having this discussion on a dark winter night on an island close to curfew. "If you're still offering."

That seems reasonable enough to Odessa, who resumes her work with her buttons. In her mind, it takes entirely too long to tug out of the red wool, but when she does, she holds it up by its neck in triumph. "Tah-dah~" Her chin dips in to one shoulder, coupled with a brilliant smile.

Of course, then she has to turn around so he can get that view of her posterior that he was promised. The yellow ruffled skirt doesn't give as nice a view as a pair of jeans might provide, but it's not the shapelessness of stiff wool. That black mohair V-neck sweater isn't going ward off the chill for very long, but at least it isn't that sleeveless chiffon thing with the corset.

Or maybe that'd be preferable?

"Izzat better?" Odessa asks, mischievous lilt heavy in her voice. She launches into the next topic as she starts walking again - weaving, really - with only a cursory glance back to see if she's being followed or not, "I wanna know why you haven't been back around. I think you should come around more often." At all would be more often, if we're honest. "I had a lot of fun. I thought you did, too." There's perhaps a touch of defensiveness there, too much liquor in her to properly mask it with a bat of lashes and a coy tone.

"Much!" says Calvin. Punctually and with clear enunciation for the full scope of his approval of coat removal once it's off and the scary look she just gave him is gone too. Vast improvement, really.

Fallen automatically into a swaggery step at her right side once he's had a good look, Agent Doctor Rosen reaches in with his left hand to assist in keeping her warm for that much longer. By flipping his glove up under her skirts to feel archly around her ass with all the reservation of someone waltzing into their house and flipping on a light. Easy as anything. He clearly isn't expecting to be slapped for it either, or he'd turn the cheek that isn't already blackened by recent abuse.

"Trouble sleeping, mainly," is about the piss-poorest excuse an enterprising pimp could have to offer, but she's drunk and he has a lot on his mind. "That and I have a tendency to fuck around." Like now, for example. Grope grope grope. "What brings you to Roosevelt Island?"

There's a gasp followed by a little squeal that's appreciative more than anything. Certainly nothing remotely resembling outrage. Odessa just laughs at Calvin's brazenness, bringing colour to her cheeks and soaks up the attention like a sponge and enjoying it. "You should fuck 'round with me more often," she insists. "I like it." Especially when she isn't trying to be all serious and wounded.

"Feels like I never fuckin' leave Roosevelt Island," the woman offers in response to his question. "You gonna walk me all the way home? I think you should spend the night with me. It's much too close to curfew for me to send you home in good conscience." She's slick, this one.

Feel copped and spirits lifted a touch, Calvin's lighter on his feet when he finishes off with a pop of glove to ass, comfortable as they. Y'know.

He loops the same hand 'round her hip rather than break off contact entirely, warm as unspokenly promised in exchange for more skin and less propriety while he walks with her. "I know you do," humble as ever, he doesn't answer immediately as to whether or not he intends to walk all the way back with her.

Still weighing the pros and cons, perhaps. There are probably plenty of nice alleyways to stop in along the way, for example. Without committing to bed sharing. "Maybe."

Odessa may actually be a little horrified by her behaviour come morning. If she remembers how she got home at all. For now, however, she's similarly considering the suitability of an alleyway for their purposes. Not that she'll admit that out loud. Without prompting. "Maybe," she repeats with a shake of her head. "Good enough for me."

"Because," says Calvin, the hand he has hooked around her side as inclined to roam as may be expected, particularly in a southerly direction, because, "we should maybe stop and rest before we got there. Y'know. So you can sober up. If it's a ways."

Posture arrogantly upright despite the casual swing in his step, he crooks a look down and sideways as if to check if that there isn't a map tattood into the hollow of her clavical. His breath is warm! That's nice. "I don't really remember how far a walk it is."

"Oh!" Odessa seems to consider this suggestion for a moment or two, as well as the placement of Calvin's hand, and then she shrugs. "It's not too far, but…" She shivers at the feel of his breath on her skin, not at all a reaction to the chill in the air in contrast. "Maybe just a little rest."

Odessa smiles up at, and snakes one arm around the waist of the predator she's playing very willing prey to. A darkened space between buildings is spied and Odessa tilts her head in that direction. "That looks out of the way enough to avoid any curfew-enforcing busybodies. You think?" Lip bitten, expression uncertain. For all that she's compliant, this is still a teensy bit risque compared to her previous experiences.

Calvin's dishearteningly sober brain is already shutting down, so. The only thing to do is to nod critical agreement for her choice of dark alleys to fuck in, even if it's her first suggestion and there's no way of knowing if it's full of angry homeless people and monkeys with guns until they dip inside. "Oh yeah," he says aloud, already pulling her along with him. "Surely. S'long as you can keep it down."

"Are you insinuating I'm a screamer?" Odessa responds indignantly as she scurries along with Calvin's tugging. "I resemble that remark." It's a quip!

Once they're out of sight of the street, and apparently not surrounded by homeless, gun-toting monkeys, Odessa drops her coat to the ground and wraps her arms up around Calvin's shoulders, perching up on her toes to try and meet him for a kiss. Even in her heels, there's still five inches between them. "I've never done anything like this before," she admits. "But I'll try anything twice."

Kissing's alright. Especially when it takes the lingering taste of Brian out've your mouth. Which is probably why Calvin's so ready and willing to meet her halfway in lieu of trying to navigate his way to getting her bra off under her dress, though. It doesn't take long for a probe of his thumb after the back to insinuate an interest in multitasking. Or for him to try to steer her back around to him once the pace of his breathing's kicked up a beat or two. Twice?

"Good thing I haven't been drinking, I suppose."

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