Feb 10th, 2021. The Docks. @deathtriangle11
Rita’s casually put suggestion to him had obviously been anything but: Samir’s Dominion wanted him to swing ‘round the docks in advance of tomorrow’s counter to Famine’s best laid plans. The high sun did little to burn off the chill in the air as Samir wandered along the boardwalk, his gaze sharp and analytical as it scanned from one adjoining rooftop to the next. He’d discussed it briefly with Nico and landed on a couple viable options, but Rita was probably right: it’d be better for him to get up close and personal. For that, he’d need Greer.
To say that Samir tended to avoid Greer would be inaccurate, though not necessarily for lack of trying. Something about War’s newest Angel was a little too close and a little too sharp, and Samir wasn’t certain if a newcomer’s ambition was all he could chalk it up to. The thing was, their respective scopes of interest (and underground work) had them crossing paths fairly frequently since she’d been brought on board. He’d learn to live with her scrutiny, or interest, or whatever it was -- today in particular. She was the fount of knowledge for this particular operation, and while Samir had his fair share of experience with the docks, they were more Greer’s home than his. He had ideas but she’d have the finer details, and given that he didn’t want to fuck anything up tomorrow, he needed the finer details.
He didn’t know what he was interrupting as he approached some discussion between Greer and another of the dock hands, but he also didn’t seem to care.
“‘Sup Greer,” Samir greeted with a brief nod, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets and shoulders bowed against the stinging breeze blowing off the water. He squinted blandly at her companion and back again. “You got a minute?”