Where the Streets Have No Name [Closed]

Drugs are bad, m'kay?

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Adam Spencer
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Thu Apr 25, 2019 6:42 pm

The Basin • Anaxas/ Vienda
On the 15th of Bethas, 2719 • Afternoon
Garmon nibbles weren't a legitimate meal, but they were as close to real food as Adam could get this close to the Basin. Some boxing match had ceased about half an hour ago, and the participants had long since left. But people still lingered, talking, joking, trading cakes of King's Crop this way and that.

Adam wasn't here to trade. That wasn't his vice, and it had never been. But he was here to watch, and the way to watch and to not stand out too much -- yet -- was to find something to eat from one of the stands and to mingle like he was one of the crowd.

It had been windy and blustery the past few days and so, even though it was still cold and would likely be colder still in a few days' time, the placid temperatures meant more people were out and about this afternoon. That was a bonus. It meant that his presence here woudn't be one of a scant number.

Finishing off the last fried bit of meat, he looked for somewhere to toss the newspaper wrapper, coated with sweet and sour sauce. There weren't a lot of legitimate options, but judging from the litter on the street from the crowd that had been watching the boxing match, that didn't particularly matter. Still, manners prevailed despite his knowing better. He made his way back to the vendor, pulling an apologetic frown, motioning without a word to the trash sack that sat nearby the kiosk -- just as a transaction behind the stall, barely hidden, caught his eye.

He let the trash drop into the sack, focused on the interaction. A likely wick, judging from the ebb and flow of the field around the scraggly-looking woman, and a fellow human male. A small batch of something -- but it wasn't King's Crop. He wasn't an expert, but he was literate, and the 'DT' on the bag was quite clearly marked. Drake's Tongue.

It was enough to attract Adam's interest. Curious, he slipped around the kiosk, lingering a few paces past the drug deal taking place. He couldn't make out what they were saying, not exactly, but his years as a journalist in the thick of crowds made him reasonably able to read lips.

Something about Hesse sending in a new shipment, next... week? Month? The last word was muffled, gods damn it. But he couldn't move closer without making his eavesdropping obvious to the pair.

"Oi, what're you looking at?"

Clocking hell. Of course the drug deal came with muscle attached. This would go badly; there was no other option. He could talk himself out of a scrape if there was a logical explanation, but there weren't likely to be many here. He'd been seen spying on a drug deal, and there was nothing else at present to look at.

He would have given anything for a Seventen to roll up at that precise moment, as opposed to any other moment in his life, but given the location and the lack of any fight currently breaking out, he knew that was very unlikely indeed. He'd just have to take whatever punch, or punches, the hard bite nearby felt like dealing out.

"She's a looker," Adam lied blatantly, as he turned to see just what he was going to have to deal with.

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Rhys Valentin
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Wed May 01, 2019 2:56 pm

The Basin, Vienda
broad-clocking-daylight on the 15th of Bethas, 2719
There were few places in Vienda that Special Enforcement Sergeant Rhys Valentin didn't know by heart anymore, but of those few places, the Basin was one. Even in almost eight years of uniformed service to Anaxi law enforcement, the Inspector had hardly been assigned any official reason to be in the area outside of meeting a few informants or trailing a suspect. His motivations had shifted since that day in Achtus, however. His decisions had become less tied to duty and more bound to his own closely-guarded agenda after he'd broken far too many oaths than he cared to admit in Intas.

The tall blond had packed up his desk early this afternoon, and, as was his new habit, he'd slipped out of his uniform while in Seventen headquarters, folding and tucking away his green-dyed familiar trappings in his office to make sure he left the building in plain clothes—simpler fare than most of his galdori peers, purposefully lower classed as if he wanted his co-workers to assume he was headed into the Dives to meet a contact or keep watch over a new target.

He wasn't.

Not for any of the very few, very tame cases that had passed across his desk since his reinstatement in the beginning of the year. Not even Captain Haines wanted to take the risk in spite of his hard-earned four fucking snaps.

It was probably a wiser choice than any of them knew.

The last thing he did before braving the lingering Bethas cold was unceremoniously dump a stack of papers on his said Captain's desk, tossing a dark manilla folder of signed documents, essays, and psychological evaluations on the already impressive pile of paperwork Arthur had left to navigate for the afternoon.

"What the clocking hell is this, Val?"

"My transfer papers, sir."

"Your what? Rhys, I don't understand. You're a Sergeant and what happened last year—"

"Captain, what happened last year is water under the bridge. I've run my course here. I don't want your job and it's clear that not even my squad entirely trusts me anymore after the trail. I've said for a while now that I wanted to be closer to the people of Vienda, closer to the streets, and while being an Inspector has given me a unique position to do that, I want something else—"

"What you want is to be a pain in Damen's erse. Don't you dare lie to me here in my office after all this time."

"What does he care? And why should I?" Rhys barely managed to make those words leave his lips without a hint of vehemence, the spark of anger that smoldered in his narrow chest flaring to life at the Co-Captain bastard's name. Just the very sound of those syllables made his ribs tingle in memory. His eyes narrowed, but that was all the expression he managed for his very beloved, once so very trusted Captain Haines, "Sir, it's just time for me to change things up. I need to figure out what I'm doing. It might as well be by making myself useful again."

"You are useful. I need you—"

"You haven't given me a single case worth a damn in the month and a half I've been back, sir. Before you sign those transfer papers, think about that." The tall blond sighed, shoulders sagging, and turned on his heels to flee before his friend had a chance to offer any rebuttals to the accusation. He heard the man clear his throat over his shoulder, felt the agitation in the galdor's field as he slipped away from the office.

He could only escape everything and get outside after that, welcoming the illusory warmth of the afternoon sun on his darkened countenance. The frigid wind tousled his unkempt strawberry blond hair, longer now than it had been in years. The chill against his face caressed lightly over scars that were finally not so bright and fresh and obvious, even if he was far more aware of them than anyone else could have been.

Rhys knew all the untrodden paths to the Basin that weren't heavily patrolled—across the Arova, through the Dives, and into the real underbelly of the lower part of the Anaxi capitol. He knew how to walk with confidence, that powerful, bristling field of his not quite like a galdor's but no longer recognizable as a wick's. His clothes perhaps a little too clean. His boots a little too new. But his swagger so well-practiced that those on the street moved out of his way and the toothy old woman claiming to sell tickets for entry into the Basin itself didn't even question what he was there for.

Sure, he could have come in uniform. It wasn't like the place wasn't foolishly sanctioned by his so-called law-enforcing kind. But, gods, so was—

"Ye gonna be bettin', kov?"

"Maybe. I want to see the lineup first, ye chen." Tek felt so uncomfortable on his tongue that it was all the not-galdor could do not to frown about it, lips becoming a thin line of emotionless expression instead.

"I getcha. If ye go back t' that booth o'er there, ol' Ollie will set ye straight." The woman winked at the young Valentin as if she was expecting him to flirt back, taking his coin and pointing a gnarled finger in the direction she indicated.

"Mujo ma."

It was barely a house past noon and the whole place was already full of bodies and noise. Shouting, drinking, the crackling sounds of food being fried. All sorts of scents, all of them with an undercurrent of blood and sweat even in this weather, assaulted his senses. Rhys wasn't hungry. He wasn't thirsty. He was here to watch but not the fighting. He was here to observe but not for another case. He knew what else was peddled here, and if he couldn't get names and contacts he wanted out of Benjamin's dying lips, then he'd find them himself, one clocking body at a time.

Aware of how to blend into a crowd, he meandered, watching hands, watching faces.

It was the movement of two rather broad bodies from their drinking spot that caught his attention instead of the dealing he'd been hoping to catch a glimpse of. The muscular humans stood and walked in unified purpose as if summoned, and it was pure well-trained officer instinct that tugged at Rhys to follow, the tall blond trailing a few bodies behind theirs and making it look as though he was headed to food vendors instead of making his way toward the narrow space between tents and carts—

Someone brushed past him brusquely, some young wick, and Rhys reacted with a quick hand, fingers catching the stranger's bicep, blue eyes meeting a surprised gaze before flicking to keep an eye on the burly thugs clearly bent on stopping something unexpected, "Watch where you're going, ersehole."

"Watch where you're going, ye chroveshit bastard." Countered the wick, his accent thick and Hessean just like his blond, dredlocked hair and the density of freckles on his dark skin.

"You gonna make me?" The officer flexed his glamour and the other wick flinched, fumbling with things at his belt, in his hand, and dropping a pouch at both of their feet.

"N-ne. I jus'—epaemo." Squeaked the fellow under the threatening press of far more powerful monic expression, completely unaware that he'd lost his drugs and coin. Wrenching himself free from Rhys' grasp, the other man attempted to scramble away. Some of the crowd warily eyed the tall blond, a few grumbled, and without taking his watch from the two humans, the Sergeant bent to pick up what was dropped and stuffed it into the inner pocket of his dark wool coat before he moved carefully to come up behind the men and whoever they were after instead.

One hand still in his coat, fingertips brushed the knife at his belt, tense and ready.

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Adam Spencer
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Wed May 01, 2019 10:15 pm

The Basin • Anaxas/ Vienda
On the 15th of Bethas, 2719 • Afternoon
No help. At least not at first. There wasn't just one drug-runner approaching. There were two. And he wasn't the fastest runner. He took a step backwards, shooting the pair a wan smile.

This wouldn't end well, and all because he'd prioritized his ow curiosity over common sense. It was an unusual mistake, but it was turning into one he'd make absolutely sure he wouldn't make again. Stepping back again, he tried to keep himself out of range, though he wasn't out of notice.

The drug dealer and her mark had stopped their trade, lingering to watch, and Adam grimaced at that. He'd have to avoid coming down to the Basin for a few weeks, until the memory of whatever this would become faded in most people's minds. He was oddly grateful for his own humanity; there was no field to remember quickly, and so he would be abl eto blend into the woodwork at a later date, so long as he chose that date carefully and set it reasonably far away.

Fields. Shit. He couldn't quite make out whoever was following the drug muscle, but he could sense the blond's field, as strong as it was. Galdori, for sure -- here to help him? Or make the situation worse?

Still, from the way the man was tracing the others' steps, he wasn't here to help them, at least. If he didn't seize the opportunity, he might not get it again. So he raised his hand to the woman in the alleyway, calling out to her in an entirely convivial manner he didn't feel for a second. His voice held onto its clipped tone the galdor behind the pair might have considered civilized.

"Have you got what I'm looking for?"

He'd just be another buyer here, ready to make a trade and utterly clueless as to how to go about it. If he was going to stick out here at the Basin, he might as well stick out as someone who was clueless, instead of too curious. Hoping against hope the galdor got the hint, he took a step forward towards the alleyway, brows raised. "Someone said to keep a lookout for a dealer here at the Basin, and I'm not sure if I, uh, found the right place."

The slight stammer in his words wasn't entirely feigned, as he glanced back towards the pair and their follower He knew the third man's face -- somewhere, but he couldn't place it immediately. He'd have to ask, but that could wait until they were well enough away from the scene.

One human's lip curled in vague disgust at Adam's words; he nudged the other man, muttering somethig to him. The words 'fucking stop-clocker' were fairly audible; Adam fought the urge to sigh in relief. His ploy had worked with the not so bright pair; their step slowed, still not aware of Rhys' approach behind them.

By the time he looked back to catch her answer, the wick drug-dealer had disappeared; her buy complete, she'd taken the opportunity to slip away. The human buyer inched backward, clearly wanting no part of whatever was going on. Adam stood there, feigning clulessness and not at all feigning relative helplessness, hoping playing the village idiot would work to dissolve any rising antagonism. The pair drew closer, but at least their suspicions had abated a little. What the galdor behind them would do, however, was entirely up to him.
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Rhys Valentin
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Thu May 02, 2019 11:09 am

The Basin, Vienda
broad-clocking-daylight on the 15th of Bethas, 2719
Off the godsbedamned clock again. Out of comfortable greens. Just some other dirty halfbreed in the crowds. Only, the problem was, he couldn't be. Glamour organized and far too strong. Boots too shiny. Fingernails too fucking clean. The scars that traced from somewhere in his scalp and through an eyebrow or faintly divided his bottom lip couldn't disguise the sharp angles of a face that shared blood with galdorkind. Not enough, anyway. Even for a wick, he had no idea how to be anything but a jent. And a four-fucking-snap jent at that.

Bodies were moving, escaping, sliding away into the rowdy, alcohol-infused crowd. Looks were exchanged. The Inspector's blue eyes took it all in and his mind rifled through faces and files even as he slowed his steps, memorizing the witch just in case he'd need that reference later. While the tempo of his pulse picked up in its internal rhythm, there was a dark-haired man at the end of the narrow space they'd poured themselves so hastily into and he'd shouted with just enough volume and awkwardness to have scattered the key players in whatever mess he'd stumbled into.

There was that subtle edge to the third party's tone that was just enough of a clue that the human was attempting to save his own erse as much as it was the slightest of questions. He wasn't really here to buy—the thugs in front of Rhys gave that much away—but it was far better to appear a bit lost in a place so eager for more broken bones and split flesh than to appear to have too much of an unsanctioned purpose. The tall blond understood how that went, obviously, as he'd not even dared wander through in his uniform.

The Sergeant let his gaze return to the hairlines of the two men in front of him, drawing in his glamour as if it were a net of fish instead of some invisible collection of mostly Perceptive mona lingering in his personal space. When the large pair of enforcers didn't deviate from their course despite the witch ducking into the afternoon throng, Rhys was left to make a decision.

Stepping up his pace and making it obvious he was present by the stalwart bastion of his magical existence, the not-galdor simply shouldered his way between them both,

"Clocking hell—make some room, would you?" He hissed as if they'd been in his way all along, parting them like some Hoxian sorcerer parted the Spondola mountains centuries ago, his eyes on the actual buyer who lingered while his senses remained far more aware of the bulk he'd now put at his back, "Ent you got somewhere better to be, kov? If you don't, you should find one."

The authoritativeness in his voice was well-practiced and undeniably audible despite how he forced his mind to move Tek across his tongue like it was natural, Rhys drawing himself up to his full half-bred bastard of a wick height and half-turning to put himself between the muscle and man caught in the middle, hoping his tone was enough to shoo off the other human so he'd not have to deal with three sources of violence, if any at all. This was what working in pairs was for, but the Seventen wasn't even sure he could trust his own kind anymore, if they'd ever been his kind at all.

"As for you," He addressed Adam while his body shifted in a form of tense readiness, but his attention was now on the men he'd brushed so roughly past, "I'm pretty sure you went looking for one thing and found the wrong one. An accident, maybe?"
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Adam Spencer
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Thu May 02, 2019 7:15 pm

The Basin • Anaxas/ Vienda
On the 15th of Bethas, 2719 • Afternoon
Relief flooded Adam like a cheap bottle of swill alcohol. He didn't know the newcomer just from the opportunity he'd had to observe him so far -- though where the hell did he know the fellow's face from? -- but he was relieved at the intervention nonetheless. It might all end even worse for the trouble, but at least it wasn't ending quite yet.

The buyer blinked, looking over at the men past the blond fellow, but seemed unwilling to take his chances in the changed situation, hightailing it down the alleyway after the wick. Adam didn't follow suit, though, watching silently as the pair sized up Rhys quite openly.

"Ent you a four-snaps Seventen?" one of the muscle demanded of Rhys, jabbing a thumb at him. The thought alone was enough to slow their pace, at least.

The fort dropped. Right, of course. That was where Adam had seen the man in passing -- that trial, and all that. He'd have to square that away for the paper too, figure out where he wanted to take his shot at the situation. For now, though, the Seventen was welcome enough if it meant saving him from a worse situation. He raised a brow at Rhys' inquiry, shrugging.

"An accident, yeah," he agreed after a moment, although he didn't feel like he was being terribly convincing about it. "Lucky thing you were here to save me from myself." He was grateful enough to not sound insincere, but a slight dryness laced his words as he responded to the inquiry.

The pair stood in front of Rhys, sizing him up. Sizing Adam up, with much less regard for him than they had for the man they'd just outed as a plainclothes officer. At length, the one who hadn't spoken snorted in vague disgust, jabbing a thumb at their erstwhile target.

"Tell the jent here that if we see his mung face here again, it'll be the last time, ye chen?" It was as much for Adam's understanding as Rhys's. Warning given, they stared the other two down for a long moment, before making a threatening gesture at the journalist and strolling away.

It took Adam a moment to recover. Not due to the threat -- he didn't care about those two -- but due to the fact that here was some Seventen officer who had helped him, not knowing who he was. He drew a breath, offering the blond galdor a smile he didn't quite feel worked, either. "You didn't have to do that. Especially as it was an accident, just like you said. I came here looking for King's Crop and found Drake's Tongue instead." He nodded to where the witch had skittered off to. "There's a new shipment coming in soon, but I didn't quite catch the timing."

He rolled his shoulders, studying the other fellow. "I figure you'd be interested anyway, Officer." Sergeant Rhys Valentin, he put together face and name, even as he said the more vague title -- but he opted to play dumb for the moment. Save the reveal for when it might matter, if there'd be a better opportunity than the present one. "The Vienda Weekly might be interested as well." It was a hint as to his own mission here -- but he'd let the Seventen deduce the details; time to see if he was at all the investigator that he was supposed to be.

Falling silent, he let himself recover a little further; his spine straightened and his shoulders squared as he drew himself up to his tall height, jaw and gaze seeming to click into place as he returned to a more placid state, leaning against the side wall of the building that fronted the alley.

The crowds had started to thin out a little; their conversation was growing less precarious. Even so, he felt as out of place as the galdor looked, and didn't doubt for a second that he stuck out as well.
Last edited by Adam Spencer on Fri May 03, 2019 3:43 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Rhys Valentin
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Fri May 03, 2019 3:09 pm

The Basin, Vienda
broad-clocking-daylight on the 15th of Bethas, 2719
"Are you clocking sure you want to find out either way?" Rhys' glamour bristled threateningly, the tall blond meeting the broad-shouldered human's glare with an icy gaze, taking in his face because the bastard's knowledge made his lungs burn with the memory of drowning in his own blood just a season ago. He'd stabbed one of Diaxio's thugs, but had he really gotten any real looks at their faces? Fingers curled into the palms of his hands and every muscle in his body tensed like the collection of mona that clung so possessively about his person in spite of his sullied heritage.

The Inspector exhaled slowly, Bethas weather still chilled enough that the fires that smoldered unseen inside of his once-broken ribs made themselves visible as a cloud of breath, "I can be right back in this very spot tomorrow if you really want me to be, ersehole."

It took effort to relax his hands enough to rake one through the unkempt wildness of his hair, palm brushing over the pink line that ran through his eyebrow and disappeared into blond locks, Rhys turning his body away from the thugs slinking off, turning his back on their threats, to give the dark-haired human he'd probably saved from a damn good beating more of his studious attention. Perhaps the man's face was familiar enough, but he couldn't place it. He wasn't an informant, though he couldn't shake the thought in his well-catalogued, ridiculously organized Seventen-trained mind that Adam was at least someone associated with information.

"Hate to say it, but you're not going to find King's Crop here."

The not-galdor didn't return the other's smile, instead reaching into his pocket to take out the small, soft leather bag he'd pilfered from the spooked pusher just a few moments ago. He spoke without any hint of care of being overheard, perhaps far more boldly than he should have, expression twisting into a sneer, "The Crop's upper class opium, anyway, and if you're looking for it, you'd best find a friend in Uptown. Drake's Tongue, though? Godsdamnit."

Rhys grunted and sifted through the contents of the bag—more samples, all stamped with an old heraldic drake, tongue extended in a semi-circle to meet the beast's tail. His teeth gnawed at the knot of scar tissue that marred his bottom lip, the rest of the items in the bag all for various ways of actually enjoying the opiate.

Adam said officer and the tall blond hissed, "Inspector to you, sir, since you're going to call me out on it right now. Special Enforcement Sergeant Valentin if you'd like to get specific—gods, what do you care about shipments—oh—the clocking paper. If you're the shitty piece of work who wrote up my trial in Vortas, I'm going to have to arrest you for slander. Maybe I'll tack on drug possession for my own entertainment, eh?"

He let the threat hang there for a moment, crystalline gaze watching the human attempt to relax against the wall almost in spite of what the Seventen had the nerve to say, but Rhys laughed instead. It was a clipped, bitter sound that held very little warmth—a sarcastic expression that revealed far more of a sensation of betrayal than humor,

"I've spent the last few years chasing this chroveshit when not tangled up in Resistance problems or clocking tribal wick issues, and if you're looking for your big break of a story, you're headed the wrong direction. If I wasn't already a tabloid favorite lately, I'd hand you the break of a lifetime."

He couldn't help but grin then, shoving his hands in his pockets along with the pouch he'd tucked everything back away into. Tilting his chin and shrugging his shoulders with a hatcher-may-care sort of casualness, it was obvious the tarnished officer was both actually making an offer and gauging just how trustworthy some stranger who tossed around the Vienda Weekly like he worked there while willing to eavesdrop in the Basin at the risk of his own face really could be.
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Adam Spencer
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Sat May 04, 2019 4:21 pm

The Basin • Anaxas/ Vienda
On the 15th of Bethas, 2719 • Afternoon
Not interested in your trial, Sergeant Valentin. Nor in what the reports said about it, and I figure those were two different things." Adam didn't bristle at the Seventen's attitude, keeping his demeanor placid and controlled. "But I am interested in just how the hell that got in here, considering what a threat it might pose to the other half of the equation Uptown." Nodding towards the Drake's Tongue Rhys was piecing his way through, he folded his arms, trying to play at being casual, even if the knowledge of who the man was started to come back to him.

Valentin had been involved in breaking up a How in Brunnhold several years ago -- and Adam himself would be headed there soon. He wouldn't have put it past the self-proclaimed inspector to trump up charges, based on the record the man had when it came to Resistance actiivties.

Adam himself hadn't been anywhere near to Brunnhold when the dissolution of the How had happened, but the news had filtered through to Vienda nonetheless. Valentin had been promoted to sergeant, four-snaps, for the effort. So clearly the man was a true believer -- maybe not in D'Arthe, but certainly in the necessity of putting a clampdown on Resistance work. Something to be aware of if, for whatever reason, Valentin wanted to offer him advice in tracking down drug shipments.

Still, he shot Rhys a faint smile, one he knew was similarly devoid of amusement. His voice was dry. f"For someone who doesn't want to be in the papers, threatening a false arrest is a funny way of going about it, officer. But don't worry. I'm not working for the Kingsway Post, so that won't be written up. I know it's a joke." The final statement was weighted just so, to indicate he very much hoped it was a joke in the first place. He didn't particularly relish the idea of being arrested, falsely or otherwise.

"That said," he continued briefly, a bit loftily, as if stating a hypothetical Rhys could take him up on, making an offer of his own, "I know that the Weekly has an official position of protecting its anonymous sources. If I even need to say where I got the information from. Maybe I just overheard a couple of them talking about it here. Come to think of it, that isn't entirely inaccurate."

He waved a hand, a signal for Rhys to go ahead and divulge whatever information he had.

Fairly sure his response had worked, Adam let his gaze drift off the inspector towards the crater just beyond them. The crowd was continuing to ebb, and whatever the break was that the Seventen had to offer, it was becoming easier to talk about in public. Small miracles, at least.
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Rhys Valentin
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Tue May 07, 2019 2:56 pm

The Basin, Vienda
broad-clocking-daylight on the 15th of Bethas, 2719
Ascarred lip curled into a smirk at the human's casual dismissal and even more casual lack of interest in the Sergeant's ridiculous joke of a trial. He huffed, looking down at the opiates that he was already tucking away, slipping into the inner pocket of his coat as if he'd done these sorts of things before, smooth and utterly unconcerned about appearances. For a long, quiet moment, he seemed to consider how best to answer the accusation-slash-question, crystalline gaze narrowing to study Adam's face as if somehow he could read his thoughts without a single word of Monite,

"Drake's Tongue's a new contender hoping to wrestle its way to top sales and devour King's Crop profits. It's rivalry, but as far as I can tell—" As far as he knew, honestly, Rhys very aware of who had their fingers on the pulse of that Uptown drug life, "—their markets are totally different."

Jaw clenched at the feigned humor and the tall blond shifted uneasily on his feet, shoving hands in his pockets and glancing about the now thin crowds in the Basin: the stragglers with nowhere else to go, the drunks who'd been there since the night before, and the vendors who were simply preparing for everything to start over again come evening. He sighed, the sharp exhale used as an attempt to breathe stray strands of hair from his face, "Do you really think someone would contend my grounds for arrest? What's your name, Mister Vienda Weekly?"

Rhys grinned then, and it was a far more genuine expression than it'd been thus far, a bit of tension draining from his stance as one booted foot dug at loose cobblestones and he restlessly considered picking a direction and walking in it lest they continue to attract too much unwanted attention. Not that he gave a chroves' erse who heard him talk about much of anything anymore, aware that even his own kind, even Seventen like Captain D'Arthe, were more than willing to betray him, to leave him drowning in his own blood just a few miles up river in beautiful Uptown Vienda's most well-kept streets.

Bastards.

His stomach turned, a heat crawling through freshly healed bones, but he didn't let anything show on his face, "You're offering me anonymity? That's sweet, 'cause I clocking promise not even the papers can offer me protection, but, gods, I may consider the risk worth it. I'll admit I have about as much faith in the post these days as I do in my own damn kind."

Rubbing his chin on the dark wool of his coat as if saying those words had made him itch, he suddenly cocked his head in the opposite direction, leaning his body in a way that indicated he was going to start moving. It wasn't that the not-galdor was fleeing the truth of his admission so much as he knew standing still was dangerous, "I'm not telling anything to the whole Basin, and enough erseholes have seen my face around for the day, I'd say. Getting called out when out of uniform really pisses me off—I've got a feeling I knew that clocking thug, that he's gotten a really good look at my face before—I—shit."

He swallowed thickly, memories rising to the surface of his thoughts and with them an imaginary metallic tang that forced him to run his tongue over the back of his teeth just in case. That phantom, fluttery feeling of a once-loosened molar filled him with a quick inhale of panic until he felt the solid bones all in their proper places, jaw aching as if to remind him of how broken his face had been.

As much as he didn't want to trust Adam, as much as he no longer trusted the Seventen he served, he couldn't help but succumb to the temptation of careful rumormongering. The enemy of his enemy was, after all, his friend.

"—listen. What are you chasing Drake's Tongue for, anyway? There's far safer stories to be trying to make your name famous on, trust me." Rhys had nowhere in particular in mind, but he'd lead them from the glorified illusion of an arena and back out onto the streets, meandering his way toward the Avora and one of the many cobbled walks that led along its banks in a park-like fashion for those desiring a casual, scenic stroll. It'd take several minutes through the winding side streets of the Dives, so he spoke around the obvious at first,

"I can give you a few good leads on the Resistance, on a couple of heart-warming turn around stories, or maybe on the next training day, but, you know, digging too deep when it comes to this opium rivalry, well, it can get you killed." The tall blond's voice held no scrap of self-preservation selfishness so much as a deadpan, committed sort of honesty. It was a gritty revelation from someone who was already so tangled up in the middle of it all that he wasn't sure he'd see his way out alive, white-knuckled and ready to crush those who'd already tried so hard to oppose not only himself but the galdor he loved, "If that doesn't bother you any, where can I start for you? What would a big break look like for you and how much do you really want to know?"
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Adam Spencer
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Thu May 09, 2019 5:19 pm

The Dives • Anaxas/ Vienda
On the 15th of Bethas, 2719 • Afternoon
Adam grinned back. "I think someone would, yes. That someone being me. And I have an audience. Adam Spencer; you might have seen my columns." The bragging was so lazy, so nonchalantly spoken, that it was clearly a joke. He kept his smile aimed at Rhys, watching as the other man's thoughts drifted to something unshared. It didn't really matter what the concerns were, though, as far as Adam was concerned. What mattered was to find out exactly what Rhys knew. The first step to that followed:

"Would you like a drink, Sergeant Valentin? You're talking like you want to get out of here. If you'll accept an offer of a drink from someone like me, of course." Human or muckraking journalist? He supposed it didn't matter; in any case, the point would be sufficiently made. "I'm not much of a drinking man, but it looks like you, at least, could use it. And I know I could after all that."

That hadn't really been anything. He hadn't come close to being hurt, and his nerves had barely jumped. But he was content to let the Seventen think he was more afraid than he had been, at least for the moment. He fell silent as Rhys and he walked through the Dives, catching the other man's cue for silence quite easily.

"I'd like to know what leads you have on the Resistance, given that my boss would be pretty interested," he said, not technically lying for a second. "Heart-warming this and that, I can take or leave. But I heard some rumors, and I came down here to check them out. Imagine my surprise when they turned out to be true."

He paused, half-turning towards Rhys, making a go-ahead motion at the other man's final question. A big break would look, to him, like just about anything, at this rate. It would be the sort of thing that he would know when he heard it. That aside, the Seventen clearly had some information at the ready about the drug shipments -- whether it was King's Crop or Drake's Tongue at this point didn't really matter, either. What mattered was knowing what the other man knew.

He squared his shoulders, letting his mouth set in a straight line, pensive and thoughtful. They'd wound up on a quieter square. The fine establishment on one corner of the place bore advertisements for all kinds of cheap liquor -- an easy spot to head to. He shoved a hand through his hair. "I don't care about making my name famous. It already is, in a manner of speaking. I care about finding out what's going wrong in this city, and I've a suspicion, backed by apparent evidence, that part of the wrongness in the city has to do with those drugs. Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll walk, but I'm not wrong. And you know that, Sergeant Valentin. I think we could find out more together than we might on our own."
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Rhys Valentin
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Thu May 09, 2019 9:33 pm

The Basin, Vienda
broad-clocking-daylight on the 15th of Bethas, 2719
"I'mnot yet convinced you're not replaceable, Mister Spencer, but I read the papers. Someone may miss your impressive lack of spelling errors in your pieces, sure. Or at least your subtle use of wit." Rhys kept his threat and made it known that he wasn't unaware of the human once he gave his name, playing the part of just another galdor officer—almost.

"You can stop calling me Sergeant now. Maybe you didn't notice I wasn't in uniform? Maybe it's for a reason. Just Rhys'll do. I'm not on duty. I don't want to be right now, either." The last sound left his lips and he couldn't help but let his tongue brush over that ridiculous scar again, blue eyes rolling as he leaned away, as he set his listless, lanky, dirty half-blood body into motion down the street, "I look like a drink, do I? That was nothing. Someone like you? What, a human? Or some godsbedamned nosey reporter who obviously doesn't have any qualms about getting in over his head? You've got to make a living like the rest of us—I'm given a lot of shit for just how clocking tolerant I come off as with so-called folks like you."

He smirked, the only one between the two of them aware of the metallic tang of irony in his words.

He laughed then, quick to bury such thoughts behind a thin veil of forced humor, but the blond was perhaps a little put out at the implication that this small bit of even potentially violent interaction had somehow put him over the edge enough to require intoxication. Fuck that. He'd been shoved roughly over the cliff of no return months ago by the hard crushing blows of one Captain D'Arthe's Seventen-issued baton, and the twinge in his left arm reminded him of everything else that had careened him far from his oath-sworn path as he watched the way the other man walked for a moment, always the Inspector, ever the officer even when pretending not to be.

He scoffed as the reporter made his honest request, turning down a totally unoccupied side alley as if he knew what he was doing. While he led, he dug back into his pocket and removed the pouch of Drake's Tongue. Adam would feel the not-galdor gather his powerful glamour, a field strong enough that to a human like the reporter, there was hardly a difference at all, especially considering he spoke Monite with such measured confidence, such comfortable trust, that no one would ever have questioned what he was, let alone what he wasn't.

The bag began to spark and smolder as he channeled Static mona that didn't normally cling to his aura, the leather pouch swiftly consumed by bright white and dancing blue flame, Rhys tossing the whole thing onto the cold cobblestones and concentrating just enough to make sure that everything inside began to crackle and burn, turned to ash almost without any smoke. He wasn't about to bring that home, nor did he need to bring that back to headquarters. The young Valentin scowled, scuffing blackened remains with the muddy toe of his boot before he set them both in motion again,

"I bet you'd love to hear all the shit the Investigative Division knows about the Resistance. Then you could plaster it all over the papers in nice black ink, get a sweet promotion, and I'd have to watch all our best laid plans shift with the wind, eh? Maybe another time. Let's see how trustworthy you are first, Mister Spencer, with information I'm currently not reporting to my superior officers instead. Fair?"

Rhys had built his career on the prison sentences of Resistance cadets and he wasn't about to give away anything that might cost him the tenuous hold he had on his career already—wait, yes he would. Just not that. Not yet.

"You're more famous than most humans, sure." He grinned, mostly giving the other man a hard time now and not actually attempting to outright insult him. Gods, if Adam only knew the company he kept, the family he had, the mother who birthed him.

The tall blond couldn't help but look around once they were in an open square, blue eyes shifting from the dark-haired man's face to study the passer's by, unable to shake the kind of paranoia being beaten in broad daylight had scarred into his entire existence. They hadn't been followed. This was the Dives. Home wasn't too far away in the Painted Ladies, after all, but Adam didn't need to know that. Not now. Possibly not ever. Fumbling almost compulsively for his pocket watch, he noted no patrols were due through this area for another ten minutes. Yes, he had every one of them memorized. More precisely than ever.

He shouldn't be doing this, either. Sharing what he knew. Spinning his current personal quest for justice with the press, with anyone other than Charity and Gale. Benjamin's body was fish food by now, somewhere downriver. He still had Diaxio to hunt. He still had Damen to—

His shoulders sagged at the reporter's words, fingers stuck for a moment in the slim pocket in his vest, hooked on the hem where he'd slid his time piece away. The Sergeant's jaw clenched as if he'd heard something that angered him, but the flicker of emotion that passed over his face, that puckered at the scar that ran through his eyebrow and curled his lips was sadness, was hurt, and was genuine concern. Tilting his chin toward the little hole in the wall that could barely be called a pub given it was surely a glorified liquor cabinet with a window, Rhys' tone was suddenly far heavier than it had been,

"You have no fucking idea, Mister Spencer. I know, you think you do, but you just don't. Trust me because I didn't, either. If you're saying you can probably help me out, you're probably right. But the price is high should truth end up in the wrong hands." There was a waver in that admission, the not-galdor looking away from the other man to hold the door open for him and usher him into the small space, his glamour tightening against his person with a purposeful dampening, suddenly quieter, weaker, and far less noticeable than it had been out on the street,

"The question is, where do I start? The present? The beginning? Somewhere in between? There is too much for one sitting." Rhys moved to find them the furthest table from the bar, scooting the human out a chair firstt and then himself second with his own foot before removing his coat and tossing it over the back, before sinking so heavily down into the seat,

"You have a whole series of articles potentially with all me, myself, and my honesty could put on the table. But what in all the Circle do you have to offer the likes of me?" Self preservation. He was forced to value it now, even if in over eight years as a Seventen and ten as a student, he'd hardly given a chrove's erse about his own well being.
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