Rain and smoke

Who: Dutch and Cheyenne
Where: outside the Drake
When: during the ball

Did the weather fit his mood? Or did his mood fit the weather? Dutch couldn't quite decide between the two options as he walked the block for the fifth time now, turning the corner in time with a crack of lightning that briefly dwarfed the lights of the Drake Hotel up the street. It was bothering him, that indecisiveness, especially given how it came on the heels of what had actually been a small hunk of good days for him. Of course, the good days had ended yesterday; there had been no bright spots since his last meeting with the Giacomos to go over the inventory he kept for them. No chance encounters with Zhen, no satisfying smalltalk over a good glass of wine. Just the same grind he'd maintained for far too long now.

He wasn't drunk tonight, not yet at least. Sure, he'd had a few gins down at the Round hours ago, but between the crowd of strangers and their steady flow of chatter about the grand party at the Drake, Dutch had grown restless. It was the sort of restlessness he couldn't quell easily, either. Going home meant being surrounded by memories, going to the shop meant pointless work or brooding over laundered money and stashed guns. He wasn't even in the mood for a brawl. So he'd filled up a flask, tugged on a heavy coat and hat, and started walking. And while he'd meant to really walk, his subconscious had gotten him to pass the Drake over and over, just hoping for a glimpse of his daughter. He knew she'd be here; it was a Walker function, of course she'd be here. But seeing her? Well, Dutch hadn't been a gambling man since before he'd been a man, and even he knew those odds stank.

Whether the odds were in favor or not, Cheyenne was coming out of the hotel. She'd really not felt like she could stay after her encounter with Danny, and at the very least she needed to get herself some air. So, she walked out of the hotel, arms wrapped around herself as she stood under the awning, not wanting to get soaked. Lightning lit up the night for a few long moments, and she shivered as the wind blew, but it was better than being inside with Mr. Liarpants.

'Soaked' was where Dutch was, despite his heavy coat and hat. The man just couldn't be bothered with an umbrella, not in a city where having both hands free could be vital to survival. Granted, as he walked one hand had fleetingly occupied itself with the flask in his coat, but he was only two buildings up from the grand entryway of the Drake as he caught sight of the emerging figure, and his fingers went slack as he processed it. There she was, it had to be her, right? Who else could manage such a contrasting allure between her own pallor and blonde hair with the red of a dress like that?

Paranoia spiked up Dutch's neck as rain leaked down the collar of his coat, and he forced himself to look away from her, seeking out anyone else in the awning, in parked cars nearby, anywhere. He didn't let himself feel relief when he saw no one; all it meant was that he couldn't see them, not that they weren't there. Still, he couldn't miss out on a good look in Cheyenne's direction before he let his head hang and stepped off the curb, starting across the street as he moved parallel to the Drake's doors.

Cheyenne was oblivious, mind preoccupied with Danny, and she sighed as she leaned one shoulder against the pillars that decorated the Drake. Her eyes were on a middle distance, not really concentrating or seeing much of what was in front of her. Mostly? She was feeling like hell. Like nothing was going her way, and even the cops were messing with her head. Couldn't she meet someone normal, who didn't want a piece of her? Honestly now. She felt isolated, abandoned. She felt downright awful, end of story.

He'd nearly made it, nearly just taken his one good glimpse of her and kept on going. Dutch was midway through the street, walking it at an angle so he could span the Drake's doors, when he turned to look her way over his shoulder. It was supposed to be inconspicuous, a glance covered by his coat and hat, the rain, his angle. But the look on her face? Sent an ache through Dutch's chest faster than anything he'd felt since losing her the first time. There she was, his baby, looking for all the world like someone had broken her heart. And he wanted to go to her, console her, but he couldn't. Could he?

Dutch didn't have time to decide before headlights bore down on him from behind, heralding a car that swerved around him with a blare of its' horn, throwing up water from a puddle in passing. "Son of a bitch!" he bellowed at it as the tail lights receded, shaking both hands heavily to fling excess water away.

Cheyenne was startled by the commotion, and she looked over, hoping an accident hadn't happened. Though that was silly because there hadn't been a crash at all. The voice drew her attention from the car, and though it took her a moment to recognize the man, she did. Walking closer to him, though still keeping under the awning, she called out. "Hey--you alright?" she asked. "Dutch, right?"

Maybe he'd had one gin too many, because that outburst had been stupid for a man trying to go unobserved. Of course, bolting into the night would only be worse, draw her suspicions and maybe prompt Cheyenne to ask the wrong people the wrong questions. So... he had to play it cool. He turned to look her way again, waving a hand in the dark. "Just fine, miss..." he called, feigning a moment of scrutiny, "Cheyenne?"

She gave a light smile. "Yes, that's me. What happened?" she asked. "Stupid bad drivers?" She knew the city sometimes brought out the worst in people, and behind the wheel, that wasn't the best combo. She'd nearly been hit a few times, just out for a walk, and she didn't expect that was an oddity.

"My own fault for walking in a driving lane," Dutch answered, ambling back out to the center line of the road for a moment, "Oughta be safe here, though." He conjured up a smile for her sake, hands spreading to either side as if to say 'what's the worst that could happen?' before moving back towards the Drake. He knew he'd need to step carefully here, be ready to move at a moment's notice, but now that she'd seen him? He wouldn't let himself just run. "Mind me turning that question around?" Dutch asked as he got closer, "Cuz you look the part of someone at the biggest party in town, except for 'round here." He waved a hand at his own face for emphasis, shoulders bunching for a moment. "So... what happened? They serving spoiled shrimp up there?"

She laughed a little and shook her head. "No. Just...needed some air." she said evasively, not wanting to burden the guy with 'waa, poor me' troubles. She didn't like a pity party anyways, and she didn't want to start now. "So, I thought I'd come get some. Lucky for me, I get to see you again." she said. "The pictures I took came out well. Now I wish I had one on me to give you."

Dutch laughed coarsely, removing his hat to wring it out quickly. "Well, least I don't have to feel bad for declining," he joked, "I'd be a strange sort if I wanted more reminders of this mug I'm stuck with. Bedlam quality, even. I doubt you've got a shortage of 'em, but you save the prints." Even if he would've felt odd with one in any case? Dutch would've taken it, just for some little piece of evidence that they'd had that fleeting connection. "Doesn't mean I don't wanna see your work, mind you. Just that I expect to buy a print, same as any other joe in town."

"See, you were the subject, so I couldn't charge you." Cheyenne told him, smiling and feeling slightly better. If nothing else, she felt distracted. "It wouldn't be fair. I never had to buy any of the prints people took of me, it's a model's right. So, being a model, you'd get a free print." she logicked at him firmly. "Besides, you didn't get a cent for it, it'd be doubly unfair of me to charge."

That's my girl, Dutch thought as he grinned back at her, pulling his cap back on. "You were smart enough to get contracts, I'm betting," he countered, "Me? Not so much." The faint smile was encouraging, enough so to keep him lingering even if his gaze wandered past Cheyenne to watch the doors sporadically. "Tell you what, if we run into each other again? You owe me a cent. Just the one and we'll be square."

She properly laughed at that. "Just one cent?" she asked. "One cent and a print. If for no other reason than to show off how good I am with a camera. And a bonus reason of showing you that you're not nearly so unseemly as you seem to think." she added. She'd seen some pretty ugly people, he didn't really qualify. Sure, he wasn't the next big thing in town, but he wasn't disfigured or anything. She would term his looks as having 'character'.

Okay, maybe he should've just skipped the gin entirely tonight, because that unfiltered laugh and the way she lit up as it happened? For a stark moment the resemblance to her mother was so strong that it shook Dutch, though he managed a grin as he looked down at his shoes and fought the burn in his eyes. First time the rain's ever been a good thing, he thought, chuckling roughly. "You strike a hard bargain, miss Cheyenne," he told her, looking back up, "But you've got a deal. Just don't come by my shop, my boys'll get you to ask for their raises and I'll be broke 'fore March hits us."

She laughed again. "If I came by the shop, I'm sure that they'd be too distracted by comparing me to my picture on the wall to actually start asking me favors. That and generally men tend to have other favors in mind when they start asking." she said, making a light face. Like Danny in there, hitting on her with his wife somewhere in the room. Jesus. "I'll just have to find you around somewhere else." she said.

"That's a risky undertaking," Dutch cautioned, smiling even if he meant it, "My spots around town are... well, a little removed from this sort of setting. Needless to say, the shrimp are always spoiled." He winked Cheyenne's way with that, mentaly promising to beat the living hell out of any man who voiced 'other favors' to her in his presence. "But the thought's appreciated, it really is. Don't you go to great lengths for me, though."

"Just between you and I? This sort of setting isn't all it's cracked up to be." Cheyenne told him. Because it wasn't. It was fake, and overly decadent, and there were smiles and nods and all sorts of bullshit just beneath the surface. "I might have come out here because I didn't want to be in there another minute." she told him, tone conspiratorial.

Was that... hope he was feeling? A glimmer at the idea that she would reject the lavish prison the Digiovanni and their ilk surrounded themselves in? "Think I know what you mean," Dutch confessed, "I've been 'round the Drake a few times, long time back. I doubt much changes in there. They still do the champagne waterfalls?" He assumed as much; all of their wealth and connections didn't ever seem to spawn much change.

"Of course." she said. She'd had some of that. Still, her heart hadn't been in it in the first place, and even if it was a good drink, it hadn't helped her mood at all. "I don't know why, but I suppose they want it all to be memorable. I mean, don't get me wrong, I think the cops need honoring and all, just...some things are overdone." she said. And she wasn't happy with one of said cops, but that didn't have to come up.

"It's just smoke," Dutch mused, nodding in agreement with her thoughts, "Light little bits of smoke they get distracted by so no one notices the..." He caught himself before he said 'fire', brow lining in consternation. "The real problem," he said instead, "You ask me? They're celebrating that only seven folks died. When we get a day where no one does? Well, that'll be one worth celebrating." It'd never happen, not as he saw it. The cancer was too deeply rooted to be removed. "I'm sorry, Cheyenne, feels like I'm ruinin' your night with my jawing, gettin' you wet without a drop of water. All apologies for that."

"You're not. Seriously, trust me, you've at least made me laugh, and I wasn't in the best of moods. So you're ahead of the game." she informed him. He was. She wouldn't have said anyone could have got a laugh out of her at the moment, but he'd gotten a few, even. "And it's not like you're wrong." she added. "But maybe rewarding good behavior...maybe that'll help." she offered, trying to throw a ray of sunshine in, even if she wasn't sure she believed in it.

Dutch knew he didn't believe in it, but he wouldn't say so. Her optimism? Maybe it could be a helpful thing, maybe she could do some real good with the Walkers' money and influence some day. "Yeah, let's start with the cops," he suggested, "Think they could use some motivatin'. And seeing as how we're outside of a building full of them? Gonna leave my criticism right there and be on my way. Someone's bound to come lookin' for you soon here, right? I don't wanna be confused for a mugger." He grinned in the rain, feeling genuine with the words even if they were half-lie. Dutch needed to get clear so no one could potentially recognize him; that would really ruin Cheyenne's night.

"I'm pretty sure the lack of you trying to accost me would tell them that you're not mugging me." she told him with a smile. "Though I understand the criticism for the boys in blue, and the time and place not being a good one to discuss it. If you're taking off, though, it was nice to see you again." she told him genuinely. "I'll be by sometime with that picture!"

"Bring an armed guard and a broken car," Dutch told her, winking one last time, "Else I'll never hear the end a'why a lady like you came by the shop to see me. And the guard'll keep you from having to sign autographs." And from getting any chance to be too personable, to his regret. But it'd also serve to provide a witness that he hadn't dragged her there, that he was still playing by the rules. And that? Well, that would mean Cheyenne was still safe. "It was... it was good to see you too, Ms. Cheyenne. Stay safe an' dry now," he said in farewell, turning to head back into the rain and waiting until he'd broken her line of sight before pulling off his cap. He needed to be drenched, chilled to the bone. It'd distract him for a while. Maybe.