A Girl Like You in a Place Like This (Emmanuelle)

[The Exodus]

OOC: Carmen/Emmanuelle! BIC:

Carmen Vega

Le Baiser Sale was not Carmen’s usual stomping grounds. She much preferred a good discotheque, where she could get lost in electronic beats and the thrill of anonymity in a crowded room. But there was no denying that there was something enjoyable about sitting on a bar stool in an upscale place like this. Lorenzo had been good to the gang; Diego was doing better. Maybe it was Paris; people paid more for their goods here. More for their guns, more for their drugs, more for their assassins. Carmen hadn’t seen so much money in all her life as she had in her bank account nowadays. And the numbers just kept going up and up.

She could afford to go into classy places like Le Baiser Sale and nobody gave her sh*t for it. She lounged against the bar, drinking a scotch and staring out at the dance floor. The women here were so much more elegant than at the local discotheque. Much more elegant than the women Carmen was forced to deal with in her line of work. She was so used to junkies crawling to her, itching for a fix. Or one of Diego’s girls – the M.E. or his little ballerina friend – eyeing her like she wasn’t to be trusted.

F*ck ‘em, was her usual response. Flippant, casual, blasé. Just how she liked it.

She watched the performers on stage, some Ella Fitzgerald wannabe belted into the microphone, while the Rat Pack played their instruments. Carmen cocked her head to the side, running a mental translation of the lyrics into Spanish. She was so fixated on the song that she didn’t notice someone sidle up to her.

“Meet me in ten minutes out back,” the man whispered. “I’ve got cash.”

Carmen looked over at him. He was one of their richer clients. Some diplomat’s kid, hooked on smack. He wore an expensive suit and it was clear he was illing. You could see it in his eyes, a burning sort of desperation. Carmen snickered.

“Sorry, chico,” she said, only sorry that she wasn’t going to make a little extra cash tonight. She didn’t have anything on her. “You must have me mixed up with some other girl.”

“Don’t be cute. You know what I’m asking for,” the guy snapped. “I can pay.”

“Get bent,” Carmen told him. “I’m telling you, you’re making a mistake.”

Carmen stood up to walk away, but the guy grabbed her wrist. His bony fingers constricted around her and she winced, surprised. But the surprise didn’t last too long. She set down her drink and reached for his pinky. He grabbed her attacking hand and held both her wrists now. Carmen smiled as she served a well-placed kick to the guy’s knee. It folded and he fell to the ground, releasing her in the process. He laid on the floor, moaning and all Carmen could think was, Well, there goes one steady client.

She picked up her scotch and moved a few seats down. The bartender shot her a disapproving look. Other people were looking at her and Carmen suddenly remembered why she preferred crowded night clubs and rowdy dive bars.

“I warned him,” she said with a shrug. “But some guys just don’t take “no” for an answer. Another scotch, when you get the chance.”

Now all she could do was hope that the bouncers threw the kid out of here and not her. And that nobody believed him when he tried to accuse Carmen of being a dealer. Because – after all – she was so much more than that.

[smokey]

Emmanuelle Lalancette

When Emmanuelle was feeling lonely, which was much of the time even after this long living in Paris, she could either be found at the church, praying but not really praying, or at any one of many of her favourite bars, drinking and really drinking. Tonight, Le Baiser Sale was pretty much her only option, since one of the guys in her strings section was backing up the featured singer on the standup bass. the singer was only okay. Nice background noise, but not a confident enough voice for Emmanuelle to want to actively listen to. Instead, she settled at the bar with her fourth pint of good Belgian porter and her reading.

Normally Emmanuelle liked to play the 'stood up for a date' game as if she had to justify drinking alone to a huge group of strangers. Wait around for half an hour with an untouched glass of red wine, look at her watch and look dejected for a few minutes before taking whatever work or book she was reading from her shoulder bag and spending the next hours getting her drink on. That had ended when realized that nobody was ever paying any attention to her, and even if they were, they didn't care. So, tonight, she was totally shameless, marching into the bar, ordering two beers, both for herself, and struggling through her German-language Anthropology Journal with pride.

She welcomed a chance to stop trying to learn German and look up as tense voices cut through the average jazz. Something is about to happen, her brain whispered as she finished the last quarter of her beer and held up her glass for another, transfixed by a subtle, electric exchange not far down the bar. A trashy looking guy and a woman who didn't look as if she entirely fit in this environment. By this point she was staring openly; Emmanuelle didn't have the same degree of restraint as the other bar patrons who had noticed the plot transpiring in front of them.

If they weren't paying attention, they certainly were when the shady guy went down. "Damn," said Emmanuelle, not so loudly but certainly not quietly. She had been observing so actively that she almost felt as if she'd been participating.

She caught the bartender tossing looks in the general direction of the victor. She'd been reading about the Bystander Effect just then, and felt a compulsion to disobey the laws of anthropology and intervene in some way. "Excuse me," she waved down the bartender and pointed to the recipient of the kick. "That guy there was trying to hurt that woman. I don't think any of the women in this bar would feel safe with him around." She felt like a school tattletale, true, but she felt a sort of rebellious pride at having overcome the Bystander Effect.

[The Exodus]

Carmen Vega

Carmen drained the remainder of her scotch and waited for the bartender to hurry up and pour her another. He took the glass and dumped out the melting ice to replace it with new stuff. Carmen lifted her chin, as satisfied as she was going to get in a place like this. No one had tossed her out on her *ss, so that was something. But then the bartender set down Carmen’s glass to address a pretty, young blonde waving at him.

That’s why I never come here, Carmen thought, looking over at the girl. She was gorgeous. A finely sculpted ice queen with chiseled cheekbones, pale hair, and sky blue eyes. The bartender was infinitely more interested in a girl like that than actually doing his job. But to be fair, Carmen didn’t blame him.

But then, instead of ordering a drink, Ice Queen pointed at Carmen’s ex-client, who was still lolling about on the floor. The sudden fall, paired with the onset of withdrawal was probably agony for him. She wondered if Ice Queen was going to ask that an ambulance be called.

"That guy there was trying to hurt that woman. I don't think any of the women in this bar would feel safe with him around,” she said, much to Carmen’s surprise.

“I don’t think he’d gonna make the same mistake twice, rubia. Not that he’ll even be getting up any time soon. But I appreciate your concern,” Carmen said, wry smile tilting up her lips. Then, she looked back at the bartender. “That scotch isn’t going to pour itself, y’know.”

She rubbed her right wrist – the one that dumb f*cker had grabbed – and it was a little tender. Bruised, most likely, but nothing serious. That was lucky; her right arm was her good arm. She couldn’t very well fire a gun left handed. Diego would already lose his cool when she told him it was her fault they lost a well-paying regular. He might cut his losses if Carmen’s wrist was busted up badly enough. They were family, but blood didn’t matter much when there were profits to make.

The bartender set Carmen’s scotch down in front of her. Carmen paid him and looked back over at the girl. She had a book with her. Jazz clubs were a little more cerebral than your average bump-and-grind dive, but it wasn’t exactly a library in here. Weird chick.

“Hey, rubia,” Carmen called over to her. “Do you jump to aid all damsels in distress or is tonight just my lucky night?”

[smokey]

Emmanuelle Lalancette

The schoolyard teacher's pet feeling completely overwhelmed any pride Emmanuelle had had moments ago as her actions were addressed with a casual "I appreciate your concern." This was probably why people didn't help people. Being the recipient of any kind of attention was uncomfortable enough, but the blasé response she'd gotten made her ears and cheeks flush red. I can take care of myself, Emmanuelle heard, but it's cute that you care so much. Ashamed, she looked away for a moment to formulate an apology.

"I'm sorry," she said, flustered, stumbling around in her mind for an explanation that didn't make her sound as nerdy as the truth would. "I didn't mean to assume that you couldn't... I mean I was just, uh... and I didn't want to..."

Emmanuelle's problem was that she was starting a lot of sentences that she couldn't finish, just as a space filler. She could practically hear her dad yelling at her for wasting his time and her breath on meaningless words that didn't need to be said.

She abandoned her sentence fragments and repeated her opening statement to close. "I'm sorry."

To gather herself, she sucked back a good deal of her next pint, focusing her eyes intensely on the plain paper cover of 'Internationale Zeitschrift fur Volker und Sprachenkunde', until the woman down the bar addressed her again. Emmanuelle moved a few stools closer, not wanting to disturb the listeners at all with raised voices.

Was this sarcasm, or flirting? She couldn't really tell. It sounded like something she might say if she were flirting, but Emmanuelle really didn't consider herself a good point of reference for that kind of thing.

She tested the waters. "If that's how you think of yourself, then I've got some news for you."

When Emmanuelle thought of a damsel in distress, she thought of the helpless, delicate, virginal princess trapped in the tower, waiting on the white knight, whenever he chose to show up. The polar opposite of this woman, who seemed hardassed and independent and entirely different to Emmanuelle. She tucked the journal back into her shoulder bag, and played with a paper coaster to give her hands something to do.

[The Exodus]

Carmen Vega

The girl dubbed “rubia” looked over at Carmen and moved over tentatively. She looked skittish and skeptical, as if she couldn’t tell what Carmen’s intent was. Sometimes – like now – Carmen didn’t know what her intent was, either. The girl beside her was a whistle blower; clearly a rule-follower. She was also attractive and well-intentioned in a way that favored Carmen. Besides, what better things did Carmen have to do in a stuffy jazz bar like this, anyways?

At Carmen’s self-deprecating crack about being a “damsel in distress”, “rubia” said, "If that's how you think of yourself, then I've got some news for you.”

Carmen chuckled and shook her head. “I don’t think of myself that way. You do, though, jumping to my defense, asking them to get rid of that meathead.”

At this point, said “meathead” had gotten back to his feet and was slinking off towards the exit, probably texting or paging one of Las Gardunas other dealers. Carmen hoped that was what he was doing, anyways, since she didn’t want anyone kicking her *ss for standing up for herself. Carmen shrugged nonchalantly.

“No one asked you to jump in,” she said. “I don’t know whether to buy you a drink or to tell you to piss off for that.”

[smokey]

Emmanuelle Lalancette

Words got cold fast, and now Emmanuelle was regretting two things. Saying anything in the first place, and now apologizing like a chump, when it was now painfully clear that this woman didn't think sh*t of her. Anyway, who would? Emmanuelle was the world's most average girl: average looks, average dress... apparently that wasn't good enough. Emmanuelle's first instinct was to apologize again and jump back on the train of uncomfortable sentence fragments, her immediate reaction when she was living at home. It occurred to Emmanuelle that she needed to grow up and, therefore, say something cleverer, or, failing that, at least stick by her decision, even if it was the wrong one.

“No one asked you to jump in. I don’t know whether to buy you a drink or to tell you to piss off for that.”

All she could think was Oh, so that's how it is? - Emmanuelle had never been expecting gratitude, and hadn't wanted recognition of any kind, but she felt that indignance was a little unnecessary. It made the woman look a little insecure, anyway, as if she had to prove she didn't need help. Emmanuelle rolled her eyes.

Emmanuelle was never the most expressive of people, but she hoped it was obvious the deadpan face she was putting on was affected, and the flatness in her tone, though similar to her regular voice, was just a little bit flatter. "You were about to get barred, and this is a good club. I did you a favour." To punctuate, she took a good gulp of her beer. "With regards to your indecision, I'd prefer the former option, but I'm really okay with whatever you decide."

Again, Emmanuelle took a swig of beer, leaned back against the bar and turned her attention to the performers, who were tuning for the next song, likely another unmemorable thirties standard. Inwardly, she reviewed her performance. It was, at least, a step up from stammering as she had been able to communicate an actual point.

[The Exodus]

Carmen Vega

Carmen had to save face somehow. Even if nobody from the gang was hanging around the jazz bar, there was always the chance. She was a risk taker in some things, but not where her reputation was concerned. You didn’t f*ck around with that, since it was all you had during the lean times.

But how to save face in a bar like this, with a pretty girl like this…

"With regards to your indecision, I'd prefer the former option, but I'm really okay with whatever you decide," the blonde said.

“You’re gutsy; I like that in a girl,” Carmen said with a chuckle. Then, to the bartender, “Another beer for the blonde. On my tab.”

The bartender moved to the refrigerator to get more of the same brand rubia had been drinking. Carmen smiled over at her. The way she saw it, there would be a little light banter, a couple drinks, maybe a dance or two and if she got lucky, she got lucky. If not, it was no skin off her nose. Carmen had few social ties, since ties were dangerous and kept you down. Her mind touched briefly on the Gardunas she knew who had steady girlfriends and lasting friendships. All dangerous, if you asked her.

Tonight was lighthearted. All in good fun. And after a week of handling shady shipments and dealing for junkies, it was about damn time Carmen had a little lighthearted fun. Of course, she’d picked the one girl at the bar who looked like she was here for some sort of study group. The book was written in a foreign language – English, maybe, or German – and a puzzled expression tipped Carmen’s smile a little downward.

“What’s with the book?” she asked. “This is the last place I’d think of for quiet study time.”

[smokey]

Emmanuelle Lalancette

Gutsy, the woman said to describe Emmanuelle, as if it made any sort of sense. She almost laughed. Was that how she presented herself? Emmanuelle would describe herself as blunt, maybe, but certainly not gutsy. Still, it won her a beer, so maybe it was a good thing to go about trying to be. "Seems as if we're both guilty of misrepresenting each other, miss Damsel In Distress," she said amicably, smiling in thanks for the fresh drink, finishing her old one and raising her new bottle to touch against its buyer's scotch glass. "Santé."

"What's with the book?"

It was bound to come up sometime. A person didn't do the world's geekiest thing to do in a bar without getting some questions about it, especially now that she was talking to people. Self-consciously, she tucked the journal into her shoulder bag. "It's ah-" No way to sound like a well-adjusted adult and still tell the truth. Out with it already. "It's just something to help me learn German. I needed to get out of the house, and I don't really talk to people, so..."

It was only part of the reason she had left her apartment. She'd also been out of beer, and this bar was a lot closer than the nearest liquor store that sold her favourite brew. The French weren't as big on beer as the Belgians, and it was hard for Emmanuelle to find a good one without going far from her apartment.

"What about you, then? What brings you here? You don't come here often. I'd know." Emmanuelle didn't want to call herself a regular, but she definitely wasn't a stranger around these parts.

[The Exodus]

Carmen Vega

They toasted in their native tongues – “Sante” and “Salud” – before Carmen drank from her scotch again. But that book wouldn’t allow Carmen to relax and just drink and flirt. She’d never seen a girl bring a book into a bar before. It was a kind of mental disconnect; it called for explanation. The blonde put the book into her bag, clearly embarrassed. Carmen didn’t see why. She wasn’t laughing at her… Not yet, anyways.

"It's ah- It's just something to help me learn German. I needed to get out of the house, and I don't really talk to people, so..."

Carmen arched an eyebrow. German. She once had seen an opera in German. Back when Diego was working at the opera house, back when he’d employed her there as a stagehand, while they tried to figure out how to get Las Netas off their backs. That was something like two years ago now. But Carmen could still remember the opera. Wagner. German was the most guttural language. All grunting and phlegm. Not like Spanish or even French. Why would anyone want to know German? The blonde was an odd duck; a puzzlement. Carmen had always had a fascination with puzzles.

"What about you, then?” the blonde asked. “What brings you here? You don't come here often. I'd know."

“You would, eh?” Carmen smiled and leaned forward just a bit. “And why is that?”