White Rabbit
Zelda hated her dress. The excessively tight pants, the pointless decorative frills and the overly-expensive neckless that strangled her neck. All of it gave the qa of an idiotic girl out for the night, armed with alcohol and poor life decisions. However much Zelda detested this image, it was all for a good cause.
Pietro Hale; a man who had chosen to spend his time on the run in one of the most popular bars on Legion. A mop of stark white hair obscured his bony face but he was still indistinguishable from the man in the photographs. The fugitive sat there, in plain sight, nursing the beverage before him. Zelda had to admire that; the man was clearly staying sober in case one of Ginger's men found him. However, she sincerely doubted that he would expect his hunter to come a scantily dressed as she was.
Gracefully she eased up beside him, flashing him a flirtatious smile. His knees visibly weakened, and Zelda resisted the urge to sneer.
"Hello, handsome," she said through pursed lips. "Fancy talking to a lonely gir?"
"Heh," he smirked. "Take a seat."
Zelda eased herself onto the seat beside him.
"Bartender, I'll have another drink please," he called. "Red Russian. For the lady." He turned back to Zelda. "So what's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?"
"Oh, I've just lost my friends," stammered Zelda, adapting a ditzy persona. "I thought if I stay in one place, they might find me."
"At least you´ve got me to keep you company," grinned Pietro.
"Yeah, great…" grimaced Zelda, unnoticeably.
In her peripheral, Zelda noticed a hunched, white haired man enter the bar. Kranz. He stumbled over to a crowded corner of the bar, blending in with the bumbling buffoons around him.
"So why are you in town?" she inquired. "Am I right in saying you aren't from around here?"
"You would be," he said. "Just a little stop off, onto bigger things. Hopefully."
"Isn't that the dream for everyone?" said Zelda.
"Heh," he chuckled. "Fair point. But, no, I have a plan. I might even head to one of the central planets after this – I've heard Ariel's nice this time of year."
"You sound confident," inferred Zelda; she'd found something filling her with confidence. "What you planning on doing?"
"Oh, that would be telling," Pietro said. "I wouldn't want your friends to hear."
"I'm sorry, wha…" The confidence plummeted.
"Oh don't play the fool," smiled Pietro, a solemn smile. "That old man in the corner has been eying us up since this conversation started and I sincerely doubt it's for that dress. There is also a man lingering in the doorway – I presume that's my killer. Or you could be? I wouldn't put it past you to get your hands dirty. Whatever's happening, I'm probably going to die."
His certainty made Zelda hesitate for a moment before speaking. She had never met a man so content before death.
"You're smart."
"And you're ruthless. Do you often seduce a man before killing him?"
"We just want to talk."
"Armed, mysterious people never tend to have a habit of talking."
"Fair point. I wasn't going to open with a death threat though, was I?"
"Most girls take me out for dinner first."
"For a man about to die, you do look comfortable."
Pietro grinned, yet he could not remove the scared look in his eye.
"Red Russian. What I asked the barkeep for. It's a code me and him have."
As he spoke, Zelda felt a gun being pressed against her skull. It seemed that the barman was a friend of her target. In the corner, Kranz had become surrounded by his apparent peers. Jackson's shadow receded from the doorway.
"When you're on the run, a surprising amount of like-minded people are willing to help you out." Pietro sat back in his chair.
"笨天生的一堆肉"she spat, reluctantly raising her hands above her head.