[Ezra Turk] *Rat. Tat-tat-tat-tat. Rat. Tat-tat-tat-tat. Rat. Tat-tat-tat…. tat. There’s a man trailing Izzy from a few feet away. Not an entirely unpleasant figure, though its almost certain he hadn’t been there a few minutes ago, regardless of how casual he appears, dark eyes boring into her back. He’s not terribly tall in comparison to most in this area. A square shouldered, medium sized man, with a thick mop of dark uncontrolled hair, a goatee, and darkly arched eyebrows. Featues sly and vulpine. Thin, knobby knuckled fingers jab a rhythm against the dull brick and pale glass of the buildings he walks close to. A slow smirk spreading over prominent features, even as his eyes cut hard to the left, watching a pedestrian approach with vague malice. When his eyes skate back to Izzy he’s got his head cranked to the side, nostrils flaring, black eyes unwavering.*
[Izzy Montoya] (There’s a hole being a-bored into my back – I do notice this, right? Because I’m a COP dammit…)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Izzy Montoya] He’s not gone completely without notice. Her walk is no-nonsense, her gait less lady-like and more purposeful. She’s somewhat graceful in her movements, though everything has a distinct purpose. She does not waste movements, she doesn’t expend any unneeded energy, she simply moves.
Until she doesn’t any longer. She stops suddenly, and turns. “If you don’t quit starin at my fuckin’ ass, I’m gonna shoot you. This is your only fuckin’ warning.”
[Ezra Turk] There’s the Fenrir spirit.
*He speaks in a voice that is best left silent. Grating, crackling, and – strangely charming. It’s that slimy, hot oil sort of charm that leaves you feeling just a little dirtier for having been in his presence. However enjoyable. He comes up short, arms raising, body arching away from her as though to avoid a collision, his fingers wiggling knobbily in the air. Eyebrows arching as he grins a toothy grin.*
Punchy, chipmunk. Punchy.
Are you always this trigger happy.. mmMMMmm?
[Izzy Montoya] “Yes.”
The answer is simple enough, as she watches him. Her gaze is dark, her hair too, and intelligence sparks deep in her gaze, as she studies the oily little bastard. She has known his type before, dealt with them so very often in her line of work. Her look screams more than just Fenrir – it screams cop.
Her slacks are dark, her blouse is light, and a leather suit-styled jacket over it all. One hand is on her hip, the other rests lightly at the small of her back.
[Ezra Turk] Ut Ut Ut.
*He chides, sliding to lean against the corner of a building, wiggling a finger at her. Dark eyes gleam, dancing manic with amusement. He doesn’t pulse with rage or boil with the heat of gaia’s fury. His connection with the Consort a fainter, more impersonal thing. His voice grates another question.*
Bullets and other things draw attention. Here I am just watching a pretty thing dominate her natural habitat… No need to cause a mess. Whats your name mmMMm?
*Black eyes flick to the hand at her back, then glide slowly up to her face, appraisal frank. She was rough around the edges, but that breeding was a thing of beauty. A cagey grin, just the uncomfortable side of sinister, slippery and pleasant all the same time. He taps his fingers on his chest. rat. tat-tat-tat-tat.*
I’m Ezra.
[Izzy Montoya] She smirks. “Ezra, is it? And why on earth were you named after a fuckin’ prophet, hm? Parents hate ya?”
She keeps her hand exactly where it is at the small of her back, fingers wrapped around the but of her gun, fingers flipping the catch on the holster so that it’s free if it needs to be.
“Izzy.”
[Ezra Turk] As a matter of fact, they still do. Isn’t that odd.. Izzy?
*That low crackling voice rolls her name around like something worth fully tasting, savoring it with a sly smile before tucking it away in the corner of his mind. He reaches out and flicks a bit of lint off his cuff, watching it fall to the ground before skating his eyes sideways to watch pedestrians.*
Calm, little Frauline. You’ll make me nervous. So suspicious. Where are you going mmm?
[Izzy Montoya] “Not at all.” It’s said with that same lazy smirk, a quirk of her lips to one side, as she watches him. His eyes dance to the side, her’s do not. She is well aware of the threat before her, despite the oilslickness of his persona.
“Now, how is that any of your fuckin’ business, Ezra?”
Oh what a mouth on this one…
[Ezra Turk] *A sharp click of his tongue, fingers beginning that rat. tat-tat-tat-tat beat on the wall he leans against. His eyes moves slooowly back to her, and he raises darky arched eyebrows. Grin spreading across his features, lighting his face with vague malice. So touchy, this one. Hard nosed.*
Well, chipmunk. There are things that go bump in the night out there, and the moon.. its awfully full. Isn’t it?
*A long finger points above their heads, but his eyes don’t leave hers.*
You’ll let me pretend like I’m a gentleman, and escort you where you’re headed. Safe, and sound. MMmmMM?
[Izzy Montoya] “The name is Izzy. Call me anything but that or Detective, an I will shoot you in the fuckin’ balls.” And somehow, there’s the distinct feeling that she is not kidding.
He points at the moon, and her gaze doesn’t waver. Stubborn, or something like that. He wants her to pretend he’s a gentleman, and she narrows her gaze, slightly.
[What are you REALLY planning, Mr. Man…]
[Per+emp]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Ezra Turk] [Ezra.. is a bad man. He is likely seldom planning entirely steadfastly wholesome activities. Right now he’s playing cat and mouse. He enjoys that he makes her uncomfortable, and is more than a little cruel. It doesn’t seem like he has anything more than a vague desire for her conquest and sinister playfulness on his mind. As he stands at the moment, she’d likely get home.. safe and sound. BUT he also seems a little.. off balance. That manic gleam in his eye, the cheshire grin… who knows what might set him off or bring out that cruelty that lurks under the slimy charm. While she might get home safe, its not a sure bet. Proceed with caution. This one has the potential to weigh you down and toss you in the river, as casually as picking up take-out.]]
to Izzy Montoya
[Izzy Montoya] And after a moment of just watching him, she shakes her head, slightly. “No, I don’t think I’ll be lettin ya pretend yer a fuckin’ gentleman. Not tonight.”
A beat. And that little lopsided smirk.
“I’ve got a headache.”
[Ezra Turk] Izzy.. these threats. *Ezra begins to lean forward in warning, eyes suddenly sharp and dark as obsidian. Flat and reptilian as he tilts his head and grins a cheshire grin. Teeth too sharp. Eyes too cold. His voice rasping her name lowly, as though it were caught amidst broken glass and he’s just too stubborn to cough it up.*
As you wish. Next time we meet, I will not be a gentleman. MmMMMmMM?
*Was that a threat or a statement, a pick up line.. or all three? A dark smirk there, he flicks his fingers at her, wiggling them in goodbye.*
Careful out there, little Fenrir. That gun isn’t good against everything.
[Izzy Montoya] “You’d be surprised. Bullet in the brainpan – squish.”
He promises not to be a gentleman the next time they meet, and she does not remove her hand from her gun. She simply watches him as he waves goodbye. She’s loathe to turn her back on him, but she does so – slowly – and starts to walk once more, tension visible in her spine, in her shoulders, as she does so.
She half expects his hands on her in 3….2…..1…..
[Ezra Turk] *His eyes are the only thing that rove over her. An unabashed appreciation of her. But more than that, he enjoyed the challenge she presented. She was actually going to shoot him. How delightful. He watches her move through the crowd, before slipping out of sight. Izzy left to the other dangers of a Chicago night, as Ezra stops playing around, and attends to business in the alleys and dark places of the city.*
[Izzy Montoya] (whee! escape! thanks for playin, punkin! :) )