A Brow of a Meeting (Demetrio/Arthur)

[Demetrio Fortuna]

It was very rarely that he got messages from headquarters, but this was one received just a week after the last one, that was unprecedented. Ensconced in his private room that only had a fire roaring to light the medium sized room, he looked at the envelope. Nondescript writing decorated the front and the black ink stood stark in the dancing fire light. There was nothing to distinguish this from any other letter that he may receive, except the M before his name. Most people would assume it was Mister, or monsieur, but it really stood for Malachite. It was a bit risky, but as less than a handful in the department know his code name or that he worked for them at all, it would be near impossible for anyone to figure out.

Sighing as he ran a knife under the sealed part of the envelope, careful not to leave any blood on it, it opened quickly and easily. As the paper unfolded before his eyes, he sketched out the box to decipher it. Within a few minutes, the message was plain for all to see. It was a set of instructions.

Immediately getting up and tossing the paper in the fire, he watched it burn, not a change to the expression on his face. As the last of it turned to ash, he banked the fire, grabbed his coat and set out for his assignment.

He couldn't understand why he had been assigned this, there were lots of other people who wouldn’t be risking exposure if caught, but perhaps that was the reason, everyone else was more than likely known ton this man and it would be too suspicious. Wrapping his leather jacket around himself and making sure his spiked earring was in place on his left ear, he strolled down the street as if he didn’t have a care in the world. And he really didn’t. The man would be here at this cafe or he wouldn't. Ordering a coffee, he sat on a stool and kept an eye out for his target, which should have hopefully been walking through those doors any time now. Though... he wondered if the man visited the casino at all or would recognize him with so much clothing on.

[Arthur Kirkland]

There was always a reason for Arthur’s presence, even in the seediest of locations or the most innocent. He was still working on his largest assignment at the time, one given him by the agency, one that was meant to buy their trust in him. He was taking out former crime mates, the lords over anarchy and macabre ideals for a demolished society. To prove his fidelity and to learn to love his chains, he needed to dip his fingers into the blood of his former associates. It was a small price to pay. He could be a cold bastard when the occasion called. And it was not only being called for, but demanded. The agency would tug at his chain and he would do their bidding.

He’d been after one of the underbosses of the organisation for months. To him, it was as delicate of an operation as the bodily invasion of a surgeon. The timing needed to be right, the knowledge of every minute of the man’s schedule unraveled as smoothly as silk. Sometimes Arthur wondered if the agency that he was currently under doubted whether he was keeping a timely schedule with these assignments. Either that or suspected that the former anarchist criminal was meticulously planning his escape from their beautifully constructed cage.

Nearly morning, Arthur arrived at the same café to receive a pleasingly made cuppa. While he knew how to make his own—for all that the man couldn’t cook, he could make a damned good cup of tea, variety was nice. It felt right to have a routine. For obsessively studying the routine of a man he hoped to catch, he gave only passing consideration to his own. The cafe was the one reliable thing about his schedule, and thus, an ideal one to catch the patterns of others who passed through, a common part of others’ morning schedules.

Sometimes it felt like painting a target on his pwn back, for the people on the other side of the law who wished to carve out his throat, for anyone who could be following his footsteps as he followed theirs. Being an agent who was quite good at understanding the depths of corruption and the secrecy of others, it made him quite paranoid in all other areas of his life. Like other agents, Arthur was sometimes paranoid. At least he had that lovely tea every morning to smooth over his troubled thoughts with keeping a predictable schedule. Today, Arthur dressed for work with a hint of flare, giving away his rather impudent mood. A camel hair coat with its high collar over a richly dark tweed jacket, a pressed button down, a cashmere checkered scarf of wine red, a pocket square of the same colour, and leather gloves.

When Arthur arrived at his usual time, almost on the clock each morning, it was in the middle of the morning rush. Most people bought their tea or coffee to go, bringing with it them to work or taking their quick shot of caffeine from the small, porcelain mugs before rushing back into their busy schedules. Arthur took his seat, usually always in the same stool, where he could quietly observe a wide range of the hardwood area, the sea of faces, the wandering attentions of others. He noticed the regulars, knowing them almost as well as he knew the exact layout of West London.

He didn’t need to order, the man knew Arthur and he knew what he drank. As soon as he handed him the pleasingly crafted tea, Arthur would mutter his casual thanks, ”cheers.” He rested one leg over the other, leaning slightly to the side in his stool as he observed. The fragrant tea teasing his senses as he raised the rim close to his lips. His eyes found the leather-clad stranger just then, sitting almost perfectly across from him at the counter space. It wasn’t highly unusual to see unfamiliar faces at his usual morning haunt, but it was enough to draw his attention, for a painstakingly observant man. The unfamiliar deserved his attention. Demanded it.

And yet there was also something oddly familiar about this man. And it was bothering him that he couldn’t place where he might have seen him before. Arthur stared, bold, in a curious manner, unconcerned with being caught. The man could take it however he liked. Anytime now, with the way the two of them were positioned, his eyes would find Arthur's eventually. He finished taking that first sip of tea. Setting it down, he raised his brow slightly at the man, as if in an unspoken challenge. Oh, how curious he was. The oddly familiar man in an unfamiliar environment. He wanted to see what his next move would be.

[Demetrio Fortuna]

The cafe had a decent amount of people in it, and that was all to Demetrio's advantage. It allowed him to blend into the crowed enough to hide him if he wanted to be hid, but right now, he put himself at a place that his target would be more than likely to see him. He could only hope that like most humans, a new face in a crowed of familiar ones would make him curious as to who the new man was. His leather jacket and earing were carefully placed too, meant to draw attention of a man who had a reputation of punk culture. Plus Demetrio felt comfortable in these clothes, and this type of situation, it was important to feel comfortable. Taking a drink of his coffee, he could feel eyes glaring a hole into his side and he somehow managed to hide a smirk. Carefully, he tuned his head to meet those bright, acid green eyes and he blinked out of reflex. Those eyes were a lot more intense than he thought they would be, but he let his natural reactions take over. He smirked at the man and nodded his head while lifting his head.

"Cheers. Something I can help you with, Sim? Is nice to meet a new face in a place like this."

He was trying to be friendly and not slightly mean at the same time... many people had said he came off not how he should and so he tried to act in this situation. His initial response was to demand what the man was looking at, but he knew that would drive the man away and that was the last thing he needed after having been assigned to check up on him. So instead he smirked as a smile and rose up out of his chair to make his way over to the blond man’s table. Laying a hand on the table, he shrugged.

“This seat taken? It’s always good to talk to people while enjoying a cup of…. Tea. Well to each his own, I prefer a nice cup of coffee with just a bit of cream in it.”

[Arthur Kirkland]

The fact that Arthur hadn’t seen him before, this little spot in a dodgy part of London that normally didn’t draw in tourists was to this man’s disadvantage. He stuck out to Arthur. That drew immediate curiosity from the excessively observant man, the undesirable sort of curiosity. Still, Arthur was going to attempt to keep that just curiosity and not immediate suspicion. What he didn’t exactly expect was for the observed new face to turn his gaze completely toward him, blinking, a certain smirk crawling over his features that Arthur immediately wanted to wipe away just for the hell of it. Still, Arthur didn’t flinch, relaxing his gaze somewhat, and giving the man a casual once over. Arthur wanted to gauge the man’s reaction and let the cards fall where they may. That mind of his was always calculating, always observing behind that now relaxed, calm expression.

What did tickle Arthur’s suspicion was what the man said next. Those words could have been drawn from Arthur’s own mouth, being as he was the regular here and knew all the other regulars, if not by name, by their faces and mannerisms. Arthur took a steady breath, leaning against the bar table with that same casual posture as the carefully lazy turn of his lips. ”So, you come here often, then?”

Had this man demanded what Arthur was looking at, he might have drawn a very unique response from Arthur—perhaps a rough sort of admiration for his bluntness. He enjoyed a man who didn’t fear the scrutiny of others, or the constructs of socially acceptable behavior. But, the man was trying to be friendly, perhaps a bit too friendly for Arthur’s taste, but he wasn’t going to frown upon it. Not quite. Yet. He was mildly surprised to see the man getting up from his seat, resting a hand against the table, and asking if the seat next to him was taken. Bold enough, he supposed. Pleasantly so. Perhaps he’d judged the man too quickly. Arthur’s falsely idle gaze landed on the chair before looking back up at the man, a brief nod toward the chair that gave him permission to sit.

”It depends on what sort of morning you’re having—some are the sort where you enjoy a nice row with someone; others, you might prefer to be alone with your brew and tumultuous thoughts.” His reply was dry, but not harsh. Instead, Arthur gave him a half-won amused expression. ”Of all the people in here, what drew you to this corner of the room, hm? Did something intrigue you or was it my clearly pleasant aura of approachability?” Oh, the snark was absolutely dripping from his lips, but the slight curve of his mouth gave away that hint of rough playfulness that he was used to employing for his own amusement. He wanted this stranger to humour him. If he deserved Arthur’s suspicion, then he better have a damned good story for Arthur. Or if he was just being a mindless prat, then that could be just as entertaining to the cynical former lawless-turned-lawful prospect. Arthur pressed the cup to his lips, taking another sip. ”Humour me and I’ll buy you another drink,” he murmured, a silent dare behind his deceptively pleasant, carefully framed words.

[Demetrio Fortuna]

”So, you come here often, then?”

From his information, he knew that Arthur was here every day, and he should have known better than to imply he was a regular here also, but there was only one way to cover that blunder of his, laugh at it and tell the truth. Or, as close to the truth as he could get with this. He wouldn’t tell Arthur that he was there to actually check up on him, for that would give away the fact that he was an agent too, and that information leaked to the wrong people could get him into trouble at the wrong time, captured or even killed.

“You got me, I’ve never been here before. Just trying to fit in with the crowd, sim?

He laughed lightly at that as he sat down. Demetrio had forgotten that this man was as sharp as they came, but he was reminded, he would always remember that he needed to keep his wits about him at all times. This one would probably be the one to figure out his secret, but he would ensure that this man was still following the rules of the organization. Though he wasn’t sure how a single check-in could check on that, since it was easy to hide intentions, especially when they didn’t know they were being checked in on… really, the organization was stupid for doing it this way, it would be much better to insert someone into his life that could be a near constant, and Demetrio didn’t think he could do that.

“Of all the people in here, what drew you to this corner of the room, hm? Did something intrigue you or was it my clearly pleasant aura of approachability?”

“You look like you knew a bit about tea, plus an interesting character about you. I’ll humor you all you want, it is a joke you care for or just want to know my story? Either way, they’re not very interesting, least I don’t think so.”