[OPEN] I'VE SEEN TROUBLE ALL MY DAYS

[reticence]

A. WORKING HOURS
It's a slow day. With no clients booked for the afternoon, Faolan's finding himself with an unusual amount of time on his hands. Not one for being idle, he finds himself roaming the streets, rather idly, hands tucked in pockets, looking as nonchalant and unassuming as one can. Which isn't hard, considering the fact that he's a wiry little Irishman, standing 5'6" at full height. Looking a bit like he'd rolled out of bed only hours ago (perhaps he had, in all honesty), with a healthy growth of stubble on his face, curling into his rough brown leather jacket despite the warmth of the sun above him, he doesn't exactly make himself look approachable either for that matter.

It's going to be a long night. A long night after a long night the night before, and as he blinks up at the sky above him -- is that really the sun though? -- he decides that coffee is in order. In desperate order. Stopping in the nearest shop he can find, he orders himself the simplest drink he can and sits huddled against the counter, curling over it and willing the caffeine to do its work and snap his brain into functioning as well.


B. PREP WORK - HILLINGDON
Despite the lack of clients for the afternoon, Faolan's got a job that evening. As people start to get out of work and shuffle home to their normal families and their normal lives, Faolan decides to head over to Hillingdon House and see if he can find anything interesting to use on his hunt that evening. If there's anything that can be counted on, it's the fact that if anyone's at the "Hunter's Retreat", as they call it, then they might have some goods to share. Or to at least show off, if nothing else.

It makes the fact that he has no one to go home to and nothing but the hunt ahead a little more bearable than it otherwise might be.


C. ON THE HUNT
Faolan should have known that the tip had been shady. McCoy was good for some things, but details certainly weren't his strong suit, and Faolan had been less on the ball about his research than he probably should have been. He should have known that getting a lead on the location of the vampire he'd been after for the past week was too good to be true, that he wouldn't be alone, but he hadn't been thinking too hard about it. He'd killed four children, three of them under the age of ten, and Faolan wanted him dead.

So he'd gone in alone and unprepared for not one, but five vampires to greet him. He's a good shot and he'd made every one that he could count, but as his gun clicked empty and two of them still advanced on him -- two of them with their pet werewolf for that matter -- Faolan knew that he had a problem. So he ran, throwing himself down the stairs, through the closest window and off the fire escape down one storey to the alleyway below. He has just enough time to assess that the damage from the fight before, breaking through the glass, and falling from that height isn't too bad that he can't go on, before he hears the sound of the wolf scrabbling after him from above. Making a split second decision, Faolan stows the gun behind a dumpster nearby -- hoping the thing will be in the same spot when he comes back in daylight, since it won't do him any good now -- before he takes off at a run towards the nearest open area he can find. It won't follow him out into the lights of the street and the lingering evening crowds around, will it? God, he hopes not.


D. CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE
What it says on the tin!

Comments

C

[detectiveofthewest]

Heiji didn't think that these were the henchmen he was looking for. Nonetheless, they seemed rather single-minded in their pursuit of their target -- which was bad news, if Faolan's strategy of hiding in a crowd was anything to judge by.

In his ordinary fox form, Heiji would not attract very much attention. There were plenty of normal foxes about, and aside from his dark coloration, he blended in with them quite well. And in any case, it would work better than human form for what he was about to do.

He leapt up on the railing of a fire escape, which hung above the door of a dilapidated building nearby. It looked completely nondescript from the outside, of course. Once in placed, he let out a couple of yips to signal for Faolan.

[reticence]

Faolan wasn't sure what alerted him to the fox first - the yipping, or the fact that it was a fox on a fire escape, and it seemed to be trying to get his attention. Faolan wasn't going to try and argue against it -- he needed to get away, and fast. If this creature, whatever it was, had some better idea of how to do so, all the more power to him. If it was a trap..

Well, Faolan supposed, sucking in a breath and wading through the crowd towards the fox, he supposes he's still got his knives if nothing else. As he reached the edge of the crowd and made a leap of faith that this fox really was signalling to him, he was going to hope that this really was an effort to help, though.

[detectiveofthewest]

Heiji leapt down several feet to the ground and squeezed through a crack in the door. It was easy; this body was small. He knew Faolan had seen him, and so the only question was whether he'd follow Heiji through or not.

[reticence]

Faolan could take a hint. He threw a glance behind him at the flunkies wading through the crowd, trying to get a reading on him, knowing he disappeared in there somewhere and that he couldn't have gone far, not yet. So Faolan made another split-second decision and stepped forward, examining the door, before pushing, pressing, squeezing himself through the crack as well. It was harder for him to do himself, since he was certainly larger than a fox. But he was still a small man and this was one of the times where rather than cursing the fates for that fact, he was grateful for it, as he slipped through the space and completely out of view of his pursuers, and beyond to where the fox had led.

[detectiveofthewest]

Once Faolan was inside, the noise of the crowd fell away. The inside of the building was abandoned, just as it had appeared from the outside... and yet somehow, it was different. The wood paneling inside was rich and dark; there was a table there, shelves with odds and ends there. On one side of the room was a window, old but not covered with cracks or graffiti. What it looked out on was not a fire escape, but what looked like a cobblestone street.

"Bit of a sticky situation," said Heiji. It was safe to talk now, though maybe not entirely safe from Faolan's pursuers -- they might still follow their quarry throught he doorway, after all. "You with Hillingdon?"

A

[mountainbones]

The sun was shining down for once, the warmth soaking into Danil's limbs, warming the black hoodie that he had wrapped himself in, hood pulled over his head, his eyes to the ground. The sounds of the day were blocked out, music instead pouring in, purring words, filling his thoughts.

Breathe in, breathe out
Let the human in
Breathe in, breathe out
And let it in

He was too busy wandering the paths of notes, the sliding melodies intertwined with words that he didn't see the other man, and managed to run smack into him. He bounced back, a little stunned; he wasn't any taller than Faolan, but weighed a touch less. He shook his head a little as if to clear it, and yanked his earbuds out.

"Sorry." He muttered, short and terse, eyes reluctantly raised.

[reticence]

Faolan had been equally as otherwise preoccupied. However where there were melodies playing through Danil's head, through Faolan's there ran strategies. Or so the attempt was being made, at any rate. He really wasn't his best before his first cup of coffee. Which he'd gotten to go, after a group of rowdy teenagers had sauntered in behind him and filled up his moment of quiet caffeine worship with laughing and talking and just existing that had been at its very source an intrusion to his moment.

He'd gotten it to go, but he must not have put the lid on right, or maybe in the jostle he'd hit it just right. Regardless, rather than drinking it, Faolan was now wearing it. Liquid only just this side of scalding because he'd had a few minutes to cross the street and round a corner trying to get his bearings on where to go from there. Faolan hissed slightly, shifting the cup in his hands, shaking the coffee off, trying to assess whether he's actually hurt or not (he wasn't -- he'd had worse burns than this before, and he knew it).

"Shit," Faolan muttered to himself, hands and shirt and one leg of his trousers drenched. At least he'd missed his jacket, he noted. It was his favorite, after all.

[mountainbones]

The faintest hint of a flush appeared on Danil's pale cheeks, when he saw that he had also managed to spill the man's coffee all over him. "Shit." He agreed, not sheepish, but clearly contrite. "I, uh." He patted his pockets as if that would suddenly make napkins appear.

"I'm sorry." He repeated, this apology a little more heartfelt than the first. "You okay?" His hands now hung by his sides, awkward.

[reticence]

Faolan shifted his coffee to his free hand, shaking his now dripping one off for a moment before deciding he's already got enough of it on his jeans that wiping his hand off on them won't do any added harm. (Besides, that's what nature intended jeans to be used for in the first place.)

"I'll live," he replied gruffly, tilting his coffee to peer at how much of it he had left versus how much he was wearing. It wasn't a good ratio. He glanced back at the other, seeing that he's clearly feeling abashed by the action. Wondering whether a little niggling would hurt anyone. "I could use another coffee, though," he said, mildly. Maybe another change of clothes as well, but that was neither here nor there.

C

[emotioneater]

Cooper's walking down the street when he sees Faolan bursting out of the alley just ahead of him like a bat out of hell. Before he can figure out what's going on, there's a blurred figure that seems to be following after the first man, heedless of the people on the street. Cooper instantly recognizes the canine odor coming off the second figure. Werewolf! Now he's suddenly become much more interested in what's going on.

He doesn't interfere, instead trotting after the pair at a safe distance. He's curious to see what the first man is going to do, unarmed and with an pursuing werewolf on his tail. This is one story that he'd love to know the beginning of.

[reticence]

Faolan is less aware of the fact that the wolf is being followed than the fact that the wolf is following him in the first place. He's trying to blend in a crowd, trying to hide among the people, trying to hide amongst their scent, but he's not certain how well it will work. Especially considering there really aren't that many people out tonight. Not here and now, anyway.

He ducks into the throng of a group of people who seem like they might be headed towards the cinema, but he rather stands out, looking the way he does. Bruised and bloodied, a little wild-eyed and breathing hard. It's just as easy to clear a crowd as hide in one this way, he finds out. The hard way, as it happens, as he catches a woman in front of him muttering to the man she's with about the nutter of a drunk that's following them. The man turns to confront Faolan about what he's doing, and Faolan's been in enough fights, enough trouble tonight as it is. He ducks into a nearby alleyway, hoping that he's done enough to confuse his trail. Knowing better than to believe as much.

[emotioneater]

Cooper can smell the man's blood as he ducks in and out of the crowd. Unconsciously, he licks his lips as he follows. He toys with the idea of taking out the werewolf himself and feeding off of him instead. While he's busy debating the pros and cons of the idea, he loses sight of Faolan for a moment.

The wolf doesn't even pause before taking off down the street, going at a manic pace. Cooper's about to follow after when he catches a whiff of that blood from the nearest alley. He ambles over to the entrance, leaning on one hand against a wall. There's an expression of amusement on his face. "Looks t'me like you're up the creek without a paddle. He'll be coming back when he doesn't find you."

[reticence]

Faolan glances up at the newcomer from where he's trying to make himself disappear into the shadows. He hasn't quite succeeded just yet, but he's succeeded enough to be able to tell that the man didn't just spot him walking by -- he'd obviously been watching. Watching the wolf chasing him, watching him duck in there to try and get rid of him, and now... Faolan straightens, tensing, unsure whether this is another confrontation about to happen or just what the guy's intentions are exactly.

"I'd be a fool to think that I'd lose him so easily," Faolan retorts. "And equally as foolish to sit here waiting for trouble in return." He'd just been catching his breath and waiting for the wolf to get far enough away to feel safe to duck out again, honest! Maybe if he found a way to climb up...

B

[whatmatters]

Ringer doesn't like the so-called Retreat or most of the people there. Most of the great hunters seemed to work primarily on their own, with only rumors and legends of the best drifting through the area more often than not. The occasional whisper suggested an old tattooed woman in the corner or a guy who looked like he belonged in the financial district buying rounds were people of note, but those kinds of tales rarely turned out to be true. Instead it was mostly riff-raff and wannabes in her limited experience, which were rarely any help at all.

Tonight isn't much different. She'd been in a mood to begin with when she arrived with the hope of selling off an old crossbow. It was in good condition, given to her by an asshole of a shapeshifter she'd since killed and no longer wants anything to do with. It should be straight forward, but she won't sell for cheap on principle and doesn't handle harassment well. A couple hours and no buyers later, she's on her way out.

Ringer slams through the door and pulls up short directly in front of the strange man in the brown leather coat about to enter. She frowns at him, nearly a scowl, in spite of his doing nothing at all. In an slightly irritable tone, she demands, "Are you a hunter?"

[reticence]

Faolan raises an eyebrow at her. Not even stepped in the door yet and he's already pissing people off, this must be some sort of new record, he thinks to himself, as he raises his hands up in a gesture that's half defensive and half to show that he's clearly not looking for a fight if he can help it.

"And what if I said that I was?" he asks. Which isn't exactly a confirmation of the fact, to be certain, but then again who else frequents Hillingdon House but hunters and those looking to get something from hunters in return anyway? The simple fact that he's there in the first place certainly narrows the field. He's not about to admit to something outright if it's going to get him shot, though, and so far she certainly hasn't given him a reason to trust her.

[whatmatters]

The question is practically rhetorical. There are people, like Sasuke, who belong to Hillingdon without being hunters themselves. Those are the exception rather than the rule. This guy looks like he has enough moxie to at least use the weapon and Ringer's too fed up with the place to stay any longer. The money isn't all that important anyway.

"Here." Ringer shoves the crossbow against his chest, turned so that it faces off in some random direction and the handle pushes against him. It's clear that the weapon has no bolts in place or attached, a nice but old-fashioned piece with no clear flaws. She won't release it until he seems to accept it, either maintaining its pressure against him or releasing it to his care.

Her frustration wanes as she tries to force it on him, her expression more neutral. It's clear that whatever pissed her off was left inside and he just has the unfortunate luck of riding out the tail end of her mood with her.

[reticence]

Faolan looks down at the crossbow that she's shoved against his chest, then back at the girl herself. Honestly a little uncertain of what exactly is going on here. But he raises his hands to brace it anyway -- because otherwise he's just standing there with a weapon shoved against him, honestly. It's good quality, he has to admit. He appreciates that it's not set and loaded and about to go off in his face either.

Faolan raises his eyebrows higher at her. "And what's this now?" he asks. Trying to keep his words and his tone as carefully neutral as he can, not knowing how much of a trigger she's got. But she's obviously pissed off at something or someone, and if she had the one weapon, who's to say that she might not have more? Better be safe than sorry, especially with a job that he's supposed to be on later that night.

C/D-ish

[knightscode]

Lancelot Dulac is thoroughly enjoying his evening off.

His white Samoyed, Lily, is slowly learning to handle crowds and Lancelot is leading her through what's left of the lingering masses with considerable pride. She's not totally happy, he can tell that, but she isn't shying too much and she hasn't ground to a halt or tried to pull away.

It could have been far worse, and he's just glad she's come this far. Once upon a time he would hardly have been able to get her to move short of carrying her, and Lancelot is far from keen on carrying a dog her size any more than he has to -- even if a large part of her size is her thick double-coat.

It's light long into the evenings during the summer, and he's just thinking about maybe stopping for some ice cream when he spots Faolan. He's clearly... well, he looks somewhat like he's been in a fight and like he has run some distance. Lancelot can't be sure, but he suspects he might be limping.

His mind offers two options:

One, the man is well and truly drunk out of his mind and has injured himself tripping and falling.

Two, he's been in some kind of find -- might have started it, might have been a target -- which makes Lancelot wonder what the other man might look like.

Not that the second option means he can't be drunk regardless. Yet still, something about the pattern of his cuts and bruises doesn't seem to match a fist-fight.

He isn't on duty, but all the same he can't dispel the concern he feels and the curiosity. He steers Lily away from the main high street toward where Faolan is catching his breath, head tilted a little as he studies him.

"Forgive me..." he begins softly, cautiously, looping up Lily's leash in his hand a little to keep her close. "Do you need some help?"

[reticence]

Faolan straightens as he hears the man approaching, addressing him, his heart skittering ahead a few more beats again despite his best efforts to keep it under control. He's pretty sure that he's lost the thing by this point, but only a fool would be certain, and Faolan certainly tries to be intelligent about these things. There's far too much adrenaline pumping through him, spurring him on despite the pain of the bruises and cuts that he's sporting, for him not to jump at the sudden presence of the man. The man and...his dog?

Faolan casts a wayward glance at the man, at the dog, at the street around them -- as though searching for some sort of danger that might come up upon them at any moment now -- then back at the man again. To say that he's fine would be a lie and he's fairly willing to bet that the other man would recognize such as well. He has something about him that Faolan can't quite put his finger on. Ah, well, he'll figure it out in a moment.

"Did you see it?" he asks. Eyes slightly wild, everything about him tense and on edge, the survival mode still in high gear. "He was following me. I tried to lose the thing but I don't know... Did you see anything?" He leans over again for a moment, feeling vaguely nauseous. He'd been knocked around a fair amount, and then run a fair distance before figuring he was safe enough to take a breath. Only now that he's stopped is all of it starting to catch up with him.

[knightscode]

Did you see it? He was following me. I tried to lose the thing...

It's the wording choice that prickles at Lancelot. It, he, thing -- oddly inconsistent and uncertain of what he's actually talking about. Lancelot wonders, idly,what the man has taken. He doesn't think alcohol alone would unsettle a man this much, but drugs certainly would.

"Easy," he says softly, and holds out a hand as if to placate Faolan like an unsettled animal. He does his best to try and catch his eyes without staring overtly, to try and see if his pupils look blown out. "Deep breaths. You're safe now. Tell me what you saw. Someone was following you? Did they do this to you?"

[reticence]

If this man is acting this nonchalant, he can hardly have spotted the wolf. Faolan realizes how he sounds. He realizes how the other man is treating him. He's honestly not certain whether he cares in this moment or not, of course. He runs a hand over his face, sucking in deep breaths and trying to keep himself steady, keep himself from passing out or being sick or god knows how many other embarrassing things he might wind up doing if he doesn't settle himself.

"Yes," he says honestly, because it's true. It was following him, and yes, it had injured him. "Some of it anyway. There was a..." God, he can't say werewolf, then he'd really sound like a lunatic. "A wolf. It was chasing me. I thought the crowd would help it lose me. If you didn't see it..." Then maybe it had worked. He certainly didn't hear any screaming, anyway. Faolan runs a hand over his face and only realizes too late that it's bleeding, giant claw marks running down the length of his arm. It had been a close call. A little too close, if he was being honest with himself.

C.

[damnyank]

Jackson's feeling warm and pleasantly drunk as he walks home. The only thoughts in his mind are of returning home to the brothel on Tenter street and enjoying the pleasant touch a fair maiden's hand. When he hears the repeated report of a gun, followed by shattering glass, Jackson's reminded of just how good he is at being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Instinct and laziness tell him to mind his own business, and he does just that.

Or he intends to do just that.

He keeps on walking, only to find himself abruptly intersected by a suspicious stranger. A stranger who's likely bleeding thanks to that shattered glass, if he considers the sounds he'd just heard. Jackson doesn't even need forensics to figure this one out.

His right hand goes straight to the pistol inside his jacket, while the other reaches for the cellphone in his pocket. He doesn't suspect the supernatural. Just another criminal. A burglar, probably, and so he dials 999.

"Police? Yeah, I'm calling about a suspicious individual."

Jackson isn't even being discreet.

ahahaha let me know if this is okay? i'm excited for this cr though >>

[reticence]

Faolan's mind is working a mile a minute, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he struggles up on his feet and as fast as he can towards the street. He's got to get out of there. Got to get somewhere safe.

Isn't it just his luck that he runs into a do-gooder right off the bat.

Faolan is well aware that the man could have a gun on him. From the way he's holding his other hand, his suspicions might be entirely valid, for that matter. But what he recognizes as well is that in crossing this man's path, he's just put him in danger as well. And he can phone the police all he wants, but it's not going to save him from the monster on his tail.

Faolan thinks fast, casting a glance behind them just in time for a looming figure to come bounding out of the alleyway behind him, before he grabs the man by the arm (the phone arm, he's not about to get accidentally shot if he's right about the gun, thank you very much), and starts careening off down the street.

"You just had to stop and call that in," he grinds out, as he drags the other man with him, almost more muttering to himself than really addressing the man as they run. "You just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you..."

it's fine! :3

[damnyank]

Trust me, it ain't a do-gooder you've stumbled into, Faolan. It's a man with foresight, who figures that apprehending a culprit early means less work by the time the corpses are getting cozy in his dead room. He's close enough to work for this potential case to become his division's problem, and the last thing Jackson ever wants is more work.

Scratch that. The last thing Jackson ever wants is this-- to suddenly be pulled in and dragged headlong into whatever mess this man's made manifest for himself. But Faolan's momentum is forcing him forward, unable to resist his lead. They pass two parked cars and a street light before Jackson gets a hold of himself.

"Let--" He yanks his arm back with surprising strength. "--go of me!"

Jackson extricates himself from Faolan's grip, immediately stumbling backwards, and nearly spraining his arm in the process. He brings them to a halt. "The hell are you doing? Besides askin' me to pack this lead into your jaw?" He draws the gun, pointing it straight at him. "Trust me, I ain't shy."

sorry that i'm slow work is ridiculous rn :( this thread is exciting though so i'd love to keep on!

[reticence]

Faolan has done some consultation work with the police before, but he generally works in the field, and not to mention he hardly works on every case. It's no wonder that they haven't met each other before. He's got a few particular liaisons on the force, after all, but he's hardly on their payroll. Strictly volunteer business, and volunteer work doesn't pay the bills. It's why he's a private investigator on the side. It's why he takes cases like the one he was on this evening, before everything went to shit.

He glances at the gun, gives the other man a look -- he's not going to shoot him, not if he doesn't want to die himself -- before raising a hand to his lips in a clear, 'be quiet,' sort of gesture. "Shut up and listen to me. If you don't stop yelling then we're both going to end up dead," he whispers at the other man furiously. "Listen to me very carefully. Listen." He continues to disregard the gun pointed at him. "When I say run, you run like hell. Otherwise it's coming after you instead, and while that would be very convenient for me, there would be a lot of questions after that little call of yours and I really don't want to clean up after this. So just listen, yeah?"