[color=f7941d][u][b]Marisol Gutierrez - Strip Embassy - Morning, October 17th [/b][/u][/color]

Marisol held the syringe of ink carefully as she slowly filled the barrel of her fountain pen. Once the ink reached the threads she returned the syringe to the ink pot, applied a dab of grease and then screwed the end of the barrel on. She set the pen down on her notepad and wrote out her name. The ink ran smoothly and she blew lightly on her signature. Even after ten years she found delight in her ability to write. Born to a small tribe in Arizona she hadn’t the luxury of an education and had only received literacy instruction shortly before her employment at the embassy. She had been hired as an assistant receptionist but in the years since her role had expanded to almost every layer of the embassy. She arranged public correspondences, compiled reports to send back West and often ghost wrote the speeches of the last three ambassadors. As the other staff members constantly cycled out due to systemic corruption and incompetence it wasn’t long before Marisol found herself the most senior member of the embassy. It gave her great personal satisfaction to be the last one standing and she knew she would outlast this new ambassador as well. 

She’d had only a brief interaction with Mr. Watts the night before when his escort arrived at the Strip. He looked weary from the road but was well dressed and conducted himself with decorum. More so than could be said for Marisol’s co-workers. Many of whom had continued their games in front of the ambassador and several hadn’t even risen from their poker tables to greet him. She didn’t mind their conduct, the worse their behavior the more elevated she would be in his eyes. By being the most competent and disciplined person in the building she had gained the trust of the past ambassadors and planned to do the same with Mr. Watts. 

It was nearing nine thirty in the morning and yet Marisol was the only staff member at their post. Heading the large receptionist’s desk at the entrance to the embassy she was the first and last person any visitor saw and spoke to when visiting. She was able to curate who the ambassador met with and at what time She was even able to alter the mood of the interaction by unnecessarily delaying the meeting if she so desired. Through these actions she was always able to play both sides, blaming the guests for their tardiness and then turning around and blaming the ambassador for being unprepared. It had earned her a positive reputation throughout the Strip as the only competent one in the building. She had received offers of employment at several of the casinos, principally the Tops and the Gomorrah. She had rejected them of course but utilized those connections to ingratiate herself with the families of the Strip. 

She heard footsteps and looked up from her scribbles. The ambassador was quickly walking down the hallway toward her desk, his expression was dour. She smiled. 

“Good morning Mr. Watts.”

His face remained stern. “Good morning. Where the hell is everybody?” His agitation was clear to read on his freshly shaved face. His thin mustache formed a tight black line on his upper lip. He held a large felt hat in his left hand, his hair was slicked and heavily styled with a single pronounced curl that bounced with every step. He put far more effort into his appearance than the last few ambassadors had. 

“I would assume they are asleep sir, or out to breakfast.” She held her smile as she looked at the brightly shone leather shoes Mr. Watts wore. 

“Why are they not at work? Is this what they call professionalism here?”

“I’m afraid so sir.” 

He looked about the empty halls of the embassy before sighing. “Looks like I’ll be after some new staff members.” He smiled at her weakly. “It's a relief to see someone who takes this position seriously.” 

“Oh only when the boss is looking.” she teased. His smile grew. 

“Well don’t worry I won’t let you too far out of my sight.” He gave her a wink. “Well Miss…” he looked over at the nameplate on her desk “...Gutierrez, would you be able to send a call over to the Gomorrah for me?” 

“Of course!” She wheeled her chair closer to the phone and poised herself ready to dial. “What should I tell Lucy?”

Mr. Watt’s expression softened. “You know Miss Lucrezia?”

“It's a small town.” She waved her hand in jest and he chuckled. 

“Well go ahead and call her up. Let her know I’ll be over in about an hour to meet with Don Dominic. I had planned to invite him here but,” He looked about the empty, dilapidated embassy. “This place doesn’t exactly scream class. Or professionalism.” He looked back at Marisol. “Except for you of course.”

She smiled and dialed up the reception desk at the Gomorrah and after identifying herself was patched through to the consigliere’s office. 

“Lucy? Hey good morning! This is Marisol, just calling in to let you know Mr. Watts will be over within the hour. Yes. Alright. Yes I’ll let him know. Alright take care.” She hung up the phone and jotted something down. She tore off the sheet of paper and handed it to the ambassador. 

“These are a few of Don Dominic’s favorite desserts, you can find them at the Ultra Luxe bakery. They’re baked fresh everyday. Lucy suggested you begin the meeting by offering him one. He is known for his sweet tooth” 

Mr. Watts read over the paper and a wide white grin grew across his face. “Well thank you so much. Miss Guiterrez, this is most helpful.”

“Please, call me Marisol.” 

He tapped his hat to his head before heading towards the door. He stopped after a few steps and turned back around. He pointed to the name she had written at the top of the page. 

“Now I recognize these other desserts, but what’s this one?” he pointed to the name Marisol had written at the top of the page when testing her pen. 

							[i]Dawn Song[/i]

“Oh that,” Marisol’s face went red and she moved her hand in a nervous dismissal. “Just something I write down as morning warm up.” She smiled sheepishly. Mr. Watts gave her a wink, folded the paper and walked out of the embassy. Marisol took a deep breath to calm herself. What stupid mistake that had been. She had become too lax over these last few ambassadors who were content to drink and gamble their days away. If Mr. Watts wasn’t so clueless, if he wasn’t so new he may have suspected something. She could have truly put herself at risk and the last seven years of work would be for nothing. Marisol left her desk and headed to get herself a cup of tea, she needed to be more careful, failure wasn’t an option.