|
  |
The cultural scene in Greenwich Village is generally considered a fine place to visit — for locals and tourists alike. It also serves as an ideal place for meetings that wish to go unseen (hiding in plain sight); consequently, the spectrum of different types of people here is… wide.
It is late evening, and on the tail end of a local production, a silver-haired man in an uncomfortable suit steps out onto the street. The chill in the air does not seem to bother him, despite not wearing a thick jacket of any kind, and his eyes are a vibrant amber.
His nostrils flare, taking in the myriad scents in the vicinity. Some of them are more interesting than others — such as detecting gunpowder on a random person as they walk past.
That was a surprise.
Most smell of 'human' and whatever they just had for dinner, among other things. The man steps aside as other people exit the theatre as well.
*
An odd cocktail of scents would follow Amelie, for those whom would have the nose for such faint and sensitive things. The vanilla scent of her prefered perfume was not so hidden, a deliberate choice of a pleasing odur and one made to cover the mostly faded sting of burned gunpowder. She'd been working, then she'd been practicing. Small tasks more intended to keep the mind sharp and the hand steady for the true challenge. For now however, her desires were far more simple; a meal for the evening and some time to relax in the evening.
The French woman was a beauty, but beyond that her travel was unremarkable to the casual eye. She wore a simple black dress, a scarf of deep purple resting around her neck and over her shoulders. The handbag slung over one shoulder was equally unremarkable, but the only real oddity was the pair of glasses with their darkened lenses she still wore in the fading light, concealing their own amber-hued irises beneath. At first she seems unfazed, but a small change in the speed of her step and a slight inclination of her head comes. Did she realise she was being observed?
*
Observed indeed.
And by more than one.
To add to the quiet, calm attention of the amber-eyed fellow with silver hair — other, younger eyes also watch her as she passes by. These eyes scope out just about everyone around the theatre — particularly those heading toward it, rather than exiting the building. Such eyes burn with avarice, exacerbated by youthful indiscretion — a thief's eyes. A thrill-seeker.
Hrimhari (the silver-haired man) smells that eagerness as well, and goes looking for the source — a youth in his late teens or early twenties, who then dashes forward, straight past the French woman…
With a hand snapping out to try and take her handbag.
Hrimhari catches sight of the wannabe-thief as he makes his move, and lets out a disdainful groan. "Ugh, foolish Two-Leg pup…" he mutters, but does not dash forward himself, not straight away in any case.
The young thief's trajectory is ill-planned and has him colliding with another person just as he reaches Amelie, almost knocking them (an older couple) into a trashcan. That has Hrimhari's lip curling in a most… animalistic growl…
*
It was fast, too fast to be anything but a reflex. One moment the hand is pulling the strap from her shoulder at that same instant of collision, the next? Slender fingers had snapped around, locking a subtle but rather painful grip on the young man's thumb, the weight of her fingers pressing down on that joint as she squeezes enough to make the would-be thief cry out in pain. "Pardon," the woman says calmly, giving a little more pressure as she speaks, her rather noticable accent calm and 'innocent' of all but a tinge of amusement while her other hand slides the strap into place. "Thank you for catching by bag," she speaks, leaning in towards the man's face. "I would have been extremely mad if I had dropped it…but you should what where you're going, no?" she says with a little nod of her head towards the elderly couple.
"After all…" she purrs, that pressure increasing to a point where any more would cause a pop of the join, "You would hate for someone to get hurt, wouldn't you?"
If Amelie had noticed the growling man she showed no outward sign, instead her gaze was purely on her would-be thief.
*
"Ahh! Lemmego!" the young would-be thief exclaims in pain, to be followed up by some very vigorous head-shaking to his poorly-chosen target. "N-no, don't want no-one — ahhh! — gettin' hurt none, yeah. I'm swell, just swell, Jeez…"
"A woman appears to have this well in hand," says a voice from just a few feet away. It is masculine, almost British if for a slightly exotic tinge to colour it — and belongs to the silver-haired man. He has crossed the distance from where he had been standing, to the old couple the thief had knocked down.
He helps them stand up, and offers the elderly man and woman a sympathetic smile. "A custom, is it not, to call the authorities at this point, no?" he inquires of them — and gives the would-be thief a steely look.
The man and woman are already shaking their heads; they just want to get home now — but they do wait to see what the French lady has to say, since the thief was clearly targetting her…
*
The French woman releases that hand now, a shooing gesture made with her fingers towards the young before she glances over her shoulder at the approaching man. "Authorities bring punishment," she says calmly before giving a chuckle. "But lessons learned are more valuable, no?" she speaks before watching the likely retreating young man. "I would hope he takes it to heart, lest things go more poorly for him the next time." Odds are, it was a good thing the would-be thief had been so young and had been unarmed, or Amelie might have had to make a mess. But even so, she made a point not to talk to police when she didn't have to. It was just business sense.
A nod to the elderly couple, she offers them both a polite smile and then seems intent to keep walking on her path towards the small cafe she'd been making a beeline towards. Perhaps terrorizing thieves worked up an appetite!
*
The elderly couple agree, content to let the matter go since Amelie is willing to do the same. Giving some tense nods of their heads, they make their departure as well.
"An unexpected attitude in America…" the amber-eyed man remarks, watching Amelie as the youth departs — as fast as his feet can carry him. "But then, a woman is not American…" His eyes gleam and a wry smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
"Nor a victim." Lifting his chin a bit, he pauses for about a second or so and then introduces himself with a formal, shallow bow. "This one is called Hrimhari, and a woman is most interesting. May this one offer a hot beverage to thy liking?" He motions with a hand at the cafe next to the theatre.
*
"No more american then yourself I would wager, yes…" Amelie comments as the man falls into step beside her. She doesn't tell him to shove off, so that's as good an indication as any he wasn't unwelcome. His words on her not being a victim however earn a little innocuous smile and shrug. "Amelie Chevalier," she offers in returned greeting, albiet minus the bow and instead in the form of a nod. His offer for a drink however earns a soft chuckle and a different shrug before she gestures towards the door of the cafe. "Be my guest," she says lightly. "Why turn away a free gift if it does no harm, no?"
*
"Quite," the man replies with a broader smile, and inclines his head again. "'Tis a knightly name," he adds as he opens the cafe door, holding it for Amelie, and then follows her inside. A man (middle-aged, burly, balding) behind the counter looks over at them and smiles.
"Hrimhari! Your usual?"
The prince nods his head. "This one would be grateful, Andrew," he replies and motions toward Amelie. "And that which Ms. Chevalier also desires."
The cafe is relatively busy, although there are plenty of spare tables, and a number of employees to attend them. The majority of customers order their drinks and meals to go. Hrimhari turns back to Amelie and remarks:
"Andrew will be pleased to serve Amelie whatever she wishes. 'Tis, as the Americans say… 'on me?'" The word 'me' seems to come rather awkwardly to him, and he almost grimaces as if unsure he said it right.
*