(The following is a collaborative effort between the players of Liam Owens and Silverheart; in response to the Storyline by Issy which can be found HERE and HERE.)
The Last Drop Caf" was a little hole in the wall on the cusp of the West End. It was a newer establishment, changing hands a few times over the past few years. Those sorts of things always seemed to happen, but somehow they also remained the same. There was a reason for that. Sometimes things were just as innocent as they would seem, however other times, there were things that were much more complicated than that. The establishment this evening wasn't very busy but it wasn't dead either.
Dead.
If there was an adult version of Sesame Street, that would be the word of the day.
There was a small booth in the corner towards the back. Large enough for two, out of the way, near a not-so obvious rear exit, but pushed up against the window. It was a good location to get a good visual spread of the Caf". With your back up against the wall you could keep an eye on the current patronage, watch people coming from either side of the street, and make your way out of the back door if necessary. Just the way that Liam Owens preferred it.
"Lucky' Liam Owens.
Or "One Shot' Owens. Depending on who you asked. Hitman, slave trader and Lieutenant of the Terminus Syndicate. He was far from being an unassuming person; and he would either keep to himself or make a spectacle out of his current situation depending on his mood. He wasn't afraid to speak his mind, for good or bad, and was quick to pull a gun if the situation presented himself. He most certainly had a "wise-guy' mentality which easily carried over into his own confident swagger. Owens, being a mid-level underboss was considered a good earner and a viable asset to the Organization.
He was dressed in a dark Italian suit this evening, white shirt, black slacks and a slim black tie. When he was standing he was about five foot ten, one hundred eighty-one hundred and eighty-five pounds, clean shaven with bluish-green eyes. Sitting in the booth with a lit cigarillo is one hand and a coffee cup in the other, sans coffee. The dark liquid that was in there was Liam's own version of Irish coffee " bourbon neat. Off just to the side was a folded newspaper, the Rhy"Din Post, with the front headline West End Prostitution Ring Broken, which was clearly visible.
Sitting across from him was Kayleigh Ann Silverheart. Like Liam, she was dressed for business. From neck to toes, her freckled body was dressed in soft black leather. Resting over the neck of her gear was the sleek silver collar inscripted with "L.O." that Liam had given her, which she wore proudly. Boots that matched her gear covered her feet, laced tight. As always when she wore the leather, wicked looking twin daggers rested on her hips, and twin crystal blades peeked out from over her shoulders. Her mess of reddish brown locks were pulled up on top of her head in a loose bun. There were several wisps of hair that had escaped, and dropped down in tendrils, curling, and otherwise not behaving like the rest of her hair. Warm honeyed eyes, framed by thick lashes, were settled on the teacup of black tea with just a hint of orange zest that her hands were wrapped around.
Almost everything about her screamed proper English woman. The rigidity of her spine, the way she held her tea cup, the fact that she had insisted on sugar cubes above anything else for her drink, the lilting accent that danced through her words. There was something else that lingered underneath all of that though, as she was Kayleigh, Liam's own personal little Dark Angel.
She had come into it so easily, fell so well, and all she had needed was just a little nudge in the wrong direction. Then again, when it felt like the ones she had been serving, and taking orders and assignments from for the majority of her life had given up on her, not even so much as attempted to find her, it had been so easy, to fall in step with Liam. To free herself of the code of conduct she had lived by, no longer burdened, limited, was absolutely exhilarating.
And she was loving every moment of it.
After a sip of his bourbon Liam took a long drag of his cigarillo. The cherry burned bright red between the ash and the leaf as his eyes squinted, Liam unfolded the newspaper, revealing three photos that had been tucked away inside. As his lips released from the short, narrow cigar, they opened as smoke densely rose from his mouth. He didn't bother to exhale, and instead the smoke would pour out of his mouth as he spoke.
Her eyes watched the tendrils of smoke that curled away, and twisted from his lips as he smoked. For a brief moment, she was distracted by thoughts that had nothing to do with why they were there today. There was brief mental chiding followed by a minute shake of her head that cleared it and brought her attention back to Liam's words.
"Two nights ago, the sloppiness of a few of our associates came to light as the Watch, and one of the members of the Scathachians, decided to capitalize on it." He spoke with the same accent and confidence of a made-man. Despite his very Irish name it was quite apparent that there were some Italian roots tucked away beneath those blueish-green eyes. The word he used, "our", only recertified the fact that he had considered Kayleigh to be one of his own, or possibly " his own, which was noted by her, and it may have tugged the corners of her mouth up in a ghost of a smile.
"Because of that, it's hurt our pockets; and if they don't keep their mouths shut, it can do far" far worse." Putting the cigarillo down into the ashtray on the table, he now held the three photographs in both if his hands, shuffling through them as he continued to speak. "We can't have them do that. I need them taken care of before they decide to cop a confession, or worse, make it to their indictment. Like I said last night, I don't want them breathin", I don't want any witnesses and I want them left where they can be found " made examples out of." Placing two of the photographs down in front of him he put the other one to the side. Spinning it around, he slowly slid it across the table for Kayleigh to have a look. Seconds after he slid the pictures across the table from her, she rocked, leaning forward and resting on her elbows, so that she could get a closer look at the men in the images. Other than that, and her occasional nods, she remained quiet, as she had been, simply absorbing everything that he was telling and showing her.
"The first guy is Fareeshel, first name Raleigh. He was the main proponent of the establishment. Probably the one mostly responsible for this little" eff up. If my guess is right, he'll be the one that they're lookin" to question the most." Sliding the second photograph from in front of him, he once again spun it around and moved it across the table. He glanced up for a moment to keep an eye on his current audience and then off to the side to look out of the window as the light drizzle began to form small droplets on the exterior glass.
It looked like a storm was coming. "This is Stelv"uan Mareone, goes by Gus. He'll be the hardest to crack, despite the fact that he's the smallest. The Watch won't be gettin" nuttin" outta him, but regardless " he's an accessory, and the loose ends need to be tied up." Last photograph, last spin, and last one given over to her.
A single finger moved to touch to the corner of the third image, and pulled it closer after he'd spin it in her direction. "This guy," he said with a tap of his finger, pointing directly at the face in the photograph, "is Quirro Veasller. He's a talker, quite possibly a squealer, definitely the clown that'll yap to save his own life. He won't do it in front of the guys, but I have a feelin" he'll do what?s necessary once he see's the evidence mounted against "em." Liam leaned back, taking a long sip of Bourbon before continuing on. He rested his back against the chair, watching the woman in front of him as she analyzed her targets, taking in the way she worked. Kayleigh studied the three images for a moment longer after he'd finished speaking, before one by one she turned them back in his direction, and pushed them back to him. Each face and name had been committed to memory. She didn't need them. "They're gonna be indicted on all sorts of charges rangin" from human trafficking to prostitution," he continued, retreating the photos back into the serenity of the folds within the newspaper. "And despite the fact that they're low men on the totem pole, we don't need anyone tryin" to make any ties back to the family. Capiche?"
These words had her eyes sliding up along his chest, and from there to his blue green ones. "Capiche. I am to figure out a way to get in, eliminate the men, before any of them say anything. They are being kept in jail, currently, yes" Do you have location of where they are being kept?"
Liam maintained eye contact with her, his usual flirtatious behavior and tone was far from being displayed with her. Usually, as they spoke, he would make it quite obvious where his mind would wander. But tonight, or at least for now, business was business. Although the way he looked at her — there was definitely much more there.
"Here in the West End still," he responded, "They're still in the precinct holding cell and haven't been transferred out yet. I figure we could make a little distraction, and bein" a woman of yer talents, I'm sure your expertise here will definitely come in handy."
Business was important, and it seemed like she was perfectly at ease setting aside their other relations to make sure it was discussed. Her attention was rapt, focused on him, and every word he told her. Though, that didn't stop her from noting that there was something just a little more lingering between them.
His words brought her back to the task on hand, and soon enough, she was bobbing her head in understanding. Soon enough, a grin had the corners of her mouth curling upwards. "A little distraction is all I would need. I've got that, and it'll be a piece of cake. Thanks to said talents." She leaned forward to rest on her elbows, and downed a couple gulps of her tea. "Any Idea as to when this will be happening" Or is that for me to decide?"
As she asked the first part of her question Liam brought the cigarillo to his mouth, pulling on it for a long drag. The cherry burned bright red before slowly receding into the ash that it left behind. Sliding the newspaper back in front of him Liam opened it to the back page, exhaling a small plume of smoke with the sweet aroma of refined tobacco swirling around him. His eyes scanned over the black ink, running across the letters and pictures with his middle finger until he stopped on a small picture of a cloud with lightning on today's date.
"Forecast for tonight is callin" fer thunderstorms," he said with a nod. "Yanno, things happen in the West End when there's thunderstorms lingerin" about. Power goes out, fires spark, could be a real mess at times." The way he spoke exuded the confidence and the swagger of a made man and there was a certain charisma in which the way he put things.
Her eyes fell to the paper when he opened it, and dropped to where his finger was resting. Tonight's Forecast. Thunderstorms. Followed up by his words, she could already envision how most of it would go down. Power outage. Fire. Everyone important would be busy trying to take care of those two things, and save their own skins. Who would notice, until well after she was gone, that three new prisoners were dead"
"Be a damn shame if somethin" happened to those boys tonight." And with that, his coy eyes looked back up across the table at her, reiterating his words. "Damn shame."
It took a moment, before her amber hues danced up to find his eyes, a smile on her face. "A damn shame, indeed.?
"Two nights ago, the sloppiness of a few of our associates came to light as the Watch, and one of the members of the Scathachians, decided to capitalize on it." He spoke with the same accent and confidence of a made-man. Despite his very Irish name it was quite apparent that there were some Italian roots tucked away beneath those blueish-green eyes. The word he used, "our", only recertified the fact that he had considered Kayleigh to be one of his own, or possibly " his own, which was noted by her, and it may have tugged the corners of her mouth up in a ghost of a smile.
"Because of that, it's hurt our pockets; and if they don't keep their mouths shut, it can do far" far worse." Putting the cigarillo down into the ashtray on the table, he now held the three photographs in both if his hands, shuffling through them as he continued to speak. "We can't have them do that. I need them taken care of before they decide to cop a confession, or worse, make it to their indictment. Like I said last night, I don't want them breathin", I don't want any witnesses and I want them left where they can be found " made examples out of." Placing two of the photographs down in front of him he put the other one to the side. Spinning it around, he slowly slid it across the table for Kayleigh to have a look. Seconds after he slid the pictures across the table from her, she rocked, leaning forward and resting on her elbows, so that she could get a closer look at the men in the images. Other than that, and her occasional nods, she remained quiet, as she had been, simply absorbing everything that he was telling and showing her.
"The first guy is Fareeshel, first name Raleigh. He was the main proponent of the establishment. Probably the one mostly responsible for this little" eff up. If my guess is right, he'll be the one that they're lookin" to question the most." Sliding the second photograph from in front of him, he once again spun it around and moved it across the table. He glanced up for a moment to keep an eye on his current audience and then off to the side to look out of the window as the light drizzle began to form small droplets on the exterior glass.
It looked like a storm was coming. "This is Stelv"uan Mareone, goes by Gus. He'll be the hardest to crack, despite the fact that he's the smallest. The Watch won't be gettin" nuttin" outta him, but regardless " he's an accessory, and the loose ends need to be tied up." Last photograph, last spin, and last one given over to her.
A single finger moved to touch to the corner of the third image, and pulled it closer after he'd spin it in her direction. "This guy," he said with a tap of his finger, pointing directly at the face in the photograph, "is Quirro Veasller. He's a talker, quite possibly a squealer, definitely the clown that'll yap to save his own life. He won't do it in front of the guys, but I have a feelin" he'll do what?s necessary once he see's the evidence mounted against "em." Liam leaned back, taking a long sip of Bourbon before continuing on. He rested his back against the chair, watching the woman in front of him as she analyzed her targets, taking in the way she worked. Kayleigh studied the three images for a moment longer after he'd finished speaking, before one by one she turned them back in his direction, and pushed them back to him. Each face and name had been committed to memory. She didn't need them. "They're gonna be indicted on all sorts of charges rangin" from human trafficking to prostitution," he continued, retreating the photos back into the serenity of the folds within the newspaper. "And despite the fact that they're low men on the totem pole, we don't need anyone tryin" to make any ties back to the family. Capiche?"
These words had her eyes sliding up along his chest, and from there to his blue green ones. "Capiche. I am to figure out a way to get in, eliminate the men, before any of them say anything. They are being kept in jail, currently, yes" Do you have location of where they are being kept?"
Liam maintained eye contact with her, his usual flirtatious behavior and tone was far from being displayed with her. Usually, as they spoke, he would make it quite obvious where his mind would wander. But tonight, or at least for now, business was business. Although the way he looked at her — there was definitely much more there.
"Here in the West End still," he responded, "They're still in the precinct holding cell and haven't been transferred out yet. I figure we could make a little distraction, and bein" a woman of yer talents, I'm sure your expertise here will definitely come in handy."
Business was important, and it seemed like she was perfectly at ease setting aside their other relations to make sure it was discussed. Her attention was rapt, focused on him, and every word he told her. Though, that didn't stop her from noting that there was something just a little more lingering between them.
His words brought her back to the task on hand, and soon enough, she was bobbing her head in understanding. Soon enough, a grin had the corners of her mouth curling upwards. "A little distraction is all I would need. I've got that, and it'll be a piece of cake. Thanks to said talents." She leaned forward to rest on her elbows, and downed a couple gulps of her tea. "Any Idea as to when this will be happening" Or is that for me to decide?"
As she asked the first part of her question Liam brought the cigarillo to his mouth, pulling on it for a long drag. The cherry burned bright red before slowly receding into the ash that it left behind. Sliding the newspaper back in front of him Liam opened it to the back page, exhaling a small plume of smoke with the sweet aroma of refined tobacco swirling around him. His eyes scanned over the black ink, running across the letters and pictures with his middle finger until he stopped on a small picture of a cloud with lightning on today's date.
"Forecast for tonight is callin" fer thunderstorms," he said with a nod. "Yanno, things happen in the West End when there's thunderstorms lingerin" about. Power goes out, fires spark, could be a real mess at times." The way he spoke exuded the confidence and the swagger of a made man and there was a certain charisma in which the way he put things.
Her eyes fell to the paper when he opened it, and dropped to where his finger was resting. Tonight's Forecast. Thunderstorms. Followed up by his words, she could already envision how most of it would go down. Power outage. Fire. Everyone important would be busy trying to take care of those two things, and save their own skins. Who would notice, until well after she was gone, that three new prisoners were dead"
"Be a damn shame if somethin" happened to those boys tonight." And with that, his coy eyes looked back up across the table at her, reiterating his words. "Damn shame."
It took a moment, before her amber hues danced up to find his eyes, a smile on her face. "A damn shame, indeed.?