[Open] Wirecutters

You know what had a way of making loud, noisy events better?

Drugs.

Henley wasn't one to judge, wasn't one to hold others back, and while he wasn't a regular user, he didn't mind partaking every now and again. Tonight was one such night, his sativa openly burning between two long, thin fingers. He took a long, deep puff and held for the pass, finally blasting it out with a cough once the breath was too long. The head high hit fast, leaving the Ogre leaning against the wall.

Red eyes? Check.

Upbeat energy blasting through him as the group played? You bet. He adjusted the Depeche Mode t-shirt and stepped off, taking his joint back from the hand of some mortal behind him.

"You look like you need this more than I do."

The left hand offered the still-burning blunt to Blaze. The right offered a shake.

"Henley. Had any fun yet?"

There was a mischievous little twinkle in his eye as the ultra-tall, reed thin Ogre looked down at the Ifrit.

Blaze wasn't the shortest person out there, but this man still towered over her, which made it doubly jarring that she didn't really see him coming. Of course, in this crowd, darkness and noise you could barely see anything. She does note, however, the double gift of a handshake and a joint - and while she accepts the former, returning it with some firmness, she politely refuses the latter.

"Need? Maybe. Want? Not really."

That was the crux of it - it doesn't matter one bit what she needs, she's on duty, she has a task and she's going to see it through even if nobody gave a shit. The exchange almost makes her miss her targets - the Winter officers. She's chiefly interested in Talos, and tries to move a bit closer to him, although not too close - the Elemental wants to walk with Henley, at least for the moment, rather than away from him.

"People call me Blaze. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the gesture, but I didn't come here to have fun. Don't let me stop you, though" Right, as if she could if she wanted to "You look more in your element in here."

Watching his whole body breathe was interesting indeed, but not so interesting that Blaze forgot how rude it is to stare. None of them can help how they look, and it's not a good idea to gawk at one's neck for too long. This isn't a vampire novel.

"Security. The place can burst at any moment, and I'm here to do my part in making sure it doesn't happen - or if it does, the danger is contained and the bosses notified." She answers "That's for today, at least. My normal line of work is mental health." 

Which, yes, did make her sound a bit like a bad anime protagonist with five careers before the age that legally allows you to drive, but it was true. The transofrmation was jarring and probably shouldn't even be talked about in past tense just yet, but it represented a genuine effort.

Somewhere around this time, Blaze attempts to excuse herself for a few minutes to exploit the first lull in the 'conversation' between Mordecai and Talos, to approach the latter about her promise to Victor and Yuan. Unless stopped for longer, she won't get into much detail, minding time constraints and the surroundings. Just enough to imply that the Silent Knight's expertise will be needed. Assuming the little detour eent off without a hitch, the Sprite then returns to the Spring Courtier.

"So excitement is the last thing on my mind, honestly - I have embraced being boring." What a very Winter thing to say "What kind of fun are you after, Cailleigh?"

There was no use pretending the question wasn't at least a bit investigative, but it probably wasn't too out of place - big mix, as he said. Between the music, the drugs and the opportunity to sate every base urge you could think of, there are dozens of colours of fun you can have here, and it pays to know what your acquaintances like.

"It does look rather fucking bothersome here, doesn't it?" Puff. Hold. Blow. The joint disappeared into someone's discarded near-empty beer bottle, the ember dying in the dregs. His eyebrows popped about the mental health gig, and he stood by patiently as she talked to Talos. When she returned with the remark about being boring and not wanting excitement, he chuckled. "And here I was thinking you were a counsellor who was tired of the desk job. This is an interesting way to embrace boredom -- not to worry. I think we all look to shake the mold where we can." He flashed a playful smile, the little lines on his throat lengthening as amusement crossed his narrow face. The lanky Ogre glanced about the place briefly, taking it all in. This place really wasn't the definition of safe, but whatever.

The question about him was met with a smile.

"Cailleigh's that one over there. I'm Henley." He gestured with an over-long finger at the Winter gal who was setting up the band's equipment. "As for fun... I think I'd like to spice up someone's life tonight. Try something new. Make a bad investment. Perhaps buzz the Stratosphere in a helicopter like I'm in Top Gun."

He shrugged.

"Unless there is actually something useful I can do here. Did you need anything from these gobbos? I'm sort of an expert in their Market. They fuck everyone, of course, but they fuck me less."

Talos blinked from above the knight-like face-shield fused to his lower jaw as Blaze spoke to him about Victor and Yuan needing his services. He nodded, and after a stretch of awkward silence, Blaze started to move away, prompting a tap on her shoulder. Talos typed something out, flashing the screen at her patiently. It was at this point that she realized he wasn't the Silent Type, but legitimately mute.


He nodded towards Yuan, apparently recognizing him without any prompt, signaling for Blaze to see if he can cough up the cash first. This kind of training and manpower didn't come cheap, and the challenges of Lost society couldn't afford blind charity. It was still more forgiving than what the true market value would be, and cut out Loyalism and trickery of the mundane with the protection of the Freehold Oath.

--

Having the Trod providing a direct artery to the Goblin Market, some Hobs had even set up shop on the border under the cautious purview of Bastille's mercenaries. It was hard to muscle a Changeling into selling out their peers, or giving up a dangerous piece of themselves when they were on their own turf and surrounded by oaths and warding magic. And thus a small frontier caravan had essentially set up shop.

Without specialized knowledge, Gavin was still able to fairly spot some differences between Hobs operating here rather than among the Thorns. First, they all had miens that glamour didn't have to twist and bend to accommodate--Existing only in dreams and ideas, Hobgoblins didn't have the Mask like the Lost. Hedgebeasts wearing the clever skin of a real-world animal had flourished with their modest homemade bastion, and the humanoid ones that could get away with enough drugs and skulking in the shadows.

He recognized the Broker doing just fine in this atmosphere, any maybe a little more powerful as Spring courtiers treated him like a guest of the Freehold. Best leave that charming monster alone until he had some proper social backup, having the sense that this had been its idea and was playing Little Embassy for its cohorts. Overhearing Henley proclaim his experience did hit a button in the Beast's catalogue--though the Ogre held no known prescence in the criminal underworld, the realm of goblin smuggling knew his name and vouched for active navigating. Where the hell was this guy when Gavin was drafted to speak with the Goblin King? Had Henley dodged that particular nightmare?

It also sounded like the middle-man-merchant was looking to inject some Emerald whimsy into prospective buyers, if only to please his Season. 

Having narrowed down the vendors with a little legwork, he recalled hearing Henley was about looking to be useful. A consummate haggler with repute among the Hobs, though Gavin needed it less than some of the others it was always a good idea to get an expert to do the finishing touches. One might learn a thing or two in the process. 

Where was this fellow when negotiating with the Goblin King? Gavin wondered. Perhaps After Party had a connection to get them the job. Maybe Spring was still pissed about the death of one of their own on the road to L.A and wanted to saddle Gavin with a hot mess. They hadn't done terribly, so it wasn't the worst outcome, but someone in the background had made a choice for that group's form-up. Was it privilege or punishment? The question lingered. 

In any case, the man was here now. Gavin approached.

"Hello mate," he offered a cordial greeting and a fist to bump. "Name's Gavin. Don't think we've met directly. How're you finding this little enclave we've opened the gates for around here? It's still getting up and running, I know, and we've got a roadway bandit to drive off before it'll really be cooking, but it's still going to be safer than the main Market that's haunted by an entitled prick and its agent, right." He hinted at his involvement in making this place possible and coded his wording to maintain secrecy in the case where overly attentive ears were nearby. One had to be careful with so many mundane people about.

"Keeping the wrong sort out of here sometimes takes the right tricks to identify them before they become a problem, if you catch my meaning. I've got a line on someone who's the sort who knows how to keep an eye out for the strange. I hear you're the man to talk to about getting a better deal around here, could use a hand." He continued using circumspect language to hint at his meaning.