Camille (
onlyneed1shot) wrote2008-12-13 10:27 am
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CONFIRMATION
And then Camille hears nothing from Greene for three days.
She has good nerves, excellent nerves, nerves of steel and steady-hands-defusing-ticking-bomb nerves, but she is also a professional intelligence officer in the middle of an undercover operation and by the time the memo finally (finally) arrives, you could use her nerves for guitar strings.
Officially it is siesta-time (one adapts to local customs), so the complex is quiet. Dominic's lobby to his private office shares a wall with the main lobby - one of the twin aquarium walls filled with Latin American fish. Most of the seats are across the other wall, presumably so people can be distracted by the fish and watching people through the water.
Camille - low-heeled ladies' boots, navy-black pants with a high waist, yellow blouse tucked in, two pairs of studs and one pair of hoops in her ears (she always takes care with her appearance, and this is no expection - is sitting on the low wooden bench with her back to the fish.
(No one is about to shoot her through the water)
She has good nerves, excellent nerves, nerves of steel and steady-hands-defusing-ticking-bomb nerves, but she is also a professional intelligence officer in the middle of an undercover operation and by the time the memo finally (finally) arrives, you could use her nerves for guitar strings.
Officially it is siesta-time (one adapts to local customs), so the complex is quiet. Dominic's lobby to his private office shares a wall with the main lobby - one of the twin aquarium walls filled with Latin American fish. Most of the seats are across the other wall, presumably so people can be distracted by the fish and watching people through the water.
Camille - low-heeled ladies' boots, navy-black pants with a high waist, yellow blouse tucked in, two pairs of studs and one pair of hoops in her ears (she always takes care with her appearance, and this is no expection - is sitting on the low wooden bench with her back to the fish.
(No one is about to shoot her through the water)
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"More or less."
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A pause, and he leans more of his weight against the desk.
"I trust you haven't reconsidered."
(It is, and isn't a question.)
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"You would know if I had."
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His speech is, for a moment, clipped, clear, precise, less friendly than professional.
(People have tried lying to him before.
It's been unpleasant.)
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And that is the truth.
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"I try my best."
Rolling his shoulders back, he leans forward and fixes her with a frank stare.
"Now. Our ... exchange. You already know the cards I can play, I should think.
"How much are you willing to give?"
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It's the price that is the sticking point."
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For some value of negotiation, anyway.
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"I am."
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"In so far as we are at a bit of a crossroads, the price, I think, will have to be worked out as we go along."
(Shit happens, plans change. One has to account for these things.)
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(so you might assume, anyway)
"It doesn't have to be paid all at once."
She's setting herself up to be strung along, she knows, but the flipside is that he would have to give her information, and she's skilled at putting pieces together.
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(Falling for it, unintentional or not as it maybe be, is out of the question.
But, he thinks, he could get used to this.)
Keeping his eyes on her face, the corner of his mouth quirks upwards (just once, he drums his fingers against the edge of the desk).
"Of course."
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Despite the far-from-obvious body language, she is not offering herself. Not exactly. Not yet.
(feminism be damned; looks and charms are too useful for her not to use when she needs to)
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"Information. But I think you knew that already."
He doesn't seem to feel the need to go into any more detail.
Not now.
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"Just checking. Is that all for now, Senor Greene?"
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Then, in an instant, he's on his feet, noticeably more cheerful as he gives her a curt nod.
Opening his mouth as if to speak, he pauses, as though thinking better of it. Whatever he originally intended to say, what comes out is an almost exaggerated, "Take care."
There may or may not be a double meaning in there, it all depends on how she chooses to read into it.
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Hmmm.
"I'll try to," she says, then - "Buenas tardes."
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(Not too much of an accent, not too little, either.)
By the time she's gone, he's already back behind his desk.