#daniel 001

While Quin was quietly relieved that the details of his episode after the gala hadn’t spread through the clan, he wasn’t going to pretend that he was going to be able to go out and drive his routes like normal without invoking some of those guaranteed protection clauses in his contract. 

That was where Daniel came in: a second set of eyes in the passenger seat (there was no way in hell he was going to let the man drive his car) while Quin completed the less predictable work for the night. Inviting someone he knew would be reporting back to Kali wasn’t something he liked very much, but while he couldn’t leave town, he’d rather have that than nothing.  

He could get most of his routine deliveries done alone, usually before midnight, but the extra work he was given, the stuff that was too delicate to be pushed off on the human couriers, that was what made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 

Passing through hunter territory to reach a meetup with a couple million in cash in a blood-stained duffle bag with the expectation of walking away with whatever magical knick-nack Kali had decided was worth getting brought to town and hand-delivered instead of using a postal service was one of those jobs.

He stopped the car, opening the door to lean out and get a better view of the mess of alleyways and too-small backroads that were not marked properly on the stupid map the person he was supposed to be making the exchange with had provided. They’d have to cross the rest of the way on foot. 

He cursed under his breath, ducking back into the car to address Daniel. “Did you bring any sort of weapon? Whoever set this up wants us to be walking, it feels like a trap.”

Bobbi had one goal when she stopped at the little music shop. Only one. And she'd allowed herself to get distracted by the assortment of vinyl records, casually flipping through them. She didn't need another one, she had to remind herself, but she liked them. Okay, it wasn't like she had a vast collection of records; she only owned five. But she was trying to be responsible with her money to finally move back out on her own and get out of Emery's hair. Admittedly, in the first handful of months she'd been living with him, she hadn't been as disciplined with her money as she prided herself in being in the past.

She didn't want to be complacent and rely on someone else's generosity for longer than she already has.

"God, it's a good thing I don't work for you," she said to Daniel, tearing herself away from the. "You'd be getting my entire paycheck back on payday. Anyways, got any staff paper? I realize I could just print my own, but that requires effort. My printer is a piece of shit."

Collect information. Easy to say, harder to do. Who on earth could tell a relevant conversation from something said without any connection to the murder, and something that might be the key to it all? There was some sort of performance he’d overheard the Kanoutes buzzing about, something about intrigue and courts. That had felt like enough to pass over to Kali on its own, but with the addition of the information he’d traded the hunter for, he wanted to get a little more substance to what he had. 

The space behind the stage was hectic and awful, performers and the people running things behind the scenes all moving about, the mess of conversations crossing between the show at hand and speculation about the murder. This was too many people. Far too many to get away with anything to sabotage the show, and far too many to overhear anything clearly. It was pointless.

He tried his best to look like he belonged there, leaning on some sort of cart as a performer passed by, barely sparing him a glance. Quin nodded in acknowledgement, straining to try to hear something, anything important, only to be met with the click, click, click of switches being flipped under the weight of his arm. Perhaps leaning on a cart that was clearly attached to some other machines was a bad idea. He pulled back, inspecting the damage. There was no way of knowing what switches he’d flipped and which ones were meant to be like that, and with so many things connected to it...

Not often did Grayson connect with someone or take them under his wing.  However, Daniel happened to be someone he saw potential in and he wanted to nourish that potential and see the man reach the skies with his ambition.  Also, it gets rather lonely at times being such a recluse since his incident and divorce.

Most would blame it on the military and in a way, they would be right.  However, it was the patriarch of the Smith family that instilled into his children that if you’re not ten minutes early, you’re late.  So, as always the werewolf reached the establishment The Lone Wolf early and found himself a seat before ordering a bourbon straight.

Once he noticed Daniel walk in, he offered a friend a smile and waved him over.  “How are you doing tonight?”

WHERE: The Beach

WHEN: End of Summer Beach Bash

"It's... it's not touchdown, bud," Ryder looked over at Danny as he cheered, trying his best to keep the smile off of his face. Granted, no, he knew that the other man clearly wasn't up on his sports and didn't actually have a clue what he was supposed to yell, but it was pretty amusing. And it wasn't as though Ryder really knew what he was supposed to yell during a volleyball game, either. He just knew it wasn't that. "Are you rooting for a specific team?"

“And he may have punched back, I take it,” Mac couldn’t help but reply, annoyance clearly lacing her voice as she pressed the ice pack down on his lip with a little more force, essentially shutting him up. She wasn’t a pacifist per se, not even by a long shot, really, but she’d never understood the need to lay your fist on someone just because they looked at you the wrong way or said something that kicked your ego. -- Not that she knew what had gone down; but she could fill in the blanks.

“You know you’re lucky I was just on my break, right? We’re not supposed to let trouble in the diner.” She raised her eyebrow as she said trouble, emphasizing it for dramatic effect, then slowly pulled away the ice pack to look at the busted lip. “Well,” she said, sighing softly, “it’s gonna look ugly for a few days, but I don’t think it needs stitches. Lips just always bleed much.” Not that she had any nursing experience, but back in New York she dated a guy who’d been into boxing, so she’d seen some fight-related injuries before. 

“Now,” she started, taking his hand up to his face to make him hold the ice pack, “I’m more than willing to sneak out a milkshake for you, take your mind off this, but not until you tell me just exactly what happened.” As if she had any authority over him, she stood up from the bench and put her hands on her hips while she waited for an answer, stealing a quick glance at her watch before her eyes landed on him again. Eleven more minutes before she’d have to get back inside.