#shan.

Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Shan watched her prey with keen eyes. It took her a while to find him, but she was patient. In her line of work, patience was everything. It wasn’t enough that she could gather all the relevant information she needed. It wasn’t enough that she found out where they lived or at least where they usually were, places they frequented, jobs they needed to go to, etcetera etcetera. It wasn’t enough that she knew their strengths and weaknesses, how to take them down if need be, what strategies to employ to make sure they wouldn’t be the last. At the end of the day, she had to make sure not to spook her quarry. The hunt doesn’t always have to end in blood. Theirs or hers. 

Despite all that, Shan admitted to herself, as she continued watching the man do some unnecessary volunteer work, that she in fact had yet to gather all the relevant information she needed. She knew the man lived somewhere in Harborside but he also had a lot of irregular jobs that none of them seemed vital enough to be scouted. All she knew was that he was someone interesting and that he was a volunteer. What kind of people volunteer this much? Sinners. Actual or not, all fueled by guilt. This man definitely reeked of guilt. But what kind? The one that directly leads to death? Or the one born from inaction, from regret? Hopefully not the one that leads to a fight… I just had my hair done.

His hands were dirty. In a metaphorical and literal sense, actual dirt lining his fingernails. The blood on his hands wasn’t there, at least not any more, but sometimes when he saw his hands from the corner of his eyes he swore it was there. Dripping, wet and slick and sticky. Samir ignored it, whenever such visions plagued him, and continued his work. It was better to dirty your hands in a community garden and to scrub them after, to try and just make something grow, keep it alive with touch, water and care. Weeding was meticulous, dull work — but it was what he thought he deserved, what he thought was best for him to do with those damned, bloody hands.

He was fatigued, truth be told. The blue moon had taken its toll. He’d awoken foggier than usual and when whispers of the last fight had reached him, it had become clear it was because of the tranquilizers they’d used on Razor. Worse were the whispers of what he’d done in that fight. Samir didn’t much care about the injuries he’d sustained, dealt with them he always did – quietly, messily – and now just did his side job. The one meant to cleanse his soul. (It wasn’t working so far.)  He glanced up, at some point, his hands itching from the weeds. There was a woman there, and he offered a smile, a small nod of his head.

Shan returned the man’s smile with one of her own. Despite the fact that he was looking a little tired and dirty, the selkie still thought he seemed…tasty. Most likely not the appropriate word but close enough. She wondered how ‘dirty’ he could truly be, unintentionally biting her lower lip. Or maybe it was intentional? It was hard to know these days, especially in her line of work. What she does know is that the smiles exchanged between them was just the opportunity she needed to broach the unfamiliarity that distanced their pair. “Hello, handsome,” she purred. Almost literally. Thank the heavens she wasn’t a cartoon wolf. ‘Awooga’ was a bad first line. “How’s the weather down there?” Not a better first line but it should do.

“Call me Aika,” she tried to give him her hand. Like an old-timey lady. From an era mostly forgotten. Unlike his, hers was clean and dainty, as if it had never seen any semblance of hard work. Perhaps not in the context of every day blue collar experiences, but make no mistake Shan’s hands have seen more hard work than they let on. If you ever get to know what she means. Once he was close enough, she’d whisper softly to him, so just the two of them would hear her. And also lure him in with her scent, with an implied intimate sensation. 

“I think you may need my help, and I just so happen to be interested in some information you have,” Shan winked, despite the fact that she wasn’t even quite sure if she could help him with anything more than a few hours of delight. “In other words — you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours.” And maybe we can do more together.

People flitted in and out of the community center all of the time, so he was hardly suspicious of a new face joining the fray. Some of them didn’t want to speak, some of them did. Some just wanted to be like him, crouch down until their muscles soured and weed the community garden in the hopes it might also make their own life a little cleaner. When she called him handsome, though, Samir was a little surprised. “Hello,” he said in return, not tacking on any complimentary word in return. “Well enough. Little less humid, I guess.”

He got up when she held out her hand, though. Once upon a time he’d been taught to be polite, to have manners. Working with high-paying tourists had made him all the more mannered, if the situation asked for it. Still, his handshake was somewhat rough and clumsy, a representative of his person. “I’m Samir. Did you —” want to help?

But she told him what she wanted before he could finish his question, though he couldn’t say it was entirely clear to him what she was hinting to. He was taken back, for a moment, to the person who’d brought him into the Grit Pit. I can help. He wiped his hands on his jeans, shrugged. “Don’t know if you can help me. I don’t really need any help and, besides …” Another shrug. “I’m not sure what I have that I can give you. Maybe you can be a little more clear.” If he’d not been in the town he was in, with the things he’d seen, he’d think she was maybe a bit confused, lost in the head — but Samir knew better now.

He was not interested. At least that’s what Shan thought at first. But then again, everyone’s always a little bit interested. She justified his lack of a flattering response with the gardening and the location. Maybe he just didn’t hear her call him handsome. Maybe he was just too tired from all the hard work that he didn’t catch up on it. Maybe he just needed more subtle prodding, like an experienced fish waiting on the bait to move so that it may chase after it. 

At least he shook her hand. Rather clumsily, though. Maybe even a little too rough than most handshakes. Was he just awkward with these things? Maybe he just wasn’t getting enough compliments to make them a normal thing. Poor attractive manly man. “Samir? Do people call you Sam? Because I think I might prefer Samir more,” Shan gave him a quaint chuckle. She’s met more Sams than Samirs. It was like a breath of fresh air to her.

“Care to take a little walk with me then?” Shan’s offer was not meant to be necessary. Even if he didn’t care to take that walk with her, she’ll still continue the conversation. It wasn’t like she could afford not to. She was already here, and she already broached the subject. Might as well just swim into the current. “Your…job,” she kept the words as normal as possible. Just in case they had unwanted eavesdroppers around. “Not this one. I would like to hear about it, and then offer help with your…condition.” That word has never failed her in her line of work. At least not yet.

People called him Sam. His siblings had, friends back home, a large assortment of colleagues. Samir didn’t mind it. He minded it when people called him Sammy, which was a nickname more reserved for that family he didn’t speak to as often any more, those people out there across the country. “I prefer Samir as well,” he said, however, because he did. Especially with strangers. He didn’t mind friendliness, but he didn’t want to give the illusion that he was cool with people he barely knew using nicknames.

The stranger’s intentions remained unclear as she asked him for a walk and he wanted to just say no. He wanted to weed this garden, to feel as useful as the tools he used and like nothing more. Samir was ready to open his mouth and tell her that he was busy, that he had no interest in a walk — rejecting such a seemingly innocuous offer seemed almost cruel, but he was exhausted.

But then she went on. Job, she said. Condition. There was a tenseness gathering between his muscles, and he forced his jaw to remain slack. He’d been clear that he wanted a separation between Razor and Samir, that his human life should remain unaffected apart from the injuries he carried. And yet here a stranger was, hinting at things no stranger ought to know. “I don’t have any interest in a walk. Or telling you of my work — I’m a private person. And like I said, I don’t need any help.” He cleared his throat. “Where’d you hear about any of this shit, anyway? It’s … personal.”

Shan smiled. That’s one thing they had in common, and that’s one thing that should help this entire encounter sail smoothly. When an informant, well, informed her through a letter disguised as a bookmark in between the pages of a hardbound copy of Melinda Leigh’s Catch Her Death that someone ‘interesting’ was at the community center, she didn’t think much of it. When the same letter implied that this ‘interesting’ fellow was associated with a certain ‘location’ in a certain ‘neighborhood’ in town, she changed her mind. After all, she’s visited that same ‘neighborhood’ a lot, though she’s never done the same for that specific ‘location’ and thought the ‘interesting’ fellow a delicious means to a curious end. 

Rooting out the ‘interesting’ fellow in the sea of selfless (ugh) volunteers had been hard. Or at least Shan thought it should have been. But with the other candidates not as ‘interesting’ to her as this Samir, definitely not as capable of surviving that ‘location’ with their lives intact, there was no better option. Her instincts served her well. That defensiveness, that…determination for what’s private to remain private, and the curiosity to hunt down the disrespectful snitch, all of these things made her feel good about her choice. “If you change your mind,” she offered him a business card with nothing but a phone number underneath a drawn image of an orchid. “I’d like to be a friend.” 

“Some…of the rats in that…neighborhood can be a little chatty when their lives depend on it,” Shan shrugged, feigning disappointment at the aforementioned…rats. “Caught by the wrong people, their whispers could cost someone good and kind…” She gestured toward him with her eyes. “...their peace and even lives.” For some harmless information, harmless to him anyway, he could secure some needed…discretion. Or whatever else he wanted to trade.

Where there friendships that started off this way? Samir didn’t only doubt it, he knew it to be untrue. This was nothing if not something seedy, something born from some kind of underbelly — much like the Grit Pit itself, much like perhaps even werewolves. He took the business card all the same, though. If he was one thing, it was a survivor. He knew better than to spill his guts to this stranger, but he also knew better than to not take this small thing she offered him. A card that he could set on fire or recycle if he wished, or could save for future use.

Who knew, what tight corners he might end up in. Who knew. His position at the Pit was generally good, but it wasn’t a place of comfort or security. His contract wasn’t one that offered him many ways to go. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he said, though what he’d do with the memory of this interaction went unsaid. He didn’t quite know, after all.

He stared at the other as she lifted a veil, wanting to ask whether it was her who had put someone’s life in a situation where they’d felt inclined to talk. But Samir swallowed the question after he’d closed his mouth. “And would you describe yourself to be the wrong people? Are you telling me I should be worried about you … knowing what you think you know?” There was law enforcement, looking for a cause behind the trail of death he’d left in his wake, that had ended here. There were hunters. “Not saying you’re one of them rats, but you … talk to them, clearly.”

“Me? Oh, no,” Shan did her best impression of an uwu face. That usually worked, mostly because she never looked like she could pose a threat to anyone. Most of the time, that was true, especially on the surface. She wasn’t muscular, she looked dainty, and 10/10 times, she was light as a feather, easily tossed or thrown across the room. But the danger that she could be has never been physical. She has never dreamed of being a violent threat, knows she could never be one. Shan was more of a sinister threat, the kind that could strongarm the worst of people without even lifting a finger. “You’d be able to break my bones so easily, and not in a fun way.”

That was the truth. Shan didn’t think there was a need to lie about what was so easily seen. Compared to him, and most others, she was a flower. He could step on her, and if not in a fun way, she’d just wilt. “I’m more of a friend than an enemy. At least I’d like to be. You scratch my back, I scratch yours? That kind of deal,” she made sure to purr at him, which she wouldn’t have if she really knew what he was. But all Shan knew at the moment was he was a man working at a place he needed some information on. That was all she thought she needed to know. “The rats like to talk to me. Doesn’t mean I’m fond of them.” She looked him over, a playful smirk finding its way across her lips. “I’m more fond of making sure you live longer.”

Shan was a simple woman despite all the mystery and vagueness — amuse her and she’ll be on your side, but scorn her? What scorned person would remain by their scorner’s side? Only a victim would remain with their punisher, and Shan was no victim. At least not when there’s no fun benefit to it. “Are you married? With a girlfriend?” She fluttered closer toward him, a hand hovering above his chest.

She was small, sure, and not build like someone who was immensely strong — but Samir knew that didn’t have to mean much. Corinna didn’t look like someone who was physically intimidating, but she had plenty of dangerous creatures and men wrapped around her finger. Besides, information was worse than a punch to the gut or face. “I’m not asking if I could break your bones,” he pointed out. “I’m asking if I should worry about whatever you’re implying.” He wasn’t interested in violence, despite the ways he kept doling it out. Even as a human, there were people he’d hurt. Punches thrown in bar fights. A gunshot echoing against a hunter. He ignored the thoughts.

“I don’t usually make friends like this,” he said. “I still don’t see how you can scratch my back. Just hearing empty words. A vague threat. What is it you want?” Samir was growing agitated, nervous in a way he hadn’t been in quite some time. Rox had been charming, had seen an opportunity in his position as a wolf with no control — and though he was glad for the situation he was in now, as it was an improvement, he knew somewhere he’d been manipulated into it. “Why are you insinuating I might not live long?” He sounded more pressed now, showing his agitated hand. 

She inched closer, talking in a voice that he might have appreciated in another life, at another place, during another time. But Samir inched back. “I’m not interested. Just talk to me straight, will you? These games, it’s bullshit. What is it you want, what you’re offering? Or is it just this, talk?”

“A man of your condition,” Shan took a gamble, like she always does, believing more fighters at that place would have something that bound them to, well, that place. A condition would suffice. Why else would anyone want to work there when they could work elsewhere, a fight club or whatever that didn’t need to hide in the town’s shittiest neighborhood? The selkie didn’t believe that a normal, ordinary, every-day, condition-free man would ever associate with that place. How could she, when she’s never even stepped foot there, witnessed what kind of solace or freedom such a job offered? If she had, she’d most likely stay away from it. “...should always be worried.”

Shan shook her head, discreetly watching anyone else that might be watching them back. This was taking a long time, the negotiation. Usually, she’d have a foot in the door by now, or maybe even a flipper. If she was lucky, if her charms worked, she’d be sitting in a chair, sipping tea, in the new…associate’s psyche. But this man was different. Like he was actively resisting being tamed. If she wasn’t distracted by the possible, unseen dangers from the Pit, she would’ve considered that a very useful clue. 

“Information, Samir,” Shan stated plainly, eyes narrowed at random others around them. “...on your employer, interesting information…” When she turned her eyes back to him, she put on a smile, focusing on the possibilities of this would-be partnership. “...and in turn, I can get you any information you need any time you need it.” It was always a hard bargain. Unlike money or something else that was material, information wasn’t a treasure most people thought valuable. Until of course it bites them in the ass. “I can also deliver information to anyone you want any time you want. Full discretion, of course.”

That was true enough. And worry Samir did, albeit about different things these days than he had a year ago. He worried about the Grit Pit and what it said about him. He worried what it meant that he was an asset in their arsenal of twisted entertainment. He worried that maybe one day, he’d die in that pit and not even be conscious for it. But he no longer worried that he’d kill a random civilian, a tourist visiting the coast. “Yeah. Sure.”

What she wanted was for him to go behind the back of a fae who had so-called lesser creatures killed for entertainment and shock-value. He blinked at her, wondering why someone wanted information on the Grit Pit, what the intentions might be. Surely not something heroic and morally sound, that was for sure. And what did the woman have in return for his betrayal of his employer? Information. He shifted uncomfortably where he stood, but could at the same time barely resist a laugh.

“I don’t care about information. I know all I gotta know, you see.” Which was little, admittedly, but Samir thrived off his ignorance. Life was easier to lead with his head down in the sand. “My employer pays my bills, anyway. Don’t wanna mess with that.” And knowing Corinna, it wouldn’t just come with a warning, was he found out. He thought of the ways they treated Felix with a twisting feeling in his stomach. Ignorance made him feel heavy, too. “Tell you what. I’ll save your card, yeah? Keep it in my back pocket. And if I ever do need you, I’ll reach out.”

“That’s all I’m asking for, Samir,” Shan grinned. At least for now that was true. With someone on the inside, she could sleep soundly knowing that whatever’s going down there in the Pit, she would have a set of eyes she could call on. A bit of wishful thinking on her part may be, but it was all she had. At least for now. “Should things get…dicey on your end, for you, I should be able to help.” 

The word ‘should’ really needed an emphasis but the selkie intentionally made her tone neutral. ‘Could’ she? Of course. She’s done that before. With the exiled daughter and her hunter lover. Delivered them back home, safely, the daughter with her family’s crown and the hunter with whatever fondness she had for her adoptive home. ‘Would’ she? Now that was a bit more complicated. If Samir had useful information, why not? If Samir became useful information, that would be good, too.

“I’ll get going now,” Shan purred at him, a sly wink to emphasize their discrete…relationship, for lack of a better term. With her, most relationships aren't relationships per se. Just an uneasy alliance or a brief partnership. Very hard to make lasting bonds in her line of work. Very dangerous, too.