OTHERWISE KNOWN AS
the misadventures of a vigilante and a self-proclaimed anti-hero
Roleplay
Tell stories and roleplay in the world of Flight Rising.
TOPIC | FANG & TALON || 1x1 mcu rp w/strayer
[img]https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/intermediary/f/7ea3ee49-7448-438d-90ba-602370134441/dcy1op5-d7f57f93-39cd-4b19-8229-fffaf2d14fac.png/v1/fill/w_1268,h_630,strp/untitled_5c_20i_35789146__1__by_ninejays_dcy1op5-pre.png[/img]
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OTHERWISE KNOWN AS
[s]the cunning serpent and the lil birdie[/s]
the misadventures of a vigilante and a self-proclaimed anti-hero [/center]
OTHERWISE KNOWN AS
the misadventures of a vigilante and a self-proclaimed anti-hero
[img]https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/intermediary/f/7ea3ee49-7448-438d-90ba-602370134441/dcy1qws-69796164-ec17-4dc9-9534-c19180850db5.png[/img]
[LIST]
[*][font=garamond][size=4]Avery Odell | the Raptor | played by @strayer
[*][font=garamond][size=4]Damien Jakoby | the Adder | played by @Skiatha
[/LIST]
[img]https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/intermediary/f/7ea3ee49-7448-438d-90ba-602370134441/dcy1qxc-3551c3e2-7aa6-42e2-9ca3-4a3525a541e1.png[/img]
[font=garamond][size=5][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/rp/2619211/1#post_37430126]The Rendezvous [/url]
The streets of New York were a lot colder at night.
Avery’s hands dug themselves deeper into his pockets as he strode along the back alleys to reach his destination. The air bit at him through his clothes, still, but that was overshadowed by his paranoia. Muscle memory told him to be careful and to be alert. Usually, when he found himself in these dark and concealed backstreets, he got himself into fights with drug dealers, burglars, thugs—typical run-of-the-mill lawbreakers. Sometimes he accidentally stumbled upon something a lot bigger than that. Which was what happened last time, actually. What he didn’t do when wandering into creepy alleyways was meet up with criminals specifically to make demon deals. That was what a crossroads was for.
It wasn’t a demon he was seeing, but who he was seeing could most certainly be described as one. Some man with expensive clothes that had a hand in some of the organized crime in the city; not really leading it, per se, but he was a rather influential third party. Called himself “the Adder”. They met, once, not long ago, when Avery was in the midst of investigating a crime syndicate that’s been making quite the uproar. They exchanged a few punches, angrily asked each other what the hell they were doing there, and realized that they were both there for the same reason, more or less. And now Avery was here, behind some old and decrepit building, the area illuminated only by a couple of weak yellow streetlights.
Avery didn’t have a watch, but he knew they were supposed to meet somewhere quiet—here—and around 10 PM. Last time he checked his phone, only a few minutes ago, it was around there. He exhaled sharply through his nose, looking around the area for movement, any sign that his conferee was nearby. He tapped his foot and set his jaw, listening to the sounds of the city. No luck.
This was something important to him. That syndicate, as mentioned earlier, was making itself known. He didn't have a name yet, but what he did know was that they were responsible for a string of murders in Harlem, and there was another incident in Chinatown that seemed related. It just couldn't live any longer; Avery was determined to wipe out whatever festering group was wreaking havoc in his city. If that meant working (albeit temporarily) with someone who... had a skewed moral compass, to say the least, then fine, he'd do it. Don't put any blame on him for hiding his knives in his coat, though.
Now, he wasn’t impatient, but he could be doing other important things right now. Looking into who’s the kingpin of the gang, maybe. Or finding out what exactly the syndicate does. Maybe just generally saving some poor civilian's life and whisking himself away into the night. Or even, God willing, maybe he could actually get some sleep. Balancing his personal life and this vigilante stuff he was doing was hard. Anything but standing around and waiting for someone who might not even show.
The last thing he needed this to be was a waste of time.
Avery’s hands dug themselves deeper into his pockets as he strode along the back alleys to reach his destination. The air bit at him through his clothes, still, but that was overshadowed by his paranoia. Muscle memory told him to be careful and to be alert. Usually, when he found himself in these dark and concealed backstreets, he got himself into fights with drug dealers, burglars, thugs—typical run-of-the-mill lawbreakers. Sometimes he accidentally stumbled upon something a lot bigger than that. Which was what happened last time, actually. What he didn’t do when wandering into creepy alleyways was meet up with criminals specifically to make demon deals. That was what a crossroads was for.
It wasn’t a demon he was seeing, but who he was seeing could most certainly be described as one. Some man with expensive clothes that had a hand in some of the organized crime in the city; not really leading it, per se, but he was a rather influential third party. Called himself “the Adder”. They met, once, not long ago, when Avery was in the midst of investigating a crime syndicate that’s been making quite the uproar. They exchanged a few punches, angrily asked each other what the hell they were doing there, and realized that they were both there for the same reason, more or less. And now Avery was here, behind some old and decrepit building, the area illuminated only by a couple of weak yellow streetlights.
Avery didn’t have a watch, but he knew they were supposed to meet somewhere quiet—here—and around 10 PM. Last time he checked his phone, only a few minutes ago, it was around there. He exhaled sharply through his nose, looking around the area for movement, any sign that his conferee was nearby. He tapped his foot and set his jaw, listening to the sounds of the city. No luck.
This was something important to him. That syndicate, as mentioned earlier, was making itself known. He didn't have a name yet, but what he did know was that they were responsible for a string of murders in Harlem, and there was another incident in Chinatown that seemed related. It just couldn't live any longer; Avery was determined to wipe out whatever festering group was wreaking havoc in his city. If that meant working (albeit temporarily) with someone who... had a skewed moral compass, to say the least, then fine, he'd do it. Don't put any blame on him for hiding his knives in his coat, though.
Now, he wasn’t impatient, but he could be doing other important things right now. Looking into who’s the kingpin of the gang, maybe. Or finding out what exactly the syndicate does. Maybe just generally saving some poor civilian's life and whisking himself away into the night. Or even, God willing, maybe he could actually get some sleep. Balancing his personal life and this vigilante stuff he was doing was hard. Anything but standing around and waiting for someone who might not even show.
The last thing he needed this to be was a waste of time.
The streets of New York were a lot colder at night.
Avery’s hands dug themselves deeper into his pockets as he strode along the back alleys to reach his destination. The air bit at him through his clothes, still, but that was overshadowed by his paranoia. Muscle memory told him to be careful and to be alert. Usually, when he found himself in these dark and concealed backstreets, he got himself into fights with drug dealers, burglars, thugs—typical run-of-the-mill lawbreakers. Sometimes he accidentally stumbled upon something a lot bigger than that. Which was what happened last time, actually. What he didn’t do when wandering into creepy alleyways was meet up with criminals specifically to make demon deals. That was what a crossroads was for.
It wasn’t a demon he was seeing, but who he was seeing could most certainly be described as one. Some man with expensive clothes that had a hand in some of the organized crime in the city; not really leading it, per se, but he was a rather influential third party. Called himself “the Adder”. They met, once, not long ago, when Avery was in the midst of investigating a crime syndicate that’s been making quite the uproar. They exchanged a few punches, angrily asked each other what the hell they were doing there, and realized that they were both there for the same reason, more or less. And now Avery was here, behind some old and decrepit building, the area illuminated only by a couple of weak yellow streetlights.
Avery didn’t have a watch, but he knew they were supposed to meet somewhere quiet—here—and around 10 PM. Last time he checked his phone, only a few minutes ago, it was around there. He exhaled sharply through his nose, looking around the area for movement, any sign that his conferee was nearby. He tapped his foot and set his jaw, listening to the sounds of the city. No luck.
This was something important to him. That syndicate, as mentioned earlier, was making itself known. He didn't have a name yet, but what he did know was that they were responsible for a string of murders in Harlem, and there was another incident in Chinatown that seemed related. It just couldn't live any longer; Avery was determined to wipe out whatever festering group was wreaking havoc in his city. If that meant working (albeit temporarily) with someone who... had a skewed moral compass, to say the least, then fine, he'd do it. Don't put any blame on him for hiding his knives in his coat, though.
Now, he wasn’t impatient, but he could be doing other important things right now. Looking into who’s the kingpin of the gang, maybe. Or finding out what exactly the syndicate does. Maybe just generally saving some poor civilian's life and whisking himself away into the night. Or even, God willing, maybe he could actually get some sleep. Balancing his personal life and this vigilante stuff he was doing was hard. Anything but standing around and waiting for someone who might not even show.
The last thing he needed this to be was a waste of time.
Avery’s hands dug themselves deeper into his pockets as he strode along the back alleys to reach his destination. The air bit at him through his clothes, still, but that was overshadowed by his paranoia. Muscle memory told him to be careful and to be alert. Usually, when he found himself in these dark and concealed backstreets, he got himself into fights with drug dealers, burglars, thugs—typical run-of-the-mill lawbreakers. Sometimes he accidentally stumbled upon something a lot bigger than that. Which was what happened last time, actually. What he didn’t do when wandering into creepy alleyways was meet up with criminals specifically to make demon deals. That was what a crossroads was for.
It wasn’t a demon he was seeing, but who he was seeing could most certainly be described as one. Some man with expensive clothes that had a hand in some of the organized crime in the city; not really leading it, per se, but he was a rather influential third party. Called himself “the Adder”. They met, once, not long ago, when Avery was in the midst of investigating a crime syndicate that’s been making quite the uproar. They exchanged a few punches, angrily asked each other what the hell they were doing there, and realized that they were both there for the same reason, more or less. And now Avery was here, behind some old and decrepit building, the area illuminated only by a couple of weak yellow streetlights.
Avery didn’t have a watch, but he knew they were supposed to meet somewhere quiet—here—and around 10 PM. Last time he checked his phone, only a few minutes ago, it was around there. He exhaled sharply through his nose, looking around the area for movement, any sign that his conferee was nearby. He tapped his foot and set his jaw, listening to the sounds of the city. No luck.
This was something important to him. That syndicate, as mentioned earlier, was making itself known. He didn't have a name yet, but what he did know was that they were responsible for a string of murders in Harlem, and there was another incident in Chinatown that seemed related. It just couldn't live any longer; Avery was determined to wipe out whatever festering group was wreaking havoc in his city. If that meant working (albeit temporarily) with someone who... had a skewed moral compass, to say the least, then fine, he'd do it. Don't put any blame on him for hiding his knives in his coat, though.
Now, he wasn’t impatient, but he could be doing other important things right now. Looking into who’s the kingpin of the gang, maybe. Or finding out what exactly the syndicate does. Maybe just generally saving some poor civilian's life and whisking himself away into the night. Or even, God willing, maybe he could actually get some sleep. Balancing his personal life and this vigilante stuff he was doing was hard. Anything but standing around and waiting for someone who might not even show.
The last thing he needed this to be was a waste of time.
Smoke rose in a lazy trail into the cool October night as he took another puff from his cigarette.
Damien Jakoby, the Adder, wouldn't exactly say that he hated this part of the city, so much as found it distasteful. Here, nestled in the darkness of some alleyway in the seedier side of the Bronx, he was reminded all too much of his younger days. But he had assured himself that it was the best place to meet without many prying eyes, and he knew these streets like the back of his hand. Damien hoped it would turn out to be a worthwhile decision.
The man he was supposed to meet here went by the alias "The Raptor", some kind of classic self-proclaimed hero/vigilante type of guy who probably had Captain America posters in his room.
And this Raptor was going to help him get back his stuff.
But frankly, Damien wouldn't even have to be here if the other hadn't blown his cover a week ago, when he had managed to track down the thief to his hide-out that night. Damien nearly had the guy when the Raptor had busted in like it was a full-out police raid, and in the process made him lose his target--
He stilled when he heard the sound of footsteps approach from around the block. Then, the sight of a man came into view, and Damien knew it was him. He could tell it from the way he walked, as if looking for a fight with whatever lawbreaking thug or wicked evil-doer could be lurking in the shadows.
It was cute, really.
For a moment, Damien contemplated whether or not he should just leave the other man waiting there for a while longer. It was always amusing to watch them grow increasingly uneasy as they waited; the way their heat patterns shifted to a glowing haze of warmth around their facial area, while their extremities turned a clammy shade of blue.
However, time was of essence for this particular case, and personally he preferred to get the whole thing done with and out of the way as soon as possible. So, with a small sigh, the man pulled the cigarette from his lips, dropping it and putting it out under his foot before he emerged from his spot.
As Damien approached Avery, he broke into a toothy smile, eyes glinting in the half-light of the alley.
"Well well, there you are. A little birdy told me you'd be here."
Damien Jakoby, the Adder, wouldn't exactly say that he hated this part of the city, so much as found it distasteful. Here, nestled in the darkness of some alleyway in the seedier side of the Bronx, he was reminded all too much of his younger days. But he had assured himself that it was the best place to meet without many prying eyes, and he knew these streets like the back of his hand. Damien hoped it would turn out to be a worthwhile decision.
The man he was supposed to meet here went by the alias "The Raptor", some kind of classic self-proclaimed hero/vigilante type of guy who probably had Captain America posters in his room.
And this Raptor was going to help him get back his stuff.
But frankly, Damien wouldn't even have to be here if the other hadn't blown his cover a week ago, when he had managed to track down the thief to his hide-out that night. Damien nearly had the guy when the Raptor had busted in like it was a full-out police raid, and in the process made him lose his target--
He stilled when he heard the sound of footsteps approach from around the block. Then, the sight of a man came into view, and Damien knew it was him. He could tell it from the way he walked, as if looking for a fight with whatever lawbreaking thug or wicked evil-doer could be lurking in the shadows.
It was cute, really.
For a moment, Damien contemplated whether or not he should just leave the other man waiting there for a while longer. It was always amusing to watch them grow increasingly uneasy as they waited; the way their heat patterns shifted to a glowing haze of warmth around their facial area, while their extremities turned a clammy shade of blue.
However, time was of essence for this particular case, and personally he preferred to get the whole thing done with and out of the way as soon as possible. So, with a small sigh, the man pulled the cigarette from his lips, dropping it and putting it out under his foot before he emerged from his spot.
As Damien approached Avery, he broke into a toothy smile, eyes glinting in the half-light of the alley.
"Well well, there you are. A little birdy told me you'd be here."
Smoke rose in a lazy trail into the cool October night as he took another puff from his cigarette.
Damien Jakoby, the Adder, wouldn't exactly say that he hated this part of the city, so much as found it distasteful. Here, nestled in the darkness of some alleyway in the seedier side of the Bronx, he was reminded all too much of his younger days. But he had assured himself that it was the best place to meet without many prying eyes, and he knew these streets like the back of his hand. Damien hoped it would turn out to be a worthwhile decision.
The man he was supposed to meet here went by the alias "The Raptor", some kind of classic self-proclaimed hero/vigilante type of guy who probably had Captain America posters in his room.
And this Raptor was going to help him get back his stuff.
But frankly, Damien wouldn't even have to be here if the other hadn't blown his cover a week ago, when he had managed to track down the thief to his hide-out that night. Damien nearly had the guy when the Raptor had busted in like it was a full-out police raid, and in the process made him lose his target--
He stilled when he heard the sound of footsteps approach from around the block. Then, the sight of a man came into view, and Damien knew it was him. He could tell it from the way he walked, as if looking for a fight with whatever lawbreaking thug or wicked evil-doer could be lurking in the shadows.
It was cute, really.
For a moment, Damien contemplated whether or not he should just leave the other man waiting there for a while longer. It was always amusing to watch them grow increasingly uneasy as they waited; the way their heat patterns shifted to a glowing haze of warmth around their facial area, while their extremities turned a clammy shade of blue.
However, time was of essence for this particular case, and personally he preferred to get the whole thing done with and out of the way as soon as possible. So, with a small sigh, the man pulled the cigarette from his lips, dropping it and putting it out under his foot before he emerged from his spot.
As Damien approached Avery, he broke into a toothy smile, eyes glinting in the half-light of the alley.
"Well well, there you are. A little birdy told me you'd be here."
Damien Jakoby, the Adder, wouldn't exactly say that he hated this part of the city, so much as found it distasteful. Here, nestled in the darkness of some alleyway in the seedier side of the Bronx, he was reminded all too much of his younger days. But he had assured himself that it was the best place to meet without many prying eyes, and he knew these streets like the back of his hand. Damien hoped it would turn out to be a worthwhile decision.
The man he was supposed to meet here went by the alias "The Raptor", some kind of classic self-proclaimed hero/vigilante type of guy who probably had Captain America posters in his room.
And this Raptor was going to help him get back his stuff.
But frankly, Damien wouldn't even have to be here if the other hadn't blown his cover a week ago, when he had managed to track down the thief to his hide-out that night. Damien nearly had the guy when the Raptor had busted in like it was a full-out police raid, and in the process made him lose his target--
He stilled when he heard the sound of footsteps approach from around the block. Then, the sight of a man came into view, and Damien knew it was him. He could tell it from the way he walked, as if looking for a fight with whatever lawbreaking thug or wicked evil-doer could be lurking in the shadows.
It was cute, really.
For a moment, Damien contemplated whether or not he should just leave the other man waiting there for a while longer. It was always amusing to watch them grow increasingly uneasy as they waited; the way their heat patterns shifted to a glowing haze of warmth around their facial area, while their extremities turned a clammy shade of blue.
However, time was of essence for this particular case, and personally he preferred to get the whole thing done with and out of the way as soon as possible. So, with a small sigh, the man pulled the cigarette from his lips, dropping it and putting it out under his foot before he emerged from his spot.
As Damien approached Avery, he broke into a toothy smile, eyes glinting in the half-light of the alley.
"Well well, there you are. A little birdy told me you'd be here."
There he was.
The corner of Avery’s mouth twitched as he pursed his lips at the sight of Damien. He let out a steady breath through his nose and straightened his posture. The urge to roll his eyes at the bird pun was hard to fight, regardless of whether or not Damien knew of his abilities (which he most likely did, considering Avery’s line of work). There was something chilling about the man’s presence; either it was Avery’s paranoia or the man just carried the vibe with him wherever he went.
“So it did,” Avery murmured, his hands curled into loose fists in his pockets. God, he’d rather not be here. He was hoping this would be quick, but getting himself tangled with other characters of the city might make things complicated. Straight to business, he told himself. Avery shifted his weight to one side as he continued. “And it told me that you lost something of yours.”
Damien noted the other’s apparent discomfort with amusement. And he didn’t even have to use his infrared to tell.
Avery’s attempt at a cold response did little to erase the smile from Damien’s face as he responded, “Yes, unfortunately. Something of great...personal value.” His gaze shifted to the way the other man’s hands rested in his pockets, then flickered back to his eyes,
“To business, then. I’m assuming you’re here to discuss the terms of our deal?”
Avery cocked his head ever so slightly to the side as he listened to Damien speak. Asking about what was so important about the thing he lost would probably result in him getting punched, so he set that topic aside for later. He’d learn about it eventually when they went to get whatever it was.
“I am,” Avery said, his voice far from formal. The deal was, at first glance, simple, but Avery couldn’t help but feel that a “but” would come up soon enough. He started talking again, ready to affirm what the deal was.
“Same person or group I’m after took your stuff, yeah? You—if you help me take them down, or at least help me get close enough to do that, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you get your stolen item back.“
"Yes, yes, and then we go on our merry ways," Damien opened his hands to both sides, "It's a win-win, wouldn't you say?"
Though, personally, he really didn't prefer to get his hands more dirty than he would like to. But it was either this guy or a private back-street investigator, and that option was far less savory. Especially, given the value of what had been taken from him. Damien reached into the pocket of his fur-lined coat, taking out a discreet-looking envelope. Holding it between two fingers, the man offered it to Avery,
"Since you oh-so-gracefully crashed the party last week, our target will likely be in hiding for some time. Luckily, I know of another connection who could get us closer, perhaps some more information on their whereabouts."
Avery bit back a reply, something along the lines of “I was doing my job, why would I know what you were doing there?”, as he took the envelope from Damien. No need to get fired up over something so small, though. He furrowed his brows at it and flipped it over to inspect it. Just a plain envelope. No defining characteristics, besides what was in it, and yet... Avery gave Damien a doubtful look as he took a small step back. He felt like he shouldn’t open it right away; Damien would’ve probably just said who it was or what information was there if he wanted Avery to know on the spot. But then again, Avery barely knew this man and how he behaved.
“And you’re sure this... whoever it is will get us to ‘em?” Avery asked. He’ll do his own research later tonight, once he opens the envelope. “It ain’t a dead end?”
Damien let out an exasperated sigh, "My dear, why would I waste my own time following a dead end?" He pulled his coat closer to himself, apparently done with the meeting,
"I do look forward to working with you, ah," he held out a hand to shake, pausing for the other man's name.
Avery exhaled sharply through his nose, looking at Damien with disdain. He clenched his jaw, unwilling to leave the meeting on a sour note with a few choice words. That would just be detrimental. He reached out and shook the man’s hand.
“Avery,” he murmured. “It’s Avery.”
Avery’s hand was warm in his cool grip. He gave it a shake.
“Damien.”
Coffee, probably the one thing that was keeping him alive.
Avery moved his mug from the coffee machine off to the side on the counter. He grabbed creamer from the fridge and checked his phone as he poured the cream into the mug. His kitchen was small, as was the rest of his apartment. Crowded, too. It was all full of stuff that he couldn’t bear to get rid of; he tried to keep it as organized as possible, but there was always something laying haphazardly about.
He grabbed a spoon to stir his coffee and moved to his living room, where he set his mug down on the coffee table. The envelope Damien had given him last night sat on the top of the table, glaring snow-white at him as he took his time sipping his coffee. In sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, of all things. He had opened it last night, looked for something that said he had to go someplace at that moment, and found none of that. So, naturally, he put it off ‘til early morning.
That was what life was like for Avery outside of his super exciting vigilante persona. Thank god that he didn’t have a conventional job. There was a studio somewhere in Harlem that he paints in, pays the rent for—he was his own boss. He didn’t have to give his boss excuses for why he was always late. That said, even if putting off work to fight bad guys was something he could do, it didn’t really help his relationships. Oops.
Avery took a sip from his mug, wincing as the liquid burned his tongue. He’d be asleep right now if he had his way. Leaning forward, he plucked the envelope from the table and pulled out the paper Damien had enclosed in it, his eyes flicking over the words once again. This was something he’d need to research on his own to confirm the information; but, to be honest, it all seemed plausible. If mob leaders were getting illegal money, they’d need someone to move the numbers around for them. This was someone who could do that. He furrowed his brows at the name, set his mug down. He needed to get to work.
The corner of Avery’s mouth twitched as he pursed his lips at the sight of Damien. He let out a steady breath through his nose and straightened his posture. The urge to roll his eyes at the bird pun was hard to fight, regardless of whether or not Damien knew of his abilities (which he most likely did, considering Avery’s line of work). There was something chilling about the man’s presence; either it was Avery’s paranoia or the man just carried the vibe with him wherever he went.
“So it did,” Avery murmured, his hands curled into loose fists in his pockets. God, he’d rather not be here. He was hoping this would be quick, but getting himself tangled with other characters of the city might make things complicated. Straight to business, he told himself. Avery shifted his weight to one side as he continued. “And it told me that you lost something of yours.”
Damien noted the other’s apparent discomfort with amusement. And he didn’t even have to use his infrared to tell.
Avery’s attempt at a cold response did little to erase the smile from Damien’s face as he responded, “Yes, unfortunately. Something of great...personal value.” His gaze shifted to the way the other man’s hands rested in his pockets, then flickered back to his eyes,
“To business, then. I’m assuming you’re here to discuss the terms of our deal?”
Avery cocked his head ever so slightly to the side as he listened to Damien speak. Asking about what was so important about the thing he lost would probably result in him getting punched, so he set that topic aside for later. He’d learn about it eventually when they went to get whatever it was.
“I am,” Avery said, his voice far from formal. The deal was, at first glance, simple, but Avery couldn’t help but feel that a “but” would come up soon enough. He started talking again, ready to affirm what the deal was.
“Same person or group I’m after took your stuff, yeah? You—if you help me take them down, or at least help me get close enough to do that, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you get your stolen item back.“
"Yes, yes, and then we go on our merry ways," Damien opened his hands to both sides, "It's a win-win, wouldn't you say?"
Though, personally, he really didn't prefer to get his hands more dirty than he would like to. But it was either this guy or a private back-street investigator, and that option was far less savory. Especially, given the value of what had been taken from him. Damien reached into the pocket of his fur-lined coat, taking out a discreet-looking envelope. Holding it between two fingers, the man offered it to Avery,
"Since you oh-so-gracefully crashed the party last week, our target will likely be in hiding for some time. Luckily, I know of another connection who could get us closer, perhaps some more information on their whereabouts."
Avery bit back a reply, something along the lines of “I was doing my job, why would I know what you were doing there?”, as he took the envelope from Damien. No need to get fired up over something so small, though. He furrowed his brows at it and flipped it over to inspect it. Just a plain envelope. No defining characteristics, besides what was in it, and yet... Avery gave Damien a doubtful look as he took a small step back. He felt like he shouldn’t open it right away; Damien would’ve probably just said who it was or what information was there if he wanted Avery to know on the spot. But then again, Avery barely knew this man and how he behaved.
“And you’re sure this... whoever it is will get us to ‘em?” Avery asked. He’ll do his own research later tonight, once he opens the envelope. “It ain’t a dead end?”
Damien let out an exasperated sigh, "My dear, why would I waste my own time following a dead end?" He pulled his coat closer to himself, apparently done with the meeting,
"I do look forward to working with you, ah," he held out a hand to shake, pausing for the other man's name.
Avery exhaled sharply through his nose, looking at Damien with disdain. He clenched his jaw, unwilling to leave the meeting on a sour note with a few choice words. That would just be detrimental. He reached out and shook the man’s hand.
“Avery,” he murmured. “It’s Avery.”
Avery’s hand was warm in his cool grip. He gave it a shake.
“Damien.”
Coffee, probably the one thing that was keeping him alive.
Avery moved his mug from the coffee machine off to the side on the counter. He grabbed creamer from the fridge and checked his phone as he poured the cream into the mug. His kitchen was small, as was the rest of his apartment. Crowded, too. It was all full of stuff that he couldn’t bear to get rid of; he tried to keep it as organized as possible, but there was always something laying haphazardly about.
He grabbed a spoon to stir his coffee and moved to his living room, where he set his mug down on the coffee table. The envelope Damien had given him last night sat on the top of the table, glaring snow-white at him as he took his time sipping his coffee. In sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, of all things. He had opened it last night, looked for something that said he had to go someplace at that moment, and found none of that. So, naturally, he put it off ‘til early morning.
That was what life was like for Avery outside of his super exciting vigilante persona. Thank god that he didn’t have a conventional job. There was a studio somewhere in Harlem that he paints in, pays the rent for—he was his own boss. He didn’t have to give his boss excuses for why he was always late. That said, even if putting off work to fight bad guys was something he could do, it didn’t really help his relationships. Oops.
Avery took a sip from his mug, wincing as the liquid burned his tongue. He’d be asleep right now if he had his way. Leaning forward, he plucked the envelope from the table and pulled out the paper Damien had enclosed in it, his eyes flicking over the words once again. This was something he’d need to research on his own to confirm the information; but, to be honest, it all seemed plausible. If mob leaders were getting illegal money, they’d need someone to move the numbers around for them. This was someone who could do that. He furrowed his brows at the name, set his mug down. He needed to get to work.
There he was.
The corner of Avery’s mouth twitched as he pursed his lips at the sight of Damien. He let out a steady breath through his nose and straightened his posture. The urge to roll his eyes at the bird pun was hard to fight, regardless of whether or not Damien knew of his abilities (which he most likely did, considering Avery’s line of work). There was something chilling about the man’s presence; either it was Avery’s paranoia or the man just carried the vibe with him wherever he went.
“So it did,” Avery murmured, his hands curled into loose fists in his pockets. God, he’d rather not be here. He was hoping this would be quick, but getting himself tangled with other characters of the city might make things complicated. Straight to business, he told himself. Avery shifted his weight to one side as he continued. “And it told me that you lost something of yours.”
Damien noted the other’s apparent discomfort with amusement. And he didn’t even have to use his infrared to tell.
Avery’s attempt at a cold response did little to erase the smile from Damien’s face as he responded, “Yes, unfortunately. Something of great...personal value.” His gaze shifted to the way the other man’s hands rested in his pockets, then flickered back to his eyes,
“To business, then. I’m assuming you’re here to discuss the terms of our deal?”
Avery cocked his head ever so slightly to the side as he listened to Damien speak. Asking about what was so important about the thing he lost would probably result in him getting punched, so he set that topic aside for later. He’d learn about it eventually when they went to get whatever it was.
“I am,” Avery said, his voice far from formal. The deal was, at first glance, simple, but Avery couldn’t help but feel that a “but” would come up soon enough. He started talking again, ready to affirm what the deal was.
“Same person or group I’m after took your stuff, yeah? You—if you help me take them down, or at least help me get close enough to do that, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you get your stolen item back.“
"Yes, yes, and then we go on our merry ways," Damien opened his hands to both sides, "It's a win-win, wouldn't you say?"
Though, personally, he really didn't prefer to get his hands more dirty than he would like to. But it was either this guy or a private back-street investigator, and that option was far less savory. Especially, given the value of what had been taken from him. Damien reached into the pocket of his fur-lined coat, taking out a discreet-looking envelope. Holding it between two fingers, the man offered it to Avery,
"Since you oh-so-gracefully crashed the party last week, our target will likely be in hiding for some time. Luckily, I know of another connection who could get us closer, perhaps some more information on their whereabouts."
Avery bit back a reply, something along the lines of “I was doing my job, why would I know what you were doing there?”, as he took the envelope from Damien. No need to get fired up over something so small, though. He furrowed his brows at it and flipped it over to inspect it. Just a plain envelope. No defining characteristics, besides what was in it, and yet... Avery gave Damien a doubtful look as he took a small step back. He felt like he shouldn’t open it right away; Damien would’ve probably just said who it was or what information was there if he wanted Avery to know on the spot. But then again, Avery barely knew this man and how he behaved.
“And you’re sure this... whoever it is will get us to ‘em?” Avery asked. He’ll do his own research later tonight, once he opens the envelope. “It ain’t a dead end?”
Damien let out an exasperated sigh, "My dear, why would I waste my own time following a dead end?" He pulled his coat closer to himself, apparently done with the meeting,
"I do look forward to working with you, ah," he held out a hand to shake, pausing for the other man's name.
Avery exhaled sharply through his nose, looking at Damien with disdain. He clenched his jaw, unwilling to leave the meeting on a sour note with a few choice words. That would just be detrimental. He reached out and shook the man’s hand.
“Avery,” he murmured. “It’s Avery.”
Avery’s hand was warm in his cool grip. He gave it a shake.
“Damien.”
Coffee, probably the one thing that was keeping him alive.
Avery moved his mug from the coffee machine off to the side on the counter. He grabbed creamer from the fridge and checked his phone as he poured the cream into the mug. His kitchen was small, as was the rest of his apartment. Crowded, too. It was all full of stuff that he couldn’t bear to get rid of; he tried to keep it as organized as possible, but there was always something laying haphazardly about.
He grabbed a spoon to stir his coffee and moved to his living room, where he set his mug down on the coffee table. The envelope Damien had given him last night sat on the top of the table, glaring snow-white at him as he took his time sipping his coffee. In sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, of all things. He had opened it last night, looked for something that said he had to go someplace at that moment, and found none of that. So, naturally, he put it off ‘til early morning.
That was what life was like for Avery outside of his super exciting vigilante persona. Thank god that he didn’t have a conventional job. There was a studio somewhere in Harlem that he paints in, pays the rent for—he was his own boss. He didn’t have to give his boss excuses for why he was always late. That said, even if putting off work to fight bad guys was something he could do, it didn’t really help his relationships. Oops.
Avery took a sip from his mug, wincing as the liquid burned his tongue. He’d be asleep right now if he had his way. Leaning forward, he plucked the envelope from the table and pulled out the paper Damien had enclosed in it, his eyes flicking over the words once again. This was something he’d need to research on his own to confirm the information; but, to be honest, it all seemed plausible. If mob leaders were getting illegal money, they’d need someone to move the numbers around for them. This was someone who could do that. He furrowed his brows at the name, set his mug down. He needed to get to work.
The corner of Avery’s mouth twitched as he pursed his lips at the sight of Damien. He let out a steady breath through his nose and straightened his posture. The urge to roll his eyes at the bird pun was hard to fight, regardless of whether or not Damien knew of his abilities (which he most likely did, considering Avery’s line of work). There was something chilling about the man’s presence; either it was Avery’s paranoia or the man just carried the vibe with him wherever he went.
“So it did,” Avery murmured, his hands curled into loose fists in his pockets. God, he’d rather not be here. He was hoping this would be quick, but getting himself tangled with other characters of the city might make things complicated. Straight to business, he told himself. Avery shifted his weight to one side as he continued. “And it told me that you lost something of yours.”
Damien noted the other’s apparent discomfort with amusement. And he didn’t even have to use his infrared to tell.
Avery’s attempt at a cold response did little to erase the smile from Damien’s face as he responded, “Yes, unfortunately. Something of great...personal value.” His gaze shifted to the way the other man’s hands rested in his pockets, then flickered back to his eyes,
“To business, then. I’m assuming you’re here to discuss the terms of our deal?”
Avery cocked his head ever so slightly to the side as he listened to Damien speak. Asking about what was so important about the thing he lost would probably result in him getting punched, so he set that topic aside for later. He’d learn about it eventually when they went to get whatever it was.
“I am,” Avery said, his voice far from formal. The deal was, at first glance, simple, but Avery couldn’t help but feel that a “but” would come up soon enough. He started talking again, ready to affirm what the deal was.
“Same person or group I’m after took your stuff, yeah? You—if you help me take them down, or at least help me get close enough to do that, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you get your stolen item back.“
"Yes, yes, and then we go on our merry ways," Damien opened his hands to both sides, "It's a win-win, wouldn't you say?"
Though, personally, he really didn't prefer to get his hands more dirty than he would like to. But it was either this guy or a private back-street investigator, and that option was far less savory. Especially, given the value of what had been taken from him. Damien reached into the pocket of his fur-lined coat, taking out a discreet-looking envelope. Holding it between two fingers, the man offered it to Avery,
"Since you oh-so-gracefully crashed the party last week, our target will likely be in hiding for some time. Luckily, I know of another connection who could get us closer, perhaps some more information on their whereabouts."
Avery bit back a reply, something along the lines of “I was doing my job, why would I know what you were doing there?”, as he took the envelope from Damien. No need to get fired up over something so small, though. He furrowed his brows at it and flipped it over to inspect it. Just a plain envelope. No defining characteristics, besides what was in it, and yet... Avery gave Damien a doubtful look as he took a small step back. He felt like he shouldn’t open it right away; Damien would’ve probably just said who it was or what information was there if he wanted Avery to know on the spot. But then again, Avery barely knew this man and how he behaved.
“And you’re sure this... whoever it is will get us to ‘em?” Avery asked. He’ll do his own research later tonight, once he opens the envelope. “It ain’t a dead end?”
Damien let out an exasperated sigh, "My dear, why would I waste my own time following a dead end?" He pulled his coat closer to himself, apparently done with the meeting,
"I do look forward to working with you, ah," he held out a hand to shake, pausing for the other man's name.
Avery exhaled sharply through his nose, looking at Damien with disdain. He clenched his jaw, unwilling to leave the meeting on a sour note with a few choice words. That would just be detrimental. He reached out and shook the man’s hand.
“Avery,” he murmured. “It’s Avery.”
Avery’s hand was warm in his cool grip. He gave it a shake.
“Damien.”
Coffee, probably the one thing that was keeping him alive.
Avery moved his mug from the coffee machine off to the side on the counter. He grabbed creamer from the fridge and checked his phone as he poured the cream into the mug. His kitchen was small, as was the rest of his apartment. Crowded, too. It was all full of stuff that he couldn’t bear to get rid of; he tried to keep it as organized as possible, but there was always something laying haphazardly about.
He grabbed a spoon to stir his coffee and moved to his living room, where he set his mug down on the coffee table. The envelope Damien had given him last night sat on the top of the table, glaring snow-white at him as he took his time sipping his coffee. In sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, of all things. He had opened it last night, looked for something that said he had to go someplace at that moment, and found none of that. So, naturally, he put it off ‘til early morning.
That was what life was like for Avery outside of his super exciting vigilante persona. Thank god that he didn’t have a conventional job. There was a studio somewhere in Harlem that he paints in, pays the rent for—he was his own boss. He didn’t have to give his boss excuses for why he was always late. That said, even if putting off work to fight bad guys was something he could do, it didn’t really help his relationships. Oops.
Avery took a sip from his mug, wincing as the liquid burned his tongue. He’d be asleep right now if he had his way. Leaning forward, he plucked the envelope from the table and pulled out the paper Damien had enclosed in it, his eyes flicking over the words once again. This was something he’d need to research on his own to confirm the information; but, to be honest, it all seemed plausible. If mob leaders were getting illegal money, they’d need someone to move the numbers around for them. This was someone who could do that. He furrowed his brows at the name, set his mug down. He needed to get to work.
Following the brief rendezvous with Avery, Damien departed and headed back to the heart of the city. After all, the night was still young, and he preferred the darkness that the shadows afforded him over the glaring brightness of day.
And so, the night went by quickly for the Adder, filled with business dealings and more leisurely activities; though more than a few were less than legitimate.
When the sun began to peak its rays into the dank corners and alleyways of New York to shine upon a new day, Damien had already retired to his suite. It was a penthouse in Hudson Square, overlooking the Hudson River to the west and providing a sprawling view of Manhattan in all other directions. He had gotten the entire place remodeled in sleek chrome and gold accents to suit his tastes, including an ivory statue of twin intertwining serpents in the foyer. His personal sigil, of sorts.
After a quick shower, the man went to bed and fell into a deep sleep. He wouldn't awake until late afternoon, at the earliest--in time to make it to the meeting with his contact and the bird guy.
And so, the night went by quickly for the Adder, filled with business dealings and more leisurely activities; though more than a few were less than legitimate.
When the sun began to peak its rays into the dank corners and alleyways of New York to shine upon a new day, Damien had already retired to his suite. It was a penthouse in Hudson Square, overlooking the Hudson River to the west and providing a sprawling view of Manhattan in all other directions. He had gotten the entire place remodeled in sleek chrome and gold accents to suit his tastes, including an ivory statue of twin intertwining serpents in the foyer. His personal sigil, of sorts.
After a quick shower, the man went to bed and fell into a deep sleep. He wouldn't awake until late afternoon, at the earliest--in time to make it to the meeting with his contact and the bird guy.
Following the brief rendezvous with Avery, Damien departed and headed back to the heart of the city. After all, the night was still young, and he preferred the darkness that the shadows afforded him over the glaring brightness of day.
And so, the night went by quickly for the Adder, filled with business dealings and more leisurely activities; though more than a few were less than legitimate.
When the sun began to peak its rays into the dank corners and alleyways of New York to shine upon a new day, Damien had already retired to his suite. It was a penthouse in Hudson Square, overlooking the Hudson River to the west and providing a sprawling view of Manhattan in all other directions. He had gotten the entire place remodeled in sleek chrome and gold accents to suit his tastes, including an ivory statue of twin intertwining serpents in the foyer. His personal sigil, of sorts.
After a quick shower, the man went to bed and fell into a deep sleep. He wouldn't awake until late afternoon, at the earliest--in time to make it to the meeting with his contact and the bird guy.
And so, the night went by quickly for the Adder, filled with business dealings and more leisurely activities; though more than a few were less than legitimate.
When the sun began to peak its rays into the dank corners and alleyways of New York to shine upon a new day, Damien had already retired to his suite. It was a penthouse in Hudson Square, overlooking the Hudson River to the west and providing a sprawling view of Manhattan in all other directions. He had gotten the entire place remodeled in sleek chrome and gold accents to suit his tastes, including an ivory statue of twin intertwining serpents in the foyer. His personal sigil, of sorts.
After a quick shower, the man went to bed and fell into a deep sleep. He wouldn't awake until late afternoon, at the earliest--in time to make it to the meeting with his contact and the bird guy.
Light filtered through the blinds and weakly lit up the apartment. Bright enough to see in, but dark enough that when Avery went outside, he would have to wait a few minutes as his eyes adjusted. He sat at his small desk, hunched over his laptop and occasionally typing in strings of words and clicking on numerous links. Underneath the desk, his leg bounced with impatience, and whenever he wasn't typing his fingers tapped at the wood absentmindedly. He was never good at deskwork; being unable to sit still was something he never grew out of from his childhood.
Avery had gotten dressed for the day during a thirty-minute break he took from his research. Light, loose--comfortable, at least out in public. Just a short-sleeve button-up shirt and some jeans. It made him feel antsy, knowing that the change in outfit meant he was going outside, further contributing to his wanting to pace the room. At the very least, though, he managed to research a little bit about the Adder's contact. He wasn't sure of specifics, but he knew what to expect.
He checked the time. Twelve-thirty. Avery would have to get ready to leave soon; public transit could be god-awful at times, and to be late would leave a bad impression. Of course, he could always just fly wherever he needed to go, but this time around he figured something less discernable was in order. Regardless of what he chose, it'd still have to be reliable; he had about half an hour to do so, and that was plenty of time. Maybe.
Avery had gotten dressed for the day during a thirty-minute break he took from his research. Light, loose--comfortable, at least out in public. Just a short-sleeve button-up shirt and some jeans. It made him feel antsy, knowing that the change in outfit meant he was going outside, further contributing to his wanting to pace the room. At the very least, though, he managed to research a little bit about the Adder's contact. He wasn't sure of specifics, but he knew what to expect.
He checked the time. Twelve-thirty. Avery would have to get ready to leave soon; public transit could be god-awful at times, and to be late would leave a bad impression. Of course, he could always just fly wherever he needed to go, but this time around he figured something less discernable was in order. Regardless of what he chose, it'd still have to be reliable; he had about half an hour to do so, and that was plenty of time. Maybe.
Light filtered through the blinds and weakly lit up the apartment. Bright enough to see in, but dark enough that when Avery went outside, he would have to wait a few minutes as his eyes adjusted. He sat at his small desk, hunched over his laptop and occasionally typing in strings of words and clicking on numerous links. Underneath the desk, his leg bounced with impatience, and whenever he wasn't typing his fingers tapped at the wood absentmindedly. He was never good at deskwork; being unable to sit still was something he never grew out of from his childhood.
Avery had gotten dressed for the day during a thirty-minute break he took from his research. Light, loose--comfortable, at least out in public. Just a short-sleeve button-up shirt and some jeans. It made him feel antsy, knowing that the change in outfit meant he was going outside, further contributing to his wanting to pace the room. At the very least, though, he managed to research a little bit about the Adder's contact. He wasn't sure of specifics, but he knew what to expect.
He checked the time. Twelve-thirty. Avery would have to get ready to leave soon; public transit could be god-awful at times, and to be late would leave a bad impression. Of course, he could always just fly wherever he needed to go, but this time around he figured something less discernable was in order. Regardless of what he chose, it'd still have to be reliable; he had about half an hour to do so, and that was plenty of time. Maybe.
Avery had gotten dressed for the day during a thirty-minute break he took from his research. Light, loose--comfortable, at least out in public. Just a short-sleeve button-up shirt and some jeans. It made him feel antsy, knowing that the change in outfit meant he was going outside, further contributing to his wanting to pace the room. At the very least, though, he managed to research a little bit about the Adder's contact. He wasn't sure of specifics, but he knew what to expect.
He checked the time. Twelve-thirty. Avery would have to get ready to leave soon; public transit could be god-awful at times, and to be late would leave a bad impression. Of course, he could always just fly wherever he needed to go, but this time around he figured something less discernable was in order. Regardless of what he chose, it'd still have to be reliable; he had about half an hour to do so, and that was plenty of time. Maybe.
Damien awoke to the sound of his phone alarm ringing off beside his face. He let out a quiet hiss, silencing it before flipping around on the bed.
After a few more minutes of peace, the alarm went off again, eliciting a groan from Damien and more movement as he shifted out from under his covers into an upright position. Afternoon light slanted in through the drawn shades, casting thin streaks of gold over the polished wood floors.
The man reached over and tapped a panel on the wall beside his bed, causing the shades to hum as they parted to reveal the city skyline. After rubbing his eyes and taking a moment to adjust to the light, Damien slid out of bed and headed to the kitchen to get some caffeine into his system.
As he sipped from a steaming mug, he casually scrolled through his tablet. He was meeting with his contact tonight, as well as Avery. A quick search on Avery's name had brought up vague accounts of a "shapeshifter", news headlines of a friendly neighborhood hero, and blurry photos of birds that people claimed was "the Raptor himself". Damien almost snorted into his espresso.
His contact, however, left no such tracks. He'd made sure of that.
After cleaning up, he donned a dark top coat and wrapped a scarf around his neck as a finishing touch. He brushed the surface of his ring with his thumb absent-mindedly the entire drive there.
The Ouroboros. Nightclub and Bar.
It was Damien's pride and joy. He had specifically chosen the name for its rather poetic connotations: people came here to want more, have more, and be more; and all the while they were blind to the fact that they were swallowing themselves with their greed.
The Ouroboros was also the main hub for conducting his business. Damien had reserved the master suite for tonight's purpose, which overlooked the stage and people below. It was as of yet rather empty at this time of the day, a good choice for avoiding prying eyes.
After a few more minutes of peace, the alarm went off again, eliciting a groan from Damien and more movement as he shifted out from under his covers into an upright position. Afternoon light slanted in through the drawn shades, casting thin streaks of gold over the polished wood floors.
The man reached over and tapped a panel on the wall beside his bed, causing the shades to hum as they parted to reveal the city skyline. After rubbing his eyes and taking a moment to adjust to the light, Damien slid out of bed and headed to the kitchen to get some caffeine into his system.
As he sipped from a steaming mug, he casually scrolled through his tablet. He was meeting with his contact tonight, as well as Avery. A quick search on Avery's name had brought up vague accounts of a "shapeshifter", news headlines of a friendly neighborhood hero, and blurry photos of birds that people claimed was "the Raptor himself". Damien almost snorted into his espresso.
His contact, however, left no such tracks. He'd made sure of that.
After cleaning up, he donned a dark top coat and wrapped a scarf around his neck as a finishing touch. He brushed the surface of his ring with his thumb absent-mindedly the entire drive there.
The Ouroboros. Nightclub and Bar.
It was Damien's pride and joy. He had specifically chosen the name for its rather poetic connotations: people came here to want more, have more, and be more; and all the while they were blind to the fact that they were swallowing themselves with their greed.
The Ouroboros was also the main hub for conducting his business. Damien had reserved the master suite for tonight's purpose, which overlooked the stage and people below. It was as of yet rather empty at this time of the day, a good choice for avoiding prying eyes.
Damien awoke to the sound of his phone alarm ringing off beside his face. He let out a quiet hiss, silencing it before flipping around on the bed.
After a few more minutes of peace, the alarm went off again, eliciting a groan from Damien and more movement as he shifted out from under his covers into an upright position. Afternoon light slanted in through the drawn shades, casting thin streaks of gold over the polished wood floors.
The man reached over and tapped a panel on the wall beside his bed, causing the shades to hum as they parted to reveal the city skyline. After rubbing his eyes and taking a moment to adjust to the light, Damien slid out of bed and headed to the kitchen to get some caffeine into his system.
As he sipped from a steaming mug, he casually scrolled through his tablet. He was meeting with his contact tonight, as well as Avery. A quick search on Avery's name had brought up vague accounts of a "shapeshifter", news headlines of a friendly neighborhood hero, and blurry photos of birds that people claimed was "the Raptor himself". Damien almost snorted into his espresso.
His contact, however, left no such tracks. He'd made sure of that.
After cleaning up, he donned a dark top coat and wrapped a scarf around his neck as a finishing touch. He brushed the surface of his ring with his thumb absent-mindedly the entire drive there.
The Ouroboros. Nightclub and Bar.
It was Damien's pride and joy. He had specifically chosen the name for its rather poetic connotations: people came here to want more, have more, and be more; and all the while they were blind to the fact that they were swallowing themselves with their greed.
The Ouroboros was also the main hub for conducting his business. Damien had reserved the master suite for tonight's purpose, which overlooked the stage and people below. It was as of yet rather empty at this time of the day, a good choice for avoiding prying eyes.
After a few more minutes of peace, the alarm went off again, eliciting a groan from Damien and more movement as he shifted out from under his covers into an upright position. Afternoon light slanted in through the drawn shades, casting thin streaks of gold over the polished wood floors.
The man reached over and tapped a panel on the wall beside his bed, causing the shades to hum as they parted to reveal the city skyline. After rubbing his eyes and taking a moment to adjust to the light, Damien slid out of bed and headed to the kitchen to get some caffeine into his system.
As he sipped from a steaming mug, he casually scrolled through his tablet. He was meeting with his contact tonight, as well as Avery. A quick search on Avery's name had brought up vague accounts of a "shapeshifter", news headlines of a friendly neighborhood hero, and blurry photos of birds that people claimed was "the Raptor himself". Damien almost snorted into his espresso.
His contact, however, left no such tracks. He'd made sure of that.
After cleaning up, he donned a dark top coat and wrapped a scarf around his neck as a finishing touch. He brushed the surface of his ring with his thumb absent-mindedly the entire drive there.
The Ouroboros. Nightclub and Bar.
It was Damien's pride and joy. He had specifically chosen the name for its rather poetic connotations: people came here to want more, have more, and be more; and all the while they were blind to the fact that they were swallowing themselves with their greed.
The Ouroboros was also the main hub for conducting his business. Damien had reserved the master suite for tonight's purpose, which overlooked the stage and people below. It was as of yet rather empty at this time of the day, a good choice for avoiding prying eyes.
Avery, though he disliked the context this time around, liked running errands before a set meeting. Earlier, he had gone to the post office to mail a few of his paintings to his buyers; a rather ridiculously long procedure, if you asked him. And costly--not to mention the bill that he paid at the bank, which was more than a hassle. At least he'd be able to make up that money quickly enough. Nevertheless, he probably would have to eat takeout the next couple of days.
If he recalled correctly, as he walked the streets of New York, the meeting spot for Damien and his contact was a nightclub; some place called the Ouro... the Ouroboros. That was a snake that swallowed its own tail, he thought to himself, a mental image of the circular symbol appearing in his mind. It took him a good fifteen or twenty minutes to find it, but he ended up there eventually, and thankfully he wasn't late. He would never forgive himself if he didn't turn up on time for something as important as this.
Avery stepped inside the bar, the air conditioning a relief from the heat emitting from the concrete jungle outside. It was a little jarring to be in a place like this during the day; there weren't as many patrons as one would usually find. He looked around, taking in whatever he could see as he slowly stepped into the room. It was, frankly, well-designed, and though he barely knew anything about Damien, this place certainly fit the Adder's style. Honestly, he should've seen it earlier, what with the name of the bar.
Avery felt a little out of place. He wasn't here to drink the night away, like most people here. Now that he thought of it, where were they supposed to meet within the bar? He looked around again, quickly this time, a little confused. Ah, he hated being in these situations, always made himself look like a fool. Probably in an office of some sort... or, training his eyes up above to the balcony, the second floor.
If he recalled correctly, as he walked the streets of New York, the meeting spot for Damien and his contact was a nightclub; some place called the Ouro... the Ouroboros. That was a snake that swallowed its own tail, he thought to himself, a mental image of the circular symbol appearing in his mind. It took him a good fifteen or twenty minutes to find it, but he ended up there eventually, and thankfully he wasn't late. He would never forgive himself if he didn't turn up on time for something as important as this.
Avery stepped inside the bar, the air conditioning a relief from the heat emitting from the concrete jungle outside. It was a little jarring to be in a place like this during the day; there weren't as many patrons as one would usually find. He looked around, taking in whatever he could see as he slowly stepped into the room. It was, frankly, well-designed, and though he barely knew anything about Damien, this place certainly fit the Adder's style. Honestly, he should've seen it earlier, what with the name of the bar.
Avery felt a little out of place. He wasn't here to drink the night away, like most people here. Now that he thought of it, where were they supposed to meet within the bar? He looked around again, quickly this time, a little confused. Ah, he hated being in these situations, always made himself look like a fool. Probably in an office of some sort... or, training his eyes up above to the balcony, the second floor.
Avery, though he disliked the context this time around, liked running errands before a set meeting. Earlier, he had gone to the post office to mail a few of his paintings to his buyers; a rather ridiculously long procedure, if you asked him. And costly--not to mention the bill that he paid at the bank, which was more than a hassle. At least he'd be able to make up that money quickly enough. Nevertheless, he probably would have to eat takeout the next couple of days.
If he recalled correctly, as he walked the streets of New York, the meeting spot for Damien and his contact was a nightclub; some place called the Ouro... the Ouroboros. That was a snake that swallowed its own tail, he thought to himself, a mental image of the circular symbol appearing in his mind. It took him a good fifteen or twenty minutes to find it, but he ended up there eventually, and thankfully he wasn't late. He would never forgive himself if he didn't turn up on time for something as important as this.
Avery stepped inside the bar, the air conditioning a relief from the heat emitting from the concrete jungle outside. It was a little jarring to be in a place like this during the day; there weren't as many patrons as one would usually find. He looked around, taking in whatever he could see as he slowly stepped into the room. It was, frankly, well-designed, and though he barely knew anything about Damien, this place certainly fit the Adder's style. Honestly, he should've seen it earlier, what with the name of the bar.
Avery felt a little out of place. He wasn't here to drink the night away, like most people here. Now that he thought of it, where were they supposed to meet within the bar? He looked around again, quickly this time, a little confused. Ah, he hated being in these situations, always made himself look like a fool. Probably in an office of some sort... or, training his eyes up above to the balcony, the second floor.
If he recalled correctly, as he walked the streets of New York, the meeting spot for Damien and his contact was a nightclub; some place called the Ouro... the Ouroboros. That was a snake that swallowed its own tail, he thought to himself, a mental image of the circular symbol appearing in his mind. It took him a good fifteen or twenty minutes to find it, but he ended up there eventually, and thankfully he wasn't late. He would never forgive himself if he didn't turn up on time for something as important as this.
Avery stepped inside the bar, the air conditioning a relief from the heat emitting from the concrete jungle outside. It was a little jarring to be in a place like this during the day; there weren't as many patrons as one would usually find. He looked around, taking in whatever he could see as he slowly stepped into the room. It was, frankly, well-designed, and though he barely knew anything about Damien, this place certainly fit the Adder's style. Honestly, he should've seen it earlier, what with the name of the bar.
Avery felt a little out of place. He wasn't here to drink the night away, like most people here. Now that he thought of it, where were they supposed to meet within the bar? He looked around again, quickly this time, a little confused. Ah, he hated being in these situations, always made himself look like a fool. Probably in an office of some sort... or, training his eyes up above to the balcony, the second floor.