Just a Little Window Shopping

[Derrick Mason Gray]

Nov 3, 2017; 3pm

 

It had taken some time, but New York had slowly become her playground. Gaspari had seemed to understand how overwhelming the noise of the city was on her at first and helped insulate her so she could acclimate at her own pace. He had been well rewarded for his patience. Her ability to see the unseen and hear what others couldn’t had aided the head of the Bakkhos syndicate on numerous occasions. Her skills had earned her a place at the side of the Boss. She was his personal infrared camera, lie detector and fly on the wall. She had also taken to frequenting the Bakkhos gym, not only regaining her former fighting skills, but had become downright lethal with most of the Capo's no longer willing to step into the ring with her.

 

The black Cadillac slid up in front of the Hammer's Antique Firearms and Gun Repair. She was not there for antique firearms, nor gun repair, but word on the street was the place carried quality ammo, something that was not so prevalent in the post-Resonance world. Too many hacks were shoving gunpowder in sub-par casings and calling it ammo. Problem was they blew up as easily in the gun as out of it.

 

Door opened and ridiculously long legs unraveled out to step on the sidewalk. The slightly wedged loafers were hardly staples of feminine grace, but as the dark gray slacks slid down the ankle and she unfolded herself out of the car, it became apparent she didn’t need stilettos to give her a predatory feline grace. The woman was tall, unusually so, with a lean muscular build that wore the custom tailored suit like jewelry. The faintly lighter gray pinstriping succeeded in making her appear even more amazon, the plunge of the blazer's collar giving the impression of more feminine wiles than perhaps her athletic form really possessed.

 

The dark mahogany curtain behind her swayed down to nearly her waist as she glanced back at the driver who had gotten out of his door but didn’t come around.

 

[derrick]Keep an eye out. I shouldn’t be too long.[/derrick]

 

The dark shades glanced back to the door of the shop, a deep breath pulled in before she flushed her echo map outward. White ants erupted in a flurry in her mind, racing along the edges of all objects. Behind the opaque black glasses the contact lenses lay thin over the sightless orbs, custom fit and undetectable to the naked eye. Their light color didn’t darken the way they would over colored irises, her nearly white eyes with the faint gray pupils became a hauntingly light amethyst blue with pupils that didn’t quite become black. They had been a gift from Gaspari. Only a handful within the Bakkhos even knew she was blind, it often gave her an advantage.

 

Door handle was found readily. She had gotten good at recognizing from what side doors opened despite the small shape of the handles. As the wooden door pushed inward she took note of its age, the glass panels within had been re-glazed but still her sensitive ears could detect the faintest movement in the panes. The jingle of the antique door bell hanging from the top frame was also quaint. Brow lifted over the dark shades as she stepped inside.

 

The store smelled old. The way an old general store might have. The woody scent thick on the air tainted by gun oils and metal. Ants streamed over the edges of old fashioned glass display cases and a thick wooden table that had parts strewn over it. Oddly enough, nothing in the echo map betrayed modern weapons or ammunition. Finger tapped softly on a display case, pulling along the glass to cause just enough sound within to flush the ants beyond the surface of the glass. The fragmented pieces were dense, metals. But nothing that looked like a modern glock or 45.

 

It was possible her snitch was mistaken.

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

Hazel was watching the screen with keen interest, arms crossed with fingers tucked under them, the absent tap of his thumbs on his biceps a common stance.  The shop was literally coated with cameras of all kinds, the magus flipping back and forth between them when he felt necessary.  He wasn’t in the greatest of areas, not the worst by far, but he did run a gun shop.  Guns were desirable at this juncture. Most thought he was just an antiques dealer, the front definitely a “front” for what lay behind the door at the counter. A warehouse, metal shelves and cold fluorescent lights lining the rows of stock he had either built or scavenged through help of go-gets.  He had ‘mice’ all over, picking through old military bases, places where he knew conflict had raged.  Like the trappers in a new world going into the wild, there were people willing to tread beyond the lines into zombie infested areas and police the reloadable brass that had been left behind.  He paid well for it, and guarded it with his life.

 

The modern warehouse in back was the lifeblood of his operation.  Up front, his passion, in back- his lifeblood.  Paid his bills.  He wasn’t a heavy gunrunner by any means, but he could get things of quality.  Repair them, reload them and get them back into hands that wanted them.  There was nobody that could do that he knew of short of the big time factions- and even they struggled sometimes.  He had the charm to get what most couldn’t.

 

He also had not gotten this far by being a fool.  The Cadillac had been noticed slicing along the street immediately, quite surprised when it stopped in front of his place and someone had entered the shop.  What was prickling at the hair on the back of his neck wasn’t something he wanted to be thinking, or having to deal with.  He’d seen enough black cars for one lifetime, and they weren’t on this side of the pond- or fond of him.  Eyes fell on his shoulder harness hanging on a coat hook near the door.  A little brash, not to mention unfashionable over a polo.  Reaching under the shiny stainless steel workbench that held his presses, he slid a hip holster onto his jean’s belt, chambered a round on a Glock 22 he had been test loading and snapped it in. 

 

He usually was never armed, didn’t need to be.  This just didn’t feel right, and he didn’t want to come off as not needing to be armed- especially if she was Order.  He hadn’t done a thing yet to put a ripple in the river of mana… and he wanted to keep it that way.  Either she was a high end customer tapping on his glass absently as she explored his antique wares, or he was fucked.  Picking up his glass of water, door opened quietly, the black corded charms on his wrist whispering across his skin.  It locked automatically behind him, nodding to her as he took a drink from the glass and sat down at his worktable to finish repairing a Winchester rifle.

 

He didn’t bother customers- hovering was impolite. If they needed something, they would ask.

[Derrick Mason Gray]

She had "seen" him moving beyond the door, the faint rustle of his pants, the soft brush of sole on the floor, all were enough for the highly sensitive hearing to flush little white ants beyond the closure of the door and outline the forms beyond. The ability of her "map" to spread beyond what the eye could see was just one reason she was so valuable an asset to the Bakkhos. The move to arm himself drew a faint quirk of her lips. Made sense that a gun dealer was a bit paranoid. The slide into the chamber caused a faint cock to her head, a Glock. It was frightening how quickly she had learned to attune herself to the sounds weapons made. The type of metal, the size of the barrel, even the weight of the bullet that went in it, all gave enough information to betray the weapon.

 

Perhaps he was unaltered. It would explain the strong affinity for the support of the gun industry. One had to be committed to it to have a place out here. She had been learning that those that hadnt been cursed during the Resonance had a tendency to have a deeper connection to guns, they saw it as their only defense in a world that had in a way, turned against them all, herself included.

 

She didn’t fear either anymore, guns nor altered. It was a problem. On more than one occasion her disregard for her own life had led to a brutal shouting match with Gaspari. There were a few in the family that questioned his choice of her as a bodyguard, but the couple that bothered to know her, knew why.

 

The shop was memorized, every little piece of furniture, every sliver of metal, every bump on the counter that represented an item for sale. It was something that had grown from her ability, allowing her to shorten her use of the map to avoid lacking the ability when it was really needed. Slowly she let the map recede. She had lived since birth appearing "sighted", she didn’t need the map to do so now either.

 

She gave a cursory glance up as he entered, hearing the snap of the lock in the door settling into place. Since he didn’t speak she suspected he was merely acknowledging her and allowing her to "browse". She stepped around the corner of the display case, memory telling her precisely where it ended while his breath reminded her precisely how tall he was as she turned to offer her undivided attention.

 

[derrick]Mr Boudreaux I take it?[/derrick]

 

There was something sultry without trying to be in the tone, the rum-rich sound... casual, effortless. The voice that could belt out the entire spectrum from Joplin to Springsteen to Metallica and Nickleback had a deep warmth when not behind a mic.

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

The shiver in the air raised a chill up the nape of his neck, pulling even sharper resolve to remain under his own human power in the presence of others.   Too comfortable with his obscurity lately, he knew he either had to remain under the radar, or face a choice of life and death.  He understood things most didn’t, had been trained unlike some others. Choosing to associate with no one when he was almost fully capable of being something to someone was the path he followed.  He never did do what people wanted him to do.  With that had always come consequences.  He just didn’t feel like dealing with the consequences at the moment.

 

Emerging from his back room to solve the mystery of what a person wanted always was fraught with danger.  Customers that came in were a gamble.   All had needs, all with a story and she was no different- a little out of place and suspect of being the people he really didn’t want to have any contact or conversations with.  The rifle became a secondary focus, reading as much as he could while she zeroed in on him and finally asked his name.  People rarely asked his name, they usually just asked for their shit, paid and got out.

 

It wasn’t a good sign.

 

He didn’t answer for a few seconds, distinct sound of the lever being tested bright in the quiet shop as he watched one of his several televisions.

 

“Mhm…”

 

Normally warm hazel was clouded despite his comfortable answer, attention turning to her with a nod as he set the rifle down on the table and picked up his glass to finish his water.  Glass clinked softly back to the table, wrist unconsciously quickly turning a few times to rearrange the wrapped cords and small trinkets always present on his wrist before going back to the minutia of the rifle.

 

“Let me know if I can help you with anything…”

 

He didn't bother customers, but this one seemed... different, not holding back on any of the Cajun lick in his voice.  Some knew it, most didn't. either way it seemed to set people at ease.  He needed ease at the moment.

[Derrick Mason Gray]

The lingering silence was telling. He was assessing what threat she was. Good for him, she was a threat.
 
Long, powerful fingers came up to tuck around the button at the front of her blazer, sliding it back through the captive hole. While from the outside it had seemed she wore nothing beneath the thinly pinstriped jacket, when the seam fell open the light gray silk tank was evident, the neckline simply plunged below the break of the lapels.
 
This was hardly a strip show. The flick of the left side as her right elbow rested on the glass display purposefully exposed the strap of leather that went up over her left shoulder. The holster tucked under her arm was clearly put there by an artisan who had custom designed the brace to conceal the weapon completely when her blazer was closed, not even a bump left as evidence of the gun she hid there, which was not an easy task considering her unusual height and lack of body fat. If he really had an eye for guns and their accessories, he would recognize the custom nature of not only the harness, but the weapon that peeked from within the thin leather as well. There was not another glock in the world that matched her set. The exterior had been custom etched, allowing highly sensitive fingers to "see" the weapon differently than others. She could disassemble it for cleaning faster than most could pull its trigger.  
 
The simple motion could be seen as a threat or simply as exposing it so there was no secret. How he interpreted the motion was his business. The name on her tongue only drew more silence before the clear note of the lever on the weapon with him was tested, enticing her brow to lift faintly over the dark shades. Her "map" off she still didn’t miss a single movement. Ears pricked at the rifle being set down once more and the soft movement of liquid in a glass. The last sound was unique, the gentle swish of cord on skin.
 
Let me know if I can help you with anything.
 
Head cocked ever so slightly at the accent. She had never heard a Cajun before, the vibrato lingering over her highly tuned senses.
 
[derrick] I am not sure you can.[/derrick]
 
The warm tone wasn’t friendly, nor unfriendly. It was all business.
 
[derrick]Bird told me you might be able to fill ammunition orders with product that isn't second rate, but the array of parts and pieces here hardly seem to include what I am in the market for.[/derrick]
 
Head tilted questioningly as she "looked" at him. Her gaze targeting with insane accuracy his features. Bird was going to have a short lifespan if he had sent her on a wild goose chase.

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

Hm.  Order didn’t often go around flashing guns at people.  They usually just came in, threatened, scrambled your brain, or outright killed you.  Unless the gun she wore fired something metaphysical this was either a business call or a threat. Probably a threat, or a potential take-over.  It wasn’t the first time factions had waltzed in intending to demand some sort of payment in exchange for protection, it wouldn’t be the last.

 

He didn’t need protection, extending his assistance. Usually people just got to it, this one seemed to be lingering, waiting for something.  He didn’t like being treated as a mouse.

 

" I am not sure you can."

 

A rare question of what she might have needed help with was answered with something just as absurd, the warm chuckle in his chest truly amused.

 

"Bird told me you might be able to fill ammunition orders with product that isn't second rate, but the array of parts and pieces here hardly seem to include what I am in the market for."
 
“Birds are funny like that,”  pause was eternal as he lifted the rifle again to test the lever with a sharp rack.  It sounded a bit better.  “They sing pretty when you feed them, but most of the time are just full of shit.”

 

She wanted the good stuff, eyes finally shifting to really look at her for the first time before he slid on a pair of glasses and flipped down the magnifying lenses- going back to the rifle.  Something was catching up the lever and it was pissing him off.  He didn’t want to have to take it apart. 

 

The good stuff huh?  He wasn’t sure he liked her yet.

 

“Need to take the finish off the harness.  Someone who knows custom work could smell it even though they can’t see it…”  he snapped the lever again, annoyed at it as he set it down and got up to refill his water.  “…ruins the fun surprises.”

 

He took his time at the utility sink, helping himself to another half glass and washing his hands, hooking his lenses on the ledge.  Hands were dried, looking at her for a long moment.  Out of place, then again he was one to talk.  Something was off, he couldn’t quite place it, reaching under the counter he brought up a small box and set it on the glass.  Three bullets were removed, one… his little go-gets had brought him.  Pre-Resonance, recycled brass, set on the counter with a miniscule clink.  The second, his own.  Third, a piece of shit someone else was making.  He didn’t elaborate which was which, collected them into his palm to "accidentally" mix them up and put them back on the counter closer to her for inspection.  Not a dirty trick, a test.  If she could tell the difference, he liked her.  if not, he would at least give her the decent stuff.  Lots of people came in wanting the best, lots of people didn't know it from a hole in the wall.

 

“Two qualities I even bother with.  Any caliber, any gun.  Prices vary with rarity, some might take a bit longer to find.  Take a look, let me know what you need.  You can either pay for it or you can’t.  I don’t cut deals.  I don’t extend credit, and I stand behind anything I sell.  Police your brass I can reload it.”

 

Pen was set on the invoice pad he always kept on the counter. Some may have seen it as cocky, he just didn’t believe in wasting anyone’s time.

 

“Can also make you a new harness with a buffed finish.  Lighter, feel like silk.”

 

He left her to it, collecting tools from his workbench to finish his rifle.  She was off, something against his skin like two competing sets of waves in the ocean.  He wasn’t truly convinced she was here for just ammo, deciding to drop the proverbial hammer, no pun intended.

 

“Unless you’re Order.  Then you can fuck off,”  it was said so calmly, furl of something finally seeping wide from him like a low fog flickering the televisions for a brief moment as he took a “peek” around the building.  He sat quietly, beginning to process of taking the rifle apart without another word.

[Derrick Mason Gray]

His chuckle was tainted in the Cajun vibrato. It was a unique sound. The man would never be able to disguise his voice from her.

 

Birds are funny like that… they sing pretty when you feed them, but most of the time are just full of shit.

 

[derrick]…very true… that’s why so many get eaten.[/derrick]

 

The Cheshire cat grin that lit up her lips left no doubt she was a hunter, not a hunted. The little dance of words was setting the playing field, they were both getting familiar with where the other stood. As he worked the lever again she could hear it scrape on the left side.

 

[derrick]…alignment is off.[/derrick]

 

“Need to take the finish off the harness.  Someone who knows custom work could smell it even though they can’t see it……ruins the fun surprises.”

 

Brow quirked above the ebony spectacles. Her sightless eyes "studying" him. He passed. He clearly knew enough to recognize the custom workmanship, so perhaps he did know a thing or two about weapons.

 

“Two qualities I even bother with.  Any caliber, any gun.  Prices vary with rarity, some might take a bit longer to find.  Take a look, let me know what you need.  You can either pay for it or you can’t.  I don’t cut deals.  I don’t extend credit, and I stand behind anything I sell.  Police your brass I can reload it.”

 

The sound of ammunition rolling in a box was not missed, body turning to face him as the lips pursed slightly, tail of silken mahogany swaying behind her as he set the bullets one at a time on the glass. Instantly she heard the crappy sound of poor workmanship that she was already familiar with. They had gotten a batch of the crap not long ago, one of their guards was nursing a nasty wound on his hand from when it blew in the chamber. The second was a decent piece, but it was the sound of the third that caused the head to cock slightly. He picked them up and moved them closer to her, lips quirked at the left side as she heard them mix up. He was playing a bit with her. He didn’t know who he was playing with. The softer sound of him setting them back down on the glass betrayed yet again where the interesting one was, hand reaching up and almost grazing his as he let it go, long fingers plucking it from the counter with all the confidence of one sighted.

 

She rolled it in her fingers, feeling for any weak points in the casing before cupping it in her palm and tossing it a couple inches up to catch several times as she assessed the weight. Definitely some custom work.

 

[derrick]…first… ever sell me that left one and I will be sure it misfires into the back of your skull.[/derrick]

 

The smile was "lovingly" offered to him. He wasn’t the only little shit around here. The bullet she held in her hands was tapped lightly against the glass, the cock of her head betraying she was listening carefully to the sound. There was a reason she was the ammunition expert for Bakkhos. She didn’t detect any weakness in the structure.

 

[derrick]…second… does it really look like I am bargain shopping?... or lacking in funds?[/derrick]

 

Brow again quirked over the dark shades as she "looked" at him, smile almost warm before her attention returned to the bullet that rolled up and over her long fingers, the skill of movement betraying a potential sniper's control.

 

 “Can also make you a new harness with a buffed finish.  Lighter, feel like silk. Unless you're Order. Then you can fuck off.”

 

The first wave was almost missed, the second one bristled against her flesh like the tips of feathers seeking her affection. Her attention focused on him more carefully now, breath slow as she let the highly tuned senses "read" him again. She had felt it before, from a Magus they had hired. But that Magus had not felt so…. warm?.. was that what it was? The sensation was difficult to read, perhaps still masked?... but it clearly screamed altered of some kind if not Magus.

 

[derrick]… you can holster that aura… not Order… could give a shit what your beef with them is or them with you.[/derrick]

 

She walked over to where he sat with his project, the projectile now beautifully held up between her thumb and forefinger.

 

[derrick].. your work I take it. A fluke? Or you create this sort of quality consistently?[/derrick]

 

It was a fair question. Any little punk ass ammo builder could get lucky and have a once in a lifetime perfection creation.

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

"…alignment is off."

 

No shit.  Blink was slow, not many would know that, his rib about the leather finish on the harness well placed to counterbalance her smart-assery… or notch on her bitch belt.  All righty then, it was war.  A rather surly, sly war, but one he would enjoy nonetheless- suppressing a smirk when she swiped up one of the best samples as he set them down again and left to find his tools.

 

"…first… ever sell me that left one and I will be sure it misfires into the back of your skull."

 

The hearty laugh bubbled from his chest as he began to carefully remove screws from the rifle at his table.  She was fun.  He didn’t know whether to add her to his favorite client list or fry her ass on the spot.  He was never in a hurry, not really concerned whether she thought he was marginalizing her.  Good things came to those that were… patient?

 

"…second… does it really look like I am bargain shopping?... or lacking in funds?"

 

“People look like a lot of things,” comment was offered quietly, unconcerned as he lovingly coaxed the rifle apart.  He was speaking more of himself than any other.  Even when he had more money than he could spend in six lifetimes, he still preferred his worn travel wear, beat up hiking boots and scruff.  Long breath in sent another flicker crackling the televisions for one more sweep around his block.  Nothing out of the ordinary.

 

"… you can holster that aura… not Order… could give a shit what your beef with them is or them with you."

 

Smirk again was light, reaching to pull the Glock from its holster and disarm it, setting it and the on the workbench.

 

“Good.  I hate carrying.”

 

".. your work I take it. A fluke? Or you create this sort of quality consistently?"

 

“I’m still in business… and apparently a favorite of the birds,” the pile of parts on the table was becoming bigger, meticulously arranged in order until he finally removed the lever.  One eye was closed as he held up the lever, trying to gauge whether or not it was bent.  It was filthy, the whole receiver was filthy.  “Can’t do business with dead people.”

 

He got up then, collecting the things he needed to clean it, back to her as he went through brushes to find the right one.

 

“The one you’re holding is pre-Resonance and reloaded.  Federal.  I occasionally get some Hornady and Norma and some other good brass from various sources.  I’ve copied nearly everything they make.  I have… special skills that allow me to produce exact copies. That other junk bullet I got from a shop uptown, probably the same shop that gave you a reason to be here with me…”  he returned to the table, dropping the mag on his Glock and handing it to her, watching her features and his reflection in her glasses.  “I made those, take a look.”  He returned to his chair and quiet project, the temptation then thrown her way, “water tank in back if you want to make them go boom.”

[Derrick Mason Gray]

The hearty laughter again caught her attention. His accent giving the sound a true uniqueness that most couldn’t hope to have.

People look like a lot of things.

It was her turn to chuckle softly, the sound darkly flittering in her chest. The irony of the comment was not lost on the blind woman. Her natural attire was a soft cotton tank over some baggy men's cargos, combat boots or better yet, barefoot, and with a guitar in her hands.

[derrick]..true.[/derrick]

Sensitive ears listened as he began to dismantle the weapon he was working on, looking to fix the alignment issue. His breath and shift in the sound on the electronics drew her attention stronger. Definitely able to manipulate things, electricity perhaps? Her instruction to holster his aura leading to him disarming his weapon, a sure sign he didn’t need it to protect himself. It was for show. Like her glasses and the contacts behind them in the event she was ever "disrobed" of them.

Good. I hate carrying.

[derrick]Interesting line of business you are in with that preference.[/derrick]

Again the faint tickle of a smirk on her lips. Like a musician in a gun shop expertly picking ammunition. They were alike. Two odd creatures, more than the world saw them to be. But she was there on business not a social call, returning their focus to his creations again, and whether or not the one bullet was a fluke.

“I’m still in business… and apparently a favorite of the bird. Can’t do business with dead people. The one you’re holding is pre-Resonance and reloaded. Federal. I occasionally get some Hornady and Norma and some other good brass from various sources. I’ve copied nearly everything they make. I have… special skills that allow me to produce exact copies. That other junk bullet I got from a shop uptown, probably the same shop that gave you a reason to be here with me…”

Brass. That was something the Bakkhos could get their hands on, supply him with. She filed the information away for now. First thing first, he needed to show more than a single bullet to get her deal. Head lowered, mimicking site out of trained habit as she "looked" the bullet over once more, fingers deftly feeling every edge again.

Brow lifted over the ebony shades as she heard his mag drop from his weapon. Shift of fabric warned he had reached out towards her. Head tilted slightly as though questioning the gesture but in truth it gave her the half second to engage her map, white ants flushing barely in time as she moved her hand to grab it. It was artistry the way she ensure she never fumbled for anything. The moment the cold metal was in her palm she shut down the map again, fingers running along the edge. Typical glock mag. Wouldn’t fit her custom weapon.

I made those, take a look.

Before he had the words out of his mouth fingers were deftly plucking the ammo out of the mag to inspect it. Same high quality. Seemed this was the dealer Bakkhos had been looking for. Issue now would simply be could he produce for their entire arsenal of weapons, and could he produce at the pace with which they used them up. She would also need to see if he could produce the highly specialized ammo that Push used. But that was for another conversation.

...water tank in back if you want to make them go boom.

Brow lifted again tail of mahogany swaying as she tilted her head studying the set of four bullets in her hand. They would fit her mag.

Brass rolled from her right hand into her left, right instead going for her weapon. The motion was so fluid one might miss she had in a single grip, locked the weapon, popped the brace on the mag and was dropping out her magazine as it was exiting the holster. The metal chamber caught in the left hand without dropping a single bullet. The weapon was clearly not just for show.

She had been relentless. Like with her guitar and her fighting skills it had become obsessive training, repeated again and again seeking a perfection only unsighted fingers could find. Her mag was just a hair smaller than his, custom designed to take off all extra weight so that it could fit in the more deeply carved grip of the handle. Every bump and line on the exquisitely crafted weapon was an instruction for her highly sensitive fingers.

Three bullets were popped from her mag as quickly as she had raped his, the brass slid into the pocket of her jacket as she loaded three of his creation in their place, taking just a moment to drop the one out of the chamber and replace with his as well.

[derrick]…back you say?[/derrick]

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

"Interesting line of business you are in with that preference."

“Weapons are beautiful machines, not fancy jewelry,”  he was secure in that opinion, passing off the mag to her eager fingers.  “Skill should be the deterrent, not how big of a gun you can flap in the breeze,”  the comment was warm, assured. Of course he sold to any of those types, but it was their business what they did with them after they walked out his door.  Lips curled up slightly as she made his exact point when loading the bullets.

 

Arms crossed as she fussed, thumbs tapping on his biceps.

"…back you say?"

 

He nodded slightly, apparently the deal was on.  Returning to the table, he picked up his pistol and stepped to the back room door. He never left anything that could fire in the front of the shop.  A few quick codes and the heavy door was pushed open, waiting for her to follow to lock behind them.  Screens were flicked to survey the front of the shop, a parlor trick most never even noticed he’d done.

 

The back warehouse was considerably larger than the storefront.  Modern, heavily secured, workbench and all his presses to the left on stainless steel.  At right were lines of metal shelves, hundreds of boxes of well-organized ammunition and parts.  It was the heartbeat of his operation.  His passion was up front, but he had to pay the bills somehow.

 

He disappeared smoothly into one of the rows, plucking two boxes off of the shelf in her caliber.  Continuing toward the back, the drain grate in the center of the concrete floor became abundantly clear.  Water tank took a section of the back wall.  He went through the mental checklist of the large “machine”, stepping up on the platform to make sure everything was in order- placing the two boxes on the gear table next to the tank and inviting her up.  Ear protection was placed on the table.

 

“Take your time,”  he trotted down the metal platform, and moving to collect some other items she may be interested in and sliding on his own ear muffs.

[Derrick Mason Gray]

Weapons are beautiful machines, not fancy jewelry….skill should be the deterrent, not how big of a gun you can flap in the breeze.

The glint of a grin ghosted on her lips. She liked him. He was like her. If it was up to her she would never carry the damn thing that hid so well beneath her arm. Her feet and fists spoke for her, not some piece of steel she only had to pull a trigger on. However she had grown to respect what she could do with the piece of steel once she truly began to have skill in its handling. Hers might look "carved" for "jewelry" sake, but the carvings were there for a very different reason.

The speed with which fingers could unload and load the weapon was almost unnatural. She didn’t suffer the need to "look" at what she was doing. She listened to him reclaim his own weapon and unlock the heavy door to the back. Her first step towards the back was instantly met with a buzz in her pocket. Frown was instant. Cage outside was likely pissing himself at the thought that she would vanish into the backroom of an arms dealer with no backup.

The very thin flip phone was snapped open and brought to her ear. Instantly he was sputtering about coming in with her. Her silence was telling, even hidden behind the opaque shades one could tell her eyes had narrowed. Cage finally caught on and fell silent just a moment before she snapped the phone shut and holstered it back in her pocket. Who the fuck did he think she was… some Bakkhos showgirl??...she bodyguarded the fuckin' Boss.

As the phone vanished she followed Josef, head inclining slightly.

[derrick]… apologies. Hothead seems to think you plan on jumping me in the back. He forgets I lay him out.[/derrick]

The smirk was almost friendly, as was her tone. Her words were the truth as well. Cage wouldn’t even step in the ring with her anymore, she laid him out in about 10 seconds the last time he tried to prove she needed a guard of her own.

Crossing into the secondary space she could feel it was larger than the front store. It also had a colder "steel" feel to it. She trusted her skills, but she was also not stupid, she took a moment to take a deep breath, flushing the map vibrant to get the lay of the land, quick mind memorizing every path and door before shutting the map down once more.

Low wedge heels easily detected the large grate down the center of the concrete as he brought her to the water tank. Truth be told, she had never used one before, the exposure to her map had given her the shape and she assumed the portal on the front was where you aimed the weapon through. The box of ammo was easily identified by the sound of casings softly clinking against eachother. The ear protection, however, was not recognized for what it was and therefore was ignored. Truth be told, she would never have worn it anyway, if there was one thing she never did, it was obscure her hearing. Sound whispered far too many secrets.

Take your time.

Brow was lifted ever so slightly as he trotted away, her own feet taking her up the platform he had just come down, the soft ring of the metal steps still telling her exactly where they were. Hand slid over her weapon releasing the safety as she flexed on the trigger, lining it up to where memory told her the portal was.

First release was almost instant the moment she confirmed the portal did not have a block in front of it. The explosion of sound didn’t cause a flinch even without ear protection. Something she had worked hard to do was get accustomed to violent large sounds without being debilitated. In the beginning it had been overwhelming, causing her to seek small quiet spaces. But now, her body seemed to absorb the sound as she turned it into invisible maps, after all, she had been making maps in her head long before she had ever gained the ability to "see" through sound. Head tilted thoughtfully. Something was different. Second shot was taken slower, studying the event to determine what it was that felt different.

[derrick]…leaves the gun faster.[/derrick]

She wasn’t talking to him as the soft murmur escaped her lips. The third and fourth shots each taken with methodical study before she fired the fifth to see what the difference was from her own bullets. Her sensitive hands felt a distinct difference. Her bullet felt…rough… leaving the barrel. His felt smooth. Likely more aerodynamic which meant it would be faster and straighter in a shot than hers.

Mag was dropped out as she leaned against the rail and flicked the rest of her bullets out of the magazine, dropping all but one in her pocket as she picked up several from the box he had left her. Fingers rolled both in her hand. Side by side she could tell the slight difference in shape of the tip and the way it connected to the shaft.

Interesting.

Three more were loaded in her weapon which she again pressed into the portal, this time she did them in rapid succession. The concussive echoes sloshing into the water while the metal outside rang violently. Too many more would start to disorient her. She was convinced.

Mag was dropped out a last time and refilled with her own ammo, freeing her pocket once more before she holstered the weapon again.

[derrick]…so… you able to fill big orders on a regular basis? This kind of work must take time and I need a supplier that can keep up with the orders.[/derrick]

She trotted down the metal steps noting a soft ringing still in her ears. The water tank had made a unique sound when hit with the concussion of the bullet, the pitch resonating still at the back of her eardrum.

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

Expression was unmoving as she took a call. Interesting, beginning to put all the pieces together.  Normally he didn’t give a shit about what customers did with the more modern items he sold, it was their business.  He was acutely aware though of things that had an interesting “smell” to them, and this was smelling a LOT more like a high end deal than just a normal Joe buying something to defend himself with.

"… apologies. Hothead seems to think you plan on jumping me in the back. He forgets I lay him out."

Smile was easy as he led the way, voice an amused pure honey sweet,  “I only jump ladies when they ask nicely.  Sometimes, when they even ask not so nicely.”

 

After gathering the things she needed, he left her to it.  He had been working on something specific before she’d entered the shop and he went back to it, unflinching at the first shot.  He doubted he needed to look over his shoulder and make sure she hadn’t shot herself in the foot, but he did it anyway- still piecing together the deal that seemed to be going down.  He saw her lips move, unable to hear it through his muffs, pretty sure she was talking to herself and not him.  A few more shots and he pulled them down around his neck.

"…so… you able to fill big orders on a regular basis? This kind of work must take time and I need a supplier that can keep up with the orders."
 

Brows came down then, putting several pieces of something back onto the workbench in exchange for something else retrieved.  It was a loaded question.  “Bodyguards”, money not being an issue, high turnover.  What exactly was he getting into bed with here?

 

“Lotta questions before that answer.  Brass is expensive, takes time to form.  Reloads depend on the supply I can pull in from sources.  Cost.  How much we’re talking.  I have it down to a science, I work fast pending availability of materials and it being worth my while.  I’m not going to bullshit you, this back here pays for what I do up front.  As long as I have time to enjoy my work up front because bills are paid, what I make back here is inconsequential.”

 

Parts set aside, his hands slid quietly into his pockets, eyes sweeping the surveillance screens.

 

“What kind of organization would need that kind of influx, and what part of my soul would you need in return,”  he was not beating around the bush, or fucking around with his safety anymore.  He really was a shrewd and no bullshit businessman, and he revealed it one fell swoop.  What he got paid was no good to him if he was dead.

[Derrick Mason Gray]

I only jump ladies when they ask nicely. Sometimes when they even ask not so nicely.

 

Brow lifted, words quiet as she followed.

 

[derrick]I don’t ask.[/derrick]

 

The simple words could mean many different things. That she didn’t have sex…didn’t mix business with pleasure… that she took what she wanted from men, when she wanted.. all could be interpreted from the words, but the amazon didn’t even hint to which her words intended.

 

The opportunity to fire a few of his rounds confirmed what her fingers had felt; his ammo was superior quality. Question now was could he deliver and do so consistently. There was a lengthy, telling pause as he set what he was working on down before responding to her inquiry. The prickle at the back of her neck warned that she was now being assessed with a deeper seriousness than before.

 

“Lotta questions before that answer. Brass is expensive, takes time to form. Reloads depend on the supply I can pull in from sources. Cost. How much we’re talking. I have it down to a science, I work fast pending availability of materials and it being worth my while. I’m not going to bullshit you, this back here pays for what I do up front. As long as I have time to enjoy my work up front because bills are paid, what I make back here is inconsequential.”

 

She kept silent for the moment. He wanted to say his peace. She was fairly certain they could strike a deal that satisfied both of their needs. He was straight shooting, something the woman appreciated as she was often accused of being too direct… lacking in tact. Gaspari never seemed to mind her direct approach.

 

“What kind of organization would need that kind of influx, and what part of my soul would you need in return.”

 

There was the real question he wanted to know the answer to. Fingers slid the thin leather strap over her weapon, locking it back into its harness before flicking the blazer back towards the front, long dexterous fingers retucking the button through the hole to once again appear as though she were naked beneath the blazer as the gray silk hid underneath. She leaned back against the rail leading up to the platform of the water tank, arms folding over her chest as she relaxed into the conversation.

 

[derrick]…will need .22s, .700s, .45s, 20 gauge shotgun shells, and M40A5 sniper rounds.[/derrick]

 

Clearly she was coming to the table to play big.

 

[derrick]….to start anyway.[/derrick]

 

Head tilted slightly, "studying" him. She was listening to every breath, every movement, it was amazing how much the body could tell that words never did. One just needed to know how to HEAR it.

 

[derrick]Since brass is a concern I propose we cut a deal where you are paid half in cash, half in brass. Since I am looking for a regular supplier that means you would have a steady supply of brass to create from. That kind of influx would allow you not only to have the stock to fill my orders, but others as well. As for the organization….[/derrick]

 

Head tilted at him, faint upturn to her lips.

 

[derrick]..lets just say we keep order when the cops are doing nothing but chasing their own damn tails. As for your soul… I can think of better things you can turn over to me than your soul. Mainly I expect you will never say who you are selling to and we will never say who we are buying from. [/derrick]

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

"I don’t ask."

“Where’s the fun in that?”  he said particularly to himself, a shake on his wrist readjusting the cords of tiny trinkets to untwist themselves.  It was an unconscious movement at this point, he’d worn them for so long- even when he showered, they were a part of him.  Always cautious on deals, this one ticked at his temples.  He felt like he was getting in bed with the mob, eyes narrowing at the thought, cool gaze glancing back to her as she asked how quickly he could make his wares.  He laid it out in the most abrasive way possible.  Big talkers backed off almost instantly when he rolled out his terms. He wasn’t a birdie, he didn’t jump when fat cats said ‘boo’, and he wouldn’t start now.

 

…a bit disappointed when she didn’t answer right away and seemed ready to leave.  Maybe he’d read her wrong… she couldn’t back up her requests?  Eyes narrowed slightly as she settled in for some kind of conversation, or most likely threat.  He was certain he’d called the mob part correctly, knowing it was only a matter of time before they found out he did good work and wandered in.  Was this the part where they threatened to break his knees?  It was almost laughable, picking up one of the many empty glasses around the shop, filling it up quietly and taking a long drink.  The magus was always thirsty, some weird snafu of his altered state.

 

"…will need .22s, .700s, .45s, 20 gauge shotgun shells, and M40A5 sniper rounds.  ….to start anyway."

That was some heavy firepower, eyes wandered over his shelves as he sat on his work stool and took another drink.  He had the sniper rounds and the .700’s, nobody ever asked for them- and his “go-gets” kept finding them and bringing them back from their dead base and ‘stand-off’ sweeps.

"Since brass is a concern I propose we cut a deal where you are paid half in cash, half in brass. Since I am looking for a regular supplier that means you would have a steady supply of brass to create from. That kind of influx would allow you not only to have the stock to fill my orders, but others as well. As for the organization…."

Brass was precious, but it didn’t equal the cost of his time.  He knew he made good product and wouldn’t be dicked out of it.  She hadn’t told him how much they would need, and he was only one man.  Working exclusively to fill orders as big as he suspected would close him off to the rest of his clientele- and invite suspicion.  Glass lifted to his lips again as he watched her in silence, really wishing it was bourbon at the moment.

"..lets just say we keep order when the cops are doing nothing but chasing their own damn tails. As for your soul… I can think of better things you can turn over to me than your soul. Mainly I expect you will never say who you are selling to and we will never say who we are buying from. "

 

Every organization had a weakness.  The wrong person in it found out who was supplying their bang and they’d be on his doorstep.  Not that he couldn’t defend himself with a vengeance- he had gone nose to nose with the worst in the world and survived, he just didn’t want the mess that came with it.  He rather liked the simplicity of his life, and this just mucked it up to the hundredth degree.

 

“I rather like, my life.…danced with the devil once, I don’t want that heat again,”  glass clinked quietly on the stainless steel counter.  He didn’t elaborate.  Getting up quietly, strides were easy into the city of shelves, pulling a rolling ladder softly behind him and parking it to trot up the steps and retrieve one bin from the organized stock and put it on the tray at the bottom of the ladder to move to the next spot.  He was silent as he worked, probably not the answer she wanted, or was used to.  Transferring the cases to a cart, he rolled it over to his workbench.

 

“If I was to answer now, it would be no.  Lot to think about Miss tunda,” fingers rested quietly on one of the ammo cases he’d retrieved.  “This is one case of everything you asked for, take them with you.  I need time to think.  You come back tomorrow with a piece of that brass for me to look at, you’ll have your decision.  If no, you keep for your trouble. If yes, it’s part of your first order.”

 

It was the deal, and he wouldn’t waver.  He was a lot of things, but unfair and reckless was not one of them.

[Derrick Mason Gray]

"Where's the fun in that?"

There was a devilish smirk that quietly played at her lips.

[derrick]… you would be surprised.[/derrick]

She left it at that. She wasn’t there for sexual banter. That soft sound came to her ears again, this time she placed it. Cords on a wrist. She wore several when she played, they used to be a permanent attachment to her but they didn’t always "fashionably" align with her new life in Bakkhos. But they had meaning to her, most garnered from before the Resonance, so she refused to get rid of them.

Drinking again. If her nostrils were not so sensitive she might have assumed he was a functioning lush but the constant refills were water. Nervous? That was his problem not hers. She rattled off the rounds they were most likely going to need and made the offer to pay half the fee in brass. If he hadnt picked up on it yet he would soon. She knew what she was paying for and thus was fine with paying.. well. Half cash was likely nearly what others would pay him total. They didn’t have the resources she did at her disposal. The good thing about being the weapons arm of the Bakkhos and personal guard to the Boss meant she had access to funds that the under-bosses needed to ask permission to use. Gaspari trusted her.

"I rather like, my life… danced with the devil once, I don’t want that heat again."

It might have surprised him, but her response was a faint smile. Again he was proving someone she could like doing business with. He didn’t fuck around, allude to things or dance around issues.

[derrick]…then lets be sure to keep him out of the equation.[/derrick]

Tickle on her cheek drew her hand up to sweep a lost strand of mahogany back over her head. She listened to the roll of the ladder and the soft clink of product in boxes he was selecting. She had a feeling this was not a done deal yet.

“If I was to answer now, it would be no. Lot to think about Miss tunda,”

Brow lifted a bit, unsure of the reference, suddenly realizing he had never even asked her name. She didn’t jump in with arguing or explaining. She simply remained quiet, certain there was more. One thing she was good at, was reading people.

“This is one case of everything you asked for, take them with you. I need time to think. You come back tomorrow with a piece of that brass for me to look at, you’ll have your decision. If no, you keep for your trouble. If yes, it’s part of your first order.”

The tilt of her head was thoughtful as he was "studied". The nod to confirm the deal was made.

[derrick]…fair enough.[/derrick]

Pushing from the platform the long legs made short work of the distance between them, his voice told her just how far away and her mind ticked off the distance with each step, the soft sound of each foot fall resonating off the shelving structure and ensuring she knew precisely where to be to not run into one. This was child's play navigation. The amount of metal resonated so easily that even without her gifted "sight" she could find her way around.

She drew to a halt just before the cart that stood between them.

[derrick]Anyone comes claiming to be here on my behalf or part of this deal you feel free to put a bullet in their brain. I will be the only one you deal with. Cage, my driver will be the only other person aware of where the supply comes from. I don’t like messy deals any more than you do.[/derrick]

Quiet words were honest. She knew better than to let the under-bosses know where the ammo came from. Any of them ever decided to try and initiate a coup and they would know where to cut the rest off. She trusted herself. That was about it. Cage, well, he was a necessary evil as driving was one of the few things her sound map didn’t really help her do "like the sighted". She had tried, and she "could" drive in a pinch, but the rest of the world better damn well get out of the way.

She knew where the box was but not if his hand was still laying on it. It would be awkward to grasp over his fingers. The breath pulled slower into her lungs as she let the map flush in her mind, the white ants skittering forward to show the edges of the table, the box, and then the softer lines of a human behind them. She grabbed from the side, lifting the weight easily. The sleek suit hid a muscular form. Tucking the box under her arm she paused and tilted her head at him as she let the map die once more.

[derrick]… if there is anything else you want to negotiate in payment. Let me know tomorrow. I have access to… many things… that you might find of use, Mr Boudreaux.[/derrick]

Head inclined slightly before she turned and started back towards where she knew the door to be.

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

"…then lets be sure to keep him out of the equation."

“…devil is always there cher, only thing that keeps you sane is if he likes you or not,”  he rarely pulled the full stop Cajun, the calm of his voice only adding to the deep south magic that one from the old world had.  He was contemplating everything as he retrieved the things she’d requested.  It was a good deal, the only thing stopping him was who he suspected he was now dealing with.  Nobody was bullet proof, or ironclad.  People talked, not wanting to be in the middle of any of it.  He didn’t need the money, or the business… and that put him in a unique position, and most likely a different sort than she normally dealt with.  He could just as easily say no and be done with it.  The old rich kid knew what money was, grew up with it, then decided to  live without it.  There wasn’t much she could do to reignite that love affair.  Unlike others that were clawing their way to the top, he just moved out of the way and let them have it with a smirk.

 

She was going to have either prove her word to keep him out of the light, or he would have to do more digging on her- whoever the hell she was. Mob, he was sure. He didn’t travel in circles, and he didn’t pledge to anyone. Honestly, he didn’t give a shit who she was, only that he stayed under the radar.  Going over his mental checklist of the items he’d pulled, his terms were fair.

"…fair enough."

Good.  She thought so too.

"Anyone comes claiming to be here on my behalf or part of this deal you feel free to put a bullet in their brain. I will be the only one you deal with. Cage, my driver will be the only other person aware of where the supply comes from. I don’t like messy deals any more than you do."

That didn’t do much to push him to her favor, watching her approach and pick up one of the cases.  Arms crossed, thumbs tapping on his biceps.

"… if there is anything else you want to negotiate in payment. Let me know tomorrow. I have access to… many things… that you might find of use, Mr Boudreaux."

Brow cocked slightly.  At one time his world had been complicated, more than complicated.  Dinners.  Manners. Schooling.  Being the bachelor of the century for a lifestyle he hated.  Then he left, and it was simply exquisite, followed only shortly after by the Resonance and his world went to hell again.  The truth he’d spoken was absolute.  He rather liked his life.  Things had calmed.  He worked when he wanted, dealt with whom he chose to, and on the weekends indulged a bit in some old hobbies.  He didn’t answer her final toss for the slam dunk for a long moment.

 

“I’m not in this world for money, or power.  Had it, threw it out the door.  Never want it again.  Not going to sell you out. Won’t try to power game or ride coattails.  I’ve been there,” he picked up one of his invoice books from the counter and began to meticulously enter the amounts that were going to walk out the door.  He was speaking frankly, he always did.  He’d learned the distinct art of not being intimidated a long time ago.  “  ‘course you need it to pay the bills, but I don’t need this deal to keep my lights on.  I don’t need anything more other than payment for my time and brass.  I get by.  I go home, I take care of my horse, I polish my stupidly impractical car, I drink bourbon, I cook in my chef’s kitchen...  I like my simple life.  You want this deal you need to convince me you can keep me under the radar,”  and there it was.

 

Ledger was slid back onto its proper shelf as she picked one up.

 

“Not out the front,”  he said quietly.  “Only antiques go out the front. Call your driver, tell him to pull around back to the dock in the alley."   He tapped the stainless steel cart lightly with the pen still in his hand, sliding it behind his ear. Something was still bothering him about her, more that he couldn’t place it than anything,  “you don’t have to carry them all. I do deliver to cars at least.”

[Derrick Mason Gray]

" …devil is always there cher, only thing that keeps you sane is if he likes you or not."

The rare smile slid her lips as the expression softened somewhat. There was truth in his words. Her entire life had been a dance with the devil… many devils if she was truthful. Even now.

He had gone silent, sensitive ears listening to even his breathing as he was contemplating her comment that she could provide him with other things if he wished a different trade.

" I’m not in this world for money, or power. Had it, threw it out the door. Never want it again. Not going to sell you out. Won’t try to power game or ride coattails. I’ve been there."

Even behind the opaque shades the expression on her features had clearly softened. There were echoes in his words. Echoes of her own life. The fame, the fortune that had briefly been hers… she had never wanted either. She had just wanted to play. She never sought to step on anyone to get what she wanted either. Even now, a dog on the leash of the Bakkhos, she conducted business her way. She was loyal, she had her reasons to be, but she was no mob patsy either.

“… ‘course you need it to pay the bills, but I don’t need this deal to keep my lights on. I don’t need anything more other than payment for my time and brass. I get by. I go home, I take care of my horse,"

There was a distinct cock of her head. Horse? Did those still exist? She had never come across one, of course, she hadn't really come across any animals in her life. Caesar had been the first, and since taking a place within Bakkhos she had gotten exposed to some pretty aggressive guard dogs that seemed to recognize a more alpha dog and leaved her alone… but other than that……

"…. I polish my stupidly impractical car, I drink bourbon,"

[derrick]…Blanton's….[/derrick]

It quietly slipped her lips without thinking, the brand exclusive and rare now for bourbons. High quality liquor was something she had a fair passion for and being part of Bakkhos now, she was able to get her hands on brands she never could have gotten before the fall of the world.

"… I cook in my chef’s kitchen... I like my simple life. You want this deal you need to convince me you can keep me under the radar,”

Hers was perhaps not a chef's kitchen but it was amazing what she could do with a few spices and some left overs. They were oddly alike. Words were quiet.

[derrick]…last thing I want is competitors to know where I get my goods. Let them go buy the stuff that will misfire in their faces.[/derrick]

It was a valid point. If you had a good thing and it gave you competitive advantage, no matter what it was, you protected its source.

[derrick]…but I understand your concern.[/derrick]

She listened to the scratch of ink on paper. Likely logging what she was taking.

"Not out the front.."

She paused as she "looked" at him. True. His front shop clearly showcased vintage. Last thing that should be coming out of there was an armload of ammo. Faint smile ticked up the corners of her lips as the head inclined slightly.

"….you don’t have to carry them all. I do deliver to cars at least."

The rare chuckle was dark and melodic as she followed him towards the back instead. His steps had a cadence she was already becoming familiar with. People didn’t know that their very gait was like a fingerprint she could read. As the sound began to echo off a back wall something else caught the sensitive ears. There was a reason she was seldom caught of guard….by anything.

[derrick]…wait.[/derrick]

Long strides had easily caught up with him, the light cup of fingers over the inside of his elbow to prevent him from opening any door was brief. Just enough to make her point. The long fingers barely made pressure but the stretch did expose them close up. The faint bruising across the knuckles seeming completely out of place with her elegant attire. As quickly as she touched, her hand pulled away again, head tilted slightly downward in a posture that clearly betrayed she was listening to something beyond the wall.

[derrick]… you have rats out back.[/derrick]

Murmur was quiet as she listened to the scuffle. It had nothing to do with Josef, nor his place… something about Lucy? Testosterone on display it seemed, just some scrappers having it out over a girl, didn’t seem to be weapons involved. Head lifted again to "look" at him, smirk brief as she shook her head.

[derrick]..nothing to do with you or me… just rats.[/derrick]

She slid the phone from her inner pocket and flipped it open, finger hitting a speeddial number that ticked off as she drew the phone up to her ear.

[derrick]Cage… you still si…[/derrick]

He had cut her off, of course he wasn’t still sitting in front. He too knew it was not a good idea to show where the mob was frequenting and the car they were in was a bit too nice for this neighborhood, something that would be remedied in the future. He was off driving around a neighborhood nearby.

[derrick]….… no not yet. Got some pups in the back playing alpha. Let them settle up and move on, so keep off for another ten or so. Then pick me up round back.[/derrick]

Phone was clicked shut and slid away once more into the inner pocket of her blazer. Words were quiet.

[derrick]… you are not the only one that wants to stay under the radar.[/derrick]

Smile ghosted as the chin dipped a bit still listening beyond the wall.

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

She was unusually quiet, had been since the beginning.  It kept him on point, searching for some kind of clue to squelch what was bothering him in the back of his mind.  If normal instincts were playing out right, he would have shut the deal down long before it had gotten to this point.  Mob.   He was in a dangerous line of work.  Just that tiny word sent the other munition experts he knew in the city into an incredible frothing panic.  Of course, they weren't the magus he was.  They either got in bed with the requests, paid their weekly “dues” to stay “protected”- aka dropped at a moment’s notice when they ceased to become useful- or got out of dodge.  He refused to do any of that, and typically slammed the door in their faces with the smooth southern charm that left them feeling as if they had done him a favor.

 

This, was not that.  It was a strange deal, perhaps let to move forward to entertain his curiosity as he laid out his terms.

He blinked at her slowly, not missing the odd reaction to his mention of his precious Cheshire Cat.  Saved the damn thing from a butcher shop.  What was New York these days, a fucking backwoods barbarian town? Too much money had been thrown at a budding hunt club to board the beast, the only real finer part of life besides his car that he seemed to cling to.

"…Blanton's…."
 

“Roses… been a long time since I had a proper julep.”

"…last thing I want is competitors to know where I get my goods. Let them go buy the stuff that will misfire in their faces…but I understand your concern."

True.

 

“Maybe these fire straight enough so your competitors aren’t around to know where you get your goods.”

 

Even with the simple statement, he knew quite well he was taking sides. He didn’t care in the slightest what people did with their wares once they walked out the door with it.  This however, was a bit more complicated.  Last thing he wanted to do was get in the middle of a turf war.  He was already rolling the cart toward the back when he picked up on her chuckle.

"…wait."

Muscles tensed the instant she touched his arm.  He ran hot, and had always been wary of anyone putting their hands on his bare skin when he wasn't ready for it.  Even he wasn’t certain it wouldn’t harm them.  He knew what his touch could do, and would just rather not find out.

"… you have rats out back…. nothing to do with you or me… just rats."

Curious eyes flicked to her, the deep hazel suspicious as he “checked” for himself, slide of residual warm rifling his careless sprouts of dark blonde hair slightly.  Sure enough.  He’d talked to them several times in the last week about hanging around in his alley. The reason he liked it, was because it was shut off from the prying eyes of the rest of the world.  Apparently others appreciated it too much as well.  Time to put a stop to it, aware she was on her cell.  Ah well, he wouldn’t damage it… pretty certain he wouldn’t...

"… you are not the only one that wants to stay under the radar."

“I am the radar,"  he muttered under his breath.  "...how many times I gotta tell couillon…”  he was clearly not pleased at their presence, his anger never a prickling irritation like most, but a thick intensity that only seemed to increase the vibration in the air around him.  “…sorry ‘bout your phone.”

 

Breath drawn in slowly, wrist shook once to adjust the twinkling corded charms, it released as he slipped out the door with his hands in his pockets and trotted casually down the stairs to talk to his ‘favorite’ rats.  Feet sang quietly over several large grates that were connected to old underground steam tunnels.  The system used to heat the entire neighborhood during the winter, another reason he liked his alley.  When it got cold, the grates would billow frothing clouds of white.  No longer able to really heat anything, it was a nice cover for him to do business out back.

 

“Folks, I told you this alley not safe.  You feel that? That ain’t good heat from below.”

 

He leaned on it a bit, knowing the screens in his shop were probably flickering and her phone doing unusual things, the heat he was producing twisting a bit at the wisps curling from the grates.

 

“You stay in this alley, you get burned by this stuff.  Go, before ya’ll get hurt.”

 

Snarls were shot in his direction, his returned calm "helpful" smile in their direction catching the first ripple of wincing from the corner of their eyes.  He would have felt guilty he was intentionally giving them a rather biting sunburn on their exposed skin, but he HAD warned them before.   Getting the hint, they rifled off and he let it billow off with them, returning.  Trot up the steps had a boyish sheepishness to it, uncertain if he was going to get verbally 'thumped' on the head for going out as he slipped back in the door.

 

“Sorry ‘bout that.  Usually don’t intentionally press people but they needed to be reminded for the last time. Call your guy, phone might have rebooted, apologies. Do that sometimes.”

[Derrick Mason Gray]

The tone in his voice betrayed caution. Understandably.

“Roses… been a long time since I had a proper julep.”

Faint smile tickled her lips. He had a funny way of saying things. She still hadnt placed the accent, having never travelled south of the Mason Dixon in her prior life it was simply one she had never heard. She was left wondering if English wasn’t his first language.

“Maybe these fire straight enough so your competitors aren’t around to know where you get your goods.”

Brow quirked upward before the small shrug came.

[derrick]…possible…. depends on if they start trouble or not.[/derrick]

It was an odd answer for the mob. Typically they would be seeking to eliminating all competition before the competition even knew they were there. But Gaspari was different. He was trying to unite as many as possible, only when they proved they were intent to be on the other side of his line did they become a target.

Just like she wasn’t keen on going into the alley and "cleaning out" the rats, content to let them have their squabble and be done with it. Reaching to make him pause her touch was feather light to begin with but retracted even faster than she was intending when he tensed at her touch, hairs on the back of her neck instantly itching her skin.

Warm. He was warmer than she had expected. Fingertips rubbing together once back in her own space a second before the wave of warmth again shivered over her highly sensitive skin, self preservation made her take a step back as the brows lowered a bit betraying narrowed gaze behind the dark shades.

[derrick]… you are not the only one that wants to stay under the radar. [/derrick] “I am the radar.." [derrick]…makes two of us..[/derrick]

Words were half under her breath. Again she was struck by some strange familiarity to him. Her own skills were often the radar of the Bakkhos family, reaching beyond the seen to betray the hidden. Every hair was beginning to stand on end as another wave if thick heat blasted over her skin. The sensation was likely too subtle for most, but for someone whose skin "read" the world around her it was almost oppressive, another faint step back taken as she continued to frown behind her dark shades.

What exactly was he?

"..sorry about your phone."

His remark came as she was in the middle of giving instructions to Cage and as if on cue her phone flushed with thick static then died, likely panicking the man on the other end. She tried to redial only to find the phone dead.

[derrick]..fuck…[/derrick]

Swear was under her breath as her "dealer" was already out on the stairs. She stood at the door as he descended to the alley below, listening to feet hit large grates of metal before reaching the floor of the of the alley. She felt as much as listened to the scolding of the kids in the alley.

Altered for sure. The phone, the heat. Electricity and fire?

The kids finally scampered off getting the message, his billow of heat subsiding leaving her thoughtful at the top of the stairs. Head tilted faintly with a quirk on her lips, his trot up had a much more impish gait.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Usually don’t intentionally press people but they needed to be reminded for the last time. Call your guy, phone might have rebooted, apologies. Do that sometimes.”

Grin slid her lips as she shook her head still trying to reboot the phone. She hated the thing.

[derrick]… not so worried about that as the overly skittish dog on the other end doing something stupid.[/derrick]

Fingers kept working the power until finally she could feel the soft hum of current enliven the piece of equipment.

[npc]..GRAY![/npc]

The minute the phone connected his voice could actually be heard without bringing the phone to her head. Head shook in a way that said eyes were rolling behind the glasses.

[derrick]…Cage…Cage…CAGE… [/derrick]

He finally quit shouting that he was coming for her.

[derrick]… phone went dead is all you hyper poodle. No… wait a few minutes and drive away since I suspect you've been speeding in the streets to get back here and likely drawn undue attention to yourself.[/derrick]

There was guilty silence on the other end.

[derrick]…thought so. You bring a bunch of Bulls to greet me and your ass is in the ring as my sparring partner for the next month.[/derrick]

Even deeper silence met her. Soft "tsk" escaped her lips as she snapped the phone shut again, tucking it away inside her blazer as she adjusted the weight of the ammo box under her other arm and leaned her hips back on the rail.

[derrick]..sorry, be a few minutes for my ride to come.[/derrick]

She fell silent. Head tilted ever so slightly "studying" him.

[derrick]….not a bad trick you got there.[/derrick]

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

The peel back of her fingers after she realized he didn’t feel normal was not surprising in the least.  He could have told her that.  What was with the world’s need to touch everything?
 

“Not the best idea to touch me without warning me first,” words were quiet and nonchalant, but had the ominous linger of something he really didn’t want to talk about.  He didn’t know her from Adam, and she had no idea what she had stepped into either.  He would rather not even have to get into it.  The less she knew the better for him in the long run, aware she had taken a step back from him.  Probably for the best, the radar comment drawing a slight smirk as he trotted down to metaphorically piss on his territory again and caught her cursing at her phone.  It was unavoidable. He could control it to a point, but like a cell phone signal, magnetic impulse or radio wave it went wherever it wanted even though he could direct it more concentrated in one way or another- returning to find her still messing with her phone.

"… not so worried about that as the overly skittish dog on the other end doing something stupid."
 

The nonchalant, dismissive ‘hmph’ was quiet, hands sliding into his pockets to wait for the car just on the inside of his loading door and listening to the fray on the phone.  He didn’t worry about much, especially when he had enough ammo two feet from him and under her arm to blow out the back of the warehouse.

 

•npc• "..GRAY!"

A name finally to the mystery shopper?  Back of his shoulders leaned on the wall, feet crossing at the ankles.

"…Cage…Cage…CAGE… … phone went dead is all you hyper poodle. No… wait a few minutes and drive away since I suspect you've been speeding in the streets to get back here and likely drawn undue attention to yourself."
 

Great.

"..sorry, be a few minutes for my ride to come."

Soft hazel blinked at her, still trying to place exactly what was itching at him.

"….not a bad trick you got there."

 

Corner of his lip curled up slightly,  “yah.  Great on dates, getting rid of tan lines, getting used and abused by the Order.  It’s been a blast so far. ” 

 

Chuckle was quiet, the accent thicker when he didn’t feel the need to raise his voice to a normal conversation level. They were just chatting, shooting the shit per se to make nice and wait for her ride, right?  Somehow he didn’t feel like he was testing her out anymore. 

 

“Not many of me around that can twitch their nose and not worry about blowing themselves up.  I got bigger worries though than your driver and rats in my alley…  preserving my invisible world is high on that list.  My old club don’t just let you walk away when you tell them to stuff their complimentary Christmas fruitcake up their ass.  It's best I keep it at the fun tricks level...  If you're thinking of asking for any more services, the answer is no. I don't do parties.”

 

He pushed off the wall and peered out the door.

 

He was a quiet a moment.  “… but I do protect myself.  Inferior ammo intended to backfire into the back of my skull, tends to blow up in the shooter’s face,”  eyes narrowed in and out through the hazed billow from the underground steam tunnels.  “Just in case the thought ever crossed your mind again.”

[Derrick Mason Gray]

[jojo] Not the best idea to touch me without warning me first.[/jojo]

 

Brow lifted faintly over the dark shades, a hint of a quirk upward to her lips as the response came softly, her own secrets hinting in the shadows of her words.

 

[derrick]….that applies to most of us these days.[/derrick]

 

For different reasons of course. Herself it was mainly she tended to be violent first and ask questions later when people touched her. There were a number of broken noses within Bakkhos that had been her doing.

 

When he returned she felt him settle in against the wall as she tried to calm her "poodle". Jeez Cage could be hyper when it came to the headliner. He was one of the few that knew of her "condition", an irritating fact that meant she rather take him along then listen to him raise his voice and complain to Gaspari that she needed looking after. Half the time she had to save his ass.

 

With the poodle properly scolded and off licking his balls somewhere, she turned her attention on her "supplier" and his neat little trick.

 

[jojo] yah. Great on dates, getting rid of tan lines, getting used and abused by the Order. It’s been a blast so far.[/jojo]

 

The dark rich chuckle of her own softly overlaid his own.

 

[derrick]… ya well… dates and tan lines are over rated and the Order has a bad habit of sticking its nose in where it doesn’t belong.[/derrick]

 

Truth was, dates and tan lines were two things she didn’t know much about. The Order on the other hand, well there were magus among the Bakkhos and more than once the Order had come to "ask" them to sign up. Needless to say the Order had learned that the Bakkhos stuck together. Though since the ARMA uprising the Order had definitely been less aggressive in its recruiting in New York.

 

[jojo] If you're thinking of asking for any more services, the answer is no. I don't do parties. [/jojo]

 

The ghost of a smile again slid over her lips. She…. liked him. Just the right mix of ass and self preserver that he didn’t irritate her the way most did. She kept to herself most of the time, and most of the time it was because she found others to be idiots, the very tone of their voices often irritating her.

 

[derrick]…good thing I don’t throw parties.[/derrick]

 

That wasn’t entirely true. One might consider her all night jam sessions…parties. But she didn’t do it for the audience…. she did it for the music….she did it to just play.

 

[jojo] … but I do protect myself. Inferior ammo intended to backfire into the back of my skull, tends to blow up in the shooter’s face. Just in case the thought ever crossed your mind again. [/jojo]

 

Box of ammo adjusted so the corner sat on the rail that her hips leaned against, her posture relaxed as she listened into the alley he was looking into. She would be able to detect Cage's care from blocks away. He wasn’t here yet, likely taking her words seriously and trying to lose whatever unwanted tails he had picked up along the way.

 

[derrick]…don’t really use the stuff myself, so wouldn’t go around worrying about your pretty skull.[/derrick]

 

Quiet words were odd for what on the surface seemed to be a weapons and ammo expert. Truth of it was she forgot she was packing half the time. More than once she was getting yelled at for resorting to physical violence when a simple bullet would have handled things quicker. She was getting better at using them when they were needed, it just was never her natural instinct.

 

[derrick]…I suspect my poodle is trying to evade the pound.[/derrick]

 

Head shook, an eye roll felt behind the masked expression as the hint of a smile lit her lips again. An almost comfortable silence fell. Her thoughts uncharacteristically lingering on something innocuous he had said. Brows puzzled downward as he was "looked" at.

 

[derrick]Why do people give those atrocious fruitcakes?[/derrick]

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

"…don’t really use the stuff myself, so wouldn’t go around worrying about your pretty skull."

It was his turn to be contemplative; arms crossing as he leaned on the railing and tapped his thumbs against his biceps.  He usually never read people wrong, now he wasn’t so sure.  Someone that had come into his shop for high quality brass because they’d ‘heard of’ him, promised amnesty and discretion, and now was admitting to not using anything that she had most certainly shown incredible knowledge and skill of.  Was she a competitor, or someone that was going to copy his make and run him out of business? Aw hell no.  Demeanor had gotten quiet after he’d checked out the door.  He’d dealt with this bullshit before.

 

"Why do people give those atrocious fruitcakes?"

 

[jojo]Tradition, [/jojo]  he watched her carefully through a stiff upper lip expression that had been perfected over the years by proxy.  [jojo]Expectation.  Thoughtlessness.  Nobody stops and thinks, it’s done without question because that’s the way it is.[/jojo]

 

His mouth was dry, it was always dry. Gaze moved to the half-filled glass his work counter across the room, making the decision to go fetch and refill it.  Full glass was downed before he filled it again and returned to his perch at the door to lean on the railing

 

[jojo]Josef Carroll Boudreaux IV.  Who the hell names their kid that nowadays unless it’s expected?   …stifling.  Walls and gates… living alongside the dead, crested blazers and holiday fruitcake.  Thoughtless, expected… tradition.  Never tried it myself, more of a gumbo fan… much to my mother’s dismay.[/jojo]

 

He was quiet a moment, the comfortable silence perhaps for her bleeding only suspicion for him.  The Cajun was putting everything together that he’d collected over the last hour deep into order in his mind, and he didn’t like where it was putting him.

 

[jojo]I am suspect of anything that isn’t predictable.  Twitchy couch potatoes buy automatic.  Newly rich buy antiques.  Military buy specialty.  Off duty cops buy common.  I’ve pretty much figured what you're about, irrelevant to me for the most part.  Guns, drivers, large amounts of ammo, discretion… which is why I haven’t asked your name.  If someone demands I tell them I don’t have to lie..  but… why would you purchase ammo you don’t use?[/jojo]

 

He took a long drink of water as he watched her, almost able to feel the liquid seep into his bones like a dry plant.  He'd noticed the bruised knuckles some time ago, everything she'd said to her driver stored away even if it didn't look like he'd been listening.  Not really threatened by physical means, it hadn't been relevant.  He didn't have to throw a punch, grabbing onto someone and feeling their top layers of skin slip off in a toasted burn under his hand usually negated the rest of a fight to his favor.  Fought with her hands, not a gun.  Intriguing, but he had to ask anyway.

 

[jojo]Not my business to ask who or what the bullets go into.  It is my business if they’re being copied and sold to compete with my work.  Would hate to think that’s what this is about.  You’d be off my Christmas gumbo and bourbon list.  Shame.[/jojo]

[Derrick Mason Gray]

She had had a fruitcake only once. It was disgusting. And people called that a gift?!

 

[jojo] Tradition, Expectation. Thoughtlessness. Nobody stops and thinks, it’s done without question because that’s the way it is. [/jojo]

 

Head shook slightly. Christmas had never been big in her life, her mother too busy trying to make them look "perfect" while she worked hard to avoid all things that fit that model.

 

[derrick]….stupid…..but then I have never been one to do anything because "that's the way it is."… probably explains a lot about me.[/derrick]

 

The faint smirk was dark, lost in thought and old feelings as she listened to him move away and refill a glass with water.

 

[jojo] Josef Carroll Boudreaux IV. [/jojo]

 

Head lifted to look at him, both brows lifting faintly upward. That was a mouthful.

 

[jojo] Who the hell names their kid that nowadays unless it’s expected? …stifling. Walls and gates… living alongside the dead, crested blazers and holiday fruitcake. Thoughtless, expected… tradition. [/jojo]

 

The soft flutter of a smile on her lips was distant as she "looked" towards the alley again.

 

[derrick]Same types that name their daughter in a string of male honorifics to be sure the PTA knows how important their family was to a town.[/derrick]

 

She neglected to mention she was supposed to be born with a dick which was why the name had been so carefully chosen and why her mother had refused to change it.

 

[jojo]I am suspect of anything that isn’t predictable. Twitchy couch potatoes buy automatic. Newly rich buy antiques. Military buy specialty. Off duty cops buy common. I’ve pretty much figured what you're about, irrelevant to me for the most part. Guns, drivers, large amounts of ammo, discretion… which is why I haven’t asked your name. If someone demands I tell them I don’t have to lie.. but… why would you purchase ammo you don’t use?[/jojo]

 

Grin was soft, her gaze still out the door, feeling the air move up from the vents to billow and swirl into the open threshold.

 

[derrick]….because those that do use it are too thick to know the difference between good stuff and crap.. and too quick to play the macho dick which likely get their head blown off by the supplier….. or melted.[/derrick]

 

"Gaze" moved to his features once more, smile a bit knowing. Thumb on the box of ammo rubbed its edge gently as the free hand flexed on the rail, its knuckles still ghosting the effects of being more boxer than gunslinger.

 

[jojo]Not my business to ask who or what the bullets go into. It is my business if they’re being copied and sold to compete with my work. Would hate to think that’s what this is about. You’d be off my Christmas gumbo and bourbon list. Shame.[/jojo]

 

Chuckle bubbled up in her chest, the sound dark like southern whiskey.

 

[derrick]…well while we are laying it all out. I have more than enough resources to make copies and compete with you. Likely enough to drive you completely out of business.[/derrick]

 

Head shook as the free hand released the rail to pluck a long thin strand of mahogany that had gotten loose and kept fluttering across her lips, sliding it behind her ear.

 

[derrick]… but there is a decided lack of the skill to do so successfully. [/derrick]

 

Long fingers tapped the box it cupped softly.

 

[derrick]Lets be honest. There is artistry in this work…. a skill that isnt exactly rampant anymore either. Better to offer you your anonymity, give you the resources and let you use them right, than to use the resources and waste 90 percent with failures trying to learn a skill that frankly I have serious doubts any that I know could learn to even partially master.[/derrick]

 

Head tilted as the grin expanded. He was a straight shooter. No dumb games. She liked that about him. Too many, even within Bakkhos, were always busy trying to outsmart and manipulate.

[Josef Carroll Boudreaux]

"Same types that name their daughter in a string of male honorifics to be sure the PTA knows how important their family was to a town."

[jojo]Wish it had been that easy.[/jojo]

 

Comment wasn’t meant to discredit, merely a quiet recollection. His family was  the town, and he was the prince.  Hands found his pockets, brows ghosting down.  There were times he did miss the ease of the world when the world was obsessed with you.  Seems there was always a push from her family for respect. He didn’t understand that, probably never would.  Everything he asked for, he got… he wasn’t a person- he was a thing-  it was what made him leave.  When you were the world’s most eligible bachelor you either fell into the trap of ego, or you learned extremely quickly who was real and who wasn’t- or at the very least how to call someone on bullshit.

 

He didn’t have time for bullshit, or snipers… which prompted his no-holds barred question.

 

"….because those that do use it are too thick to know the difference between good stuff and crap.. and too quick to play the macho dick which likely get their head blown off by the supplier….. or melted."

He smirked slightly, studying a scuff on the toe of his favorite hiking boots.  They had taken him half way around the world and had been soled and resoled a half dozen times.

"…well while we are laying it all out. I have more than enough resources to make copies and compete with you. Likely enough to drive you completely out of business."

It was his turn to chuckle, the easy smile on his features as his eyes passed over the shop, first inkling of a sour mood darkening the normally playful eyes.  Throwing around brags of power and money were not something that gained his respect.

 

[jojo]Only because I’d let you.[/jojo]

 

He left it at that. He had the business savvy of a pit bull.  If she did some digging, she’d find out fairly quickly she wasn’t talking to an upstart with a little bit of talent and luck.  He’d had everything, and chose not to keep it. He didn’t give a shit from Adam what kind of resources she had, only whether or not she stole his work.

 

"… but there is a decided lack of the skill to do so successfully. "

[jojo]Too many are just concerned with making money.  I don’t care about making money.  I work on my terms.  When you refuse to play by anyone else’s rules but yours, magic happens.[/jojo]

"Lets be honest. There is artistry in this work…. a skill that isnt exactly rampant anymore either. Better to offer you your anonymity, give you the resources and let you use them right, than to use the resources and waste 90 percent with failures trying to learn a skill that frankly I have serious doubts any that I know could learn to even partially master."
 

[jojo]I’ll be honest too, I really don’t give a shit one way or the other if you can give me resources.[/jojo]  his grin matched hers. He wasn’t being an asshole, or sarcastic… just truthful.  [jojo]Whether you walked in here today or not my world would keep spinning.  Though decidedly a lot more interesting now, money… resources have never and will never be my motivator.  Power, influence.  Not interested.  I suppose that makes me the best kind of ally to your operations.  Not interested in overthrowing anyone, or inserting myself as a player... but don't really have the need to by an ally either. [/jojo]

 

Head tilted slightly, a softer smile pursing on the always mischievous lips before taking another drink of water.

 

[jojo]Now a small quiet club, great jazz, the smell of jasmine.  Highball of my favorite bourbon, too late on a Tuesday night.  Hazed heat tugging a bit at the loose tie on a button down.  Jacket folded across an empty chair at a tiny table.[/jojo]  lips pursed a moment at the warmed steam floating up the steps.  There were times he really missed home.  [jojo]Finishing the bottle on a three am walk through my Metairie angels.  You can give me that… you’d have yourself a supplier for life.[/jojo]

 

Melancholy words were finished with the rest of his water, eyes scanning his screens to make sure nobody was in the front of her shop… about to kick her driver for being such a  dumbass.  He had orders to finish.

[Derrick Mason Gray]

[jojo]Wish it had been that easy.[/jojo]

 

[derrick]It is never that easy….. anyone says so is laying down a load of crap.[/derrick]

 

Words were soft, distant. A crawl of the creeps had shivered up her spine, the memories she had buried for so long were a little too close to the surface. Twice her mother had attempted to have her daughter's demons "exorcised"…. there was a reason a teen had turned to the streets and living off quarters tossed in her guitar case rather than ever go back to the posh house on "that" perfect street.

 

[jojo]Too many are just concerned with making money. I don’t care about making money. I work on my terms. When you refuse to play by anyone else's rules but yours, magic happens.[/jojo]

 

The smile was broad this time, features lighting up just enough to betray an almost childlike honesty.

 

[derrick]…we are in agreement there.[/derrick]

 

She had spent her whole life living "her" way. Within Bakkhos it was well known that she was a "favorite" of Gaspari because she got away with things others would lose their head over. She was loyal, perhaps to a fault, but it was on her terms.

 

[jojo] Whether you walked in here today or not my world would keep spinning. Though decidedly a lot more interesting now, money… resources have never and will never be my motivator. Power, influence. Not interested. I suppose that makes me the best kind of ally to your operations. Not interested in overthrowing anyone, or inserting myself as a player... but don't really have the need to be an ally either.[/jojo]

 

She could almost hear the smile on his lips. It was rare in this new world that she met people that truly lived on their terms. The last one she had met that truly did was….. thought trailed off as a faint frown dipped her brow. Jersey hadn't crossed her mind in a while, the cop had completely… vanished.

 

Life on her own terms? How pathetic was she….pining for a man that had never looked at her as anything but a sidekick to take down a werewolf.

 

Where was that jackass driver.

 

[jojo] Now a small quiet club, great jazz, the smell of jasmine. Highball of my favorite bourbon, too late on a Tuesday night. Hazed heat tugging a bit at the loose tie on a button down. Jacket folded across an empty chair at a tiny table. Finishing the bottle on a three am walk through my Metairie angels. You can give me that… you’d have yourself a supplier for life[/jojo]

 

Smile had ghosted across her expression. Seemed he pined too, but his "someone" was a bit grander than her cop. He was an odd romantic. She played jazz, not often, but she did play it. But a brow lifted a bit at the Metairie angels. She had no clue what that was.

 

[derrick]Wes Montgomery….[/derrick]

 

Soft thought was spoken to herself, betraying some of her secrets. When people thought jazz they thought of Louis Armstrong, Billie Holliday… musicians like Coltrane and Miles Davis. They didn’t think first of a jazz guitarist… even if Wes had been the best.

 

[derrick]…now…jazz, jasmine and bourbon I can give you.[/derrick]

 

Smile lingered as her head shook a bit.

 

[derrick]…Metairie angels however… sorry to say I can't help you there.[/derrick]