Unintended Harbinger

@thereaganbyrne​

Owen has Reagan’s phone number in his contacts, mostly to tell her to come pick up her father when he spots him at Flanagan’s late at night. Occasionally he sends her photos of dogs he’s seen on social media.

They generally run into each other either at Flanagan’s or at One Police Plaza. The first meeting had been an accident as he had been searching for someone else, but lately he’s gotten into the habit of dropping by to say hello between jobs.

Owen’s contact photo for Reagan is that of a cinnamon roll he once had at Sunny Maria’s.

“Ah, I’m not really one for wishes nowadays. But if I was to really think about it…I think I’d wish for a way to pay back the people who helped me get to this point. Gran for taking me in and raising me by herself, Mister Barrett for giving me a way to make a living, Nova, Tatiana, Saria, Daniel. I might not have a glamourous life, but I have a good one, and those are the people I have to thank for that. “

( @novawells @alexandervbarrett @tcnechka @sariaxxyoung @danielincoln )

One Police Plaza was generally a place that Owen opted to avoid on most occasions, when he could. While he was normally an outstanding citizen by the majority of definitions, there was always that small snag about his side job that made his qualifications just a bit murky, and being remotely close to a police stations made him a bit paranoid about seeming guilty on sight. But Nova, who had been ever so helpful the past few weeks, had forgotten her purse and a few manila folders in the hallway as she was rushing out the door. He couldn’t leave her stranded like that. And so, plucking up his courage, he stepped foot into the frightening building and meandered his way into what he hoped was the Homicide Unit.

Unfortunately, Owen had been so remarkably good at avoiding One Police Plaza that he hadn’t the slightest clue about where he was going. As he stepped into a bustling office, purse in hand and looking thoroughly lost, he decided that now was as good a time as any to figure his way around. “Er, pardon me, Sir.” He approached the nearest desk, where a tall, but relatively friendly-looking bloke was currently sitting. “You wouldn’t happen to know if this is Homicide, would you? I’m ah, looking for Miss Wells and I think I might have missed a floor or something along those lines.”

The number of transactions occurring over the course of the past week was staggering, as was the amount of paperwork associated with it. It was baffling to Owen, to think that even the most questionable and shady runs had some degree of legal work associated with it. But it was also a relief, knowing that at least one of his deliveries as of late was something less harmful than firearms or contraband. 

He hadn’t often visited Charles Rothschild, given that he worked the legal side of things while Owen ran about as a messenger. However, since everyone else was busy trying to keep up with the influx of exchanges, it seemed only fair to the lot of them that he run this by the lawyer before the pile became too inconspicuous. 

He made his way to the lawyer’s office, a rather impressive and important-looking space, triple-checking that he had managed to bring everything along with him. “Oh er, excuse me, is Mister Rothschild in? I’ve got a few things, or well, a number of things for him to sign off of. Captain’s orders, I’m afraid.”

The Irish runner was just on his way back from a job, a backpack filled nearly to the brim with bills and god-knows-what-else slung over his shoulder. Owen had learned, quite early on after taking his Gran’s place in the organization, that some things were best left unknown, including knowing about whatever contraband goods that the Irish were looking to acquire. Not knowing what he was carrying made him anxious, but it also made him watchful; a key quality for a good mule.

He was just making his way past One Police Plaza, which was a bit of a bold move but also the quickest way to get home. But as he was walking by, he noticed a crowd gathering around something near the subway station. Curiosity got the better of him and he wandered closer, trying to take a look at whatever seemed to be fascinating them. Not quite thinking about it, he turned to the person beside him, the question escaping before he could really think twice about it. “Excuse me, but what’s all the fuss about? Haven’t seen a crowd like this in a while.”

Owen had just started his shift over at the library at the Melbourne Institute, pushing along a cart full of books to be returned to their proper shelves. He loved this part of the job, being paid to wander among the countless aisles of precious literature and occasionally spend a few minutes learning something new along the way. It was far more comforting than his more frequent line of work as of late, though the pay left much to be desired. Still, as his fingers carefully traced the spines of leatherbound texts containing all manner of scientific insight, he was grateful for the opportunity to still be within the proximity of a university at all.

He sorted the books on the shelves, careful not to damage the more fragile ones among them. As he pulled a rather large text out to make room for another, he spotted a familiar pair of eyes from the other side of the aisle. “Miss Reagan?” He bent down, looking at her inquisitively before offering a broad smile. “Fancy seeing you here! Looking for recommendations at all?”

Owen always did enjoy Chinatown, with its vast array of Asian cuisines, odd curiosities and lively atmosphere. So when his crew leader had mentioned needing someone to pick up a shipment from a tattoo parlour up that way, he had jumped at the opportunity to take a trip over, and perhaps make a few pit stops along the way. One short trip on the New York City subway and he was bombarded with new and interesting sights, sounds and smells.

Lǎohǔ Wénshēn was a lovely tattoo parlour by Owen’s standards. Spacious, with walls covered in intricate drawings that were likely sourced from the resident tattoo artists themselves. It was a far cry from some of the hole-in-the-wall shops he would occasionally pass by, exchanging bags of illicit goods in exchange for suitcases full of cash. It was eerily quiet too- when he had walked in, there wasn’t a soul in sight. Perhaps he had arrived far too early in the morning? Then why had the door been unlocked?

“Er, excuse me? Is there anyone here?” Owen approached the desk, frowning to see that the receptionist wasn’t around. It didn’t quite seem right to go poking about, but if Alex needed something from the Triad, he couldn’t dilly-dally that much. “I’m here about the thing! You know, the doohickey? Blimey, am I the only bloke around?“

If Owen had thought that business had been picking up with the Irish mafia before, it paled in comparison to the sudden influx of requests that came barreling in after the Golightly gala. His phone had been going off non-stop all day, so much so that he had been forced to call in sick at the library so he could drop off several unmarked packages to Harlem. Why, he was running himself positively ragged, but the opportunity to make enough to add to his dismal savings was one he had to take, for when his services were no longer such a hot commodity.

Yet looking at the absolutely outrageous number of bags, briefcases and purses before him, Owen had to admit that he was well in over his head. Luckily, he knew a bloke who could help.

The phone rung several times before Owen heard a faint click, shoulders sagging in relief. “Daniel, you wouldn’t happen to be near headquarters, would you? The boss has got a rush order, and I think an extra set of hands wouldn’t go amiss. Only if you’re free of course!”

The big birthday bash in The Garden Hotel had been quite the adventure, but at the end of the day, there was no place quite like Flanagan’s. Since the party had been interrupted early, and his grandmother was sound alseep none the wiser, Owen hopped back out for one last drink to even the night out. After all the fuss, it would be the only thing to help him get a proper sleep.

It wasn’t too much of a surprise to see the tavern scarce that night, when Owen was certain that most of its usual patrons were still trying to find their way home amidst the chaos from just a few hours prior. All the better for him, since that meant he had most of the bar to himself. Well, there was always Idris too, but that was a given. 

“Hello Idris, quiet evening tonight?” Owen smiled, locking eyes with the well-known bartender. Everyone in the Irish mafia knew him; hell, he was almost more recognizable than Alexander himself. After all, he was the man behind the Guinness pints most nights. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything on tap still, would you?”

Daniel nodded knowing he didn’t fit in at all. He sighed and looked around. “Yeah, we are definitely not the expected guest.” He chuckled letting his eyes wander around the room for a moment. “Yeah, definitely. I’m sure it’s got something to do with these diamonds I’ve heard about.” he shrugged grabbing up some more food, “I don’t know. Could just be something else.” Like what Angel had told him about. “I don’t blame him for wanting everyone here. If shit goes down he’s going to need a team.”

Owen was glad that Daniel offered some level of familiarity among the throngs of partygoers. He wasn’t precisely a good conversationalist with those he didn’t know, so his presence set him right at ease. “Well if we were talking probabilities, the likelihood of a multimillion dollar diamond in this vicinity would be something along the lines of-“ Gunshots interruped him, and Owen stiffened, his eyes immediately darting through the crowd to catch sight of Barrett. His stomach dropped with dread as he saw a flood of men in uniform surround the guests, closing in and shouting incoherently.

“Daniel, Alex is is trouble. We need to get him out of here right quick!”

Daniel liked Owen, they had similar personalities and that could be considered a bad combination to most but hey they had fun. “I think that tart looks suspicious honestly.” He said picking it up to stuff it in his mouth. “Yeah, definitely.” He nodded, “so is your plan laying low until something does happen, Owen? If it is I can definitely get behind that plan.” 

He nodded, “I mean if that tart was an indication, I’m sure she has good taste. I do think you are onto something about these desserts though. I think we hang around this table long enough we’ll hear something.” 

The runner laughed, looking out at the crowd as he thought about his partner’s question. “Yes, well, I don’t know about you, but I think it would be obvious right off the bat that we were a bit outside of the usual expected guests, don’t you think?“ Everyone he had observed so far all seemed to be familiar with one another. There were complex ecosystems of socialization going on, and Owen hadn’t the faintest idea of how to crack it without appearing like a blatant outsider. The thought made him pause in the snacking, if for a moment.

“Do you wonder why Mr. Barrett thought to bring us along? I mean, when you think about it, we stick out like sore thumbs. We’re not exactly the subtle sort, if you understand.“

Admittedly, Owen probably shouldn’t have accepted the mission to support the Irish mafia at the Golightly gala. He was a horrible spy, constantly getting distracted by all the exciting sights and attractions that he had never once seen before in his life. Even when he managed to somehow jump his way into a conversation, he seemed to have a remarkable talent for driving people away. All he had really gotten up to that point was that there was some super valuable diamond being worn that evening, and everyone wanted to get a look at it. Something along those lines, but nothing that he expected Mr. Barrett to be interested in.

He was in a bit of a quandry, puzzling over what sort of information his boss would prefer the most. The orchestra had just finished playing a slow ballad and was beginning to pick up the pace with a more lively tune; one that Owen faintly recognized. As he glanced over to the dance floor, curious, he thought he spotted his neighbour of all people among the guests. The runner blinked owlishly in surprise, taking off after her before he had much time to consider how he would explain his own attendance there. 

“Miss Wells! Fancy seeing you here! You look, um...wow.“ Owen trailed off a moment as he walked closer, fully taking in the navy dress with intricate gold beadwork and the way she had paid such careful attention to detail with each accessory. A familiar face among a sea of strangers felt like such an odd sort of relief, though this was a far cry from a passing ‘hello’ in the hallway of their apartment complex. “I’m sorry, I must have lost my train of thought. You’re stunning, truly. Marvelous party, isn’t it?”

Daniel raised a brow and shrugged as he listened to Owen go on about the food, a smile on his face the whole time. “Alright, I’m in and of course we should investigate but I don’t think the food will help us much.” He said turning around to face the people mingling amongst themselves. “That’s probably where we needed to be, but I’m pretty sure we can make something happen here too. If nothing else we can stuff our faces and watch and make sure nothing happens.”

“Oh I wouldn’t know about that. I mean, we’re just being thorough after all, investigating the desserts.“ Owen already had plans to ‘investigate’ the ballet troupe later that night. Given how expensive tickets to official dances were, it would be a welcome treat to see them perform in-person. He surreptitiously went after another tart, laughing at Daniel’s impeccable logic. “It’s an important job, you know. I mean, no action is still worth noting. Besides, there are dozens of us here. I’m certain that if something were to happen, it’s well taken care of long before we even hear of it.”

He wasn’t even sure what it was they were supposed to be looking into, really, aside from some talk about diamonds. Given how many were flashing about in the room, it seemed rather ridiculous to be on reconnaissance for them. “Whoever this Golightly person is, she does have good taste in pastries. That’s a reasonable takeaway from this event, don’t you think?”

@owwencavendish

Daniel saw Owen and for the first time that night he didn’t look quite as sad as he always did. He ran up patting the guy on the shoulder and pulling away from the dessert table, “You keep going like this and I won’t be able to keep you as a partner.” He chortled, before reaching around Owen to grab something for himself, “you also need to same some for the rest of us.”

Owen was, surprisingly, having quite the festive time at the gala. He had been so terribly nervous about the event all day that eating had completely slipped his mind until he was already on the subway to The Garden Hotel. But as soon as he had seen the vast array of foods from all manner of cuisines, well, he hadn’t seen anything quite so glorious ever. He had been in the middle of sampling the dessert table when he heard a familiar laugh behind him. “Daniel!“ Owen nearly choked on his cupcake in surprise, turning to look sheepishly at his partner. “Ah, well I, um...Couldn’t help myself. It’s just so good. Have you ever seen such small cheesecakes before? Ever? You have to try one.” He pointed to them, grinning broadly. “Oh and these mousse things! With the glazed berries! I mean, if we’re going to be here the night, we might as well eat now and, er, investigate, you know?”

TDR Event #1 - A Star is Born - Owen’s Outfit