EDANITH > Tynova

Things Fall Apart

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Lion:
[Open by Request]

If he had to look at that ugly motherfucker again, he'd put a bullet in his head. A thought that Glover could entertain but not enact. A dirty fingernail scratched at the indentations on the side of his head just beside the metal ports in his temples where his headband was meant to go.

Stupid Sandborne. Stupid dirty businessman that you clearly knew were rotten fucks, and they got away with it because they were too smart, too rich, or knew too many people in just the right places to get away with it.

Maybe to anyone else, it wasn't anything serious. Seeing his smug face, with that fucking pencil-thin mustache smirking smartly at him as he winked and had Glover escorted out of his office. Suspicion of mage trafficking...  It was a crock of shit, and with nothing on him, their meeting was closed. He supposed the worst they did was knock the cigarette out of his mouth, but even then Glover did not appreciate the rough treatment.

His hand reached into his leather jacket, the worn brown already fading from the years. Fingers slipped around the grip of his gun, standard issue for a detective. And he was tempted to pull it out, aim upward, try his luck and see if the projectile would somehow smash through the 15th floor window and into Sandborne's head.

Glover stood there on that mid-level street, the rush of a car behind him making his spine quiver at the sensation of movement. No, he wasn't worth it. Nothing was, and instead he reached down to pick up the dirtied cigarette. With a flick and wipe against his shirt, he tucked it gingerly against the corner of his lips and ignited the light with his Hippo lighter, momentarily admiring the engraved animal on the back of it.

Another time and a million lightyears away. Or however that saying went. The lid silenced that flame and he wandered away from Mandir & Crowe, Law Associates, another tower amongst the rest of the towers that comprised the steel and glass spinal cord of Tynova.

A long drag through thin lips confirmed what Glover had been feeling most, and he needed a walk to cool off. Bright lights were blinding and in one blink, he went from glassy skyscrapers to older stone, brick and mortar, steam billowed up from grates in the ground. The world was a fucked up place, and folks were the same no matter where you went.

Let the right hand never know what the right was doing, and all that. The same story. He'd heard it before.

Somewhere along the way, Glover found himself wandering toward the rear of some strip club. Red lights glared beneath the bumping vibration of overhead speakers, and they switched to blues and green as he glanced up to see a dancer remove their top and slide closer to the pole they were favoring. His vision blurred and he ignored the heat it brought to his blood and the way his pulse quickened.

He wasn't here to have a good time. The one he was looking for was working out the back rooms. Marian was the name right? Right. If there was one person that would know something useful it was her. And if anything, she'd have something else to ease his mind.

Glover's meeting was short and to the point. And he was flopped out on a ratty cloth recliner that could use a bit more strips of duct tape to be held together properly. And he knocked back the pills and chased it down with a shot of rum. He fought the sensation to be sick, and he paid her with a slap of a hundred on her dresser.  “So you got a lead?” he asked, sitting back up and observing her with those lazy, hooded eyes.

The sight of Marian was one to behold. Supple flesh, amber skin, and tits that could carve ice with how cold the room was right now. He grinned lazily and took another long drag from his cigarette, the orange glow of it igniting the harsh angles of his face, and the shadows under his eyes momentarily lightning.

“You really ought to get some sleep, Glover. I can arrange that for another 500,” Marian giggled, taking the money and folding it neatly before tucking it into her bra.

“I didn't come here for an expensive nap,” he hissed. “You now why I'm here.”

“To get stoned out of your head, and to know where you can find dirt on any schmucks that've made their way through my door. Tough luck, Glover,” she sniffed and sat before her vanity, tossing back that ebony hair. Glover had a mind to reach out and pull it back. He only imagined himself doing it. Hands weren't part of the deal. His hand hung loosely at his knee, but a shift in posture made it grip the inside of his thigh.

“So cut the shit,” he sighed, lips pursing and blowing out another cloud of gray.

“Nothing too interesting.  Sorry, honey. But maybe next time. I'll keep a look out just for you” she said. 

Fucking hell, as if that wasn't a waste of time. It was time he got back to his apartment anyway. Glover sighed and went out the back way, cutting through the alleyway and glancing up at the three moons above Tynova. The stars dotted that abyss and were burned into his retinas, and the high was only now just starting to kick in, and he felt the ground shifting in him in slow motion.

It was going to be a long walk back.

nephero:
There was going to be a murder.

Wil pinched the bridge of their nose as the soft, jaunty and utterly inoffensive tune continued to singsong in their ear. It was a mark of the waiting room music's volume that they could even hear it, what with the traffic whizzing by on their lefthand side and the typical din of the cityscape at large. The music broke, suddenly, and Wil's heart leapt just a fraction before--

'We're sorry! All our representatives are currently helping other customers! Your call is important to us--'

"AAUGH!" Quite a few other passersby stopped to stare as Wil brought their arm back and chucked the phone straight into traffic-- and action that they immediately regretted when several cars crushed the thing into dust. Okay. That had been dumb. That had been so, so dumb.

To be fair, Wil had hated that phone. Hated it! None of the buttons were buttons, the whole thing was just one tiny sliver of glass, and any phone you had to go digging around to find the actual phone function was, in their personal opinion, a pretty shitty goddamn excuse of a fucking phone! They were almost glad to be rid of the stupid thing, except on the coattails of their little tantrum, Wil also remembered how expensive that phone had been. And the contract they were still under for it. And the fact that now they were in the middle of the goddamn city with no means of getting into contact with anyone they had been previously attempting to get into contact with.

NAMELY! Their goddamn partner! Who had decided in his infinite wisdom to gallavant off and confront the target of their latest investigation all by himself, without any kind of consultation or planning or anything else that might have, you know, involved the person Glover was supposed to be working with. Wil took a deep breath in through their nose, and let it out through their mouth, doing this several times in the mouth of an alleyway in some desperate attempt to get their temper under control.

Today had just been... a very bad day. They had no idea where their favorite hat had went, it was a particularly cold ass day, their leads had gone absolutely nowhere and any attempts to come up with new ones had just hit a solid brick wall. Which was usually how it was with these rich types; if you had enough cash, anyone and everyone was willing to just look the other way.

And then Glover hadn't picked up the phone. Or answered any sort of text. Or anything of the sort. Leaving Wil with the glamorous task of trying to hunt the man down-- they'd tried calling the regular places, of course, and then the less regular places, and then, the even less regular places. They'd gotten surly waitresses, surlier bartenders, disconnected lines, what Wil was pretty sure was a strip club (which made something particularly ugly rear its head somewhere in Wil's chest), the works, but...

The worst was the automated systems. The menus upon menus, either via the dialpad or by voice activation-- and oh the voice activation ones were the worst. Wil hated those; somehow the terminology you used was never enough, never clear enough, or heaven forbid some taxi honked its horn just as you were trying to say something, and inevitably the SUPER PERKY and super NOT A REAL PERSON would be like

'I'm sorry! I didn't quite understand that! Please speak clearly to reach the department you are looking for!'

Wil could just see the robotic 8D face that piece of fucking software probably wore twenty four hours out of the day, and Wil wanted to punch its lights out. Over and over again.

That string of calls had lasted the past three hours. Wil's nerves were in shambles, much like their now utterly broken phone. There wasn't even a point in trying to collect the pieces anymore: car after car had passed, and now the whole thing was just powdered glass on the streets. Wil sighed, shoved their hands into their jacket pockets, and finally decided that enough was enough and they'd just go home--

Wil stopped in their tracks again, sighed loudly, and muttered the most vile string of curses they had the vocabulary for under their breath.

All this, and they'd not even though to check at Glover's apartment. Goddammit. And now they couldn't even call ahead to verify! Goddammit! Well done Wilhelm, very well done. Number one best detective! Sighing in resignation, Wil began what was going to be a very long trek, grumbling under their breath the whole while. Maybe they'd stop for some tea or something-- ooh, or steamed soy and honey. That always worked.

Though they couldn't promise they wouldn't dump the whole lot of it over Glover's head when they found him. Or maybe they could go back, scoop up the phone pieces, and dump those over Glover's head. All great options, in their opinion. They really hoped he was home though. Underneath all the seething rage there was starting to form a knot of genuine worry, and the darker the skies got the larger that knot became. He'd better be home. He had to be.

Nix:
They had been waiting almost twenty minutes now and he could tell his attendant was getting very antsy. He understood it wasn't the best neighborhood, or the best apartment building to be waiting in the hallway of... the elevator had seemed like it might break down with just the two of them in it as well. He didn't want to go home though. Not without seeing his uncle.

It had been a bad night at his house. Arabelle was being mean, even if he had been a jerk to her first, and his parents were fighting. His dad had said some mean things too. Sevrin had tried to sneak out on his own but his attendant Circiel knew his tricks too well. She let him come though. She didn't try and stop him, she just came with him. Of course now she was getting annoyed.

Her employers basically expected her to do two things. Watch Sevrin and keep him safe. She had long since given up trying to discipline him or stop him from doing as he pleased, but sometimes his whims were really annoying and inconvenient. She totally sympathized with him wanting to get out of the house tonight, she was glad to be out of there too, but waiting outside his uncle's apartment was not a great alternative. Who knew when or if Glover would be home tonight? "Did you text him Sevrin?" She asked finally, breaking the awkward silence of the dimly lit hallway as she shifted against the wall.

Sevrin didn't want to answer her. If he told her that his uncle didn't answer his text she would probably suggest that they go home. He wasn't going home tonight. He just wasn't. He didn't want to go to his grandparents house either. That would just cause more fights. He just wanted to see his uncle. Uncle Glover was the only one who wasn't nice to him out of pity or simply because he was a mage prodigy and good at things. Uncle Glover had always been nice to him and had never treated him like he was broken. Uncle Glover was the only one he wanted to see tonight.

When Circiel got no response from Sevrin she sighed and held on to the handle bars on the back of his wheelchair, ready to override his control of it and wheel him out of this dreary place. "NO!" Came the shout of protest she was expecting. "No let me text him again! He probably just didn't hear the first message... he doesn't check his phone every five seconds like you!" Another sigh from Circiel, but she let go of the handle bars.

Hi uncle Glover are you going to be home soon? I really want to see you

He stared at the screen hoping for a response, looking between it and the direction of the elevators and stairwell. If he didn't answer soon he would plea with Circiel to let him call his uncle first.

Lion:
The faint buzzing of his phone went ignored and unheard inside his worn jacket pocket. His free hand reached up to pull down the little cap that belonged to his partner. It wasn't like Wil was going to miss it any time soon. He'd bring it back, set it on that little hook just behind the door, or tuck it into the drawer of the Mordecai's desk. They'd know that. Because if it wasn't on their head, where else would it be?

Glover fixed the small cap,  and the scent of Wil's hair filled his nostrils, and the slow motion earth stilled in his vision. The detective grunted and closed his eyes, feeling his phone buzzing now, that sound becoming more and more annoying the longer it went off. 

Nobody important ever contacted him anyway. Except.. Hm, well, maybe, he ought to check it.

Glover's gait jittered and he nearly toppled over as he tried to get a grip on that slippery piece of metal and glass. A Tsamtsun F7. Not the latest model, but still good for what it was worth. Black like his soul and the bright blue screen lit up the crevices of Glover's grim expression. He scowled at the glittering highlights. Black boots staggered.

Hi uncle Glover are you going to be home soon? I really want to see you

“What?  The. Fuck.” he growled and gripped the phone until sound of the plastic lining around the phone threatened to crack. He frowned and ducked the phone back into his pocket. “No...Sev. Not tonight...not like this.”

“You going far with that nice little piece of tech?” someone behind him asked. Glover whirled around, feeling hands on his shoulder and gripping the collar of his shirt. He was already half-dizzied from the pills, his vision spinning as he saw that darkened face and the eyes that bored a fuchsia deep into his rose gold orbs.  And the head that slammed like a truck into his face made him see stars!

“FOR FUCK'S SAKE!” Glover staggered, arm flying outward to catch onto a light post and when the red took his vision, he flung himself forward and tackled the other body to the pavement. They scuffled briefly, hands bloodying his lip and blackening his eye and even in the haze of his high the clarity brought by adrenaline made up for it immediately.  The stranger's hands flailed up and snatched that cap right off his head, dirty blonde waves flying forward.

And Glover's eyes shot wide.

“Trying to rob me dickwad! That'll be the last fucking mistake you make,” he hissed through grit teeth and gripped the other man's hair, lifting his head and slamming it repeatedly into the ground. “That's NOT. YOUR. HAT!” Until the other body was still underneath him. Glover pulled himself to his feet, wiping the blood from his lip, snatching the cap up from unconscious bastard's dirty fingers.   He wasn't dead, but the blood coming out his head might leave him with a real bad headache come morning. Glover picked up his phone, that had clattered to the ground in the scuffle.

“You know, I was having a really good fucking day,” he hissed, exhausted, double-vision focusing for a sec to reply to Sevrin.  Hey, bud! Not home now, but I'm right on my way. Can't wait to see you! How'd you get there this time of night? NVM. You can tell me in person. -Love, Glover

He made the walk back his apartment in one piece. More or less. His knuckles was covered in blood, and as he approached the building and his wiped it on the dark side of his jeans.  Glover's head was pounding, throbbing and he didn't want the kid to see him like this. Not when he got to see him as rarely as he did.

And as he came up, eyes refocused on someone else. Glover's eyes were hooded. Nothing new there, as they took in that familiar build, height and weight a blissful change. “'Sup buddo! Just getting in? Me too. Come on up, I can make us a cup o' joe,” he snorted, keeping his face angled away. The swelling around his eye was starting to show, as he chipped the entry code and stepped into the building.

nephero:
Thank God for long legs.

The little detour to the nearest Tea-and-Leaf had been a mild distraction. Wil had calmed down somewhat in the time it took to stay in line and then explain what they had wanted of the people behind the counter. It was inevitably a bit of a struggle, all things considered, but after a bit a large cup of steamed soy milk doused in honey had been achieved. The first sip was heaven, such that Wil no longer felt anything of the cold when they stepped back outside.

There was just something about honey that set them at complete ease. They swore if they were ever left alone with a jar of the stuff they'd eat through the whole thing, which was probably a wildly accurate statement. Not that it was a theory that had ever been really tested.

But by the fifth sip, by the second block back on route to Glover's apartment, well. That nagging knot of worry had wormed its way back to the forefront of Wil's mind, and was now ringing every last stupid alarm bell they had in their brain. Nasty little images of Glover in some gutter somewhere came rapid fire, each one worse than the other, such that Wil had to stop considering the drink in their hand altogether and simply focus on getting to that apartment as soon as possible.

They were nearly running by the time they reached the last block before the apartment. Wil couldn't key in the code quick enough, grumbling to themself the whole time, and it was no small relief that they rounded the final hallway and saw a familiar faded leather jacket and-- was that their hat on his head?

Whatever relief there was to be felt at seeing Glover was not, in fact, murdered by mage-traffickers was soon replaced by Wil's old friend, Absolute Seething Rage.

"Hey!" They shouted, their pace increasing as terror-induced adrenaline was replaced by I'm-going-to-curb-stomp-you-into-next-week adrenaline, "Just what the hell is the big idea, Daniels! You maybe wanna answer your damn phone next time you decide to run off so I-- oh, hey."

What had been gearing up to be a wildly colorful rant was stopped almost immediately as Wil approached, and finally spotted the other pair that were presently in Glover's company. A woman Wil had never met, and then the tiny occupant of a really fancy-looking chair, a young boy with a sweet face and...

And with an unmistakeable family resemblance.

The eye color aside, it was like looking at Glover in miniature, though this kid did of course lack the general air of being a walking thunderstorm waiting to happen. Kind of went with the territory of still being a kid, Wil supposed, but still. The similarities were uncanny. Their eyes flicked back to the woman in their company, back to the kid, and then back to Glover, trying to piece together what was happening.

Did Glover have a kid? He didn't talk about family, ever, and just got grumpier when they were mentioned-- and for Glover, that was saying a lot. So was this woman...? A quick once-over, and that nasty little something of emotion that Wil had felt when calling a gentleman's club rose up again, though they tamped that down before it could reach their face. Wil instead turned their focus on the kid, their mouth curving into a beaming smile.

"Sorry, didn't realize you had company. Hi, I'm Wil, I work with-" the roulette wheel of potential relations ran through their head again. Maybe a way younger brother? There was just so many ways this could go, and all of them were awkward if Wil guessed wrong. "-With Glover down at the station."

They stuck their hand out for the boy to take, and very much did not do the same for the woman present. Entirely by accident, of course.

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