Summary:Lena finds her theft of a ruby interrupted by a Jackal, of all people. She gets an update on the state of things (now minus an Oliver) and tea seems the solution for all woes. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
  |
It's been some time, enough to potentially make the ones who knew the Jackal believe he might have finally bitten off more than he could chew in his hubris. but no: simply off dealing with an influx of Void-rooted troubles and then returned to himself in near-complete vigor and vim.
As such, whatever Lena's up to, she might realize at one point there's another presence nearby. Maybe it's the fine hairs on the back of her neck or that tingling in her gut — but either way, leaned against the wall in a dark long-coat and pants, dark gloves to boot, and an insouciant folding of arms and thin grin, pupils flashing nightshine-red…it's none other than Ambrose.
"Little bird," he murmurs by way of greeting in his crisp, sly manner.
With time passing as it had regardless of teachings and lessons, Cold began to slip back into herself. Or at least a shadow of herself. Pull away, lone it out, go back to what you're good at. In those moments, at least tonight, she was ready to finish off one such job. Then again…
Exhaling, the dark haired girl pulls her gloved hand away from blazing crimson ruby the size of an apple. Swallowing she stands back and straightens her heavy jacket, her hood's fur framing her half-masked face. "Sorry. Don't have a table for you to crash through this time." A beat. "Hair dye?"
"Thank bloody fuck, no, not dye. I am returned to myself." With a very familiar ease does he move away from leaning on the wall to saunter over towards Lena. The subtle stiffness of the silvery hair and lost life-force is all but gone. In a slant of light, it can be seen that he has silvered temples now, perhaps a distinguishing look upon the handsome man — this tarnishing he hadn't lost. He's eyeing the ruby as well, but having recently had his fill of gem-theft, the Jackal doesn't appear to be considering it a slight on his territory.
"Oliver is gone, lost to the wind. You need not concern yourself with him further unless you see him. In this case, I ask that you contact me immediately. He has become more dangerous than he was," Ambrose informs the young woman as he begins to track a nonchalant, vaguely predatory path outside of her personal space. She's getting a careful eyeing now, critical, weighing, to see what if anything has changed in the interim of their last meeting.
"So you didn't finish the job." Cold shrugs, reaching out and claiming the gem for herself. The rock glimmers in what little light the room the holds before being pocketed. Frost-blue goggles settle on his features as the tracking causes Cold to turn and track him in return. "He wasn't dangerous the first time I met him. Overzealous but cowardly. Fine, I'll call." One step back, she eyes the room's exit in a brief glance without turning her head. "Is there something I can do for you?"
Something distant and cool goes through the master-thief's regard. Away goes the ruby and he stops on the opposite side of the pilfered display. It gets a dismissive sniff before his attention rises up to Lena again. Ambient lighting flashes through his pupils like a coyote's eyes at dusk.
"Yes. You can stop acting as though we have never met — that I did not come to your aid before — that I did not house you in a time of need — that you think you have any idea what myself and Kent have gone through lately. That we are both alive speaks worlds to what we have accomplished, Miss Lena." He then sighs slowly, carefully, a long hiss of sound. "And Kent sends his regards and his reminder that you may come over for tea as you wish with warning."
Still, silent, the girl shakes her head at length. No push, no rage, just an uneasy calmness and little more. "I'm not acting like anything, Ambrose. I'm on a job. I'm not assuming, or judging, what your family has been through. Just if your problem was dead he'd cease to be a problem."
"You wanna catch up, lets not do it here." Turning on her heels, the girl moves toward the room's less used exit point.
"Puh."
For all the flat irritation the sound contains, it seems Ambrose is in agreement. Yes, might as well not linger here in this place. No doubt someone could get curious as to what two shadows are doing lurking in the room where a large ruby no longer resides. He's a tall wraith on Lena's tail, tracing her path with an eerie silence of travel but for the faint drag of the coat on his pants and rolling steps in his boots.
"Well done in disarming the security devices on the panel," the master-thief adds nonchalantly when they're indulging in the first breath of being clear of the area. "A complicated task, the brand sometimes."
"Locks don't stop me. Never have. Security is just another form of lock." She murmurs. "Honestly, I'm getting low. That shouldn't have taken me so long." Before long, the penthouse is left in the distance. The ruby, for now, is left in her possession. "Are we getting tea or coffee or something? Either way, I should change."
A turn up an alley, a left, right, the left-left again. Eventually, she leads him to a hole in the wall in the slums. Another safe-house no doubt. Slipping in through a window (classic), she leaves it open for him and heads down the dark hall toward a room.
"You were faster than the authorities…though not faster than myself. I did notice your presence." By the Bane, actually, of all things: the ancient and malevolent magic had recognized a familiar source of life-force and oriented upon it, garnering its host's attention in turn. "I think tea," Ambrose adds as they walk, two figures on a warm summer night simply out for a stroll.
Never mind the heavier coats.
Lena slinks into the safe-house through the window and the Jackal follows, though he lingers by the window rather than enter deeper into the house. Privacy is still a respected thing in his books. His gaze strafes the surrounding area beyond the window as if checking for the possibility of being followed or observed. When Lena emerges again, the Brit glances over at her, expression sober. "We thought Oliver dead, Kent and myself, the others inhuman we acted with. We thought it certain. He still managed to survive by what he took from me. A portion of my own curse resides in him now. That is why you must be wary, Miss Lena. It will know you."
"He already knew me." Lena replies once back in the same room with the Haunt. Summer was not her favorite season. Dressed in her normal attire of goth-punk, but lighter in weight, she brushes back her hair off her pale shoulders and settles her icy gaze on Ambrose. "By name. By drive. I guess having a taste of me just makes it gross." She muses. Even smirks.
"You want tea here or somewhere out there?" A beat. "Thank Kent for me, too. For the offer. I haven't forgotten."
Ambrose can't help the cough-laugh at her musings. He then clears his throat because that was so not any form of humorous response on his part whatsoever and he is all that is refined.
"You have tea here? A kettle to heat the water?" he asks, looking around the interior of the safe-house and back to Lena. "And I will pass on your gratitude to Kent, yes. It is safe now to visit the manor once more. No one will be thinking to ambush you or anything of the like." He still lingers by the window, looking back out into the night, listening to the ambient city sound for anything odd.
"Not really, no. So I guess we go out. That is if you don't let loose some eldrich horror again." Sighing, she moves to exit the building, closing the window should he follow. "That poor idiot. At least he didn't stiff me with the bill."
Once on streetside, she starts walking giving a glance back to make sure Ambrose was still in her company. "So…I'm guessing that on your wild and crazy adventures you haven't heard tell of a brutish pyro by chance have you?"
"I have no interest in eldritch horrors at this time," the master-thief drolly reassures Lena as he follows her back out into the summer night. With the length of his stride, he catches up to the young woman easily and falls into pace beside her. No one's going to bother them, not between their combined airs of utter fuck-off-ery.
"Unfortunately, no. A witch, yes, gods, goddesses, a…fellow…coworker whom I learned was a Naga — " Yeah, that one had thrown Ambrose for a HUGE loop. " — but no brutish pyro. You are still missing one?" For all the mild tone of query, he still glances over at her in true interest.
It's the only twitch that show on her normally apathetic expression. At length, she nods and states, "Always." With the same amount of turns, she starts to lead the duo toward something more welcoming. Bright and alive - normal evening New York traffic. And there is a stretch of cafes to be had.
"Pick your poison. I'll pay."