[OPEN] Company Girl

[Alessandro Moretti]

[[ OOC: A short, open ended starter to start a scene of some sort. ]]

It was ten thirty at night in the streets of New York; a few people were going about their business. Some were heading to a bar and others leaving a restaurant. Alessandro, however, was searching for somebody. He had heard of news that his Alice had appeared on television and had become quite… known to people. It was unfortunate then that Alessandro was the only one who now, it seemed, did not know her. Not anymore: - a fact which saddened him deeply. 

He turned his head to look at the luminous moon shining in the sky. It was a shame he could not see the stars; it would have made it such a lovely night. 

Turning his attention back to the path in front of him, Alessandro walked. He walked until he reached the end of the street and then he turned left and walked some more. Eventually he happened upon an alleyway and stopped; his phone was vibrating. He pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the bright screen. There was a text message alert. 

Go down the alley. 

Alessandro swallowed and placed the phone back into his jeans pocket. He straightened out his jacket and loosened the sheathe of his knife just in case he were to need it. And then he saw a person stood before him, leaning against a wall. 

“Mr Moretti.” The person spoke. 

“Where is she? I trust you to know.” Alessandro said, dismissing any greeting. 

“I know many-a-thing, you should know this. But I will not disclose that information to someone such as you.” 

Alessandro clenched his jaw and took a clutch on the handle of his blade; “Let me rephrase. You tell me or I slice off your fingers one at a time.” A bitterness in the Italian’s voice. 

“No, let me rephrase. It’s New York and you’re a stranger in an alleyway holding an innocent bystander…” The person took out their phone, “… at knife point for their cell phone.” 

Alessandro darted toward the person, unclipping his knife and pulling it to the man’s throat, pinning him against the wall with his left arm pressed against the persons chest. “Tell me.” 

The man grinned and opened his mouth, a loud shout echoing through the dark; “Help! Somebody! He’s got a knife!” 

[Sayeva Reardon]

A brief visit had brought Sayeva to New York. She had briefly considered moving there so that Brogan could be closer to his family, but Sayeva had never been a fan of big cities, certainly not one as big and sprawling as New York. She found the city itself pleasant enough, but its people were distant and the air was not so clear. She would move to New York if Brogan wished it, but otherwise she was content to stay where she was.

Sayeva owned a considerably large plot of land on the outskirts of San Diego. She loved her house; it was hers, first of all, and it was in the wilderness. She was free to hunt as she wished, either in her natural, human form or as any of her animals, including as a Barbary lion, which had gone extinct long ago. Brogan and Sophie could hunt as well; there was plenty of wildlife and wild animals. Nothing too challenging, usually; just squirrels and rabbits mostly, but the occasional deer wandered onto the property, and Sayeva was usually able to sense it. Then she and her lover went after it, with her leading Brogan to their prey.

That would hardly be possible in the city. There was no reason why a wild animal should be present there; and any seen would be captured and sent to the zoo. But she had come to look around anyway. The next day, she would head out to Long Island to see whether there was anything promising there. It would be far from the Kilvayne estate, but, naturally, not as far as San Diego was.

As she walked back to the Kilvayne manor, where she had been invited to stay during her visit, she heard a man cry out about being held at knifepoint. She frowned and glanced into the alley from which the sound had come. There was indeed a debacle there; one man had a knife in hand and was pressing it to the throat of another. Sayeva slipped her cell phone out of her pocket and shot a warning glance to the attacker.

“Let him go, or I’ll call 911,” she said, her voice brisk and low. “You have ten seconds to do so. I am counting.”

[Alessandro Moretti]

“Let him go, or I’ll call 911,” the female ordered. Alessandro grimaced; who was she to make such demands? Was she even aware of what she was getting herself into? The Italian suspected not. It had seemed people had become a lot more forthcoming to strangers in his absence:- he'd yet to see the outcome of such courage. Perhaps he would tonight.

“You have ten seconds to do so. I am counting.” Was that a threat?

Alessandro swallowed and lowered his knife and released its grip, the blade coming to a satisfactory clank on the floor, bouncing slightly into the shadows, its blade glistening from the street lights at the end of the alley. The Italians alleged victim let out an overly loud cry of relief. Alessandro rolled his eyes at the newfound actor.

"Are you sure you are able to count that high?" Alessandro queried with a tone of playful jest. Turning on the balls of his feet, he looked down the alleyway toward the voice, "Do you think I need ten seconds? You are a kind and generous soul."
Alessandro took a step forward, his right foot landing in the shadows, "My friend here thinks he is quick and witty. Did you know that?" Alessandro shuffled, "He has information for me -- I can prove with my phone -- that he is hiding from me." Alessandro's eyes darted to his friend before returning to the figure at the end of the alley, "though he went too far... Into deep water... And now he shall drown."

The Italian took three steps toward the figure and leant against the wall, "but my friend, so full of wit, can be saved."

Alessandro cracked his neck, "do you want to save him? I think you would like to."