solo (soloing) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2019-05-27 22:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, gaby teller, napoleon solo |
WHO: Napoleon Solo & Gaby Teller
WHERE: Bar
WHEN: Mid May
WHAT: Solo and Gaby run into each other at a bar; charm ensues.
WARNINGS: NA
STATUS: Complete.
Getting out and about in Orange County was one of the few ways to combat the issues of dreams. He'd taken a quick jaunt out of state, swinging into Nevada to catch some jobs in Vegas before flying back in a few thousand dollars richer and that unsettled itch under his skin having finally calmed to the point where he didn't feel too big in his own skin.
He would admit that these dreams did offer slightly more awareness of his skills, heightening some of his talents to the point where he felt all the more confident on the job. It had never been an issue, Napoleon wore his suits like an extra skin, but he was always most at easy when he was breaking into a vault or a safe or building, like there was nothing more comfortable in the world than picking a lock, subverting a security system and slipping past all the efforts to protect a single piece.
The art was safely passed off and Napoleon was back on his way to Orange County, of course the buzz from a job well done meant that he wasn't exactly looking to instantly retire to his suite. He'd picked up a few drinking places in Orange County, not just the fun of the entertainment clubs or Dan's bar, but slightly more upscale places too.
Given how he was feeling, he opted for a slightly less dive place than Double Tap, although he'd probably swing by later to regale Agatha of his trip without the illegal aspects and give her the gaudy little snowglobe he'd gotten from the desert for the older woman.
Tonight was about savouring some drinks, surveying the group gathered, not exactly searching for a bedmate, but it was the sort of place he wouldn't be concerned with his belongings being missing in the morning at least. He'd just placed his order at the bar when something caught his eye, an echo of a scent from the dreams.
It didn't take him long to figure out it was motor oil, a faint hint, under soap and perfume and mixed with all the drinks present, but there and on the edge of his senses. These dreams were really doing a number on him. He grinned his thanks as his scotch was placed down, handing over a folded note and waving off the change, sitting a little to the side, startling a little more as his vision quickly scanned over a petite brunette that he would have swore looked just like Ms Teller.
Napoleon shook it off, turning to face the bar rather than the surrounding area and taking a healthy drink from his glass.
Maybe Double Tap would've been a better idea.
---
Gaby sipped at her gin and tonic. She had thought to hit the harder liquor but figured that it was a little too early in the night for that, and she still had to get herself home. Thankfully, Guerin wasn't here which meant that she would continue with the type of drink she had started with. She had been back in town for a little while now and already wanted to murder one of her regulars who she was sure only came to complain at her because he wanted an excuse to talk. Which, she most certainly didn't. Want to talk, that is.
She pushed her hair behind her ear and looked forward until she felt eyes on her and her shoulders straightened a little. Placing her glass back down on the bar top she looked out of the corner of her eye to see someone who had been looking at her and then conspicuously looking forwards like he didn't want to get caught.
She didn't really recognise him, but he had a sharp profile and an easy, classy look about him, perhaps better suited to some expensive restaurant based on the quality of the suit she was wearing. She dropped her hand to her thigh and thumbed at a spot of grease that was stuck to her jeans.
But she knew he'd been looking at her. She could feel it. "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice slightly accented that, despite her best efforts, she hadn't been able to fully shake (just like her habit of lapsing into German whenever she got frustrated or annoyed).
---
There wasn't too much surprise when the young woman opted to confront rather than spend the night pretending Napoleon hadn't been staring. It was even less of a surprise to turn his trained smirk and pleasant expression towards the face of Ms Teller, identical in every way to the stubbornly brilliant German mechanic that had been riling his dreams for the last week at least.
"Terribly sorry, miss," but Napoleon was nothing if not smooth, practiced in smoothing out his discomfort or surprise into passive disinterest. "I thought you were someone else for a moment." Which wasn't an entire lie either, which only helped Napoleon smooth it out nicely. An element of truth tended to make it easier to keep people from catching the slight deception after all.
"Tragically, I was mistaken."
---
Gaby’s eyebrow lifted. “Tragic indeed,” she responded. She took a sip of her drink and then stirred it, wondering if she was supposed to recognise him. She didn’t think he’d ever dropped anything off in her shop, and she would be lying if she said she’d made the effort to get to know people outside of her very small circle of acquaintances. She knew, realistically, it did her no good to focus on work but it was force of habit. She’d always worked hard, and she was not about to let her father’s legacy down. Even if his legacy wasn’t here in Orange County.
“Waiting for someone?” Because she didn’t want to leave it alone; the curiosity that tugged in her was inescapable. “Who looks a little like me?” Her lips twitched up in the corner and she watched him impishly, lifting her glass to her lips once more. He was probably the furthest cry from Michael she could have ever found; sharp suit and clean lines versus Michael’s scruffy attire and messy hair. There was, she had to admit, something very interesting about him.
---
Turning to face the woman, Ms Teller, he kept telling himself it was her, although she showed no signs of knowing who he was. It was strange enough that he was having such a hard time slotting the fact that she wasn't in Berlin, they didn't have to go through the tug back and forth of her distrustful nature and his job being, purely, for the benefit of his country and not the young woman it should've been about.
The ins and outs were still lost on him, although the information he had so far from the dreams didn't really indicate that the story would get much better.
"Ah, if only that were so," but Napoleon was nothing if not charming under pressure, even if it was just pressure from himself to not be a fool. "That would certainly brighten up my night, but no. You just remind me of someone I met some time ago." Still not technically lying.
---
Gaby’s eyebrow lifted and she watched him over the rim of her glass, elbow on the counter before she caught herself. There was etiquette that she kept forgetting and slouching over the bar was such a thing. She hadn’t had nearly enough to drink yet for that to be acceptable, but she did have a nagging desire to dance. It had been a long time. She’d been sight seeing in Italy, doing the tourist experience, rather than enjoying what night life there might have been.
And though she was hardly a night-life fan, she had been known to turn the volume up on the radio in the shop and dance her stress out.
“Sorry to be a disappointment,” she offered, that little smile on her lips again, clearly not all that insulted by it.
She took a moment, then moved a stool closer, holding out her hand. Seeing Michael and hearing that he still had no other real friends had stoked a sense of competitiveness in her. She at least wanted to be able to say she had a few people in her life that weren't just her regular clients.
“Gaby.”
---
"You, are hardly a disappointment." It was probably a little strange to already see tell tale qualities in this young woman as the hard headed scientists daughter he was to extract in the dreams, but the set in her shoulders, that quirk of an almost smirk, Napoleon didn't bother controlling the upturn to his own mouth, his lopsided smirking smile tending to go down better than most.
Taking a loose hold of her fingers, Napoleon gave them a slight raise, less of a handshake, but not exactly the cliche of kissing her hand -he was raised around the streets, but his adopted lifestyle among the elite called for knowing the where and when to use the less societal normal greetings. "A pleasure to meet you," In some ways, it was a little more comforting than not, meeting someone who may, one day, share the dream aspect of things.
"I'm Napoleon." But if that was potentially made a little bit easier for someone else because he already knew, well, he'd take that for the time being. "May I buy you a drink? As apology, of course, for ever making you think your presence could be disappointing?"
---
Gaby felt her eyebrow lift again as Napoleon - and wasn't he quite the smooth talker - offered to buy her a drink after lifting her hand, a gesture that reminded her more of growing up in Europe than the hearty American handshakes she had grown used to in recent years. There was something around the edges that was refined, intriguing. And though she knew better than to trust anyone whose appearance was that clean, she couldn't help but nod her head, curious to see where the evening would take her.
"Pleasure," she repeated, taking her hand away and lifting her glass, swiftly downing what was left before she placed it down and looked at him, both eyebrows raised slightly, eyes smiling even as she tried to keep her lips in a more neutral expression. "It just so happens I've finished my drink," she added, "I would appreciate that, thank you."
---
"How fortunate that is," so very spunky, just like Ms Teller that evaded the KGB agent. He might not know where the dreams were heading, or just what his involvement with Ms Teller might result in, if anything at all, since his mission was just to extract her, and he did that. But this was real life, and it was the closest Napoleon felt to not being a little crazy right then.
Waving over the bartender, Napoleon reordered their drinks, tipping as well as he usually did, having done his own stint as a bartender years back, their drinks were placed in front of them, "So Gaby, what is it you do?" Napoleon wasn't the sort to pull the cliche 'come here often' nonsense, it was just too generic that most people would've heard. And Napoleon hated being in any way predictable.
---
Gaby's lips curled up into a small smile before she said, "Lucky timing."
Pushing her glass away from herself, she thanked the bartender when he took it and replaced it with another of the same. She picked up the straw and stirred it, listening to the ice clinking against the glass.
"I'm a mechanic," she said and though usually she had no qualms about sharing what she did for a living there was a little part of her that thought it was a very dirty occupation compared to whatever it was that Napoleon did. He had a sharp suit and an easy, suave way about him and she wondered if he was a company CEO or something equally lucrative that allowed him to tip generously. "I own an auto repair shop in Santa Ana."
She took a sip of her drink and watched him as she did, "You?"
---
It really looked like some things were just bone deep. Although he did think it just made sense for her, since she appeared so at ease not only under the hood but behind the wheel. "A woman who likes to work with her hands," Napoleon just smirked softly, barely knowing Ms Teller but already sure she was not the sort of woman to take a job with frills. Maybe it was just in the blood, given her father. "And a head for business." He could imagine, even now, that was a struggle to be taken seriously in. But he doubted Gaby was a woman who took any macho nonsense from anyone.
"I work in corporate acquisitions. Dreadfully tedious but can't complain." Least of all since it sent him all over the world, he could claim back his expenses and it wasn't typically legal. Napoleon didn't really think he could hold down a basic job after his taste of larceny. Sure, it might come back to bite him in the ass, but all in all, it was a level of excitement and accomplishment few fields could offer. "I'm sure being your own boss is a far better path to take."
---
Her eyebrow lifted as she sipped at her drink, wondering if the borderline flirtatious tone in Napoleon's voice was genuine or just for show. She shrugged, though when he told her his job title, her expression shifted into something that looked part way between sympathy, horror and distaste. What a dreadful job title, for something that sounded as tedious as it probably was. She imagined him standing in a board room, talking about mergers and shuffling bits of paper that had stocks and bonds on it before taking them down into a large vault and locking them away.
Or, perhaps, making other people do all of that for him and he sat behind a fancy desk and just signed the paperwork. Either way, it sounded awful.
"Unless it is significantly more interesting than the title makes it sound," she drawled, "I'll stick with grease and car parts. Are the hours unsociable?"
---
He did understand the reaction to his job title, there was a point to his job title after all. Few people asked too many questions when he gave them a title that sounded as boring as if he'd just told them he worked in the mail sorting office. No one imagined breaking into fancy offices or galleries and making off with expensive artwork. It wasn't a lie so much as just a level of subterfuge that Napoleon got used to living under.
"I wouldn't say significantly, mildly more interesting, but not much." It wasn't exactly the sort of thing he had to boast about, typically an occupation was something to be proud of, and while Napoleon was exceptionally proud of his skills, he didn't have the need to blab around about what he did.
That way led to prison.
"I dare say your business is far more engaging, and satisfying." And it wasn't even a lie; there had to be something fulfilling in taking something apart and putting it back together. "I can't complain too much about the hours, but the do make the odd night out worth it. Especially if I get to spend it conversing with a beautiful woman."
---
Humming into her drink, Gaby just lifted a shoulder. If it required fancy suits like that she supposed it wouldn't be a job for her anyway. She was not the biggest fan of clothes that would be ruined if she got oil on them.
"Well, somebody has to do it," Gaby responded, because her job was satisfying even if sometimes when she met other people she felt that it was a little less glamorous than some of the jobs out there. But she was good at it. And that was really what counted at the end of the day and if the world were ever to truly end she would have a set of skills that were exceptionally desireable.
Her eyebrows lifted and she looked at him over the rim of her glass, "Does that line work on every girl you sit at a bar with, Napoleon?" she asked.
---
Napoleon tended to have a knack for fitting in, there were some things you couldn't fake, it was true, but surface appearances, he could work with. Like how few people would believe he was from a single parent household that struggled to make ends meet, that his education wasn't all private schools and tutors, because he managed to fake it rather well. He could probably make a good impression of a mechanic if he tried, but he didn't have the same identifiers -the oil stains that just wouldn't shift, hands that told stories of being well used, that hint of motor oil.
No, Napoleon could play a part easily enough, but it was something else to actually be something.
"Not every girl," Napoleon gave a careful shrug, keeping his smile lax and open, "I use it sparingly, lacks effect if every girl hears it." He wasn't exactly trying to pick Gaby up though, as interesting as that might be, but these things were just natural for Napoleon. "But I am sure you hear it more than enough, hmm?" Because without the Iron Curtain and the effects of a war, undoubtedly Gaby would be the sort of woman to attract much attention.
Unless she intimidated the hell out of men, which was also just as likely.
---
Gaby chuckled into her glass and shook her head, "Would it come as a surprise to you that I do not hear it often?" she asked, twisting on the stool a little, one leg crossed over the other and tilted her head, brown eyes watching him closely. She felt like he might be trouble, something in her chest told her that but she was helplessly drawn to people that were bad news. Arguably good men wrapped up in a package that needed polishing. Napoleon, at least, didn't need polishing.
She lifted a shoulder, "I will, however, take the compliment." She glanced up at the large clock, and then at the door. "Do you often drink alone, seeing ghosts in strangers?" she asked, her eyebrow quirked again. "If you need someone to drink with so you feel a little less lonely, I could use a drinking partner who appreciates something other than beer."
---
"I am absolutely shocked," and it wasn't just bluster. Frankly, why a woman like Gaby wasn't hearing on a fairly regular basis that she most definitely was both beautiful and brilliant, he couldn't fathom. "I feel like the population of Orange County should be apologising to you for the oversight."
Compliments weren't complicated for Napoleon, he didn't even need to be superficial about them. Ultimately, everyone in the world had something about them that was easily complimented. In Napoleon's line of work it wasn't hard to find those traits and emphasis an affinity for them. It didn't need to be looks either; talented singers, amazing dancers, wonderful listeners, engaging minds. Napoleon rarely floundered for a personal traits to compliment. "Tragically, since leaving New York, my social life has been somewhat lacking, partially my fault I'm sure." Mostly because he got caught up in Orange County and the nonsense it spat out.
"But far be it from me to turn down such an offer. If only because I'm still getting over the fact that you don't hear on a regular basis how stunningly breathtaking you are." He punctuated it with a small smirk, nothing too leering, but his usual charm bleeding in all the same.
---
Gaby rolled her eyes and held out a hand, wiggling her fingers for Napoleon to give her his phone because they couldn’t meet up for drinks again if she didn’t have his number or, perhaps, he hers. She placed her glass back on the bartop and tilted her head.
“I suppose you shall have to make up for it,” she teased, one leg crossed over the other at the knee. “The next time we meet up for a drink.”
---
It took a second to unlock his phone for Gaby, Napoleon handing it over with little flourish, but a smooth pass off all the same. He didn’t have a problem with handing over his phone either, there wasn’t exactly something there that might spark too much interest in something that shouldn’t be seen.
“I would be more than happy to make up for it,” although Gaby might not be the flowery comments type, Napoleon didn’t have to focus solely on her stunning appearance after all.
“A little more planning for an evening out wouldn’t be a bad idea either.” If only because his social life was annoyingly dry at the moment.
---
Gaby tapped her number into his phone and saved it, passing it back across the bar without any further snooping. Curiosity was not one of her stronger traits when it didn’t involve something that was broken, and not working right.
“More planning?” she asked, “Is there something wrong with an evening like this?” Most of Gaby’s social life consisted of hanging out with other mechanics in places like this, drinking for a few hours and then heading home to catch something on Netflix. Never let it be said her life was lacking in excitement.
---
“My history of terrible meetings says yes, this is one of those happy accident type things.” Although, Napoleon wasn’t exactly faultless in those bad meet ups, he did have a terrible tendency to manage to find some seriously flawed partners for many evenings.
Taking back his phone, opting to text Gaby later rather than right there, Napoleon slotted the device back into his pocket. “And I’m afraid there are many nights I’m just woefully held up.” Being that there were many nights he was breaking into semi-secure buildings after all.
---
“Well,” Gaby said, sipping her drink, “as long as you avoid standing me up I am sure we’ll be just fine. My days tend to end around five thirty,” she shared, since that was when the shop closed unless she was being held back late by a customer. She wet her lower lip, chasing away the taste of alcohol on her lips. “And my social calendar is relatively open.” It certainly seemed that out of the two of them, Napoleon was the one with the lifestyle they needed to work around.
She tipped her head, “So I shall wait for your text?”
---
“Rest assured, if I’m standing a woman like you up, I’ve died.” Honestly, no one in their right mind would be doing that, surely. Napoleon highly doubted anything could really make him fall through if plans involved Gaby. An open social calendar would be one he could work with, although most of his work tended to need to be done at night, casing places really the only thing daylight called for, it wasn’t like he had to stick to a specific schedule except in rare cases.
“It’s not going to be a long wait,” Although it might be at least a day before he could justify another evening where he didn’t work, he certainly didn’t think it would take him that long to text Gaby to make arrangements. “I do hope it won’t be too unseemly if I text tomorrow after all.”
---
Gaby laughed softly and shook her head. “Nein,” she replied genially, “I do not think that would be too soon.” After all, the benefits of being her own boss was that she got to keep her phone on her at all times. It made her remarkably easy to get hold of which, for some of her regular clients, was a very good thing.
“I suppose,” she said, finishing off her drink and replacing the glass on the bar, “I shall wait to hear from you then, Napoleon.” She slid off the stool to her feet, which actually resulted in revealing that she was far shorter than she looked when seated on an elevated stool that required climbing to sit at. “It was a pleasure.” Her lips curled up, “Thank you for the drink.”
---
Because of the numerous lessons he’d had in etiquette, given the people he rubbed elbows with, Napoleon instantly moved to stand as Gaby did, towering over her slight frame in much the same way as in the dreams. It allowed a small, genuine smile to grace his features, “The pleasure was all mine, Gaby.” And that wasn’t too much of a fabrication, given that he’d spent a while wondering if he’d ever meet the sparky, stubborn mechanic from his dreams.
“Have a nice evening.” It’d definitely been a productive one on his side.