[ Please read the kickoff post before commenting! ] 

There really was no question in Webb’s mind about whether or not they’d hear these two out, regardless of their intentions. Webb couldn’t imagine being able to sleep at night without learning more about what was going on. It went against everything they prided themselves on as a dedicated Batflix binge-watcher.

“The Grimm clan,” they echoed, resting their chin on their hand and looking between Dapper and Motorcycle Helmet with bemusement. “They don’t exactly operate much around here.”

Vampire clans weren’t anything to trifle with; Webb knew and respected that, of course. On this side of the gate, vampire lords were some of the most dangerous monsters you could come across, both from a personal power standpoint as well as their social and political influence as leaders of their respective clans.

Here in Hallow Point, the crowded valley-adjacent town that Webb called home, there weren’t a ton of big-name power players like there might be in, say, New York, or Paris, or (for some strange reason) Mississauga. But there was a hierarchy, and there were clans and groups and territories that operated within it, and as far as Webb knew, the Grimm clan simply wasn’t one of them.

“No,” Motorcycle Helmet acknowledged, fiddling compulsively with the ends of her hair. Webb watched the gesture, thoughtful. “They’re mostly based further to the northeast, in some of the mountain towns. But Lord Grimm has been getting more… um. Ambitious, in recent years.”

“And his ambitions somehow factor in me?” Webb let out a little laugh. “Darling. Look around. I’m a lightweight. A tiny feral kitten. I run Baby’s First Adventure tours. I send people out to trap wolpertingers and set up scarecrows for were-ravens. I’m not the kind of broker that arranges vampire assassinations. Why would Grimm have a bone to pick with me?”

All true, as much as it made Webb grimace a little to admit. There wasn’t a lot of pride or glory in their work. They knew they had the potential for more. And maybe sometimes they found the end of an interesting thread of information and longed to pull on it to see what would unravel—

But they never did. Dramatic adventures only ended in tragedy. They stayed out of trouble and did their best to ensure trouble stayed well away from them.

“Well,” Motorcycle Helmet pointed out, “if that is true… maybe that’s why. You’re not a big enough deal to retaliate. And the people you work with aren’t strong, right? So they’d be easier to hurt.”

There was an unpleasant ringing sound in Webb’s ears, an ashen taste in the back of their throat. They bit the inside of their cheek, fiddling with one of their lip piercings until they faintly tasted copper instead. Thoughts buzzed through their mind in spiteful sequence.

“… who are you?” they asked finally, chafing their palms together in annoyance. Buying themself time. “I mean, say I believe you. I don’t, not yet, but pretend I do, for a minute. How’d you find out about this? Why’d you decide to help me? And what do you need my help for?”

Dapper smiled like he thought Webb’s slight capitulation meant he’d won this round, or something. Webb seethed a little. “My name is Faraday. This lovely one is Ariadne.”

“That can’t be your real name,” Webb muttered sidelong at Motorcycle Helmet.

She tilted her head to the side. “It is now. Has Webb always been yours?”

“—you know what? That’s fair. I deserved that. Ariadne it is.”

Faraday was still talking: “I’ve lived not far from here for the past few years, though I spent a fair amount of time on the other side of the gate prior to that, of course.”

“Is that so?” Webb did lean a little further towards him at that, giving Faraday another scrutinizing look. Unfortunately, although plenty of the denizens of the valley and from beyond the gate were recognizably other—serpentine bodies, horns, tails, you name it—others could appear completely, unremarkably human. All Faraday had going on was his perfect hair and his stupid fancy coat.

“Faraday is a witch,” Ariadne piped up, and honestly, bless her and her apparent need to compulsively share information at all times. “Though that’s not… I mean, I’m the one who learned about this. Faraday is just… helping me.”

Webb filed that first bit away for later: witches could be good news or bad news, honestly. They sighed, leaning back in their chair and bracing their sneakers against the edge of the desk, making it creak as they rocked perilously back and forth. “Alright,” they drawled, “so you’re the I-knew-she-was-trouble-when-she-walked-in dame in distress in this scenario, then. You and the helmet you’re mysteriously refusing to take off.”

Ariadne touched her gloved hand to the motorcycle visor. “And you’re wearing mirrored sunglasses and a toque and a hood indoors. I think we all have our secrets here don’t we?”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Webb offered.

Ariadne hesitated, glancing aside to Faraday, who looked a little concerned. “… really?” she ventured after a moment.

“No,” Webb said blithely. They dropped forward again, their chair wheels rattling, and picked up their phone. “Listen. You’ve obviously got a lot going on here, and I’m prepared to do business at this point, but you’re going to need to sweeten the pot a little.”

“Sweeten the pot?” Faraday echoed, visibly affronted. Webb got the impression that people didn’t tell him ‘no’ very often. “We have come to warn you that you’re in danger. The Inquisitors may be coming for you as we speak. We have absolutely no obligation…!”

The Inquisitors. That idea admittedly did give Webb a little bit of a chill. The valleys didn’t exactly do law enforcement, not really: humans and their laws stayed in their lane, and the closer you got to the gate, the more that safety and order was maintained by interlocking structures of territory, power, making the right allies, and keeping your head down. Contract law was a whole thing, sure—but Webb made very sure they were always on the right side of their contracts.

But in some towns that spilled over into a valley, like Hallow Point, it was natural that new organizations might spring up. The Inquisitors were one such faction, usually called in to deal with those who were a significant danger to the safety of others. Even though Webb had a clean record, the Inquisitors didn’t exactly have a reputation for their fair trials and their compassionate willingness to negotiate.

If the Inquisitors thought that Webb was putting others in danger, that was a big problem. But even more than that—if it were true, and Webb was responsible—

They realized they’d fallen silent, staring at their hands, and that Faraday was still talking, and that Ariadne was still watching them from behind that mirrored helmet visor.

“Listen,” they said, raising their voice over Faraday’s, sitting up straight and feeling their spine crackle in protest. “Before we move on, I have one very important question. Come here. Come closer.”

“… yes?” Ariadne prompted nervously, leaning in, eager and a bit uncertain.

Webb slid their phone across the desk, tapping one finger on the screen. “I’m starving, and I can’t decide. What do you think? Tacos? Burgers? There’s a couple of these places I haven’t tried. You said you lived nearby. Any recommendations?”

Faraday opened his mouth, then closed it again, and rubbed his face with one hand. Ariadne was silent for a moment, then began to laugh.

“Oh, there’s this place I really like,” she said. “The Witch’s Brewery. Amazing craft beer.”

“Nice,” Webb said casually, spinning the phone around to face them again. “Not on the app, though. Do they do delivery…?”

“… why don’t we go out together?” Ariadne suggested, tone thoughtful. “You said you wanted me to sweeten the pot. How about it? Dinner and drinks on me, and I’ll tell you anything else you want to know.”

[Please suggest or +1 an action in the comments.

As a reminder, it can be thoughts, words, deeds, or curiosities!]

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[ Please read the kickoff post before commenting! ] 

“Just sign here on the dotted line and you’ll be all set.” 

It was a Friday afternoon. Webb sat across the table from a trio of would-be thrill-seekers—adventurers, investigators, hunters, whatever these ones wanted to call themselves—drumming their fingers on their desk in time to the pattering of rain outside their window and trying not to look too impatient. 

This would be their final sale for the week: one that would make the very important distinction between being able to spring for a nice hot pizza delivery or having to jockey for discount sushi of questionable origins on their way home. Webb was very invested.

And their clients seemed to be getting cold feet.

“You know,” Webb pointed out reasonably, drawing the group’s attention back from where they’d begun to mutter to each other, “just because you’re buying the intel doesn’t mean you have to use it. Though, if I may say so myself, it is an interesting job…”

“You say that, but we don’t know,” responded one of them gruffly. A lycanthrope of some kind, Webb would wager, judging by the slightly shaggy appearance and the way his hackles raised when Webb raised their eyebrows. “If you told us what it was…”

“If I told you what it was prior to payment,” Webb said very patiently, “I would not be making very much money in my business of selling information. Once I’ve told you something, I can’t very well take it back, hmm?”

That wasn’t quite the truth. But they didn’t need to know that.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” said one of the others, a brunet with a steely disposition. She patted her companion on the arm when he continued to grumble. She picked up the pen, giving Webb a small smile. “He’s just a little protective, that’s all. We’ve heard this line of work can be quite dangerous, but…” 

Webb flashed her a smile, feeling momentarily grateful that she wouldn’t be able to see their eyes behind their sunglasses. “It can be dangerous,” they admit. “But that’s part of the whole thing, right? Money, power, fame, keeping the peace, dispensing justice… there’s lots of reasons people come looking to get into the business. You’ll figure out quickly enough if it’s for you.”

The brunette nodded, turning the pen around in her fingers and examining it closely, watching the way the green-gold wisps of magic ghosted around the tip. “One way or another, hmm?”

“One way or another,” Webb echoed. Indeed.

The brunette signed the contract, then handed it to the others, who also signed with minimal lingering complaints. Webb gave them all another smile, accepting their pen back and signing their own name with a flourish; the pen gave off a pulse of light that formed into a plume, leaving lingering motes dissipating in the air as its enchantment sealed the contract as binding.

“Now,” Webb said, feeling much more pleasant about the whole situation now that dinner was secured, “we can begin. In the town of Tranquil Hollow, about two hours north from here, there have been reports of nocturnal housebreaks…”

Webb felt pretty good about this one, all things considered, as they ran through the details. Their source for this investigation was one they’d worked with many times before. Petty break-and-enter cases in small towns were usually simple enough to sort out, but would build their confidence. Webb was in the business of making repeat clientele, not instant regrets, after all. 

They entertained a few more questions, exchanged a few more pleasantries, and finally oozed back in their chair with a long sigh of relief once the group had seen themselves out. With a little flick of their pen, Webb sent the contract slithering across the desk and into the filing cabinet and began to gather together their belongings for the night.

The bell over their door jingled.

“The divorce curse removal specialists are next door,” Webb said immediately, without looking up, already starting to scroll through their phone. Pizza had been their first thought, but the Pizza Hut nearby had grown legs a few months ago and had a tendency to wander off, so their delivery times were unpredictable these days. Maybe HexMex instead…?

“… oh,” said a quiet voice from the door. “No, I’m not here to curse anybody. Or uncurse anybody. No curses. I was looking for you. You’re Mx. Webb, aren’t you? The quest broker?”

Ugh. Webb hated that term. Quest. Something coined by idiots who thought there was some kind of grand purpose or calling associated with hunting vampires that got a little too murder-happy or clearing out rampant pixie infestations from vegetable gardens.

It hadn’t always been like this. About two decades back, the mundane world had undergone an abrupt transformation as rifts spontaneously opened up across pretty much every continent, connecting the “normal” world with the worlds beyond, and all the strange magic and creatures that lived within them. Most of the strangeness stayed more-or-less contained within the Uncanny Valleys that formed around the rifts, but some of it bled out into the cities and towns closely around them… which was where Webb’s work often came in.

“I deal with paranormal jobs and information and the exchange and selling thereof, and I am closed,” Webb said. “And by appointment only. You can fill out a form on my site.”

“Oh, good,” was the answer, and although it was a bit of a weird one, Webb thought that was the end of that, until they heard the door close, followed by a creak as someone sat down in the chair across from them.

Webb spun around in their chair to face the Person Who Couldn’t Take a Hint and discovered that it was, in fact, Two People Who Couldn’t Follow Basic Instructions. The one in the chair was slim and curvy, dressed from head to toe in black riding leathers and wearing a helmet with two small protuberances on top. Webb swore they’d seen something like that in an anime, once. All that Webb could make outside from that was their long blond hair, and the way they leaned forward onto the desk, posture tense and eager.

The other stranger was resentfully handsome, tall and broad-shouldered. He had warm brown skin and an absolute mane of long, wavy dark hair that cascaded over the shoulders of his long, brilliantly patterned and brightly-colored coat, and Webb hated him on sight.

“We do apologize for the disturbance, but we have some news for you that we think you’d very much benefit from hearing,” said the Dapper Man. His voice was deep and warm and rich, and he didn’t actually sound sorry at all.

“I also take tip submissions online,” Webb said, the phone in their hand practically vibrating with the force of their knee jumping up and down with agitation. “So if you really don’t mind—”

“You’re being used,” blurted Motorcycle Helmet. “The Grimm clan has been feeding you tainted information, and using it to lead people into deadly traps, and the Inquisitors are starting to look into it and are going to trace it back to you..! You’re in danger, Mx. Webb.”  

Webb fell still. The rain continued its persistent dreary pattern against the glass, and for a moment, it was the only sound in the room.

“… that was a lot of information all at once,” said the Dapper Man in that damnably gentle tone, putting a hand on his companion’s shoulder. “But… she’s right. We’re just here to help, and… well, to ask for your help as well. Please, give us a chance.”

[Please suggest an action in the comments.

As a reminder, it can be thoughts, words, deeds, or curiosities!]

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