[complete]
WHO: Tony Stark (stirare_luomo ) and Jinx (badluckykitty )
WHAT: Help with catching a murderer, grudges hopefully aside.
WHERE: Un Morso di Mangiere
WHEN: Day 128, evening.
Cherry coke was a disgusting thing. The waiter had suggested it, she took his advice, then regretted it with the first repulsively sweet sip. Trying to remain calm, keeping her usual threats aside, she merely told the waiter it was "shit" and demanded he bring her black coffee. It was thick, lukewarm, but the bitter taste made her a bit more content. Of course she was always the sort for vodka, but tonight she wanted to remain as sober as possible. To begin with, she was in Vescovo territory which made her nervous from almost a decade of Monacello. Secondly, she needed to pay clear attention to whatever she and Tony Stark discussed tonight since she had practically begged for this meeting. And finally, she continued to have the lingering fear that she was going to get a gun pointed to her forehead. So Jinx came prepared, her dress sliding up her thighs as she crossed her legs to reveal just a bit of the holster and pistol strapped around her leg.
For obvious reasons, she had picked a booth in the far corner of the diner. They would be speaking about AMC business after all. Beside her on the seat was a leather briefcase with the case files in it, along with a small assortment of knives tucked into the interior pocket. And if all else failed, they were seated next to windows and there were chairs all about them. Chairs and glass were excellent makeshift weapons. With her pink eyes, slit pupils, she surveyed the room for good exits. She scanned for people that looked as if they could attack her at any given moment. After all, she was not in disguise tonight. Her bubblegum hair came about her shoulders and she wore a tight, black dress. Clothing said a lot about a person, and tonight she wanted to tell Stark that she was civilized. The dress showed off her muscular arms and legs, a shawl hiding her scarred shoulders, the material clinging to her almost sickeningly thin waist, the young assassin's curves. Stark was a man, after all.
Sighing, she took a long drink of her coffee. She missed alcohol right now. Hell, she almost missed the drugs Alba had nearly killed her about. After setting down her mug, she glanced toward the display of condiments at the side of the table. Instantaneously, the salt shaker tipped over, spilling its grains on the surface around it. Jinx quirked an eyebrow. Either this was the fault of her "black magic" or a foreshadowing of what was yet to come. With a long fingernail, she flicked a grain of salt across the table.
WHAT: Help with catching a murderer, grudges hopefully aside.
WHERE: Un Morso di Mangiere
WHEN: Day 128, evening.
Cherry coke was a disgusting thing. The waiter had suggested it, she took his advice, then regretted it with the first repulsively sweet sip. Trying to remain calm, keeping her usual threats aside, she merely told the waiter it was "shit" and demanded he bring her black coffee. It was thick, lukewarm, but the bitter taste made her a bit more content. Of course she was always the sort for vodka, but tonight she wanted to remain as sober as possible. To begin with, she was in Vescovo territory which made her nervous from almost a decade of Monacello. Secondly, she needed to pay clear attention to whatever she and Tony Stark discussed tonight since she had practically begged for this meeting. And finally, she continued to have the lingering fear that she was going to get a gun pointed to her forehead. So Jinx came prepared, her dress sliding up her thighs as she crossed her legs to reveal just a bit of the holster and pistol strapped around her leg.
For obvious reasons, she had picked a booth in the far corner of the diner. They would be speaking about AMC business after all. Beside her on the seat was a leather briefcase with the case files in it, along with a small assortment of knives tucked into the interior pocket. And if all else failed, they were seated next to windows and there were chairs all about them. Chairs and glass were excellent makeshift weapons. With her pink eyes, slit pupils, she surveyed the room for good exits. She scanned for people that looked as if they could attack her at any given moment. After all, she was not in disguise tonight. Her bubblegum hair came about her shoulders and she wore a tight, black dress. Clothing said a lot about a person, and tonight she wanted to tell Stark that she was civilized. The dress showed off her muscular arms and legs, a shawl hiding her scarred shoulders, the material clinging to her almost sickeningly thin waist, the young assassin's curves. Stark was a man, after all.
Sighing, she took a long drink of her coffee. She missed alcohol right now. Hell, she almost missed the drugs Alba had nearly killed her about. After setting down her mug, she glanced toward the display of condiments at the side of the table. Instantaneously, the salt shaker tipped over, spilling its grains on the surface around it. Jinx quirked an eyebrow. Either this was the fault of her "black magic" or a foreshadowing of what was yet to come. With a long fingernail, she flicked a grain of salt across the table.