undergrounds | James and the Terrible, No Good, Rotten Day (OPEN)

A) Pre-trial

This trial could - in fact - go die in a fire as far as James was concerned. A month ago he was slightly excited to be defending a vampire in human court -something he would have never pictured himself doing. Now? He really hoped this asshole would just get staked in his cell and save James the trouble of doing this. He was going to lose, obviously. This was just about negotiating how long it'd be till he got out again. And the vampire had money to spare. And influence thanks to his age.

The fact that he was a serial killer was practically a footnote. He'd be out in a year or even less if he coughed up enough bail.

He had been cooped up in his own home trying to prep for this. The client, Stephan Alkaev, kept changing his mind on exactly what his demands were - James suspected it was just to see how far he could push him. While James didn't mind defending a vampire, his client wasn't exactly thrilled that a werewolf was defending him. He did anything in his power to irritated James.

God, just thinking about Alkaev's stupid smug face was enough to make him push away the noodles he was working on. James had found a Chinese place that was open 24/7 and, in a desperate bid for a change of pace the night before the trial date, he took the folder of material he wanted to review and ordered as much as he could fit onto the small table he had been seated at.

B) Day of Trial

There were a lot of cameras and press around. It wasn't anything new. This was a high profile event. He killed a lot of people's daughters. Of course there would be outrage. The crowd was practically frothing behind the barricades though and James tried to keep himself from making eye contact with anyone, just to avoid egging someone on accidentally.

His client couldn't get enough of it though. He walked to the steps of the courthouse with his head held high. James hoped he could shut him up in time if he decided he was going to talk about the supernatural community on national television, or make a case for the insanity plea. Anything. He had only mentioned telling the world once. Just once and never again but that didn't keep him from worrying about it.

He hadn't said a single word to the man today aside from the perfunctory 'Good morning, Mr. Alkaev' lest he tell him to go fuck himself. He kept up the pace with him as he went up the steps when suddenly there was a loud pop of noise like someone let a firecracker go off nearby and then

Blood was everywhere. He could smell it. On him, all over Alkaev and - there was a hole in the left side of his face the size of a golf ball. People were screaming and ducking and James was frozen and lucky he wasn't wearing any Moonlight jewelry today or he might have popped some claws and fangs out of fear.

C) In Shock

Shot through the head. Sniper perched on the parking garage across the courtyard. Cameras had been disabled. Only evidence is the weapon in question. An old fashioned gun. Something that should be impossible by human eyes.

That's what the police were saying. James didn't mean to listen but he couldn't keep himself from hearing. Not right now, sitting on the edge of an ambulance with a shock blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a child.

He still had blood spattered all over his face and suit. He hadn't even noticed. The only thought going through his mind was that this was a hit. Someone had Alkaev killed.

And it had been a message.

D) At Scotland Yard - for Lord Coward

Sitting in a spartan room being interrogated by the police after his client's gruesome death was not what James wanted to be doing this evening. And yet, here he was, wearing some bizarre scrubs in lieu of his bloodied clothing staring at a cup of lukewarm shit tea waiting for the next officer to come inside and either tell him he's being further detained or if he can go home.

Really, it's not ideal. He was tempted to ask for an attorney to do the talking for him - he hadn't said much beyond he had no idea what happened. A lot of people wanted Alkaev dead. Personally he wasn't going to miss the man too much, and it was probably a mistake to say as much to the police.

He thought being in shock was a good excuse for his filter disappearing.

E) Home

After finally being released by Coward, James took his clothes in a plastic bag and got a cab home. Rather an uneventful day's end for the insanity it began with. He wants to eat something disgusting, take a hot shower and crawl in bed for a few days to just sleep but he knows he's going to have to call into the office in the morning before work actually starts, tell the front desk he isn't going to be coming in today for obvious reasons and go to the police station to issue a real statement.

At least the full moon isn't coming for another ten days, but ten days is enough to start feeling the pressure of looking human again.

James comes home to a dark and cold loft. It's extremely unappealing and he looks at his phone with a bit of longing before thinking better. He wouldn't be any fun right now if he called Skip and she'd more than likely leave after ten minutes which would make him feel more like crap than he did already.

What a mess.

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Childermass was not technically supposed to be there, in the midst of a crime scene, but he has his ways of getting about. He has his ways of getting about a place, whether he is wanted there or not. Ways of keeping himself from being noticed until such a time as he cares to be, and so it is that Childermass makes his way through the scene now, taking in the story of what happened and the business of the people around him, before he stands by James. A familiar face, even if it takes him a moment to place him, from the coffee shop. A lawyer, is he? Indeed...

"I keep running into you under circumstances perhaps less than ideal," Childermass drawls at him. The moment he speaks, the spell used to keep him dissolved into the background of the scenery, as white noise, should fade. Not so much as though he had just appeared out of nowhere, but certainly as though he had been there all along and James had simply not recognized that fact before now.

He takes in the sight of him, perched on the edge of the ambulance, covered in blood, with the blanket tucked around his shoulders, before saying simply, "You look a mess."

James jumps in perhaps the most undignified and human manner he possibly could at that moment. No one takes a second glance, thinking that the poor man is simply trying to process what has happened.

When Childermass materializes in front of him - James' surprise fades and he looks less than happy to see the man.

"Yes, we should do something about that," he drawls, wrapping the blanket on his shoulders tighter.

"What are you doing here?"

It's a good question to ask. Childermass just shrugs. "Drew quite the crowd," is what he says instead. "Every man and his dog wanted to get a look at what was going on, a scene like this." It's an explanation enough, although it's probably not the explanation that James was looking for.

"You were the lawyer," he says. "Defending that man." He nods to the crime scene in front of them, where the police are currently working to secure the scene and clean things up, as it were. He glances back to him again. "The vampire."

"Astute observation," he says dryly.

He can't help the bite to his words. At this point he's given up trying because there is no way today is going to try and keep himself from being an asshole right now - he thinks he's earned it.

"Is there a point you're trying to make?"

Childermass shrugs slightly. He had wandered in to see what was going on. It had been a commotion, and he had been curious. He doesn't mean to be malicious, but any little piece of information that he can collect is relevant in the long run.

"Catching my bearings," he explains. "And trying to figure out where you fit in to all of this." And by that, it's clear that he doesn't just mean the scene around them, but in the supernatural underground besides.

If he could James would find the energy to grin and encourage Childermass to guess himself. As it is, he's in no mood to explain himself. But the man isn't beating around the bush enough for James to be instantly fed up with him so he sighs wearily and asks:

"What do you want to know?

Hoping for specificity.

Childermass appreciates the other man's directness, even if he was forced to annoy him in order to get to this point. For all that he does enjoy a good game of words and dancing around the point, a straightforward conversation definitely has its merits.

"You name, for a starter," Childermass asks, shifting on his feet and sticking his hands in the pockets of his coat. "What you're doing, working with the likes of him. Was it just a job?" he asks, tilting his head at the other man, giving him a straight look.

"James." His name would be released in the press shortly after this conversation. It wasn't really something he was worried about handing out, but he wasn't a great fan of answering questions anymore.

"And I don't make it habit of defending vampires."

Literal vampires. He defended plenty of bloodsuckers but this case was slapped onto his desk without so much as a 'Do you want to take this?'

Most work was.

"Anything else?"

Childermass recognizes that he's overstayed his welcome. That he did so practically from the moment he opened his mouth to converse with the other man. But it hardly bothers him one way or the other. No doubt he's been questioned a lot already. No doubt he's trying to shock him with the use of the word vampire. Childermass is hardly moved. He can sense that there is something other about this person. James, he said his name was. Not a vampire though, no. Metahuman? Certainly not fae. Hmm, he could be a werewolf, then. Childermass has hardly had experience with the wolves.

"James, then," he responds to the other man. "A word of advice, then. I'd take care to involve yourself with better folk, James," Childermass continues. "Ones less likely to keep getting you into this kind of trouble."

James bites his tongue, unwilling to say that his job dictates his clients - not his politics. It's something he's had to repeat ad infinitum all afternoon and evening. By now he feels like a child woken from a pleasant nap: cranky, exhausted and confused. All of which lead to him snapping irritably.

He at least, makes a token effort to sound less peeved and more just tired when he replies.

"I'll get right on that, my friend."

Childermass hums slightly under his breath, aware that he's far outstayed his welcome at this point, but that the other man has up until this point still managed to be polite, even despite himself. He tips his head at James in turn.

"Well, I will not keep troubling you, sir," he tells him. "See to it that you take care of yourself. And I expect that our paths will cross again, at this rate."

"I expect they will."

If only because of Childermass' proximity to political movement. It seemed inevitable that they should be speaking again. Something James wasn't looking forward to right now. Not when he still had blood drying on him.

"Good evening."

Childermass nods at the other man in turn. They have managed to keep things civil -- or rather, James has managed to keep his temper from him, and Childermass is honestly impressed with him at that.

"Good evening to you, sir," he says, and he steps back, calling the shadows to cloak him once more as he slinks his way back under the crime scene tape and away.

James and the Terrible, No Good, Rotten Day (OPEN)

SHOCK

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