Post by echidna on Apr 4, 2013 6:36:38 GMT -5
How exactly had she thought this was a good plan, a sensible thing to do? Eliza kicked herself for the umpteenth time in the last hour as she sat alone in the FOOD Diner on the very edge of the old trainyard, a cup of cheap coffee in her hand.
With a sip of her bitter but refreshing drink, the Broodmother stared almost mournfully out the window. She secretly hoped Terry wouldn't show up - he was so nice, a gentleman. He'd been nothing but... A polite, handsome boy her age. Why couldn't she be normal and look on him as a normal girl her age might? She sulked. At least her own mind could have the decency to be on her side, couldn't it?
She was distracted - perhaps that was why she hadn't seen them coming a good distance ahead as their black sedan drove up to the diner. In fact, Eliza only noticed the men when they opened the door and removed their hats. The teenager tensed. She was all too aware of them now as they stood glaring at her while coats were removed and the cold shaken out of them. Very slowly, Eliza flattened her hands on the table, and looked away as at least three other pairs of eyes that had nothing to do with her skull watched the quartet closely as Mother tried very hard to be invisible.
They were Marchioni boys. The Italian cut of their faces, the dark hair growing thick on their heads, it was all a definite clue. But... Eyes that were used to looking for these kinds of things could see the swagger in their steps and the pieces that were concealed against their bodies, hinted at by the bulges that weren't quite the right shape. Eliza breathed out very slowly and forced herself to relax and take another sip of her drink.
One of them moved away from the pack and wandered past her spot by the window. The woman behind the counter in her thirties made a show of cleaning one of the glasses stored there, but her eyes were on the gentlemen as they took positions along the line, each setting their hat on the counter.
Something... Complicated was going on between the men and the waitress, and... Yes, she looked to Eliza's position and gave a little half shrug, confident the teen wasn't even looking in their direction.
Sod.
She glanced at her watch - two minutes to eight thirty... Terry would be here any minute, wouldn't he? The men were nodding an glancing at her, but they made no move to approach her seat. Instead, they made orders... Which rather conveniently meant the waitress left the room, and Eliza with them, alone in the diner.
The one that left returned with the sound of a restroom behind him, drying his hands on a hankerchief. He spoke briefly to the others, and sauntered over. She felt her booth shift slightly as his weight slid into the chair opposite.
Eliza looked up into an actually rather genial face. Dark eyes glittered back at her as he, unconcerned, pulled a cigarette from a case - a silver case with a slight curve to it for a breast pocket - and lit up, cupping it in his hands probably out of habit more than anything else. Questioningly, he proffered the case to her - she passed, and he replaced it in his pocket.
"So" he said, slightly muffled by the butt. He took a little drag, and let it flow from his nose he held it and gently exhaled.
"I hear you're writin' a paper" he said, conversationally. "That you're a pretty smart girl."
Eliza gave him a nervous smile that was only maybe a quarter feigned.
"Thats right..." She replied "About Old Helljaws and this part of town's stories about it" she said, just the faintest note of tension creeping in.
The mobster nodded, and folded his hands on the table. "Why's that, miss?" He asked. Eliza was all too aware that the others were listening in on this conversation too. What had that waitress said? What did she think?
"Its a strange story, and my teacher is into wierd stories like this one, you know?" She smiled at him a little more "So... I figured it'd be interesting"
The mobster nodded again, and made a vauge gesture in her direction. "Gotta piece'a paper an' a pen, miss?" He asked, and Eliza nodded, producing them from her bag.
He took them gently and, eyes never leaving her own, wrote something and passed them back again.
"If you wanna ask me some questions about it, gimme a call later." He said and gave her a wink that shocked her and instantly made blood rush to her cheeks with its sheer... Suggestiveness.
"I'll wanna read ya paper when ya got it written." He said, as if he had no doubt it would be obeyed. The Broodmother stared dumbly at the offered number and nodded.
Another shift in the position of the booth meant he'd stood up, and... The four thugs left, leaving Eliza alone in the diner.
"Well." She muttered, and finally took in the fact he'd made a pass at her. She scowled at the number, and tore out the page a bit roughly.
"That was a thing."
With a sip of her bitter but refreshing drink, the Broodmother stared almost mournfully out the window. She secretly hoped Terry wouldn't show up - he was so nice, a gentleman. He'd been nothing but... A polite, handsome boy her age. Why couldn't she be normal and look on him as a normal girl her age might? She sulked. At least her own mind could have the decency to be on her side, couldn't it?
She was distracted - perhaps that was why she hadn't seen them coming a good distance ahead as their black sedan drove up to the diner. In fact, Eliza only noticed the men when they opened the door and removed their hats. The teenager tensed. She was all too aware of them now as they stood glaring at her while coats were removed and the cold shaken out of them. Very slowly, Eliza flattened her hands on the table, and looked away as at least three other pairs of eyes that had nothing to do with her skull watched the quartet closely as Mother tried very hard to be invisible.
They were Marchioni boys. The Italian cut of their faces, the dark hair growing thick on their heads, it was all a definite clue. But... Eyes that were used to looking for these kinds of things could see the swagger in their steps and the pieces that were concealed against their bodies, hinted at by the bulges that weren't quite the right shape. Eliza breathed out very slowly and forced herself to relax and take another sip of her drink.
One of them moved away from the pack and wandered past her spot by the window. The woman behind the counter in her thirties made a show of cleaning one of the glasses stored there, but her eyes were on the gentlemen as they took positions along the line, each setting their hat on the counter.
Something... Complicated was going on between the men and the waitress, and... Yes, she looked to Eliza's position and gave a little half shrug, confident the teen wasn't even looking in their direction.
Sod.
She glanced at her watch - two minutes to eight thirty... Terry would be here any minute, wouldn't he? The men were nodding an glancing at her, but they made no move to approach her seat. Instead, they made orders... Which rather conveniently meant the waitress left the room, and Eliza with them, alone in the diner.
The one that left returned with the sound of a restroom behind him, drying his hands on a hankerchief. He spoke briefly to the others, and sauntered over. She felt her booth shift slightly as his weight slid into the chair opposite.
Eliza looked up into an actually rather genial face. Dark eyes glittered back at her as he, unconcerned, pulled a cigarette from a case - a silver case with a slight curve to it for a breast pocket - and lit up, cupping it in his hands probably out of habit more than anything else. Questioningly, he proffered the case to her - she passed, and he replaced it in his pocket.
"So" he said, slightly muffled by the butt. He took a little drag, and let it flow from his nose he held it and gently exhaled.
"I hear you're writin' a paper" he said, conversationally. "That you're a pretty smart girl."
Eliza gave him a nervous smile that was only maybe a quarter feigned.
"Thats right..." She replied "About Old Helljaws and this part of town's stories about it" she said, just the faintest note of tension creeping in.
The mobster nodded, and folded his hands on the table. "Why's that, miss?" He asked. Eliza was all too aware that the others were listening in on this conversation too. What had that waitress said? What did she think?
"Its a strange story, and my teacher is into wierd stories like this one, you know?" She smiled at him a little more "So... I figured it'd be interesting"
The mobster nodded again, and made a vauge gesture in her direction. "Gotta piece'a paper an' a pen, miss?" He asked, and Eliza nodded, producing them from her bag.
He took them gently and, eyes never leaving her own, wrote something and passed them back again.
"If you wanna ask me some questions about it, gimme a call later." He said and gave her a wink that shocked her and instantly made blood rush to her cheeks with its sheer... Suggestiveness.
"I'll wanna read ya paper when ya got it written." He said, as if he had no doubt it would be obeyed. The Broodmother stared dumbly at the offered number and nodded.
Another shift in the position of the booth meant he'd stood up, and... The four thugs left, leaving Eliza alone in the diner.
"Well." She muttered, and finally took in the fact he'd made a pass at her. She scowled at the number, and tore out the page a bit roughly.
"That was a thing."