[Closed]

[smokeeasy]

WHO: Badou Nails (smokeeasy) and Julian Sark (the_freeagent), with probable appearances by Schuldig (colpevole)
WHAT: Meeting for business
WHERE: The Warrior Princess
WHEN: Monday, lunchtime

Comments

[the_freeagent]

Sark hadn't wasted any time upon arriving in Italy. A few minutes off the air shuttle from England and he already had found the name of someone who would hopefully be able to help his current situation.

"You want Badou, he's the guy," is what his source had told him. "He'll find you anything." Sark frowned as he studied the facade of the Warrior Princess bar. His source hadn't been the most reliable, so he was wary, but with his Lazarey network of contacts quickly crumbling, he had little to no choice.

With a small adjustment to his tie, he entered. The place was relatively empty, save for a couple of lone patrons nursing drinks. Upon scanning the room, he caught a quick glimpse of who he assumed would be his contact sitting at the bar. Red hair. Eye patch. Not the most inconspicuous of characters, Sark could feel himself slowly starting to regret this decision. Perhaps he would have done better on his own.

He approached and then cleared his throat. "Mr. Nails, I assume?"

[smokeeasy]

Inconspicuous? Well, no. Especially not in his trademark long off-green duster coat with the white faux fur around the collar. Really Badou was more casual than anything, and probably to most people he looked like "just some kid." He certainly looked a few years younger than the man who had stepped up behind him at any rate. But there were benefits to looking like "just some kid." People tended to underestimate him. Meant that sometimes they let their guard down just a little, or at least had a moment's delay before getting their guard fully up.

He swiveled in his chair, conducting a quick assessment of the man who'd spoken to him. Suit, tie, close-cropped hair-professional. Question was professional what. "Just Badou," he said, because being called Mr. Nails made him feel kind of old, like he was playing dress-up in his big brothers clothes

[the_freeagent]

As poor as a first impression the bar had made on Sark, the small private booths were infinitely more to his liking. Slightly too airy to be intimate and too much metal everywhere to be cozy, he found them slightly off-putting in a way he seemed to enjoy. They reminded him of the post-Revelation architecture of Eastern Europe and specifically Moscow, a place that now seemed life-times behind him

[smokeeasy]

Huh. Fancy. Well seemed his mystery man was a person with secrets that someone would consider worth knowing. Or at the very least, that he considered himself to be. You didn't pull up a toy like that-Badou could figure what the sound damper was even without having seen one exactly like it before-unless you were going to talk about material that was either valuable, or dangerous, or as so often the case, both.

It was fine by him. He was adaptable, and not the kind of guy to take it as a personal slight that some suit wanted to take the initiative of covering his own ass. He took a drag on his cigarette, sitting back comfortably in his seat. "However you prefer to run it, Mr…?"