2009-10-07: All In The Wrist



Date: October 7th, 2009


Sarissa Belmont arrives in New York City, and a mysterious French woman does the same. Also there are Russians.

"All In The Wrist"

New York City - Queens - JFK Airport

JFK airport is bustling with activity, just as most airports are. The buzz of voices, the roar of airplane engines as they land or takeoff, and all the other miscellaneous noises of an airport merge together to become a mind-numbing cacophony. Flight 305 has just landed, and a strikingly beautiful woman in a dark-blue pinstripe business suit top, with no undershirt, and a dark-blue formal skirt, is sitting in her window seat in first-class. Her fingers drum impatiently on the arm of her chair. She has no passenger next to her, because she can afford to buy two first-class tickets and use them both on herself.
Brushing her long black hair away from her face, as she looks out the window, Sarissa Belmont waits for the flight attendants to announce it's time to deboard the plane. She isn't necessarily in a hurry to be anywhere, and yet her subtle agitation would indicate she's a busy business woman. Maybe she just doesn't like waiting.

Once she has her carry-on luggage in hand, and has deboarded the passenger jet, the calm yet impatient woman changes her attitude somewhat. She looks around the waiting area and spots someone holding a sign with her name on it. She approaches the man with the sign, the clicking of her heels on the tile drowned out by all the other noise, and calls out to him in Italian, "«I am Sarissa Belmont. Here, take this.»" She holds out her bag. The man blinks, startled, and lowers his sign uncertaintly, reaching for the bag. "«Well? Take it!»" When the man looks perplexed, she sighs dramatically, and says in English, "I am Sarissa Belmont. Take this bag and let us get out of here." The man nods and smiles, accepting the bag, relieved he can understand. "Of course, ma'am. The car is — " Sarissa cuts him off, "Outside, I know. Before we leave, I will eat lunch. There are facilities here, yes?" The man opens his mouth, but Sarissa says, "Nevermind, I will eat later." She begins walking abruptly, leading the way through the foreign environment, despite having a guide. The man jumps to follow her, carrying her bag in one hand, and the sign in the other. "Where is my luggage?" The man finally gets to say, "It will be in the downstairs baggage claim area — " "There is more than one baggage claim area?" "Ye — " "Ah, yes, I see. That is a bit more efficient. Though it means more walking. My feet are killing me." The man blinks. Didn't Sarissa just get off a twelve-hour flight or something? "Would you like to rest — ?" "No, I'm fine. Why would I wish to rest? I have places to be!"
Heading for the escalator to the first floor of the airport, Sarissa drums her fingers on the railing as she descends. "Where is the food area? I am starved." The man says in confusion, "Ah, I thought you wished to head to the parking lot. There are various restaurants around here — " Sarissa says, "Yes, I can smell the grease from here. Nevermind, I will eat later." She then steps off the escalator, and as the unnamed and bewildered guide steps off behind her, he almost runs into Sarissa as she wheels on a woman with a crying child hanging on her arm, and yells at the boy, "Silence, you impudent little rat! Can you not see your mother is at her wit's end!?" The boy, startled, shuts up immediately. The mother, eyes bugged out in shock, soon retorts angrily, "How dare you — " Sarissa waves her off and says, "Oh, please. I only said what you were feeling!" Then she stalks off as the mother works to produce some argument or insult she can hurl after the strange woman.
The man with the bag and sign just shakes his head and follows after.

Airports, by their very nature, were expansive, and only the fabled O'Hare in Chicago could outdo New York's largest international travel terminal. Indeed, the place was so big, that it was quite litteraly impossible to visit every single shop and eatery located within in one day. The blonde-haired French woman was just getting off of one of the planes herself. Judging from her new tan, wherever she had been had been sunny and tropical.
Exiting the gate, Camille Roux's heels clicked loudly against the faux marble floor of the terminal, making her way between rows and rows of seats. Her manner of dress was elegantly casual, beige cashmere pullover blouse on top, black khaki pants below, a pair of Ferrari sunglasses perched on her head, doubling as a headband to keep her mass of hair at bay. A small, pale brown clutch was in her left hand, while over her right shoulder was a black leather backpack. Lifting her hand to glance at the bottom of her wrist, she checks the time, sighing as she notes it, before tossing her hair and continuing to stalk inevitably towards the exit.
She doesn't make it halfway there before she stops, coming to an abrupt halt as her wide eyes take in the three men before her. Their backs were to her, but all three were in rough approximations of suits, though each varied a bit, one having a leather jacket instead of a blazer, one wearing sneakers instead of loafers. Two of them had some sort of tattoo, both of them in Russian. Pulling her slightly-oversized sunglasses down out of her hair, Camille shoves them in place over her eyes and tip-toe runs to duck behind a row of thick, white columns before they turned around. Her pace quickens, even as she looks over her shoulder several times. It's only a matter of moments before her elbow bumps into a mother of one, who didn't look too happy to begin with.
"Ah, peine." The insincere apology comes to her lips automatically as her eyes lock onto a very self-assured-looking woman ahead of her, as well as the very downcast-looking man following along in her wake like a whipped puppy. "Plaisent, plaisent, a momeent!"
With awkward, tiny steps necessitated by the three-inch heels she wore, Camille rushes to catch up to Sarissa and her escort. "Trouble zhou for a momeent, may I? Ees dere another exzeet ozer dan dat wan?" She points in the general direction she'd been heading. "I am too meet a friend, zhou zee. Might zhou have de number for eh taxi?"

Sarissa stops where she is, a few steps away from the baggage claim area, with all the bags going round and round on a conveyor belt. She pulls her gaze from the silly device and turns around, at about the same time that a blonde woman approaches, calling to her. She thinks she's the one being called to at least. She feels fear from Camille, though she isn't sure what the fear is about. Fear of being late for something? Fear of a foreign environment? She's not a mind-reader, dammit! However, as she narrows her amber eyes and focuses, she manages to delve into Camille's emotions a bit more deeply.
If there were a sound-effect to accompany Sarissa's unique talent, it would sound a bit like a collection of gibbering voices, babbling and laughing and mixing together, with one sound suddenly overriding everything else — in this case, a scream of terror. The scream is accompanied by a flash of an image… A tattoo? It's rare for Sarissa to pick up on imagery, but images with special emotional connections sometimes reveal themselves to her in brief pulses.
Either way, the woman is now clearly speaking to Sarissa, who allows her features to relax a bit. In rather good French she says, "«Your English is atrocious. Do you speak Italian? Well, it does not matter.»" She glances around, feeling some of the panic or at least caution of Camille start to add to the already chaotic mix of emotions she is feeling from others, and says, "«There are many doors. Whoever you are avoiding can't cover all of them without help, so I recommend just going to the farthest door keeping your back to them. I can look up a phone number once my phone finishes updating.»" She grabs her bag from her guide, who is standing there looking confused, and searches inside until she finds her cellphone compartments. She pulls out two of them. One is from Japan, a brand new Yamagato Industries model. She plugs a cord into the base of the small phone, and then plugs the other one into a brand new Sprint (tm) phone (zomg product placement). Turning them both on, she begins transferring data acquired from a wireless network on the Sprint phone to her more advanced Japanese phone.
"«Here, hold this bag on your shoulder, to conceal your face.»" She thrusts the bag at Camille and then pulls it back as she puts both phones inside. Then she thrusts it out again! She says, "«Nevermind the taxi, I'll have you driven where you need to go. Let's hurry though.»" She then turns to her guide and says, "Lead this woman to the car, then come back for me. I'll need help with all the luggage." The man blinks and says, "Y-yes — " "Nevermind, there are my things now." She turns and starts lifting things onto a rolling cart, while her guide and few other men lean to stare at Sarissa's legs as she leans over. Good thing her skirt is modest. When she looks over her shoulder venomously, as though sensing what the men are feeling, the guide jumps to help.

"(Forgive me, I did not pay as much attention in school as I should have. I am regretting sleeping my way through those English classes, you can be sure.)"
Camille's features register surprise as the other woman speaks her native tongue, fluently to boot. In most cases, she was correct in assuming that the average American barely spoke one language, but such assumptions had led her astray in an international airport. She allows her features to adjust automatically into a friendly smile, a very practiced 'I'm your pal' expression.
"(Avoiding? Surely you are mistaken. I am merely turned around! As much time as I spend traveling, you would think I would have these places memorized by rote, but- Ah-ah-okay!?)"
As the bag is thrust at her, taken back, then thrust again, the blonde-haired woman lifts it on her shoulder with a small 'oomph'. She couldn't help but notice how much the item clashed with her outfit, leaning it to the side enough to peek around it and thus make sure that no one had picked up her trail from farther down the terminal. The woman was rather pushy, after all, but if she was going to offer a ride for free… "(Ah- Right.)" But before she can even make herself ready to follow the male to the car, the plan is changed once /again/, and now Sarissa was obtaining her luggage from the baggage conveyor.
"Zhe ees very pu-" The French woman starts to talk in a low tone to the driver/guide as the dark-haired woman collects her things, only to notice where is eyes have traveled to. Narrowing her own hazel orbs, she reaches over with her semi-free hand, smacking him in the chest with her clutch, rolling her eyes even as she does so. "(Men. They're all the same.)" Taking a last look over her shoulder for pursuit, the Frenchwoman takes a few, clicking steps towards Sarissa.
"(I appreciate the offer of a ride, that's sweet. Would you like some help carrying your things. My name's Camille, by the way. Camille Roux, but please, call me Cammy. I promise not all the French are as rude as the rest of the world claims.)"

Sarissa stands again, once she has all her things on the rolling cart (you know the ones. They're like low platforms with a handle and wheels), both from her own efforts, and the guide's efforts. The guide, by the way, looks embarassed from having been caught not once but twice doing something he shouldn't have been. Thus he is keeping quiet. Sarissa blocks him out of her mind, seeming him as almost extraneous. "«Do you have any luggage yourself? And no, I'm sure this fool can manage them. I am Sarissa Belmont. And I spent time in France when I was travelling in my younger days. There is a difference between rudeness and having a low tolerance for clueless foreigners. Though I suppose I'm the foreigner in this instance.»"

"(No, no luggage for me, other than what I have.)" Half-turning to the side, she reaches behind herself to tap her clutch against the leather backpack. "(It was simply a business trip, so there was no need to travel heavily.)" Even if her newfound tan completely belied her words. She keeps an eye on the driver, ensuring his eyes didn't go anywhere else they shouldn't, and ready with the pointed toe of her shoes should she catch him again.
"(You have been to France? What parts did you travel to? I myself am from Orleans, my family has an estate there. As for being a foreigner, do not worry. There are many of us here in the Big Apple. Though really, a city where people urinate publicly on the subway is… less than charming.)"
Camille checks her watch again, frowning at the time, before finally reaching up to pull off her sunglasses and stick them back once more into her hairline. "(Even so, it is far from my home. I do so love my relatives, but much of the time, it is very nice to have an ocean as a buffer. Shall we go? I think if we call ahead, we can have Chinese from this fabulous place not too far away. It would be my way of thanking you for the ride, hmm?)"

Sarissa smirks a bit at Camille and answers, "«All over. It was just sight-seeing for the most part, and we — »" she pauses for a half-second and then corrects herself, "« — I did not stay any particular place for long. And yes, that sounds fine. I am quite hungry, and the American fast food smells here are making me nauseous. Let's go find your 'friend'.»" She does not comment further on avoiding anyone. She might have been wrong about that guess. And she has more concerns than other people's business. Though what that tattoo could have been about is tugging at her curiousity a bit. Maybe Camille got a tattoo and is frightened of someone finding out? A lover? Parents? Hm.
She then leads the way out of the airport. And if any strange men in suits, with or without tattoos on their persons, decide to get in the way, well they might be in for a surprise.

"(Ah, yes. Yes, my friend. They are at a hotel I have reservations for, in Manhattan.)" Of course, there was no friend, but the other woman didn't need to know that. A small smile quirks at the corners of her mouth as her offer for lunch is taken up, and she trails a few paces behind the other woman as she digs her own cellphone out of her pocket. She's in the process of dialing, when a man in a black suit, with mirrored Raybans on, no less, catches her attention out of the corner of her eye. She shifts the borrowed bag to her other shoulder, putting it between her vision and the rough-looking male, who was of the previous trio, having split up in an effort to cover more ground.
Pace quickening slightly, she catches up with Sarissa and her hired help, pressing numbers on her phone. Though the man looks right at them, the bag prevents him from seeing the blonde woman's face, thus she passes his casual scrutiny. As the phone begins ringing, she places the reciever to her ear, making her way outside with the other two, heading for wherever the car had been parked. After a moment, she frowns, pulling the device away from her ear. "Wan momeent. …Ugh! I can never oonderztand dere acceentz. Do zhou know what zhou would like?"

Sarissa keeps striding ahead, with the man with the cart struggling to keep up, as he is pulling the hand cart. She senses a sudden agitation from Cammy, and starts to turn to look at her, but doesn't associate the man with the raybans with the tension she's feeling. So she just assumes once Cammy is on the phone that it's the irritation with accents that is the cause. Turning to face forward again, she stops and answers in English, as Cammy seems to have switched as well, "Oh, I do not know. Something that is not deep-fried preferably. I can do without the grease in my diet. If they have chicken with black mushroom, I will take that. Oh, and Peking duck with Mandarin oranges." Uhh. That might be a bit expensive. " — Don't worry about paying for it, I will take care of lunch. Just direct us where to go once we are on the road."
She doesn't keep walking, waiting for the man with the luggage to catch up. "You lead the way from now on…" she realizes she never asked the guide's name. The man supplies, "Mark Bagshot." Sarissa nods briefly and says, "You lead the way, Bag. You know where the car is, after all." Starting to correct Sarissa that his name is 'Bagshot' not 'Bag', he thinks better of it when he sees the look on the woman's face, and turns to direct them towards one level of the parking garage where a long black limousine with tinted windows is waiting.
Just a short distance now, and Camille will be safe!

"Do nawt be zilly! Dey zhould have de duck. …Do zhou have de duck?" Camille directs her question into the phone, inquiring about Sarissa's chosen meal. There's a few minutes of back and forth, with the blonde informing the person on the other end of the line that she didn't speak 'Korean or whatever'. Unfortunately, two badly accented English voices seemed to be having a hard time meshing, so much so that out of frustration, the French woman merely asks for an order of 'lots of duck' under the name 'Cammy'. With an exaggeratedly put-upon sigh, she snaps the small phone closed, before undoing the clasp atop her small purse and slinging it inside.
"(Oh, the place, it's just four or five blocks away. It's much more pleasant than the usual hole-in-the-walls you'd find oriental cuisine at.)" Having trailed several paces behind the other two, Camille looks up from depositing her phone, quick-stepping to catch up. She's brought up short by a rough hand clasping around her elbow, dragging her to a halt, and spinning her around. With wide eyes, she finds herself looking up into Raybans Man's shiney bald head.
"Hello, Miss Roux." When he spoke, it was with a stunted Russian accent. "Mister Kulak has looking for you. I will take you him."
For a moment, the chatty Camille seems to have lost her tongue, but apparently finds it a moment later as she pastes on the most charming smile she can under the circumstances. "Ah, I waz juzt comeeng to meet heem! Zurely I zhall have time to unpack first, oui?" Her smile falters a bit as the hand tightens painfully around her elbow.
"No. Come now."

Sarissa nods to Cammy's words about the restaurant, but when she hears some man speaking from a ways behind her, and then Camille's voice, she stops and calls out, "Bag, put the luggage in the trunk. I will be there shortly." Markus pauses, looking back towards Camille, and then to Sarissa, uncertainly. Sarissa arches an eyebrow, and Markus nods. "Yes, ma'am." Then he gets to work.
Sarissa turns around, pivoting on her heels, and marches up to Camille and the Russian man. She doesn't stop walking until she is within arm's reach. At which time she reaches out, and touches someone. Namely the jerk with a grip on Camille. She attempts to slap him in the face! Rather hard too! "Unhand her, oaf!" she orders. There was more of a reason to slap the tall Russian than out of anger. She can feel Camille's fear, but she attempts to shut it out for now, or at least act as though it isn't impacting her. Instead, she tries to use the physical attack to throw the man off-balance mentally. If successful in surprising him, she then tries to wedge her mind into his, and force-feed him the same fear that she is feeling from Camille. She is serving as a conduit, essentially. The fear that the man is generating in his victim is being turned back on him.
If all goes as planned, he should be intimidated at least. "I do not care if you are from Russia, or America, or Baldanduglistan, you have no right to place your hands upon another person without their express permission! Now let her go." She then cranks up the fear she is transmitting several notches, until it is far stronger than the original concern that Camille was feeling. But will even this impact a huge Russian goon!?

The sharp retort of palm against cheek sounds around the sidewalk, causing several people to look in their direction, a few to even stop and gawk at the potential confrontation in the works. Camille herself looks not only shocked, but dismayed at the actions of the dark-haired woman. As for the Russian, whose eyes weren't visible behind the mirrored shade, his head jerked up and his mouth fell open a little on his bull-neck. The man wasn't bodybuilder huge, but he was certainly large enough that Cammy was reasonably sure no one hit him in the face lightly.
"Not your concern, cyka. (A/N: bitch)"
"Zari, do nawt…" The blonde's attempts to dissuade 'Sari' from her present course of action dies on her lips as her arm is abruptly released, the large male taking a step back from the two women. His tone abruptly changes as he holds up both hands in front of him. "Relax. No problem. Not want trouble." Though intimidating, the man was exactly what he appeared, hired muscle, not brains, and everyone was afraid of something. He appeared to suddenly be afraid of the much smaller dark-haired woman. He takes another two or three steps back before turning quickly and walking rapidly in the opposite direction. Camille archs an eyebrow at Sarissa, giving her an extremely puzzled look as her brain races to figure out what the hell had just happened.
"(Uh… Remind me not to mess with you.)" As she turns back towards the car and the waiting driver, the French woman tubs on the other's sleeve even as her heels clack loudly against the pavement. "(But let's get out of here before he comes back with friends. Soooooo, did you take some kind of self-assertiveness course? If you did, I may have to rethink my opinions on the subject.)"

Sarissa mutters as the man walks off, but doesn't stick around, just glares after him, and turns when Camille tugs on her sleeve. She waits for Markus to open the door for the two women, and once they are both inside and sitting in the soft leather seats, with various other comforts at their fingertips, Sarissa sighs, and finally answers Camille with, "«It's all in the wrist.»" She smiles a bit, and presses a button, rolling up the window seperating the back of the long limousine from the front of the car, where Markus is seating himself and starting up the vehicle. "«Now let's go get our food. I'll let you decide whether or not to explain to me what that man wanted. I'm not eager to be involved in your personal affairs, but I also would like to make sure I am not dropping you off alone somewhere you are going to be shot or stabbed or otherwise assaulted. Knowing what you are involved in will help me to take the course of action that suits both of our interests.»"
She then touches another button, apparently activating an internal intercom system, and says, "Let's get going." The limousine then pulls out and begins to drive away, following Camille's directions to the Chinese restaurant.

The blonde-haired woman hurries to the car, almost at a run, or at least as close to one as her high heels would allow. Once the door is open, she clambers inside, setting her backpack down, resting her purse demurely in her lap. She leans back into the soft interior seats with a sigh, shifting her head back against the headrest. Her eyes pop back open as the other woman enters as well, mentioning their soon-to-be lunch, their destination, and the almost-altercation that had happened.
"(Ah ha ha, well…)" The French woman studies the other out of the corner of her eye with a speculative gaze, trying to decide how much of the truth to tell, how much to evade, and how much to lie. Reaching up, she pulls the sunglasses from her hair, folding the arms in, then running her fingers through the golden locks. "(Let's just say that you should never deal with Russians. That man he mentioned, Alexi Kulak, he seems to think I owe him something. I'm thinking he is wrong. But I'm sure it'll all get sorted out eventually. He is a business man, after all, so we just need to come to some sort of agreement. Preferably one where I am not forced into a face-to-face with no collateral.)"
She leans over to talk loudly into the intercom, directing the driver to the fanciful Chinese parlor where they had placed their orders. Afterwards, she leans back into her seat again, crossing one leg over the other, resting both hands on her knee. "(Do not worry about dropping me off. It is just a hotel I will be staying at for a few days. I think I've stayed in almost every hotel New York has! If you like, I could recommend a few…)"

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