Desperado. (closed)
12:09 PM.
Torreón, Mexico.
"¿En qué puedo servirle, señorita?"
"Nada, gracias."
It takes little more than two words and a curious little half-bow to send the concierge on his way, allowing Renee to slink herself off into the corner with an oft-graffiti’d payphone. She plucks her hat from her head, wiping away some accumulated sweat from the sweltering heat lingering about outside— the Chihuanhuan Desert has a hard time dropping below 100 degrees Fahrenheit, even in the damn winter, it seems.
Setting her hat to rest on the edge of one of the phone’s privacy panels, she casts her vibrant brown eyes over towards the lobby. A few clueless tourists, but mostly regulars, all milling about the pub having muffled conversations in Spanish and English. Between their conversations and their fixation on swilling back cheap margaritas made with even cheaper tequila in a paltry effort to beat the heat, Renee is fairly certain she can get away with being unnoticed.
A map is hurried unfurled from inside her coat, and smacked down onto the phone stall table, right above the drawer with the agenda del asministración publica. She touches pen to paper a few times, connecting a series of lines (something she’s already done a number of times, if how marked up the thing is serves as an indication), and frowns at the results. With a sigh, she continues tracing her pen across a number of longitude/latitude points, snatching the phone from its cradle and nestling it against her shoulder and ear.
"Just as well," she mutters to herself, tapping ten digits onto the phone’s keypad after dumping a few centavos into the coin slot. "Less law enforcement to get in the way. Plus, I could use the vacation."
When the phone ceases to ring and gets answered, Renee flips out a small black disc she’d been palming, holding it up to the phone. When she speaks, it’s in a very distorted, half-masculine, half-feminine timbre.
"Need a vacation? Try beautiful Torreón, at the equally beautiful Posada de San Lucas. Who knows? You might just have so much fun that you lose your face. I’ve already made your reservation. Room 312.”
Click.
Tools cling together as she sets one down and lifts another. Slowly but surely she digs the blade into the soft wood. Lines deepening, curves smoothing, she hums softly as she works. She jerks in surprise scoring a line across her thumb as a loud ringing resonates around the room
"Shit."
With a soft hiss she leans over and lifts the phone from its cradle next to her. With a sneer she moves to slam it onto the cradle. Quirking an eyebrow she smirks slightly before rolling her eyes as three words reach her ears.
"Cant ever say anything directly can you?"
Throwing her hands up the woman shakes her head exasperated before turning to look at her half finished wooden carving. Fang hoped this 'vacation' included cracking heads and breaking bones, with maybe a bit of asking for names. Renee was into that right, asking for names? Or was it questions? No, no it was definitely questions.
She tears her wondering thoughts away from the nonsense it was lost in and back into focus on the matter at hand. She should pack, it's a fleeting thought but one she hails. With a simple turn she heads to her room to begin the task. Arriving at her small room Fang glances around lazily wondering what to pack. With a click of her tongue and a shrug she packs the essentials in other words things that look harmless but aren't. They kinda remind her of people she's known.
In a matter of minutes she had the scant few possesssions she wished to take with her within the bag, pausing in sudden realization she groans loudly in disdain.
"I have to wear clothes!"
With that she begins shoving clothes into the bag.
