Sorry, I'm not in at the moment...

[siroccowinds]

The Voice Mail Meme

1. Your character just missed a call! Bummer. Was it their work number or their personal phone? What's their voice mail message sound like? Do they have an embarrassing ringtone? Say so in your comment! 

2. Others tag in with a message (or more) that they left after the tone! Is it late at night, or way too early in the morning? Was it was urgent or did they just want to say hi? Maybe they're not impressed with your character's answering machine message. Maybe it's just... heavy... breathing...

3. Call them back! (...or don't if it was the last one!) Text them a quick message if you're busy. Get caught up in phone tag if you keep missing each other's calls. Or, fuck calls, just arrange to meet up somewhere - even surprise them with a visit! Or... just ignore them entirely if you're avoiding them. Never mind that they left twelve messages on your phone...

4. Remember to say something after the beep!

[Beep!]

Comments

I was sent here by my Lindsey-vigilant minions

[andyougoleft]

[Slevin is sitting by one phone and holding another. The landline he would have let go to the machine, but when it's the cell in his hand that rings, he answers immediately. With the timeframe, there's only one person it could really be.

Relief makes his voice harsh, affection warms it, but she's right: there's a reason he doesn't use them as himself. That hasn't exactly changed.]

Hey. Meet me?

((OOC: Or just excited enough?? You should hear the noise I made when my friend linked me Lindsey. Also, confession that I have no clue what I'm doing with this, I just had to reply.))

Man, I want minions. Not that I'm around enough for them

[deceptivelytall]

Uh- where?

[ Whatever she had originally planned to say is forgotten at the invitation. (The cell phone idea had worked, this time, but who knew for how long that would have been the case?) ]

And hi. [ She runs a hand through her hair, tugging at a stray lock. ]

Glad to know you're okay. This is totally unexpected, I hope you realize.

((ooc: Winging it definitely is a good plan. :D ))

They are extremely useful. Muahaha.

[andyougoleft]

Hi. [The accusation in her voice makes him smile, and that comes through a little in his. That and the dry amusement:] That's why I did it, I hope you realize.

There's a cute little coffee shop on the corner of sixth and Main. Can you come this afternoon? 2ish? I'll find you.

[The stubble from his regrowing mustache and beard is itchy, and he scratches at it idly, fidgeting, anxious. It's unnerving, having consequences he's not willing to face. Having collateral damage he's not willing to see come to harm.

He wouldn't change any of it.]

((OOC: So I guess this is post-movie, probably on the run from all the people the events of the movie pissed off, including being wary of Goodkat. Willing to wing it with whatever on Lindsey's end.))

Guess I can dream on

[deceptivelytall]

Lucky for you, I happen to like surprises.

[ Keeping her voice light, she matches his tone - unimpressed, rather than amused.

Like anger goes away that quickly. The last time she'd talked to him was weeks ago. They'd been able to spend all of three days together after the meeting with Smith - no - Goodkat, when he'd said he'd had to go. She'd... gone one with her life. Went back to her apartment, and work like nothing had changed at all.

The question is whether she really wants to, she can easily make the meeting. All she needs to do is delay her lunch break, but seeing someone face to face is different from a conversation over the phone.

Her answer, when it comes, is serious. ]

I can be there for half an hour, from 2.

You're paying. [ It's thrown out to break a little of the heaviness that had fallen into the conversation. ]

((ooc: That works for me. ))

<3 <3

[andyougoleft]

[And he waits. It's the least he can do, because even though he's kind of a dick, he can still recognize when something is a dickish move. He just hadn't really cared - hadn't really known he could be a happier, warmer person even when he's not playing a part - until she'd come flying into his life in a bathrobe and what he could only call houseboots in his head.

He hadn't given her much in exchange, he realizes. He hadn't had much to offer beyond himself, his attention, and his sincere desire to do better.

Then she says that and he's agreeing immediately.] Done.

I'll find you. [Normally he'd just hang up; assassins don't really do extraneous courtesy. But now he hesitates and then dithers just a little over what he should even say. Just goodbye? Love you? Have a nice day at work?

Well. There's one thing that's true, and that he owes her anyway, so he offers it:] I'm sorry, Lindsey. [and then disconnects.]

((OOC: \o/ Perfect.))

[deceptivelytall]

[ That she got an apology is a huge deal, she knows. It that doesn't stop her from rolling her eyes at her phone when he hangs ups.

She gives herself a minute to gather herself, before resuming her pre-work routine. If she dresses a little nicer than she would usually, no one is there to call her out on it.

The day flies by, and before she knows it, she's getting out of a taxi in front of the coffee shop, looking through the front windows at the tables within.

Her watch reads 2:07. ]

[andyougoleft]

[Goodkat taught him, through years of training and calling him on his temper and his recklessness, to have stone-faced patience when necessary. He can wait out a target for days if necessary, he can look into the eyes of men like the Boss and the Rabbi and not falter as long as he has a purpose. That doesn't mean that when his watch says 2:03 and he hasn't seen her, he doesn't feel his stomach starting to tense up, that he doesn't catch himself wanting to leave and check her apartment, the morgue, make sure she's okay.

But he doesn't. He sits tight because he trusted her before, he can trust her now. He already feels mildly guilty for not actually being at the coffee shop, but he doesn't think she'll be surprised anyway that he's on the second floor balcony of the museum across the street, leaning against a wall, pretending to use a pair of binoculars to watch some birds sitting along the top of buildings. It's New York. No one looks twice at him.

He finally feels like he can breathe when he finally sees her get out of the taxi.

He lets her go into the shop, watches her try to decide whether to go through the line or not, watches her select a table. Watches the other people around her, the people who come and go after her, but no one's paying her any special attention. She's not checking around her for a vehicle with police in it, sitting, waiting to descend on Slevin Kelevra, aka Goodkat, aka Henry Mason for the murder of several high profile criminals.

He slouches when he comes in, but he doesn't waste time walking to her, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his hoodie, head ducked as though against the chill of the day but conveniently out of sight. When he slides into the chair across from her, though, he smiles.]

Of all the coffee shops in all the world, fancy meeting you here.

[deceptivelytall]

Casablanca. Really? [ He knows how that movie ends, right?

She rests her forearms against the edge of the table, leaning forward to study him. He seems to be fine, which is all she could ask for really.

She smiles in return, quick and bright. Okay, so she's definitely happy to see him, that she's sure of. ]

Hmm, I'll have a medium cinnamon mocha, and one of their cheese croissants.

[ Food first, everything else later. ]

Please and thank you.

[andyougoleft]

[He smiles then, sheepish and young in a way he hasn't felt sincerely in a long time, because he knows exactly what she's thinking. Helplessly, he replies:] Can't resist a classic, no matter what happens.

[He's not surprised when she smiles, not really, but it makes his heart jump a little. Evidence that maybe she' still mad, but not insurmountably. They don't actually know each other very well, but he does know her well enough to be sure that she wouldn't bother pretending to be anything other than level ten pissed if she was; he's also not surprised she hits him with a food order first.

Slevin nods, instead.] Coming right up.

[He gets a black coffee and a raspberry scone for himself, smiling charmingly for the cashier, and by the time he's returned to the table he thinks he has a gameplan.

Of course, Lindsey has an effortless habit of being a game changer, so maybe that won't mean as much as it might with other people.]

Thanks for coming.

[deceptivelytall]

[ It's only a self-fulfilling prophecy if they make it that way, she supposes, head resting on her arm.

She studies Slevin while he waits in line. He doesn't seem all that different - though maybe - the way he carries himself? It wasn't as if she had been paying the utmost attention with all the other things that had been going on. ]

I did say I would.

[ She reaches forward to pull her cup and plate towards herself, idly stirring at the coffee. ]

And it's a chance to try out a new cafe; though I can't say the same for the company.

Maybe - I was hoping for a chance to get a story out of it. [ She finishes, with a playful lilt. She bites into her croissant right after.

His turn. ]

[andyougoleft]

[His turn. He breathes out.

Slevin Kelevra had been an identity completely crafted, completely fabricated, to be non-threatening and forgettable; he'd stammered at the Boss, run his mouth at the Rabbi, and asked silly, disrespectful questions to make himself foolhardy and bumbling. A man unlucky enough to have a condemned apartment, a cheating girlfriend, and get mugged.

A man able to tell hard-eyed gangsters the truth while looking them square in the face and have them overlook it.

But some of Henry Mason had seeped in around the edges with Lindsey: the less sharp-edged sense of humor, the quick wit, the Bond obsession, and the fact that when he decides to be reckless he doesn't hold back. He carries himself differently now because he's not the man she first met at all, but maybe there was enough of who he really is - whoever that is - that this won't blow up in both their faces.]

It starts with a horse.

My dad bet on it, and he borrowed money to do it, and when the steroids they were pumping into it made it outrun its own ability and it died, the people he borrowed from came to collect. It was the first time he'd gambled, ever, the first time he'd done anything like that, and they decided to make an example out of him.

Smith was supposed to kill me, too, but he didn't. He took me with him instead, and when I was good enough, we put this job together. We were supposed to get in, take out the bad guys, and get back out.

That... didn't exactly happen.

[deceptivelytall]

[ As he talks, she breaks off pieces of her croissant, eating so as not to interrupt. It's a lot to take in, though the parallel between his first meeting with Smith and the incident at the airport isn't lost to her.

It doesn't make it any less infuriating that he had left, though it is understandable. Not just because of his choice of career - killing people for money just isn't going to be a respectable career overnight - but also why and who exactly has defined his life for so long.

She swallows quickly when he's done. ]

Which is good. [ Or else he wouldn't be here. Which is obvious, of course. But the repetition, she feels, in necessary in this case.

It all sounds outlandish; but she'll give him the benefit of the doubt, and he has to know she'll be doing her own little bit of digging herself. ]

You know, when I asked for a story, I wasn't expecting anything quite like that. [ She pauses. ] Was it worth it?