Backdated: Log: Kevin and Felicia

[xp-changeling.livejournal.com]

Kevin and Felicia talk to each other in passing during their work.



Kevin stood at the cab stand, waiting for his taxi to the airport when Felicia arrived. X-Force had everyone running around on short network recon trips around the world, and they came and went at a dizzying pace. He shifted his carry-on as the cab pulled up, turning to allow the young woman access to it first.

"Ms Hardy."

Handing her swivel wheel carry-on to the driver, she tipped her head at Kevin, sliding smoothly in. Despite her slim trousers and red soled heels she rather deftly moved across the leather seat to allow him to follow after her.

"Mr Sydney. And where are you off to?" she asked politely.

"The vacation hotspot of Asia... Malaysia. Three days of strictly enforced sharia law, the worst imitation Western hotel food on the planet, and enough bribery to bring a maître de to tears. Yourself?" His bag was tossed into the trunk after hers with decidedly less care by the driver.

Felicia wrinkled her nose in sympathy. "They're starting me off easy, so just LA. I think someone originally suggested Mumbai to see if I was as good as advertised but. Even I'm not that good." She smiled, wry. "Somehow they didn't think this was too much of a stretch."

"You need to be careful in Mumbai. Blondes are worth a premium." Kevin stretched out his legs and settled into his seat. "LA can be tricky in its own right. Although, again, looking like a movie star is a definite advantage navigating the place. You've been before?"

Tip of her finger to tip of nose she then pointed at Kevin, nodding. "Exactly. And I'm really not game to play hostage again, even if the last stint was all of twenty minutes." Her ankles crossed, an opposite to her companion's posture. "I've been a couple times. People with more money than brains is not much of a challenge, but it's easy change when I need to fund something else."

"There's predators there, Hardy. Lots of them. Don't be fooled by the uniformly brainless moneyed jackass look they project." He reached into his pocket for a card and scribbled down a number. "I've got an old friend out there. If you need background on anyone, give him a call. Just don't offer to read his screenplay."

"That's so sweet, thank you," she replied easily, taking the card and placing it in her pocket book, once she'd rummaged it out of her bag. Felicia, never one to say no to an advantage. "There are predators everywhere, Sydney . You're not wrong, but you don't survive looking like this very long not figuring that out. Tits at fourteen, both the best and worst thing to happen to me."

"I'm sure they've been the best and worst thing to happen to a few people."
Felicia laughed, delighted. "Quite so. So, tell me about Malaysia? I've never been."

"The worst part about Kuala Lumpur? Asian distilled scotch. Tastes like battery acid. The only positive is by the third shot, all the nerves in the throat are numb enough you can't taste the rest. And they are devils for it, generally. I'm going to have to drink a half dozen bottles in the process of this."

"That... sounds disgusting," she replied, in an appropriate tone. "I'm sure it's even more insulting for your palette. You strike me as a scotch man. And by you strike me as I scotch man I mean every time I've seen you before this you've had one in your hand. If you're not, it's a very good pre-cover."

"Ah, it's more often rye. The problem is that scotch decided at some point that single malts were king, especially ones that had enough peat in them that you can identify the last cow to shit in it. Smooth old blended scotches have been sadly derided. Which I suppose helps the price point." He said, watching the cars run pass. "But for your day to day breakfast choice, I'm happy with my Canadian Club."

"My apologies. I forgot your age," Felicia replied, tilting her head to accent a wicked teasing smirk. "My father was a scotch man, but other than for covers and impressing him... I enjoy it well enough, but I don't have the palette. Better for my waist to just stick with gin."

"Ah gin... the drink that helped beat malaria and make a lot of people blind." He shifted, moving his cell from his pants pocket to the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "As for my age, they say you're only as young as you feel... and I can feel as young as I want to."

"Exactly. I can claim it as medicinal." Felicia watched the movement unabashedly, mouth still turned up slightly. "Oh, I don't doubt it. That wasn't a dig, Mr Sydney, not really.
It may be at one point, but not right now."

"I look forward to that challenge. The nice thing for now is that apparently most of our fellows don't know this city at all. Makes it fun to keep surprising them with treasures right under their noses."

Felicia watched JFK come into view, humming in agreement. "I didn't know you were a native. I keep leaving but I always seem to come back. And considering my mother lives here, that's quite a bit more impressive than it sounds."

"I'm not. I'm from the wrong side of the tracks of Chicago. Actually, if the wrong side of the tracks has a further wrong side of the tracks, that's where I'm from." He smiled sardonically. "Army life seemed luxurious at the start."

"That... makes a certain amount of sense," she said finally, as they pulled in. "Again, not a dig. Though, eventually I will ask how you know so much about NYC."

"What's that tired line? I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you?" He shook his head. "I remember some IT intern at the Agency saying that to me the first time. Nearly stuffed the kid down the burn shaft."

"Oh, sweetie. You're a better person than I."