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RP:Still Just Small Business Owners

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Part of the The Dust Up In Cenril Arc

Outside the Witch-Run Nail Salon in Larket

Summary: Hudson and Eleanor meet and agree to expand their operation to add another cash business that would assist them in money laundering the proceeds from Firefly Steve sales: a witch-run nail salon in Larket. Hudson incorrectly assumes that Eleanor is a Rijanna fan and helps her get an invite to the VIP section at the royal wedding.

Hudson had set this meeting. He'd left a note with just an address for Eleanor at The Office, which is literally now their office for purposes of correspondence and the like, quite convenient really. He's there on time himself, having just finished one of his special cigarettes, casually loitering outside the place. The nail salon, that is. Inside, a row of witches are bent over the hands of Larket's 1%, applying temporary, magical manicures, some of which have effects that go just beyond looking fancy.

Arriving shortly after, Eleanor wore her usual get-up of rich cerulean fabric, but also had a deep midnight-blue cloak fastened via thin leather strap around her shoulders, its hood pulled low over her head as she made into Larket. It didn't take long for her to pick out Hudson, the scent of his herbal stick familiar, a coy smirk tugging at her full lips. "Lang time, nae see, stranger." The burr rolled off her tongue with the undertones of deception that oft coiled around those syllables, as if, perhaps, she'd seen him recently on her own terms. The rogue sidled casually up to the werewolf's side, a sidelong gaze reserved for him of those glinting celadon twins before shifting toward the shopfront. Keeping her attention fixated on the latter, she spoke once more, tone lowered and husky. "Miss me?" Thereafter, those pale glass-green eyes returned to Hudson's countenance, her smirk growing subtly in the corners of her mouth.

Hudson wears an easy smile as he recognizes Eleanor, coming at him. It's good to see her, it's good to be back at work, he's been changing diapers for what feels like most of his adult life. He pulls her in for a lazy, one-armed hug before directing both of their attention at the nail salon. "Hell yeah. You have no idea how nice it is to not be in the presence of a screaming or pooping baby right now," he tells her, reaching out to tap the posted hours hanging outside the establishment. He follows her gaze inside the glass, to the rows of women applying magic-infused paint to women's nails. "I wanna buy this place, we're not laundering everything fast enough with just The Office. Check it out, it's always like this, packed, and ladies pay in cash." Pitch made. He lifts an eyebrow, takes the measure of Eleanor's expression. "So? How you been?"

Eleanor wasn't used to hugs, from anyone, but she did not move away when Hudson when in, one-armed, for that quick embrace; indeed, she even curled a hand around his middle in reciprocation, and had to fight the instinct to pick his pockets. Flashing him a grin, she lofted a brow, withdrawing someone, to glance upon the shop properly. "Och, aye ... Hoo much ur ye needin'?" Celadons shifted between the interior and her companion, and withdrew her hand fully from his side in order to weave it around its partner arm, folding both across her chest. "I've bin weel. Thrang. Micht be gonnae Rynvale suin, cannae say fur hoo lang." A Beat as she judged Hudson's expression in a similar manner to the gaze he'd fixed her with. "Micht be a while, but ... yoo'll be able tae fin' me ..." There was nothing said about the attractive werewolf she'd be accompanying to the island paradise, nor what her business with him would be. Instead, she added, "'at weddin' thes weekend ... can ye gie me in?" She had originally planned to go hand-in-hand with Leo, as it were, but Valen's proposal of the wolf had her reestablishing her plans for getting into the royal event. A side entrance, a forged invitation -- anything to explain her presence there without a handsome man on her arms.

Hudson makes an undefined noise in the base of his throat. "Not sure, I'll front it and send you the bill and the contract for your share. Then you'll know you can start routing money here," he says, rubbing his face as his gaze darts from the rows of manicurists to Eleanor, closing her body language and telling him she's about to peace out to Rynvale. "Rynvale," he repeats, in an incredulous tone. "Get your mail at the Office forwarded." Duh. Not that he would do that, because Alvina might read it, but if Eleanor's by herself, hey. His eyebrows lift with surprise at her request to attend the royal wedding. "Woman it's a royal wedding, the public's free to attend," he tells her, and then he realizes she probably means the section for the non-masses, for the friends of the bride or the groom (mostly the bride, if rumors are to be believed). "Ah," he realizes out loud, studying her. He licks his lips, visibly turning an idea over in his mind, feeling out the risks. Feeling reckless, he cuts his analysis short, says it outright: "Sure, I'll put our nanny on the list, you just give her name. Dude. Don't look at me like that, we're parking the kids at the daycare. You won't have to do anything or spend a second in the company of babies, let the professionals handle it. Also, Alvina will castrate me if she finds out I'm doing this so just don't get busted."

Eleanor nodded absently as he repeated the island-city's name; she had purposefully left out that she'd be attending the city with Leo, and that she was potentially in cahoots with him in a much larger scale in the near future. Huds didn't need to know the details fo her illicit side affairs. When he voiced the idea of her masquerading as a nanny, she laughed aloud, the sound cheerful and unperturbed by the idea; contrary to her acerbic attitude sometimes, she had no problem with children. Although the sound died out, quieting into the recesses of her mind as she struggled for a moment not to reminisce on her past. She then flashed a grin. "Soonds perfect," the rogue agreed with a nod, conceding on all accounts -- money laundering, mail forwarding, the nanny subterfuge. It all fit nicely together like pieces of a perfect puzzle. "Dornt ye fash yerse yer bonnie wee heed abit me," El parted with, lifting a hand to playfully pat Hudson's cheek in emphasis of her shrugging off the threat. "Ye jist fash yerse abit keepin' yer business together, an' i'll dae th' sam fur mine."