WHERE? | An undisclosed warehouse in Lower Brooklyn. WHEN? | December WHO? | @jacknln WHAT? | A new apprentice meets her Sith Lord.
Her fingers crept over the edge of the counter, one digit at a time, to press the sheets of paper aside and create a little blank spot for herself. Dark eyes popped up over the edge, her nose squashed to the angle of the table as she perused what was strewn before her; likely nothing of import, but all sorts of entertainment would abound from disturbing it. From inviting a little bit of disorder into an otherwise orderly arrangement. It had been the name of “Jack” that had been the sole instruction that she’d been left; “Jack, with the Syndicate”, practically a command without all the extra words. Go, find, learn.
The table was laden with blueprints, schematics and plans; mechanical arrays and hand-penned notes to let her know what had gone where and when. By the end of the week, she’d have confirmation of the fate of the latest batch of automobiles and she’d burn the pages and start over again. For now, she was sitting on them, playing the waiting game; moving pieces inch by inch, while awaiting the man she’d been told to seek and find. Behind her, the heavy shadow of her favorite vehicle -- Sunday Driver -- loomed large. A wine-red Dodge Demon with a broad face and dual-vent exhaust, tricked out and freshly waxed. It was not the car she drove around town, nor long distance.
And that was what she was waiting for. News on the next long distance drive.
With her hands in the fall of her toned braids, she ruffled her scalp a little, and paced the floor like some sort of caged thing. Impatient and wild with unbridled energy, until the sound of her door being unlocked caught her attention; only one person would have the key, and that would be her mysterious “Jack”, whom was sent the letter and the key from “R. Mondesir”. but of course. Courtesy of the Syndicate’s clever little mail system and runners.
"Oh, wow.” She laughed, rich and deep, and pointed both of her fingers at him upon seeing that face, that face that was familiar even if the name wasn’t. “Oh, wow! You’re that guy! That guy, the one I take upstate.”