Exchange PI Dot the i's and cross the t's

[Asphodel Malvolia]

Outfit

By now, the night shift was trickling into the Exchange office. It was quiet, which was ironic, considering most things that could go wrong tended to at night. But nights like that were the sort where when it rained, it poured. Things tended to happen all at once, like when the Chinese New Year several years back, or Halloween the year before. Was it coordinated? Asphodel couldn't say, but she also didn't care enough to figure it out. She'd lived too long to be concerned with these patterns beyond an academic interest.

Most evenings, Aldane or another field agent led dispatch, but tonight, at least for the moment, Asphodel was lounging in the bog mummy's chair behind the desk. He'd simply asked the archivist to cover his position for an hour or two while she was passing through, and she'd settled in like she belonged there. Aldane was one of the few people in the office who could ask a favor of Asphodel and not get a lot of flack for it. It helped that she considered him an equal--more or less true since he'd soon be the only surviving member of the current Exchange in a few centuries.

Her fingers moved rapidly pulling thread through cloth pulled through an embroidery hoop. When Wil and Adam arrived, the vampire looked up, lifted both pale eyebrows, and then smiling coyly, went back to her work. There was no other agent present to take their report.

[Adam Marszałek]

Adam shuffled in, still disheveled and looking tired. And his work just started. Great...

“Hi Ash.” He said and waved. At least he wasn't speaking backwards anyway, but still with his thick Polish accent. “You wouldn't believe what happened to us on the way to work.”

There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice and he just glanced at Wil, who was there with him.

[Wil Carter]

Wil had entered behind Adam, backing up as he took a final look at the street to make sure nothing was following them. He had done that all the way from the subway. The only reason he knew Asphodel was there was Adam's greeting, calling her 'Ash'. Well, he had been with the Exchange and worked with the vampire longer than Wil.

He turned and moved to stand beside his co-worker, glad the fellow wasn't speaking backward anymore, but a little surprised that Asphodel didn't seem concerned about their disheveled appearance. Of course, she had only properly seen Adam, but still, to continue working on her... embroidery?

The right side of his head was still bleeding, though sluggishly now, and his posture was a bit hunched. His right shoulder was dealing with being thrown into a pole.

“Yeah, what he said. Look, sorry to bother you, but we 'ave to file a report and we might need medical attention.” This was not directed at Asphodel in anger or dripping with sarcasm. It was light and casual.

[Asphodel Malvolia]

The smell of blood filled her nose, but the vampire wouldn't have looked up if Adam hadn't called her by her nickname. She lifted one pale eyebrow. It was a familiar form of address, and she was a haughty creature. However, in this particular moment, she allowed it, considering they both looked like they'd been near a bomb that just went off.

She didn't allow Wil's urgency to ruffle her. Her needle continued on its steady rhythm, an amused expression shadowing her face. Nobody smelled or sounded like they were dying, so...

“I can believe a great many things,” she mused, blue eyes flicking up to the clock. “Such as how you're both late for your shifts.”

It was certainly a censurous thing to say, but Asphodel had very little real authority over the pair of field agents until it came to the care and keeping of artifacts. At worst, it was practically an invitation to share what had held them up. She glanced up at both of them, one corner of her mouth curled into a faint smile as she awaited an explanation.

[Wil Carter]

Wil huffed, but kept his cool. Mostly.

“That's what you take away from this? We just 'ad to fight for our lives, 'ave both been injured and you notice we didn't punch in on time?” He glanced down at the embroidery she was working on. “Nice stitches,” he said casually, a genuine observation - not that he was terribly informed about needlework or what it entailed - but Asphodel was doing a good job at keeping the threads consistent in size and tension. He knew that much. He'd had artsy girlfriends.

Beside him, Adam opened his mouth to say something but his words were interrupted by another agent appearing in the doorway, looking very Noir in his usual attire of fedora, worn suit and trench coat. His name was Marlowe and he'd been around a while, but not as long as the mummy or the vamp. He smiled a winning smile, which was slightly lopsided and a touch higher on the left, at Asphodel. He removed his hat, revealing a nice, thick head of dark, wavy hair.

“Miss Malvolia, sorry to interrupt, but we gotta flock of pixies pissed about some numbskull who made the mistake of litterin' in the park. We don't need a bunch of rubbernecks or newshawks gettin' involved with this, never mind the cops...”

Adam glanced at his two companions before offering to clock himself and Wil in for their shift and take a look into the pixie situation. As he passed Marlowe, the Noir Exchange agent thanked him, looked back to Asphodel and said, “Nice stitches,” before following Adam.

[Asphodel Malvolia]

Wil didn't take too kindly to Asphodel's prodding, but as he called her out for her lack of concern, the vampire's grin merely widened. She enjoyed picking and poking and getting a rise out of people--Wil gave her precisely what she wanted, and as a result, she remained unruffled, her hands still moving rhythmically through her stitches.

Of course her stitches were nice. She'd been doing this for centuries. In any case...

She heard Marlowe before he even opened the door, and as a result, held onto her response until after he'd delivered his message. Her eyes remained on her work as he delivered the news of pixies losing their heads, and merely nodded as Adam excused himself.

With Wil left at her mercy, Asphodel finally looked up at him through her pale eyelashes, a smirk hovering around her red lips. “So,” she began, her tone light and coy. “Since you're so insistent on having an excuse for your tardiness, what is it? What held you up?”

[Wil Carter]

Wil lifted his right hand to rub the back of his neck only to quickly halt the movement when pain seared through his right shoulder. At least the injury to his right temple was only sluggishly bleeding now. He sighed and decided to start with a brief answer, hitting the highlights. Wil wasn't angry at Asphodel, he was just a little tense from the experience.

“Right, the short form.” He took a deep breath. “ Adam and I took the train. It went pear-shaped from there. Met a three-'eaded dog and a maniac dressed like a deposed king ooo'd been put through the wringer. 'e attacked us, Adam somehow threw seats at 'im, I'm bleeding from an 'ead wound, I might've dislocated my shoulder, but I managed to throw the guy off the train. When the train stopped, the platform started collapsing, trying to kill us, but it turned out to be an illusion.”

He smiled tightly. “And that is why we're late.”

[Asphodel Malvolia]

Asphodel could hear the way Wil's shoulder struggled at the joint and looked up. Visceral and tortured, it wasn't a pleasant sound, and a vaguely disturbed look crossed her face before he even launched into his emphatic explanation.

To her surprise, she found her interest piqued. It wasn't your every-day kind of trouble at the Exchange, and that it involved the subway was very curious. The injuries and powers of the agents involved were of less interest, although she supposed Wil would want to see Chapel at some point.

With a pleasant, unbothered smile, she threaded her needle into an unmarked space on her embroidery to store it and finally put it down. She leaned her elbows on the desk, folding her fingers into a bridge and resting her chin on it.

“Well, isn't that something,” she mused, lifting a pale eyebrow at Wil. “Would this be a three-headed dog in the style of the Grecian Underworld, you think?”

[Wil Carter]

Wil watched her put the embroidery down, glad she was taking the report seriously. Not that she wasn't before. Probably. It was nice to see her lovely face, though.

He grinned, though he was still a little tense. Fighting for his life always got the adrenalin going, as it did with most people, he guessed, and winding down took some time. “Funny you should mention Greek mythology ” he replied with a tight joy. “Because, yes, I would definitely place that puppy in the Cerberus Heritage grouping.”

[Asphodel Malvolia]

To Asphodel's keen senses, Wil sounded and smelled like exertion and adrenaline. His body language and mode of speech both seemed tense to her, likely because he was slowly coming down from his brush with death. Or the guard dog of the Underworld, as it were.

She grinned at his incredulous tone, amused, although somewhat taken aback herself.

“So, are you saying we have...” She fanned her fingers, shrugging lightly as she started piecing it all together. “The Hound of Hades wandering about the subway?”

[Wil Carter]

Wil pursed his lips and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, as if in thought or as if the answer were somehow painted there for him to see.

“Yes,” he said after only a few heartbeats. His gaze returned to Asphodel. “Yes, that could be a thing, though if it was all an illusion... ” He held up the palm of one hand then slid it into the inside pocket of his jacket. “No, wait, it wasn't all an illusion.”

He retrieved the stone knife, held it up for her to see, his eyebrows raised, before placing it on the desk between them.

“Some of it 'ad to be real.” Wil stuck his hands in the front pockets of his trousers. Nodding once at the item, he added, “I nicked that from the angry king.”

[Asphodel Malvolia]

Asphodel watched him with draw the knife with out an air of faint curiosity. It was a seed that quickly flowered into avid attention when he told her where he'd gotten it from. She didn't touch it immediately, too cautious to simply pick up an item of unknown provenance, but took the time to pull a handkerchief from a skirt pocket.

“Oh my,” she breathed, eying the stone knife, its chipped honed edge shining dully in the office light. “Well, that is something. And how did you manage to disarm him?” she asked, smiling a little flirtatiously at Wil, clearly impressed.