2014.01.01 - Death Blossoms

Over the course of several days, emails from a variety of senders with garbled subject lines that might lead an average person to dismiss them as spam find their way into Lethe's inbox. The language of the messages themselves is rather vague, but the thrust of them is clear enough:
Somebody is interested in Lethe's services, and wants to discuss the particulars in a neutral location--in broad daylight, no less. Should Lethe accept, more details - date, time, place - will follow.
On the day of the meeting, the would-be client makes a point of arriving at the rendezvous point - a cafe on the Gotham Four Seasons' property with a dining area that nearly extends to the sidewalk outside the hotel - half an hour or so ahead of time. She is dressed in a navy pantsuit with cream-coloured pinstripes and a matching blouse, and rather than nibble on pastries or sip coffee while she waits for her guest to arrive, she splits her time between glancing at her phone and casing the area for suspicious activities/persons.
A low, metal fence separates the dining area from the rabble walking by it, but there's a person-sized gap attended by a hostess to admit walk-in patrons.
One piece of the rabble breaks from the stream of others, a short asian woman with a blue mohawk, and a black dress that... probably could be fitted a little better on her, being a little tight on the hips and longer on her legs than really makes sense. She idly brushes a silver piercing on one ear with blue nails before looking to the hostess and saying, in accented english, "Meeting someone." She's got a strap over her shoulder, but it's attached to less a purse and more a, uh, brown satchel. Blue eyes look more or less through the hostess, before looking around her.
The hostess offers more side eye than opposition to Lethe's declaration, shuffling aside to give the shorter woman plenty of space. There's a small stack of menus next to her, but rather than offer the Madripoorean one, she just mumbles through her, "Welcome to En Pleurs Poisson; have a lovely lunch," and tries not to grimace too much.
Meanwhile, Scandal - who is seated next to the railing and several tables down from the gap - does a slight double take at the mohawk, then squints at Lethe herself for a lingering moment before turning her eyes back down to her phone. Shortly afterwards, there'll be a new message in the mercenary's inbox:
'Green rose.'
... and once it's sent, the Brazilian will set her phone aside, reach into her jacket, retrieve a vacuum-sealed pouch with a neon-green rosebud inside of it, and set it in the middle of the table before returning to her pattern of casing and phone-checking.
The woman's eyes flick around a moment and they linger on Scandal a moment too long even before the text message causes her to slip a small pink object out of her satchel, flick it open for a moment, and then closes it, picking up a menu to glance through it for long enough for the rose to be placed. She regards it with the slightest of smiles when she looks past the menu to it, and then walks over to the vase-d table, looking down just slightly before pulling out a chair. "Nice place. Yours?"
There's a vase for every table, but Scandal's rose remains in its pouch--which she slides towards herself so that it can be tucked away as Lethe takes a seat. Once that's dealt with, she gently brushes a few strands of reddish-brown hair back from her face and offers the assassin a polite, professional smile.
"I'm afraid not," she evenly replies, pocketing her phone so that she can fold her hands in front of herself. The menu is on the brief side, with a selection of pastries, soups, and coffees; all of it is irresponsibly pricy. "I've never been a fan of the industry; too many moving parts for too little reward." She doesn't reach for Lethe's menu - nor does she have one of her own - but she does unknit her fingers long enough to make a brisk gesture towards the slip of paper.
"Feel free," she offers. "How are you?"
Lethe tilts her head a moment, then shakes her head slightly. "No thanks." A small pause, then, "It'd be wasted. I'm already full. This city..." she trails off, looking up a moment. "Such color. So many moving parts. So much waste of its own." Her lips twist into a slight grimace. "So full of themselves it dizzies the mind."
She looks back to Scandal. "Doing well. Finding ways to occupy myself. Word puzzles, you know." A small pause, her face settling back to neutral, flat, as her eyes focus just past Scandal's face. "You must keep an interesting garden."
"I haven't the time," Scandal replies, the corners of her mouth turning up a bit further for a moment before the smile drops away completely. "But I came across this one--" she briefly touches two fingers to the outside of that pocket "--and I couldn't resist it."
The petals are toxic; how toxic, she isn't sure, but there's a reason it's sealed up.
"It has seen better days," she then says, tipping her head to the city on the other side of the partition. "But it has its charms. Ambition seems to run thick here--something about the dysfunction breeds it, I think; the locals believe that they can do better, and outsiders see opportunities." Her tone - to say nothing of her surface thoughts - seems to suggest that she doesn't think much of either group.
"In any case: I would like to retain your services," she evenly continues, "for an operation in New York. The risk is substantial, but you would be compensated accordingly."
The contractor's eyes flick down to the rose and she smiles a little, even as she idly picks at her own dress at her shoulder. "Fetching, mmm?" She looks to Scandal and replies, slowly, "Those two things go together quite well. An operation that is well defined would be best, so no other concerns interfere." She seems comfortable with this now. "Not that it needs to be defined now, the world does... not work that way." A small pause, then, "Are you looking for me to support you with... pesticides for others to use, or my hand on a sharp pruning knife?"
"A little from 'A'," Scandal replies as she picks up her phone and starts brushing at the screen, "and a little from 'B'." A second later, another message hits Lethe's inbox, this time with a link to a file on a secure server. Afterwards, as her mind scans back a little, she lifts her eyes from the phone to give the contractor a faintly bemused look, then offers, "It's a lovely dress; it compliments the mohawk very well," almost as an after-thought as she sets her device aside. There is a moment of relief for having chosen a place with a walk-up worthy dress code as she folds her hands.
The file has some basic details: the target(a Blood splinter gang in New York), a broad sketch of its activities over the last few months, and a contract; the contract includes stipulations for research and development.
Lethe nods slightly at the reply, pulling the phone free to glance at it. The plastic clack of buttons announces the dumbphone as what it is as she navigates to look at the files. As she does so, the comment about her dress causes her to reply, a little flatly, "Black goes with everything, right?" A small pause, then, "I figure they're both a little out of place. Like a rose that's greener than its stem." The woman doesn't really seem concerned as she clicks through the documents she's been sent.
"It's one of a kind," Scandal says, reaching into her jacket. She doesn't let more than a sliver of pride slide into her voice, but she's definitely pleased with herself for having acquired it. She slides the rose all the way across to Lethe; if need be, she'll slip it past her arm while she reads. The bud is mostly closed; it was probably fairly young when it was plucked from its stem.
"You know a few things about poisons, yes?" she rhetorically asks as she refolds her hands. "Apart from the rest of this mission, I would like for you to study that. It is toxic; a bed of mature specimens has a killing radius of at least several yards, but even now, the petals are dangerous." She has the memories to prove the former, at least, like the sight of a scientist clawing at transparent walls as he hacks up blood.
"I have files--but I am not a chemist. There's a bonus; it's substantial. I would, of course, be receiving samples of any worthwhile results."
The sketch of the gang's activities is /very/ broad. The most interesting piece of included information is that it's cornered the market on a popular drug nicknamed 'WD40', which is, itself, a very recent phenomenon. Either Scandal doesn't know much, or she isn't sharing yet.
Lethe listens to the story of the rose implacably as she pages, but about halfway through she looks up from the phone to, first, Scandal, then the flower. A small smile crosses her own lips as she looks at it, then says, "Che. It... breeds true?" She searches for that word choice, before continuing, "How lovely... if you're curious enough to pay, I'll look at your flower for you."
She looks up from the flower with a slight head tilt, slim fingers going up to brush along the bare skin above her ear before she questions, "Is the research stipend for this, or for the WD40?'
"It's for the flower; researching the drug won't be necessary. I want to eliminate, not replace them." With a small smile of her own, Scandal briskly tacks on, "I've mostly lost my taste for that industry too," and then her features are neutral again.
"I do not know all of the details," she half-lies with a slight nod towards the flower, "but it is my understanding that its siblings originated from an extraordinary source; the last people who thought to study them were unprepared."
If the twinge of pride that accompanies that last word is anything to go by, she probably doesn't mean 'for the flowers'.
The chemist nods a little absently at the statements of Scandal basking in her superiority as she traces her finger along the outlines of the flower. She mms softly as Scandal finishes up gloating at the foolishness of the flower's previous owners, before she replies, "Makes sense to me. Mass produced drugs do tend to miss the... art." She then tilts her head and leans on one elbow before she adds, "Weeds instead of gardens... yes?"
After a low noise of agreement, Scandal muses, "There are people who can't help but be distracted by dandelions; I suppose there's no use judging." With that, she unlaces her fingers so that her hands can rest loosely attop one another, quirks her brow, and asks the six-figure question:
"All of this aside, then: are you in, or are you out?"
Lethe leans back in her chair a second and mms with a slight smile, before saying, "You sure put enough into bringing me to your flower."
She nods slightly and then leans back forward. "I'll accept your job, to be your bee." She seems a little more amused at that, before carefully picking up the sealed flower and mming a moment in consideration.
"Good." Scandal extends her right hand to shake on the agreement. Her expression didn't budge any at the remark about her flower, but she did do the mental equivalent of an eye-roll. "You should have a hard copy of the contract in your hands by the end of the day, and once it's taken care of, a dossier will follow." A slight pause, and then she notes: "The gang's leader is elusive, but we will need to take him alive; the rest, not so much. Elements of the operation may not be as--quiet as you are accustomed to; there will be other operatives. I trust that that won't be a problem--you are a professional, after all, no?" She cracks a thin smile.
"I am sure that you won't disappoint."
The smile lingers long enough for Scandal to allow, "It was a reasonable metaphor, but I would prefer it if you could deliver your sting more than once," before standing. "Very poor return on investment, otherwise." She gathers her phone up and looks to it briefly as she adds, "Half of the money will be wired to you once the contract is delivered, incidentally--the hard copy will have forms for you to specify where, and there is a selection of investment options, if you're interested."
With that, she slides the phone into her pants pocket and gives the Madripoorean a firm, final nod. "By the way: you may call me Scandal. I hope that we'll be able to do plenty of business together."
Lethe looks up and smiles very slightly. "I find metal holds up quite well on repeated use." She opens the case to withdraw a sheathed knife and places the bag safely inside the case. Then she looks up to her new employer and replies with, "Scandal." A small pause, then, "I'll try to stay alive until then."
Category:Log