...and the Scores are in

August 27, 2017:

Chance meeting between Emery and Darcy. Chips are called Fries. Darcy is Sassy. New Mexico is hot. A meeting of minds takes place. (F-Word and Mildly Suggestive Language)

// Lower Manhattan - New York City//

The southern end of the island of Manhattan is the seat of Wall Street and City Hall. Bounded by the Hudson on the west, the East River on the east, and the harbor to the south, it's a veritable mosaic of smaller, storied neighborhoods that fill in the patchwork south of 14th street. From the arts-friendly, boutique-laden, gentrified areas of Greenwich Village, SoHo, and TriBeCa, to the tenement dwelling, immigrant-filled, working class districts in the Lower East Side, Bowery, Little Italy, Lower Manhattan is one of the most diverse places in the city. Just about anything can be found here, and often is.


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

When relocating to a new country, certain things must be scouted out when you are a single parent. Schools, Hospitals, Real Estate Agents who don't have names like 'Jacelyn' and giggle obnoxiously when they hear your accent, Good Neighborhood…etc. But there's a certain type of search that cannot be handled via telephone calls and internet searches. This, is the search for…

Dressed smartly in a dark grey henley long sleeved henley that is fitted in a way to flatter lean musculature, a pair of dark blue fitted jeans, dark grey boots and a dark grey beanie…Emery Papsworth can be found leisurely strolling down one of those lovely areas of new year where food vendors line the streets on either side. Its off the beaten path but every other place is selling variations on the same basic fare, fried, smothered with sauces, curries…etc. His head tilts to the side, long hair brushing his shoulders and a shadow of his goatee growing back in shadows his features stylishly as he lingers near a vendor and then approaches it after sniffing the air. This vendor seems to be selling things like french fries and hamburgers and such.


GOD on a toasted bun.

Darcy took a step out of the building she was in, having spent the morning trying to talk an office supply supplier into things she knew SHIELD needed in bulk. Really, the sheer amount of ball points pens this organization goes through is ridiculous.

After a morning of haggling, Darcy needed a burger. A big greasy, bad for you, burger and fries.

She looks so out of place, standing by the food truck waiting for her order, in a black business suit, jacket and pencil skirt. The white satin tank blouse is tucked into the skirt which she is unapologetically wearing as a curvy girl. Fashionistas can suck it. Pencil skirts looks bombing on curves. She's in her six inch platforms, taking her nearly to six feet tall, as she peers at her phone over the rim of her glasses. One lock of wavy brown hair falls from the bun which is speared through by a chopstick the same color as her bright red lips; lips that she's chewing on as she types on her phone by the ordering window.


Chips. Glorious Chips. No, scratch that. What is those Americans call them? Oh right. Cutting through the din of yelled out names and orders comes a lilting Irish accent, pure enough to round the vowels and create a naturally melodic tone to his voice. "Ah, right then. I'll 'ave the fries then. One order." He hands over a dollar bill that is probably 5 times more than the actual order costs. "Keep the change luv." A nod before he turns to step to the side, a side-glance bringing Darcy into view.

The once over given is quick, respectful yet appraising and he offers after a moment. "Well, point one for this vendor. I never saw women as pretty as you back home when I was visiting chip shops…if nobody's told ye today…you look stunning. Vision of class and I dare say a wee bit of sass." There's a grin that brings out his dimples, but just for a flash as he tucks hands in his pockets and rocks a bit on his feet.


Spoken to, with such a lovely musical accent, Darcy looks up. One hand leaves her phone to push her glasses back up her nose, letting her bring her green eyes into focus. Lip freed from teeth, Darcy smiles with a hint of mischief dancing on her face.

"Ain't a chip shop, but I'll take the compliment," she drawls, very American. Whatever she was typing is sent without being proof-read, which is a pity for the receiver since without the glasses Darcy can't see. Likely that message ended up incomprehensible.

"Althoght, I'm gonna correct you on the sass bit. Ain't a wee bit about this-ass," is the retort, eye winking.


"Ahh, now I can go on about me day with sunshine in my heart. Such a pretty smile." Emery replies softly before nodding towards the vendor. "Well, if they sell chips, I mean 'fries' then not much different really." Another easy grin and shrug of his shoulders.

Its the retort though that pushes that grin into a smile, dimples coming out in full force now and his head falls forward as he stifles a laugh to force it into a chuckle, eyebrows raising a bit. "Ahh, me apologies Miss. Ye have quite abit of sass then, a wonderful quality to find in a lady."


"Didja get a burger too?" Darcy asks, brows lifting at the mention of his order of fries. This vendor was smart, putting himself just near a small park with benches and tables for patrons to sit to eat. His laugh has Darcy smiling broadly.

"Apology accepted. Just don't forget it for next time," she quips, pointing a finger at him, wagging it a bit.


"I've heard too many horror stories about American Cows. Not quite sure if me foreign constitution can handle it just yet." The Irishman offers almost apologetically, bowing his head. He also might be joking, a twinkle in his dark eyes and a small curve of his lips. He bows a bit at the finger wagging. "Of course not, plenty of sass, you are the Mistress of Sass."

Emery untucks his hands from his pockets and presses a hand to his chest. "M' standin' here being rude, bless ye for not calling me out on it. Can I have the honor of having a name to go with that title?"


"Sass-Mastah, actually," Darcy replies with all do seriousness, phone getting stored into her purse. She sees that hand to chest, and her head tilts as she works to translate.

"OH! Darcy Lewis," she says right hand being offered out for a hand shake, in the very American palm and back of hand perpendicular to the ground.

"And you are?"


Emery turns to accept the hand when its offered, in a very European way as he bends over to, if allowed, turn it slightly so he can gently kiss the back of it before releasing it. "Emery Papsworth, pleased to be meetin' you." He straightens up and releases the hand. "So, to make sure I have this correct…your introduction should be." He clears his throat, voice taking on a posh and polished quality…like someone announcing somebody entering a ball. "Presenting…Miss Darcy Lewis, Sass-Mastah of New York."


Emery… Paps-worth. Wow! Darcy's chuckling at the name, so that her blush at being kissed on the hand seems like just an extension of the chuckle. But then, he announces her and Darcy loses it. her laughter fills the air as her name is calle dout by the vendor: "Darce! Order for Darce!" She tries to acknowledge, but her title.. it's amazing and she's laughing too hard.


That makes it all worth it, that laughter is music to the ears and Emery flashes another dimpled smile. As she's laughing he moves to the vendor, reaching out for Darcy's order and nodding towards his own small order of fries and returning. He keeps that voice going. "Miss Lewis, your meal. Today, the chef has prepared for you grilled beef saturated in artificially flavored sauces with choice vegetables on a of…freshly removed from a bag faux brioche bun. He's paired it with a side dish of French Fried potatos." He presents the order with a flourish of a bow.


And then the food is presented so poshly, and Darcy's eyes are watering from it.

"Ah. Fuck, dude! I can't breathe!" states the Sass-mastah, voice whimpering with laughter. She reaches out for her meal, looking very willing to allow him to sit with her.


Emery allows the meal to be taken with a wink as he gestures towards a table in quiet acceptance of the unspoken invitation. His grip on the white greasy bag that houses his own 'fries' adjusts and he prepares to follow and join her wheever she's settled for her meal and he looks innocent as can be.


Findng a bench isn't hard. Getting into the seat and turned to the picnic table without flashing to whole world is. Not that Darcy seems to care, for she just drops to the seat and Risky Business's herself around into the right place.

"So. What brings you to New York?" she asks after they're settled in and she's pulled out her burger for comsumption. So greasy goodness that her jacket is shrugged out of and the papernapkins set like a bib over her white blouse.


Its not even really a conscious thing, but Emery moves slightly, his body shielding maximum exposure of Darcy's flash zone from a certain angle as he averts his eyes to the table, then he smoothly slips onto the bench across from the woman, his bag of chips/fries is set on the table, bag edges rolled down so he can easily pluck out crispy fried taters at will.

"Mm, wanted a new start. Did a free stints workin' for people in Africa and briefly in London recently but…its been years since I've worked for someone American actually in America. Besides, me daughter's never been to the states so I tink getting her primary education here might do her some good." Emery gives the most borderline boring reply ever, because saying 'me and my daughter on on the run because my side job involves killing people' does not make for good conversation. "So I'm lookin' at different cities while she stays put…New York seems nice."


"Oh! And you picked New York of all places? Fuck, man! Better than Gotham. Though to be honest, New Mexico away from the Mexican border is calm as shit. Hot though," Darcy says in that helpful way of having traveled her own country a lot. She didn't realize that Emery had moved to protect her honor. Almost like it didn't occur to her to need protecting. Darcy picks up her saucy burger and takes a bite.


"Mm, yes. Gotham." Emery shoves 3 fries into his mouth, closing his eyes and he chews slowly…analyzing the flavor with a tilt of his head before he swallows and picks up a few more fries. "Love the gloomy yet classic architecture…almost as beautifully depressing as some places in France, but I went to church and almost got shot by a mafia driveby so mebbe not the best place to raise a 5 year old. We'll see. Depends on where I get work." He laughs softly though, shrugging his shoulder. "New Mexico hunh?" He pronounces it with a flawless hispanic accent before his voice shifts back to his natural Irish lilt. "We'll see. There's alot more poncey people with money in New York than New Mexico I tink, and they are always needin' people who do what I do."


"Oh! She's FIVE?" Darcy squeels. Beccasue that is hte single most important detiatl of everything he said.

"Never let her meet me! I'm a terrible fucking influence," Darcy states, voice still cooing as if she were just saying what a beautiful baby. Another bite taken, Drcy's head tilts again.

"Whacha do?"


"Aye, she's five. I had to get 'er to sleep using DMX music as a bebe..wouldn't fall asleep to anyting else." Emery replies, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. "I tink, Miss Sass-Mastah, wimmen like you are breaths of fresh air and exactly the type girls should get to see to know there's different flavors of bein' a lady." He gives a shake of his head, pulling off his beanie as he smooths a hand over his head, shaking out his hair and running his fingers through it. "Oh, I'm a professional Butler and certified Personal Assistant." Because Butlers look like him. His beanie is replaced, before he continues eating fries. "How about yerself? Fancy lady must have a fancy job some where in this big city?"


"DMX? Really? Okay. Now I want to meet her. She sounds bad ass," Darcy chirps happily as she munches more.

"Hmm.. I am a flavor of something. How do you feel about bi's?" Because somepeople are still bothered. And it's easiest to start off with this one.

"Me? Just an office supply dealer. You want your fix of Bic, Im yer bitch." Because office supplier are excaly like drugs.


"That could be arranged, I'm sure." Emery smiles and nods. But its the next question that makes him arch an eyebrow and look down for a moment, searching his brain for any potential alternative translations. None found, so.

"I don't do lables. If ye want to smooch or to shag someone and its a mutual ting, then who am I to feel any sort've way about it. Makes if far easier to have an entertainin' afternoon." The Irishman just winks and nibbles on a fry. "Ahh, office supply dealer. Brilliant, we'll have to exchange information. Can never have enough pens."


Oh good. He's like her. Darcy smiles warmly, giving a nod and another healthy bite of her burger and a fry for good measure.

"So much easier, to be true," she replies, sucking burger juice from her fingers so she can hand over her phone.

"Punch in your digits. I'll text you so you can hit me up for your fix."


Emery accepts the phone with a small nod, leaning over slightly on the bench to slip his wallet out of a pocket and thumb through it for a sleek black business card that hs his name and email and phone number on it as well. That's slipped across the table to Darcy before he taps his number into the woman's phone, pausing to think for a moment and continue. He had to change that number recently. "So, do you like dealin' office supplies?"


"Beats dealing crack," Darcy says, again sucking burger juice from fingers so she can ruck the card into her bra. Safest place for it.

"I don't plumber well at all," she adds. HA! She slays.

Not really. That was a terrible joke.

"you? Like butlering?"


Emery mmhms softly. "As I have known many a crackdealer, I can vouch for that. They have horrible hours and workplace violence is a constant issue. And there's no union or anyting to air greviences to." He tsks softly, eyes tracking the placement of that card discretely and smiling to himself.

He does give an indulgent chuckle at the plumber crack (pun intended), but it doesn't have to be forced. "Like Butlering? Hmm…I'm good at it."

He idly toys with a fry, voice smoothed with an hint of innuendo. "I tend to like doin' tings I'm good at…" He devours the fry, neatly. "But, aye…I've got the training for it. So, I do it."


"Well, hope you find some rich fat cat to butler to soon," Darcy says, takign her phone back and droppping it uneremoniously into her purse. She still grinning at Emery' pun crack. It's nice to have a punster around to cause mass amount of punnage with.


"You and me both." Emery grins and shakes his bag of fries a bit, eyeing them with the judgemental eye of a chip/fry snob and he exhales softly. "Well. Verdict is in. Not too salty, a bit under salted I suppose but they make up for it with the flavor of cheap yet dependable grease. Good aroma I suppose. I give it…a 7.5." He nods slowly. "Not the best, not the worst." A look to Darcy. "But mebbe at 8.5 because they allowed me to find such delightful company."


"Fuck yes! I'm worth a point!" Darcy exclaims loud enough to turn a few heads. None are really off put, but it's surprising for someone to be so randomly vocal. She holds up a hand for Emery, waiting for a high-five.

"Burger's only a 6, but I met you and after my hellish morning, it's a fucking ten right now, I swear to Monkey Jesus."


Emery quickly wipes a hand off on his jeans before meeting that high-five, not to leave his new friend hanging, shaking his head a bit. "You're damn right ye are, Sass-Mastah, Bad Arsed Office Supply Dealer…" He offers a smile and bows his head, hand moving to his chest as he does a semi-bow in response. "It has been my honor then."


Aw! He wiped his hand! Emery is a fucking gentleman! Darcy didn't wipe. She's hardcore like that.

"Hell yes. So, I'll text you and we'll set up a clandestine pen meet or something," she says, shoving the last bite into her mouth and then finally using the napkin to wipe up.


Emery nods slowly. "Sounds like a plan then Miss Darcy. Ye text the location, I'll show up real covert like and we'll do an exchange. Do you accept Irish Whiskey in exchange for gel pens?" He ask real seriously like and starts to roll his bag of chips/fries back closed.


"Oh.. fuck me.. YES," Darcy says, eyes twinkling merrily, lips smiling wickedly.

"I'll give you the best gel pens. Fuck, irish whiskey's almost as bomb as Asgardian mead. Ineed a better apartment to house mmy liquor, fuck," Darcy says, moving to repeat the get into bench seat, only backwards. Time to get up.


Emery rises from the bench as Darcy replies, quiet laughter making his shoulders shake and he's on his feet, moving a few steps to offer a hand to Darcy to help her up. Its a reflex really and he nods slowly. The word Asgardian is filed away. "Very well, I shall make sure I get the really good stuff." A bow of his head. "Thank ye for allowing me to join you, miss. I look forward to meetin' ye again."


"Ditto," Darcy replies, accpeting the help up before grabbing her purse and waving as she walks away toward where she parked the company car. Because SHIELD is back to letting her borrow vehichles.


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