Le Silencieux

[The Exodus]

OOC: Nikolai/Santiago! ... AND a barfight! BIC:

Santiago Ortiz

It was lonely at the top. As El Jefe, Santiago had all the power, prestige, and respect that a gang leader could want. He inspired both fear and admiration in his lackeys. He was the oldest Garduna standing; at thirty-three years old, Santiago had lived on two continents, seen most all of his best friends meet fiery ends, and had brought about the deaths of dozens of other men and women who dared cross him. Those working for him knew better than to double-cross him and better to muck up a job he assigned them. He was tough on his gang, instilling a dress code that prevented them from looking like the usual suspects, and demanding the communality of weapons and half of any Garduna’s profits. Deviation from his code of conduct had consequences – sometimes deadly consequences – and already he’d had to prune the Garduna family tree.

Or, rather have the pruning done for him. At this level, Santiago seldom had to bother with pulling his own trigger. For every rule breaker, there were five or six young guns who wanted to cull Santiago’s favor and who were more than happy to eighty-six anyone who so much as looked at him funny.

And that secretly disturbed Santiago. He felt nothing towards the majority of his workers – workers, as if he were a legitimate business man! – except maybe exasperation. Occasionally admiration for a job particularly well done. But mostly, Santiago looked at them and saw nothing but wasted lives, all at least as hollow as his own.

And it wasn’t like gangsters sat around at the bar talking about their feelings. When Santiago deigned to sit with his men, it was a purely political move to say that while he was first among gangsters, he was still just one of them. bullsh*t, of course, since Santiago didn’t feel connected to them. He was just going through the motions, taking his drinks with them on a Friday night, smoking a cigarette that he insisted on lighting himself. He listened as his men talked about their latest conquests – turf acquisitions and women, mostly. And one guy had the attention of all the other Gardunas right now. Andreas had boned some other guy’s woman behind the bar the night before. This kind of conversation had once brought a genuine smirk to Santiago’s lips. Instead, he eyed Andreas over his whisky, wondering if he had a particular death wish. His voice was loud – not too loud to be obnoxious, but loud enough to be overheard – and he was pissing where he ate, so to speak. Santiago didn’t go back to the bars where he picked up women to brag about it. Especially not if she had a man on the side. You never knew who else was armed. Especially in a bar like this. There were plenty of seedy regulars.

And sure enough, ten minutes into Andreas’ story, a group of men approached the small group of gangsters. Santiago turned to face the bar. Suddenly, he decided, he wasn’t with his men, after all. He would let nature take its course.

“You better not be talking about Claudette Saint-Jean,” the biggest man in the group said. “Everyone knows she’s my girl.”

“Funny,” Andreas said, “She wasn’t yelling your name out last night.”

It was a great impersonation of 22 year old Santiago and an even better way to get killed. Santiago didn’t even flinch when the sound of cracking bones split the air. The big Frenchman had socked Andreas in his cocky mouth.

It was lesson time for the new recruits. And Santiago just had to see this…

[blueeyeddevil]

Nikolai Tarasova

Seriously, there were times Nikolai wondered if having the job here at the bar was even worth it. He loved the feel of the place and the atmosphere that that made him feel right at home on the streets where he'd spent so much of his life. But little things were adding up to make a big hassle. The nearly nightly brawls around the place caused tons of damage which subsequently came out of his paycheck when it happened during his shift. Just last night he'd had to chase off a couple who seemed to get a kick out of going at it under the bar.

In fact the guy was here now telling his buddies all about it. Nikolai was trying get the image of the guy's naked a*s out of his head. He wiped down the bar, trying not to listen, but still catching snippets of the story. His interest suddenly peaked when a group of men suddenly approached the kid who had to be in his early twenties. “You better not be talking about Claudette Saint-Jean,” the biggest suddenly growled. “Everyone knows she’s my girl.”

Nikolai paused where he was. In his life he'd seen hundreds of fights and been in almost as many. He could feel the tension in the air and the hair on the back of his neck stood on ends. He could sense a fight coming and it wasn't going to be pretty for either party...maybe even for a few bystanders.

“Funny,” the young man said, rising to the challenge. “She wasn’t yelling your name out last night.”

The retaliation was almost instant. The Frenchman's fist flew and landed a blow right to the other guy's mouth. It didn't take him long to recover and he launched himself at the attacker. Fists were flying as the two men tumbled to the ground, rolling and knocking over one of the tables. Beer spilled everywhere and a couple of glasses shattered. Great. Nikolai couldn't afford much more damage coming out of his paycheck.

With muttered Russian curses he leaped up and over the bar, going to pry the two men (who were still trying to rip out each other's throats) apart. "Enough!! Break it up," he shouted angrily, reaching down to try and pull the smaller guy away and in the fight. Nikolai could care less if they went outside and shot each other point blank, but they weren't going to do it in his bar.

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

A smile wormed its way onto Santiago’s lips. It was a grim and terrifying thing; one that left his own blood cold, even as the smile grew. Santiago seldom smiled. And then, they were fleeting ghosts of smiles, smiles brought about by wry amusement, or a burst of unwarranted affection. And while there was no doubt in his mind that he was amused, Santiago knew that smiling was wrong here. He should have felt protective of his own, he should have taken a beer bottle and cracked it over the stranger’s head. He should have drawn his gun and made the bar go quiet with unease.

And instead, he watched the show.

Andreas was a fool. He was twenty-two years old and this was the third time he’d done something to jeopardize Santiago’s trust. In the past, Santiago had dealt punishment himself. Swiftly and in front of a crowd of Gardunas. Ten lashes for bragging about being in a gang to what was almost certainly an undercover cop. Fifty for killing a man on another gang’s turf and getting caught. If Georgette hadn’t been working the case, there would have been cops all over Santiago’s detective agency, buzzing around like flies over carrion. But Santiago’s hands were raw and tired of gripping the whip. The only thing that had kept him from killing Andreas was that he was a damn good salesman. He’d raked in some of the highest profits for low grade drugs Santiago had ever seen. He had potential, if he could learn to keep his screamer shut.

And now he was getting his cosmic comeuppance. And it was delicious to watch as his mouth was bruised and bloodied by another’s hand for once. Santiago felt more alive than he had since Christmas.

But, of course, one of the local good guys just had to spoil Sanitago’s fun. The bartender – some young kid – leapt over the bar with the agility of a racehorse and began yelling for them to break it up. He reached for Andreas, but was thwarted by the violent nature of the brawl itself. Santiago rose from his bar stool and walked to the bartender.

“Let them,” he said quietly. “He brought this on himself.”

Then louder, in Spanish, Santiago ordered his other men to back away from the fight. Like whipped dogs, they slunk away from their friend, looking confused as to what they’d done wrong. And with the pack of gangsters gone, the strange Frenchman’s friends also backed off. There was uneasy peace between the two parties. And in the middle, Andreas and the Frenchman were still throwing punches. And Santiago smiled again. He wasn’t losing any other men tonight on Andreas’ account. But if Andreas got himself killed by the Frenchman, it was on him. He was expendable.

“Now maybe you can convince them to take it outside,” he said to the bartender with a shrug.

[blueeyeddevil]

Nikolai Tarasova

All he wanted was for them to take it outside. When they got out of the bar they could do whatever they wanted, but he wasn't going to just stand by and let them tear the place apart. He yelled for the fight to break up, jumping in to try and pull the guys apart as none of the other guys standing around seemed inclined to do so at all. Of course, it wasn't making much of a difference. Nikolai would have threatened to call the cops if he thought they would actually respond to a call from this side of town.

A man a few years older than him approached, obviously some kind of leader among the group. “Let them,” he said casually. “He brought this on himself.”

Nikolai glared at the man, mahogany eyes narrowed as he folded his arms. "He may have brought it on himself, but I'm the one left cleaning up after him," he reminded the man firmly. "I'm the one left paying for all the damage. You better do something or I will."

The man turned and shouted some words in what sounded like Spanish. The group that had converged to watch the fight slowly parted. Nikolai was instantly reminded of the chain of command in the Mafiya, the way everyone didn't dare disobey a direct order from their superior. “Now maybe you can convince them to take it outside,” the man said with a shrug of his shoulders.

Stepping forward, Nikolai easily pried the young man off the Frenchman, holding the struggling kid in a headlock he'd used more than once when he was about to snap someone's neck. With his other hand he kept the Frenchman at bay. "Listen! Next time any of you decides to start a fight in here, I have no problems gutting you. You want to fight, take it to the street. You aren't doing it in here," he commanded.

His gaze turned on the man who had been talking to him before. "If you can't keep your friends in line you're going to have to find a new place to drink."

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

Santiago almost sympathized with this bartender. If Andreas c*cked up too badly, they would both be left to clean up after him. Maybe that was why he called the other men off; out of sympathy. He liked to think so. At least that way, he’d still be recognizable as the Santiago Ortiz worthy of Reese Cordova’s friendship and the twisted sort of understanding he had with Georgette that other men might call “love”. And maybe Las Gardunas would see him as a merciful leader. A man of his people.

The thought almost made Santiago snort with derisive laughter. Instead, his lip curled as his men settled down and went back to sitting at the bar beside their drinks quietly. Dumb thugs, the lot of them. The bartender could take his chances with Andreas and the Frenchman if he wanted. Santiago was more than content to watch.

The bartender had Andreas in a headlock so fast that Santiago couldn’t help but be impressed. Either the kid had been doing his job longer than it looked possible, or he had a background in fighting. Santiago’s uncle had been a boxer and a street-fighter. He’d shown Santiago moves like that when he was growing up; moves he still found useful to this day. This was one bartender Santiago didn’t want to take his chances with, unless it was for sport.

"Listen! Next time any of you decides to start a fight in here, I have no problems gutting you. You want to fight, take it to the street. You aren't doing it in here," the bartender said to the once-brawling men. Then, he leveled his gaze at Santiago and added, "If you can't keep your friends in line you're going to have to find a new place to drink."

“Don’t worry. That one won’t be a problem for you anymore,” Santiago said, nodding at Andreas.

The look he shot his fellow gangster said enough. Santiago was done with this mierda. He had more important tasks than babysitting a cocky twenty-two year old with impulse control. Something in his tone must have set the other Gardunas the same message; he could feel the taut excitement and nervousness to his back where they sat. There’d be a meeting tonight after they were done at the bar to determine Andreas’ fate. And while Santiago allowed the illusion of democracy among Las Gardunas, he had his mind made up about what to do with Andreas. They could find new dealers easily. But a new bar was harder to come by. They needed Le Silencieux’s no-questions-asked policy more than they needed Andreas.

He turned to his men and told them in Spanish that he thought everyone had enough to drink and that he’d pay the tab if everyone left now. They didn’t need to be told twice to clear out.

“I’m paying for their drinks,” Santiago told the bartender. And then, grudgingly, he added, “Theirs’, too.”

And he gestured at the Frenchman and his friends. Since inheriting the Reyes fortune, Santiago had the cash to spare. He’d also tip this guy more than he ever tipped anybody, buy his silence, buy his way out of trouble. Santiago wasn’t used to handling problems like this, but it was time to upgrade his problem solving skill set.

[blueeyeddevil]

Nikolai Tarasova

Tension crackled all through the bar as he held the two men apart, effectively ending the brawl. In no uncertain terms, Nikolai told the man who appeared to be the leader that they were going to have find another bar to go to if he kept letting the rest of his crew break into fights here. He doubt the owner of the bar would be too happy with the decision. Nikolai recognized the group as frequent customers who brought a great deal of money to the bar, though Nikolai wondered if it was enough to offset the amount of damage they did.

“Don’t worry. That one won’t be a problem for you anymore,” the man said with a gesture towards the kid Nikolai still had in a headlock.

Nikolai had heard similar words spoken many times by the leaders of his faction of the Mafiya about various member who had caused trouble. Usually the person in question found themselves eventually alone with Nikolai himself who would then proceed to do his job and take care of the situation.

Nikolai glanced down at the kid. "Poor b*sterd," he thought before letting him go. He was just a stupid kid who had made a stupid decision. Though, Nikolai supposed is he thought he was ready to join a gang (at least that's what all the signs were point to anyway) then he had better be ready to die. If he wasn't then this line of work was not for him.

More Spanish was spoken and soon a great deal of them were filing out. “I’m paying for their drinks,” the leader said before gesturing towards the Frenchmen who had confronted the group. “Theirs’, too.”

Nikolai gave a nod and came back around behind the bar. He began to tally up the total cost of the drinks for the whole group. "That comes to 110 Euros," he coaxed an eyebrow at the guy shaking his head and folding his arms as he stood. "That's an awful lot to try and keep the peace..." he murmured. For once, Nikolai found himself glad that he was never at the top of the chain if meant shelling out that kind of money every time he went out drinking.

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

When all the drinks combined came out to only slightly more than one hundred euros, Santiago felt slight relief. Slight. Growing up poor, he’d never spent that much money on alcohol in his life. But with the Reyes fortune at his fingertips and half of the Gardunas revenue, Santiago could afford it. He nodded wordlessly.

"That's an awful lot to try and keep the peace..." the bartender said as he rung Santiago up.

Santiago smiled grimly and reached into his wallet. “Worth every cent, if it means an easier night for everyone.”

Except Andreas, of course, who had skittered out of the bar and likely into the waiting claws of his former friends. Santiago would let them have their way with him for nearly destroying their relationship with their favorite dive bar and with their leader. Then later, he’d do whatever else had to be done.

Santiago pulled out the cash discreetly as he could and slid all but twenty euros to the bartender. There was a hefty tip there, much more than the customary fifteen-to-twenty percent.

“That should more than cover it,” Santiago said, knowing that the tip would likely stretch far on this side of town or any other, for that matter. Then, taking a seat at his barstool again, he shook his head. This time, he pulled his credit card from his wallet. “If you wouldn’t mind opening a new tab, I think I’ll stick around a bit longer. It’s still a ten dollar minimum for tabs, right?”

He needed to clear his mind. He needed the alone time away from the gang. They would be the death of him; Santiago had always thought that. But now he knew that if no one put a bullet in him, he’d die from stress-induced illness brought on by guys like Andreas who he was forever cleaning up after. An anticlimactic, but surprisingly unsurprising way for a gang leader to die. Santiago pinched the bridge of his nose and waited for the bartender to set up his personal account for the night.

[blueeyeddevil]

Nikolai Tarasova

Nikolai watched the other men leaving as their leader commanded, the young kid from before trying to sneak out and get away before the others caught up to him. He found it hard to believe that he had been that way once. He'd followed the directions of the Mafiya leaders without questions. It didn't matter if it was to pick up the dry cleaning or kill a man in cold blood, he did what they asked. Just a faceless bruiser following orders. Nothing more.

The leader of the gang sat in front of him now stating that he was going to pay for their group's drinks as well as the drink of the Frenchmen that they had gotten in a fight with. Obviously this was an attempt at diplomacy and as Nikolai read him the total, he found himself glad he'd never risen the Mafiya ranks and keeping order had never been his job.

“Worth every cent, if it means an easier night for everyone.” the man insisted, though Nikolai watched him skeptically. He pulled out a large wad of cash, doing his best to hide it from view. Smart. No telling who might kill him for that kind of money. “That should more than cover it,” he said as he sat on the bar stool again.

Counting the money, Nikolai found a very generous tip. He raised an eyebrow as if waiting for the guy to try and take some of it back. Nikolai slipped the extra into his pocket and deposited the rest. The came pulled out the credit card next. For a moment he wondered why this guy wanted to leave a paper trail but shrugged it off. His funeral. “If you wouldn’t mind opening a new tab, I think I’ll stick around a bit longer. It’s still a ten dollar minimum for tabs, right?”

Nikolai nodded. A personal tab made more sense. The cash was probably gang money and wasn't likely to be traced. That was good. Last thing Nikolai needed was to have the cops do raid and end up in jail where the Mafiya was sure to find him.

He started up the tab and turned back to the guy. "What's the poison," he asked, taking the guy's order. He got it ready and set it down in front of the guy, going back to wiping the bar, though something nagged at him. "What are you planning on doing with the kid," he asked curiously. He didn't expect a straight answer by any means, but he was curious and perhaps a little homesick for gang dealings.

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

Santiago was happy to be alone again; it reminded him of the days when he came into this bar, half-heartedly looking for trouble, when he was a stage manager and longing for trouble. Simpler times, better times. His stage managing money – the nest egg he’d built up for himself – was laughable compared to the money he drew in from the gang. But it paid for his personal tab. He’d earned that money; earned it legitimately. He was fiercely proud of his old life. The one he’d once thought of as too plain-vanilla to be of any worth. You didn’t know what good was until you didn’t have it anymore.

The bartender went to the register and set up the tab, which brought a relaxation to the place between Santiago’s brows. No fuss. No need for it.

"What's the poison?" the bartender asked.

“Hick & Healey, on the rocks,” said Santiago.

Carmen had hooked him on English whiskeys since coming to Paris, which made him wonder what she’d been doing before turning up at his detective agency. Didn’t matter much; the whiskey was good. The right amount of burn, the right amount of smoothness.

The bartender reached around for the whiskey, for a glass of ice, and did his job. He set the drink down in front of Santiago. Santiago raised his glass with a murmured “Salud” before taking his first sip. The bartender lingered a moment, wiping down the counter. Santiago lowered his drink, watching him carefully.

"What are you planning on doing with the kid?" the bartender asked after a moment.

Santiago sneered for a minute. “He’s out of your hair. That’s all you should worry about.”

And then sighing, he shook his head and made a somewhat exasperated, largely apologetic gesture: something between a shrug and a wave of the hand.

“The others will probably take care of him,” he said quietly. “You saw how they tore after him when they left.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Nikolai Tarasova

That was the truly sick thing about being in a gang or a group like the Mafiya...You never really left. Nikolai was apart from them, out of the organization, certainly, but there was a part of him that was always going to in the Mafiya. It was in his blood now, both in the sense that he been a part of for far too long and in the sense that his dad had done it too. His dad had attempted to leave the Mafiya behind for good and look where it had gotten him and Nikolai's mother. Nikolai didn't think for a second the same wouldn't happen to him if they found him.

Still, there was a part of him that was still drawn in by that life. A part of him still craved it. The place he worked was certainly a hotspot for gang activity. Most of the time, Nikolai was confident that he was scarier, more dangerous than the ones who found their way into the bar. His training and skill served him well. But this guy in front of him threw him for a loop. Usually the leaders were too high up to both coming to a place like this. They didn't dine with their subjects. Whoever this guy was, he was definitely the leader. Nikolai found himself asking questions about what would happen to the kid from earlier.

“He’s out of your hair. That’s all you should worry about.” he said with a sneer. Nikolai his jaw set hard but said nothing. He hadn't been expecting an answer really and it was sort of stupid of him to ask.

The guy suddenly sighed and gave a slight waving gesture that seemed almost apologetic. “The others will probably take care of him,” he said softly. “You saw how they tore after him when they left.”

Nikolai nodded again. "True. But I didn't ask what they were going to do with him," he pointed out, folding his arms. "You know they aren't going to do anything without your say so. So what are you going to do with the kid?" It was true. Only the leader's orders mattered in a gang. Only what he did made a difference.

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

Santiago hoped the others would take care of Andreas. He’d scold them with a secret sort of smile, a private relief that he didn’t have to kill one of his own. He’d been able to keep his hands clean thus far. A beating here or there, pay docks. But kill… Well, it was better to cut your losses early, wasn’t it?

"True. But I didn't ask what they were going to do with him," the bartender said. Santiago looked at him sharply. "You know they aren't going to do anything without your say so. So what are you going to do with the kid?"

Santiago decided to smile. It was a humorless grin. One that certainly didn’t meet his eyes. He wondered what he might look like to this stranger. He wondered if the stranger was a cop or an informant. At another bar down the block, the cops regularly donned costumes and posed as bar staff to play fly-on-the-wall. Santiago had run into them on official, detective business. He wasn’t taking chances.

“Use your imagination, chico,” Santiago said. “You seem like the creative type.”

Either this guy was an undercover cop or had been around the block enough to know what Santiago would do to Andreas. When his men brought him to headquarters tonight, likely bound and bloodied, Andreas would be begging for death. Santiago would give it to him. The only way out of the gang, as far as Santiago could tell. Running hadn’t worked so well for him; it wouldn’t work for Andreas. Game over. Santiago took another drink from his whiskey.

“What I’m curious about is why you care so much,” he told the bartender. “He’s nothing special. Neither am I. You get sh*t like this all the time.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Nikolai Tarasova

A slow and humorless grin spread across the man's face. It wasn't hard to imagine what this guy had in store for the kid and Nikolai didn't even have to imagine. Once again the phrase "his own damn fault" sprang to his mind. The kid had to have known the consequences of joining a gang. He had to have known that if he did, there was only a very slim chance that he was going to live to see his 30's. This one probably hadn't even made it to 25. There was only a very moderate chance of that happening, but it was possible if you kept your head low. The kids had tried to stick out, be tough, and it cost him his life. That's how it went.

“Use your imagination, chico,” the man said. “You seem like the creative type.”

Nikolai grinned in return, tossing the rag over his shoulder. "That bad, huh," he said in a knowing voice, shaking his head. "In that case, God have mercy on him since it looks like no one else will." He watched the guy as he took another drink of the whiskey in front of him, half wondering if this guy was trying to steel his nerves for what he was going to do tonight.

“What I’m curious about is why you care so much,” he pointed out. Nikolai coldn't help but think that this was a fairly reasonable question. “He’s nothing special. Neither am I. You get sh*t like this all the time.”

Nikolai shrugged as he leaned against the bar. "Yes, but this is the first time I've stepped in. This is the first time I've threatened banning an entire group from a bar, which is probably what got your guys so riled at him. Technically that means whatever you decide to do is partially on me as well," he said. "Trying to decide if I need to feel guilty or not." The half smile on his face was enough to show he wouldn't feel guilty in the least.

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

The bartender shrugged, leaned against the bar. He’d said moments ago something about God having mercy on Andreas’ soul. Santiago knew that this guy understood the gravity of the situation. And that sent something like excitement through him. Most of the time, non-Gardunas had no idea what he was talking about.

But, of course, excitement was scary. This guy understood him and it had been a very long time since anyone truly understood Santiago. He didn’t like this one bit. And yet, curiosity gnawed at him. Why did this guy know anything about him or his men? How?

If he was a cop, Santiago would probably kill himself. Rather do that than rot away in prison or spend his life on the run. He was too old and too tired for that sh*t.

Hopefully, this was just a savvy bartender. A guy who knew his way around a back alley, not unlike Santiago had been at one point. Not unlike Santiago was now.

"Yes, but this is the first time I've stepped in,” the bartender said. “This is the first time I've threatened banning an entire group from a bar, which is probably what got your guys so riled at him. Technically that means whatever you decide to do is partially on me as well. Trying to decide if I need to feel guilty or not."

The half-smile stretched across the bartender’s lips told Santiago that his mind was made up. He’d given himself a “not guilty” verdict and moved on. Santiago shook his head.

“If I’d thought you were at fault, you wouldn’t still be breathing,” Santiago said matter-of-factly. It wasn’t a threat; it was the truth. Santiago killed efficiently, made snap-decisions on who got to live and die when people stuck their nose where it didn’t belong. But this was the stranger’s bar. Not his. “You were just doing your job.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Nikolai Tarasova

Nikolai had promised himself a long time ago when he first realized what he was getting into that he wasn't going to feel guilty for anything he did. The people the Mafiya had him take out were people who crossed the the Mafiya in their dealings or had broken the Thieves Code. They were people who hadn't followed the rules and therefore they should have known it might cost them their lives. Nikolai refused to feel guilty for that and he sure as hell wasn't about to feel guilty about this gang kid who would probably be dead by morning.

“If I’d thought you were at fault, you wouldn’t still be breathing,” the man said casually. Something in the matter-of-fact way he said made Nikolai pause for a moment. Mahogany eyes surveyed the stranger briefly. Somehow he didn't doubt those words in the least.Nikolai wouldn't go down without a fight, certainly, but he believed that the man wouldn't hesitate to try and take him out if the misunderstanding had been deemed his fault.

“You were just doing your job.” he said.

"We all have our jobs to do, don't we," Nikolai mused with a gleam in his eyes. He knew quite well what this stranger's 'job' was and was going to be. "Right now, mine is serving beers and whiskeys to guys like you," he said. "Another round?" He stood, bottle in hand as he waited for the reply to unasked question... Was this guy ready to get back to his men just yet?

[RaeRae]

OOC: Rachel and Nikoli! This'll be fun! BIC:

Rachel Scott

The sun was starting to set in the Parisian sky, the night owls were just waking up or getting ready for their night out on the town. Rachel could be categorized as a night owl when her stories ideas were lacking and her column was on the verge of not having a new update when the next issue of the paper went live. Tonight was one of those nights. She didn't have her laptop with her, would never bring it to this part of town, but she was armed with her pen, notebook, and a bottle of mace because hey, you never know what could happen.

The thing about La Périphérie was that despite the possibility of your car going missing being nearly double, it was a great place to scout out a good story. Rachel needed stories, needed something she could work with and delv deeper in to. What better place to watch people then a bar? Le Silenciuex was the perfect bar in this part of town to be people watching. Rachel had already done it a few times and was able to gather bit and pieces of information here and there. Tonight she was on a mission to find a solid story that she could really start working on. Something to liven up her column, add some excitement.

Since it was still a little early, she had beat the late-night crowd and could secure a good spot. That spot tonight was on the side of the bar, a good view of everything else. She situated herself at the stool and took out her pen and paper. Besides, she could use a drink or two. It had certainly been one of those weeks. Her dark browne eyes wandered a moment before finally settling on the bartender. Rachel smiled up at him as she tossed her hair in to a ponytail. "Scotch on the rocks please."