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WHO: Freddie Lounds & Saul Goodman
WHERE: BAR.
WHEN: not that long after Saul's post, backdated.
WHAT: who's ready for a hella backdated 'these two get drinks' log?
WARNINGS: jfc, it's these two people, is that not warning enough?

Of course Freddie arrived first. She didn't know that much about this Saul Goodman guy and she wanted to have enough time to compose her, for lack of a better word, battle plan. So, she had picked a seat inside that was close to the window and sat and waited.

She knew barely nothing about Saul. Just that he was a lawyer turned tv courtroom judge. Hopefully Freddie could use her own experience of quitting to try and sway him back to the bar (the court bar, not this bar, she mentally corrected herself). After all, a lawyer was so much more useful than the imPort version of Judge Judy. And, based on experience, she would probably need one eventually. Freddie didn't want to start off her glorious new career with Tattlecrime Heropa fending off yet another libel suit.

As she spotted Saul walking towards the bar, Freddie leaned closer to the window, giving him a little wave, showing plainly that she was in there.

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Saul's not sure what to expect, either. He'd taken a look at Tattlecrime a little earlier and combed the articles for information, and what he got was the impression that Freddie-on-paper is very similar to Freddie-in-person.

And he has no clue what to make of that.

The thing is, he knows Freddie's type. It's familiar and disconcerting all at once — you can't bullshit a bullshitter, right? He wonders if she's that astute. Then again, she is a reporter. Then again again, she is a "reporter."

When he catches sight of her waving from the corner of his eye, he pauses and looks over, all smiles, and makes a show of straightening his tie and pushing his hair back. It's meant to be a joke, one of those gestures you'd see in the movies before the dorky guy has his Big First Date. And really, that's an impression he likes giving, sometimes: he's dorky and therefore harmless. Maybe that's what he'll go with for this little meeting of theirs.

He has the time it takes him to enter the bar and reach her table to make a decision, so it's with a slightly lopsided smile that he greets her.

"Miss Lounds."

In contrast, Freddie is wearing a dress in some godawful floral pattern on a dark green background. As she sees his smile, Freddie responds with a small little tight-lipped smile of her own.

"Mister Goodman." She gestured with her head for him to sit down next to her, at the bar. "Glad you didn't leave me on my own."

It is pretty godawful, but somehow it works on her. Saul, meanwhile, is wearing the same thing he wore earlier — not great for first impressions, he supposes, but a man needs time to build up his wardrobe.

"Do I look like that kinda guy to you?"

The wink, hopefully, will tell her that he knows he absolutely does, and that's the joke. He's quick to take a seat and flag down the bartender, then curiously turn his attention back to Freddie. First round's on him; what'll it be?

She matched his wink with a tight little smile of her own. He was so that guy. While she wasn't worried about being stood up, it was certainly a valid thought.

As he turns his attention to her, she manages to pick up the cue. "Just a cosmopolitan would be good for now." Something a little different from the stereotypical martini she almost always got during one of these meetings.

"Cosmo, gotcha." And that's exactly what he orders: one Cosmo for the lady, one Jack and Coke for himself. While the bartender gets busy putting the drinks together, Saul turns his attention back to Freddie.

"So."

So.

"So yourself," Freddie responded with a wry little smile. "Lawyer turned television judge? You're gonna have to tell me what it's like when you settle in--or, if you decide to swap jobs."

Because lawyers? So useful. And Freddie would gladly serve as nudging him to swap jobs to something more useful.

Saul arches an eyebrow at the suggestion of swapping jobs. She's not the first person to mention it — so, what, is this place hurting for defense attorneys? Didn't seem like it, Saul thought. Maybe he was wrong.

"I'm trying to see it as a little break from the usual. It's nice to mix things up once in a while, don't you think?"

"I suppose that depends on what you mix it up with," Freddie remarked, with a little shrug. "I ended up doing pretty much exactly what I did back home."

"Which is all — thanks." He breaks off momentarily while their drinks are delivered, nods to the bartender, then shifts his attention back to Freddie as he absently twists his glass around. "Which is all well and good for you, but the lack of wrinkles on that pretty face of yours tells me you haven't been a journalist nearly as long as I've been a defense attorney."

Unless she's a fan of Botox, but Saul likes to think he can recognize a frozen face when he sees one.

She manages to smile at the compliment (a smile that's mostly teeth) but inwardly, she squirms. It's been less than a day since she met this guy and he's already dropping compliments about her 'pretty face'? Any sort of mutual relationship these two would have would have to be done through gritted teeth and fake smiles.

"How long have you been a defense attorney, then?"

That's how Saul prefers his relationships, to be honest. They're less messy that way.

He clicks his tongue, disapproving of the question. "I'm pretty sure an exact answer's gonna give away my age. Let's put it this way: I've been doing my job long enough that I'm the biggest name in criminal defense in central New Mexico."

Freddie leans in, pretending to look utterly interested. But wow. Central New Mexico. What all was in central New Mexico? Was that Albequerque? Freddie's New England upbringing was astonishingly useless here.

"I didn't know you were that big. That's pretty impressive."

Albuquerque and Santa Fe and, let us not forget, Las Vegas.

It's just a different Las Vegas, that's all.

Population 13,000.

"Well..." Saul grins, taking a sip from his glass. He's sorely tempted to go with his usual response, here — I hear that from a lot of women — but instead goes the route of modesty and simply shrugs.

Freddie knows that she's playing the part of the flattering fangirl. And she will keep playing that part if it manages to get her closer to Saul and closer to information.

"I've actually never been to New Mexico--what's it like?"

"Mexico, only newer."

That's a joke, and it's a terrible one.

He wants to see if she'll laugh.

She manages a laugh. However, it's pretty obviously fake, the sort of strained laugh you give when someone just made a really bad joke.

"That was terrible." Said with a smile on her face, of course.

"I know."

Saul's smiling, too, but after he takes a sip from his glass, his expression changes. It's not quite serious, but it's clear that he's lost some patience for whatever game it is they're trying to play with each other.

Enough, in fact, to just come right out and ask: "Alright, Freddie. What do you want?"

That was more like it. Cutting the bullshit, cutting the small talk, getting straight into the nitty gritty. She took a dainty little sip of her drink.

"I write a blog that focuses on the...less savory aspects of life. Specifically murder." Murder and a lot of other things. "What I want is that no matter what, if you decide to be a lawyer or stay as a judge, we can manage to work out some sort of quid pro quo arrangement."

"Such as?"

There's no denying she has his attention; he's just not sure what it is, exactly, she's offering. He's not even sure she has that much to offer. Does she have pull? Influence in the community?

Because it looks a lot like people don't see her in very favorable light.

Then again, he knows from experience that opinions like that usually don't mean shit, and people lead double lives all the time.

"Such as leaving me alone should you return to the courtroom." She didn't need lawyers in her business. She didn't need lawyers bothering her period.

"Unless I want you to, of course. You can imagine that someone in my position would need a lot of legal aid depending on the circumstances."

"Those things might be doable."

He takes a sip from his drink, pausing for dramatic effect. There's going to be a catch — she must know that.

"Depending on the circumstances, as you so put it. I.E., can you afford my services?"

"Would I have asked if I couldn't?" Her financial state was...mixed, at the moment. But Freddie was still fairly certain she could afford his help if something were to happen--but only once or twice. Which honestly, was part of the reason why she was talking to Saul right now, in an attempt to cozy up to him a bit more.

She might've. God knows others have.

Saul presses his lips together and studies her for a moment. She could be completely full of shit, which wouldn't surprise him — she doesn't even know what his usual going rates are, and she certainly has no idea how he inflates them depending on the person and their situation.

It's then that something occurs to him, and he sits up a bit straighter.

"Okay, let's make a deal. You need me in court, we'll work out costs then. But as far as keeping my nose out of your business is concerned — I'll do it, only if you give me information."

Freddie purses her lips a little bit, taking a sip of her drink. Information. Great. This had the potential to go sour super fast. On the other hand, the lawyer was new. He could ask something that's common knowledge.

"What information do you want?"

"Nothing right now, but should I need it..."

He trails off there, taking a pensive sip of his own drink.

"Let's put it this way: I haven't agreed to stay out of anyone else's business."

Oh that gets a nasty little smirk of her own.

"Consider it a deal."

"It's not a deal 'til we shake on it."

Saul sets his glass down and offers his hand. Shake, new friend?

She sets her glass down as well and takes his hand, shaking it with a firm grip. Shake. And better to shake on it than any other methods of displaying their deal.

He returns the shake with an equally firm grip and a smile on his face that's pleased and smug and would probably be unpleasant to any upstanding citizen.

"I think we're gonna be pals, you and me."

"Oh, definitely," said with a smile that's half parts tense and half parts fake. After the handshake, Freddie goes straight to her drink, taking a little sip of it.

"After all, it never hurts to have back-up on things."

"One of my many mottos, that."

Along with bits of timeless wisdom like don't ever use the word "murder".

"Y'know what? In honor of this new business deal, let me get the next round, too."

"Aw, really? How sweet of you." And sweet, free drink. "I'll have the same as the last drink."

Saul laughs. He can't put his finger on why, but he likes her — and it's not just the red hair.

"Hey, don't sound so surprised. I can be sweet sometimes."

Not often, but sometimes. He finishes off the last swig of his own drink and rises, gliding bar-ward without glancing back.

As Saul finishes his off, Freddie takes one last drag on hers, finishing it off as well. She sits and waits patiently for him to return from the bar, pulling our her phone and fiddling with it slightly as she does so.

By the time Saul makes it back to her with their drinks, he has a whole 'nother line of conversation in mind. Now that the business side of things has been taken care of, it's time to get personal.

Sort of.

"So," he says, handing her her glass, "Roommates, huh?"

"Apparently," Freddie remarked, with a little shrug and a smile. Taking her drink, she took a small little sip of it. "I'm a pretty good roomie--just don't mess with my stuff." Of which she had a lot. God bless Saul when he first saw one of the bathrooms, Freddie's cosmetics seemed to be trying to seize a takeover of the counter space.

"Cross my heart, I won't mess with your stuff."

Except he might wind up moving it out of the way, eventually.

"I learned that lesson with my first wife."

"First wife?" Now that was a story she wanted to hear. "Are you divorced?"

"Thrice divorced."

ELIGIBLE BACHELOR RIGHT HERE, FREDDIE. COME AND GET IT.

He smiles, a bit rueful.

Oh my God, thrice divorced, this man had no taste.

Still, Freddie's got that same tight smile on her face. "Never been married myself. Got any tips for when I find the right one?"

Oh, sweet summer child. That's not the kind of question you want to ask Saul.

His smile changes just slightly — the corners of his mouth twitch, his teeth are a little more visible. It almost looks mean.

"You won't."

Aaaaand denied. Freddie continued with her fake smile, though her eyes were pure deer in the headlights. Wow. She fucked up. She fucked up bad.

"Good for me, I suppose. Unsurprisingly, telling people you take photographs of murders tends to put off potential dates." Look at that potential hook, Saul. Please grab it and get them out of this conversation.

There's a hook, but Saul's not sure he's seeing quite the same bait she is.

"No luck with those niche dating sites, eh?"

Don't choke on your drink, don't choke on your drink, don't choke on your drink.

"More like no luck with people when I tell them my profession is a crime blogger."

"No? Huh."

He rests his chin on his hand. It looks like he's mulling that over, like something about what she just said doesn't make sense.

"I mean, if you told them you were a criminal, it'd be one thing, but — I dunno, crime blogger seems pretty tame to me. Then again, crime is kind of my thing, so..."

Trailing off, he sits back up and shrugs.

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