Eartha
Personal Trainer
- Best answers
- 0
- Known Aliases
- Earth, Edyth, EB, Sheila Rose
- Color #
- C17E00
(Written with @Chase)
A Northern wind blew steadily along the River Avon stirring the scents of flowers from a nearby florist and fish and chips flavors from a corner bistro. Chase Devineaux was on Pulteney Bridge in Bath, England, meeting with a contact in a quaint low-ceiling pub overlooking the weir below.
Built in the late 1700s, the bridge was designed by Robert Adam and featured shops along both sides. After sufficient restorations, it was now a Grade I listed building and a certified tourist attraction.
Although the faint sunlight creeping upon the glorious structure was a welcome surprise to the shoppers and cafe dwellers in the surrounding area, Eartha Brute rubbed her forehead in irritation. The dull pounding served as a reminder of the previous night spent drinking beer and garnering cell phone numbers from hooligans who appreciated her brawn and repertoire of can-crushing tricks.
The Boater was a decently local pub where people had the right to stare down any newcomer. Luckily for Devineaux, he was here during its morning hours only to meet a man named Quincy Farrell. Farrell's brother currently managed the place and for the while, the pub was the perfect fixer post.
After a quick exchange of a novelty greeting and necessary tit for tat, Chase Devineaux exited the Boater and winced slightly at the sun outside.
Two men standing in front of a liquor store across the bridge seemed to be looking at him. An unidentifiable man exiting a pub at 10 a.m. seemed conspicuous. He needed to blend in.
Noting a young woman sitting on a bench nearby, Chase struck up conversation. The amount of bags with her and the straight shoulder-length green hair suggested she was from one of those crowds that may have piercings in odd places -- innocent enough.
"You're all right?" He asked casually, taking a seat next to her.
The question at the foreground of Eartha’s mind upon seeing any new face was similar to those of her primal ancestors: prey or predator? Her analysis seldom extended beyond the person’s ability to defeat her in a brawl. Her eyes studied the russet-haired gentleman closely, reaching no clear verdict. She clasped the handles of her bags while remaining seated, uneasy with his inscrutability.
“Yeah. Are you ok?” She replied, wanting to direct the attention away from herself.
He chuckled lightly in reply, taking her action and tone as indication that he wasn't entirely welcomed, but she wasn't backing away.
"Chase Devineaux," he casually introduced himself, "you look like you had quite a night."
She noted his affable tone but felt his name sounded fabricated. She opted to supply her own concoction, inwardly applauding her own cleverness.
“I sure did. My name is Georgina Devonshirewick.” she responded slowly, her South Boston accent thickening.
"Pleased to meet you, Miss Devonshirewick," he indulged her. In peripheral vision, the men at the liquor store were still occasionally eying him. The conversation must continue, "What are you doing in Bath?"
“The pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Devineaux.” she said cheerily.. “I was enjoying the shops and then I’m off to the library for a romance novel conference. I don’t really write novels, just diary entries but I figure a workshop will help me come up with good stuff in case anybody ever reads it. Care to join me?”
"Library," he acknowledged verbally, but his mind calculated its distance from the bridge and how likely it would be for him to exit the location as soon as-- Did she say 'romance novel' conference?
He looked back questioningly at the green-haired Georgina, the name she gave him was already odd, was she now playing him?
"Romance novel conference?"
“Yeah, you know...books.” she chuckled. “Anyways, there’s lectures on any subject you can think of. Historical, contemporary, arranged marriage stuff. All that. Most of my diary entries are pirate or space themed but the lectures will help me branch out. You write any of that stuff? Your name sounds kinda like the authors of the novels.”
"I read, but no, I don't write," he returned her smile, "you just don't strike me as the type..."
To the east, a man in a tweed suit came out of the corner bistro, walked to a bend in the street and called a cab. His actions attracted the attention of the liquor store loiterers and after a brief discussion, they decidedly followed the man in tweed.
Chase took a natural breath as they passed.
"Do you need a ride to the library?" He offered his accidental savior something in return.
She zipped up her leather jacket, considering the offer. His physicality indicated a potential struggle for her in a match, but he had a genial manner she liked. Then she remembered her rental car.
“Thanks, but I'm all set. I need to practice my British driving cuz the cops here are real hardasses about which side of the road you’re on.” she informed him, rolling her eyes. She grabbed her bags and stood up. “It’s been real, Mr. Devineaux.” she said warmly before walking off.
That was pleasant -- strange -- but pleasant. As she disappeared from sight, he looked back at his phone to text another ACME agent that he was cleared for rendezvous. When he stood, a black leather tote caught his attention.
Inside was a Trijicon Advanced Combat Optical Gunsight with the initials 'EB' etched on a curve. Somewhat unsettled, Chase considered his position and potential sniping shots, but he realized he was mostly safe here. Taking the ACOG scope back to ACME London, he would later discover that 'EB' stood for 'Eartha Brute'. And while he was tempted, he never added 'Romance Novels' to her existing dossier.
Eartha basked in the sun rays as she walked toward her car along Northgate Street. She felt pleased with her name concealment and wished the boss had witnessed her cunning. Her thoughts returned to her cluster of bags, which felt notably lighter. A quick inventory revealed that her new clothing and books were in tow. However, the tote that carried her prized Trijicon was not. She recalled setting it down by the bench and dashed off to retrieve it.
A few minutes later, Eartha breathlessly approached the site of her encounter, finding the tote absent. The scope, a gift, had provided immeasurable help on heists.
“MOTHER-!!!” she roared, kicking the wooden bench.
Her thoughts then turned to the well-dressed and mysterious “Chase Devineaux” and she wondered if running the name at work would turn up any leads. Regardless, she felt the moniker had a catchy ring to it and would surely be of use as a character suggestion for novelists at the conference.
A Northern wind blew steadily along the River Avon stirring the scents of flowers from a nearby florist and fish and chips flavors from a corner bistro. Chase Devineaux was on Pulteney Bridge in Bath, England, meeting with a contact in a quaint low-ceiling pub overlooking the weir below.
Built in the late 1700s, the bridge was designed by Robert Adam and featured shops along both sides. After sufficient restorations, it was now a Grade I listed building and a certified tourist attraction.
Although the faint sunlight creeping upon the glorious structure was a welcome surprise to the shoppers and cafe dwellers in the surrounding area, Eartha Brute rubbed her forehead in irritation. The dull pounding served as a reminder of the previous night spent drinking beer and garnering cell phone numbers from hooligans who appreciated her brawn and repertoire of can-crushing tricks.
The Boater was a decently local pub where people had the right to stare down any newcomer. Luckily for Devineaux, he was here during its morning hours only to meet a man named Quincy Farrell. Farrell's brother currently managed the place and for the while, the pub was the perfect fixer post.
After a quick exchange of a novelty greeting and necessary tit for tat, Chase Devineaux exited the Boater and winced slightly at the sun outside.
Two men standing in front of a liquor store across the bridge seemed to be looking at him. An unidentifiable man exiting a pub at 10 a.m. seemed conspicuous. He needed to blend in.
Noting a young woman sitting on a bench nearby, Chase struck up conversation. The amount of bags with her and the straight shoulder-length green hair suggested she was from one of those crowds that may have piercings in odd places -- innocent enough.
"You're all right?" He asked casually, taking a seat next to her.
The question at the foreground of Eartha’s mind upon seeing any new face was similar to those of her primal ancestors: prey or predator? Her analysis seldom extended beyond the person’s ability to defeat her in a brawl. Her eyes studied the russet-haired gentleman closely, reaching no clear verdict. She clasped the handles of her bags while remaining seated, uneasy with his inscrutability.
“Yeah. Are you ok?” She replied, wanting to direct the attention away from herself.
He chuckled lightly in reply, taking her action and tone as indication that he wasn't entirely welcomed, but she wasn't backing away.
"Chase Devineaux," he casually introduced himself, "you look like you had quite a night."
She noted his affable tone but felt his name sounded fabricated. She opted to supply her own concoction, inwardly applauding her own cleverness.
“I sure did. My name is Georgina Devonshirewick.” she responded slowly, her South Boston accent thickening.
"Pleased to meet you, Miss Devonshirewick," he indulged her. In peripheral vision, the men at the liquor store were still occasionally eying him. The conversation must continue, "What are you doing in Bath?"
“The pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Devineaux.” she said cheerily.. “I was enjoying the shops and then I’m off to the library for a romance novel conference. I don’t really write novels, just diary entries but I figure a workshop will help me come up with good stuff in case anybody ever reads it. Care to join me?”
"Library," he acknowledged verbally, but his mind calculated its distance from the bridge and how likely it would be for him to exit the location as soon as-- Did she say 'romance novel' conference?
He looked back questioningly at the green-haired Georgina, the name she gave him was already odd, was she now playing him?
"Romance novel conference?"
“Yeah, you know...books.” she chuckled. “Anyways, there’s lectures on any subject you can think of. Historical, contemporary, arranged marriage stuff. All that. Most of my diary entries are pirate or space themed but the lectures will help me branch out. You write any of that stuff? Your name sounds kinda like the authors of the novels.”
"I read, but no, I don't write," he returned her smile, "you just don't strike me as the type..."
To the east, a man in a tweed suit came out of the corner bistro, walked to a bend in the street and called a cab. His actions attracted the attention of the liquor store loiterers and after a brief discussion, they decidedly followed the man in tweed.
Chase took a natural breath as they passed.
"Do you need a ride to the library?" He offered his accidental savior something in return.
She zipped up her leather jacket, considering the offer. His physicality indicated a potential struggle for her in a match, but he had a genial manner she liked. Then she remembered her rental car.
“Thanks, but I'm all set. I need to practice my British driving cuz the cops here are real hardasses about which side of the road you’re on.” she informed him, rolling her eyes. She grabbed her bags and stood up. “It’s been real, Mr. Devineaux.” she said warmly before walking off.
That was pleasant -- strange -- but pleasant. As she disappeared from sight, he looked back at his phone to text another ACME agent that he was cleared for rendezvous. When he stood, a black leather tote caught his attention.
Inside was a Trijicon Advanced Combat Optical Gunsight with the initials 'EB' etched on a curve. Somewhat unsettled, Chase considered his position and potential sniping shots, but he realized he was mostly safe here. Taking the ACOG scope back to ACME London, he would later discover that 'EB' stood for 'Eartha Brute'. And while he was tempted, he never added 'Romance Novels' to her existing dossier.
Eartha basked in the sun rays as she walked toward her car along Northgate Street. She felt pleased with her name concealment and wished the boss had witnessed her cunning. Her thoughts returned to her cluster of bags, which felt notably lighter. A quick inventory revealed that her new clothing and books were in tow. However, the tote that carried her prized Trijicon was not. She recalled setting it down by the bench and dashed off to retrieve it.
A few minutes later, Eartha breathlessly approached the site of her encounter, finding the tote absent. The scope, a gift, had provided immeasurable help on heists.
“MOTHER-!!!” she roared, kicking the wooden bench.
Her thoughts then turned to the well-dressed and mysterious “Chase Devineaux” and she wondered if running the name at work would turn up any leads. Regardless, she felt the moniker had a catchy ring to it and would surely be of use as a character suggestion for novelists at the conference.
