Glancing over the floor, where her own evening wear lay strewn about, she couldn't help but wonder who actually survived the night with her...
The bed was empty, but that seldom told anything more than they decided a hospital visit might be needed.
Whomever it was had loved her well, she slept heavy. Three whole hours.
Approaching the grand, sprawling window, she tossed back the black curtains and immediately snarled at the now foreign sight of sunlight... She missed Seattle already.
Another morning angry at her for missing it. It must be noonish by now...
The city was alive, or at least as alive as anything gets in '64. The scent of Berlin permeated the windows, despite the thick, double-paned glass; Death, and metal... A common perfume for one of her profession, but it stunk regardless.
A psuedo-poetic ponderance crossed her mind as she recalled past events across the roofs of the megacorps and struggling local industries...
"Berlin... The town that stole my gift, and gave me assets... Revoked my childhood and coaxed adolescence into murderous harlotry..."
"Home." She said aloud.
Though she gave no sign of surprise, a voice rolled from behind her unexpectedly... A soft, vaguely english tone, "Morning Love." She turned her head to make sure she had the face right... A slim man, shorter than herself, short dirty blonde hair, big glasses, giant blue eyes. All the things she hated in a man. Her voice finally came to her throat, pushing aside the evening's vodka and ashtray flavor. "As a persona' rule... I shoot sneakae basta'ds wit' snakes for tongues..."
The man laughed a squeaky, annoying laugh. "Jane, my little starling, you are a /professional/ criminal... If you don't break your own rules, You've no right to break any others." Slowly rising from the luxurious black armchair, he glanced around the room, with only the subtlest hint of caution. "Besides I happen to know you adore snakes, second only to tongues."
'Very true', she thought.
Alana shrugs before running her hand over her head, for the most part fixing her bedraggled hair.
"You've blood on your teeth." The man politely informs her. She licks... He's right. Her tongue was stained as well, but she nonetheless used it to clean her pearly veneers. She draws in a deep breath before speaking, "Wha's the news, then? On Mr. Scud?"
"One hundred and sixty thousand total. Includes the truck, the codes, and the boyo himself. Transporting it is your own problem."
She ponders the words, while her hands stretch downwards, idly groping her nude form as if to awaken flesh. (Flesh being used loosely.) She nods, and utters some word or another in agreement, before moving on. "They have a cure yet?" She says, rubbing her head.
"AA died out years ago, darling." They both knew the real question, but runners seldom admit weakness, especially after sleeping together.
Turning on a heel, she idly finds her clothing and promptly leaves.
They'd speak again in a few more years.
Marriage is like that...
(my apologies for the bad tense usage, but suck it up. kthxbai?!)
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