miles baines: riff-raff! street rat! (mimicks) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-01-13 22:55:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, !log, miles baines, vereessa lan |
i overheard you say not stirred but shaken, and i could really throw one back.
Who: Lan & Miles
What: Two mimes walk into a bar.
Where: The Blue Bear
When: Backdated to mid-November, after her post but before the museum job.
Rating: S for Sassiness.
Status: Complete!
Miles had wanted to go somewhere else than the Lounge. Lan was, for all intents and purposes, offended by the suggestion that she didn’t get to show off her own business, but there was no convincing her fellow mime and thief about it. The idea she might be trying to set him up or trap him down (or whatever in between crazy idea he had) was there to stay. To be perfectly honest though, Lan would’ve probably tried to scare him a few times. Funny tasting wine, suddenly clearing the place, maybe even some knife play. It was her way to reassure him they were friends though, and she knew he wouldn’t have it any other way. Maybe it was for the best though. Things were bound to be suspicious enough in neutral ground already. He thought she wanted something, while Lan was simply interested in knowing Miles and company would be busy for the next months. Busy, occupied, distracted. Lan had her sights on something and it would be no good if she had competition. And knowing Miles, he might just try to steal whatever she wanted out of spite. What a good pair of friends they were. So trusting. Lan had arrived to the bar first, quickly securing the best table around. It was discreet, yet not removed; anyone that looked up could see them if they were looking for them, but it was impossible to hear them, which was good. Sitting there, she ordered a pint of ale and leaned back. When the lean man entered, his eyes quickly scanned the room—and once he saw that Lan was already seated, he bit back a hiss of irritation. With normal friends, Miles preferred being comfortably and fashionably late; with friends he wouldn’t trust with a knife in a dark alley, he preferred being excessively early, granting himself enough time to scope out the room, its exits, the parties already present, and be the one to choose the seating. With that opportunity robbed from him, there was nothing left to do but don his most affable smile (smoothing out his expression and any facial lines that might have evolved into a frown, if he let them), pull out a chair, and join his associate. Not-friend. Former fling. Rival. Whatever the hell she was. “Nice choice of table,” Miles said, giving a lazy wave to the bartender to bring out a bottle of whiskey. They’d be drinking from the same bottle, as specified: no opportunity to slip anything into his drink lest she consume it too. Despite his consistent suspicions when it came to the other mime, Miles couldn’t help but cast an appraising glance over her. No matter what happened, she never stopped being blonde and pretty (and never let it be said that Miles Baines didn’t have a type). Lan raised her glass before sipping. “I have a good eye for these things. You still can threaten me with a knife and remain safely in the shades if you do it right, and I know you can do it right.” That and a whole lot of things, she knew. He grinned. Noticing the whiskey, Lan finished her glass quietly. “Good choice, as usual. Beats ale anyway.” If he was expecting them to start some serious conversation right away, he didn’t really know Lan so well. “Ale is cheap and common.” It was a throwaway line, more befitting of a nobleman than a semi-successful actor. (Sometimes Basil Norwood’s mannerisms crept back into his speech, a contamination and contagion as his identities started to mingle, the lines blurring between Miles and all his various masks.) But this was one of Emillion’s foremost dive bars; class obviously didn’t matter here. He slid his chair across the dirty floor to sit side-by-side with Lan rather than across from her, keeping his back to the wall as well. “How have you been?” Miles asked politely. They’d work their way around to the point eventually. Fripperies first: sharpening their tongues before getting into her reasons for summoning him. “I don’t know why I thought it would be your favorite,” Lan said with a grin as she poured herself another glass. She didn’t move when Miles scooted closer to her. Looking up, she stared at him silently for a moment. “Me? Busy as always, there isn’t much to say; the Lounge remains profitable because it has someone managing it.” Although that might not be the answer he was expecting. Still… that could wait. “And you?” “Busy as always.” Miles smiled again, all toothiness. “En attendant Godot just wrapped—not sure if you took the time to see one of my shows, but reviews implied it did rather well for itself—and now I’m working on rehearsals for the Faram’s Mass show. Amongst other things.” He was only mentioning his fronts and covers, the thin veneer of respectability lathered atop his more criminal enterprises. “Done anything interesting lately?” he asked mildly. It was always a delicate balance between these two, trying to suss out some information about each others’ jobs without treading on opposing territory—they’d run into each other on thefts before, and it was always a uniquely unpleasant experience. “Oh, the Mass,” Lan mentioned, basically ignoring everything else he said. She had seen him acting, and it had been damn good; the fact she was not poking fun out of it should be signal enough of that. “Already I am trying to decide what will be included in the menu; coming by the best ingredients is no easy task.” The Lounge was more focused on individual exclusive dishes, so feeding a large amount of people was quite a challenge, but Lan wouldn’t say no to it. “Me? I’ve been mostly keeping an ear to the ground, there are many interesting news all over the place. Still, I can’t say anything has quite caught my attention recently. How about you? What fresh piece of news has sparked your interest?” “If it’s sparked my interest, Vereessa, then it certainly shouldn’t be brought to yours.” Miles delivered her first name like a bullet, distracting himself by pouring out a glass for himself, then taking a sip. Enough tiptoeing around the matter, he decided, levelling a stare at the blonde. “Why did you invite me out tonight? Just nosing around my business, are you? Is there anything I can do for you, Lan, darling?” The man didn’t drink quickly. Even if the liquor hadn’t been poisoned, it was worth keeping one’s wits in the Blue Bear. Lan wasn’t a person that showed everything she was feeling, but she did a face alright at the mention of her name. It was uncomfortably… weird, even all that time. Still, it was no secret she never really felt much attachment to it. “You have a job, don’t you?” Lan said, also dropping most of the vagueness. “Some valuables in town? News travel even faster when they make the newspapers.” She took a moment to sip her glass, give him a look, make him wonder if she was going to ruin his party. “I just want to make sure you are indeed involved.” He shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d put two and two together—most people had subscriptions to the Valendian Standard, after all, and people who knew Miles well would know the Crimson Coeurl was like setting out a flame for a moth. But he still hid his reaction behind his hand, fingers splayed across his chin. Finally, after a long pause, Miles nodded slightly. “Yes. I’m on a case at the moment. Preparing for a little… cultural expedition, shall we say. Enriching my mind and wallet. You don’t want a handwritten invitation to the affair, do you?” It was a flippant joke; they both knew she preferred to work alone, whereas he was a pack animal. Lan laughed, softly and delicately, eyes fixed on him like daggers. “Oh no, not at all. I’m just very interested on knowing you will be doing your very best at that time and moment. And I sincerely hope you enrich yourself as much as possible… culturally speaking.” Working with people was asking for trouble. What was the use of trusting others to do what one could do perfectly well? “I’m so glad you have my betterment – psychological, cultural, and financial – in mind. We do wish the very best for one another.” It was Miles’ usual barbed sarcasm, but less fanged than usual; for all the years she’d known him, there was, perhaps, even a grudging note of fondness there. They shared the same itching hunger for notoriety and lifting possessions right from under someone else’s nose. He understood the passion that lay behind her nighttime adventures as the Fox, even as she understood his own jobs. “I’d ask if you’ve been keeping yourself busy,” he said, “but we’ve already established that you’ve been keeping quiet. So. Are we done here?” Finishing her drink, Lan stood, momentarily leaning closer to Miles with a tiny smile on her lips. She didn’t lean all the way, but she certainly got closer over the table. “I do care about you, love, and wish you the best.” She then leaned back, straightened and moved out of the table. He watched her go, his hand drumming against the wood, pondering. Lan turned to leave, took a couple of steps and turned her head. “Until next time, Mr. Baines.” “Until next time, V.” He drained his drink, the empty glass hitting the table. |