Without So Much As A 'Fuck You'


isabella_icon.gif nash_icon.gif

Scene Title Without So Much As A 'Fuck You'
Synopsis Nash continues to play antagonist to Agent Dawson.
Date July 8, 2010

There comes a time in every woman's life when she must reevaluate. It doesn't matter what it is: it could be her style, it could be her career, it could be what she does every Saturday. It could be her very identity. For Isabella Dawson, that time has come.

And she's ignoring it as hard as she can.

Down in the city streets of New York City, it's a much nicer 86 degrees today — unlike the Hell that broke a hundred yesterday. Official mandate from her place of employment has declared Isa take a vacation for a week. Soak up the sun, Crowley had said. But the sun is a spiteful bitch, much like Isa; and the small half-Japanese woman is taking pains to stay in the shade today. Burning is just not on her agenda.

Bedecked in a red tank top and some designer jeans, Isa's found a spot at a cafe, and the bitchiest agent is seated in a chair outside under an umbrella. She's sipping on an iced coffee, wearing a pair of gradated and mirrored sunglasses. And in front of her is the business section of the New York Times. Something about her posture says 'piss off.' But of course, when doesn't it?

One would think that in a city this big, this gigantic, that one could walk around this city for a lifetime and not run into the same person twice ever. But that's not the case. In fact, if there were such a woman as Lady Luck, she would be Nash's bedmate. His mistress. He would bed her and then walk away, and she would come back to him every time. Because it's on this day that he incidently stumbles upon Agent Isabella Dawson in all her splendor.

Nash would kiss Lady Luck on the mouth for this gift.

Despite the blazing heat in the city, Nash looks quite comfy in his suit as he walks up and pulls a chair out at her table and plops himself down. "Agent Dawson. It's nice to see you up and about after your little stay in the hospital. I was concerned about your well being, you know? You don't mind if I sit, do you?" He's already expecting the backlash. If she's trying to relax, Nash will probably not be much help in this area.

As the chair opposite her is pulled out, Isabella's gaze snaps up hard. And just as she opens her mouth with some snippy protest, she sees it's not just anyone. No. It's her nemesis. The one she'd hoped never to see again. With a scoff and a sigh, she throws down her newspaper onto the table and leans back, folding her arms. "You don't need to worry about my well-being one bit," she snaps. "What do you want?"

Lady Luck, it seems, has not been Isabella's friend this week. Between the probation, the sudden manifestation, the admittance into a psychiatric regimen…and now this. Clearly, Lady Luck has chosen sides.

What does he want? Well, that's rather the loaded question and would probably entail plenty of inappropriate suggestions and positions. Nash just gives her that boyish smile and shakes his head. "I can't visit an old friend who was recently hospitalized? You should really be more careful and eat less fatty foods. A woman's diet is very important."

"Seriously.." As if. "Seriously though, I saw you sitting over here and thought I'd come by to make sure that you're doing well enough." At least she's drinking an iced coffee instead of a hot one. "You see, Agent Dawson, despite your raging bitch attitude — which I find rather hot, I might add — I like you. And you look damn fine in a red tank top." He lifts both of his eyebrows a couple of times.

It's hard to see Isabella's expression, behind those sunglasses, but by the set of her mouth and brows, she is Not Amused. "I don't know what you've been smoking, but we're not 'old friends.'" And frankly, the idea is baffling. But, of course, as he goes on, his words seem to get a stillness from her. A disbelieving stare, most likely. Her hand goes for her iced coffee, and just as she grips it…she pauses…and with an air of great restraint she pulls it towards her and picks it up for a drink. "I don't get you," she finally growls. "Just fuck off. Whether or not I look hot in a tank top is my own damn business." Perhaps he's lucky she's on probation this week. (How many disciplinary reports were filed against her?)

Nash wouldn't know anything about that. Other than working at Homeland Security, he doesn't know a damn thing about her. He watches as that cup is gripped and he's expecting to be wearing it, and is actually surprised when that doesn't into fruition, but instead she pulls it close to drink it. Interesting. Almost.. disappointing.

"Someone castrate you or something?" He places his feet up on the table, one leg over the other and he tilts his head as he glances at you, "Seems like someone has been leashed." He shakes his head. "So, you're not going to be fun, are you?" he shakes his head and gives a couple of tsk tsks before adding, "Pity."

"I'm on probation," Isabella snaps before she can stop herself. Then, wearing a growl, she sucks angrily on the straw before slamming the cup on the table. "Which is a pity, 'cause I'd really like to kick you in the balls right now." Picking up her newspaper again, she flips it open and holds it in front of her face. Maybe he'll go away. And not remember that whole thing about dinner. Not like she'd go, anyways. Ugh, gross.

That earns her an arched eyebrow, though she probably can't see it as she hides stealthily behind that newspaper. His feet hit the ground and he leans forward, elbows on the table as he stares at the words on the newspaper. "There's one thing I just don't understand." He reaches over and pulls the top of that newspaper towards him so he can see her and asks, "What exactly is it about me that you don't like?"

Isabella looks at him over her sunglasses, acidic gaze staring into him. She finally violently drops the paper again, hands spread on the table. "Okay, one, I don't like anybody. People exist to stab you in the back. That's the first rule of living. Two? No one gets hot coffee in the face and then proceeds to be nice, especially not to me. I make sure of it. You have ulterior motives. I don't like ulterior motives. Three, I have had eight shades of a shitty week and you are in my space. I don't give three shits if you think I'm hot, or whatever the fuck. I will fuck up your shit." Or she would, if she weren't on probation.

Nash listens as you lay it all out for him. "I find it amusing that one, you seem to think you have me all figured out. two, maybe I'm a forgiving sort of man who despite getting coffee thrown into my face by a raving bitch, I just can't stay upset at someone as charming as you, and three, I think that despite the fact that you've had one shitty week, there's always room for improvement. In fact, I think what you need to do is get laid."

He grins over at her and shakes his head. "You will fuck up my shit?" The newspaper is down so it's not in his way as leans back now and looks over at her and he shakes his head. "Can you be more specific about that, cause I need to know whether or not to be turned on or frightened."

"No, I don't want to figure you out. I don't want to know your name, I don't want to know how awesome you are because you forgive people. No one forgives anyone, are you kidding?" Isabella maybe doesn't forgive anyone, sure. But her idea of humanity is fairly skewed. She snorts though as he goes on. "Getting laid doesn't solve shit," she growls. "And yes, I will fuck up your shit. And I don't feel like explaining how, so you can take your pick which you want to be. I don't fucking care anymore." Moodily, the short woman grabs her drink again for another long sip. Hrmph.

Christopher Nash is the best kind of antagonist. The best ever. He stays in his leaned back position for a while watching you grumpily drink at your iced coffee and he huhs. "Well, if you really want me to leave you alone, I will." He stands up and pushes his chair under the table and gives you that smile, "But, I don't think you really do. One day you'll warm up to me." He starts to walk off and turns back, "And don't forget, you owe me dinner. I'll be collecting on that soon."

Fuck, he hasn't forgotten about the dinner. Isabella's shoulders hunch a bit and she growls. But she finishes her coffee and stands, to violently throw that cup into the nearest garbage can. Or…close. She misses, which only serves to infuriate her more. She just leaves it there and stalks off the opposite direction without so much as a farewell or a fuck you.

Christopher Nash is just one more thing for Isa to reevaluate. Or ignore, as the case may be.

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