all of the furniture sold

[attitude]

There are some aspects of society that seem to linger no matter how great or small the population. They slip out of the background, familiar and subtle, a breath permitted in the midst of a busy day — the stares from passerby, the free drinks at a bar, the sound of a breath harsh in the shadow of a deserted alley. Every detail worms its way underneath Faye's skin like a call for complacency, but that isn't how she takes it, no matter how much the way of life coaxes her. This is no time for relaxing, she thinks.

This is nothing more than an opportunity to use her skills to keep afloat. A game that sharpens her reflexes. Nothing more than that.

Individuals still disappear in the crowd as easily as they ever have, and so when Faye goes to insert herself as a more direct solution for the crime that permeates the city, plenty of people take her up on the offer. Today, the small slip of paper with the description doesn't tell her much:

Broad-shouldered, Asian, medium height. Likes to wear earth tones, plenty of green. Don't let the smile fool you. Frequents the noodle shop across the street from the park.

But it's more than she's done in weeks, so she keeps an eye out and waits for more details, a cup of yellow wine standing still in the middle of lightly brushing fingers as she surveys her surroundings.

He's a little younger than she expected, but when the man steps in, Faye wonders just how obvious she can get, how she can pull as much fun out of the chase as she can.

So she slides herself in the seat right across from him, playfully dropping her chin against the heel of her palm.

"Hi."

Comments

[uncritical]

Hand pausing halfway between his bowl and his mouth, Bo stops to raise his eyes to meet a pair a few shades darker than his own and red lips in a pale face belonging to the woman who's just pulled into the seat across from his own.

He doesn't know who she is or why she's here, although he can presume at least that she's approaching, probably, because she's seen him in Darrow's prize-fighting circuit. He's been taking and winning matches for the last two months, as the cut healing below the hollow of his eye can attest.

"Hi," he says, face going quickly from confusion to friendliness, just a little warm. She's way out of his age range, and he wants Korra, but that doesn't mean he can't pay her a compliment with attention. "You waiting for someone?"

[attitude]

"Pretty sure I found him," Faye says, smile widening still as she waves down the server, turning dark lashes over to him and the most winning expression she can muster. "Two cups of sake, please. Preferably warm." The waiter nods with a splotchy flush spreading over his cheeks before ducking away, leaving Faye to speak only with her bounty head, who seems remarkably calm given the circumstances.

Wrinkling her nose, Faye traces invisible circles on the table, playful with the edge of a threat resting just under her skin.

"So, I hear that you've been a pretty busy boy," she says, conversational.

[uncritical]

"You're a flatterer," Bolin says, playing along expertly for only a moment longer before faltering in inexperience, if not willingness, and in a niggling need to know more about her. "You sure you were looking for a kid like me, though? There are probably plenty of more interesting guys you've heard of. Guess I'm just lucky you decided on me."

His eyes fall to her finger on the table before lifting to her face again. "Or maybe I'm just doing too well for my own good." He's not shy about his skills, not especially when they're still earning him the paychecks he needs.

[attitude]

"Never a flatterer," Faye shakes her head, expression still coy and lips slightly pursed. She can't help but think that this guy's got pretty good control over the impression he leaves — open and innocent, striking an interesting contrast with the laundry list of crimes he's committed. No wonder he's slipped by the law. "Just a girl who gets what she wants."

Leaning forward slightly, Faye rests the point of her chin deeply against her palm, gaze sharp and almost feline. "But it sounds like you're familiar with that. Tell me, how did you manage to break into Pilarski's bank account?"

[uncritical]

As realization falls on top of Bolin like bricks from a crumbling building, his face falls first, and then opens, until his eyes are round and bright green in a face that's gone abruptly sheet-white. And a little jaundiced.

He's not sure what he's done to get into trouble again now. The only blessing is also sort of a curse, and he knows it immediately. There's no Mako here to come settle things, or yell at him about them after.

"I don't know any Pilarski, ma'am, I think you've got the wrong noodle shop," he says, before quickly sliding out of his seat and making for the kitchen in the back on surprisingly quick feet.

[attitude]

She nearly laughs when the boy stumbles out of his seat, heading for the back of the restaurant. But if there's any space that Faye can manage well, it's a crowded one, easily dodging passing waiters and customers until her hand lands solidly on his shoulder and gives it a small tug. He could slip out of her grip if he wanted.

But hell if she won't raise a ruckus if he tries.

"You realize that running makes you look all the more guilty, don't you?" she asks, brow arching in a challenge. "And were you really planning to stick the check with a girl? Tsk. Where's your sense of chivalry?"

[uncritical]

He doesn't slip out of her grasp. He freezes, helplessly, lifting his face to meet her eyes like a mouse that's realized what fate is waiting for it. One that could be better.

"I'm not guilty! I'm running away because I don't want to get hurt, or worse, kidnapped."

[attitude]

Pursing her lips and none too fond of the attention that they're starting to attract from the other restaurant-goers, Faye reaches out and clasps one hand around his wrist in hopes of tugging him out into the street. Her face flushes slightly, a potential flare of embarrassment for the mistake she might have just made.

"If you think that I have any interest in either kidnapping or hurting a child like you, you've completely misread me," Faye grits. "But if you're aren't the chump I'm looking for, then you're going to help me find him."

[uncritical]

Bolin gives a whine as she drags him outside, staring over his shoulder at the restaurant they've just left. Now neither of them have payed for the food on the table, and Bo can only hope to be able to explain what happened to the owner when he comes back. If he comes back.

Which is sad, because he really likes this place.

His own face is red with confusion, and by being called a child - especially after a minute ago, she seemed to think he was capable of something worth being paid to take him in for. So what had changed? "This chump has a name other than 'child,'" he complains to the chill in the air in the alley behind the restaurant, staring around them at steaming grates and the exhaust of a nearby laundromat.

He doesn't seem to have a complaint about the idea of helping the woman find who she's searching for, though. "It's Bolin."

[attitude]

"Yes, but this chump lost the right to any name other than kid because you ran," Faye replies, rolling her eyes as she plants the both of them close enough to the restaurant that he keeps on glancing back towards, crossing her arms solidly over her chest. That most of her irritation is self-directed doesn't show on her face at all — he's just a kid, seriously just a kid, how could she have seriously thought that he stole from that account — as she stares his way. "Believe me, some men are children no matter how old they are."

Her brow twitches.

"Anyway. Since I can tell that you're panicking about having stood up the bill, don't. I have a deal worked out with the owner," Faye tells him, not bothering to mention that the deal's more of an ongoing bill that never gets paid because the lech enjoys the view every time she returns. "So, if you're not a thief, what exactly is it that you do, other than spend all of your time at the gym?"

[uncritical]

Her roll of the eyes gets a defeated sigh in return -- Bolin can't really argue with her, not if she's got his meal comped, and he won't have to worry about how embarrassing it would be to have to walk back in there, tail between his legs, to pay for the food he mostly spilled across the table while leaving out the kitchen entrance.

"I gave you my name. Typically you're supposed to return the favor when people do that," he says, before dismissing it. If she wants to keep it to herself, so be it. It's more the one-way conversation that's bothersome to him, and less that she's suddenly less friendly than when she was trying to work him into giving himself up.

"I spend all of my time at the gym," he offers, with flippant honestly, "and then a few times a week, I have a match. Sport fighting. It's legit," he clarifies, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Mostly."

[attitude]

"Faye, not that I'm concerned about being typical," she replies, eyes bright and glancing carefully over Bolin with renewed interest when he mentions sport fighting. So he's that kind of guy, not necessarily the brightest, but certainly capable of handling himself. Muscle that she might be able to convince into running along beside her. Might. Maybe.

If nothing else, he's probably trustworthy by the simple virtue of having been so open with her up through now. Relaxing her gaze slightly, Faye crosses an arm over her chest, letting her free hand rest momentarily by her lips in consideration.

"You looking for another job?" Faye asks, weighing the options. "Maybe in a few weeks, after I bag this bounty head."