[b][u]Rachel[/u][/b]

[hr]

"Brave? No." Rachel smiled. And then actually began to laugh, a little, before simply residing to amusement. "Oh, no. I was terrified--am terrified, actually. But that didn't matter, and still doesn't. The woman that ordered that ill-mannered fiend off you? I'd leap into Final Death if she needed me to. My unlife would be a state worse than Final Death if it wasn't for her. So when she moved..." [i]I moved. It's what we do for each other.[/i] But none of that really needed to be said aloud, did it? Rachel thought not. 

But the woman's point was taken, just so long as she realized Rachel's counter-point: Eva wouldn't have publicly backed down. Not even from a Garou; suicidal, sure, but you don't make friends with creatures you definitely shouldn't make friends with if you only followed the natural (and supernatural) order of things in the world. Fear doesn't make friends, so you stand there, unflinching, and smile, and offer a helping hand. Suicidal, sure, but Eva was still standing. And because of that attitude, Rachel was standing right next to her, Princes allowing Rachel to go unhunted, kill orders suspended. 

The iPhone went off again. Rachel slipped a hand into her pocket, and silenced it. A few seconds later, it happened again, and her mind was forced in half; half of her bringing the phone out to quick text a response, the other still in conversation with the big bad wolf woman. "I know what you are, I know what your kind can do to my kind, believe me. Still this world doesn't come down to martial skill alone anymore. Last time we dealt with a group of your kind who refused to play nice, that woman threatened one of their holy sites with enough radiation to ensure you'd be turned into a glow stick if you tried to use it for...whatever your kind uses it for. Then it'd be handed over to Federal authorities for clean up, which would've meant so much more headaches and trouble than getting cranky with a very nice one of my kind was really worth. Never was physical violence threatened, not by our side, anyway. Oddly enough the biker gang of your kind still shows up for BBQs on the beach from time to time, and they're downright friendly, even if they smell like..."

Text done, her mind fully returned to whom she speak to, and her words trailed off. [i]Well, smell like you kinda do now.[/i] Another something better left unsaid, hushed behind a tiny hint of blushing smile. "Another shot, Mr. Locke, on Ms. Eva's tab?..." Her brown eyes had grown soft, even if the wheels within wheels of her thoughts were in constant motion just past the softness. "Youknowwhat, just leave the bottle, Mr. Locke, please."

"WHATTHEFUCK JEW GIRL."

Rachel jumped, before groaning, dread and exasperation thick in her voice; the "super agent" had exploded into the Sunset Lounge, not seeming to notice the blood he walked past to get in. "Not now, Theo."

But there he was, persistent, right behind her, all million dollar Agent with the designer suit, shoes, and sunglasses to match. He wasn't the tallest; Michelle was likely taller, but his presence was pretty well demanding for a mortal man with no ties to anything supernatural; other than the power of his Contact list, and the power of his super Agency. His tone lowered, but not the combatant nature of it, as he stepped up behind them, ignoring the fact Rachel had been speaking to someone else. Ignoring Michelle's existence completely, so far. "Who the [b]fuck[/b] gave Badlands to McConaughey?"

Rachel only turned her head, her voice becoming sharper with each syllable. "Uh, maybe the Director? McConaughey asked for much less than your client, and didn't demand a Producer credit."

"My client? You mean Leo-motherfuckin-DiCaprio? That Texas Irish fuck couldn't out act my client if it was on a stage in Texas and they were both playing an Irish cocksucker FROM Texas."

Rachel stared, Theo Finestein fumed. "How do I talk to her? I'm going over your head on this one."

"Talk to the Studio President?" Rachel smiled, now, knowing Finestein doing so wouldn't have matter. Not when--

--he knew why. How he knew, she could only guess. Theo Finestein wasn't supernatural, but it was easily forgotten that he wasn't with how good he was at his job. "She [i]owns[/i] the Warner Brothers President, with what black voodoo fucking magic I have no idea, but don't play games with me, Rothkopf. How do I talk to her? How do I get a phone into her mother. fucking. hand?"

Her smile never budged. In fact, Rachel Rothkopf only seemd to get more relaxed. "You don't need a phone to talk to her, Theo."

...the man's demeanor changed, instantly. He knew something was up. Knew Rachel had something he didn't, some knowledge he didn't possess. Suddenly his sweetest smile came out, his tone gentle, even downright friendly. Like an old friend. "C'mon, Rachel. Last year at Sundance, who was there for you? The year before after the Oscars? You even remember that?"

Rachel's eyes danced; from Theo, back to Michelle, back to Theo again. His eyes followed, and for the first time, seemed to see Michelle. "...hey." Then back again to his prey, like a bloodhound who couldn't be shaken from the trail. "What is it? Is she here?"

She but pointed in the direction of the back of the bar's main room. He followed, moved a few steps to the left, peeked...and grinned like Lucifer in the middle of a deal at the crossroads. When he came back to Rachel, he was quiet, hushed, careful not to be overheard...but the excitement in the mortal man was impossible to contain in full. "The motherfuckin' Don herself is here! How do I look?...better than your dyke ass lookin' friend here, huh? I'mjustkidding. Whew."

"Go away, Theo."

Gone he was, approaching Eva's back booth like a peasant to a King, humble, respectful, as charming as he could possibly be--which was surprisingly charming, when Theo wanted to be. Eva would see through it, but there's no telling what she might decide; it didn't matter to Eva who the better actor was. It mattered to Eva who was better for the movie in question. Who was best for the overall project, which would contribute to making the piece of art as good as it could be. Sometimes the politics of Hollywood, and mortal celebrities, got in Eva's way of artistic perfection. Most the time, however, it didn't. 

"Anyway. I have to apologize; some of these Hollywood agents you can't ignore, otherwise they'll hunt you down and make a scene. My name is Rachel, and if our intelligence is to be believed your name is...Michelle?" She waited for any sign of body communication that said she wasn't wrong, before continuing. "So I do apologize, Michelle, for the interruption. Reparations, right? Would would be best for you; a lump sum? Real estate, if you're new to the city and need a safe haven? We have a stilt house in the hills that might be up your alley; surrounded by trees, far from neighbors, not large but with amazing views and good architecture. There's also a few options in Malibu, those are even more private, if the beach is your thing? Whatever it is, I'm sure the two of us can come to some sort of agreement that would allow the Baroness and yourself to part ways from this incident without feeling anyone was uncared for."

This, now, was Rachel in her comfort zone: dealing with super agents, hammering out terms to a deal, etc.