Sharp needle, small haystack

[Claire]

By light of day, the bar seemed like any other. The patrons were few and far between. From a corner a pair of waitresses watched where the newcomers would sit, then breathed a sigh of relief when they steered toward the bar.

Claire climbed up the stool and dumped the bag of incense on the bar top nearby. She liked how Giovanni took the initiative to make a selection for the pair of them. He seemed to grow bolder by the moment. A sense of pride swelled within her chest, and in the dim interior, she was comfortable finally.

Giovanni. The name scrolled foreign and mysterious across her imagination.

His drink selection elicited a surprised look. "An Italian with a taste for vodka? This is surprising."
She teased of course, then turned to the bartender, though her pensive gaze scanned the wall of bottles above the man's shoulder. She settled on a bottle of vermouth. "Martini dry, two olives."
He nodded and went to work.

Claire angled herself better so she was slightly facing him. The seat was narrow and uncomfortable, but she hooked an elbow across the back of it. The bangles and bracelets looping her forearm caught the corner of her eye.

Soon enough a chilled martini glass was placed before her, perched atop a square napkin. Careful to hold the glass by the stem, she lifted it in greetings, "Claire Novak,"
she replied in turn, then took a sip.

She glanced at his vodka, and waited, curious and patient to note the sort of expression to cross his face as he sampled the liquor. Whether the crystal blue of his eyes would harden or wince, or whether they would absorb the severe, eighty proof russian liquid without recognition. There was much to this man she instinctively did not trust, though that did not mean she was not intrigued. "What do you wish of me, Giovanni?"
She finally asked, "I have my own stressors to care for, and have never taken an interest in these sorts of projects."

[Giovanni Cavelli]

Giovanni took the shot, a savoring the flavor of the Russian liquor. The woman's name was Claire. She also wanted to know what he wanted. Giovanni wasn't entirely sure what he wanted of her. A good way to start would be some clothing. He knew nothing of fashion, and it was obvious Claire did. She was dressed rather nicely.

"I think a good start would be clothing. What I have now is rather worn. I want something that's not too lavish though. I still need to be able to blend in."
. His voice began to trail off as he went deeper in thought.

Beyond that, he really didn't know. Deep within him, he wanted to reveal his channeling abilities. But they were still frightening to him. Even rejoining society was scary. He had no doubt the Atharim would find him.

Giovanni signaled the bartender with his glass, getting another vodka. The drink finished off the cash he had available. He drank the new shot in one gulp and continued thinking.

[Claire]

Claire pinched the stem of the martini glass, thoughtfully twirling it atop its napkin. Giovanni surprised her again with his quick downing of the shot. She winced at the sight to imagine how it must burn. An Italian with a taste for vodka and the backbone to drink it straight up. There was truly more to him than met the eye; and he seemed to have had a hard life. Claire could sympathize.

"You want me to take you shopping?"
Claire laughed. She leaned around the edge of the stool and glanced up and down the darkly dressed Italian.

An amused laugh rolled across her expression and Claire finally took a sip of the martini. "I suppose you've hit upon my weakness,"
she smiled acceptingly, "as I have a hard time turning down a trip shopping."
It would be a nice change from the thrift stores and resale shops she usually lurked back in New York. Shopping in Moscow? The idea glittered like a dream.

[Giovanni Cavelli]

Giovanni laughed. It sounded extremely funny now that she pointed it out. Laughing also felt strange to him. It had been so long since he had really laughed.

"It does sound kind of strange now that you mention it. From there we can move on to other things I guess. I don't know. Talking to someone is just a big deal in itself for me."


Giovanni handed the glass back to the bartender and politely declined when the bartender asked him if he wanted another drink.

"Well, whenever you are ready."


Giovanni knew he was out of money, so he would have to find someone to steal from to afford new clothes.

"Well that shouldn't be too difficult."
he thought.

[Claire]

Giovanni had a timid laugh. The sort that escaped from a man used to remaining quiet, hidden, and unnoticed. Claire's chuckling was not overly boisterous, but rather was reflective of the amusement warming her from within. Or perhaps that was the gin.

She was taking another lady-like sip when he declined a third drink. It was a gesture of a man with a will. Two drinks and done, Claire's mother always said. Just enough to feel warm and uninhibited, but not truly shake your judgment.

She set her glass back atop the napkin and blinked, considering that perhaps she should stop at just one drink, because she was actually considering--

Her thoughts cut off. Whenever you are ready. And her mouth parted in surprise.

Claire was taken aback. Confused and surprised. "You want to go now?"
The man moved quickly didn't he!

She wasn't quite sure what to think of this, and turned to studying the still surface of her drink while she thought out loud. "I am afraid I will have to take a raincheck, Giovanni. I was on my way to a psychic shop, looking for work. Unless..."
She suddenly looked back at him, leaning forward with slight anticipation, though she did nothing crass or flirtatious, such as drape a palm across his well-placed arm.

"Unless you are interested in hiring a personal stylist?"
A smile grew across her lips. Yes, this was what he needed. Not a life coach. A stylist. "I could show you what to wear, how to talk, where to go. And if we play our cards right,... well, who knows...?

[Giovanni Cavelli]

A personal stylist? Giovanni never thought about that, but it did seem to be exactly what he was looking for. There was something that made him feel uneasy though. He was unsure of what to do, but worst case scenario, they could play it by ear.

"Why not?"
he said. "We can try that."


He was worried about having to pay her. He didn't want her to see that he was a thief. She wouldn't trust him around her. He remained seated, waiting for her to finish her drink.

"So where to next?"
Giovanni asked, sounding a little more confident. "You're the stylist, what are you're thoughts?"

[Claire]

Claire was thinking more along the lines that a reformed Giovanni might find himself in Moscow's spotlight, but by the look on his face, Claire wondered if he'd taken her comment the wrong way.

She shifted in her seat. "Hold on one moment, Gio. Can I call you Gio?
" She smiled before proceeding. "We have the small matter of salary to discuss. A girl has to eat,"
she looked at him expectantly, but the gears were already turning behind the consideration in her gaze. Claire had a fine living in Brooklyn. People were so gullible. And she expected at least as much from the people of this fine city. So to distract her from her true calling was going to take something of a raise.

But honestly, even if he offered her less, there was value to the appeal of the position itself. She liked the idea of having complete authority over Giovanni. And for now, at least, he was but putty in her hands.

"And before we go anywhere, I will take a good deal of getting to know you better. You certainly have this all black, mister mysterioso thing going on,"
she waved a hand up and down his outfit, bangles sliding along her forearm as she did, before settling on that piercing blue gaze. So much of him seemed like a contradiction, the polite manner clashing on the rocks of a sharp exterior.

"But style is more than about a makeover. It has to be a reflection of who you really are to pull it off."



Edited by Claire, Sep 3 2013, 04:15 PM.

[Giovanni Cavelli]

"Gio? She wants to call me Gio?"
Giovanni thought.

The idea was completely new to him. No one had ever shortened his name. Of course, he hardly ever introduced himself to anyone, and hadn't even used his real name in three years. Using a shortened version of his new identity might even make it harder for the Atharim to find him.

"You can call me Gio. I actually kind of like it."
Gio said with a smile. "As far as pay is concerned, I can assure you I don't have much and I certainly can't pay you upfront. I'll be able to make a withdrawl soon though.


He tried to make it sound like he had money while withholding the fact that he would be stealing her payment from someone else. He was confident he would be able to pay her. After all, he may not have had a lot of money, but he had the means to collect.

"As far as I'm concerned, I come from Venice, Italy where I lived as a gondolier. I like sailing and spent a lot of time near rivers. Other than that, I don't know what else to say. For the last three years, I've been focused on traveling and haven't thought much about interests. I guess you can say I like to travel too."


Gio sat on his stool and leaned onto the bar. He had lied about being a gondolier, but did enjoy rivers and being around water. The last three years had been rough but interesting. He had mostly told the truth. Gio waited for her response.

[Claire]

Gio was just a walking stereotype, wasn't he? Claire thought with a small smile. That he couldn't pay her after all didn't diminish her smile, nor force her to withdraw into herself like some door suddenly locked her out. Claire was never one to cast harsh criticisms without due cause, but she did have this tiny detail of having to provide for herself. Her relocation, pay offs, and life so far in Moscow was quickly eating away at her savings. As appealing as shopping with Gio was, a steady income was quickly becoming necessary.

She swirled the olives through the martini while she listened to his quick biography. Then eventually plucked one off the skewer between her teeth and plopped the remainder back to the drink. The strong aroma of vinegar squeezed out of the bitter bite. The grimace to cross her face was half pleasure and half pain, but it was savored.

As far as I am concerned...? That was a strange way to put it. Venice, Italy? Gio was certainly Italian. That was for sure. But a gondolier? Was that the equivalent of being a cab-driver in New York? Was the profession that common or was he playing to the stereotype? Claire couldn't say. Other than the man he presented himself to be was rather one sided. In all that, never once did his eyes light up with excitement. Never once did his voice sharpen with eagerness to talk.

Except when she asked to call him Gio. Strange. Very strange.

"Alright, Gio. I'll take the job, and you can pay me on a per-consultant basis. But in the meantime, I need a real job."
She plucked the second olive and downed the rest of the martini in a single fell swoop to gather herself to go. The gin touched her head with a pleasant tingle, and she pulled out a Wallet to swap contact information. Gio may not have the funds for something like that, but either way, he could always write down her number the old fashioned way: on a bar napkin.

<small>Claire Novak, voice and mail contact.</small>

"We'll meet up soon. In the meantime, your first assignment is to figure out your budget for this little make-over. I don't want to spend all my time searching the racks at the GUM only to end up at some Old Arbat thrift-shop."
She urged him with the order with the stern way women can, then pat him on the arm, swept a finger across her bangs to tug them from her eyes and gathered her things.