Your Reputation and Good Intent

Definitely not a photographer of the nightclub kind then. " --- Bolest." Nice going idiot...Telling this complete stranger your name. If Red were here, he'd be blown away by her inability to keep her cool when it came to pretty men.

She glances away-- a quick gesture, and a body or two that lingered beside them disappear. Their game is moving to his liking. He tries not to relax too much and signal anything he doesn't want.

The one positive about having to manage insecure men is seeing how they crumble under her stubborn nature. Having properly pushed his buttons, Lacey can't help smirk. "My, we've got a bit of a writer here, what with that glorious extended metaphor," she says, raising her voice just enough for any passersby to hear her clearly.

Glorious extended metaphor?

With a huff, Ben sneered and said, "The only glorious thing I'll be 'extending' is my middle finger -- or rather, I would, were I not so hung up on being a gentleman."

Lacey, naturally, remained unruffled, and good God, why was it that women never seemed flappable?

Pursing his mouth, his stance softened somewhat and he folded his arms. "If you don't even know our code name, can you see why I have some concerns with letting you in? This isn't a case built for interns, Adler. We've been gathering intelligence for months."

Nevertheless, he rolled his eyes and turned, indicating that she follow. "Whinging out where literally anyone can hear us, for instance, is in poor form, so we might as well continue this argument in my office." Taking her by the elbow, he pulled Lacey inside, then swiftly closed the door behind them.

There's no use attempting to hide the smug upturn of her lips-- oh he's ruffled, all right, and it's positively delicious. Unequivocally the best part of working with insecure men. Her good humor, however, only lasts as long his hands remain to himself. A startled, displeased yelp slips past her lips as she's unceremoniously yanked into office, the door settling behind them with a resounding thud. He moves on without locking the door, but she maintains her position right beside the knob nonetheless.

"I hope you manhandle your coworkers like this too," she snaps. In lieu of crossing her arms over her chest, as she desires, her hands find her hips-- a pose of strength rather than submission. "My primary knowledgebase comes from her work in the U.K.-- I know you Americans love to claim originality, but a bulk of her work took place over there. She made herself quite the problem for parliament for a solid decade.

A FEW VARIOUS SENTENCE STARTERS

Lacey's brows raise high on her head, more to make her displeasure clear than out of actual surprise. Insecure men disgruntled by her presence may as well be another fee she tacks onto her day rate, but she keeps it off the bill out of the goodness of her heart. Many days, she regrets possessing such goodness.

"Dear me, you poor boy. Is it terminal?" Lacey asks. She drops the cloying act as she unceremoniously shoves a paper into his hands. "One of us has key information on a criminal figurehead, and one of us is holding a piece of paper from their boss clearly specifying that the other is to be given clearance to your files on said figurehead."

Her mother went by many monikers throughout her career -- so many that even her time in the United States was a foreign concept to Lacey until about a month prior. There were cold cases with her work written all over it, and the U.S. government wanted answers. It was easy to find her way in-- she had knowledge about this mysterious criminal the C.I.A. only had a hunch about-- but finding a way out will pose a bit more of a challenge.

Ben scoffed. All right, so that was...a little clever. Still, the twitching at the corner of his mouth could barely be considered a smile, given his worn patience. The thrust of her paper into his hands, followed by the snarky belittlement continued to grind down upon his remaining fibers of good will, and looking her way with a huff, he challenged, "How do I even know this isn't a forgery? You've been trying to worm your way into direct access for weeks."

Lacey simpered, her blue eyes shining with the smugness he'd grown to loathe. "I do hope you can read, with such a terrible affliction."

Ah. She was really going to milk this, wasn't she?

"Just as I 'do hope' you can pull your own weight," he snapped back. "This isn't a joke, Adler, this is private intelligence for a reason. We recruit promising agents, not clowns. You've been prancing about with your squeaky shoes and squirting carnation since the moment you rolled through that door, and I've had enough of your snark. Save the jokes for the jesters."

Irritable, Ben slammed the papers down onto his desk. "If Mr. Sackett truly deems you at liberty to access our files, then I have no choice but to acquiesce. However..." Here, he held up a finger. "I will observe your so-called assistance, and ensure you're not accessing anything you shouldn't. Congratulations." His smile grew tight. "You've just been promoted from clown to wayward child."

The one positive about having to manage insecure men is seeing how they crumble under her stubborn nature. Having properly pushed his buttons, Lacey can't help smirk. "My, we've got a bit of a writer here, what with that glorious extended metaphor," she says, raising her voice just enough for any passersby to hear her clearly.

the days of abandonment starters

The ambient pulse of the bass and the flashing club lights do a good job of masking that Lance is, once again, somewhere he should not be, but not well enough. A man like him sees through facades such as these with the ease of looking through an apartment window, and where they are facades to be seen, there is information to be found. Money to be made from one side of the line or another. The police would like to learn one of their favorite gangs is selling weapons out the back of a club just as much as one of the gang's rivals would.

Lance wipes at his camera lens and makes a show of sparing the woman a sidelong glance. His eyes drag down her frame-- not fragile looking, no, but quite thin and small for someone making a threat of such a scale. In a place like this he doesn't doubt that she's packing, but he does doubt those short legs of hers are faster than his.

Bolest hadn't meant for the words to come out of her mouth but here they were. She doesn't quite like the way he's sizing her up, despite the fact her eyes are doing similar at the same time.

He was dressed far too plainly for a street photographer in this day and age.

Public appearances at the club always made her nervous - it wasn't good for logistics to show her face in public. However, this wasn't the first time this man had been spotted here. It was lucky Red had such an attention to detail, having decided to investigate when one of the lieutenants had brought it up in passing.

A couple of dripping sarcastic responses come to the tip of her tongue, but don't make it past her lips. Instead a second or two passes before she speaks again.

He filters back through his mental filing cabinet, searching for any facial features or a tone of voice that register as familiar. Nope. Nothing. He doesn't even think she's in the corner of one of his photographs. Yet here she stands, like she owns the place and everything in it.

"You know, if you want to talk to a guy, 'hello' is a good place to start. Perhaps your name," he says, sliding his camera back into his bag for safe keeping and as a bit of a peace treaty. "Maybe 'you have gorgeous eyes.' That one comes on a little strong, but I'd appreciate it nonetheless. I know some guys are into the whole 'breaking fingers' thing, but even so, it's an off-putting way to make an introduction."