The wonderful thing about the Dove in the evening was how easy it was to blend in, to disappear, and become one face in a crowd of many. Being dressed in dark grey with a serious set to the mouth made it all the easier to be overlooked in the midst of a dozen men with the same expression on their faces. Little things like this made the place appealing, made Old Rose a tempting location to set up shop and join the masses -- but the draw of bigger marks [and plumper ones, with fewer weapons] was too much to ignore.

News of papers needed in Vienda had spread through the grapevine, word of mouth from wick to wick, so Reese had been prepared to be turned away at the gates. He'd done it with a long face and an apology, but gracious enough; coin over palms might have gotten him in, if he'd tried it, but it certainly wouldn't have been a long term solution. If he planned to stay unquestioned in the city, he needed papers.

Old Rose was the only smart place to get them, and the Dove seemed a wise surveillance point to hunt down someone selling. At the bar, with a knife at his hip and a pint curled between his hands, Reese kept his shoulders hunched and his head down, tipped just so to keep an eye on most of the tavern. He had a decent view of the door, and an even better view of the quieter tables in the back. The only problem with his current location was the empty chair to his left. He would rather have had a deep drinker occupying that space..

Francesca may not have looked like a deep drinker, but looks can be deceptive, and the ability to drink deeply was pretty much on the first line of her job description.

She slinked her beautiful body gracefully onto the stool beside Reese and flicked her bouncing blonde locks, allowing them to slide sluggishly down her slender bare shoulder. Damn fine.

"Minesh a hatchersh pish."

She had a speech impediment. Nobody's perfect.

Well, if that wasn't the most distracting...it was highly possible that Reese had a thing for blondes. More than possible, considering the way her drunken comment [it may have been the most inane thing he'd ever heard] turned his head, drew his attention, and caught it. Yes, that was a fine sliver of shoulder, and he was in no rush, still living off his last.

The rest of him followed, halfway twisting in his seat to face her, elbow settled comfortably against the bar and fingertips still brushing the edge of his glass. "That a new kind of drink, or a critique?"

(( sorryyyyy....Edfail. ))

She frowned cutely for a minute, then smiled a wide, toothless grin.

"I don't know what you mean. You musht be schmart!"

She giggled a little, and then,

"Shay, I haven sheen you arounds here before. You new in town? Come to shee the shights, or someshing elshe?"

...oh, dear. The initial impact of a mouth empty of teeth, of the bare gums, was...unpleasant. Enough to make Reese blink, and the hint of a smile on his face wobble around the edges. However, he wasn't one to discriminate, and almost immediately got it stable again, even if his eyes did skate away to the crowd, contemplating hunting down new company, or going back to business.

"Bit of both. Hunting down shady men, seems like this is a good place to start." He blinked, smile going a bit sardonic, teasing, and fingertips strumming against his glass. "Seen any recently? I mean 'specially shady."

"Hee hee! Are you sherioush? Shady men ish my shpeschialitchy!"

She sidled closer, close enough for him to feel the spots of spittle on his face.

"Maybe if you were more.....scpeshific about what you were sheeking...I could help you. Namesh Francsheshca. Whatsh yoursh?"

She traced a lazy circle on the bar with her fingernail, around an impression left by an empty glass that rested there earlier. If she weren't already pliable, she would have easily been plied with alcohol.

Reese managed to restrain the twitch, the wince, the flinch, to nothing more than a tightening at one corner of his mouth. He did not, however, hide the rather exaggerated wiping of his face. Maybe she'd take notice, and put less force into her speech, make a point to swallow before forming words, or at least turn her head...

Not a slight, just a point. She seemed potentially useful. Reese tipped his head. "Well, I've heard you need a fancy sheet of paper to get into Vienda these days." At least, if you were of a certain lineage.

"So I was lookin' for someone who can read and write. And do it well." One of his shoulders raised, hand shifting just slightly to cover his glass, so that spit wouldn't get in there, too. Though, in this place, the addition might improve his drink.

Francesca covered her mouth and made a cute smile, as if to say "oops!"

"Shorry! Shometimesh I forgetsh. Shee, my pimp knocked my teesh out, shinking I'd get more money from clientsh, which I schpose I do, but the problem ish shmuch harder to negoshiate prishes wishout teesh!"

She shook her head quickly, realising she was spending far too much time talking about herself.

"A proper writ'sh hard to forge. Besht way, and I've sheen it doen a lot, ish a man called Shillius buysh 'em off people leaving Vienda for good. Helpsh 'em get a shtart in life, you know? The sheal on a writ ish practically imposshible to forge, so inshtead the document ish faked and the sheal transferred. I hear Bad Brothersh do it all the time for their import boysh. I can show you where Shilius worksh, and maybe even get you a dishcount if you're real nishe, but shtill, it'll cosht you at least a couple 'o birdsh."

She leaned back, self satisfied and feeling useful, then stroked his leg with her foot.

"Sho, how about that drink?"

Couple birds; she'd almost see the gears turning behind Reese's eyes, trying to determine if he could afford that or if he'd have to get a little work first. He was looking at her, but mostly through her, doing finances in his head as he fished out a few coins to pay for drinks.

"Whatever you want to drink, chip." He thumbed one of the coins out in front of her, twisting around on his stool so he could settle one elbow on the counter and consider her. "How long's it usually take?"

"Mush appreshiatshed!"

Fran nodded at the barman and he started preparing something multicoloured with an umbrella.

"Oh I get sherved very quickly, they know me here. Oh! You mean the writsh! Umm, ushually takesh a day or sho."

She got to work on the straw and the barman mopped some saliva off the bar with a mundane expression. She was obviously here a lot.

"Shay...with the extra money you'll have from the dishcount I'm getting you, you'd probably be able to afford a little shomeshing shomeshing..."

She'd been rubbing his lef with her bare foot, and now she leant towards him, and whispered in his ear.

"I could make your head schpin."

Reese's attention went up to the bartender, treated him to just a hint of sarcasm, not quite a roll of the eyes. Spit wasn't exactly his definition of sexy or enticing, and while bare gums might have been practical, they weren't exactly attractive. He less enjoyed the caress and more endured it, waiting for the woman to finish before he tipped his head in toward her in a conspiratorial kind of way.

"I honestly hope that if I had to pay for sex, someone would put me out of my misery with two shots to the head." It was low, though, and with a hint of a smile, almost suggestive. Or maybe that wasn't so much 'suggestive' as just teasing. Not quite cruel, but that might only have been because he still needed something out of her.

"I'll buy you drinks, but I really only want to know where to go. Save the rest for riper pigeons."

"Shoot yourshelf." she shrugged, and from her delivery it wasn't clear wether or not she was lisping this time. She looked hurt, but in that calloused way that people used to disappointment fell into, a kind of default, like a homeless man promised change only to turn up an empty pocket.

"Shilius worksh near the docksh. I'm shure you could ashk around if you get yourshelf losht."

She pushed off of the bar, then walked down its length and sat next to another solitary man.

"Minesh a hatchersh pish."