#steavia

Nice enough day - the sun shined with no judgement into the cafe, painting shadows along many people. Conversations flew; laughter was heard. Happiness. They knew not of the pure darkness that would stain the atmosphere with its mere presence.

A dark hat and sunglasses covered a man's face -- people completely unaware of it being a certain underground famous meth cook.

His steps were careful, methodical as they carried him over to the usual table. Quick fingers despite being old switched out his sunglasses for his glasses, and his hat was delicately put onto the table. Cold eyes -- well practiced over the years -- fixed themselves onto the woman across him.

"...You said it was urgent?"

Right to business.

      LYDIA RODARTE-QUAYLE. some name. enough for harlow to have been persistent with it it like a wearing record in her head. the vowels, and count of syllables repeated from having read the name from the lost identification card the woman had found in a missing wallet. it’d been laying on the ground neglected from it’s owner out of what was safe to assume, accident. no one loses their wallet on purpose. right ?? maybe a serial killer who had it apart of his calculated, darkened ploy. that seemed like a stretch of a thought, and harlow tended to lean towards optimism. the proper deed seemed to be ‘return-to-owner.’ a guilty conscience would keep her up at night if otherwise. 

  there was a relief with the shade of the residency covered the hot, texas sun. her skin was already lifting to a shade of pink. lifting her hand, fingers curled to allow her knuckles to knock against the door. the first knock was subtle, almost inaudible. the second one was more confident. 

though the reason for her summons hadn't been disclosed over the phone, the meeting instructions were communicated to lydia with near-surgical precision: there's a parisian bistro half an hour out from your office. nothing fancy, but there's no surveillance. be there for four and make for the booth at the back left.

but regardless of how carefully lydia may have followed the script, she'll find the usual caveats about best-laid plans in motion—because whichever one of mike's guys she was expecting to see won't be awaiting her at the table.

instead there's a man dressed so sharply that it's almost cartoonish in the rustic setting. perhaps she recalls him as a background shadow from previous visits to a clandestine construction site in albuquerque; perhaps not. his eyes gleam with recognition when he clocks her, though. something like a bemused smile follows.

nowhere better to start than the root.

“ thank you for meeting with me today. ” his tone was firm but formal, the now - sixteen year old’s long, blond hair draped neatly over his shoulders; fitting the color scheme of his suit. gold and black threads intertwined, creating patterns of lilies, of roses, of forget-me-nots; their branches mingling, creating an intricate illustration over his shoulders and chest, reflecting giorno’s interest in flora. sky - blue gaze flicked upwards, looking ms. quayle in the eye.

“ if you have any questions beforehand, i am more than willing to answer. ”

In Hinamizawa, it’s not often that she gets to experience something new. After all, after a hundred years of watching the tragedies of the village play out... it gets repetitive. Tired. That’s only inevitable, isn’t it?

Causing her own tragedies was fun, but that time is over now. And don’t get her wrong - Satoko adores her friends. More than anything, she wants them to be happy, but... with Rika at St. Lucia’s, it sometimes feels like she’s been left without anyone who truly understands. That feeling is like an impenetrable glass wall - she can see her friends on the other side; can smile and laugh with them, and they bring her joy, but... she can’t truly touch them. Not in the same way she could before.

She doesn’t want to abandon her friends, though. She doesn’t want to look down on them, or forget how amazing they really are... like Rika did. For that reason, she’s trying her hardest to enjoy every day she spends with them, and appreciate every moment to the fullest. But even she can’t deny that having someone new show up is refreshing, no matter how hard she might try to love the life she lives now.

“Ohohoho! Are you new to Hinamizawa?” With a haughty laugh, the young Satoko stands before Lydia with her hands on her hips, smiling. “I’ve never seen you before, but I would be most happy to show you around, if you’d like!”

❝ we shouldn’t meet here again. it’s a security risk. ❞  at the very least, she thinks, they ought to choose a different cafe for their next rendezvous. lydia rodarte-quayle may believe herself to be a cautious woman, but anxious might be a more apt descriptor. cameron is not fond of public meeting places, let alone repeat haunts — she worries that eventually, lydia’s proclivity for the perceived safety of the familiar and the routine will come back to bite them both. in her experience, such established patterns make it too easy to track down her marks, and she has no doubt the businesswoman has enemies.

with others, she would elaborate further upon these concerns in grisly detail, though she retains her usual stoicism for her employer’s sake. she suspects that she would not appreciate it. regardless, they are already here, and cameron is not one to waste her words, nor anyone's time.

❝ — let’s talk about the job. ❞  she changes the subject with a reassuring smile, maintaining eye contact while she stirs a single packet of sugar into her coffee.  ❝ what are your parameters? ❞