A Family Matter

[Molly Quincannon] [[While the nomemeister's getting tea, let's get this out of the way - Perc + Awareness...]]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Garrett] [aware]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Garrett] Over the last week Garrett has spoken to a small handful of Magi, but the information he has gathered from these encounters has been much more than that. Maybe it's because of Garrett, because he's charming and easily trusted, fierce yes but almost always in this situations is that fire directed at something other than the person sitting in front of him. It makes him seem passionate, intriguing to some rather than callous or without care. It could be this or maybe he just got lucky, if he were a Euthanatos he would say he doesn't believe in luck but luck has its place in a Verbena's life as much as anybody else.

A call had been made to one Molly Quincannon and it had been brief, to the point. He had been given her number and he might have a job for her; all comments about what exactly this job entails were left for the actual meeting and it had been surprisingly easy to get her to agree to such a thing. Maybe she isn't too careful either; maybe she doesn't have to be.

Beside China Town there is a small Irish community and it's here that the meeting has been set. The pub is near empty at this time of day -- too run down to entice the lunch time crowds -- but there are a few regulars lining the bar, drinking away their sorrows and sharing stories. Garrett is not one of these men; Garrett is here for business and he's seated in a booth on the far wall, back pressed into it where he lounges with one foot up on the bench beside him and a leather clad elbow leaning into the tabletop.

A pint of stout in front of him, half empty; a shot of whiskey beside it and his dark RayBans next to that. Stubble on his jaw like always, grey eyes and far too beautifully messed up black hair marks the man as something attractive to females, something threatening to males. He's early, but he won't be for long.

[Molly Quincannon] Molly would have given Garrett a description over the phone - "Average except where I'm not. Look for mid-height, mid-length brownish hair, glasses, geek-T and tattoos". Which is what walks into the pub right at the suggested meet-up time.

What she didn't mention - maybe didn't know about at the time - was the mess. Her leather jacket is scarred and splattered with something black and viscous, as are bits of her hair. Her jeans are stained from the knees down in a combination of that black ichor and what's either mud, sewage or both, and look a little chewed. There's a quarterstaff on her back, and it has seen use recently. There's a bruise across one cheekbone. But for all that, she looks surprisingly cheerful as she unzips the jacket to reveal a T-shirt that reads "I am currently occupied with telling the laws of physics to shut up and sit down. -- Varsaavius." Still, she screams of the Resonance she had described to him in couched terms over the phone: "I give off vibe of last-minute Christmas shopper looking for the last must-have gift item." Very frantic, then, with a anchoring tenacity.

She spots her quarry at his booth on the far wall, smiles a greeting and waves a 'just a minute' at him before she wanders to the bar. When she joins him, it's with what looks like an Irish coffee but smells like pure espresso with ... vanilla, maybe. "So the fire-sprite told you about me," she says as she sits. "Good to know the kid keeps well-informed. Good to meet you. Love the ink. If you're looking to add to the collection, the guy I found here's a real keeper."

[Garrett] There are assumptions that can be made about someone when a description is given: it's not quite a first impression but it sits as something quite similar. The fact that she gives a description at all tells Garrett that she's confident and the description she gives creates all sorts of preconceptions about the woman before she has even taken one step in the door.

But he didn't expect this, not the woman -- she seems remarkably similar to her description -- but the state of the woman. Where Garrett is most assuredly clean -- well kept even if his look is rugged and low-brow -- she is.. not. He raises an eyebrow and quirks his lips into something of a questioning smile as she sits down in the booth. "Ye look like ye could use this more than me." He says to her as he's raising that shot of whiskey, he makes a motioning gesture as if he's offering to pour it into her coffee.

"What's with the stick?"

[Molly Quincannon] Molly grins and shakes her head. "It doesn't go well with three shots of vanilla vodka. This is what is called an 'espresso martini'. But I might take you up on it later, thanks. And it's a quarterstaff, not a stick. I do bojutsu. Japanese quarterstaff-fighting. Sometimes firearms aren't a good idea, y'see."

She slugs down about a third of what she's referred to as an espresso martini, heedless of scalded tongue, and then goes on, quiet enough to not be conspicuous. "The reason I'm carrying it is because I was doing a sweep-and-clear in Undertown - the tunnels and whatever under the city. It's generally in our interests to keep that area clear of nasty. More so now than ever these days, considering a few plans we've got in the works for one area. Anyway, the tunnels are more or less a breeding ground for unconsidered boogity-boo nastiness, and I go down from time to time - usually with backup, but everyone was busy this afternoon - to seek and, if necessary, destroy. I found some unpleasantness today and beat the unholy hell out of it, then set it on fire." All casual, that, as if talking about a shopping excursion on Magnificent Mile.

Then, with a cheerful shrug, she adds, "I didn't really have time to go home and change. So ... y'know, sorry for the look of triumphant warrior, but also kind of not. And since we haven't been properly formally introduced, Molly Quincannon. Cult of Ecstasy. Nice to meet you in person." She holds out a hand - it's clean, at least, though bearing the callouses and little nicks and scars of someone who's very active with her hands. "I figure it's nice to have handshake and at least a few social make-nices before we get down to questions like 'Scotland, right?' and 'New to Chicago?' and 'Who've you met so far?' and 'What's the job?' and stuff."

[Garrett] She talks; she talks a lot and he should have picked up on that over the phone but there's something decidedly distant about communication via such means. When she sits down and unloads on him like this it is very hard to ignore her confidence, it is also very hard to ignore the smell but he doesn't even show the tiniest morsel of distaste towards such things.

There's a faint shrug followed by a sly grin as he's tipping his chin back along with the shot, downing it quickly without any drama. The glass gets placed on the table and while she talks he's sipping at that stout of his. It's a good stout, the head fully intact despite the fact that he's already had half of the beverage. When she offers her hand he takes it in his own and she would find his palm warm, rough like hers, perhaps even more so perhaps due to age.

Not that he looks it, he could be late twenties, early thirties, it's hard to say when he isn't speaking, sometimes when he is too. "Garrett Rowlands, Verbena. Pleased to meet ye and yer stick." Said with a wry grin and mirth in his eyes as he makes his hand his own once again. It reaches into his leather jacket, pulls out a rather large silver .44 and places it down beside his sunglasses.

"Just so we're on an even playing field," he states and returns to rest his elbow on the top of the surface, his back leaning against the wall and his knee still bent, foot hooked up on the bench seat. "I might see ye down there sometime, cleaning up. It's a small world after all."

[Molly Quincannon] The gun gets raised eyebrows - amused, really, to judge by the little smirk - and then she retrieves a Beretta from a shoulder holster of her own and sets it down on the table. "I said sometimes firearms aren't a good idea. But it's not like I'm going to use it on you anyway. That ... is a lot of gun," she adds with a chuckle.

The bit about seeing him down there sometime gets him another look - assessing, if still amused and friendly. "You might indeed. Every little helps. Maybe if we get organised about it, we could even make it a team effort. My skill set's usually pretty good down there ... at least for the seeking and destroying."

She takes down more of her drink - sip this time, rather than swig, and says, "So okay. I asked a whole bunch of questions. Scotland, right? New to Chicago? Who've you met so far? ...Besides one Addie Calvert, who I only know of by reputation. I think I'll leave the 'what's the job?' for after those others, as it stands to take longer."

[Garrett] He laughs when she pulls out the Beretta, lowering his leg from the bench to straighten his body and press both his elbows into the table, hands steepled in front of him, thumb to thumb, fingertip to fingertip. He's looking across the top of them at her with a narrowed gaze of amusement still lingering after that joyous rich rolling of resonating mirth.

After a few seconds simply spent staring at her in silence he reaches down to his ankle, a long dagger being dropped with a clatter onto the table beside the .44 Raging Bull. "I'd show ye the rest but I do-nae believe the proprietors of this fine establishment would be too pleased to find their locale on fire."

It isn't a boast, more like he's sharing a joke between the two of them and it's labelled as such by the parting of those gorgeous lips of his, soft pink to reveal pearly white and the way his eyes seem to shimmer and shift from steely grey to something more silver. There's another long pause while he's simply looking at her, giving her untold amounts of attention before:

"Scotland. Morgan, Thomas, Ava, Addie, Vince." There's a beat while his hands fold over themselves and his tongue touches to his upper lip. "And ye of course."

[Molly Quincannon] Molly chuckles at the mention that the proprietors might not like to find the place on fire. "Likewise, then. Let's both just say that we can handle ourselves pretty darn well, if we put our minds to it." It's not that she doesn't notice the attractiveness, nor that she's not appreciative of it. It's just ... she's not the kind of girl most guys like this flirt with. Besides, her heart is set on someone else. (One of the world's few monogamous Cultists, her.) So she appreciates, and returns the smile, but behind it is an undertone of Yeah, right, as if you'd even bother. Even if I weren't covered in ichor. Cheerful still, but she does at least vaguely know her limitations. Looks are one of them.

The list gets a smile. "I've met Morgan and Thomas. Addie I know about, as I said, second-hand. One of my apprentices rooms with her, and one of my closest friends knows her. Speaking of, you ought to get in touch with Israel Cohen at some point. And probably Solomon Ward and Nathan Spriggs. Nathan'd like you. You two would definitely get along," she adds, with a sideways look at his hand cannon and a slightly wicked little grin. "Anyway, those three are the Guardians of the Gate, one of the few active cabals in the city that I know about, and any one of them, now that you've met a member of the other active cabal in the city that I know about--" this is punctuated by a gesture that calls attention to herself like a game show hostess showing off the new car one could win in the bonus round "--can get you access to the Chantry. Plus they've been in the city longer than I have - I've been here just under a year now. But I seem to get all the intel anyway. I'm nosy." She seems quite proud of that. "And Chicago seems like an Awakened convention sometimes, so you'll meet more."

That bit done - and many little snippets and threads of information that can be followed up on if Garrett chooses dropped liberally around the place - she asks, "So what is the job? It's been a little while since an unknown quantity dropped me a message prodding me for work. I'd guess intel assignment. It usually is." She knows her rep, clearly.

[Garrett] Some people are more useful than others for a man like Garrett Rowlands. It's a sad fact of life but it's the simple truth. There are those that can entertain; there are those that can please; there are those that make him want to be more than what he is and they are all useful in their own unique way but not like this. Maybe it's because they're better than that, because they're above simply being useful, but not everybody would see it like that and not everybody would want to see it like that.

Molly is useful and the more she talks the more useful she seems. He learns more about the Chicago Magi in a brief moment spent with Molly than he has done with countless hours combined with the rest of the people he has met and this fact isn't lost on the Verbena: he's quiet; he shuts his god damn mouth and he listens intently with lips pursed and no hint of a grin on his lips because when it all comes down to it, they're here for business.

So what is the business?

"Addie didnae tell ye anything?" He asks with a raised eyebrow, scepticism in his tone. It's followed quickly by a continuation of the answer. "It involves the other team; it involves a missing Magi, a Verbena Adept who was taken from Scotland seven months ago. In short, I want to find her. What happens after that it is nae of ye concern."

[Molly Quincannon] She tilts her head and gives him a considering sort of frown. "Like I said, I don't know Addie personally. I know she has my number because my apprentice gave it to her, because I like being in the loop and it's good for people to have points of contact if they need me, is all. I kind of figure Addie didn't get in touch with me after giving you my number because ... well, I hear she's a little nervous of people for a lot of very good reasons and I'm right outside her realm of experience. So ... no, she didn't tell me anything because I haven't spoken to her directly."

Then there's the rest, and she listens carefully, still with that considering sort of expression. "Oookay. First of all, what happens after 'that' kind of is my concern, mostly on the basis that I'm not the sort of person who just dumps information on someone's head and backs off to let some other poor bastard go butting heads with the ... 'other team', if that's the term we're using today. So if I take this on board, I want in on what you're up to. You never know; I might be more helpful than you realise. Especially since I've been more or less front-line with every bit of 'other team' crap that's hit this city since July last year. I tracked one down - okay, he'd been blacklisted but I still found him while he was trying to hide. Then the Asylum thing - mostly communications blackout and monitoring, and that whole bit where I future-peeked at what the hell they were going to be getting up to at the Asylum before we brought the hammer down. Plus I managed to walk away completely unscathed, unidentified and free from a raid they did on my place with about an hour's notice. That's gotta be worth something. Anyway, I'm not letting a fellow Mage go out on this kind of run on their own. It's not in my nature."

Another swig of her coffee drink, and then she goes on. "I'm also going to need more detail than just 'looking for someone'. Female Verbena Adepts aren't exactly a dime a dozen but it's not a lot to go on in terms of finding one, either. Name? Age? Any identifiers? Reason they were taken? Any particular reason why Chicago? Any idea what Convention did the grab, or ordered the grab?"

[Garrett] "It's a family matter," he tells her with a narrowing of his eyes a clenching of his jaw. There's an audible sigh that escapes him after this and rubbing of his hand back through that thick set of hair of his which makes him suddenly look tired, worn too thin.

"Nae," he says in general to the area around them though it's obviously directed at her and he waves his hand absently. "This will-nae do. It is nae concern of yers what happens with the information." He sighs again like perhaps he might be getting a headache and then his hand suddenly reaches out for the .44 on the table.

It gets holstered a moment later along with the knife which he flips once before sliding down near his ankle. "There will be nae meddling, it is a sensitive issue and has naught to do with ye. We pay, we provide the details, ye find the information. That's it. There is nae debate about this to be had."

He's standing a moment later and it's very likely that he's about to leave. "Thank ye for yer time. Ye have my number, call me if ye change yer mind." A beat and he's narrowing eyes on her in thought again, lips paused as if he might have something more to say before he simply turns away and steps out of the booth.

[Molly Quincannon] "Oh, eff-eff-ess, will you just hold on a minute?"

She stands up as he does, having collected her own weapon as he did and stowing it away before standing up to block his path out. This is not the weapons-bearing kind of confrontational ... in fact, it's not really confrontational at all. He could easily step around her if he wanted to. What she's trying to do is catch his attention. "Look, I'm open to discussion about a lack of ... 'meddling', if that's the term we're using today, but your sitting down so that we can discuss it in a civilised kind of way would be a good idea. Dude, seriously, I get that this is personal and important and probably eating you - probably a damn sight better than you know - but learn to negotiate. Seriously. If you're going to do this, I'd like to help as much as I can ... but I'll settle for helping as much as you'll let me. Sheesh. Just ... talking it out instead of 'my way or the highway' tends to get you more than stomping off in a really attractive bad-boy huff."

[Garrett] A smarter Mage would simply lie to her; a smarter mage would simply tell her whatever she wanted to hear in order to get her to go along with it, get the information he required then ditch her the moment he got it. He's got it in him -- ability wise -- to do such a thing, that's clear by the smiles he can throw around and the utter comfort that the man exudes in almost everything he does.

But for some reason he hasn't done this, though he does stop when she moves to block him. There's a raised eyebrow in question as if he's checking to make sure she realises what she is doing. But he doesn't interrupt her or move around her to stomp off in a 'really attractive bad-boy huff'. That gets a huff, a snort of amusement and he ponders her words before shrugging once and sinking back down into the booth.

"Tell me about their activities."

[Molly Quincannon] Molly sits back down and casts her eyes upwards for a moment, thoughtful. Then she displays how else she's useful: given that she's not falling back on a notebook or a computer or anything, the woman's got a hell of a memory. "First I got wind of them here was when we had an issue with a sort of proto-node in late October last year. It wasn't anything that was even remotely stable or anything - it was more or less a revolving door through the Gauntlet, letting out all kinds of mess and incidentally driving a few people crazy on Halloween. One of them was a Technocrat scientist and her army pals. So next thing you know, the Conventions set up camp on top of the place and started doing experiments. Odds and Time-scry said that we couldn't get the thing back without losing most of both teams and half of Chicago, so we drained the proto-node out into a few local parks. Check out the plant life around here sometime; you'll feel something pretty interesting. They mostly cleared out after that and they've been mostly quiet. I'm still tracking a few names and one viable cellphone number I got when I put them under a communications blackout so they couldn't call for backup while the strike team took their shields down so we could drain out the proto-node, though."

Break for another sip of coffee, and then she continues. "After that, we had a blackballed Technocrat running around the city hiding from a cabal of mages from out of town. One of them had been tortured into outright rabid psychosis by this guy seven years before. That was sort of an outskirts thing, and almost non-Chicagoan who got involved in that one died messy. Still, it's another reason for them to be around. And then there's what hit last month - a Sending went completely insane and started throwing raw power at Sleepers. You might have heard on the news about the tornado, the rain of fire, the cult stuff brewing? We had martial law here for awhile because of that, and since then, there have been a few ... disturbing moves on official scales that we're - well, okay, I'm looking into. I'm always a little dubious about concentrated 'mental wellness centres' springing up after a whole bunch of people got a glimpse of real magic because it sounds like 'recruitment drive for anyone who got pushed into Awakening by that mess' to me. Especially when there's a mid-sized section of Chicago in which consensus has shifted into our favour. A lot of this is in the early stages of information gathering, but that's the situation as it stands - Big Shit has gone down in this city and there are moves being made that bear a whiff of quiet infiltration by the other side."

[Garrett] There's anger in his gaze as she begins to speak about the technocrats and their activities. He bristles with it; his resonance warbles with it, echoing out around him with all those traces of the uncontrollable, the wild, the untameable. Half way through he turns to look away from her, gazing off into empty space in the bar though occasionally he glances back at a particular topic or two, mental wellness centres being just one of them. Check out the plant life being another.

"Sounds like ye have yer hands full." He says to her and he says you, sounds like you have your hands full, not we. He obviously does not considering himself one of Chicago's Magi yet. There is a lot of info for the Verbena to take in but he does the best he can and he doesn't reach for the notepad in his jacket; most of it is irrelevant to him in a direct sense but he doesn't look disinterested, in fact it's quite the opposite.

"She could have been brought here to assist in.." He finds it hard speaking of such things, that much is obvious by the tick in his jaw and the slowness of his voice. "Whatever it is they have planned." A beat and he looks back at her, eyes dragging across the surface of the table now cleared of their various weapons before lifting to her own. "Wyck help ye if they have."

[Molly Quincannon] At the comment about they (not 'we'; yes, she's noticed), Molly just shrugs. "Eh, we're between apocalypses right now. Which is why I've got the time to take on intel acquisitions work, I guess. Which brings me to the other thing. I get that you don't want me ... 'meddling'. I can accept that." For now. Things may change, on his side or hers or even the Technocrats', that might change his mind. Que sera, sera. "Just as long as you know that my skill set runs to other things than snooping, and that I'm happy to renegotiate for more than intel if you ever want to." Which is the point at which she sets that entire line of conversation aside. She's made her feelings on it known, and that's the end of it.

She turns to the rest instead. "I also get that it has to be hard for you to talk about. And that you're not comfortable giving out details. Thing is, if you want the best intel I can dig up, I need more detail. At least a name and a description. And what she could have been brought in to assist with. With a little detail to narrow down the search band for me, you could get much better intel, much quicker. Otherwise I'm just blundering around in the dark and that's not exactly the most efficient way of doing things. It's like having the right search terms on Google, y'know? Makes all the difference."

[Garrett] He's silent again -- he does this, he lapses into quiet and ponders things before he speaks and he does it in such a way that doesn't seem at all awkward, it seems practised and comfortable and for the wrong type of person it might even be intimidating, though that is highly unlikely for Molly -- and his hand reaches for his beer before he speaks.

A sip; a clink as the pint touches back down on the table and then: "Alana Rowlands." The words get offered reluctantly, as if he's considered all the alternatives and there is simply no way around it. "Description may very well be entirely useless. She's a powerful shifter. Prime, Life, Forces. Adept like I said, could have been brought in to help with any number of.. things."

"How, that's the thing that troubles me. How they did it, if they can do that -- take her -- what else could they make her do?" He waves away the topic and sighs. "5'6, dark hair like mine. Long. Pale skin, blue eyes. But like I said: she's a shifter." His palm presses flat down into the surface of the table and he rolls his fingers across it once. "I might have a lead, I'm looking into it. If I find out anything I will let ye know."

[Molly Quincannon] There's a moment's thought on Molly's side, and then she nods. "Okay. Anything you can offer to narrow things - any lead you can give me - will help. But there is one other thing that might help. I need something of hers - something of yours will do, just for the family connection between you, but something of hers is best. If you have anything that has a resonance of her on it, something you can deal with not having hold of for a little while, I can track her, fish the timestream on how, and ... well. Let's just say there's a lot I could find out from something like that."

She finishes her coffee, then, and asks a 'just-for-information' question; sheer curiosity. "You said something earlier about payment. I haven't done outside contract work in about a year; mostly I've been plying my trade for the good of the Awakened community or my own curiosity since I hit Chicago. I'm not exactly a mercenary, but I'm interested in what kinds of things you trade in for this kind of work. Currency? Favours?"

[Garrett] "Money," he tells her after her query about payment. "My family is a very old Verbena family, we own a farmstead in Scotland, money is nae an issue. If it is something else ye are after then ye best speak up. As for the trinket.. I can send home for something. It may take awhile to arrive though."

A raised eyebrow at her and a canting of his head to the side, eyes regarding her with something lighter in their depths, something more gentle in the curve of his lips.

"Is there something else that ye would want Molly?"

[Molly Quincannon] Molly chuckles. "Not particularly, no. Cash is generally a useful thing, but some people don't have enough of it to spend on something like this, so terms are negotiable, that's all. I've traded in favours, information, useful contacts ... all kinds of stuff. If you're happy with cash, then we'll do it that way." She gives it a bit of thought for a second, then adds, "We can negotiate dollars and cents when you get the ... trinket; man, that's a word I need to use more. Anyway, the preliminaries aren't going to involve much in the way of risk so I don't mind showing the flash before I discuss payment on that kind of thing. I'll look into it, see what I think the job is worth, and we can negotiate from there, if that works for you."

More pause for thought, and then, "Anything else you need to ask? Oh, let me give you Solomon's contact details now, just to get that done. And ... I'd be careful about mentioning this if I were you, when you speak to him. Solomon's heavily security-conscious and he would insist on ... meddling, to use your term ... if he knew you were making a run on the other team. He'd figure that you'd call undue attention to the rest of us here in Chicago and he'd either insist on helping or ... get unpleasant. There are some people you can mention this to who won't be super-paranoid? Solomon ... is not one of them."

[Garrett] "I'll keep it to myself," he says with a whuff of breath that escapes his lips in the midsts of a frown when she starts talking about Solomon and his paranoia. "I'm nae here to destroy yer Technocratic enemies. I'm just here for Alana, if I can get her without calling undue attention then all the better."

He stands and begins to slide out of the booth.

"If I canna, then.. well. So be it. Family is family." His eyes are still focused on her face and he takes the time to grouse her features, the muck lining her hair and clothes before raising back to the cleaner spots.

"It's been very informative, Molly. Ye live up to ye reputation."

[Molly Quincannon] She grins at him at that last. "And you've only seen the tip of the iceberg. I'll be in touch when I have anything. You do the same, when you get that lead you were talking about, and the trinket you mentioned. We'll have another drink and I promise I won't even hit Undertown first. I clean up halfway decent."

She stands, then - clearly, she would like to get home and clean up - but then she stops, turns back and looks over at him. "By the way? Don't get the wrong impression. Solomon's not an ogre, and is a good guy once you get past the stuffy outer core. He's just ... a bit of a crusader and very paranoid. Protective as hell. It's a good thing, but ... apparently not what you're after on this case. So ... y'know, don't let the one thing you maybe shouldn't mention colour your opinion of him entirely."

With that and a final, "I'll be in touch," Molly the Friendly Neighbourhood Info-Slut is out the door.