exsilium | [001

[She snorts. Finds whatever she'd been digging for in her coat and tugs out something (things?) small enough to remain nicely obscured in the curl of her fist.] Not for me, thanks.

Think I'll be over this and out of here within the week. Two tops.

[Well that's not awkward whatsoever. Time slip or no, it seems only fair to be honest with her. Who knows how long this is likely to last. Maybe it-- Charlie gently shifts his leg and the flare of pain goes all the way to his jaw. No, he can't imagine this is permanent. At least, that's what he's going with anyway until it's proven otherwise.]

I hate to be the bearer of bad news love, but I don't think you've much choice in the matter. [He absently reaches over, clumsily tapping her wrist.] Now what've you got there?

[Which barely makes a dent in her expression. Of course he doubts her; she'd doubt her too, if she didn't know herself so well. But Chloe Frazer is capable of more than most, and that's just not an option she's willing to even bother considering at this point in time.

She does, however, unfold her fingers to reveal three small, polished shells and an even smaller gold bead.]

Pepito paga double.

Not that the conversation isn't entertaining enough, but nothing pushes time along quite like a few friendly bets.

[That gets a real grin out of him, a huff of a laugh. Really? A bloody shell game?]

You didn't seriously come all the way down here to scam some old bastard with a bum leg, did you? That's a bit low.

[Charlie slides his hands into the pockets of his jacket. After a moment he comes up with a coin and sets it on the dusty floor of the corridor.] All right, let's see what you can do kid.

Oh, come on, now. If that was all I came for you'd still be lying in that puddle.

[Which is the most blatant truth she can offer up as proof. And she's shocked to see that he's laughing, or close enough to it, given the pain and the dampness and whatnot. Makes her grin all the more as she uses her tablet for a table and sets to work showing off the bead before snuffing it out beneath the shell cap, shuffling the others with slight of hand to make it nearly impossible to track. Still, he's keener than he looks; Chloe's not stupid enough to get cocky and half ass one bit of it.

If the old man's got game, he's more than welcome to prove it.]

So? What's your guess, love?

[That gets an eyebrow quirk and a shrug: fair enough. So he settles into watch her play: the glint off the little gold bead before it disappears under the flash of the shells. She's a fair hand at it and he finds himself wondering if she's still so quick at it by the time he meets her, or if it's a skill she later discards -- nothing to be gained from keeping it honed, not when she's got a different set of talents that's probably far more lucrative than a two bit street con.

Watching her slide the shells across the surface of the tablet, smooth and quick and quiet in the half light, he's suddenly keenly aware of the fact that he doesn't really know much about Chloe at all.

Charlie doesn't hesitate once her hands stop. Either he's right or he's wrong; no sense deliberating. He taps the top of the leftmost shell.] There.

[He nails it without skipping a beat. Either he's sharp as a knife, or for the first time in what she'd guess is a while, his luck is finally turning around.

Or it would be, if not for her carefully pinning the bead to the top of the shell with her ring finger when she goes to lift it.

If his thoughts were out in the open, if she had the sort of untampered knowledge Charlie currently has in his deck, she'd likely have a good laugh over it. The shell cap's full. It's full and he hasn't got a bloody clue. Which means it's the most accurate metaphor for just how much Charlie Cutter really knows.]

Tough luck.

[Her other hand snatches the coin, rubs the dirt from it on her coat and shoves it right between her smiling teeth.] But it's only the first go; you'll have it next play, I'm sure.

Would you look at that. [So maybe he wasn't paying as much attention as he should have. He'll allow for some margin of error. Still, he shoots her a quick scowl and a quirk of his mouth, lips pressed thin in some pretend version of a poor loser.] Someone's got quick hands.

[But hell, he'll play at being a good sport. Not like he's got anything better to do and that smile she wears is disarming enough. So he shuffles in his pocket for a second coin, produces two, and lays them both out flat.] All right, two for two.

[This would be the opportune moment to throw the bait. To let him have a win and ensure that he keeps biting-- but she's a greedy little thing, and the glint of the coins in the dark is alluring. So back to the shuffle she goes, weaving the shells round one another over the slick surface till she's certain no amount of observational skill will lend him a hand.

Once more she stops, lifts her hands, and gives him her full attention.]

Oh, you've got this in the bag.

[It's a hard track. She should be slipping, letting him see a hint of that bead. Instead it's just quick and brutal; she doesn't give him a glint of anything, much less the little gold piece. By the time she stops, Charlie's pretty sure that he's lost it entirely.]

Chasing away your prey can't make you much coin. Losing's supposed to be an investment in these games, yeah? [But he taps the center shell this time, more out of random than anything else.]

[And for the briefest of moments, her expression looks remarkably familiar. Sharp and searching, and definitely the way she stares at him when he's gone and stepped on her toes, though there's no genuine, forward follow up. Chloe says nothing, decides to just let his luck dictate the flow of things and pulls back the cap to reveal that the bead is, in fact, right there.

Her eyes stay locked on his.]

Sorry, did you say something?

Ah. [Well there it is, isn't it? Charlie gives her a sidelong look and taps the side of his nose knowingly.

If he backed out now, she's be down in every sense of the word. Knowing the con, knowing her (well, to some extent), it would probably be the smart thing to do. Instead he tips his chin to the two coins -- what should be four with her loss -- between them.]

Double or nothing?

[Chloe considers him for a moment-- coin still tucked away between her lips-- before she gathers the shells up and shakes her head.]

Mmmm...No.

[Maybe it's the persistent ache of his leg distracting him or the comfort of the half light, but Charlie doesn't stop his surprise from reaching his face.] What, really? You're just going t'leave it at that? You realize you've lost money at this point, yeah?

[If this is how she plays it, it's no wonder she ends up dropping the two-bit street cons for driving gigs.]

[He knows how it's done, clearly thinks he knows how it should be done, (and he's not wrong, she'll admit that much) but this is a con, not a charity, and she's not in this to be predictable. If she plays another round, she'll take his money, and they both know it. If she acts out of spite and loses, she's down and he'll offer up another critique. Neither are appealing.

And when it comes down to it, she'd rather be a wild card. Logic be damned. ]

No, I've won myself a coin, you've got two, and a bum leg that won't do shit if you try to chase after me. Don't think it's really worth all the trouble, do you?

[He makes a low noise. Fair. More than fair-- rough, even.]

Well you don't exactly sugar coat things, do you? [He doesn't dignify it with any more of an answer than that and instead picks his share of the coins off the floor of the corridor, tucking them back into his jacket pocket.]

Nah, you'll be all right. You owe me a drink anyway, yeah? [And all the hardness in her expression bleeds out, leaves just her smug,even little smirk. She scoots closer, elbows him gently enough to keep from adding to the pain.]

Besides, no fun in a little magic if you know how it works.

Well as long as you know to go about it properly, I guess I can't give you too much lip about it.

[Still, he feels some obligation to make sure she's not putting her foot in something she ought not to - scamming herself out of money she could be making. Which, granted, is a little less sensible when he's trying to talk himself out of his own coin but--

Charlie stuffs his hands in his pockets. His jeans cling to his skin from the damp and the mud and the ache in his leg pounds in time with his heartbeat.] So d'you run anything besides bit cons on lame fogeys?

Oh yeah, but I don't go squeezing the life out of the ones that are down on their luck. Just seems a bit low, don't you think? Liike pulling coins out of the gutter.

[She's still close to him, folds her feet up under her and doesn't mind the cold or the dampness that sinks in not long after. He's oddly curious. Not in a fishing for intel sort of way, not even in a way that raises her suspicions-- just...odd. Odd for a stranger, odd for someone in the business, odd for anyone that she's met in all her years so far.

Chloe shrugs.]

You name it, I get it done: driving, running, decent lift every now and then. Pull in more than enough to pay my tab without the cheap tricks. Those I just do for fun.

[That prompts a laugh from him, low and wheezing. Christ, she's a sharp, catty little thing isn't she? Maybe it's good they met when they did; any earlier and they might have needled the living daylights out of one another. More than they do already anyway.

--Do? Or did? Charlie presses his knuckles down into the seams of his pockets and shrugs off the thought. Semantics. Doesn't really matter when she's right there, yeah?

Got it bad, mate.]

Wouldn't you know it, but I'm not terribly surprised. [He withdraws his right hand from his pocket then, offering it to her.] Charlie Cutter. Hired muscle mostly, but you probably worked that out for yourself already.

Scars were a decent clue-in, yeah. [She doesn't hesitate in taking it. Her grip on him is a vice, the kind of squeeze she's formed out of habit to crush-- possibly literally-- any early guesses about how capable (or incapable) Chloe Frazer really is. Still, if anyone's capable of handling it, Charlie is. Particularly since her fingers barely reach around the width of his palm.]

Chloe Frazer, mate. And congratulations.

[Steady handshake -- he likes that, even if she's mostly out to prove a point. He vastly prefers a handshake with purpose to the limp-wristed, dead fish sort.

That said, he tips his head and quirks a questioning eyebrow:] Congratulations?

[Her fingers are drawn back, the edge of her kerchief visible from beneath her sleeve as she plucks the coin from her lips and stuffs it down into her pocket. ]

On your luck finally turning around, of course.

[Because it has, what with him meeting her, with how she even bothered to drag his heavy hide up out of the muck and keep him busy long enough to alleviate at least some of the pain till help comes along. Chloe's on her feet again, a worn-- though relatively new looking-- magazine on mostly general topics dated to around the year Chloe was pulled from is down beside him in her place, filled with a few poorly half-attempted word puzzles and small clips of newspaper articles about the Hollow Earth theory scattered throughout its pages.

And, or course, a crappy pen clipped right on the cover.

She keeps her back to him, obviously headed deeper in considering the direction she's walking.]

I'll send your client your regards, yeah? No hard feelings.

[He blames his leg, the consistent throb of pain ticking up his side and scraping at his bones, but it takes him a embarrassingly long moment to make sense of it. His back goes up -- jostling his leg, fuck -- and he scrabbles for his flashlight. He jerks the beam in her direction and the light catches on her back, in her dark hair.

He calls after her in disbelief:] What? [Then a moment later despite the darkness pressing in--] Are you shitting me? You don't even know the client's bloody name!

Edited 2013-01-25 08:17 (UTC)

Easy enough to figure out once I have the goods!

[ She calls out over her shoulder, offering up a wink that he's likely too far away to see just before slipping off around the bend. It's nothing personal, god knows he seems too bloody decent to wind up in a place like this, much less in the state he's in. But that's the problem, isn't it? Decent men don't do what they do for a living.

Not even the hired muscle.

If it goes well, she'll split the deal with him when she offloads the goods; test the water and see how he takes it. Either way, she doubts he'll underestimate her from here on out.]

See you around, Charlie Cutter.

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alittlesweptup - 2013-01-25 09:38 (UTC) - Expand

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