sharon > maria

agent-thirteen:

(917): gj kgewlzafy dacw lzsl

(917): Jesus, you know they really do

(917): I hope you’re proud of yourself, I want a margarita now

SEVEN HOURS LATER

She’d never planned on meeting at the address she’d sent Carter. Spies will be spies, and Maria’s not going to underestimate the ability of any low-level tech skimming through her texts to recognize a Caesarian Shift. That’s why she’s at the seediest dive bar on the block- corner building with a rounded curve to the front that makes her think it was a drug store back in the day. Now the windows are blacked out, the interior cast in neon hues and not much else to keep wandering eyes away from twenty plus years of detritus buildup on the floors.

Dressed down, slung over a bar stool at the far end of the bar ( profile to the door, an eye on each exit ), Maria’s not all that easy to pick out from the crowd who seems to prefer an excess of leather and fringe in their wardrobes. She’s squinting at a tumbler of amber liquid when she feels the shift of air, doesn’t even look up while downing half of it.

     “I’m already two drinks ahead of you.”

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