Template:Opco business day convention scene: Difference between revisions

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 Stage left: the [[Negotiator]] cuts a track through the hullaballoo. And then sees her. Hullaba-hell''oooo''.
-The counter scene is chaos. His bar presence is zilch. All the same he catches her eye — ''just''. There’s a flicker and its gone. She looks down. She looks away. She flushes red. ''There'': she steals another look through that tumbling fringe. The Negotiator knows it: ''this'' is the moment.
+The counter scene is chaos. His bar presence is zilch. All the same he catches her eye — ''just''. There’s a flicker and its gone. She looks down. She looks away. She flushes red. ''There'': she steals another look through that tumbling fringe.
-He rams a [[Cayman Island rum cake|Tortuga chaser]]. That bad boy gives him wings. He rocks up. “Is this guy boring you?”
+He knows it: ''this'' is his moment.
-The stares straight at him. “Not yet.”
+He rams a [[Cayman Island rum cake|Tortuga chaser]]: that bad boy gives him wings. He rocks up. “Is this guy boring you?”
+She stares straight at him. “Not yet.”
 She blows her fringe. She contrives boredom. “Weren’t you in the [[day count fraction]] break-out session?”
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 “You’re a funny guy. Are you ''[[Following business day convention|following]]'' me?”
-He cracks out ol’ *innocent face*.
+He cracks out his *innocent face*. “I was here first —”
-She looks him up and down. She scoffs, but vibes playful. She runs a finger round the rim of his glass. Their eyes lock again. “O.K., soldier, so you say you were ''[[preceding business day convention|preceding]]'' me?”
+She looks him up and down. She scoffs, but vibes playful. She runs a finger round the rim of his glass. Their eyes lock again. “O.K., so you were ''[[preceding business day convention|preceding]]'' me?”
-He shrugs. “I figured you’d wind up here, so I just made sure I got here first.”
+“I figured you’d wind up here, so I just made sure I was in place.” He shrugs. “Call it [[Modified following business day convention|''modified'' following]] you.”
-So, you were, ahhh — [[Modified following business day convention|''modified'' following]] me?”
+He pops an olive.
-He spits his drink. She pops an olive. The zydeco wails. They get ''close''.
+She spits her drink.
-She’s nervous. She bites her lip. She looks about. She ''gasps'' – clocks something, some''one'', over her shoulder. She leans in. She whispers in his ear – her lips touch his lobe. It’s ''hot''.
+The zydeco wails. They get ''close''. She’s nervous. She bites her lip. She looks about. She ''gasps'' – clocks something, some''one'', over her shoulder.
-“Have you got something for me, big boy?”
+She leans in. She whispers in his ear – lips touch his lobe. It’s ''hot''. “Have you got something for me, big boy?”
-He whispers back. His lips touch ''her'' lobe. It’s ''infernal''.
+He whispers back. His lips touch ''her'' lobe. It’s ''infernal''. “Well, do you ''want'' something?”
-“Well do you want something?”
 “Honey, I’ll take ''anything''. No questions asked.” She runs a finger down his gilet.
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 “So, tomorrow?”
-She leans in close. Her breath is hot. “Work it out, big boy.”
+“Work it out, big boy,” she says, and winks, and drifts away, upon a raging current of sales bullshittery and lofted canapés. “''[[Actual/Actual|Actually]]'' –”
-His professional circuits click in fast. It’s the thirtieth: month-end proximate. ''Tomorrow is Saturday''. He tips the ambiguity right off the bat. “Wait: [[Following business day convention|Following]] or [[Modified Following business day convention|Modified Following]]?”
-“I like the way you’re thinking,” she says, and winks, and drifts away, on the raging current of sales bullshittery and lofted canapés.  “Actually –”
-As she floats away she tosses something. The Negotiator snatches it. It’s a room-key. Punched into the plastic: ''HACIENDA 547''.
-He turns to look but the ocean’s closing up.
+As she floats away she tosses something. He snatches it. It’s a room-key. Punched into the plastic: ''HACIENDA 547''. She floats away.
 “Wait – what’s your name?”
-But she is ''gone''.
+She floats on. Through the chatter, a frail, tight-point whisper, hits him broadside: “[[Marissa Planasset|Marissa]].”
-Through the chatter, a frail, tight-point whisper, hits him broadside: “I’m [[Marissa Planasset|Marissa]].”
+He reaches out but she’s gone, her wake dissolving into an angry sea.
 He says it to himself: “''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 [[Process agent|agent]].”