10-27-2014, 12:35 PM
The guy behind the bar came over and pulled out a glass and poured two fingers of Jack as he spoke. Was the usual friendly/flirty way of speaking bartenders had. Was always fun for a little while anyway. And she was here for a reason.
"Spanish is fine."
She slammed the shot and then tapped the bar with two fingers for a filler up. The whiskey was hot going down her throat and she felt the vapor of it in her nose. A nice warmth spread through her and she took her jacket off. It was Mexico, after all, even if it was technically winter. Underneath she had a simple button down black and white plaid shirt woth 3/4 length sleeves. The shirt looked good on her over her tight blue jeans that were tucked into black calf-length boots. Her tattoo- a tree of life inside an oroboros- was partly visible.
He poured again and she let it sit for a while. She'd drink it in a second. She wasn't hunting tonight anyway. She knew they were in the city but with a population in the millions, it was going to take some time to find them. Sucked, especially for the surviving brother, but what could she do? That she had been able to track them here across the desert was a feat unto itself. But she'd make sure he didn't die in vain. It was able the best she could offer.
To his question, "Business mostly. Maybe a little fun too. You know the owner? I've got something to discuss with him."
She'd noticed the tattoo on his arm but decided to play along.
"That would be me. Enrique Salguero."
He offered his hand to shake. "How can I help you, Señorita"
She looked him up and down. He had a good build on him. Not pudgy at least. Probably not clerical then. At least not just, anyway. And running a bar in Mexico City was usually an active job. She looked around and didn't see any hired muscle. Course things were slow right now. Still what with the drug cartels running the country- at least until recently if rumors could be believed- any place where alcohol was served usually needed muscle for those men who'd a bit too much and got too rowdy. At least if it wanted to stay in business for more than a week.
She smiled wryly at him. "Well Enrique. I'm Jacinda Cross. I think we're cousins,"
she said as she lifted the sleeve of her shirt so the tattoo was fully visible. It wasn't her only one, but it was the only one that meant anything to another Atharim. She let the sleeve drop. "I'm looking for a place to stay. I've been tracking some old friends from New Mexico for the last few days and they've holed up somewhere here in the city."
She looked over at the tables nearby. Most were empty and the Ranchero music probably made it difficult for anyone to hear them, but she dropped her voice anyway. "These friends are bad news. If you haven't heard of them, I expect you will. All kinds of nasty stories of things being found."
She narrowed her eyes and her smile became feral.
She slammed the shot that had been sitting there, enjoying the burn. "You think you can help a pretty little senorita out?"
Her tone was mocking. She knew she was pretty and her clothes only accentuated that she was all woman, tall and fit. But any man that thought of her as a demure lady in need of rescue or help usually found out the hard way how it was.
She tapped the bar top again for another shot.
"Spanish is fine."
She slammed the shot and then tapped the bar with two fingers for a filler up. The whiskey was hot going down her throat and she felt the vapor of it in her nose. A nice warmth spread through her and she took her jacket off. It was Mexico, after all, even if it was technically winter. Underneath she had a simple button down black and white plaid shirt woth 3/4 length sleeves. The shirt looked good on her over her tight blue jeans that were tucked into black calf-length boots. Her tattoo- a tree of life inside an oroboros- was partly visible.
He poured again and she let it sit for a while. She'd drink it in a second. She wasn't hunting tonight anyway. She knew they were in the city but with a population in the millions, it was going to take some time to find them. Sucked, especially for the surviving brother, but what could she do? That she had been able to track them here across the desert was a feat unto itself. But she'd make sure he didn't die in vain. It was able the best she could offer.
To his question, "Business mostly. Maybe a little fun too. You know the owner? I've got something to discuss with him."
She'd noticed the tattoo on his arm but decided to play along.
"That would be me. Enrique Salguero."
He offered his hand to shake. "How can I help you, Señorita"
She looked him up and down. He had a good build on him. Not pudgy at least. Probably not clerical then. At least not just, anyway. And running a bar in Mexico City was usually an active job. She looked around and didn't see any hired muscle. Course things were slow right now. Still what with the drug cartels running the country- at least until recently if rumors could be believed- any place where alcohol was served usually needed muscle for those men who'd a bit too much and got too rowdy. At least if it wanted to stay in business for more than a week.
She smiled wryly at him. "Well Enrique. I'm Jacinda Cross. I think we're cousins,"
she said as she lifted the sleeve of her shirt so the tattoo was fully visible. It wasn't her only one, but it was the only one that meant anything to another Atharim. She let the sleeve drop. "I'm looking for a place to stay. I've been tracking some old friends from New Mexico for the last few days and they've holed up somewhere here in the city."
She looked over at the tables nearby. Most were empty and the Ranchero music probably made it difficult for anyone to hear them, but she dropped her voice anyway. "These friends are bad news. If you haven't heard of them, I expect you will. All kinds of nasty stories of things being found."
She narrowed her eyes and her smile became feral.
She slammed the shot that had been sitting there, enjoying the burn. "You think you can help a pretty little senorita out?"
Her tone was mocking. She knew she was pretty and her clothes only accentuated that she was all woman, tall and fit. But any man that thought of her as a demure lady in need of rescue or help usually found out the hard way how it was.
She tapped the bar top again for another shot.