[ h x l l o t e a c u p ]

“Hang on a second --

Oleg felt some minor temptation to recall an experience with a hapless thief wielding a .22, but now was not the time to brag. “Of course. I imagine Pierce and Shaundi should be more than capable of clearing a path for me, and a prize like a functioning NEMO chair would be worth the effort.”

“And yes, thank you! Yours do as well. Look good… on you, I mean… they’re just-…” Oleg realized mid-sentence he was complimenting a bog-standard FBI hoodie and a pair of distressed jeans that were more likely frayed by duress than by design. Kinzie clearly wasn’t dressing to impress, and Oleg did not wish to simply blurt out how the agoraphobic prodigy looked to his world-weary eyes.

“I stole the jacket from my locker when they escorted me out,” she explains matter-of-factly. “At the bottom of one of the boxes. No way would they have let me take it.”

Kinzie tries to remember how long it’s been since she put her clothes through a washing machine. The fact that no solid date came to mind suggests probably longer than was particularly fresh or presentable. Jeez. I wonder if I stink and he’s just being polite.

Which was entirely Oleg’s style.

“You can say it. I don’t dress up unless it’s a special event.”

BOLD YOUR MUSE’S HABITS

“Yes. I have a personal design coordinator at Planet Saints, who custom-orders all my clothes. Rico is a dream come true, for a long time I had to make do with standard-issue KGB leftovers. For many years, I looked like a walking slab of concrete! Heh…”

Oleg looked slightly uncertain. Kinzie was the first person he had talked to in years that he wasn’t trying to subtly intimidate. A twinge of social awkwardness cracked his stony expression.

“… but, if this is the case, then I am the man for the job. You will find that I have no need for bullets or bombs. With adequate cover, I can get you your chair.”

“Tch...” A wry smile briefly twisted her lips, and she shook her head. “You might not be Rasputin, but you don’t have bulletproof skin like Superman, either,” she said, a little chastising. “If you get enough fleas together, they can still kill a dog. I’m not sending you in against the Deckers alone.”

She glanced up and down at him again. Small talk wasn’t her strongest suit, and she was terrible at reading expressions.