Template:Opco business day convention scene: Difference between revisions

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Template:Opco business day convention scene (view source)

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She spits her drink. He pops an olive. The zydeco wails. They get close.
She spits her drink. He pops an olive. The zydeco wails. They get close.
She’s nervous. She looks about. She gasps – clocks something, some''one'', over her shoulder.
She gets closer.
She gets ''suuuuper'' close.
His dander is up. It’s aching, bad.
She leans in. She whispers in his ear – her lips touch his lobe. He wants to explode.
“Have you got something for me?”
He whispers back. His lips touch ''her'' lobe. “Do you want something?”
“I’ll take ''anything''. No questions asked.”
“Anything?”
“Come find me. Come find ''yourself''.”
“When?”
“End of the month. For ''business''.”
“End of month — ?” The Negotiator glanced at the Rolodex on his wrist: a Perpetual Oyster “Datejust” — top of the range.
“Nice piece.”
Today was the 30th. “Tomorrow?”
She leaned in close. Her breath was hot. “Work it out, big boy.”
His professional circuits clicked in fast. Tomorrow was Saturday. It was the thirtieth. It was month-end proximate. He tipped the ambiguity right off the bat. “Wait: Following or Modified Following?”
“I like the way you’re thinking,” she said, and drifted away, on the raging current of sales bullshittery and lofted canapés.  “Actually –”
“I – Actually? But wait – what’s your name?”
As she floats away she tosses something. The Negotiator snatches it. It’s a room-key. There is a number punched into the plastic. HACIENDA 547. He turns to look at her but she has floated further. The ocean closes up, and she is gone. Through the chatter, there is a tight-point whisper, and it hits him broadside: “I’m [[Marissa Planasset|Marissa]].”
A Bus-boy rocks by with bacon-wrapped scallops in newsprint party hats. He leans in casually, as he goes. “Careful with her, sir: She’s an agent.”
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