like an arrow piercing the earth

He let out an amused little exhale at Fin turning his own comment on him. He was waiting for him, if he was being loose with what waiting meant. Waiting for something to happen, for the night to give him a little more fun until he went home. 

He took another drink as Fin took his joking question seriously, pausing to play with an answer of his own to the reciprocation. “Sometimes. Mostly closer to the docks to ferry to the Isle for business.” Not the kind of business that had anything to do with the diner. “I don’t stop on the actual beach much. It's a shame, though. There’s a lot more worth seeing than I thought there’d be.” 

That could mean Fin, or it could mean the festival and the views. Honestly, he meant it all. He never let himself get the time to stop and do stuff like this, not when it was too easy to get caught up in everything else. This was a weirdly rare break. "You're from around here, right? Guessing from the accent."

“There is,” he said. He chose not to comment about business on the isle — that felt like the fastest way to make the encounter uncomfortable for both of them. “It’s really quite nice… cold, most of the time, but nice.”

It wasn’t uncommon for him to be out at night, after Olivia was put to sleep. Finlay worked late hours at least twice a week, keeping the agency door open for any nocturnal customers. Some leads could only be followed in the moonlight, too; a particularly successful night sometimes left him arriving home just in time to doze off at the breakfast table across from his daughter & aunt. And when Underground jobs required it, he’d run midnight errands. But time like this, just to himself, was a rare commodity. That had been a real change stepping into fatherhood. A real night out now meant setting work aside, ensuring everything was truly taken care of at home, and having some reason to take time for himself.

The morning dip seemed like a good idea about an hour ago. Very fun, very whimsy, even. Nice crowd, vendors setting up, hot coffee on the horizon? All he needs is a warm pastry and he's set.

Except...after frolicking in the sea, he stands at the edge of the surf, a shiver beginning to set in, and staring at the empty patch of sand where his things should be. No shirt, no towel, no shoes?

He knows exactly who the culprit is and he wonders what crime he's committed this time. Had it been the Love Island commentary? In his defense, not everyone has the discipline to explain six different interpersonal disasters over a pint. Had he taken his shirt off too often this week? Had he finished off her last bottle?

His list of possible offenses is endless, it seems, so he folds his arms over his chest and scans the shoreline for the nearest person. Warmth first, revenge later. "Morning!" he calls out, tries to hide the slight tremor because he's not a wimp. "I don't suppose you have any uh...clothes or anything to spare, do you? A towel? I'll pay you back, trust." His smile tightens painfully as another gust of wind hits him.

“Stay where I can see you, Livvy,” Finlay called, as his daughter ran back toward the edge of the tide. “And don’t go deeper than your ankles!”

All he heard in response was a delighted squeal as the water rushed over her feet, but she stayed at the edge of the water. It felt counter-intuitive to let her have time to roam, but she couldn’t build those skills if he was constantly at her side. She had floaties, he was watching her, and there were dozens of people on the beach. (She’s fine.)

He sat back on the towel, sipping at his coffee and gradually feeling the tiniest bit more alive. Even with the sun obscured by clouds, it was a lovely view from the beach…

A new voice interrupted this brief lull, and he looked over. Finlay ran through names and faces in his mind, until they clicked into place. (Avi Hassim; werewolf; formerly Cailleach, now… something else.) He wasn’t exactly keyed into the minutia of werewolf drama, having distanced himself from the Levenson’s already loose Perilune connection in the wake of his uncle’s death. Even so, it was hard to miss news of that magnitude, packless or not.

Molly smiled as Finlay brought the mugs to the desk. The morning after they first met she'd poured entirely too much creamer into her coffee and worried he might've thought she was a little insane. Why she was worried about that? She wasn't entirely sure. Now she added just a dash of creamer and stirred it slowly before taking a sip. Coffee tasted better in Scotland, but she still wasn't quite sure why.

"I love a little side project." Plus it was a break in the run of the mill tailoring projects she'd had at the shop lately. Despite being a very accomplished (and even award winning, but honestly Molly wasn't the kind of person to hold that over someone's head) seamstress, she'd still ended up with some of the more "boring" projects like simple alterations and whatnot at the shop. A couple of the women who had been more established on the island took the more complicated pieces. It made Molly feel like a teenager who was working in some kind of probationary period, but she had kept quiet about it so far. "And it's fun to cut into some of my more mundane tasks."

With another sip of her coffee she smiled at the thought of baked goods. "She wouldn't happen to know how to make chocolate babka, would she?" Molly asked. It was one of the only things she actually missed about New York City, even though the dessert was technically a European dessert. The irony, right? "I dream about ordering it from this little bakery that was right below one of our very first apartments in New York."

It was a touching gift. Finlay wasn’t in the habit of mentioning his daughter to people he slept with — easier to avoid that minefield of a conversation — but it’d frankly eased the morning-after awkwardness with Molly. She hadn’t seemed much the type for hookups, so it felt kinder to shift the focus instead of letting her dwell on the previous night’s choices. “At the tailoring place, yes? I can imagine you’d see a lot of the same work there.”

Chocolate babka. Finlay made a quick note of that and stuck it off to the side of his desk. He’d probably remember it when he got home, but with everything on his plate it was a safer bet to write it down. “Oh, she does, don’t worry. She’s been baking challah for decades. It’ll be from the hands of an expert.” There were baked goods at nearly every holiday he could remember, and probably long before he’d been around. Even when it had been just the two of them, when Finlay had fallen away from celebrating anything, that hadn’t stopped.

“That’s right, you said you’d been living there…”

(You need to be so careful right now, do not start talking about someone’s definitely-relationship-ending-related reasons for moving.)

Lucas wasn’t exactly drunk, but he was definitely a little bit buzzed when he’d finally stopped floating from group to group and sat down on the beach for a break. With so many of the chairs occupied, he was glad he’d thought ahead and brought a towel so he could sit on the beach without getting sand all over his clothes. He was laid out on his back, eyes almost shut, considering grabbing another drink before calling it a night when he heard the voice next to him.

Maybe that was why he wasn’t able to keep himself from smiling like he’d just won some kind of bet with himself when he suddenly went from alone to with someone. It had already been a pretty complete, pretty good day, and now there was more to keep him engaged. He sat up a little more, still reclined but now propped up on his elbows, looking at Fin. “And here I was, wondering when you were gonna show up.” 

Try not to sound so cocky.

What could he say? A couple drinks always made him a little happier to just flirt and mess around, and having someone show up when he’d given them a really clear way to avoid him was more than a little flattering. It didn’t need to actually go anywhere, not when the journey was always a good part of the fun. 

“Nice to see you were waiting for me.” This was only teasing — he knew the hunter had better things to do than wonder if he would show. But it was… nice, seeing Lucas’s face light up with a smile. Finlay could admit that much to himself. (Even if the joke is on you, not with.) He could catch enough of a scent of alcohol to know the man had had a few drinks. Nothing strong, though, just enough for an observant wolf at this close a range to pick up on.

He pulled the cardigan tighter around himself, keeping his cup close to his chest. Even if the energy here was flirtatious, in a small way, he preferred to not push the chance of even a small, accidental brush of contact. “Not often at this time of night,” he admitted, “but I do.” Belatedly, he realized the question might’ve been a joke, or at least rhetorical.

(It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to try that hard here.)

He laughed at Olivia’s proclamation. He’d say he didn’t envy Fin for getting stuck out in the cold water for hours, but that wouldn’t be completely true. Spending a few hours out on the water probably felt a lot more worth it with a kid who was so excited to just be there. 

“Maybe you will. I’ve got nothing solid planned after all of this.” He said, that stupid grin that always showed up when he was thinking of messing with someone already reaching his face. Probably not a good idea to play coy with a werewolf, but it was all in good fun. It wasn’t like that was going to go anywhere. Even without the werewolf stuff, Fin was the type who was really caught up in supernatural rights. Having a kid and having to live in a town full of hunters probably pushed him a little closer to neutrality, but neutral wasn’t the same as cool with getting slightly hit on by a hunter. “I’ll be on the south side of the beach. I heard that’s where most of the live music is getting set up.” 

Giving a specific location made it a little more deniable, though. Now if he ended up bumping into Fin at the bonfire, it’d feel a little more like he was sought out on purpose. That could be fun. 

They reached the front of the line, Lucas pulling out his wallet to pay as Fin ordered the drinks, stepping out of the line when they got them. He gave Angel a few more seconds of playing with the kid before he whistled, prompting her to lick Oliva’s face one last time before returning to his side with the sort of bounce in her step that made it clear she’d only gotten more energetic after getting to play with the toddler. 

(He’s got a nice smile…)

Finlay blinked, and gave Lucas a small smile back. “Yeah? We’ll see, then.” He wasn’t one for live music, really. It was… too loud, usually, and the experience was prone to being a sensory nightmare. But out on the beach was more informal and spread out, and… well, a part of him liked the idea of swinging by to see him. At least he’d have someone to see for certain while he was there.

“Thank you, again,” Finlay said, as he took the cups from the worker at the stand. Black coffee for him, and cocoa for Olivia. Olivia giggled as Angel licked her face, and tried to follow after the dog when she returned to Lucas’s side. Finlay leaned down and stopped her, putting the hand holding her cocoa against her shoulder. “Say goodbye, Livvy.”

She looked up at him, then over at Lucas. “Bye-bye!” She called, waving her little hand at him. “Bye doggy!”

He gave Lucas a nod. “See you around, Lucas.”

(It’s a shortened form of your name, that’s very normal and means absolutely nothing.)

He cracked the lid on the cocoa and blew on it as they walked back to their spot on the beach. “Did you have fun playing with Angel?” He asked her. She began eagerly talking about the dog as they walked, babbling about all the fun she had during their time in line; even getting her cocoa did little to slow her down as they sat, as she trailed into entirely different topics. There was hours of fun still to be had in the water, but he appreciated this short break here & now.

Where: Bhaegin Beach

When: The Morning Dip

As someone who was normally a towel and maybe a small tote kind of beach goer, the cooler, umbrella, and assortment of other bags Thera was trying to load out of her car onto herself was a new sort of challenge. But she thought herself a resourceful kind of person and as such if she balanced her water bottle on her pinky, loaded up her forearms with bags, and used the crook of her arm to balance the umbrella she was able to perfectly balance the provisions she had secured….as long as no one thought to offer to take anything off of her for fear it would all go crumbling to the floor.

As she walked down to the beach though and spotted her old friend and his adorable shark bedecked daughter, a smile bloomed onto her face. “Hey Fin,” she grinned as she started to set everything down next to their stake out on the beach, “I brought sandwiches from Cat’s and enough beverages to fuel a small army.” She thanked the balance for the fact her cooler from home had wheels.

“Thera!” He said, standing as fast as he could. He’d been taking a break from the water, sitting on a towel to watch Olivia play at the edge of the tide. “You are the best. Here, let me give you a hand, uhm—“ with what, he wasn’t quite sure. Everything seemed precariously balanced in her arms. He glanced back up out at the water — he may as well grab Olivia so she could say hi to her aunt.

(Shit, where did she go??)

That worry was crushed as his daughter ran full force at Thera’s legs, with an excited squeal of, “Aun’ Thera!!” Finlay winced, but thankfully she took it in stride. Olivia hugged onto her legs. “Aun’ Thera, hiiiiiii, hi, are you swimmin’? I been swimmin’! The water’s coldddddd.”

She listened to him as he detailed his contract and rates. “The standard I’ve used with previous investigators has been a yearly contract, with check-ins every three months. You can send the contract over as soon as possible.” 

It was a relief, just hearing the words I’ll look for him. That was the service rendered. She knew the likelihood of new information was low, but having someone out there trying to find it helped ease whatever urge she might have to go do it herself. 

A year. This was a once-in-a-blue-moon type of contract — a very promising payday. There would be plenty of work for that money, but even a year of consistent income was a year he had to worry a little less. Finlay took down some quick notes about the contract details. “Will do. I’ll be in touch with that very soon. Would you like it directly, or is there someone I should send it to?” While this was a personal-sounding venture, high-level figures like Chiara tended to have legal representation, or secretaries, or someone to handle the fine print.

Her ensuing warning was… concerning, but appreciated. Anything touching the fae realm was risky business. Even using his contacts, there was no guarantee of his safety if his investigations crossed over between worlds.

(Then again, you didn’t get into this field for its safety ratings.)

“I understand,” he said, with a small nod. A difficult case would be even harder when it came to finding the safest way to approach the possible entanglements with the courts. “There’s no work without risks.” He was curious where the fae connection had come from — but as much as he wanted to start picking apart the details of this new mystery, he had to take care of the business logistics first. “Obviously, there’s no way to get information without someone noticing, but I’ll be as inconspicuous as I can. I wouldn’t want to cause any issues for you on the council."

She had just finished smoothing the fur of a vintage stole draped over a mannequin when the first guests since lunch arrived—a bespectacled man sporting a sling that cradled a young girl who was in that deep, boneless sort of sleep that surely came from a morning spent frolicking in the waves. A small smile touched Aldora's lips. She had never had children of her own—nor did she desire any—but she had always been fond of them. So often bright-eyed and curious, and unafraid to say what was truly on their minds.

"Welcome," she greeted softly, mindful not to wake the sleeping child.

She watched as the man began examining the little trinkets, seemingly lost in thought for a few moments before her greeting finally registered. He blinked as though he too had just resurfaced from the waves. A soft huff of laughter escaped Aldora's lips.

“Oh. I’m just browsing,” he said. “I’m, uhm… not much of a decorator. Or collector.” His taste in design often came off as impersonal — he often just said he didn’t care about those things, but that wasn’t quite true. Colorblindness was a (particularly frustrating) factor in it; what looked good to him often didn’t work for others. He also just didn’t see things in his head the way some people claimed to think. It was hard to describe what he wanted until he saw it. Practicality was another factor entirely — if something didn’t work, he didn’t care how nice it looked, and it too often frustrated him to deal with incompetent design in favor of aesthetics.

“Oh, yeah? Gonna keep him out there til the end of the dip?” He asked Olivia, before looking back to Fin. “Cold water’s a decent wake-up, but cliff-diving is where most of the fun is for the festival. I don’t like doing a lot of standing around, and sticking around in the water’s no fun without more people I know out there. I’d still be in the water, but I gotta get Angel home. It’s enough of a fight getting her out of the water one time, and I’m not looking to be stuck out there for the next few hours to do it again.”

“Besides, I’m already walking around half deaf without my processors.” He tapped the side of his head, behind his ear where his speech processors would usually sit. There was that little voice in the back of his head, something about not telegraphing his weaknesses to a werewolf, but he ignored that. “I keep meaning to dish out some cash for the waterproof ones, but I keep forgetting, so sorry if I don’t pick up everything you’re saying.” 

He’d intended to dry off, swing back home to drop Angel off and pick up his speech processors, and head right back without anything delaying him, but standing around in this line wasn’t so bad. Angel was having a good time, with an excited toddler continuing to match her energy and shower her with gleeful attention, and it wasn’t that he disliked Fin. The guy was one of the few supernaturals who knew that it was a hunter-owned business and still came in pretty regularly without going around telling people. 

He really didn’t want to think about what might happen if too many people went around cutting off all of the diner’s goodwill with their main customer base. It would probably make his tendency to give out free stuff look like a tiny little dent next to the huge hit that it would make to basically everything he’d worked to build in this town. Someone who clearly worked to build their own little web of supernatural connections keeping that little secret wasn’t completely meaningless. 

“Are you planning on sticking around for the rest of the festival after the dip, or is the swim gonna be the end of it for you? Looks like they’re gonna have some nice stuff out at the market today.” He moved forwards with the line, almost at the front now. “I’m gonna be coming back for the bonfire, later.” 

“YES!” Olivia responded. It was the longest response she could muster in the midst of playing with the dog. Finlay didn’t hover, but he made sure she wasn’t being too rough with Angel — he wasn’t sure if she’d ever have any werewolf strength, or if she had the toddler equivalent already, but things could easily get out of hand if she wasn’t careful. They both seemed to be having a good time, though, and any playtime counted when it came to wearing her out.

Finlay nodded at the man’s point. Not that he’d ever be hurling himself off a cliff, but it had to be fun on some level to be this beloved of a tradition. “I get it. Better to get her home now while you have her out of the water.” His eyes flicked around, following the hunter’s gesturing. He hadn’t noticed they were missing; but then, he was more worried about keeping track of Olivia than he was at winning the observations game. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind repeating things, if it’s needed.”

He didn’t make a habit of letting himself relax around hunters, especially with his daughter present. It’d taken some time & serious investigation for him to visit as a customer for the first time, laying a foundation before setting foot inside with his sweet, oblivious daughter. He still kept his guard up more than his typical father-keeping-an-eye-out, but… the diner wasn’t a dangerous spot for supernaturals, and it was a safe spot for humans. With all the real harm happening throughout the city, it was a bit of a relief.

“No, we’re probably going to leave after lunch,” he said. “I think she’ll be ready for a nap by then, and I should get some work done today.” He didn’t need to head into the agency office, at least; the office at home would more than suffice. They stepped forward in line. “I…”

(You don’t have to be so forthright with a hunter. Why are you telling him anything?)

“I was planning on coming back for that,” he said. “After I put her to bed. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

She didn’t relax at that, but a degree of tension eased out of her jaw as she set the file down on his desk, opening it.

There was almost a century of documentation within. Along with a number of printouts, there was a manilla folder containing labeled USB sticks with digitized versions of the papers and information that was too important to keep only in physical form. She produced a piece of paper, a photocopy of a photocopy of a photograph of a daguerreotype that had long had the chemicals in the ink break it down into nothing. It was a stiff photograph, the trend of smiling in them not yet reaching her family when her father had dragged her mother from her sickbed to make them all pose for the portrait. 

“This is Christopher Rose. My twin brother. And this...” She opened the manilla folder, shaking it slightly to reveal the various drives. “Is all the information that the previous detectives I’ve hired have been able to collect on the circumstances under which he disappeared entirely, in 1859.”

She gave him a moment to flip through the other papers in the folder, copies accounts from the household staff, her own frenzied writings on every detail she could remember from that day in the following months, when she’d been convinced her father had somehow spirited him away in the middle of the night. It was a lot of information, but never enough to truly find an answer to what had been lost. 

“I understand that this is unorthodox, finding a missing person from so long ago, but I want to make it clear that I don’t expect you to actually find him.” She’d not given up on hope that he was still alive, of course. It was part of what had anchored her to this city, what made the prospect of leaving so unthinkable. “I just want to know what happened. I need to know what happened.”

The timeline made for the challenge, here. Finding a person’s movements over the last year alone could be hours and hours of fruitless investigation; this was asking him to find a trail over the last century and a half. This should be something downright impossible. Her own elaboration, as he carefully flipped through the stack of documents now before him, didn’t inspire hope.

- Missing since 1859. - Twin brother of one of the most powerful people in this city, one with countless resources and manpower at her fingertips, and who hadn’t found him yet. - The work of at least a half-dozen detectives in his hands, all with no real success and no real reason as to why he’d be any better than them.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll look for him.” This was a case of a magnitude difficult to process. He’d conducted open-ended investigations before, but nothing had ever loomed with as much work as this threatened. “For… cases like this, my default is to keep you updated on a quarterly basis with any new information. If something urgent comes up, that of course will be communicated as soon as possible.” That was more of a formality — he hardly expected anything drastic to come up over the course of this investigation. “That can be adjusted, if you’d prefer more or less frequent updates.”

(You are taking on a certain failure.)

He took a sip of his coffee. “For something like this, I typically work on retainer. That guarantees you dedicated time for your case. At the conclusion of the retainer’s timeframe, you’ll be billed for any extra hours spent over that agreed-upon number of hours, or refunded for any unused portions. They typically cover six to twelve months at a time—“

(She absolutely knows what a retainer is, why are you explaining this?)

Morgan nodded with a big smile. "So many." Then her eyes flickered up to Finlay and she whispered, "Guess I'm not gonna tell her how many I am."

She wondered if Fin was also a single parent, but she didn't want to presume too much. There were many reasons and circumstances under which one could be so -- and seeing as this was the first time Morgan was even encountering Olivia, she didn't want to immediately overstep any boundaries.

The girl's interaction with Star was sweet, and the dog gave tiny hands a curious lick. "Good girl, Star," Morgan affirmed. She smiled and nodded at the man, and then looked over in the direction where Charlie seemed to be wrapping up. She caught her daughter's eye and signed a quick [Ready for lunch? Let's explore the market.] before turning back.

"Yeah, she has a real passion for it. Kind of doing everything herself -- scripts, filming, editing. Who knows if she'll specialize in just one area when she grows up, but I figure I'll encourage it all until she figures out her direction." She laughed and added, "Some parents listen to Mozart when they're pregnant -- I watched a little too much John Carpenter instead."

He let out a soft exhale of a laugh at that. “I made the mistake of trying to explain how old Granny is last month. I think she’s past the confusion now, but it’ll be a bit before we come back to numbers past ten.” There was a razor-thin line between full honesty and truth at a level Olivia could process, and he was always having to recalibrate exactly where that boundary lay.

With his work, Underground duties, and family, Finlay didn’t look too deeply into people once they cleared the human check. He didn’t recall seeing a potential spouse or partner around the pub, but he wasn’t too clear on much about her or her family.

Olivia was, at least, calm enough now to just pet Star, laughing in delight when the dog licked her hands. (Now, if she can just avoid sticking her hands in her mouth between now and when I get her to wash them for lunch…)

Not that Shiv was hunting today, of course. Not in the traditional sense, at least.

Between other errands and rendezvous, Shiv had been observing Lone Wolf's doors for the past couple months. He had done nothing drastic by any means, simply counting the different faces coming in and out on the daily. It's a shockingly high number of clientele. So much so that it would be a statistical wonder if at least 10-15% of that clientele weren't of supernatural nature. It wouldn't hurt to have 10-15% more intel in the Order's books. The odds of soliciting cooperation out of this detective were slim to none but he might as well try. You miss all the shots you don't take.

"Ah, thank you. Please, take your time. I'm in no rush." Shiv got comfortable in the seat across the desk. Pulling back his mist-soaked hood, he rested one leg over the other. His eyes wandered over the office. It's cute, quaint, and appears perfectly legitimate. "I know curiosity killed the cat but you run a curious business. You see, I've been meaning to inquire on a professional matter for quite some time."

"Apologies. I just want to make sure I'm in the right place -- What does your agency do exactly? Private investigating, sure. Though I doubt your services are as big and dramatic as the movies, yeah?"

The first line of thought to run through his mind upon seeing the face of a representative of the Order was of reassurance. (I have a will. I have a plan of care in place in case something happens. I told my daughter I love her before I left the house today.)

The second was a bit more practical. (The gun in the desk is loaded and operational.)

Finlay gave the hunter a small nod and, as the coffee maker growled to a halt, poured his cup of coffee. Common courtesy would be to offer a drink to his visitor, but he didn’t want to encourage this one to stick around any longer than strictly necessary. He just returned silently to the desk, settling down in his chair before taking a sip.

As he listened to the hunter speak, Finlay had to wonder how much of this speech was for appearances. He would never put himself in a situation like this unless he knew what he was walking into & who he was walking in to see, or unless he was incredibly desperate... and he seriously doubted this hunter was coming in blind. (They’ve got to have some sort of file on me, don’t they?) Hearing the agency called a curious business only grew his suspicions.

“It’s called fiction for a reason,” he said. “Investigating is usually more about the little, boring things.” Finlay slid a regular business card off the small stack on his desk and pushed it across the table to him. “I offer a lot of standard services: background checks, investigating infidelity and fraud, locating missing persons, and collecting evidence on behalf of law firms. It’s not a strict menu, though. If there’s something I can investigate, I’ll take on more atypical cases."