![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The door closed with as gentle a click as he could manage and Kaelin stood in the darkened kitchen for several moments letting his eyes adjust to the lack of any notable light source. The fridge hummed reassuringly somewhere to his right and he let out a loud sigh as he dropped his keys onto the kitchen counter and trudged tiredly across the tiles. The job had been a long one, and hardly worth the pay, but he'd agreed to help, and it was stubborness and that damn unshakable sense of virtue that had seen him waiting around for five hours to hunt down a Drwyn.
If he'd known what the prey in question was before he'd set out, he'd most likely have turned the job down. Or at least re-worked his strategy. As it was, there was a vicious-looking gash on his left calf and... he was gonna need new jeans.
He pulled up a chair and sat, not bothering with the light as he leaned forward and squinted down at his wound in the darkness. It wasn't too deep, but it was gonna need disinfecting. No call for crystals of gems this time... but he figured he might as well have a poke around in Logan's potion store.
Man. He'd had enough of taking the left-overs. Picking at whatever job scraps the others left behind. It was because he wasn't a damn alcoholic, didn't spend 23 hours of his day glued to a bar stool, that he didn't get the good jobs first. The guys were assholes. Not that he didn't have a small, loyal following of sorts. Several regulars who knew who to turn to for the kinds of jobs other people didn't want to bother with. But he wanted something meaty. Something he could sink his teeth into.
He batted irritably at the torn fabric of his jeans and slowly rose from the chair, a tired groan escaping him as he moved. Without the light he couldn't make out the time, but his own internal clock was telling him very loudly that sleep was definitely next up. He reached into his jacket pocket for his phone and something brushed against his fingertips. Definitely a piece of paper, but he didn't remember putting it in there. Some kind of receipt, or...
With a frown, he pulled it out and finally flicked the switch, flooding the kitchen with a harsh neon that shocked his eyes and made him hiss. Should'a done this in his room.
Well... not a receipt. That much was obvious from the damn wax seal!
So... something he'd acquired during the course of the evening? But how? And from where? Or whom? He'd spent the vast majority of the night alone, and yet... on his way towards the junkyard. The man on the corner...
He slid his thumb under the seal and broke it, unfolding the paper and lifting it to read the delicate calligraphic script.
Kaelin blinked at the note for a while, then read it again. It was for Logan, not for him.
So how did it end up in his pocket?
"... damnit..." He groaned and slouched irritably along the corridor to Logan's bedroom.
"Logan!"
If he'd known what the prey in question was before he'd set out, he'd most likely have turned the job down. Or at least re-worked his strategy. As it was, there was a vicious-looking gash on his left calf and... he was gonna need new jeans.
He pulled up a chair and sat, not bothering with the light as he leaned forward and squinted down at his wound in the darkness. It wasn't too deep, but it was gonna need disinfecting. No call for crystals of gems this time... but he figured he might as well have a poke around in Logan's potion store.
Man. He'd had enough of taking the left-overs. Picking at whatever job scraps the others left behind. It was because he wasn't a damn alcoholic, didn't spend 23 hours of his day glued to a bar stool, that he didn't get the good jobs first. The guys were assholes. Not that he didn't have a small, loyal following of sorts. Several regulars who knew who to turn to for the kinds of jobs other people didn't want to bother with. But he wanted something meaty. Something he could sink his teeth into.
He batted irritably at the torn fabric of his jeans and slowly rose from the chair, a tired groan escaping him as he moved. Without the light he couldn't make out the time, but his own internal clock was telling him very loudly that sleep was definitely next up. He reached into his jacket pocket for his phone and something brushed against his fingertips. Definitely a piece of paper, but he didn't remember putting it in there. Some kind of receipt, or...
With a frown, he pulled it out and finally flicked the switch, flooding the kitchen with a harsh neon that shocked his eyes and made him hiss. Should'a done this in his room.
Well... not a receipt. That much was obvious from the damn wax seal!
So... something he'd acquired during the course of the evening? But how? And from where? Or whom? He'd spent the vast majority of the night alone, and yet... on his way towards the junkyard. The man on the corner...
He slid his thumb under the seal and broke it, unfolding the paper and lifting it to read the delicate calligraphic script.
- Apollo,
I am in desperate need of help and with all other avenues exhausted, have nowhere left to turn but to your services. We've never met, but I am aware of your work and understand that ends have often justified your means. I make no judgement, and ask only that you be discreet. Those for whom I work do not know I am reaching out, and would be unlikely to look upon it favorably. I am willing to offer a very high sum for your help, but the details will need to be discussed in person. I ask you to meet me at the Junction of Wystem and Fell, by the old Ring Tree, on Sunday night. Three hours past the last. If you do not wish to help, I will regretfully understand.
Once this correspondence is understood, please destroy any trace.
Kaelin blinked at the note for a while, then read it again. It was for Logan, not for him.
So how did it end up in his pocket?
"... damnit..." He groaned and slouched irritably along the corridor to Logan's bedroom.
"Logan!"
