[ The initial meetings are always the most dangerous part of the job, but he's used to this. Sending the meeting location and time to Sharon, the proposition, just in case. Steve knows how to handle himself regardless, and his figure usually deters those who might try for some kind of physical altercation anyway. But all the same, the risk is there.
The cafe seems central enough, certainly busy enough, as he wades through some people at the front, tipping dark aviators up onto his head, tufts of downy blond delicately falling across his forehead. He's dressed simply for this, slim fit jeans, suede ankle boots cuffed just enough to see a peek of a brightly colored sock, all dimmed by the deep charcoal muscle tee and aged, well-worn, black leather motorcycle jacket. (Why yes, the sound of a motorbike outside had, indeed, been his).
He thought he might have been late, as it takes a few seconds of scouring the room before he catches the wave, the look of familiarity on the stranger's face. Steve gives the man a friendly once over, subtle, as he crosses between patrons and tables. He's good looking, with a trim figure, well manicured, and he can't help but be drawn to the careful V of his jumper. This one's not his usual fare, he's softer, but Steve can see the glint of something sharp behind those amber eyes.
Amber. It's a pretty color.
Steve offers out his hand, giving the other's a firm shake as his face splits into a warm, bright smile. ]
Please, call me Steve. It's a pleasure to meet you, Helmut. Or do you prefer Z?
[ A small huff, a knowing grin, and he shrugs off his jacket, hanging it over the back of his chair, unknowingly revealing the thick, corded muscle in his arms and chest. ]
Sorry, traffic was a beast. I hope I didn't keep you waiting?
[ Already he finds his mind ticking along an invisible list, trying to nail down just what a man like the mysterious Helmut Z might want from him. A soiree at the embassy, sure, but there had been the line about his torso, and he'd felt eyes on him long before he caught sight of his potential client. ]
New York traffic is so unpredictable. [ Before he sits, however, he moves to help tuck in the man's chair first, should he sit, as though it's the most natural thing in the world, second nature. ]
no subject
The cafe seems central enough, certainly busy enough, as he wades through some people at the front, tipping dark aviators up onto his head, tufts of downy blond delicately falling across his forehead. He's dressed simply for this, slim fit jeans, suede ankle boots cuffed just enough to see a peek of a brightly colored sock, all dimmed by the deep charcoal muscle tee and aged, well-worn, black leather motorcycle jacket. (Why yes, the sound of a motorbike outside had, indeed, been his).
He thought he might have been late, as it takes a few seconds of scouring the room before he catches the wave, the look of familiarity on the stranger's face. Steve gives the man a friendly once over, subtle, as he crosses between patrons and tables. He's good looking, with a trim figure, well manicured, and he can't help but be drawn to the careful V of his jumper. This one's not his usual fare, he's softer, but Steve can see the glint of something sharp behind those amber eyes.
Amber. It's a pretty color.
Steve offers out his hand, giving the other's a firm shake as his face splits into a warm, bright smile. ]
Please, call me Steve. It's a pleasure to meet you, Helmut. Or do you prefer Z?
[ A small huff, a knowing grin, and he shrugs off his jacket, hanging it over the back of his chair, unknowingly revealing the thick, corded muscle in his arms and chest. ]
Sorry, traffic was a beast. I hope I didn't keep you waiting?
[ Already he finds his mind ticking along an invisible list, trying to nail down just what a man like the mysterious Helmut Z might want from him. A soiree at the embassy, sure, but there had been the line about his torso, and he'd felt eyes on him long before he caught sight of his potential client. ]
New York traffic is so unpredictable. [ Before he sits, however, he moves to help tuck in the man's chair first, should he sit, as though it's the most natural thing in the world, second nature. ]