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?"