Stakes for Wolves < a shifty-eyed spy rp w. LongDigger >

[brinary]

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☏

 

The Second World War has ended. The casualties are calculated to surpass any recent war, being added and totaled to see if it topped its Great father. The powers that be crowned the United States of America as one of the biggest players in the nation and coolly admired the formidable strength of the Soviet Union. Situational peace was soon chilled to vague amicability. No one could have assumed that a new threat would spring up in the wake of such a ferocious victory. But already cautious and easily riled , the largest powers in the world were wolves after a conquest-- haunches raised and sneering with blood-stained teeth, wild-eyed, and ready.

 

1953-4: Fear-mongering, red-faced, pummel-stomping men manipulating the American public. Disruptive noise to others, paragons of truth to many. Tthe Red Scare has Americans patrolling one another like an old empire, Inquisition-ridden and ready to throw anyone to the dogs. Previously dismissed as a movement for the "smaller-minded" American folk in their middle-of-the-road suburbs, the entire country was beginning to feel the paranoia. But progress is booming. The revolution is Now, with business centers occupying swaths of land, men and women running to work in petticoats and smart shoes. Among the throngs of activity, the bustling crowds of New York pause to 'ooo' and 'aaa' at its newest addition-- the finished United Nations Headquarters. A brilliant and shining gem amongst the pigeon-ridden streets and cloudy skies; it's become Manhattan's very finest. The building's official uncloaking promised an era of consolidation and long negotiation. The countries together would put an end to the foolishness festering the most popular airways and, finally, broker some better peace.

 

Everyone was hearing the tales of spies in the nation. Even in the USSR it was being reported-- scum crawling in their land, disguised as simplefolk. Well-to-do and nationalistic they appeared but beware. Your neighbor, your grocer, your partner, your boss-- anyone could be a sleeper waiting for the alarm to go off and spring into swift and destructive action. Will you stand idle or be vigilant?

 

Some brushed them off as propagandistic trash.

 

But there was truth to these claims admittedly-- none knew it quite as well as city-slicker Barnaby, after all. With a long moleskin coat and a wry smile, he listened to the chatter in diners, in bars, in joints hoppin', or establishments muted. Be it six in the morning or a quarter into three at night, the man was plugged into all of the latest news and gossip around the city with an ear that always seemed to be offered to anyone who needed it.

 

It was a part of his job.

 

Reconnaissance and intelligence were one of his fortes. During the War it had made him stand out, an amiable personality with a forgettable existence.

 

Lackluster.

 

Unimportant.

 

Barely a blip on the radar.

 

The very best stuff, honed to perfection. But there was only one person he could claim as competition-- and he had a feeling that one person had somehow wormed his way into a cushiony life in the States. Amidst tirades in Times Square and random Joe Schmoe's shouting over country singers trying to make a buck on subway stairs, well, the fear of "hidden Reds" was unfounded. But not entirely untrue.

 

☎

 

Today was one of those beautiful days for duck feeding.

 

They were pests on the new streets. No one minded the typical dirt and dust from different soles leaving their mark on the world, but duck poop? It was unforgivable. Barnaby enjoyed their rebellious spirits. Less irritable than geese and less dangerous, but more prone to their own flights of fancy.

 

He knew bread would swell in their guts. It was unhealthy. But the little things- now big things- seemed to simply love the crackers he carried with him and so the man found himself by one of the wrought iron fences near the few planted foliage just a block away from HQ. The little things yapped and jumped for his attention then scampered happily towards the tossed crumbs. Making sure to demonstrate that he had no more, Barnaby raised his hands and turned them over and out once the animals retrained their attention on him. It was deemed acceptable. They went on their way (Barnaby liked to think they were patrolling) and so he went on his.

 

Traveling subway lines and finally on one tram carried him to the United Nations building bright and early. Laslow was already at the door and held it open for him. They exchanged smiles and greetings as Barnaby entered. One hand removed his hat- the wide brimmed panama- as he smoothed his coat down. The women at the front gave him smiles and his card was examined, paper stamped, and his existence permitted to the elevator halfway down a hallway past the greeting desk. It gave him a moment to breathe. Barnaby enjoyed early morning transit. It let him have riveting conversations with Linda, the woman on the second floor of his apartment complex, who talked incessantly about her daughter. He got the best coffee- fresh without the promise of a long wait- and Early Bird Biscuit Breakfast from Mill's corner diner, who had recently relocated from the crosstreets by 5th Ave once the big buildings moved in.

 

The control panel unsheathed when he held his card face down to the maintenance button. Barnaby typed in his code and stood back as a light flashed briefly. The control panel was gone by the time black spots stopped peppering his vision and the elevator had already finished its descent. Spies didn't get as many fancy perks at the HQ. His corner office was identical to the other spackling of cubicles in the bunker, only differentiated by trinkets and his "odd" organization skills.

 

'Liz had delivered the information like promised. Barnaby collected the folder and frowned-- it wasn't as thick as he wanted, less than 4 inches. The pack of the punch should ought to make up for a lackluster display. Barnaby should know as well not to judge.

 

"Hey, buster, you headed up for the meeting?"

 

Barnaby gathered two pens from his little cup and poked the kid between her eyebrows, getting two supple red lips bunching up in an aggravated 'Hey!'

 

"I sure am, and you better to, Dory-deary. We're discussing the big ticket item--"

 

"Your stupid spy friend?"

 

"My competition. My rival." He winked and began heading back towards the elevators, which were already keyed in for the massive meeting room. "Best behaviour, remember? The whole world'll be there. Maybe I'll even catch his fox face in the crowd."

 

He laughed because he didn't need to see the eyeroll to know there'd been one.

[LoneDigger]

They thought the war was over. It had only just begun. He was the virus that was going to infect America from within.

But nothing was ever so outwardly dramatic, in fact he was just your average citizen… Cage Warren.

An unassuming stolen identity from a man who was at least several decades deceased.

 

He found himself an American wife, a kind but sadly simple women. They had two children which was the standard, a young son and a daughter for their cookie cutter home in the suburbs. Protected from nonexistent threats by a cute, but haphazardly flimsy white picket fence.

 

The American dream.

 

~~~

 

Cage never stood out in any crowd, he was just your typical dark brown haired man with an even darker set of eyes. Even his build was average, not tall nor short. Not fat, but not thin.

Truly he should have been the most boring person ever, and that's what most assumed. Even he seemed a touch out of place in such an important meeting. There was nothing special at all.

 

But it seemed Barnaby knew better, maybe it was his sixth sense. Or maybe a spy could sniff out another out.

Whatever the reasoning be, Cage knew he had stay on top. No one could out best him, especially not some capitalist dog.

[brinary]

They filed into the room with waves and nods and quiet greetings. It was a steady trickle of people into the meeting center. Tables were staggered out as the room sloped down to the giant pulpit near the entrance. Barnaby entered with an assortment of others and tipped his hat here and there. Folders were underneath his arm, nearly hidden by his coat's creases. Underneath the shadowy brim, his keen eyes surveyed the room to make a quick tally of who was attending. China had sent diplomats- of course there was England, as always, the United Kingdom standing strong and he winked at Harold there. The other wiggled a finger at him in greeting. They'd secured most of the Middle East and Mediterranean, excluding Italy. A large majority of the Central and South American countries- if not all by this point- and on and on. 51 countries.

 

And there was the USSR. Those motherfucking commies.

 

There were thin smiles being shared between everyone. Barnaby knew beyond tinted glass, translating teams were watching and ready to transcribe anything going on.

 

Tensions were still creaking around after the Soviets had gained three seats in the UN. After making a move to have all of their states recognized- and being countered by the U.S. reps- Byelorussia and Ukraine were the two admitted powers. It obviously made people nervous who were recognizing the growing power the Union had in the UN. But that was something to worry about another day. Barnaby took his seat as presentations began.

 

Most of the countries had orders of business to chip in. Infrastructure rebuilding and peace brokering between still-estranged countries. Plans to convert people over to their side-- convince them that the UN truly was a new age in peace. Suspicions finally took the floor as a topic. Countries were having certain citizens see persecution, violence, and vitriol. One of the U.S.'s delegates finally brought up the issue of McCarthy and spies. It launched a discussion wherein which Barnaby passed on two of his folders to help with evidence. The others were personal. As a new argument kicked up between many countries, he looked at blurry pictures-- a woman at the grocers, a child playing with a man, said man's smart suit and tie caught leaving an office, hat obscuring most of his features.

 

But he knew. Barnaby's eyes lifted slowly and made their careful way through warring voices, picking out the most interesting object in the room-- a boring, plain man.

 

'Bingo' he mouthed and had his rival seen him, Barnaby's foxy grin was spotted for one satisfying second before he looked askance, attention returning to arguing people as he wrote down his confirmation in the margin of one of his reports.

 

Oh yes. "Cage Warren" was his perp. And he was going down.

[LoneDigger]

...

 

Why was that idiot grinning at him for? One of the others representing the United States?

That was one thing the Russian would never understand... Smiling.

It just wasn't something people did where he was from unless they were terribly simple or up to something.

His bet was on the latter.

So being that he too was just a stupid American, he smiled back at the man similarly, holding his gaze for only a moment before turning his attention back to the meeting.

 

He was in the thick of it, not afraid to join in on the discussion. Yet he also knew when to keep his mouth shut, truly he just seemed like any American. Shouting his opinions and then going silent when he couldn't defend his own point. Completely normal right?

 

But that guy from before had been looking at him funny, even if it only lasted a second he had a strong feeling that he was not alone in this secret little endeavor of his. Hardly at all.

[brinary]

Yep, he got him. And he bet the other man didn't really even know. The man was being absolutely formulaic in his commitment to acting the part of the typical American. It was laughable. And Barnaby could hear his vocal chords practically rubbing together like scheming hands in his act at playing a regular ol' Yank. Commendable but patchy. He expected better from a Commie spy. But the meeting progressed and soon it was done. The entire thing lasted around two hours and Barnaby got up with joints feeling like it.

 

He spoke to a few people, eyes always flitting to the spy in the room as he made his way up to the exit carefully with others. Joining the foot traffic had him jostled slightly. People apologized to him, he apologized to people, including his now favorite spy-- "Cage." Bumping into the other man for a moment trying to squeeze out of the crowd he murmured a, "Oh, sorry there," then left with an apologetic smile before joining the other folks he knew as they headed towards the stairwell.

 

It was a perfect plan. Tracking devices could be obvious but this one was smaller than anything and slipped perfectly between the fabric of the man's jacket. It was wedged deep within the threads and strands in just a few seconds. Barnaby smiled satisfied as he listened to coworkers talk animatedly. He couldn't wait to see what the Russian was up to, even more excited to break this case and turn him in to the government.

 

It'd be a victory for justice. And also just a personal pleasure of his.

[LoneDigger]

The 'American' thing to say when someone bumped into you like a bumbling fool was "It's all good, pal" and somehow those words did manage to leave him underneath his breath followed by a pointless smile, but on the inside he was boiling briefly.

How... pathetic. In his own annoyance proved to be his biggest flaw, and it wouldn't occur to him several minutes later well after the meeting was over and he was walking home what the purpose of that 'accident' was.

 

The Russian froze for a moment, cursing to himself mentally as he looked for another perfectly planned mistake.

A mud puddle.

And a pair of some fancy Cocker Spaniels tugging ahead on their leashes around the corner.

And like the idiotic American that he was, he pretended not to see the two small canines pulling around the bend and he tripped over their leashes, landing convieniantly right into the puddle.

 

After cursing out loud this time and telling the women to control her animals, he pulled himself up, acting utterly disgusted over the mess on his brand new over coat nonetheless, he couldn't bring himself home covered in mud and diseases. So he pealed off the article and tossed it in the nearest trash bin.

 

From there on he walked, still a bit flustered in only his under shirt which wasn't hardly the proper ware given the chillness in the air, but on the inside he was feeling a bit smug. He dare not let the expression ever reach his features however.

No, he was just a sorry cold man who had last his best coat to a couple of bitches.

[brinary]

He 'tsk'ed and checked off the coordinates with a sharp huff. "What a fucking prick."

 

Back in his office, the man sat in his cubicle with something akin to a frown at the last recorded coordinates that the tracker pulsed at. His precious device wasted on a thrown away sports coat. How could a man who didn't value fashion even be a true American? Only the French and the Americans seemed to think alike when it came to appreciating good thrifts. A true American man would have taken that coat home, laid down a bed of some baking soda and detergent, probably give it a good scrubbing, ask the wife to clean it thorough like... Barnaby noticed at the last second he was berating someone's fashion decisions. Which made him seem extra faye.

 

Thankfully it'd been in his head. Rubbing at his eyes tiredly, he grunted and began to connect dots. The cul-de-sac he'd been seen at was similar to many in the western part of the town. And his wife was seen buying groceries at a particular establishment in a particular car, a car that could only get so much mileage, he'd say run a full tank to get around about two hours of city. And not once had he seen her take the car to the pump that day. So she'd lived close. It narrowed down a lot of options and Barnaby smirked as he gathered his evidence up and called goodbyes. Leaving the UN, Barnaby packed himself off to a tailor to get something resized. Pantless for 45 minutes, he crossed his legs while tracking a path for the recon mission. These tailored pants would be the perfect pair to run, crouch, and fight in- should it come to any of those options.

 

When he finally got them back, he left and went on his way to scout around for the spy. He even picked up the discarded sports coat along the way, putting it inside of the garment bag his pants had been delicately folded into so he could take samples in, before continuing his way towards the general vicinity of where Mr. "Cage" lived.

[LoneDigger]

Cage was feigning ignorance. A part of him would have wanted nothing more to bring the coat home to see exactly what kind of tracking device had been planted on him, perhaps later at night he could fetch it?

As unappealing as digging around in the garbage sounded, plus he would not wish to be seen in such a state.

Come to think of it they probably would have already emptied the bins by the end of the evening, or was their only one designated trash collection day in that part of the city?

 

All those thoughts swirled around in his head as he walked, taking a different route home out of an abundance of caution.

Though he made sure to make it seem like there was a perfectly explainable reason for such a detour, the new bakery that had just opened about a month ago. He walked inside, it was warm and the scent of fresh pastries was comforting.

He looked through the window at the little cakes and things, picking out something cherry filled for his wife, and for the children of course it had to be something with frosting.

 

With a small paper bag in hand, Cage Warren left the store. Back out into the cold and slightly metallic scent of the city air was such a slap in the face after coming out of there, but he walked home as if this were just any other day.

He hadn't even made it around the bend of his home and already his children having spotted their father from the window had come running out to see what he had brought them.

It wasn't often that he brought home treats, he didn't believe in spoiling them too much. But something told the man this was no normal day.

So after the pair greeted their father they were given the paper bag, both running back inside. Already squabbling over who got the insignificantly bigger piece of cake.

 

Cage hesitated for a moment before walking up the pathway to the door, his wife was not home. It was Saturday so she must be out running errands...

[brinary]

"Oh, is that the neighbor you were telling me about?" A pair of inquisitive eyes followed a man's stroll up to his home and the greeting he got from his children. They flashed fast when the sound of china was set down with a 'clunk' and Barnaby smiled at the woman. "Thank you!"

 

"No problem, dear. And yes, that's Mr. Warren-- usually he comes home a tad bit earlier but I see he got treats for the tots." The old woman, Nalia, smiled sweetly in the direction of the reunited father and his children before looking at her guest. Barnaby feigned surprise with a laugh into the tea Nalia had served him. "Oh, Warren? Cage Warren?" He watched her eyes spark and she nodded. He chuckled again. "Well isn't that something. That's the same Cage I was just speaking about!"

 

"Oh, how delightful a coincidence! You simply must become friends with him-- you both work at the same agency, correct, but you don't see him often?"

 

"No, not at all. Many different departments at the agency--"

 

"I see, I see-"

 

"So yes, we rarely bump into each other. But I hear he's a swell fellow. Ain't that the darndest thing to end up in such a similar place." He shook his head jovially then his smile waned. The man ducked his head a little and smiled softly at his cup, before looking across at Nalia's newly attentive features. Her eyebrows looked knit in concern. Opening her mouth, Barnaby shook his head once and straightened with a new professionally pained gentleness. It was woven into his voice perfectly, to boot. "Mrs. Smith, I trust in your trust in Mr. Warren. And it's always good to know that neighbors are concerned for one another. I ask that you... you keep that concern going-- the agency is a hard place to be. Cage and I, you see, we aren't nearly friends but I'm always dedicated to knowing how my fellow coworkers are doing. So if you could buzz me? About anything, even just updating me on how he is, or even a birthday, I'd be much appreciative."

 

Touched, the old woman accepted the card Barnaby held outstretched between two fingers. "Oh, certainly. Certainly, certainly. It's so good to see such a positive spirit as yours."

 

"Well, goodness, ma'am. I'll blush."

 

They chuckled over tea and Nalia began to speak again, more open after Barnaby's vulnerability. The spy himself looked askance at the home Cage vanished into. After spending so much time sleuthing around, introducing himself to strangers, being receptive to their problems, he finally got his big break.

 

Cage Warren's address.

 

Shortly after, Barnaby was adjusting his hat as he waved goodbye from Nalia's front door, walking out and down the street with the flow of other businessmen and women who were returning home from work- children coming back from afterschool clubs and events, as well.

[LoneDigger]

Something wasn't right.

 

Despite the familiarness of his own and the sound of his children playing or bickering, whichever came first, something felt... off. He was sure he had thrown off the spy's tracks some by conveniently getting rid of the dirty jacket, but that didn't mean he was scot-free by any measure.

He should have been even more cautious, Cage couldn't let the other think he was at some kind of advantage.

The rest of his day was plagued secretly by his own doubts, even if he acted his part throughout the evening as your typical American husband and father, nothing to see here folks!

Still...

Fitful, he couldn't believe he was loosing sleep over his own slip up. This wouldn't do.

 

Oddly enough loosing sleep only made it all the more easy to wake up a bit earlier than usual, maybe to distract himself he'd even have time to visit one of his favorite coffee joints before work.

He didn't deserve to be rewarding himself in such a way given his mistake, but maybe a bit of caffeine was what he needed to keep his brain alert, he wasn't going to screw up again.

 

Even his favorite seat, the one located by the window, but also conveniently just between the coffee bar and the bakery section. He didn't believe in luck, but how fortunate that his spot was there, maybe it was sign that today was going to go better.

[brinary]

Cage's seat was promptly taken by a man in a worn duster, a bowler hat, with a plate of eggs, a bagel, and fruit with a steaming cup of coffee balanced elegantly along his arm. The man stretched with a yawn and rubbed at his chin- the stubble was near audible.

 

Barnaby loved himself a good cup of joe. Never had it let him down. People called him tasteless for adding milk but kt was the little touches that truly transformed coffee into a grade-a beverage. The coffee joint he frequented had been kind to him and he, in return, was kind to it, always returning with more money to spend. He placed the salted and peppered sunny-side up on top of his buttered bagel, sealed the other half with some cream cheese, then began eating. The yolk was a beautiful addition to the already amazing bagel and much of the bread sucked up any of its run.

 

With that in one hand, Barnaby eased back and smoothed out a newpaper to read idly, a satisfied smile curling his lips as he obviously became aware of the presence staring at him.

 

Eat shit, Cage.

[LoneDigger]

He's sitting in my spot. On purpose. Capitalist dog.

It shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did, and he knew this. But that guy was just so... annoying. Why did they keep having to run into each other even when this should have just been any normal morning.

Oh, well. He should have just moved to another table, but he just couldn't give it up. If the other wanted to play this ridiculous game then he ought to humor him, right? It was the American thing to do.

So he took the empty chair at the same small table, sitting right across from Barnaby casually as if sharing this spot was the most normal occurrence. He had to scoot over the newspaper a bit to make room for his mug and plate. He did so without asking or apologizing. It was a subtle action, a nuisance if anything in the eyes of anyone watching. But really it was a test of dominance. He was claiming his place.

[brinary]

Barnaby seemed casual enough. He pretended to readjust things to make some room and then lifted his newspaper. With a crisp flap, he aired out the print. The newspaper hung low over the other man's food, elbows intruding into the tiny corners and nooks that the Russian had set up.

 

Barnaby was good at keeping a low, hidden profile. He was also good at asserting his ground. Without looking up from his paper, he sipped his coffee and spoke amicably. "Come here often? Seemed quite sure of the layout of this place, knew just where you wanted to be," he began then whistled low. "Would you look at that-- new mansion construction in the Berkshires, lucky dogs. You ever wanted a place up in those forests? They're up for grabs now."

 

Being glib was a trademark of Barnaby's personality. A waitress came over smiling at him sweetly with an extra round of creamer for his coffee-- "just for when you finish it all off like usual"-- and he shot her a caring smile before looking across the table at the other man.

 

One eyebrow raised. Smile suggestive, challenging.

[LoneDigger]

Well, then...

Cage tried not to be irked by the other's rudeness, nevermind the fact that he had been the one to sit at the exact same spot as the other man. This was much worse than that.

He glanced over the newspaper heading that had intruded on his breakfast, it read something upside down he couldn't make out, though Barnaby said something about real estate Massachusetts? He couldn't even be bothered. Yet maybe he should be nice and humor him a little.

 

"Not much out there..."

 

He muttered, delicately peeling the edge of the paper off his cinnamon bagel, he didn't want to eat anymore since the American had ruined his appetite, but that wouldn't be right to just let it go to waste. He'd have to be brave and make the sacrifice.

[brinary]

Barnabt rumbled his agreement then flipped the page of his paper, snapping it again- rudely- as he spoke. "Ain't that the charm of it? A nice little isolated corner of the woods all for you and your family. Know a fella that lives up in the 'shires; absolutely loves it. A break from the city life. That's what he called it," Barnaby mused. Looking up, he folded the paper briefly. It was an elegant, quick couple of flips before it was on his lap and he was drinking his coffee.

 

His eyes were unquestionably lackluster in color but gleamed with interest as he smiled at the other.

 

"What's got you here so early in the morning? Escaping the missus for a little, like getting an early start on your day? You, me, the workers and the roaches are about the only ones here." He cut into some of his food to start taking polite bites, eyebrows raised to compliment his otherwise charming expression.

[LoneDigger]

"Oh, no reason. I just like getting here a little early so I can save this spot."

You, know. Before some American bastard decides to plop his ass down on it.

"I wouldn't like that at all... I'm quite content with the city life."

Cage small talked along with the other man, just for the sake of not being completely condescending.

He was a master at hiding his real thoughts and emotions, but perhaps the faintest flicker of annoyance graced his features when the newspaper was obnoxiously straighten out in his space, yet again.

Americans did have this talent for grating down even the toughest of nerves. Especially Russian's.

[brinary]

Barnaby chuckled as if he could hear the other's thoughts and smiled sweetly. He eased back and crossed one leg over the other once he took a pause from eating. "City life is great. It's full of things to content one's self with," he agreed with a sigh. Glancing out of the condensation-fogged window, he peered to the lightening skies with an easy smile. "A lot of beauty in it."

He had his prey on the stand, he was obviously engaged enough to reply-- if only from the force of social etiquette.

 

If Cage tried to wriggle out of this one, he'd be openly admitting he wasn't at all innocent.

 

"Have I seen you around before? On 45th and cross-section of 13th, right? You've got a particular face." A graceful trap. If the man knew the area well, he'd reveal it now, but also have to tip-toe around everything he could possibly give away at one ill-timed moment. Barnaby took another long sip. His victory already felt so good. As sweet as his coffee.

[LoneDigger]

"A particular face? Now what is that supposed to be implying, hm?"

 

The Russian hummed pleasantly, he didn't sound offended really. More curious what the other was trying to get at. Though he was already pretty sure he had a very good idea of what was going on here. But then it never hurts to investigate further before jumping to any kind of conclusions. Especially this early in the morning and with a barely half finished breakfast.

[brinary]

Barnaby rose an eyebrow and waved a hand at Cage good-naturedly. "You've got a particular face! You're recognizable. I feel like I've seen you." He cocked his head to the side and let himself spread more, legs taking up his half of the table and hands smoothed out over a wider surface. It felt like second-nature, this thing. Testing the waters.

 

Baiting.

 

He'd read a column in those science journals the other day. He enjoyed ones about animals and regular sorts of botany, as they were the most applicable. There'd been a short discussion about the various habits creatures in the wild took up to scare their competition, or test potential rivals. It was funny to see human nature be so vividly reflected in what was so often dismissed. At their core, they were animals. These games were long driven into them; only particular people saw to it that they were honed.

 

Barnaby didn't project his claim like others did. It was slow and easy, realizing that you've walked into a prison cell on accident. It was one of his special talents.

[LoneDigger]

Cage instantly took note of the other's relaxed posture, in fact it was kind of well... He looked away again, back down at his bagel that he was struggling to finish. Then his eyes landed on the other's hands resting above one of the gossip columns of the morning paper. He could scarcely read it upside down like that though, but it felt like he was trying to find anything more interesting than explaining why he had a recognizable face to the nosy American.

 

"Probably. I come here most every single morning."

 

He replied calmly, after just the appropriate amount of silence, if not perhaps a bit too prolonged. Let that be some false act of politeness, letting the other have his chance to speak while he was being such a good listener.

Hah.

[brinary]

Little coward.

 

He could count the seconds in his head that the man before him didn't utter a word. His shifty gaze and measured tone all spoke of an underlying game here. If Barnaby hadn't known exactly who he was talking to, and exactly what he was dealing with, this would've been a great confirmation. The other's answer made him lift an eyebrow. Barnaby hummed with his lips pushed out, taking off his interesting hat to smoothe down his hair. "Yeah?"

 

Flicking out a comb to brush his coif into better submission, he placed his hat back on and gave Cage a rogueish smile. "So do I. Ain't that somethin'. We should make a time and a place of this then, huh? Since we're all the company one another's got at this time of day and the walk over here is already quiet enough. Socializing is important for human stimulation."

[LoneDigger]

"I don't see why not."

 

Cage replied, noting the way the other fixed his hair. He didn't know why he did, but something just told him to keep an eye on the other's habits. Having the American as part of his morning routine would be both obnoxious and beneficial, mostly the latter hopefully. It would take a bit of getting used to, being so social that early in the day, but it wasn't like he could say no. Especially since the other seemed to be on his scent already. Just a minor problem...

[brinary]

He grinned, charm edging on wolfish delight. "Splendid. It's a deal."

 

Barnaby held up his cup as the waitress passed again, refilling his mug with a new brew and leaving him with the additional milk for his pouring pleasure. The man made his new cup- the coffee cooler than the previous fresh jug- and nodded to the door. "So when does work ring your bell? I can always walk you over; I've got a feeling our paths will cross more either way," he said, still amicable. Stirring his coffee up, he started drinking at it once more and let himself lean back from his previous edged forward delight. The Commie was his for the taking.

 

Obviously it wouldn't be so easy. The other man had to have some clue to understand his edge. But understanding wasn't the only thing one needed to evade a trap, and Cage had definitely stepped into his.

[LoneDigger]

"I wouldn't want to make you late for wherever it is you need to be. But if you're going my way..."

 

Cage hummed back just as innocently, even if this was slightly starting to grate on his nerves. Having someone want to walk him to his destination just seemed like the most idiotic and deeming-- Yet he saw the reason for the other's offer. The American already had too much on him and was purposely trying to be friendly so he could get more. He had been trapped without knowing it, he should have been more careful. When had he gotten so obvious?

 

"Well, I'll let you finish that and then we'll be on our way. Never hurts to be early."