OPEN POST

[acolouthic]

Anything! Plot with me, cold start a scene, whatever.

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[diamondhack]

[New York.

The city that never sleeps.

Not that any city ever slept, really. Most people thought of it that way.

Isha Devan was, unfortunately, not most people. She hadn't been most people since she was a child. It was the way things went.

At least it was a change of pace from the usual locales. Somehow she'd been deemed good enough to leave the grand continent of Europe. She'll take the compliment, thank you.

She never worked without research. Isha could do chaos, hell, Isha is chaos, but when you have a job, you need a plan. The plan is the outline, everything else can change after you've got that plan in place.

So the first plan, of many plans, within one grand master plan, had been to buy a dress. Obviously.

The Met is just as astounding as it looks in the pictures. She'd never been inside, and if she had been any younger, she would've been openly curious and amazed by everything. As it stands? The agent is all restraint, taking in the surroundings, studying them as best as she could. Some other day she'll come back.

Black is, forever, her color, but this time, she chooses a deep blue dress. Sophisticated, with just enough drama. Should do the job just fine.

And though she strides with the confidence of an empress, of someone who already owns the entire place and then some, her dark eyes continually scan the scene. The prosthetic left arm gleams onyx, the inlaid gold henna designs catch the light and flash brighter than the beadwork of the woven top.

In that play of ownership, she feigns a slight discomfort, a certain sense of loss and uncertainty of direction. After all, doesn't any new girl get lost sometimes and feels unsure of herself?]

[acolouthic]

[ Booker Richardson is always busy. Whether it's dodging charges (real or trumped-up), doing work (legal or otherwise), or social engagements (personal or work-related), he rarely gets a moment to breathe. Even less so lately with all the work his father is piling onto him with attempts at crafting an international network. Personally he's not impressed; he'd rather have a moment to himself ever, to not have to worry about even more hounds at his door.

Tonight he's working. Again.

The FBI seems to have taken a step back for a moment but he doesn't trust it and it puts him even more on edge. He moves through this gala with ease anyway, black-suit-black-tie-burgundy-shirt crisp to contrast his smooth and slick hair. He looks so at home, smiling and expressive as he chats with people: designers, artists, international business-people. He's here on behalf of his father and their holdings, naturally, the young CBO of a well-respected company within the Richardson web of impact. Most locals know who he is.

Anyway.

Nothing really escapes his gaze and he is both a gentleman and not immune to a beautiful woman that seems to be a bit astray. As the conversation he's in winds down he lets out a laugh, turned toward the man he's talking to and shaking his hand while the other hand plants on his back briefly. Friendly, companionable. Then he's sweeping aside, moving toward Isha and pausing a respectful distance away. While the work on her prosthetic is astounding his gaze doesn't focus on it - he's had experience with not being a prick about things like that, thankfully.

He smiles and it's practically cheeky. ] Works of art are over that way, I believe. [ With a nod - yes, naturally, the implication is that she's a piece of art, so on. He wears this persona well, though his real personality is far more understated and less... this. ]

[diamondhack]

[So he lives up to the reputation.

Papers mean nothing to her, though. They'd given her a stack of files involving Booker and his family, and she knew that all of it was just details, background history to the real game.

She'd have to study him, really study him, even tail him if necessary. This is her home turf. No matter where she went, she always found a way to her true calling, her less-than-upstanding ways of living. At least she's using it for good.

At least her father now looks at her with a little more pride and a little less concern.

Isha lets out a low chuckle, shaking her head.] Well I'm afraid this is the first time I'm among other works of art in the States. [Smart, but not too smart. Cocky and charming, but not desperate. Just the edges of herself, really, because all good lies have a bit of truth in them. Play up the ignorance, the fresh arrival and the willingness to explore. Match his cheekiness with her own play of words.

The more he can talk to her, the more she can know who to become to him.] I would say I've gotten lost, but I don't often get lost in dresses like these.