2010-05-25: My Two Captains

Starring:

Porter_V5icon.pngVasha_V5icon.png

Guest Starring:

Jesus Rivero

Date: May 25, 2010

Summary:

Porter is the happiest man in his pants.


"My Two Captains"

Miami - Florida

For two people with a rivalry as deep as theirs, staying in the hotel room until well past checkout is a surprising turn of events indeed. At least it is to one of the occupants. Dressed in an airy sundress that comes down to midcalf, a pair of large sunglasses rivaling those of Jackie O, and a wide brim hat that would make members of England's royal family jealous, Vasha steps out into the sunlight carrying a large bag. She is clothed to match her newest accessory, a rose gold chain inlaid with diamonds and a pendant fashioned from a raw congac diamond.

Her car is parked by valet, of course, and when it is offered, she politely declines with no smile to spare the working class. Turning toward the door, she pauses for only a moment as she waits for her companion to arrive.

Unlike Vasha, Porter generally requires a full night's sleep after the kind of workout he's been through. He didn't get it, and so he's a bit groggy and tousled as he steps off of the elevator. He's redressed himself in the comfortable, lightweight outfit that he donned to approach Vasha's room, and he has a small, sleepy smile on his face.

His smile grows wider as he approaches. Reaching out, he taps a finger lightly against the congac-colored diamond. He doesn't say anything about it, though. Instead, he jerks his head in the direction of the door. "Shall we?"

Though her heels aren't as tall as she would like, she still stands a few inches taller than Porter, which is enough. "Of course, Captain, I have procured the names of a few places that we might find someone to pilot my craft." Taking long strides, she walks toward the marina. While she would normally drive, she doesn't trust her companion with the make, model, or even color of her car… Let alone setting foot in it.

"It is only a few city blocks from here, a nice stroll along the pier might do you some good. You seem tired." She comments idly, obviously filling the silence between them with random conversation. Her steps are long, steady and fast paced. Nothing like the leisurely stroll she was alluding to. It takes only minutes for the two of them to reach the first address on the list, oddly enough a local dive bar set along the marina.

"I am tired," Porter replies, grinning unabashedly. He stuffs his hands into his pants pockets and strides along beside Vasha, his hip occasionally bumping hers companionably. "I don't know where you get your energy from, Vasha. I could snort equal parts cocaine and Carnation Instant Breakfast and I'd still be groggy after what you put me though."

When they close in on the dive bar, he lifts an eyebrow curiously, but doesn't comment. Instead, he gestures grandly toward the door and murmurs, "After you."

Placing one hand on the top of her head to keep the hat on, the other goes to her sunglasses to draw them off of her face. Porter's observations go without comment, not even the barest ghost of a smile touches her lips. He simply gets a bored look, the sort he might have seen on her face when speaking to Sol.

The bar has no door, no real windows, it is open to the elements save for a few shutters that might be closed at night. Inside, a few regulars are seated, nursing glasses with varying amounts of liquid inside. Each of them receives an appraising glance some of them passed over faster than others.

As she steps up to the bar, Vasha folds her sunglasses and tucks one of the arms into the low neckline of her sundress. It's an action observed by more than one of the patrons. None of them particularly catch her eye, so she steps up to the bar and raises her chin toward the bartender. Then, turning to Porter, she gives him a meaningful stare. Of course, he's expected to order and pay for the drinks.

Porter opens his mouth and draws in a breath to protest. Then he makes eye contact with Vasha.

Smiling tightly, he digs a twenty from his pocket and drops it on the bar. "Two mojitos," he orders quietly. "Please."

While the drinks are being prepared, Porter makes his own survey of the bar. Too many red noses and missing teeth, too few promising candidates. "Are you sure we're in the right place?" he asks dryly.

"This is the address on the paper, I believe." Vasha starts, handing him the sheet that she was given. "If you would like to lead the way, by all means, be my guest." Her tone is short and clipped and a few of the regulars toss Porter a pitying look, as though he is just her henpecked significant other.

Then the drinks are placed on the bartop, she takes hers and nods her head over to one of the empty tables in the shade. "Come, we will wait for the right candidate, surely there must be someone in the vicinity that is capable of piloting a yacht."

It is that comment that has a few of the men hunched over their drinks perking up and taking notice of the couple. Of course the impression they are left with is, rich.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

When Porter smiles, it's a near-mirthless expression. "Is there anything that improves your attitude?" he asks, shaking his head. His mojito is tackled with vigor very similar to that of a sickly man taking a medicinal draught. When the glass it half empty, he sets it down with a satified sigh and licks a drop of moisture from his upper lip.

"Of course, being questioned is not among them." Vasha quips back as she places her drink on the table. Pulling a white handkerchief from her purse, she sets it down on the seat before brushing her dress to one side in order to sit. Not that she doesn't trust the owner to keep them clean, she just doesn't trust the owner to keep them very clean.

Once she is seated a man in the corner grips up his short glass full of something dark brown and makes his way over to the table. "You're lookin' for a someone to run a boat?" His voice is low, raspy. He looks unkempt, as weathered as Porter on a bad day… but he holds himself with pride and confidence.

Smiling crookedly, Porter studies the man with intent and perceptive eyes. He knows as well or better than anyone else that appearances can be deceiving. Battered, bent, but unbowed. There are worse candidates. The operative hoists his glass in a welcoming salute, but he defers leadership to Vasha. "She's the owner of the vessel. I'm just an investor."

Despite the initial cursory glance, the stranger is met with an expression of approval. He is not displeasing to the eye and in managing that, he is treated to a small smile and a nod to sit with them. "Yes, I am looking for someone to pilot a vessel, you are familiar with such things?" Vasha's tone is distant, calm, almost uncaring but her sharp eyes stay focused on the man in front of them, following his movements until he seats himself across from the two of them. Then she turns her head slightly to gaze at Porter out of the corner of her eye for a brief moment. Comparing the two.

Giving them an easy smile, the stranger places his drink on the table and reaches across with that same hand in greeting. "Name's Rivero, Jesus Rivero." Taking Vasha's hand first, he curls her knuckles in his fingers and brings them to his lips, staring her in the eye the entire time. The look lingers for a few moments after he releases her from his grip before he turns his attention to Porter, once again showing off a pearly white smile.

Porter's smile has lost a bit of its easy edge, instead taking on a far more tight-lipped cast. When he shakes Rivero's hand, he squeezes it a bit harder than is strictly necessary. Just a tiny bit. "I'm Mr. Smith," he introduces himself, abruptly releasing the other man. "And this is Ms. Smith. No relation. We're looking to make a trip about a hundred miles out of Nassau."

Once released, Vasha's attention turns to Porter as he introduces himself. She gives him a raised eyebrow but says not a word, preferring to sip at her cocktail for the time being. The hand between them slips under the table to hook her pinky finger with Porters, invisible to the rest of the patrons in the bar and to Rivero as well. Her face betrays nothing but a standoffish expression that turns to a cool smile.

Rivero's own smile falters a little at the firm grip of a handshake. When it's released he nods once and utters, "Nassau? Yeah, I can manage that. Hundred miles out of Nassau is going to be pricey… Say two hundred a day?" For this, he looks toward Vasha, the woman wearing the diamonds.

There's a clink and crackle of ice as Porter finishes his drink and sets it aside. His attention seems fixed on the tabletop for the moment, almost bemusedly. Out of sight, he curls his pinky around Vasha's and gives a single tug, signaling an affirmative. He doesn't reply aloud, though, remaining deferential to the lady sitting at his side. When a cocktail waitress passes, he signals for two more mojitos. "And a glass of… whatever it is that he's having," he adds, waving to Rivero.

Giving the man a demure smile, Vasha narrows her eyes only slightly in consideration. "Your terms are unacceptable. I will pay you one hundred and fifty per day and nothing more. Your food will be provided as will lodging, naturally." She raises her chin and takes a deep breath, the diamond at her throat casting a small sparkle across his face as it catches a ray of sunlight. Licking her lips, she allows them to remain parted for only as long as it takes for his eyes to drift down to her pendant.

"One seventy five and you have a deal," he barters back. With effort, he manages to tear his eyes off Vasha's 'pendant' and flits his eyes toward Porter. There's a slight discoloration to the tips of his ears as he meets the other man's gaze, "If we're out for longer than a week, then I get two hundred a day."

The initial rancor that Porter displayed has vanished. Now he only stares across the table at Rivero impassively. Not impolitely, and not too directly, but without any great display of interest one way or another. When the drinks arrive, he pulls the mojitos over and leaves the remaining glass on the waitress's tray along with a few crisply folded bank notes.

Pulling her hand away, Vasha places both of her elbows on the table and laces her fingers together, forming a perfect rest for her chin as she leans forward to consider the latest offer. "One hundred fifty per day, two hundred for every day if we remain at sea for longer than a week. That is my final offer." Her voice is firm, her gaze hard. "You must be ready to leave by morning, no drinking while operating my vessel."

Rivero's jaw clenches visibly for a moment as he flits his blue eyes to stare into Vasha's. His jaw works feverishly as he plays through the argument in his head, narrowing his eyes along with hers. Neither of them blink for at least a minute until finally he nods. "Alright, I'll be ready by morning." Then he picks up his drink and takes a large swig.

Porter glances back and forth between Vasha and Rivero. Once they reach a compromise, he lets out a near-inaudible sigh. Days on end of being stuck aboard ship is bound to be boring enough. Being stuck between the daughter of his oldest foe and a greasy guy making less in a day than he's prone to spend on dinner… Well…

"This is going to be pantloads of fun," the operative mutters.

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