The Murderous and the Meek

[Toaster]

The man came to a halt before her booth. He looked at her timidly, shifting from foot to foot, unable to keep still. Olivia glared at him.

“Yes?” She finally hissed, straightening in her seat to come closer to eye level with the man.

He swallowed hard and muttered, “Olivia Sable?”

“That’s me,” Olivia replied, nodding her head at the seat across the table from her. With obvious relief, the man scampered to sit down. He ran a hand anxiously through his wavy hair and took a deep breath.

“It’s a pleasure to, uh, meet you, Miss, uh, Sable,” he managed to stutter as his right leg started nervously bouncing under the table. Olivia gave it a light kick. It stopped.

“Drop the miss,” she growled in response. “Just Sable.”

The man swallowed again.

“Uh, of course. Sorry, Miss- uh,“ he caught himself and gave her a weak, apologetic smile. “Sorry. Sable.”

Olivia sighed again, this time aloud. Here she had been, waiting for someone serious, someone competent. Instead, it looked as though she would have to deal with a fool so skittish, she worried he might piss himself if a drunk so much as belched at him.

“You’re Dax?” She inquired.

“Y-yes, that’s, uh, right,” the man, Dax, answered. His eyes finally let go of Olivia and darted once more around the bar, searching for some unseen threat. Olivia rolled her eyes. No one here posed any danger to them, save for the danger of vomiting alcohol and bile into their laps.

“Your message made me expect someone,” she paused, looking for the right word, “tougher.”

Dax gave a nervous laugh and looked back at the mercenary.

“It’s easy to be tough on the neural net.”

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Olivia Sable