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Dave ST

Chosen 03a: "This Is My Life Now"

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Maya Flynn wasn't hard to find but Mel was pretty sure he was going crazy. He'd been tailing this girl for the better part of a week and still didn't have much to go on. On the up side, Mel didn't feel so bad about his life once he got a look at how drab and boring this poor Maya girl was. From the Library to her home she was constantly on the wrong side of either luck, or circumstance. A missed bus or train, someone cutting her off in a line her having to move to the back, her rather simple lunch orders constantly being screwed up... it wasn't that Maya Flynn was in any kind of trouble, it appeared more like the universe had made her it's punching bag.

It was about two days ago when Mel had noticed another person watching Maya. An attractive woman with long dark hair and she seemed fond of faded denim jeans, Doc Martins and a faded leather biker jacket. Mel was about to throw in the towel and hope those weird little, whatever they were, came back and told him something that equaled more than nothing when she came into the picture. He still wasn't sure what her deal was, but she was definitely following Maya and learning her habits and daily routines. So far it seemed as if he'd managed to lay low and avoid detection from either of them, but as the days ticked by, it just seemed more and more eerie. If Maya was in danger, it was most likely arriving on her doorstep very soon.

“No!” Maya's raised tone caught Mel's attention from his place across the street. For a moment he thought she might be in trouble until he realized she was yelling at her phone. She was rolling her bike down the stairs of the apartment building she lived in, gracelessly trying to manage the bike while also juggle her phone on the downward slope. “No! Leticia, I can't! I have plans tonight. Why don't you go do it? Do you have any idea how out of my way that is with my bike?” There were several more moments of arguing until Mel shook his head at the obvious outcome. “Okay! Fine. I only have one night off this week and I'm giving it to you. You had better appreciate this, because no other sister would love you this much. I'll call Mason and tell him I can't make it.”

A furious finger smacked the screen of her phone. She missed and hit it again. And missed again which resulted in an angry barrage of multiple taps along her screen until the bombardment seemed to finally end her call and give her the much needed moment to angrily swear silently to herself and anyone nearby that could hear it. She stuffed her phone in her pocket and rolled her bike a few steps before swinging her leg over it and peddling.

Mel didn't see the other woman who had been following her, not yet, anyway. He knew her habits pretty well and began tailing her. Most people assumed it was hard to tail a bike rider in New York, but it wasn't too difficult unless they were actively trying to evade you. She still had to stop at unusually long intersections or ride around two blocks to avoid them, plus carefully maneuver through people and vehicles. It was faster than walking, yes, but no less complicated than trying to drive some days.

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The universe hated her. That was the only reasonable explanation.

Maya shook her head as she waited at the crosswalk of E 77th and 1st Ave, staring at the light on the opposite side and trying to ignore the sullen faces of the people crowded around her. Next time Colleen, or, hell, any of the kids’ parents from the library tried to do something nice for her, she was just going to politely decline. Especially if it was an invitation to a party, and especially if it seemed like a good chance to get out and enjoy herself for a little bit. Because, apparently, whatever cosmic jerk had written out the plan for her life had decided that having a good time wasn’t allowed.

The day after the creepy dream she’d had about the woman from the gala being in her apartment, she’d lost her debit card. Totally screwed. The absolute best part, though, was that she didn’t find out until she’d gone to lunch that afternoon, and wouldn’t you just know it? Her ex Nate happened to also be getting lunch there. What a coincidence! Sure, he offered to pay for the sandwich she’d ordered (and she let him, obviously, because it was nice to eat once in a while), but then she had to listen to Fuckboy Supreme go on for nearly an hour with his pseudo-intellectual nonsense about Kant’s ideas on race and disability being totally misrepresented as ‘problematic’ when really he was just a man of his time and unfairly held to account for modern sensibilities… And was she free on Friday? ‘Cause, y’know. Kind of a dry spell.

Yeah. She knew. In Nate’s case, she just also didn’t care.

The day after that? Her bike chain had broken in the middle of morning rush, for no discernible reason whatsoever, and she’d ripped the hem of her slacks on the pedal. That was a real delight, a happy little two-for-one bonus. Even after she’d gotten to work, things didn’t get much better; one of the regular kids had been sick upstairs, and came down crying her eyes out because she was so upset. It wasn’t Grace’s fault, obviously, but it was just… one of those things. It took forever to clean up, especially because Lorraine couldn’t seem to keep her narrow ass parked at the circulation desk, so Maya had been forced to keep running downstairs to help the patrons, and it was- she shuddered at the memory- weirdly sludgey.

It had been weeks since she’d been able to hang out with Mason, drink a bottle of something local, and work on storyboards for “Greetings From Black Lake,” so obviously Tisha would call on her one day off to have her pick up the cake for some stupid dinner thing she and Mr. Perfect were hosting. What kind of spoiled brat bullshit was that? They both had cars, and it’s not like Leticia actually worked, so there was no reason she couldn’t-

“You gonna fuckin’ move, or what?” a surly, lumpy woman in an ugly green coat snarled at her, jostling her out of the way. Maya sucked in a sharp breath as a hundred different flavors of vitriol mingled on her tongue- but instead of loosing it, she bit it and lowered her head, pushing her bike through the crowd with the silent, seething fury of a woman who was just. fucking. done.

Edited by Maya Flynn

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Way, way back in basic training, Mel remembered, there was a fellow rainbow named Bradley Roberts. Lanky guy, had a guilty pleasure for romance novels, and seemed to always get into trouble or have the worst luck. Everyone called him 'Hex,' since he was black and came all the way from New Orleans, so obviously someone had laid the voodoo on him. Hex would occasionally complain about stereotyping, but in a good-nature fashion, since even he could not deny the odds of being put on punishment duty for stumbling onto the same pair of DIs fucking twice in the same week beggared reason.

Maya, Mel had concluded, made Hex look like a symbol of auspicious fortune. Every bit of small but constant ill luck added up and up until it became a towering stack bearing down on her. But also simply it sounded like she was surrounded by people who seemed intent on using her. That former boyfriend whose academic-sounding blathering only showed he knew nothing of life. The sister who clearly sounded less of a sibling than his brothers-in-arms back in the Rangers.

At least the kids didn't seem like brats. And he was pretty sure that one kid was crying because she was sick and not suddenly scared by seeing his face. He'd just been sitting there, reading. Nothing for the mother to give him the fish-eye over.

So while nothing seemed to justify Jack and Seth's warnings yet, everything just gave Mel the instinct something was going to happen, right? Perhaps if the watcher in the biker jacket showed up again? Mel took a bite of the hot dog he'd picked up from a vendor along the way, wiping a spot of ketchup off his face with a paper napkin, frowning. After encountering that rude toad, Maya was ready to explode like a C4 bomb.

The former Ranger held no pity for the fool who tripped the detonator.

Edited by Mel Grimson

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"One roast beef on garlic bread, add lettuce and tomato, fries on the side for here, please, with a water, and a dozen mini knishes to go. Thanks."

Ahhh, Pastrami Queen. Twenty bucks for a sandwich wasn't ordinarily within Maya's budget but considering the week she'd had, it was either going to get spent on lunch or boxed wine- and since they didn't make straws big enough for the latter, she'd just go with the roast beef instead. As she waited on her food, the off-duty librarian leaned against the wall, watching people pass on the sidewalk outside and surreptitiously glancing at the few other diners crammed into the tiny deli. Normally there'd be conversation, right? Even just commentary on the tongue or the egg salad or the Matzoh ball soup, all of which were pretty solid here. New Yorkers were notoriously chatty about food- asking someone about their favorite burger or the best place to get soup dumplings was the easiest way to strike up a conversation with a good-looking stranger. But... Nothing. They just sat in solemn silence, mechanically chewing what was arguably some of the best pastrami on the East Side, occasionally poking at their phone screens. In its way, the weirdly subdued atmosphere was even creepier than the haunted books at the library or the freaky/sexy dream she'd had of SoHo Salome.

"Order up!" The clerk at the counter glared pointedly at her, then disappeared back into the kitchen. Oh, well. Good food didn't always mean good service, and at the rate things were going, she should probably just be grateful she'd been served at all. She grabbed the one empty table against the back wall and eagerly started to dig in to the monstrous sandwich- then paused, cautiously checking under the bread for any unpleasant surprises, because it would be just her luck to find half a spider or something after the first bite. Reasonably satisfied there was nothing untoward lurking in the lettuce, Maya set about the serious business of devouring what was likely to be ninety-percent of the sum total of her caloric intake for the day.

Park Avenue was going to be a nightmare, she decided, taking a long pull from her water bottle. She could take 77th over to Madison, and then up to 78th, but it was... What time was it? Swallowing a mouthful of gloriously salty fries, she checked her phone and instantly pulled the face her mother had always warned her would stick if she wasn't careful. Great. So, another 20 minutes or so to Lady M's for the cake, then down to Tribeca to her sister's place, which was almost another hour. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

It was not, of course, absolutely perfect, as Maya's inborn sense of irony had already suggested.

"I'm sorry, it's how much? Did you just say this cake is a hundred dollars?" Half an hour after leaving the deli, the tall, dark-eyed woman stared at a tiny blonde behind the polished counter of the upscale pâtisserie. Between them sat a neat white cake box tied with a crisp blue ribbon. It wasn't even particularly large, from the looks of the packaging. Just your normal, average, could've-bought-it-from-Trader-Joe's-sized cake.

"$103.43 after tax. Yes," the little porcelain princess chirped with saccharine precision. "And how will you be paying for that today?"

"For a cake," Maya repeated.

"No, for our new, limited edition 'Slice of the Best' mille crepes. Now will that be cash, or charge?"

"Let me get this straight. My little sister ordered a hundred dollar stack of pancakes?" she asked, unable to keep the rising note of incredulity out of her voice. She had given up her day off for crepes. Freaking pancakes. She was rearranging her life so that her sister could feed her dinner guests fancy breakfast for dessert. The thin, taut smile of the cashier suggested that she, too, would rather not be having this conversation right now, but propriety dictated that both of them maintain some thin veneer of civility. "...I swear to god, Tisha, you better have cash. in. hand. when I get there," the long-suffering older sister muttered under her breath as she pulled out her debit card.

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Mel had noticed her about three blocks from the little pâtisserie that Maya was currently loosing what was left of her mind in.  The young woman was simply there, was the best way to put it, and after Maya had passed an alleyway, she took one last drag from her cigarette, pressed off the wall and off she went shadowing Maya.  Mel knew she'd broken eye contact more than once, but despite not being able see Maya, she seemed to possess and uncanny ability to just go in the same direction, the woman on the bicycle had taken.  He didn't believe in coincidence, but still, Maya's new pursuer made it easier for him to track them both.

Maya was outside the small shop, lips pursed and fuming to herself as she secured the expensive (that she wasn't going to get to enjoy) dinner breakfast dessert to her bike.  Mel wasn't quite sure what the deal was, but he was certain that he'd never seen anyone so angry at pastries in his life.  If you didn't like the place, or the food, why would you shop there, lady?  The pursuer was may twenty five yards away, blending in between the crowds and the parked vehicles along the roadside.  She rolled her shoulders, obviously antsy about something, and the pulled her leather jacket down, tightening it on back as she seemed to be doing some sort of boredom ritual.  The grissled ranger had seen it a million times, soldiers would alway find some manner of developing a nervous or bored tell that would remind the Senior Enlisted that it was time to start giving people something to do.

His eyes narrowed as they captured the matte black finish of a gun in an underarm holster.  9mm, semi-auto, looked to be a KC9, a custom designed handgun of the incredibly expensive variety... custom enough that she certainly was no cop or private dick.  As his heart began to thunder up and those old instincts began to kick in, he knew, the stakes had just been raised.

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Mel breathed slowly through his nose, as he began to evaluate the woman in leather. Hostile, likely military training. Armed with KC9, Model 1911 variant with 9 round magazines. Objective... scare, assassinate, or kidnap Maya? Truthfully, Mel had no idea who or what had sent the lady, or why. That should teach him for rushing off into situations on the say-so of a talking rabbit and big ogre.

Mel's own equipment: Glock 19 with concealed inside the waistband holster, and a combat knife in an ankle holster. Environment: in the middle of New York City and a whole ton of bystanders. Likely the hostile would wait until a more secluded location presented itself. The important question, did she was she aware of Mel's presence? It didn't look that way, but he couldn't be sure. The temptation existed to pick up speed, but that would likely twig her to his own tailing. Surprise might be his only edge.

Still, as the USMC's famous rules for gunfighting pointed out: 'decide to be aggressive enough, quickly enough.' He rolled his shoulders as well, in his case to loosen up his body.

Half a minute later... "Excuse me," the female stalker found a tall, stern carrot-haired man standing right behind her, "but can we talk?"

Edited by Mel Grimson

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She turned, facing the red-haired man and narrowing her eyes at him judgmental appraisal.  She didn't seem startled so much as bothered, perhaps because he'd managed to sneak up on her silently.  Her lack of being startled told Mel that she knew he was there, but is she didn't hear him, how'd she know?

She took a drag from her cigarette, shrugging her shoulders as her demeanor shifted to one less caring or was it bravado?  Mel didn't have time either, so when she nodded off to the alleyway, he followed her cautiously.  There were enough people around that he knew a gunfight, or a street brawl were not likely, but still, he was cautious.  Finally, the attractive young woman completed her appraisal and spoke.  "You must be Mel."

"Kestrel," she nodded in greeting.  "I'm in Mourne's..." she paused, catching herself.   "I'm one of his People.  The hell are you doing here?  This can't be random."

"Probably not." Mel simply said. He wasn't going to leak Jack or Seth's involvement or warnings. "Mourne, huh?" Yes, it had seemed something was going on between the art-involved businessman and Ravenna D'Sombra, but to have ties to someone like Kestrel? There was something going on beyond the 'good man' surface.

Mel cocked his head. And since she recognized him, it looked like Mourne might also have eyes on him. Or was it simply because he was technically within D'Sombra's employ now? Damn, he needed to review if someone had gotten - or would try - into his apartment. "Can I ask what's his interest in her?"

She kept looking over her shoulder, checking to make sure she hadn't let Maya slip away unnoticed.  "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she chuckled, taking another hit from her cigarette.

"Try me," Mel replied flatly, reminding himself that a obese troll and a bipedal talking rabbit were raiding his refrigerator several days not long ago.

"Wait one," she sighed, letting the smoke trail off mingled with her breath in the chilly air.  Mel recognized the military reference.  She sent a quick text no her phone, enjoying her nicotine while she waited the few seconds it took for her phone to 'boop' a reply.  She looked down and then looked at Mel.  "Mourne says you check out, okay, ready?  Poofy head over there is been plagued by bad luck.  Unnaturally so.  The sort that leads people to be consumed with depression and... well, suicide.  Our friend Ms. Flynn, aside from having an amazing set of glutes with what appears to be absolutely zero effort, has caught herself a case of goblins.  It's not the sort of thing there's a Plan-B or penicillin shot for.  I'm following her to see if one of the little fuckers shows itself."

She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes.  "Now," she cocked her head to one side.  "Why are you here?  I know people who bullshit coincidence like parents tricking their kids into taking medicine.  This isn't chance.  C'mon, spill."

Mel considered what Kestrel said. It sounded like magic, the way she suggested someone could - and was in this case - imposing bad luck on people. Well, considering his willingness to listen to bipedal rabbits and trolls, he could hardly call it outlandish. Should he tell Kestrel or not? Well, the ex-ranger figured, since she was expecting literal goblins, she'd hardly think him crazy.

And right now, she had more knowledge about whatever was going on than he did. Give info to get more intel, then. "I wouldn't call them goblins." Mel told her conversationally. "At least the ones I've met. They told me she's in danger."

"They who?" She crossed one arm, resting her elbow evenly so she could finish her smoke.  "Mel, it's okay, I'm in the know on this stuff, been doing a lot longer than you have.  You got a visit huh?  Horatio said the Others were making their rounds, so... you're one of them, huh?  A Chosen?"

She shook her head and chuckled.  "Wow, what a mindfuck you must be going through.  Look, no bullshit, old man, there's nothing you could tell me that I haven't already seen, except Avengers: Endgame.  So, no spoilers, and trust me, you'd know a goblin if you saw one."

Mel raised an eyebrow. "Jack and Seth. Now, what the hell is a Chosen?" The nightmare, the long-eared words of doom, this game that everyone involved seemed to be in on except him and the girls... The lines on Mel's face tightened. About time for some fucking answers.

"Mmm," she shook her head, exhaling smoke while dropping her cigarette and taping it out with a twist of her boot.  "Don't know 'em.  They're not with us.  Unless you mean ol' Jackie, who works out of O'Malley's, the pub in Hell's Kitchen?  No?"

She shrugged, looking back again to get another bead on Maya's location.  "Look, I've no idea what a 'Chosen' is.  I just know that Enclaves, Orders, Clans, Courts and Tribes are losing their fucking minds over you guys.  The Central Park pack has a serious hard-on for you 'special kids'."  She spoke like he knew what all of the things she was saying meant.  She narrowed her eyes and leaned into him.  "They really haven't told you anything?  So, like, what are you?  A warlock, shifter, a faerie?  I mean," she looked up at the sky then back at him.  "Obviously you're not a leech.  Sorry, I know it's rude to ask, but, I feel like I'm popping a cherry here.  Who's your mentor?  When did you awaken?"

Never mind. Back down the fucking rabbit hole, hippity hop we go. Evidently there were faeries, magicians, shapeshifters - did leech mean vampire? - in the world, apparently unknown to society. A whole variety of sides, and former Sergeant Mel Grimson was right in the crosshairs. Two options then. Tell the truth, or bullshit.

Mel wasn't much of a bullshitter, but if Kestrel was running on the age old 'assumptions'... "D'Sombra. When the dream happened, she knew somehow. And she knew I had to know how she did once she said it." Mel grimaced hard while saying it. Technically all painfully true, if not quite in the way Kestrel probably would take it.

Mel turned his gaze also to keep track of Maya.

"D'Sombra?!" Kestrel said it louder than she intended, looked around with a touch of paranoia, and went back to speaking softly.  "Fuck, you're in bed with that bitch?  I mean, no judgments, but the Shadow Court isn't exactly doing many favors this city.  How the hell she became a Seeker, I have no clue.  It's unprecedented from what I hear."  She fumed, shaking her head in disgust.  "It's not fair."

"Anyway, let's focus.  It's nice to meet you Mel, and it looks like maybe we can help each other out.  Maya Flynn is in it deep and I need to help her, that's my job.  Looks like others asked you to help her, so, why don't we give this a go and I fill you in on shit at O'Malley's sometime, over a beer or six.  You game?"

Mel extended a hand. His instincts were telling him Kestrel seemed to be on the up and up. "Ooorah."

Edited by Dave ST
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"Maya, you can't take them back!"

"Fucking watch me. And get your hands off me, Jesus!"

"No! I need them!" The strident sound of angry feminine voices continued to ring throughout the fashionable Tribeca brownstone, echoing off the gleaming faux-Carrara tile and the pristine vaulted ceilings, disrupting the previously inviolate serenity of the well-appointed urban castle. "And, a-anyway, they don't give refunds!" Tisha's tone was, by turns, pleading and defiant as she circled around the enormous granite-topped kitchen island to confront her sister, the box of crepes in Maya's hand dangling by a slim blue ribbon and swaying threateningly as she stormed away. This was her house, after all, her domain, and family or not-

"You need them?" the taller woman hissed through clenched teeth as she wheeled around and reached out suddenly, a length of her sister's beautiful milk-white scarf bunching inelegantly in her fist. It was so soft, so plush and insubstantial, she might as well have been strangling a cloud- which was marginally better than strangling the petite, well-coiffured diva in front of her. Marginally. "What you need, Leticia Meyer-Flynn, is your narrow ass whipped. I, on the other hand, need my hundred and three fucking dollars and forty-three cents!" It was important, the still-rational part of her brain reminded her, to be specific. Details mattered, after all: the exact amount of change due; the precise spelling of an author's name; the positions of the decimals on your income tax forms; the difference between a latte and a flat white; the time-stamp of a text from your mother; the realization that simple assault charges usually only get you a misdemeanor.

The rest of her brain, the part that was currently uninterested in such trivialities, suggested she just forget the petty details and go straight for the felony. Why do something halfway, right?

"I told you I don't have it! Maya, I swear, we don't-" A sharp tug at the ends of the scarf cut off her denial, but Leticia stood firm, the hard onyx of her eyes glittering with fury at being accosted in her own home. "Don't you dare-!"

"You don't what? Hm? Don't have the money ready to pay me back for doing you a favor? For going out of my way to help you? You expect me to believe you can't afford to pay for the fucking pancakes you sent me to-"

"They're crepes!" The indignant, immaculate beauty retorted almost instinctively, her whole body quivering with nerves and suppressed anger.

"I don't give a rat's ass what they are to you, Tisha!" Maya was furious now, near tears at the bitter injustice. Leticia had everything, had always had everything, and she still wanted more, couldn't conceive of a world in which she didn't always get everything. "They're my utilities! They're my groceries! They're my fucking phone bill! If you, way up here on top of Mount Gold-Digger, don't have the money to pay for your own overpriced pancakes then how the fuck do you think I'm gonna just have it lying around, huh?!"

"I just- I didn't-" Leticia stammered, inadvertently taking a step back; they'd argued before, but never like this. "We don't keep cash, Maya, you know that! I thought you could borrow it, and I could just pay you back later!"

"That was a rhetorical question! I swear to-" With an audible growl of frustration, Maya yanked the airy, almost insubstantial wrap from where it lay draped elegantly over her sister's shoulders; bereft of queenly elegance, it drooped limply from between her fingers as she studied it pointedly, eyes narrowing at the impossibly luxe texture of the lightweight fabric.  "How much did you pay for this?" she demanded.

"What?" Tisha blinked, obviously caught off-guard by the sudden change of subject. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"This scarf," her sister repeated tersely, hands trembling as they tightened amid the folds of delicate cloth. "How. Much."

Again Leticia blinked, and then, as if it might explain the value of the scarf, added, "It's cashmere."

Sororicide is a crime, Maya, a tiny voice reminded her. Only if you get caught.

"I didn't ask what it was made of. How much did you pay for it, Tisha?"

"...Three hundred." There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence following the querulous admission

"Three hundred. For a scarf." The word wasn't so much uttered as fired contemptuously, a venomous missile of targeted derision for her sister's covetousness. "A hundred for pancakes. Un-fucking-believable.” She almost laughed then, struck by the complete and total absurdity of the situation. “You know what? Fine. Keep 'em." Casually, Maya tossed the white box onto the gleaming countertop where it slid perilously close to the edge. Leticia squeaked softly in relief. "You have a good time at your dinner party with your friends and your fancy-ass breakfast for dessert. I've got better things to do."

"Okay," the petite, dark-eyed woman agreed, exhaling and composing herself once more now that the drama had apparently passed. Maybe now, she could get on with her preparations for dinner. "Then give me back my pashmina, it goes with the pantsuit I'm wearing tonight."

"You can have it back when you pay me what's owed." Maya paused, head tilted as Tisha opened her mouth to protest. "Oh, I'm sorry," she crooned. "Did you suddenly remember where you had some cash?" Her eyes widened mockingly, cruelly, as she absorbed the stricken expression on her sister's flawless features. "Stuffed inside a naughty first-edition of Lolita in the office, maybe? Behind that ugly little Rothko in the living room?" Her sister's miserable silence was answer enough, and she clucked her tongue softly. "Uh-huh. Thought not. Call me when you have my money, Leticia, or I swear, I will never help you again as long as we live."

"'I could borrow it', she said. What the actual shit is that?" Maya demanded of the evening air as she stalked out of the upscale townhouse, cashmere cloud firmly in hand.

Edited by Maya Flynn
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Kestrel slapped Mel's shoulder as Maya exited the building.  "There she is!"  She didn't notice the way Mel looked at his arm and then rubbed it, more to rub her off than indicate the hit might have hurt.

"And we follow her now, I take it?"  He asked.

"Well, yeah, not so much her though, keep an eye out for a goblin."  While Maya wrestled with her bike, which seemed to hitched up to another bike that someone had carelessly placed next to her and the pedals were stuck.  "They're hard to spot, but there has to be one close to her at all times, that's how the curse works."

He sighed.  "Okay, I'll bite.  What sort of curse?"  He asked while keeping his gaze on everything but Maya.

"It's called the Three Blind Mice curse."  Kestrel kept scanning the area too.

Mel shrugged, his dower expression showing he was not in the mood to play along with stupid games.  "That supposed to make some sort of sense to me?"

"Dude," Kestrel looked at him and smirked.  "It's fae magic.  That shit doesn't make any sense until a fae explains it to you and then you're like 'ooohhh, that kinda makes sense now'.  Get used to it."  She tugged at his sleeve, then pointed.  "There, look!"

Mel looked, following her finger to across the street, not but forty or so feet from where he was standing just moments before.  On the cloth awning that shaded a series of small businesses and apartments loomed a hazy figure.  Blurred and hidden, obscured like light just seemed to bend around it.  The longer he stared however, the clearer it became, an ugly little humanoid creature maybe four to five feet in height, hunched low with a greyish skin and a long face to match it's long nose.  It was dressed in modern streetwear, except it's feet were bare and it had a dirty messenger bag slung over it's shoulder.  It's head jerked in Kestrel's direction as her gesture startled it's awareness to her direction.  IT's eyes widened and it snarled, spinning aoubt face on the cloth awning and climbing up the side of the building with inhuman speed.

"Fuck!" She cursed, retracting her arm and stomping her foot.  "Stupid, stupid... god dammit!  It saw me, now they know we're on to them."

"One always has to stay close, right?"  Mel reasoned.  "It'll have to come back."

"No, I mean, yes.  One needs to stay close, but they aren't stupid, Mel.  They remain close, and hide better.  Now that they know, finding one will be a pain in the ass."  She paced about as Mel watch Maya cuss under her breath and rub her temples in ponderance as to how in God's name pedals could be this jammed up, and who the hell had those buzzsaw, torture device pedals on their bikes anymore?  Apparently this asshole.

"She's still in danger, no matter what at this point, then, right?"  Mel's eyes hadn't left the building where the goblin had scurried his way up.  They both knew it would be hopeless to give chase, and while he agreed her pointing was stupid, what was done was done.

"Yeah, and now we're screwed."  Kestrel grunted in irritation.  "Ugh, a week of work pissed away.  Fuck!  I don't know if she has another week.  These guys'll get bored eventually and just finish her off."

Mel walked away and when Kestrel noticed him she watched for a moment and then caught up.  He approached Maya, still wrestling with her bike and casually bent over, unlatching one pedal from the other where it'd had gotten interlocked on the arm.  Mel wasn't the one cursed and the bike simply fell away, loose and free.  "Ms. Flynn," he greeted her.  "A moment of you time please?  This is Kestrel, she knows Mourne.  A name that keeps popping up in both our lives as of late."

"Yeah, hi," Kestrel offered her a polite wave and a smile.  "So, look... this'll seem hard to swallow... but, you're cursed.  I was asked to help stop it, but... we-"

Mel quickly corrected her.  "You."

"I," she glared at the sullen ginger.  "Just screwed that up."

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Maya stared at the grim-looking man and his leather-jacketed companion, her sister's white scarf looped haphazardly around her neck as she tried to remember the guy's name- because, hoo, buddy, it was hard to forget a face like that, one that looked like it'd crack if he ever smiled. The only thing that came to mind, though, was the fact that he'd more or less tried to throw her out of the party she'd been invited to, and Mourne's name wasn't exactly one she had positive associations with, either. Sure, there was definitely some weirdness going on, but none of these people seemed remotely trustworthy.

"Cursed," she stated flatly, looking from one probable nutjob to another. "Right. So, just clarify some things for me, then. First, why is it that the two of you, people I don't know working for someone I've had a single conversation with, are here?" The tall, slim woman glanced up at the townhouses lining the street, and then pointedly back at the unlikely pair. "In Tribeca. Where I don't live, and don't work, and definitely do not willingly spend my idle hours. When I just happened to have to make a trip over to handle some..." Exhaling sharply, Maya checked herself. "Some family business. Because that sounds like stalking to me. Second." After standing her bike up and giving it a cursory once-over for damage, she continued. "Why, exactly, should I believe you?"

 

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Mel exhaled out briskly. Now he remembered that night, Mourne intimating to Maya that she didn't belong at the gallery, and Mel had been ready to escort her out, only for D'Sombra to intervene. Mel admitted to himself that in Maya's place, he'd be pissed too. No point in pussyfooting around, the Ranger had to handle this straight, honest and clean. "I recognize how it looks and sounds, Ms. Flynn, I'd be skeptical in your position too. But please, let me clarify something. I don't work for Mourne. He was just the client for the night, nothing more."

"Now," the grizzled man met the eyes of the much younger woman levelly, "I was warned you were in danger, by another pair of mutual acquaintances. A rather rabbity fellow named Jack, and his trollish friend Seth. I apologize for following you, but they were short on details, so I had to investigate. In the process, I ran into Kestrel, and figured we should introduce ourselves to you. That is why I'm here."

Edited by Mel Grimson

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"I'm sorry, did you say 'mutual acquaintances'?"  If Maya's eyebrows rose any higher, they were in danger of vanishing into the thick black curls swept over her forehead.  "Listen, mister, 'skeptical' doesn't begin to cover it right now. You introduced her."  A slim finger jabbed in Kestrel's direction. "I still don't know who the hell you are, except for the stiff-necked asshole at the party I was invited to. Yes. Invited," she repeated, dark eyes glaring daggers at the stoic former Ranger.  "I don't care who you work for. I don't care what they're paying you. I don't even care who you think these 'mutual acquaintances' are that'd tell you to stalk me," the tall woman all but hissed, her earlier anger at the seeming unfairness of the entirety of life bubbling back up to the surface.  "I've just had the worst week of my life after running into you and your, your client, or whatever, and those crazy people who were at that godforsaken party."

She stood there for a moment, seething quietly as memories of the dreams she'd had- the woman, the monster, and the fall, and then D'Sombra- and the strangeness at the library permeated her thoughts, coloring the simple, straightforward experience of anger with more ominous shades.

"He said your name is Kestrel. You said I'm cursed," she managed finally, one hand gripping the handlebar of her bicycle as she turned to the woman who hadn't yet sparked her ire directly. "Fine. Assuming I'm willing to hear you out, I hope this isn't the part where you tell me to follow you somewhere, because..." She laughed quietly, shaking her head at the audacity of the pair. "Hell no. You already know where I work if you followed me all the way out here, so you can just meet me there. Tomorrow. After 5," she added, not counting on Lorraine staying one minute past her appointed time.

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"Look, Maya, Ms. Flynn," Kestral seemed completely unsure what to actually call Maya, but pressed on, fearing they were losing her.  "I get it, I do.  Frankly, were our roles reversed I'd be throwing hands right about now, so thank you for not doing that."  She chuckled with a bit of levity.

"You said worst week, ever, right?"  Kestral looked around on the street, trying to keep the conversation between them.  "Let me guess, lost your keys?  Spilled your coffee, flat tires, broken bike chains, dead car batter, if you own a car, I-I don't know.  Split pants?  Ruined outfits for work, and every son of a bitch you meet is either screwing you over, or its a once-in-a-lifetime chance meeting with that one person you don't want to talk too?  Co-works acting double douchey to you lately?   Nothing going right?  At.  All."

"I don't blame you for not trusting us, believe me, I wouldn't either," she pleaded as well as she was able, but it was obvious that Kestrel wasn't all that good being comforting.  "Been seeing things?  Weird people in your dreams, lucid, quasi waking nightmares with all kinds of weird people?  Mr. Mourne, that's who I work for, he said the emissaries were looking for you.  A-an animal.  Something about a Mason.  He thinks he's found Mason and asked me to come and help you.  Please, Ms. Flynn.  A cup of coffee.  That's all I'm asking for from you.  Join us for a cup of coffee and give me time to try and help you understand what the hell is happening lately, because... I've been through it too."

No more parties, no more days off, Maya swore silently to herself, even as she got the sense that it likely wouldn't matter. In the past week, she hadn't met or spoken with any of the people she'd come to associate with the strangeness slipping between the city alleyways and wafting up from the streets like vapour, and yet here she was. Here they were, specifically, and she had to admit that this Kestrel woman had guessed more accurately than chance alone should permit. So... Okay.

"Okay," she conceded. "One cup of coffee. One. As long as it's not at The Full Pot."

Edited by Dave ST

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"Works for me." Mel agreed simply. "Since I forgot to introduce myself, I'm Mel Grimson." He offered his hand out to shake... but Maya didn't go for it. Between her not-touchy-feely New Yorker spirit, plain distrust for the man, and simply being at the utmost strained limit for the week, she just didn't want to. End of story. Mel withdrew his arm back without comment. He'd take what he'd gotten.

"For what it's worth, Ms. Flynn, I'm going through it too." He gave her a nod. "Two-thirds of this stuff she's going to tell you, I don't really understand any better." More like nearly all, but he wasn't going to disrupt the image Kestrel had of him in her mind. "But I've seen enough to convince me this isn't just crazy nonsense."

Edited by Mel Grimson

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