2007-09-02: But What's Your Airspeed Velocity?


Emery_icon.gif Sal_icon.gif

Summary: After receiving an enigmatic tape recording, Sal makes a date.

Date It Happened: September 2nd, 2007

But What's Your Airspeed Velocity?

Downtown, NYC - Lower Manhattan - The Back Alley

Dark blue sports jacket worn over a questionably expensive black silk button down, a pair of black jeans and dark blue docs on his feet? Emery can be found on this nice and no suspiciously quiet night outside of this lovely and respectable establishment. He got the blurry photo of the location and the message to meet from his meeting person tonight, so he's waiting. Leaning against a wall just outside and smoking a cigarette, eyes hidden behind a pair of shades. Yes sunglasses at night, he's hard core. Or something.

It's also an 80s tune, but maybe we won't point that out to Emery. No car pulls up, no one approaches Emery from the street. No, instead Sal emerges from the club perhaps a few minutes late, not completely out of place in rough grey jeans, cowboy boots, and a leather jacket, though the dark shirt beneath it is inappropriately sheer, showing a few glimpses of the tattoos marking his chest when the jacket shifts aside. He has a slight drunken amble to his step, but capable. Just merry! And he approaches Emery as soon as he spies the man waiting. "Eh, hermano, you got one of those to spare?" he says, reaching out a tattooed hand towards the cigarette.

Emery's eyes flick down to the hand first before traveling up the arm to the man's chest and then further up to his face and then back to the hand and the Irishman's eyebrow raises a fraction. He's quick to reach into an inner jacket pocket, withdrawing a pack of cigarettes as his own dangles from his lips. Free hand slips his lighter from his pocket. "Always willing to share bad habits." He finally replies, accent posh and polished as he looks over his glasses at the man, offering the pack of smokes and flicking his silvery lighter open.

Sal's grin is broad, Cheshire cat-like, as he extracts a cigarette and leans in to catch the flame on the tip, pulling in a drag of smoke to get it burning. "Gracias." He's been drinking - or something - which always means more Spanish littering his sentences. Meanwhile, 'American Woman' seems to be blasting from speakers within the strip club they stand before, the lower notes drowning out the vocals and guitar from this vantage point. Sal, for now, concentrates on his cigarette, studying the burning end before indulging in more smoke, looking away from Emery to scout out the street.

"De Nada." You pick up alot of phrases when you're an international traveler. (Read Criminal) He even mumbles that around his cigarette, because he has mad addict skillz. Emery frowns and slips the items away so he can pluck his own cigarette from between his lips, exhaling a stream of smoke and giving Sal another thoughtful once over. There is that awkward silence as American Woman plays from behind, and the butler rocks back on his heels and stands there smoking quietly but…there isn't any conversation happening so he just /sighs/ out some smoke and turns to face Sal. One hand on his hip and the other busy clasping his cancer stick between two fingers. "Are you standing here beside me because you think I 'ave a nice arse or are you Salamander-jito." - Forgive him, he just remembers the name had a 'Sal' in it, okay?

He chuckles around the cigarette, finally determining, it seems, that whatever cars that drive by or are parked aren't to be wary about. Whatever awkward silence has passed, Sal seems not to notice it - tequila will do that to you. "The latter, si. Just Sal," he corrects easily, gesturing with his cigarette clasped between two fingers. "And you're the mystery Brit that's got me curious. Wanna step inside," his tilts his head towards the strip club, "see a show and lemme buy you a drink?"

"OH thank christ." Emery blurts out, obviously relieved that he's met his contact! "Sal then, and I'm Enigma." Then he points towards the bar with his cigarette. "Or just Em." He adjusts his jacket and nods towards the bar again. "We should go in there, yeah, tequila and tits." He grimaces and makes general shooing motions. "I'm game."

"Beautiful." Sal puts an arm around Emery's shoulders, tugging him along inside the strip club just as 'American Woman' fades out into some Rolling Stones cover. A few girls are dancing, a few men are watching, and really, this isn't exactly a high class place at the end of the day. "I'm surprised you know my name and my profession, but not my face," he says to Emery in a voice that carries. "What do you know about me, Enigma?" Once they pull up to the bar, Sal extracts that arm and orders a drink for himself and his current drinking partner.

For the record, next to snakes, the only thing Em is more paranoid/uneasy around could probably be women stripping. Last time he stayed around one that did that too long, he ended up with a demon child. But this is business! And so he makes sacrifices for said business, removing his sunglasses when they get in doors and clipping them to his shirt with a cough. He leans against the bar, eyes flicking towards the girls dancing for a few moments almost mesmerized. Imagine, babies come from the place under the sparkly g-stringy thong contraption! Fascinating. - Oh right, business. He quickly jerks his head towards Sal and clears his throat. "Well, that's usually the case for me after a few drinks and a rough night. But we've never been in such a situation together so I'm going to use the excuse of being a lazy son of a bitch or summat." He waves a hand dimissively before resting an elbow against the bar and scratching his chin. "I know you have what I need and you can do what I want and at the end of the day…there isn't a better man for the job." He shrugs.

Sal perches up on a high barstool, the toes of his cowboy boots hooking around the bars casually as he sips from some sort of concoction that inevitably has a mix of tequila in it, leaning right back against the bar. Currently, a pale-skinned blonde woman is spinning around a bar in naught but highheels and a sparkly triangle of fabric, and that's entertainment. "Yeah?" Sal says, glancing towards Emery. "That's flattering. I got this thing, though, where I'm not so big on walking into jobs I don't know about in case I end up not being able to walk out again, you know? I'm gonna go ahead and trust that you're not a cop because you got that kind of face," that's alcohol wisdom, that is, "but I will say that I wanna know what's in it for me, at least."

Now he's got a drink, Emery seems to relax as he takes a long sip and licks his lips. He watches the woman with a distracted mixture of disgust and scientific curiosity. But he's listening as well, nodding slowly. "You've got time to make a decision, but whatever we do you'll get a ah, how do you say…pretty damn significant cut." He chuckles softly. "There is big money in hotels you know." That's all he's going to say about that. "Here." He withdraws an envelope from his inner pocket and sets it down in front of Sal on the bar. The check inside? Has quite a few zeros behind the 1 on it.

The prettyish women aren't quite enough to distract Sal from the cheque, twisting in his seat to glance at the slip of paper… before turning around to face the bar, possessively sliding the cheque closer. "Now that's a pretty number," he says, setting his drink down. "Good to know you've been around the block." Then… the cheque is gone, suddenly folded and stuffed into his pocket once it's swiped off the glass and metal of the bar. "Super rad. Now I can get you what you need, that I can guarantee. Allow for some time and I'm like a fucking genie." Grin. "So you came to the right man. I'm guessing there's not a lot more detail I can wring from you at this stage."

"Round the block, down the street and up the hill and back again, luv." Emery's quick to reply, smirking gently and taking another sip of his drink. "I'll get you a list, naturally, and you'll have plenty of time. M'trainin' people this time around as decoys and the like. But for now, yeah, that's all I have for now. Without making false promises and the like." He's quiet for a few moments. "What else would you want to know though, just so I know?"

Sal downs the rest of his drink, shoving the glass back towards the bartender as he hops off the stool, perhaps to go and put a few tenners into the string of some fortunate woman's thong in celebration, but then pauses, considering Enigma's question. "Yeah, actually, just one," he says, then glances around, leeeans in closer, almost sliding to do so as he rests an elbow against a bar, looking at the man seriously. "Is that a fake accent?"

Emery bites his bottom lip for a few moments as he regards Sal quietly, those blue-green eyes giving the man another once over before shaking his head. "Not fake per se just…unique." He grins and downs the rest of his drink. His accent slips into the Irish lilt. "M' European." Then he laughs and turns on his heel to head for the door, whistling.

Sal grins, letting up once Enigma answers. "But what's your airspeed velocity?" he snickers. "Thanks for meetin' up with me, Sugardaddy." Sal turns on his heel as well, fairly bouncing back towards the stripper stage, crisp notes of money already in hand and held out as an offer to the nearest girl.

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