ORP: The B*&^% Came Back

1335 Hours
Aqua Terra Oceanfront Grill
Frenchman’s Reef, St. Thomas (VI)

With a bounce in her step, Madison Bay Frost made her way into the Aqua Terra. The bright sun not seeming to phase her in her black blazer, and dark jeans. She wore a loose low-cut top under her jacket, to combat the heat. She looked her part, however. She rarely escaped into comfortable, casual clothing. Always, when in the public eye, she had to look the part of the professional - unless the situation called for the opposite. On occasion, in her line of work, it did. Her dark brown hair glistened in the sunlight, not concealed by a wig, or artificial coloring, for the first time in a long time. It felt good to be natural. Her employer had elected to meet here, far from the eyes that might be spying. She didn't mind, she could carry out her business from anywhere with an internet connection or cell tower. Her hair, glowing in the sun, painted a stark contrast against her pale skin. She spent most of her life in doors, and it showed. For what it was worth, however, she enjoyed being in the tropical sun.

It felt awkward, not carrying her issued Glock 19 at her side, but it was a fleeting observation. She had around 20 different badges in safe locations spread around at various spots, matching credentials, valid ones, at that. Her particular skillset, and that of her employer made such things possible. The Glock 19 was a common standard-issue weapon, and unlike her various credentials, it was universal. She didn't feel uncomfortable with the weapon not being on her hip, though. A pair of Smith and Wesson small-frame 9mm's were concealed on her person, they never left her. One was tucked away under her left arm pit, and only a trained eye could notice the slight bulge at her breasts. The jacket had been tailored to hide it, drawing attention to her breasts rather than the holstered weapon. The other pistol was stored in the small of her back, yet still accessible. She never traveled unarmed. It was her true nature, to be constantly prepared. Hector, or as she called him, "Shadow King," and his private jet had helped her in that aspect. 

Her mind replayed the information she had on her superior. It wasn't much. He liked to stay in the dark, out of the picture, while he pulled his strings. He was masterful, and had a better organizational mind than Madison could ever hope to have. He had a habit of scaring his subordinates, but Madison merely respected him. Still, having never had a face-to-face with him personally, she was a slight bit nervous of this ordeal. She would never let her emotions show, however - it was her predominant feature. She was stoic, cold. She was Ice. 

As she approached - she picked him easily out of the 'crowd.' It wasn't much of a crowd, no more than 20 people filled the restaurant. Her mind committed each face to memory, the same way she had noted all of the exits, the location of closets, restrooms, the kitchen entrance, and which windows could break away in an emergency. It was habit, indoctrinated technique, and paranoia, all in one. 

She picked out the man to her left, reading a newspaper. He had a holstered pistol under his suit-jacket, and judging by the perspiration on his forehead, was unused to this climate. The subtle twitch of his eyes as she entered the restaurant would have been sufficient to finger him, however. His partner, she presumed, the woman in the sun dress, playing a game on her phone in the middle seating was less obvious, but still stood out to Madison. Likely a compact-frame strapped to her thigh, probably only a twenty-two, as anything bigger might be seen through the thin fabric. She was unsurprised that Hector would employ protection. She knew, however, that he didn't need it. 

She sat down across from Hector, admiring the cut of his suit, exploring all of his aspects through her trained and retrained eyes. To the average snooze-bot, he might not appear competent, but the way he held himself spoke of taut cable-muscles and quick reflexes. Everything about the man was practiced, skilled, and deadly. The two were a good match. She eyed the bottle of wine on the table, and offered hector a flirtatious wink, and grin. Without bothering to ask permission, she turned her crystal glass right-side-up, and delicately took the bottle in hand, pouring a careful amount into her glass. She rotated the bottle perfectly, as if a trained sommolier, before setting it back down in the exact spot she had retrieved it from. She looked across the table, making contact with his deep, passionate eyes. Here - and now - was a man she understood. 

"They're on to us, or I should say - they're on to me." she reported, in a casual stress free tone. "So we can safely move on to phase two, if all the pieces are in play," she said, reciting the carefully chosen words, each had been picked and analyzed, so as not to reveal too much information. Even here, they could be under surveillance. She rather doubted that though. She took a sip of wine, and made a delighted face at the complex flavors. 

<TAG Hector "Bonestealer" Manson xoxo>