Aligning himself with Daybreak has always been a matter of convenience. To give the illusion of being a part of something bigger, versus the vulnerability of standing alone.

At least that's how Jackson imagined it. Now that turf wars are ramping up, his policy of detached involvement may prove untenable. It's already saying a lot that Jackson's here, making his presence known, even if he's only here to rubberneck--

Jackson saunters next to Eames, back-slouched, hands tucked in his pockets, a stupid grin on that scruffy face. "Now, here's an idea," he raises an arm in front of him, like a conductor, "Trick 'em with a fake Tyrannosaurus Rex. It'll scare away humans and magical-folk alike."

Is Jackson joking? Who the hell knows with that cheeky grin.

He reaches into his pocket and snatches up a cigarette. "So what's the score now? Got money riding on this thing."