Elena (rookieturk) wrote in midgarcity, @ 2012-06-18 19:07:00 |
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Ever the gentleman, Edgar let Elena choose the bar. Of course, she also had the advantage of living in Midgar, so she should know the bars better. Should was the operative word. He was getting the distinct feeling that she didn’t get out much, which was a shame. A woman like Elena (or, really, all women with the possible exception of Scarlet, who may be a demon and not a woman) deserved to be taken out on the town and spoiled rotten. Edgar was surprised at how easy it was to talk to her after all these years, putting aside their little differences and coming to a new understanding of one another. Once she got used to his mannerisms, she was actually as easy to talk to as many of his other close associates.
Plus she had the benefit of knowing him since he was itty-bitty. There was something to be said for being long-time family friends when it meant that she could understand some of the ridiculous expectations people had of him. The minor fact that they were on opposite sides of an unspoken war hardly seemed to register to him.
“How many drinks did I say I was going to buy you?” he asked as he wanted into the very expensive-looking bar. Oh, he bet she had chosen it for a reason. Girls always liked having money spent on them.
To say she wasn’t materialistic would be a lie. Even if she protested the label, the truth would shine through on Elena’s face every time she walked into a nicely decorated room (so many of which were bigger than her entire apartment) and openly marveled at everything within. Still, she counteracted expensive tastes with a frugal and practical reality; rarely indulging herself. On any other night this bar in particular would be far and away from the top of her list. In the company of Edgar Roni Figaro, however …
In a strange way, allowing him to dote on her was a testament to the solidification of their friendship as adults. With most men, she would be too proud. Either flat out refuse the venue or swallow lumps, haughtily insisting to pay her own way even as the nagging voice of her checking account begged her not to. She was growing accustomed to his harmless flirting and even his somewhat outdated (albeit sweet) mentality regarding women. If he could find happiness in doing these little things, who was she to take that from him?
“All of them!” She supplied, flashing him a smirk. There was a lightness in the air now. One that had been somewhat lacking the night of their ill-fated date, and the mostly silent years that stretched between their adolescence and the present. Her slow but steady collection of friends made her past look so startlingly lonely by comparison. Elena may never admit to liking the change aloud, but she did cherish it. Somewhere deep down, and hidden beneath the crisp black Turk suit. “And hey, this isn’t a date. So it’s okay if you want to buy some for the other ladies. If you give me a fair warning before ditching and taking them back to your room, that already puts you miles ahead of my usual drinking partner.”
Edgar was glad that she wasn’t refusing either his company or his friendly indulgences. He really did have the money, and there was no reason he couldn’t spend it on whom he chose. Better give it to her than to that cad Balthier...
But he wasn’t going to think about AVALANCHE business tonight, or even Figaro or Shinra business. He would be heading back to the desert soon, and although it was his home and he was adapted to it, he would miss some of the color of Midgar. He shook his head not without fondness and walked with her to the bar. If the stools weren’t attached to the bar, he would have pulled it out for her, but alas, chivalry was undone by modern convenience. But he still waited for her to sit before he took his own seat. “And what would you like to start with?”
His eyes scanned perfectly innocently around the room even before permission was granted. He was not looking to ditch one date for another--never!--but he was just getting a sense of his surroundings. “It is a date in many senses of the word,” Edgar pointed out. There might not be romantic expectations, but the rest was true. Still, Edgar tilted his head and thought about the situation for a minute. “I think you’re a better wingman than my usual drinking partner on those conditions, too.” Bless Locke, but Edgar was pretty sure the thief was out to sabotage him some days. But Edgar didn’t have any real annoyance in his tone for all that. Locke was the best friend a man could ask for.
“Wingwoman. Or wingperson if we want to be politically correct.” Elena teased. The one thing she didn’t like about a bar was the lack of a menu. She didn’t drink recreationally enough to know all the colorful combinations off the top of her head. Reno had made certain, and from pretty early on, that she got used to the taste of beer. She wasn’t sure she would ever really love it or crave it, but there was definitely a convenience to ordering one. So she did, accepting the frosty mug as soon as it came and taking a sip.
“I’d ask you what you’ve been up to since the charity ball, but I don’t want to know. And it’s not even that I don’t care -- it’s just. Things have been hectic lately.” That was putting it lightly. “I’m going to assume you get pretty busy being a president, so. For tonight let’s just pretend we’re very Average Joes shooting the shit.” Elena might have suggested it because, if he inquired about her work in turn, there was little she could say. Turk business was almost always confidential, and even the details of her personal life were complicated. Most information concerning Bach should probably stay just as tightly sealed.
She truly, honestly just wanted to enjoy a night out with someone where the relationship was relatively uncomplicated. Putting on a genuine smile, she casually asked, “So what’s the plan if a girl does come up?” the question inspired a wave of deja vu. Reminded Elena of her first undercover mission, and the disapproving scowls from her partner. Like she should just magically know their cover story. “Want me to pretend not to know you? Or I could be your adoring little sister! An amicable ex, maybe, with only good things to say about your … um. Abilities.”
“Wingwoman,” Edgar amended with a smile. He ordered a glass of wine for himself, as there was nothing but class in the Figaro blood. Well. Mostly. He found the choice of beer on her part interesting, though, because it wasn’t what women normally ordered and it also wasn’t expensive or interesting. And that alone, of course, made it very interesting, as Edgar considered himself an avid attendant to women, and he wanted to know how they all worked. “You like beer?” he asked, simply curious and not judging at all. What did it matter to him what drink she liked?
“Work is work. I don’t want to talk about it, either,” he agreed, grinning a little widely at her phrasing. ‘Average joes shooting the shit’? That was certainly not something somebody had said to him before. But he liked it, and he nodded. But when she asked about the cover story, he outright laughed. “Are you...? Why don’t we try the truth, Elena? I think it’s easier that way.” He shook his head. “I guess unless you want to do the fake cover story thing. So if a guy comes to ask about you--and I have no problem if you leave me for another man, as that’s already happened once before...” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “What should I say I am? Devoted but spurned adorer?”
“Not really,” she said, in reference to the beer. “Some are better than others. Mostly it’s just cheap and easy. I keep forgetting that so long as I’m with you, I could order every drink the bartender knows how to make.” Elena would make it a point to order something different - and pretty! with a little umbrella in it! - once this drink was finished. In the meantime, she wouldn’t waste perfectly good alcohol.
She was mid-sip when his second quip reached her, prompting a slight cough and a punch at his shoulder. A little harder than she intended, but not so much that it would leave a bruise or knock him off the stool. “Hey! Don’t pin that on me. I would have been with you all night, if not for you setting me up. For failure!” She wasn’t guilt tripping him. As with many things in life, the subject was something to be chuckled over given enough time. “Tonight I’m not going anywhere, regardless. I’m kind of in -- anyway. It’s a Turk thing. We always have an alibi or alias. By now it’s second nature.” Which Edgar knew at least a little something about, unbeknownst to Elena.
“Maybe it was a stupid suggestion, though. You could walk up to someone and say, hey baby, I own an entire company. Want to get out of here and roll naked in gil? And it would work.” It was also entirely possible that, after months of working together, little bits of Reno’s uncouth nature had begun to rub off on her.
“So long as you’re with me, you can do anything you want,” Edgar pointed out with a playful smile. And that was exactly the reason that he liked hanging out with women. Pampering them? Done and done. But tonight wasn’t a date, so he couldn’t let his mind wander too far. Although even if he did let him mind wander a little, he wasn’t going to be as bold as really anything Reno said or did.
“But don’t you feel better for it? When it comes to the heart, my dear, you just need to go for it. Don’t you think?” Obviously, that was Edgar’s advice for life. He’d never let his attention not be distracted by a lady. It had worked out mostly well. But speaking of paying a lot of attention to women, he leaned against the bar and gave her a curious look. “Was that I pause I heard or did mine ears deceive me? You are kind of in?” Never try to get out of talking about romance with Edgar. It wouldn’t work.
And all that rolling around in gil wasn’t romance. He looked surprised for a second before he laughed again, a warm, rich sound. Just like Edgar. “I...probably could, yes, but I’d prefer by talking about the lady, you know? And if this lady wants a cover story, we can have a cover story.”
“It’s not that big a deal. I’ve just been in work mode so long that it’s hard to slip out of.” She explained. “The first reconnaissance mission I went on, Reno and I were at a bar. Scoping out some info on AVALANCH. Anyway, we were just supposed to just grab a drink like a pair of regular co-workers after a long day, but I couldn’t stop blurting things out. I was so nervous. The waitress must’ve thought I was crazy.” Granted, she was still blurting things out. “So even if we had something elaborate in place, I could botch it.”
Dammit, Edgar. Always so perceptive. Part of Elena honestly wanted to open up and share, but she couldn’t. The details were likely muddled at best and hard to believe at worst. Given his old fashioned sensibilities, she had to wonder how he we even react: hearing that she’d been more or less living with a man for over a week now. “Drop it, Ed. Or I’ll drop you.” She warned, albeit lightly. “Think you’ll be back anytime soon, or should I count on us having another drink in, oh …” she looked to her fingers and did the math. Before the ball, they hadn’t seen each other since their late teens. Now she was twenty-six, which almost made a decade. “The year 2020?”
Edgar’s smiling poker face gave nothing away when she mentioned AVALANCHE. Of course she was with the Turks and working against them. It was sad, though. Such a bright, sweet young girl falling for all of Shinra’s lies, hook, line and sinker. If only she knew! Honestly, he would have thought that being in the Turks of all places, she would have an idea just what Shinra was capable of. Maybe Edgar was simply wanting to give her the benefit of the doubt. But friend or not, he filed this mention away in case it would prove useful to the cause. “Hopefully, you won’t have to get used to such thing. It sounds like a nasty business.” One that Edgar understood very well.
“But, no business talk!” he reminded her of their earlier agreement, desperate to cling to the image of an uncomplicated friendship. “You’ll drop me? Oh, my lady, such violence. I do believe I’ve struck a nerve, but a gentleman doesn’t pry. Even though he might wait with baited breath.” He smiled widely. Yes, he wanted to know her relationship gossip. He wanted to know all gossip. “We’ll make a point to meet up more often,” he assured her. “I’m sure Shinra people get out of Midgar sometimes.”
“Mhmm.” Agreed Elena, finishing off the latter half of her beer in two large gulps. The mug met the bar with a light clink, and she let out a satisfied little aah. It wasn’t bad as far as beer went, and was at least very cold. Hailing the bartender back over, she wasn’t able to articulate a specific order so much as aspects she was looking for in a drink: something fruity. Preferably more on the side of citrus. Colorful. In a glass as big and tall as they came. Eventually she found herself staring at something called a Hurricane, which she was girlishly excited to knock back.
First she plucked the fresh bits off the rim; popped the wedge of orange between her lips while offering to Edgar the shining red cherry, speared through with a little plastic sword. She never much cared for them, but would hate to see it tossed aside. “Especially in the coming months. There’s some trouble brewing in your half of the world, Ed. For the sake of avoiding work talk, I won’t get into it. Let’s just say Vinzer Deling has finally gotten too big for his britches.” She grumbled with obvious disdain. One sip of her fresh drink was all it took to brighten her expression.
“You mentioned something about new weapons in need of testing. I’d like a grand tour of Figaro Weapons, too. The last time I was too young to appreciate most of what was going on. And if it turns out that we have to get hitched someday,” which was, of course, in reference to their silly texts and an even sillier hypothetical future together. “I’ll need to know what I’m dealing with. Maybe introduce myself to the employees I will one day rule -- I mean. Command? No. That sounds just as evil. Hmm.”
Edgar ordered another simple glass of white wine--fine though it may be--when she ordered her much more exciting drink. He wouldn’t say no to her cherry though (and, oh, the illicit comments about that!), and savored the alcoholic flavor in the fruit. “Delicious. You don’t like them?” he asked. He did. He probably liked the sword more, honestly, and the little plastic weapon stayed between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, but he liked the fruit.
“Oh? Deling City?” he raised his eyebrows, asking for more information without demanding anything. No business. Not tonight. But for two business-centric people, that could be hard. The only non-related business or AVALANCHE thing he could talk about was women, really, and that wasn’t going to fly.
But weapons, while business related, were at least a safe topic of conversation. “I hope to see you soon, then! I’ll show you some of the cutting edge stuff. But certainly not all of it. I think we need to be engaged for that. You can meet the board, if you want to spice things up, but they’re mostly very boring.”
“No,” she said, motioning toward the cherry. “I used to be alright with them, until this one time I tried to do the trick where you tie the stem in a knot with your tongue. Probably to impress some guy. It backfired and I almost choked. So ever since then, cherries and I were through.” Gods, could she be any less graceful?
The mention of Deling City made a sour look cross her face. She desperately wanted to do something about the situation, and could even convince herself that the information wasn’t strictly confidential. Figaro Weapons was both supplier and subsidiary to Shinra. Anything that could affect them would, in turn, reflect on Edgar’s own business. But to delve into it would shatter their promise of ‘no shop talk’ once and for all. Conversation was not her forte. Not for the first time, she longed to be a little more like normal women her age. Successfully flirtatious. Sociable. Funny. All qualities Elena had a hard time even playing at.
“What, you’re holding out on me?” a somewhat honest gasp escaped her. To think he might have even better toys hidden away that he wouldn’t share. With her. Someone whose family lived and breathed weaponry almost as strongly as his own. “You’re an awful tease, Edgar Roni, and meeting a bunch of old men is hardly my idea of spicing things up. I’d rather ride through the dunes and hunt cactuar.” She was joking, but actually that sounded kind of fun. By the time her hurricane was half emptied, Elena was beginning to feel a familiar and buzzing warmth. It spread throughout her body and made the room spin. Just a little. “So. Wait. I just thought of something. Was one of us s’posed to be the designated driver?”
“I never did understand that whole cherry...thing. Surely there are more important traits in a young lady.” That might have made him sound like a prude. It wasn’t like Edgar didn’t like physical relationships--hi, he was a man--but he was far more interested in other pleasures of a woman’s company. Call him old-fashioned if you must.
Edgar laughed at her affrontement, placing a warm hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, but some parts of the business are family-only. You know how that is.” Hell, part of her father’s reasoning for wanting the two families to, ahem, merge was probably to be in on more of the research and development. “However, there are plenty of cactuar and a buggy ready for you.” He smiled. At the mention of a designated driver, Edgar waved away her concern. “I’ll call my driver. Don’t worry about it.” Oh, Elena! She was certainly endless amusement, when they weren’t thinking about work. She might think that she failed at the conversational bit, but she was still engaging.
Elena laughed. She just couldn’t help herself. The conversation of ladies and cherries, in combination with the alcohol she’d consumed, mentally regressed her. She felt like a teenager again, snickering about lewd subjects while there were no adults in the room. Her merriment ended on a snort that wasn’t entirely dainty. “Oh, c’mon now.” She scoffed, head shaking. “A man never turns down some good tongue action. And if we’re talking old marriage ideals, a lady’s cheery being intact is pretty damn important.” The statement would usually embarrass her. She would titter and cough over having been so audacious to even say such a thing. At present she was more content to grab for her glass, head tossing back as she downed the rest of her hurricane.
“I’d say we should make a race out of it. Most dead cactuars in an hour wins, or something. But it’s like,” she hiccuped. “What if I lost? It’s not a real competition unless something is on the line, and I don’t have anything to offer Mr. Moneybags. I -- oh!” her exclamation was followed by a frenzied patting down of herself. What she extracted from her jacket and set on the bar made several patrons nearby yelp fearfully, springing away. It was probably telling of her occupation and what kind of woman she was, that a weapon accompanied her everywhere. Even on ‘dates’. “It’s a Walther MI-6. Made to look like a James Bond gun. I bought it for my old man one year, intending to give it as a Father’s Day present. Then he pissed me off, so I sent him a very standard coffee mug and kept this baby for myself.” As she spoke, her fingers caressed the barrel. “It’s my very favorite gun. So if you beat me, it’s yours. And if I beat you, I want something new and shiny. Right off the production line. Deal?”
“Elena!” He should have expected such language from her. Really, he should have, given the company she kept. But his mild surprise was mixed with amusement, and he laughed easily. “Of the things I look for re: a woman’s tongue, her wit at least should match her prowess, if you know what I mean.” Edgar was a smart boy who flirted too much for his own good. He needed a woman who could keep up with him in many ways--at least to shoot down his advances and give him a challenge, if nothing else. “I trust a lady would appreciate that, as well?” he asked.
But something they could both appreciate hands-down was weapons. Patrons were falling for cover, but Edgar looked like he had seen a beautiful woman. “May I?” he asked, hands reaching for the gun. He just wanted to hold it! How beautiful. “It should surely come as no surprise that I did want to be James Bond when I grew up.” Part of him still did. And of course she carried weapons with her everywhere. Who didn’t? Edgar certainly did, underneath that nice, crisp suit jacket of his. “I will accept your challenge, my lady.”
“To be honest? I might have dated a couple of guys who were somewhat less than witty.” She didn’t elaborate as to the why. Edgar would be able to figure it out. A softness crept across her features, to watch him handle the firearm. They must have looked so strange to anyone still around to observe them. A grown man and woman, almost cooing over a gun. For him it might have been akin to a curvaceous feminine form; for Elena is was like the most precious child, bright eyed and chubby cheeked. One that just so happened to be able to kill man and beast alike. Semantics, or something like it. She was too tipsy to care about how amusingly morbid her thoughts were.
“For what it’s worth, I think you’d have made a fine double agent.” He already was, to some degree. Tucking the gun back into its holster, Elena allowed herself a light sigh. “I can’t stay out long tonight. This, um, current assignment is a sort of round the clock thing. And you’ve probably got an early flight out, but … I’m glad we did this. Really. I won’t make you promise to stay in touch every week, or anything. We’re both busy. But I know you’ll do your best.” At that, she smirked. “Whenever the opportunity arises and I come to visit, make sure my guest suite has lavender scented soaps. That is my favorite scent -- and oh! Is it still possible to get little complimentary chocolates on my pillow every morning?”
So demanding. She always meant it as something of a joke, even if it was entirely possible that Edgar would take her seriously and comply. “You might also want to keep a box of tissues handy, for when I thoroughly beat you at a good old-fashioned shoot out. I won’t go easy on you, just because we’re friends.”
Indeed, for what it was worth, he was a fine double agent. But she didn’t need to know that, and he nodded with some displeasure at having to part ways so soon. But work always called, and they had had their drinks. “I’ll be in touch. Now that I know how welcome my words will be, how could I not?” Ever the charmer, until his very dying day. He leaned forward to give her a peck on the cheek, probably to the jealousy of some women in the bar. “Lavender and chocolate. It shall be done,” he assured her.
He paid the bill, leaving a generous tip for the bartender, and then offered Elena his arm. “Let me escort you back to your post then, Miss Gunn. I will await your challenge in Corel eagerly.”