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It had been quite some time since Hisa had gotten away from her ship long enough to have a drink with anyone, let alone a member of law enforcement. She spent almost 30 minutes contemplating if Tracer could even handle it while she dressed. Never one to disappoint, however, she’d put every effort into looking exceptional. The black corset tight around her slender frame shifted to beige with black flowers over her chest. Her favorite half-length leather jacket left her forearms exposed, but the leather gloves she chose this time didn’t have fingertips, leaving delicately manicured and painted nails exposed.

The rest of her body was covered in leather pants that were deep purple but looked black unless you cared to get close enough, as well as thigh-high leather boots with a two-inch heel that clicked whenever she walked. She looked damn good, and she knew it. She had decided to leave the katana that she normally wore aboard her ship, the “Yep It’s Stolen,” but the black sash-style belt clinging to her hips had a handgun hanging from it. She even made sure to keep her firearm license with her, just in case her guest decided he wanted to be prickly about the presence of a weapon.

She had met Tracer on the landing platform at Manhattan, as promised. She gave him a warm smile and a friendly greeting, even going so far as to brush her fingertips against his arm or to let the man take her arm if he offered. She brought attention to her face as often as possible while they walked through the crowded platforms and buildings, brushing hair out of it or smiling just the right way. The walk was nothing meaningful, just small talk before the main event. The calm before the storm.

When they stepped off the final lift before their destination, she extended her left arm and pointed toward a bright blue neon sign made up of Kusari Katakana and Hiragana characters, with no Standard translation. The area of the city was run down, but the building itself stood out for its good condition. The exterior metal plating was a deep grey and well cared for and was shiny enough to reflect the neon light of surrounding buildings. It didn’t quite fit in with the aged surrounding structures.

“You want to know something interesting, Tracer?” Hisa suddenly asked, as she stepped forward and tugged on the young man’s arm beside her. “That sign is absolute gibberish. Half the characters don’t even appear in the Kusari syllabary. It’s just to look pretty for the tourists,” she said, her giggle causing her body to tremble slightly as she leaned into Tracer, pulling him through the ornate-looking door, following along with the Kusari theme of the building’s exterior.

Rain started pelting against the walkway outside just as the heavy wooden doors closed behind them. Letting go of her companion, Hisa turned to look at the inside of her favorite spot on the entire planet. And then, she turned to watch Tracer’s expression as he took it in as well.

For all the work on the outside, it was clear that none was paid to the inside. Calling the place a dive was giving it an upgrade it didn’t deserve. The entire space was almost too dark to see in, the interior wood paneling on the walls buckled or rotting in places. There were track lights of different colors above the bar, offering little to illuminate the long section of wood with seats along it, nor the seating area away from the bar. There was a small stage on the furthest side of the space, and a red curtain with “Employees Only” clearly stamped on the wall beside it in the very back.

Despite the look, however, the place was busy. Very busy. Every seat along the bar was full, each patron drinking something completely different. Some drinks were tall and colorful, others put out what looked like smoke or steam, and still more were in small glasses, looking dark and thick as molasses. The people were just as varied. Every part of Manhattan society seemed to be represented, from a group of young university-age girls at a table near the door, to a group of gruff-looking, suited businessmen near the stage. And they all were talking rather loudly, competing with the background noise and the thick Kusari club music that was also filling the space.

When the bartender turned toward the door and noticed Hisa and her companion, a big smile lit up his face. He was a very, very fat man, wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of ratty jeans. He clearly was not Kusari, and the dirt and grease – or perhaps other substances – on his face made it difficult to make out his ancestry at all. “It’s been far too long, woman!” he shouted across the space, loud enough to be heard despite the distance and noise.

“Oh, I know it, darling!” Hisa yelled as the fat man literally shoved the two patrons at the far end of the bar out of their seats. He made a visible effort to straighten them, wipe down the leather seating surfaces and the bar in front of them, and then moved back behind it. The barkeep shot Tracer a glare that looked dark, but Hisa just laughed, sneaking her slender hand under Tracer’s arm and tipping her head in the direction of the emptied seats, her platinum blonde hair cascading down over one eye. “Shall we?” she asked of her companion.

Months had passed since Senior Agent Tracer had been off the bridge or out of the cockpit of one of his ships. The Willow Grove had been his home away from home for so long, he wasn't entirely sure there even was a home to be away from. The cold steel of the deckplates, the low arched walkways and dark bridge lit only by computer screens and dull sunlight filtering through the glass had left him woefully unfamiliar with life planetside. The shuttle ride towards Planet Manhattan churned his stomach and left him uneasy on his feet, having long acclimated to constant, unerring artificial gravity. The young man gathered himself as best he could, though, stepping out onto the sprawling pad, littered with arriving and departing shuttles, cargo, and people. The black, shining rim of his cap caught what light there was available, appearing almost like a black halo above his head. A few of the dockworkers and visitors turned to stare at the uniformed Agent, a rare sight planetside, as he strolled over to meet his companion for the evening. The tails of his overcoat flapped behind him as he walked, eyes darting left to right and back again, scanning the area with practiced vigilance. Even on, no, especially on the capital planet of Liberty, it pays to be attentive.

So attentive, in fact, the woman standing directly in front of him went almost completely unnoticed. It took her calling out to the young Agent for him to even register her appearance. Tracer stumbled slightly, the voice in the dark jolting his attention forward. A pair of dull blue eyes peered out from under the rim of his cap, taking in the woman before him. Hisa's distinct Kusarian features were familiar, the Agent having spent more than a few hours tending to communications from LSF informants in Kusari, though her snow-white hair drew his attention the most. He'd seen it before, on a grainy video feed across the vastness of space, but in person the hue was even more impressive, appealing even. A hasty introduction was made, though Tracer made no mention of his actual name.

Trying his best to remember the cotillion class his parents had sent the young Agent to as a child, Tracer took Hisa's arm, matching the young woman stride for stride as they traversed the underbelly of Manhattan. Idle chatter was made, and the young man did his best to appear comfortable, though he was anything but. As the duo approached their destination, Tracer muttered a response about the neon signs flashing above. "Hmnh, the more you know. Leave it to Liberty to have tourists looking for Kusari on their own capital planet." The tail-end of the sentence was cut short just slightly, a hint of a blush spreading across his face, feeling the weight of his partner on his arm once more.

The heels of his spit-shined boots clicked together instinctively as the oaken doors shut behind the pair, knocking any trace of the just-beginning rain off their immaculate surface, lest the polluted Manhattan water spoil their finish. Those blue eyes began to dart around the room as Tracer removed his cap, echoing the previous scene on the landing pad. Heavy, throbbing bass assaulted his ears, and he couldn't help but wince slightly. The Willow Grove was typically deathly quiet, the hushed mutterings of his bridge crew and the dull thrum of the engines having served as his working song and lullaby for months. It certainly was packed for such a dump, he thought, eyes adjusting enough to finally make out the poor state of the interior.

Immediately, his mind set to his training and experience with the Force, establishing likely routes of attack, points of ingress and egress, as well as taking in the clientele. A few moments later, he caught sight of Hisa's hair, then her eyes, staring at him. The Agent offered an awkward smile, though that melted away just as quickly as it arrived as he caught sight of the bartender, the grip around the brim of his tucked-away cap tightening slightly. He held the stare at the bartender for longer than he perhaps should've, jumping slightly as he felt fingers wrapping around the sleeve of his greatcoat. Luckily, the garment kept the twitch from being blatantly obvious, and he quickly half-shouted a reply over the noise of the club.

Resting his cap on the stool, Tracer began to slowly remove his overcoat, folding it over an outstretched arm before laying it gingerly on a portion of the bar that didn't look particularly dirty, then transferring his hat on top of it in a neat pile. The smart, pressed creases of his uniform were at odds with the clothing worn by most of the other patrons, and the Agent stuck out like a sore thumb. Adjusting his tie, he settled into the seat, eyes scanning over the assorted bottles of alcohol against the back of the bar.

"And for you, Agent?" A gruff voice from behind the bar boomed, shocking Tracer back to the real world. "Pardon?" Came a half-hearted reply. "Oh, oh. An Agent Orange." He'd never been a heavy drinker, so Tracer's knowledge of cocktails was limited to what he'd seen or heard of in passing at the rec rooms of LSF bases, sparse as they were. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Right." Replied the bartender curtly, shooting the Security Force operative an odd, disapproving look, before setting to work with the cocktail shakers. Hisa's order had gone completely unnoticed by her partner, and he soon found himself growing curious. Running a hand through his hair and scratching the back of his neck, he turned on the barstool to face the platinum-haired Kusarian. Tracer's better judgement kicked in just as he opened his mouth, however, deciding against a question that would betray his obvious inattentiveness to his "date."

"So, what is it about this place you're so fond of?" Was what came out of his mouth, though in the back of his mind the young Agent was kicking himself. It almost sounded like an insult, and he was soon thankful for the distraction that was the bartender placing a pair of drinks in front of the duo created.

Hisa hadn't needed to place a drink order, so there was nothing for Tracer to have missed there. Erik, the bartender, knew her standing order.

Hisa's observations of Tracer as they moved across the bar and took their seats brought a pull to both corners of her mouth, a smile she didn't try to hide. The red of her lipstick shone brightly, surrounding the white of her teeth like a frame around artwork as Tracer ordered his drink. She set herself easily on the bar stool, hooking the heels of her boots in the rail near the bottom to allow her to lean forward. There was no way Tracer would hear her otherwise.

"It's designed to draw in tourists because you Libertonians think we're all criminal Hogosha. It lets the Manhattanites feel like they're really in some sordid Kusari establishment," she responded to his question, her body leaned so close her warm breath wouldn't be difficult to feel against his ear and neck. "It's a great cover, though. The deals that I've seen made - and made myself - in here are legendary. I could shock you with the details, darling."

Hisa gave Tracer's upper arm a squeeze with her slender fingers. Despite how much the young man stood out, all the patrons in the bar seemed lost in their own worlds, and paid him no mind. Except the bartender. The heavyset man put drinks in front of them - Tracer's requested beverage, and two shot glasses for Hisa. One of them was filled with a light amber liquid that glimmered against the glass. The other looked black as tar and just as thick. Neither had any noticeable smell to them, though the chance of noticing it was minimal, since she downed the black drink and then the golden one in quick succession.

Hitting the second glass on the bar with a clink, Hisa grinned at Tracer. Her blue-purple eyes locked on his as she spoke. "I can tell you're a little uncomfortable. You know, nobody would dare touch you while you're with me." The Kusari woman patted the handgun at her hip, motioned out over the crowd with a swing of her arm, and then rested it on Tracer's arm again. "So what made you decide to accept my offer? And, more importantly, just what kind of 'someone like you' do you think I am?"

The young Agent visibly tensed, feeling Hisa's hot breath wash over his face, the jasmine scent of her perfume assaulting his nose. The smell was appealing, disarming, even, and he soon found himself feeling ever-so-slightly more relaxed.

"I think it would be best if you didn't reveal the details. For both of us." Tracer replied, a firmness to his voice that was almost alien, compared to the way he'd been acting. That same staunch devotion to duty melted away just as quickly as it had arrived, though, as the operative felt Hisa's slim fingers grip his bicep. Thankfully, the room was dark enough that the blush creeping across his cheeks went unnoticed, or at least he hoped it had.

Tracer took up his glass, watching the platinum-blonde woman pound back her own drinks with ease. His stomach churned slightly at the thought of drinking the sticky, sickly-looking black substance, and he turned to his own beverage. It was decidedly simple, compared to what others were drinking, consisting only of imported vodka and carrot juice. The glass came to his lips and he began to drink, though the moment quickly passed, finding the stare of his partner oddly irresistable. He tapped his thumb against the bartop nervously, turning once more to face her.

"I'm appreciative of the sentiment." Tracer replied, the comment doing little to assure the Agent of his safety. He peered down as the woman patted the gun at her waist, eyes wandering from it to the impressively tall heels adorning her feet. Keenly aware of his staring, Tracer quickly averted his eyes, letting them meander over to his high, peaked cap. Flipping it over revealed a small pocket inside, a quartet of stout, filterless cigarettes and a silver lighter contained within. He withdrew one of the white cylinders, bringing it to his lips with the practiced precision of a habitual, stress-induced chainsmoker. One fluid flick later and the cigarette was lit, the emblem emblazoned on the silver steel of the lighter flashing for a moment, the words "LNS PLYMOUTH ROCK" plainly visible. Almost as soon as the event had unfolded, it was over, the cigarette hanging limply in his fingers.

"As for accepting your offer, it just seemed an enjoyable way to pass the time." Even through his smile, it was obvious he was lying. Tracer was doing anything but enjoying his time planetisde. In actuality, he had months of leave time saved. He'd scarcely taken a day off since the moment he signed on with the Force, preferring to busy himself with his work. Something about the woman before him had changed that, though. The Agent had found himself drawn to her, enough to cause him to return a levied fine without reporting it or the incident preceding to Command.

He quickly dragged on the burning stick of tobacco leaves, the orange cherry at the tip burning brightly for a moment. Turning in his seat, he blew the smoke low and to the side, away from any of the other patrons. "And, as for you. As far as I can tell, you're a smuggler, a slaver, and an all-around slippery woman. When I'm on duty, you're the type of person I hate to meet. You're not simple, like the Rogues or the Rheinlanders. All they want is action, shooting, combat. I like that, it makes my job simple: shoot back." The Agent neglected to mention the incident in Shikoku aboard the Menwith Hill, when he was just a junior Agent, that resulted in the loss of hundreds of Kusarian lives. Both houses had attempted to keep the incident tightly under wraps, though it was inevitable that someone had witnessed it. Luckily, the event could be just as easily dismissed as rumor and hearsay, though Tracer knew otherwise.

Hisa's giggle in response to Tracer's assertion that she should keep her dealings to herself was gentle and light, a genuine smile that reached her eyes accompanying the sound. "Oh, my dear boy, I had no intention of telling you anyway," she said, squeezing his arm again. "We don't know each other that well yet."

The Kusari woman had spent enough time in this bar for her eyes to know the darkness like the back of her hand, so seeing Tracer's blush wasn't a challenge. She made no reaction to it, though. Her desire was to make him more comfortable, not less. Calling any more attention to his discomfort would not serve her needs. When Tracer's gaze shifted to her gun, and then her body, she knew she had nothing to worry about. A barely perceptible shift of her slender frame toward him tried to regain his attention, even as he visibly fought against giving it. When Tracer lit his cigarette, Hisa grinned wide. "So, my new young agent friend does have vices. I wonder what others he might possess." The thought was a well-honed instinct that she couldn't have contained if she tried.

The blend of truth and fiction in Tracer's statement about enjoying the time caused a visible reaction in Hisa. She tilted her head to one side, her eyes narrowing and her lips pursing. She broke eye contact with Tracer to glance around the room a moment, her brain running a mile a minute. Then, she turned back to him as a look of realization blazed across her face. "You hate being on solid ground," she said, like it was the most well-known fact in the sector. "That's why you are so uncomfortable." Her words turned sweet and her smile returned as she leaned into him again, her fingers returning to that favorite spot on the young man's forearm. "Well, I'm glad it isn't my company."

Tracer's accurate description of Hisa made her beam with pride - as much for him as for herself. She knew who she was, and she owned it. The fact that such a young man could read her and know her after only a few ship-to-ship communications and five minutes in a bar spoke volumes for his experience, regardless of his emotional responses to his surroundings. She ticked another box in her head, and her impression of Tracer improved further. Her fingers, still moving in the same spot, ruffled the fabric of Tracer's long-sleeved shirt slightly. She leaned in again. This time, it was more to test his reactions to her than because of the music. She could have yelled if she wanted to.

"You're very perceptive, Tracer. I approve," she praised him warmly. Praise was always a useful tool. Her voice shifted from girlish to a more deep, sultry tone when two more drinks were set in front of her on the bar again, and she left them untouched for now. "I am all about success - my success. The only person who looks out for me is me, and I intend to make sure I end up on top. I run slaves because people who can't be bothered to stand up for themselves deserve what they get. I move the products that people want and I'm willing to risk it all because credits are what make Sirius run. And I trust no one but myself."

Her final words were barely a whisper, and her lips brushed against the lobe of Tracer's ear when she spoke them. "I intend to leave this universe with everything my heart desires, whatever that may be in any moment." She paused, pulled back slightly, and met Tracer's eyes again. Her every attention was on his reaction, even as her tone shifted back to conversational. "And what motivates you, Tracer? Why are you with the LSF?"

The word "yet" echoed in Tracer's mind, and his stomach fluttered slightly, the barest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. This time, it was almost genuine, if imperceptible. The stoic LSF agent rarely smiled while on duty, as the citizens of Liberty who encountered him were keenly aware. He either remained entirely unseen, or had a presence that was almost larger-than-life, barking commands to squadrons of LSF Interdictors as they cut wide swathes through ragtag Pirate and Outcast raiding fleets.

Here though, Tracer was hardly larger than life, not even large. He was a man of fairly short stature, with a lithe build common to those who spend extended periods in space without access to a complete suite of physical exercise equipment. His greatcoat helped to hide that fact, though with it removed and folded neatly on the bartop, it was plain to all around that the Senior Agent wasn't as impressive as first believed, at least not physically.

"That's not... Quite right. Close, but not quite." Tracer retorted to Hisa's seemingly factual comment. "And it's not specifically your company. It's company in general." His eyes darted around the room, until the young man was satisfied that the general appearance and disposition of the bar hadn't changed significantly. It was then that Tracer was jolted back to the much smaller world of himself and his companion, glancing down at the set of fingers running over the sharp, starched creases in his uniform.

Tracer followed the perfectly-manicured nails to Hisa's fingers, then the back of her hand, up her arm and shoulders, putting his best effort forward not to peek at the woman's bared cleavage. The Agent's eyes met hers, staring into the purple orbs as the woman leaned in. There was a sharp breath of air as the LSF operative felt soft lips against his ear, cocking his head to the opposite side ever so slightly. Only when Hisa pulled away did he let the breath out, slow and ragged. Immediately the young man averted his eyes, glaring at the snubbed-out cigarette he'd been grinding into the ashtray atop the bar.

Composing himself, he began to respond. "I had never intended to join the Security Force. If things had played out differently, I never would've." Digging into his cap once more, Tracer withdrew another cigarette, and flame gushed from his lighter. A quick draw and the Agent visibly settled, his breathing becoming more regular. "I had a future with the Navy, actually. My parents paid my way through West Point, after a recommendation from a prominent Senator. I was on the fast track to a commission as a combat advisor aboard a capital ship, having focused on fleet tactics and battle doctrine at the Academy." His eyes fell to the floor and he slouched slightly, letting out a sigh. "Following my final exams and practical demonstrations, I was called to the Commandant's office, and informed that I was to be expelled. They claimed I had cheated in some form or another on my written examinations. I never got a straight answer on how I cheated or how the Commandant and the Board had found out. I suppose that should've been my first clue."

Another drag, another puff of smoke towards the floor, and a quick ash in the tray marked the continuation of the story. "Later that evening, as I was packing my belongings, I was approached by a young woman in a Security Force uniform. She introduced herself as Eva Adenauer, a recruiter. I was offered a choice: board a transport bound for Kodiak station, and reports of my expulsion from the Academy would be curtailed, or... Don't. It's obvious what choice I made. Whether it was the right choice is another matter entirely." He turned back to his drink, gripping it with the same hand as his cigarette. In an instant, the remainder of the orange beverage disappeared, and Tracer simply stared into the empty glass as he set it back on the bar.

Hisa didn't mind being in error regarding Tracer's discomfort. In fact, it made her smile widen. Men felt empowered when they could correct a woman, especially if they thought it was an error in perception. She made a mental note though. Perception and understanding people was the primary way she beat the competition, and she needed to understand Tracer. She was going to get inside his head and make every fact that he knew her own. Their futures were intertwined and the young man in front of her had no idea yet. It didn't hurt that she preferred men of his build, just a little taller than herself. The physical pleasure would be quite the perk.

The Kusarian may have missed Tracer's smile right after she spoke, but there was no mistaking the signs of desire that she saw moments later. The changes in his breathing pattern sent a joyous little shiver down her spine. She returned the gesture in kind, but she didn't hide it. She let Tracer watch as her blue-purple gaze wandered up and down his clean, crisp look, taking in everything from the polish of his boots to the set of his belt around his waist, up over his slim torso, and finally meeting his eyes. She didn't have to pretend there was desire in her, because that was genuine. She just needed to mask the other thoughts running through her head about the young man as she listened to his story.

The shift in mood as Tracer concluded his story, however, would just not do. Hisa knew keeping her young male friend in a positive spirit would be important and beneficial to her goals. She violated what little space was left between them, twisting her upper body so that her chest and her hip could press against his side at the same time. Raising her arm over top of his, the Kusari woman snagged the cigarette out of Tracer's fingers, letting her fingertips linger against his own far longer than necessary, before pulling the cigarette to her own lips. She made sure to wait until his eyes had followed her hand before bringing it to her lips and inhaling deeply, her eyelids fluttering and her expression turning almost ecstatic from the sensation of the smoke filling her lungs. She didn't usually smoke - she didn't like anything that shortened her lifespan - but it would serve her purposes.

Perhaps more to serve her purpose, though, she slid one of her thighs in between Tracer's legs, then slipped between them completely as the bar stool naturally spun in her direction. Setting the cigarette in the ashtray without extinguishing it, one hand fell on Tracer's right shoulder, as the other set on his chest, fingers splayed open and her nails digging into the fabric. It lingered there for a moment, then reached up. She cupped Tracer's chin and pulled until their eyes met. It was time for another tool in her toolbox - positive reinforcement. "You made the right decision. Anything else aside, that decision led you to this moment, right here, today. And I'm pretty happy about that."

Hisa's heels pressed into the floor and were stable enough to let her lean back slightly. It made her corset tighten and her cleavage even more visible. She grazed her thumb down the side of Tracer's cheek before letting go, and when she finished moving, she remained between his knees, the one hand staying on his shoulder and the other back on that favorite spot on his forearm. Her eyes never left his. "So I know Tracer isn't your real name," she said. She knew enough about the LSF to know that. "So I have to ask...what's a girl got to do to know the name of the man she's out on a date with?" Another emotional trigger, she hoped, that would further bring the young agent into her fold.

Tracer's blush returned with a vengeance as he felt Hisa's bust press against his side, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Once again his breathing came to a screeching halt, holding in a lungful of noxious smoke. His eyes followed the hand and arm reaching for his cigarette, feeling the soft digits against the back of his hand as Hisa stole away his typical source of relaxation.

Her flesh was warm against his own, skin soft like velvet. The young Agent wanted nothing more than to turn his hand over, to take Hisa's, if just for a moment. A tiny twitch of his finger was the only evidence of the battle raging inside the normally-placid mind. That thought soon passed, though, as he traced the trail of rapidly-disappearing smoke back to the Kusarian's ruby-red lips.

He slowly began to let the hot, stale air out of his lungs just as Hisa began to inhale, thin wisps of smoke trailing from his nostrils as he watched the display unfold. Her face seemed to grow more and more appealing by the second, flawless features looking like they belonged on the cover of a magazine, not in some dive bar. At least, that's what Tracer felt in that moment. His gaze was drawn back to the cigarette as it was extricated from between Hisa's painted lips, a red stain on the white paper.

His focus on the object was broken as he felt his legs splay slightly, looking up to find his partner dangerously close. In a return to form, her perfume washed across his face, completely helpless to avoid inhaling its jasmine scent. The smell was appealing, just as much as the owner, and his mind raced. This whole scenario was wildly inappropriate for a Senior Agent of the Liberty Security Force. Fraternizing with a known slaver and smuggler, a woman no doubt up to even more nefarious misdeeds. He needed to leave, return back to the safety of the bridge of his ship. Tracer's psyche screamed at him, demanding he gather his belongings and stroll out without a word.

And then she spoke, and every thought of departure washed away like a child's sand castle on a Manhattan beach. His mind barely registered the words, their meaning almost lost to him. His heart throbbed and fluttered within his chest, the hand resting on it easily able to pick up the "tha-thump, tha-thump" of a man in... Love? Eventually, Tracer's voice returned to him, shaky and quiet. "I'm beginning to think I made the right choice as well." The operative reached out slowly with the arm Hisa wasn't squeezing, resting his hand on the woman's hip, opposite her firearm. It was an awkward gesture, made all the more torturous by Hisa's incessant glare, feeling as if she was peeling apart his soul.

The Agent rarely told anyone his given name. Less through any sort of preservation of secrecy, and more a preservation of dignity. He never was a fan of his name, and now that he was a member of the intelligence service of Liberty, it had become ironic. That desire to keep it to himself had long been demolished by the woman in front of him. "Promise me you'll keep it to yourself." Was all he could manage to say in his defense, and the only assurance he needed. He barely registered the wordless reply from the platinum-blonde before him, a nod that ruffled the loose locks of hair framing her face.

"Fox." He muttered quietly, applying just enough volume to allow his partner to hear without issue, and nowhere near enough to reach the ears of anyone else. "Fox Luxley."

Those words of agreement were all it took for Hisa to know that she had the young man before her at her beck and call. To go from being unsure of his past decisions to being confident of them by her presence alone was the signal that she needed. When Tracer's hand moved to her hip, it was just further reassurance. She smiled at him and rocked her pelvis so that the tight leather bound over her flesh pressed into his hand, and made clear that the touch was welcome. Her shifting body also allowed his arm to rest more comfortably, more aligned with her own on his shoulder so they were both relaxed in the embrace.

"Fox," she repeated his name like it was a filthy word whispered in the throes of passion. She leaned into him enough that her lips were able to find his ear again, and they lingered even longer this time. "Fox Luxley." The same tone, used again, blended with the heat and moisture of her breath against his ear lobe. She could tell from the way he muttered his own name that it wasn't liked, but that might trigger more negativity, which could only pull their encounter in the wrong direction. She'd find out later the reason for his distaste.

Hisa tilted her head and shifted it so her platinum hair fell into her eyes, the tip of the bamboo rod through her locks brushing against the back of Tracer's shoulder as she rested her cheek against the top of it. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, letting him feel her body against his. Her breath was slow and even, deliberately measured, as it cascaded over the collar of his shirt and against the skin of his neck. She brought her left hand to his tie, grasping the fabric gingerly, giving it a playful little tug before she spoke again.

"You are much more than meets the eye, Tracer." With those words, her goals were simple. More praise, and an acknowledgement that she'd call him whatever he wanted to be called, and wasn't going to get hung up on a name. "The most important question is...will you be able to get past all your concerns about what I do for a living to allow yourself to indulge in something far more enjoyable than you have ever experienced before?"

Tracer couldn't resist. His fingers crept further, around Hisa's back, applying just enough pressure to feel the give of the soft flesh beneath, and the resistance of the taut leather above. Fingertips grazed against the valley formed by the platinum-haired goddess' buttocks, lingering for a long moment, before continuing towards the small of her back. The Agent applied a gentle pressure, just enough to encourage the woman to lean further forward.

His skin broke out in goosebumps as Hisa echoed his name. From her ruby lips, the words seemed to pour out like honey, sweet and thick, clinging to his mind. As much as Fox disliked his name, he'd have given anything to hear it from the Kusarian again. Biting his lip to stifle a gasp, Tracer felt the tickle of breath against his ear.

The sensation was almost too much to bear. The music of the bar seemed to die to a dull throb, his pupils constricting. The world closed in, until it felt as if the pair were the only people in the room. As Hisa lay her head on his shoulder, Tracer glanced down at the locks of gleaming hair cascading down his shoulder and torso. There was little left unmanaged, just enough to frame and accentuate his partner's face.

The sensation of fingers brushing along Hisa's spine lasted for a moment, disappearing as Tracer's hand passed her half-jacket. The tickling returned for but a second as the young man brought his fingers over her neck, towards the bun perched atop her head. For the first time that night, his hands were as steady as a painter's, tugging the red-and-gold bamboo spear from Hisa's hair. As soon as the tip lost contact, the tight folds began to flow like a river, cascading down in an argent waterfall of silky perfection.

As Hisa spoke once more, the young Agent deftly maneuvered her hair ornament back down towards her waist, slipping it into her sash for safekeeping. Again with that voice, dripping with desire as if uttered by a succubus of folklore. His fingers crept through Hisa's locks, the thin strands of hair easily parting, tickling his digits. It was softer than even the finest, million-credit silks from Kusari artisans, further reinforcing the young man's opinion of her as, quite possibly, the most appealing woman alive. Opinions may differ of course, but in that moment, only his mattered. She was god's gift to Sirius, an undeserved reward for a lifetime of errors and misjudgements.

A gentle tug at the collar of Hisa's jacket brought her face just inches from his, the dim light of the bar casting an angelic glow on her visage. "I've made my share, no, more than my fair share of mistakes in my life." The barest hint of a frown tugged at the corners of his mouth, remembering some past event. Fox naturally cast his eyes lower, as he'd often done that night. All that greeted them this time, though, were Hisa's lips, and that frown soon dissipated as he let out a breath. With a blink, his eyes locked with the purple orbs of his partner. "Some cost lives, sons and daughters and mothers and fathers. Some cost only ships, others dignity and pride..." He trailed off, feeling the Kusarian's piercing gaze boring a hole through his spirit. "Turning you away might've been the greatest error of them all, were I willing to do it."

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