First Mission

Arlette suits up for her first mission with Brunnhilde feeling more like a child playing dress up than a warrior in training. Meticulously she braided back her hair, pulled on her uniform, holstered her daggers (the only weapon she proved a marginal amount of skill with), and prepared herself to head into a mission. She would do this without dying, messing up, or anything else that could potentially end with failure slapped across her forehead.

Standing in the appropriate area she waited for Brunnhilde and tried to avoiding fidgeting like a child. Seeing that was impossible she settled for doing dance warm-ups instead. They would center her mind, have her body ready to spring into action, and coax the tension into leaving her body. Dance was her preferred drug and it would help her feel confident. It reminded her that she could control her body with a kind of precision very few would ever be able to understand.

syrniki-inkpens-and-parkour started following you

 The usual cafe Amelia attended was a bit more crowded than normal, must be the sudden rain outside pushing every one inside like cockroaches. She grimaced slightly, making sure her hat covered most of her head to keep attention off of herself as she clutched her bag to her side. All the seats were taken. No where to sit. And there was no way in hell she was going back outside until the rain let up a bit. With a small sigh, she scouted for the least occupied table and hesitated a moment before approaching a brunette.

“Excuse me? I don’t normally do this, but this place is so crowded, I was wondering if you’d mind if I sat here until the rain lets up a bit?”

Passing in the Night

With glancing at her watch, Arlette knew the hour was late-she had still been in the club at midnight-but she had yet to feel exhausted. Between securing the information she needed and the thrill that ran through her body from using her powers the young woman felt wired. Originally, her plan had been to go home but the more she thought about it the more she realized it would be almost like putting her in a cage. Too much energy paired with nothing to do led to her being unintentionally reckless. Instead, a new idea crossed her mind as the cab passed familiar part of Brooklyn; she could loiter in a cafe for a while. The late night crowds were almost guaranteed to entertain as if the late hour broke down barriers put in place by rest and sunlight.

“Could you drop me off here?” she asked the cabbie politely, reminiscent of what it had been like to work in the service industry. When her freelance journalism career (and her unintentional side business) took off she was able to quit her job at the grocery store and move on to bigger and better things. But, she knew to remember and be thankful for the those willing to work such jobs because they were difficult. She refused to become ungrateful once she reached the top.

Paying the cabbie, she slipped from the vehicle and wound her way to an all night cafe. The streets of New York always seemed to be teeming with people; something that was both a blessing and a curse. It shielded her from notice offering an almost anonymity when she wanted it yet it felt as if she was almost always having to dodge someone. Tonight it was simply a minor annoyance.

Entering the cafe, she pretended not to notice exactly how out of place she looked (smokey grey mini dress, sky high heels, dark red lips, smokey eye makeup, and perfectly disarrayed curls) compared to the other patrons. Turning heads helped her main power work but now she wished she had shown some restraint. Going home to change into less flashy clothing would have been wiser but it was too late now; she would deal with life as it came. Ordering an extra large herbal tea and two lemon-poppy muffins (oh how her secondary ability needed so much fuel) she then paid and took a seat at one of the high tables. Something would spark a conversation soon enough.

Drinking 'Til I'm Drunk

The bar smelt of smoke, alcohol, and the faintest hints of stale sweat from the workers who stopped by to have a beer or two after their shift. A little juke box cranked out music in the corner while the regulars shot pool, played darts, or caught a game on the television above the bar. If someone had a problem and it was a slow night the bartender would even rattle off wisdom or call you a cab if you grew too drunk to drive. All in all, it was the kind of blue collar place that country songs spoke of…even if it was in New York City.

Storming into the place let Arlette immediately know that all eyes were on her and that just sent the color higher into her cheeks. Primly, she walked to the bar in too high stiletto boots and acted like nothing was out of the ordinary. Stealing a seat from the bar, she order two shots of whiskey and a shot of vodka before glaring at the men who dared wolf whistle in her direction…and the men in general. On a different day she would have been more understanding to their behavior-she was dressed to club after all-but tonight was not that night. If they made an actual pass at her then she would throw a fit.

Shrugging off her leather jacket and draping it over the stool to her left, took her shots when they were sat down and tossed them back. Counting the glasses she realized the mistake in that she mistakenly took one from the woman next to her.

“I’m sorry, ma'am. Could I buy you something to replace that?” she asked sounding polite even if her face looked tense. Being upset at someone else was no reason to be rude.