Ear to the Ground, Nose to the sky (Sullivan)

[Cristiana]

In the office, she had a multi line phone that was still corded, instead of using the cell phone all the time. It was the sheer satisfaction of being able to slam down the receiver and get that little thrill when she hung up on someone. Today was the day, she has argued with one of her underground street contacts. He wanted more money and she refused to give him more as he was doing nothing worthy of it. It was time to find a replacement thug to keep their eyes and ears open.

"I don't think you understand who in the hell you are screwing with but your intell has been garbage for months. I'm not paying you to sit on your *** and make **** up." She paused, "Yeah I am some rich ***** hoity toity that you can just extort money from, but not anymore. This is done, you get nothing." With that the phone was slammed down. It was a bit of a stress relief. She just fired her last thug. She needed someone else to replace them.

It was good for knowing when trouble was brewing. If trouble was happening out on the street it was sure to affect business. But the jerk off she had hired wasn’t giving her anything, in well over a month. Now he wanted more money, more like trying to extort it out of her and she did not appreciate it. A visit would be paid to him soon, one that would not bode well for him.

In the meantime, she dressed down, like a street urchin. It was time to find a new replacement, someone to be here eyes and ears on the street. She kept her thralls far too busy with the businesses to ask that of them. She put on the make up extra thick and wore things that no one would normally ever see her in. Clothes were deliberately torn in areas. Under the jeans she had bright multi colored tights so a different color poked out of the rips in the jeans. The over side tee shirt was over a teal greenish blue wife beater shirt and over that a thick hoodie. There was a set of fingerless gloves. She had to match where she was going to find what she needed.

After stalking the streets, she found a group of kids around a burning barrel. It didn’t take long to be spotted, with a nod she was called over. The leader sent her to a seedy bar where women were stripping on the stage, she didn’t mind. She went in and sat down at a table. When the waitress came over she gave the card over. From there she was sent to a backwater bar, and then another place and another. Finally she was sick of it. Instead, she just wondered around the city, in and out of bars. She was on the hunt.There had to be someone and not a run around given.

It was hours later, slumped in the seat, she watched people coming and going. This was bug nuts insane. All she needed was someone to inform her of goings on outside the club. If there was a war, street gangs… she just needed eyes on the prize out on the damned streets. There was not time for all this galavanting across the city. Even she knew when the gangs were jerking her around.

[Sullivan (DELETED 11708)]

Sullivan’s fist connects with the zombie’s face with a nauseating pop. He can feel the displacement of flesh around bone until that too fragments suddenly under the pressure and concaves. There’s just a gummy paste forming around his knuckles then; a mixture of what can only be brain matter, blood, and cerebrospinal fluid. The feeling comes nowhere close to the stench, though. It’s like an open sewer is belching in his face; the stench of rotting excrement, sour piss, and spoiled meat hits back like a cement truck. His body reacts by sharply pulling away and forcing him to cough violently. He feels teeth scrape against either side of his fist when he whips his hand back like elastic, then staggers back a few inches. The zombie hits the floor like a fleshy stack of Jenga blocks; his pieces scatter over the parking lot.

“Holy shitting ****,” Sullivan manages as he continues to wheeze.

He folds over like a deck chair; his hands grip his knees so tightly he feels his blunt, boyish nails through the skin of his jeans. His eyes are watering, his mouth is dry, and he’s wretching. The only thing that comes out, fortunately, are further coughs and shouts.

“Oh holy ****. Holy. ****. ****.”

As Sullivan catches his breath, he spares a glance at the corpse, but when he sees that caved in face along with the gangrenous blood, he quickly looks back at his trainers. They used to be as white as a doctor’s coat and now bear the evidence of long nights in the wilderness, long days in the catacombs, and countless hours punching zombies into a second death. There’s blood on his hands too; his left arm being caked right up to sleeve of his Mallory Knox t shirt. Sullivan takes a handkerchief from his pocket and is attempting to wipe off the layer of slime when he hears further footsteps. As those steps close in, he can’t connect their steady, purposeful gait to the drunken stagger of the undead. He lifts his head and stares in their direction. The barrel of a gun is what greets him; it’s pushed up to his chin.

"Hand over your cash,” a male voice demands. Now!"

Sullivan quirks a brow as his head is pushed back by the cold snout of the gun. He’s looking this man-boy up and down in disbelief more than fear, though. It’s not because he doubts the seriousness of the encounter, just that he’s never been held up by someone as short as Danny Devito since he was also the same height as Danny Devito. The boy actually has to lift himself onto his toes and reach his entire arm out just to raise that colt revolver to Sullivan’s chin. His inexperience, coupled with his anxiety and the effort of reaching so far up, has the boy’s arm shaking too. It’s possible for that gun to go off more from shock than purpose, so Sullivan takes a calculated risk.

“Your trousers are at your ankles, boy.”

When the boy glances down to his baggy pants, Sullivan strikes. With a flat palm, he knocks the gun clean out of his hand only to catch it with the other. A quick flip with dexterous hands, and Sullivan rolls the barrel of the gun out to check the ammunition. There are no rounds, not even one in the chamber. The dumbfounded look on the boy’s face just makes this whole thing both more amusing and more tragic.

“You can’t even afford the bullets for the gun, can you?” Sullivan asks; his features are sympathetic.

"Look, man. I need the cash, ok?”

The boy tucks his hands into his sweatshirt, his shoulders fall forward, and his head bows slightly. Sullivan can see the white of his eyes are actually peach-like as he looks away from him. There’s bruises on this kid’s face too: a purple crescent hangs under his right eye and there’s a handprint around his neck area. Sullivan sighs through his nose and tosses the gun at the boy’s worn sneakers.

“Then sell the gun,” he says. “It’s not worth your life, but it’ll get you a few days’ food.”

"It ain’t food I need,” the boy grumbles. He collects his gun, hiding it in the front pocket of his oversized sweatshirt. "I’ve got bills to pay.”

“Bills or debts?”

The only answer Sullivan gets from the boy is a look of derision. He then turns away, walking back in the direction he came.

“This really isn’t my problem,” Sullivan says - mostly to himself. He’s not aware that he’s being watched.

[Cristiana]

From the shadows the woman watched the male begging and pleading fingertipsfor money and another refusal to give it. His calm demeanour was something of which would keep, and still it plagued her interest. Slowly, step by tedious step she emerged from the shadows consuming her. For the moment she stayed staring at him, into his eyes. “You should come on a walk with me.” She finally said before he could tell her to get lost. “I think we are of great benefit to each other.”

It was all the information she gave him before she turned away advancing out onto the streets. The pause was long enough to light the end of the cigarette, with a lighter but from his stance he might not have seen the lighter, only the flame from her fingertips and the butt getting light. She didn’t bother to put the light back in her pocket but kept it concealed in her hand. Her eyes didn’t look back but she did walk slow enough to turn if need be.

“There is money involved.” If he needed the moment of persuasion to join her, for tonight she would give him a decent meal at the very least. She was kind of hungry, but the question was for what? There was a good chinese place around here, to the left. Or toward the right there was a decent italian bistro that served the most delicious fried ravioli with a sauce that was to die for. There was other options but those two seemed the best.

When she decided on chinese she turned left, heading down the block. If anyone had watched her she stood there in silent compilation reflecting. But inside her head, “Which do I want more, chinese or italian.” It really was no contest. If the man followed, things could or would improve for him. She would make damn sure of it. She always did. Helping people rise up was one way she helped the city, and whether or not people knew it, she had done it more often than not. But this one, she seen something in. It was like Glade, she knew there was something more hidden in the depths of him, it was getting it to blossom, even in this hell of a place that was Harper Rock.

She had watched the man, watched him being robbed. As she had been at Immortal Night Studios. It seemed like a place that was easily hit. She talked to the robber, mentioned the security guard that manned the place, she motioned to the camera that were capturing him on the camera right now. Also, she might have lied to the male and mentioned how she would hack into the system and use facial recognition. That one day she would show up and rip his throat out, that she would leave him alive and begging for his life. When she said it there was no rise or fall in her delivery, no pitch off when the words spilled from her lips. It was matter of factly. He would die if he continued this. And much like that man had, offered a simplistic solution. Get your life in order. That was why she liked him, in all her hoity toity ways.

[Sullivan (DELETED 11708)]

They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach; it’s the invite he needs to finally decide that following the stranger wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Prior to that, Sullivan stares daggers at her back. It’s normal for him not to trust anyone and be led astray regardless, but he’s confident that he can make it back if he needs to. He continues to clean his hands and his forearm with the handkerchief in between upward glances; he wants to keep this woman at a distance. It feels like there were only seconds between the attempted robbery and her arrival, so he must have missed where she came from. He can’t think why she might want to talk to him, but he’s willing to tag along for the sake of a pretty face and a promise of food. Sullivan doesn’t say anything until after they reach their destination: a chinese restaurant.

“After you.”

He reaches past her to open the door and steps back to let her pass. They are greeted by an elderly gentleman; his long, thread-like moustache and starched white and black uniform are straight out of a 90s sitcom. Sullivan smiles politely at the man and they’re taken to their table for two beside a giant fish tank. When they are seated, their shoulders are at the foundations of the tank where sand, coral, grasses, vines, and rocks are beautifully arranged. The way the tank stretches up to the ceiling gives the impression of being underwater. Sullivan finds himself distracted by the aquarium fish as their colourful bodies dart around the tank. He’s especially impressed by the lionfish when it makes a patrol of the tank.

“Interesting choice,” he says. He looks back to the stranger. “Do you always bring people you just met off the streets here?”

[Cristiana]

It took her back a moment that he opened the door for her. She blinked in response before mumbling a thank you and slipping through the doorway. It was rare someone did that unless they were seeking something from her but she had approached him. This would be the best arrangement. At the stand in the front of the restaurant, she told the hostess 2 seats please and tipped her a fifty dollar bill.

The were ushered straight to the best seats in the house, which she smiled over but graciously refused and motioned to a booth in the back where it was shaded, after all this was not a romantic transaction but a shady business deal in the making. She wanted little attention as possible.

She slipped into the booth where the wall met the booth. She had a clear view of all of the restaurant and liked it that way. Everyone could be seen from this vantage point and yet she was shaded. It was the best seat without them knowing it.

As the bubbly waitress appeared Cristiana slapped down five one hundred dollar bills. “Deary, I am going to need you to curb that enthusiasm you have. While it is great with others, I would like our privacy tonight. So please don’t come asking how our meal is and we will set the cups to the edge of the table, please refill and leave as quickly and quietly as possible. If you do that, the money is yours. For each slip up, I will remove a bill. The less you speak the more we can this evening. Is this agreeable?” She nodded once in response and lifted the notepad to take the drink order.

“I will have a Sprite please and thank you.” Cristiana said with a nod. While letting him put in his drink order, she lifted the menu but she already knew what she wanted, because she always got the same thing. Her eyes were always bigger than her stomach. Still she was a vampire and didn’t really even need to eat, she just enjoyed it.

Without it being spoken she was paying and he could order anything he wanted, she didn’t even care if it was the lobster and five to go home with him for later. She wasn’t fickle in that way.

“Sir, I liked your style back there in the alley.” She said to the male as soon as the lady left. “I am pretty much no nonsense and seeing as that I would like to employ you of sorts.” Then she turned back to the menu again. Just like that, she made an offer but to what other than employment. No further explanation yet.

[Sullivan (DELETED 11708)]

Sullivan orders a beer, but he has no idea what to order off the food menu. Just five minutes ago he was trying not to leave his lunch on the floor, so his mind isn’t anywhere close to thinking about dinner. He’s left the menu flat on the table and doesn’t give it much thought. He watches his unnamed companion the whole time; curious about what her motivations could be. Her actions suggest she’s up to something shady. The way she dealt with the waitress is something he hasn’t seen before, but it’s familiar enough to have him sigh reluctantly. She wastes no time in offering him a job, but she doesn’t reveal what the job is, only that it might have something to do with talking down idiot street kids.

“No need for the formalities,” he says with a soft, forced smile. “You can call me Sullivan. Tell me more about this job.”

[Cristiana]

A hand extended over the table to him, warm and flesh toned hand. “Please call me Crissy.” It was her name, there was no need to lie about it. “As I said, I liked your style in the alley way. You’ve a keen observant eye. That is something of great use in this world. Do you know vampires exist?” Who didn’t in this day and age. They were everywhere, getting their hands into everything.

She gave nothing away. Her body movements and all indicated nothing that would tell him what or even if she was lying to him. There was no quirks that gave away any tell tales. She stayed almost completely motionless. No subtle **** of the head, no rise or fall of shoulders, no higher arch of the eyebrow; all little tics were nonexistent.

On him however, there was a bountiful feast of them. He was curious to say the least. After he put down the menu she did as well. When the waitress came back, “Egg drop soup, wonton soup but put the wonton to the side. 2 orders of Crab Rangoon and a side of crisp wontons. Thank you.” She was not being impolite to the waitress, just matter of factly. The waitress dropped off the drinks, wrote what she needed to down, waiting only to see if the man wanted anything as well. But when Cristiana opened her mouth the woman walked away.

“I’ve been in and out of this city for many years. Sometimes, my travels take me abroad and others well…. I am here in the city for many of moons. In this time, it is good to have someone who knows what is going on. Someone to keep things up to date. Especially what is going on with the general populace so to speak.” This is where her eyes fell to him. “My last guy did not do the job so well, he made up a bunch of lies and told me them to collect money. It has been dealt with but it leaves an opening. One I was rather interested in knowing if you would fill.”

“What the job is, I get a visit or phone call when things are going to happen. When I do you will get a sum of money deposited to your account. … shall we say $10-50 thousand dollars IF the information is good. If the intell is BS you get nothing for wasting time. Does this sound fair?”

“Sullivan. That is a good name. It can either be first or last and no one would ever know.” She smiled, a forced smile. But to anyone else looking over it looked like he had just made her smile, appearances of course. It wasn’t an unfriendly meeting after all. He was free to leave at any point of time. Money had been offered for services. It was not a sexual thing, just let her know some of what he knew instead of her having to attend some hen house social gathering for gossip this was better, no fuss and no mess.

[Sullivan (DELETED 11708)]

Leaning just over the edge of the table, Sullivan takes her hand and shakes it. She gives him a name and repeats her earlier compliment, but his features remain inexpressive. He sits back once their exchange is over; the warm silk of her hand still traces his palm like a glove.

“I do,” he answers her question curtly.

They are interrupted shortly after when their waitress returns. Sullivan smiles politely as she puts the bottle down in front of him and sandwiches a thin paper doily between it and the table. Crissy places her order, the waitress hurries to write it all down, and Sullivan dismisses her deciding that he’s better off with a liquid lunch. It’s all very matter-of-fact and trying to read the woman in front of him proves to be a challenge. The only thing he can assume about her is that she’s very paranoid - and probably has good reason to be. The situation ignites a fire in his stomach and a swig of beer drowns the flame with fuel.

As Crissy continues to speak, Sullivan notices the odd inflections in her words and how the sentences are phrased. It’s these odd quirks that make him genuinely curious about what she’s saying to him. Every word is leant on, pressed on, as if it’s with the intent to push it into a paste so he can see what it’s really made of. The best he can do is come up with the theory that she’s speaking to him in riddles because nothing she says sounds 100% natural. His brow furrows in concentration and his eyes wander. He’s looking at the emerald green bottle, watching idly as a bead of condensation slips down from the neck of the bottle and soaks into the paper, when she asks him another question.

“Sounds fair,” he replies. He hums in response to her evaluation of his name too. “So, you want me to keep a watch on the streets for you. Keep an eye on what’s happening in regards to, what? I might be observant, but I’m no psychic.”

[Cristiana]

“I’m no psychic.”

His words caused her to chuckle. No she loved the only true one who was a psychic in this town. She genuinely smiled thinking of that woman. After the moment of her mask slipping, she relaxed visibly some. A quick survey of the restaurant also helped put her at a bit of ease. “Yes in general I want someone who knows the streets, the gangs somewhat and can tell me little bits they hear - not guess. If they know in Coastside the paladins are gathering for a meeting, I would very much like to be privy to this information. If they know the lionell are plotting but not the entirety of what, those would come in handy too. Say the sat around the bar for a night hearing the rumor, different rumors, then perhaps arrangements could be made. Should there be vital information of relic placements in the city, well this of course would be good as well. You see, it could benefit and profit not only me but you as well. There is no guesswork involved or need for psychic abilities.”

The waitress came leaving behind the food trays. Little bits Crissy picked at. It wasn’t like she engorged herself devouring the table but ate a little bit from this and that tasting the myriad of foods laid out in front of her. All the while she motioned if he were up to eat anything, he was more than welcomed to jump in and take whatever he wished. Her nit picking with the chopsticks was entirely contained on each plate so if he felt like he wanted something, it was easily taken.

“Let me start over please, I don’t normally get out much or even talk to people other than work so it’s normally listening or quick and to the point. Hi, I am Cristiana but you can call me Crissy. I own the Metronome Club, Enchanted Wedding Inc, Immortal Night Music Studios and Happy HomeMakers Furniture emporium. Being as it is, work consumes me and I do not have much time to get out. So I need someone to be my eyes and ears on the streets. Does it make sense now?” She said it all in very calm and relaxed tones, being as much at ease as she could be. That was why she opted for them to eat, because then this could be written off as a working dinner rather than a normal average dinner. It was all fluff in the tax related field. But even some of the tip could be written off. These things she knew by heart.

It was who she was, business first and foremost. She sucked in most other departments but in some aspects she was willing to learn and try for certain persons in her life. Only those she held dear. But as much in the past as she use to coddle and handhold, there was little time for that now. It was a sink or swim kind of world.

[Sullivan (DELETED 11708)]

Some people are like bonfires in the way they warm up: slow and steady with the occasional pop and crackle. Sullivan could also be about as blunt as a stick at times, which was only good when successfully kindling those flames doesn’t end up getting himself burnt from the effort. Poking around has sparked up some interesting conversation points. Now Crissy is the blunt one and his brow rises as she explains just exactly what she wants from him. He sits back into the chair; his bones becoming gelatinous as he relaxes into the stereotypical thug role that she’s made for him. There’s a disillusioned smile on his face made up of equal parts surprise, amusement, and annoyance, but he’s not getting up from the table or walking away from the deal. Instead, it’s the details that he wants and what makes it worth staying for.

“Makes sense, boss,” he says. “When do I start?”