Pitstop on Pittsburgh

[Toaster]

Shaking the old man's firm, slightly damp hand, Olivia gave Damian a sideways glance, an eyebrow raised in bemusement.

"It's... a pleasure to meet you," she said, a slight chuckle in her voice, as she sat down at the offered table, across from Moretti. She glanced around. The establishment reminded her of the movies she used to watch in her home station's small cinema - classy drug lords meeting to exchange kindly disguised threats, henchmen fingering sidearms beneath fancy suit jackets, clueless patrons sitting about, enjoying the simple but delicious meals cooked up by the kind, if overly energetic staff.

Olivia placed her elbows on the table top and, leaning forward, rested her chin in her hands. She looked at Damian curiously, wondering just how much of a show he was putting on right now, or whether this actually was his more genuine side. The owner, Sal, clearly knew him well and wasn't treating him like the psychopathic terrorist he was described as in the rumors she had heard. Nor did he, at that moment, remind her at all of the cold-blooded killer she had first met on Ames.

"You come here often," she spoke, more a factual observation than a question. She smiled at him innocently.

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Olivia Sable