Take it or Leave it (Shorts)

[James "Saint" Reilly]

The sun was setting over the piers, its dying colors reflecting against the ocean and engulfing the scene in a fiery light. Against the flaming glow, the amusement rides created an eerie backdrop; its patrons had long disappeared, deserting the strip until it reopened in the morning. Braced against a fierce wind that rose from the ocean, James Reilly shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, keeping a firm hold on the stiff object between his fingers.

Earlier that morning, Saint had succeeded in cornering one of the Greens, a kid that had to be at least three years younger than he. While the pathetic thing cockily bent into a fighting stance, Saint had something smaller in mind.

"Who are you kiddin'?" he spat irritably at the kid, who was clearly hyped on adrenaline. "It wouldn't take much for a girl to kick your scrawny arse all over town. Now calm down and take a listen to what I've got to say."

"I want you to tell Shorts that I- don't you interrupt me, boy- that I have something she may want a looksie at," from the inside of his jacket he brandished a faceless CD case, "if she wants it, she's going to have to come to me. I'll be waiting at the amusement pier at six thirty; gone by fourty-five. You got me, Bambi?"

And here he was, glancing at his watch at exactly 6:37. He didn't expect her to be on time; on the contrary, she was likely to show up a the last minute, in a vain attempt to let him know who was in charge here.

But oh no. This was Saint's information; if she didn't want it, then he would scurry on over to Spirit and see what it meant to her.

He was running this show.

[Esme "Shorts" Hale]

Damn kids Shorts grumbled under her breath, as she walked the pier. She hated the new runners, they always tried to tell you things in person, instead of contacting her immediately through intercom, the smart thing to do.

She adjusted her leather jacket, and walked fast with her knee high boots. She was able to walk faster with her black shorts, and hid her eyes with large sunglasses, blocking the intense stare of the setting sun.

There he was, just where he said. She curse for being late, that would be a small tear in her rep, something she worked so hard to make. He was someone she knew, some one of a small group of runners, or even one that worked solo. She admired those ones, being able to work on his own. She used to be like that, but now, she was comfortable with the power of Green Leader.

"What is so important that you had to scare the shit out of my newbie runner? Something important I hope," She smiled, reaching up to the runner known as Saint, and put on a show for any wondering eyes of strangers. She wrapped her arms around his arm, and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"So, let's see it," She smiled, and whispered.

[James "Saint" Reilly]

"Ah," Saint flicked a hand dismissively, "think of it as a favor. Kid needed to man up."

He led her in a slow walk down the pier, letting a moment of silence drag on between them. Eyes narrowed against the sun's radiance, he withdrew the case from his jacket pocket.

"I went through hell to get this bugger," Saint said, smirking at it and turning it fondly over in his hand. The light caught the edge of the plastic case, the glare making the text on the disk unreadable. "It's a list of occupied Blues, right from their Captain down to their most incompetent newbie. It has their years of service, current residential listings, family ties...hell, you could send Hawkins a birthday card. It's all on there."

He pulled her to a gentle stop, fixing her with a soft smile. "So hows about it, Blondie? Whatchya got in exchange for this little jewel I managed to nick?"

[Esme "Shorts" Hale]

She took the disk, and fingered the edges of the case. "Well, I have a lot of things, what are you in the mood for?" She asked. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see others looking at them, and she got in closer to Saint. She ran her fingers up and down his arms, and smiled sweetly. "Just tell be what you are looking for."

[James "Saint" Reilly]

At her touch, a strange internal buzz fled the length of Saint's arm. Being the man he was, he played his part effortlessly and convincingly; looping his arms around her slight frame, he held her against his chest, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He was enjoying this charade.

"I'm a runner on my own, princess," despite his sweet acting, his tone retained its charmingly sardonic edge. "Take a gander at what I'd like...money, that's a start."

This was suggested in a tone of false realization; very subtly, Saint was mocking her. It wasn't something she should take personally...he would be poking jabs at the very mayor himself, were he in her place. Some saw this as a flaw in his personality- there were very few people whose opinion mattered to the man.

For a moment or so, Saint stared pensively out over the darkening horizon, his view marred by an exceptionally eccentric couple entwined at the water's edge. Other than that bother, it was quite a sight- violets and midnight hues were starting to close in on the faint halo over the water.

"Tell me, Shorts," he said, using her name for the first time. "How do stragglers like that runner I cornered before make it into your 'elite squad'? Seems to me like they're more trouble than they're worth."

[Esme "Shorts" Hale]

Shorts shrugged, "Most die before they get anywhere, which is fine, I guess, most have to last for a while, plus get me what I want, but its all a difficult process, it all about pleasing the boss," She explained. "Why do you ask?" She smirked.

[James "Saint" Reilly]

Saint snorted. "Because, I always thought getting selected was some sort of almighty honor. Tiny Tim there proved me wrong, though. And I love, by the way," a mirroring, sarcastic smirk spread the width of his lips, "how grieved you are about the loss of your fellow Runners. Aren't women supposed to be the sappy, weeping-at-my-grave sort?"

He chuckled. "Anywho, don't they rat you out once they get nicked by the Blues?"

[Esme "Shorts" Hale]

Shorts laughed at his stereotype of women. "Only stupid runners get caught. Granted, there are a few times when i have shed a tear," She traced a line of an imaginary tear running down her cheek, "for one or two beloved runners of mine. But I don't have time to shed a tear for every neophyte that comes and dies my way."

She brushed her hair back, and continued. "I have had one, or two, who thought they could get off free, but they know that if one gets caught, and a secret of our is blown soon after, I am going to blame them, and take appropriate action, of course."

[James "Saint" Reilly]

Saint chuckled. "Sounds like you run a tight ship," he said. A wind swept from over the bay, tugging at the man's hoodie. Fortunately for Shorts, she was nestled against his chest and, for the most part, protected from the cold. James shuddered.

"Look, I'm all for the great view, but if this negotiating is going to take much longer, I vote we head somewhere warmer. And," he reached around to where Shorts still held the case, prying it gently from her grasp, "I'll be hanging on to this until we decide on a price."

[Esme "Shorts" Hale]

"I guess that's fine," She nodded. "So until then, how about I treat you, say, to a drink at the Fallen Dove Bar?" She offered. She saw him smile, and cracked her fingers. "I'll meet you there in ten minutes? I need to go change," She reached up one her toes, kissed his cheek, and broke their embrace, and started to walk off. Their hands held on for a while, and then she walked back down the pier.

"See ya," She winked at him.

[James "Saint" Reilly]

Saint shoved his hands into his pockets and watched her slight silhouette fade down the pier, a shadow of a smile on his lips. For a few moments his mind buzzed numbly, recounting the most recent events of the night with a faintly bemused air. He had forgotten entirely about the cold, and it wasn't until a particularly affronting gust shoved him forward a step that he came back to his senses.

He rolled back his shoulders, diverted his gaze to the last tendrils of fiery sunlight stretching over the water. "Well, I'll be damned," he said quietly. It had been a long time since a girl had messed with his head.