Felicia - A moveable Feast

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Description: Felicia delivers a thing for Stray to it's recipients

Dominic "Lefty" Lepardo operated out of Metro City's Uptown District, running his Italian Mafia operations of drug distribution for smaller outfits from the opulent and upper class highrises and vistas of the decadent and opulent. Lefty, a former southpaw boxing champion from decades before, preferred to use an inner circle of advisors to run his business, differing from the usual military chain of command that the Italian Mob used elsewhere in the country, due to the intricacies of dealing with Belger and Retsu and Black, the three major power players in Metro City's criminal element.

Lefty's restaurant, 'Fortuna di Tutti', was easily accessable by those visiting from the suburbs, set along a major road that ran north south between uptown's upskirts from sideroads cutting through the city, and the suburban major road lines that led north into New York State. It was off the road in a large parking lot, with professionally pruned trees along it and a classy red brick ramp leading up to the restaurant's entrance, juxtaposed with brick stairs for the better abled.

The restaurant was arranged with leather upholstered booths and round tables, both for large and small parties, plus a private room for Lefty himself with a long rectangular table that he sat at the head of. Behind Lefty were pictures from his boxing days, his family both in America and Italy, and pictures of Lefty meeting great men ranging from Metro labor union and corporate leaders to famous musicians and politicans. He was an old man in his seventies, and presently sat at the table tonight eating angel hair with generously meaty tomato sauce and round meatballs, using heavy helpings of parmesan cheese. He spun his noodles around his fork with a spoon, in classic Italian style.

Felicia had been given a large computer deck from Flamingo Cartel members at the harbor, along with a small dispensation of cash for travel expenses, and instructions to bring the deck to Lefty. The Cartel members all wore white suits with panama hats, one of them a recognizable member of a local Mexican Mafia outfit, Piranha Mendez, a car thief. Piranha had given Felicia the number of a local cab outfit, one he knew kept their mouth shut. The Flamingo that spoke the best English warned her, Lefty was a lech and a pervert, and also thought he was still seventeen years old and fighting in Golden Gloves championships.

Felicia had worn her usual trench coat and sandals as she kept the box containing the computer case along with her, which she hefted easily under one arm. Despite the way she looked, she was still a catwoman, and had a decent amount of physical strength. Beneath the trenchcoat she wore a sportsbra and pair of spandex bicycle shorts, even despite the coat she still understood it was a good idea to wear clothes, just in case she had to open her jacket--she didn't want someone to think she was nude, despite well, having fur.

Getting out of the cab, she thanked the man and handed him the money, stepping out in her black foam wraparound sandals and pushed the wide hat wore to help cover her hair. She looked like darkwing duck, or maybe the character his looks were based on, The Shadow--despite the regular tan colors. She'd have to find some better walking around gear later. She didn't like the attention she got from going about in just her jogging clothes, at least if she had been in the area for a bit. This is why it helped to be nomadic.

Once inside the restaurant, all she had to do was find this guy and give him the goods and get her shit and head back to Stray. .

The maitr'de signals a waiter, and the waiter gestures for Felicia to follow him. He leads her through the restaurant in the most subtle way possible, until he opens the door to Lefty's back room where Lepardo and the other members of his high command eat. The waiter closes the door behind her quietly, keeping his head and eyes down. All the mobsters, previously talking and chatting, quietly turn to look at Felicia, before their speech lowers to a low murmur, then terminates with a low hush.

Lefty continues to eat slowly, slicing part of his meatball away with his fork, then spritzing the slice of beef and pork and grain with his grated cheese, before he eats it. He chews slowly, looking up at Felicia and swallowing. He squints at her, before his old, rheumatic left hand reaches to the table beside him, and he slips his thick eyeglasses on. "Well well well," he says in a friendly way, gesturing for Felicia toward him, around the side of the table. "Skull Cross knows when to give an old man a little excitement," he says with an old crooner's cheer, as if he was an old Frank Sinatra in a retirement home flirting with a nurse that he had hired just for his ego and his failing male urges. If this was funny to any of the mobsters at the table, not a single one of them shows even a hint of amusement, an icy death palpable from the other mobsters, all of them watching Felicia, none of them daring to put their eyes on Lefty. The man bleeds terror, even from his closest inner circle, despite the fact that he appears friendly and kindly.

For a second, Felicia had the idea of sitting down to a meal perhaps around some suited mob individuals, though as she was led right through the restaurant that hope quickly faded as she realized she was being led into a backroom sorta setup. Mobster types, they always had dens like this in backs of bars or clubs or other businesses. She keeps silent and still, with the wrapped computer tower under one arm still, her sandals slapping softly against the floor as she blinks at the man, proceeding closer to him with a little raise of her thin brows.

This guy was a creep, an older creep, at that, though he definitely had power if his subordinates didn't even make a catcall (pardon the pun) at Felicia. He was strong, and his power and position had not made him benevolent in his age, it was clear.

"Candygram," Felicia smiled a little and presented the package, holding it till she was motioned to put it down for him, hopefully she could leave pretty soon once this was done...

Lefty's benevolent smile turns into a grin that shows off his dentures, watching Felicia's chest. "Sweets from a sweetheart," he says as he sets down his fork. He turns slowly as the computer deck is set down, looking to the man on his left. He speaks briefly, in the Sicilian dialect of Italian, and the man on his left pushes away from his seat with smooth compliance, not intimidated so much as motivated, and steps out of the room. Lefty turns his attention back to Felicia. "So, my charming showgirl, how do we find ourselves here tonight, heh?" He looks her up and down slowly, before looking up at her face. "My name is Dominic, but you can call me Lefty. What do they call you?" he asks with that thinly veiled sexual predation under the mask of a grandfatherly figure.

After a few moments, a man in a black suit steps into the room, his pace quick and nervous, but with the purpose of a highly paid professional. The man that had been ordered on the brief errand follows him, looking to Lefty and giving him a nod that Lefty replies with by raising his hand briefly, the two exchanging the gestures very calmly and softly, as if it were nothing. The nervous man takes the computer deck and leaves the room. The man who vacated his seat waits quietly, hands clasped in front of him, watching Felicia with a dangerous look, and not a sexual one, but that of a stern business executive watching a contractor from a different branch in a corporation. Except in a corporate body (in America, at least), they were fewer high grade wiseguys involved.

"Mm, Felicia, sir," Felicia nods her head, taking her hat off. He'd be able to see her long wild mane of electric blue hair, holding the hat against her front. "It's... nice here, the restaurant, I mean," she nodded with a little honesty there. The restaurant was nice... the scary mob nest in the back, eh less so. "Anyway, I realize you guys got a lot of important restaurant business to take care of--" she had learned pretty fast that mob types never used the exact language for things they meant--they always used euphemisms and codewords for stuff. Like painting a house meant to murder someone, thanks to the blood that would splatter onto walls, ect. She also found it made them more comfortable to talk like that, so.

"Thanks for the business, uh, Mr. Lefty--who do I talk to to get paid?" she might have made an error there, she realized, she was being a bit rude.

Lefty's grin closes to a polite smile, which is a danger signal that causes the other mobsters, besides the one standing, to turn away from Felicia and toy with their own meals, the ones that ate their fill around merely sipping their vino or water or soda. "A time for all things, darling."

The gesture of the hat over the chest is apparently what triggered the response. He moves his glasses up on his eyes. "You're not the only cat that needs their milk." He looks to the standing man, and says something in Sicilian again. Lefty looks back to Felicia, his polite smile turning apologetic. "You're new, and I know that all the Stray Cat's guys are vouched for, but there's balances and checks and vetoes, you see, that we all understand. You'll get it some day." The standing man then briskly walks around the table, and steps up behind Felicia. Lefty says, "We're going to need to see if you're wearing a wire. Don't worry, Vito's a professional, he's got a wife and two kids."

Felicia blinks a little but keeps herself still. "That's fine," she says finally, reaching up to undo the buttons of her jacket and slides her jacket off, letting them see her in the from-fitting attire she wore underneath. She'd hand her jacket and hat off to one of the men--likely the guy behind her. Her thumbs dug into the waistband of her spandex bicycle shorts as she peeled them down and off, stepping out of them daintily--then pushing her sportsbra up and off. If the men had wanted to see the darkstalker was normally, well, they were getting a rather frontrow seat ticket to do so.

"All I've got in my jacket is my spare cash and some junk," she shrugged, standing there in her regular mode, unclothed now. She didn't seem humiliated or embarrassed or intimidated by the powerful mobster or his men, but she was also complying with what they wanted. Those legs, hips and belly and chest of the woman before him were probably stirring Lefty to stand at attention, among other things. Hopefully his old heart could take it.

Vito looks away politely as Felicia starts to strip, some of the mobsters chuckling, but still keeping their heads down. Lefty snickers himself, and slowly shakes his head back and forth. "It's just a pat down, honey," he replies after she's finished stripping, but notably, they all let her go through the process of stripping instead of stopping her. "You're a real overachiever, aren'tcha?" Lefty then says, as Vito slides his hands along her clothing, looking for bugs and the like. Lepardo waits politely, before Vito finishes the search and nods, stepping away from the small pile of clothing so Felicia can get dressed again. Lefty nods. "Stray always recruits like that. He's smart. A little too smart, sometimes. He doesn't understand the difference between a hammer at the workshop, and a hammer you buy from the hardware store."

Lefty looks over as the tech comes back out, with a compact disc in a square plastic container. He places it on the table, near Lefty, and then lowers his eyes and leaves the same way he came. "I won't go into the, uh, complexities of the operation, lady, but this ain't your paycheck. You're a courier, Stray pays you upon completion of the circuit." Lefty slowly turns and picks up the compact disc, offering it to Felicia between his fore and middle finger, extending outwards gently from his left hand. "Back in my day, you'd be driving a book of numbers down from the wharf to a slaughterhouse, and then you'd bring a black book to the boss. Now, it's all friggin' toys. You know what the funny part is?" Lefty shrugs. "We get busted more often."

"I... don't get what you mean," Felicia blinked a little at his comparison to a workshop hammer or a hardware store one, it seemed pretty lost on her. "Oh, I see," she nodded and moved over to take the compact disc from the man, likely hoping it had a box or sheaf--she'd not want to ruin the surface of it with her claws. She'd take her clothing again, but didn't dress in it again right yet--gathering it up and stuffing it in the inside pockets of her jacket.

"Right, I see, I'm a little new at this," she replied truthfully, a faint blush at her cheeks. She didn't feel too bad about it, but looking green in front of a bunch of scumologist mafiosos wasn't what she had intended. She didn't feel above them or humans, not at all--but she also didn't exactly care for some of the scummier sorts. But well, it didn't look like he was going to let her just walk out of there... and there were worse things. She'd slip down into the empty seat next to the man, folding her jacket near him and relaxing back.

"Mind if I... sit down?" she smiled up at 'Lefty'.

Lefty puts his forearms up on the table and picks up his fork and spoon, looking over at Lefty as if he's on a date and he's a young man again. "Please," he says with a smile, looking at her with a slight push forward of his jaw, the kind a boxer would give a pretty girl showing interest, as a demonstration of machismo by offering her the chance to punch him. He's far too old to survive, however. "Do you want something to eat? The kitchen's still cooking for the civilians outside, we can get you anything you want. I don't know what catgirls eat, don't want to offend." He chuckles and looks to his plate, skillfully lifting a forkful of pasta to his spoon and wrapping it around the prongs, before he performs a subtle slide of the lower noodles between the metal fork widths, and eats the pasta while looking at her, smiling. That's another move of masculinity, that one an Italian man of high class and exceptional breeding.

"I think I wouldn't mind a little fish and chips, if they cook that here," Felicia smiles and nods to the older man. She didn't take the offer to clock him, of course, that really wasn't what she was going for here, either. She wasn't even sure she could make it out of here before most of these droogs of his could shred her with their weapons. She hadn't quite approached unstoppable monster status yet, exactly.

She rests back against the chair (booth?) and crosses her legs just a bit, kicking back almost. "Thanks for letting me have dinner here, I appreciate it," she nodded with a grin. This was sincere, even--she didn't exactly get to eat in restaurants, not usually--and especially not nicer ones like this. That was a downside of being a darkstalker. This was part of why Felicia had come to start using guys like this, but who knows, if old Lefty played his cards right, she might wind up going home with him tonight. Was it the older, grandfatherly welcoming attitude and power? Maybe.

There's a shocked throat clear from farther down the table at the request, Lefty's head immediately snapping towards the sound. There's a low stare from him that soon transforms into everyone looking at the clown who just guffawed. He picks up his wine, shakily taking a noisey sip. "So the lady's a little Irish," Lefty says with a deadly, dismissive tone. "Just means she has nice cans." There's a chuckle, and then everyone goes back to talking, as if Felicia never entered the room. Lefty turns to Felicia and smiles. "For you, lady, anything." He looks up at Vito, who is still standing behind Felicia, and nods with a crooked grin meant for him but not hidden from Felicia. Vito nods and slowly moves out of the room.

Dominic turns his attention back to Felicia, explaining, "Fish and chips aren't what you'd call Italian cooking, the British invented it. The Irish don't always realize that," he says with a twinkle in his eye, as he quietly explains a joke as if Felicia is from another country, very carefully and pleasantly. He knows not to push on the Darkstalker angle, just be polite. After a minute or two, a waiter in white comes in, setting down a wine glass for Felicia. "The seventy-one for the lady, chef's compliments from the cellar," the waiter states in a neutral but friendly tone, smoothly pouring the glass to the appropriate volume, before tipping the bottle backwards and retreating out of the room. Lefty smiles at Felicia, sipping his wine and regarding her silently.

Felicia felt just a bit self-conscious when Lefty mentioned her bust. Well they WERE nice, but... that's not why she wanted that particular food. She just liked decent fried haddock and fries, really... "Ah, sorry, I should have ordered something else," Felicia aheh'd a little and would probably tug at her collar if she was wearing a shirt. She blinked at the man serving her wine and nodded, thanking him before sitting back, gingerly taking the glass and sipping at it, experimentally--she hadn't been used to good wine, or good food, or sitting down in a restaurant like this. It made her feel weird, oddly like royalty. Holding the wineglass, she carefully put an arm around Lefty's shoulders as she sat back. "I could get used to this," she nodded with a sheepish grin.

One part of her likely felt a bit dirty and figured this was pretty wrong, being a mafioso lapcat like this, but she told herself it wouldn't always be like this, she just had to deal with things how they came and besides, there was a lot of money to be had in playing this sort of game. Still, to Lefty here, despite her powerful body and resiliance, she was likely an easy target, a mark. She sorta knew this, but she was going to see where things went... for now.

Log created on 02:01:13 09/03/2016 by Felicia, and last modified on 03:58:16 09/03/2016.