The Money

“I don’t know, I’d probably be enjoying myself infinitely more. Though, for the record, I want to be here — I just don’t want you to be here.” It wasn’t immediately high on her lengthy list of problems that today might arise, yet just enough to bother her into biting back as she reached for her glass, all too observant as he blocked any exit she might have had. Oh, but if he were the only man to have ever done as much, it might have served more of an annoyance, she’s sure. Nursing her glass against her lips, Nic nodded slowly as she half listened, half drowned him out with any other possible thought for moments far longer than necessary. “So what? I’m losing interest because the bank account isn’t quite deep enough? Or your dick is too small? Your choice.”

          “Captain Obvious’ disinclination to answer, but don’t worry, I’m sure I could’ve worked it out all on my own.” It wasn’t easy to clock, something that they both knew, and his overly sarcastic answer was just further confirmation of what she had already understood. “So, let me get this straight — you can only sit around with people you find charming? Well, that’s news to me. Let’s just say it’s more intrigue than it is charm in your case.” She did have a habit of ‘telling people off’ though, so perhaps that had a part to play in it? Regardless of who her company was, sarcasm and stubbornness always prevailed, and sometimes in that emerged other notions. “Well, if you’re going to get sucked into a conversation about it, at least make yourself look ‘heroic’, I’m sure you’ll even get them swooning if you’re lucky. It’s one way to lull someone into bed — or a quick screw behind closed doors if that’s what you’re into?”

Alp doesn’t bother to reply to his first statement–he knew their arrangement and had never questioned it, so if Seb wants to wait in the dark like some kind of vampire that’s his call.  But his jaw sets as his boss goes on.  He’s angry with the Faction too–he’s angry with the whole mess they’re involved in–but he’s not sure whether Seb’s anger extends to him as well.  He’s not sure whether he could have done more, planned more, somehow managed to get them out of this.

When Henry creeps out to rub against his calf, though, that’s a little bit of encouragement, even if he’s still growling.  Alp knows better than to pet him, but after a moment the cat jumps into his lap, eliciting a hissed curse as he nudges Alp’s arm before settling down to glare at the intruder from an even better perch.  “They told me I’d have three of their men in the truck,” Alp says.  “Gang members.  Seb, I had to fuckin’ teach them how to shoot.” 

Sebastian is hardly foolish enough to pin the Faction’s most recent calamity on his trusted employee, however that barely detracted from the recollection that Alp was present at the time of the loss. Not that the failure could be boiled down to one individual, but sometimes... That was all it took. “The gang? Wasn’t up front with you? Consider me shocked and appalled.” He deadpanned the latter bit as if to punctuate is complete lack of surprise towards the shady operations of a group who should have been better prepared than they were. “So they’re running a flimsy operation. Got it.” Which left him with little in the way of being able to spin this in his favor. He’d been under the impression that his money backed the underdog when now, in reality, it was becoming rather apparent that they were a pipe dream. Still, one screw up did not crumble the organization entirely, at least not yet. “Tell me, what part of my time is being wasted in funding this little venture? Because from where I’m sitting, this is all beginning to look like a poor investment. And I don’t make poor investments.”

Alp had heard Henry growling from out in the hallway, so he’d known someone was inside, but Sebastian’s voice confirms it’s who he suspected.  The door hadn’t shown any signs of forced entry, and his boss is the only one with a key.  “You didn’t have to sit around in the dark.”  Flipping the lights on, he leaves his boots by the door and walks into the living room, dropping heavily into the chair opposite Sebastian.  “He doesn’t like anyone.”  And yet, after turning to glare at Alp too, Henry turns and stalks over, taking up residence under the chair and watching Seb from between Alp’s feet.

The right shoulder of Alp’s t-shirt is bloody and torn, lumpy from bandages underneath, and a sling keeps his arm close to his chest, so it’s clearly an understatement when he says, “We ran into some problems with the shipment.”

"I though it impolite to raise your electricity bill.” A singular digit raises as if to halt a conversation that was already entirely one sided. “Or rather, my electricity bill.” Since he’d long since footed the bill of Alp’s living expenses under the guise of requesting only loyalty and servitude as recompense. “You don’t say...” He ticked off, fingertip now tapping absently against the angular cut of his jaw. “Tell me, what is the purpose of my involvement with the Faction when they fail to accomplish even the most menial of tasks?” Hypothetical. “I mean, how fucking hard is it to deliver one shipment without sending it careening into the river? That’s all I ask, really. Just for things to go according to plan or for someone to have the foresight to predict that the people they blew up might... I don’t know, have a few bones to pick.”

          “I’ll take that as someone you’ve probably screwed around with, whether that’s literal, or metaphorical.” In this place, it was likely to be both at the same time. He could’ve slept with said person, and then sold them off to the black market, and that still wouldn’t have been the wildest cover-up she’s been forced to face. Not that she cared, of course, but his obvious disinterest in answering her question was enough to ignite a small sense of curiosity. “I don’t think our description of ‘charming’ meets the same criteria, buddy.” Her finger tapped against his chest, taking a few steps back as she rolled her eyes slightly at the usual attitude that most possessed. Including herself. Was it on the application form for citizenship here or something? “Is that so?” Freyza questioned further, contemplating the hypothetical situation that was bound to be their affairs love story for the evening. “You jump, I jump, Jack. Yacht party gone array?”

There was no mistaking the defiant rise of a sharp brow at his insistence that his bothersome presence held intention beyond irritation. Doe hues lifting to seek out whoever he might have been so readily avoiding. “This date fucking blows and you should have wasted your breath elsewhere or choked on it. Preferably the latter.” Never truly one to find refuge in falsity, too much of her life carved out of it by hands not her own; Monica Pelletier was tired of men with less spine than her casting out orders as if the family jewels between their legs allowed it. “How about we don’t and say we did?”

“Also, realistic.” He was handsome, after all, and Mira would never say she hadn’t fornicated in a coatroom before. That was a lie she wouldn’t even bother telling. She turns her body so it is more facing his, placing a slim hand on his leg and leaning forward, playing into the story the two had told. “Your girl’s name is Mira, by the way. In case it needs to be that well thought out. And you are?” She laughs a little at his question, because if he only knew. Weaving tall tales to get Mira what she wanted came almost as easily to her as ending the life that flickered in so many peoples eyes. “You could say I have a gift.”

          “Who exactly are you hiding from?” A bitter ex, perhaps? A conquest with whom wanted more than the odd roll around in the sheets? Either way, she had explicitly been roped in the facade, it seemed. Rolling her eyes, she wanted nothing more than to spite him, and leave him to his devices with the way he was currently allowing his tongue to run away with him; would it be too much to throttle him in a pubic place over something so minute to her radar? She’d had a long week, so he would’ve ended up being collateral damage on the matter. “You think you’re really fucking charming, don’t you? — If I’m going to play along, and I do mean if, then we’re not having some boring ass backstory to our little love affair.” A small shrug emulated thereafter as she mentally coursed through a few ideas. “How extravagant, yet believable, are we going here?”

Now look - Mira respected money, respected it more than she respected a lot of the people around here (read, all of them) - but she hadn’t expected this kind of con to be the suggestion she heard from someone in control of so much of it. Pointed toe heels hung down swinging over the sides of the the bar stool, the deep plum of her high necked cocktail dress brings out the darker highlights in raven dark hair, a wine glass of water leaving her lips. “I suppose there are worst things I could be doing with me time.” Less fun that say, pressing a blade into a man’s carotid and telling him all the ways his body would never be found, but at least he was nicer to look at. A clipped half laugh escapes at the ‘fathers yacht’ comment. “No reason to not keep it simple. We met at a bar. Just like this one. You bought me a drink, but I returned it. That piqued your interest, and you came over.” Mira smirks a little, swirling the liquid around the glass. “We fucked in the coat closet an hour later.”