Unplanned interviews

Who: Doc and Grayson
Where: the Wooden Nickel
When: evening

The truth of interplanar beings really didn't mesh up well with the stories, Doc had decided. Old fables saw the gods lounging on the clouds or in their respective realms, shifting the lives of mortals from afar with their enigmatic ways. He supposed that the concept suffered in reality because, well, he wasn't a god. He was far from one, really. And who was he to take issue with his surroundings? In his days before the Mourning Star, Doc had been perfectly at home in a place like the Wooden Nickel, why should that change now that his name was War?

Suffice to say, it hadn't. He was at the Nickel once again, a glass of whiskey resting on the edge of a pool table as Doc leaned in to a shot, calculating the trajectory of it silently as he puffed his smoke. The bar was a creature comfort, a reminder of similar places he'd frequented in younger days; somewhat grimy, never too crowded, and with a reserved spot out front for regular police visits. "I think..." he murmured to the guy he'd been shooting pool with, "...you owe me my next round... now." Doc snapped his stick forward, cracking the cue ball into the eight-ball and pocketing it neatly. He straightened out, handing the stick to his opponent and snagging a ten dollar bill in exchange, chuckling politely over his win. It wasn't hustling, or so he told himself. He never played for large sums, after all. Just his personal drinking money. What's the harm in that? he wondered as he grabbed his glass and headed towards the bar for a refill.

When Grayson had arrived in Marquette, he hadn't come with the hope of finding that one other wolf he was always on the hunt for, but that didn't mean he stopped listened for little hints and clues that might give him a lead of any kind. When one had come his way quite by accident -- wolves blind in one eye weren't all that common after all, especially not when they had vicious scars to go along with said blindness -- it would have been downright stupid of him to ignore it. So he had followed that wayward rumour to this place, a bar that seemed a little more rowdy than the others he had passed or visited since arriving in town. Part of him didn't want to go inside, but that hesitation was shoved down and away.

Maybe if he didn't find what he was looking for, the night wouldn't be a total loss. There were more than a few frustrations piling up inside of him and those only ever led to displays of aggression, usually on his part. It might be good to get it out of his system, if he had the opportunity.

Having learned his mistake at Babylon, when he stepped through the doors, he didn't hover and give away the fact that he was new in town. Instead, he did one sweep of the room with his eyes and then headed towards one end of the bar, preferring to stick to the edge where he would be able to keep most of the rest of the room in sight. That was the plan anyway.

The truth of things was that Doc, for whatever stature he had, still didn't always understand his abilities. For example, he would've loved to learn some way of anticipating the feeling of a task taking hold. As it was, he could only ever react when the feeling hit him. Which it did in that moment, blossoming from nowhere as the feel of an iron-tight band constricting his chest, pulling tight. Lowering a steadying hand on the bar, Doc shut his eyes and braced himself as details flooded his mind; a name, the look of the person he sought. Grayson Saunders.

But something was different this time, no doubt in his mind. Whenever the feeling descended in the past, there was always a strange, ephemeral tug with it. It was a beckoning urge, telling him he was needed somewhere. And usually, he would just hold his breath and give into it, sliding across space to be where he was needed. This time? The tug was only maybe fifteen feet away, if that. He'd had jobs in Marquette before, but what sort of blind providence would put him in the same room as one? Maybe Star's doing you a favor, he told himself, looking to each side in careful consideration, then smirking thoughtfully as he laid eyes on Grayson.

"No souveniers this time," Doc murmured, paying for his fresh whiskey as it arrived and slipping the tender a few dollars more with a nod towards Grayson. "I've got his first, I was waiting on him," he told the barkeep, grabbing his fresh drink and starting the other man's way.

It didn't take long for Grayson to realise the other man wasn't just headed in his rough direction, but right for him. Immediately, tension washed through his back and shoulders, but he kept the physical evidence as minimal as he could, not an easy task when he came from a species so reliant on body language; he just wasn't accustomed to hiding it. But here and now, not knowing what the other man wanted, or even what he was, it was necessary if only to avoid a conflict that he might not necessarily walk away from unscathed. Grayson might have been dominant and aggressive, but without knowing what he was up again, he wasn't going to recklessly put his own neck on the line.

Instead, he lifted his gaze from the bar where it had dropped and landed it firmly on the stranger, a warning and a question both at the same time. He needed to keep his distance until his intentions were clear, and those intentions needed to be stated as soon as possible. Neither side of Grayson was comfortable with being approached out of the blue by a complete stranger.

To his credit, Doc kept the smile off his face as he took in Grayson's wariness. It was in his stance already, and even more plain in the even glare he was shooting Doc's way. This man knew what he was doing, or at least knew how to mind his surroundings even in a place like this. He drew to a halt along the bar near Grayson, turning and settling a forearm for a lean as Doc took a drink. Really, he should've said something by now, but first he had curiosities to satisfy. Most of the time, there was enough distance between jobs that Doc could do his homework first, but there was no such luck tonight.

Situations like these were when the more subtle aspects of his willworking were invaluable. He shut his eyes for a moment, concentrating and letting his perceptions slide outwards to describe the life forms all around him. All but one? Well, they read as human, maybe psychic at best. But the one he was here for... Doc hadn't had any chance to sense a lycanthrope in years and years. "Evening, Grayson," he said eventually, opening his eyes and nodding to the other man, then taking a light sip of whiskey. "Join me for a drink?"

He wasn't the only one doing some identifying, though Grayson didn't have the same benefits that this man obviously did. All he could tell using his senses was that he wasn't dealing with another were of any kind; that was where his own system ran dry, just another frustration, one not at all helped by the fact that the stranger called him by his name. This was a man he had never met before in his life, not to his recollection, and that wariness took a swift leap upward into concern that no doubt showed in his eyes before the shutters came down and he was back to appearing tense but otherwise unreadable. Unless, of course, you had some kind of extra sense on your side. For all he knew, this man was some kind of psychic. That was the only explanation he could think of.

In the interest of not making a scene in a bar where things would no doubt get messy at the first sign of trouble, he went with that assumption, at least for the time being. "If you level the playing field," he returned as a prompt for the other man's name.

"Friends call me Doc," he said vaguely, grinning enough to bunch the barcode tattoo scrawled on his cheek, "I'm hoping you'll do the same in time." Shifting his gaze slightly away from Grayson, Doc glanced at the mirror along the back of the bar subtly, looking for potential eavesdroppers. Whether they meant to or not, he had things to say that other people weren't meant to overhear. Seeing a clear enough coast, Doc looked back and went on in a tone low enough to disappear under the steady thrum of the other bar patrons. "I'm not here for trouble, I mean that whether you take my words at face value or not," he said, patting down his old coat and digging out a pack of cigarettes. "Just... always interested in new faces around town."

Whether or not this man realised it, he was 'submitting' to Grayson, though it wouldn't really mean much if push came to shove. Not everyone held as much stock in eye contact and the challenges they carried as weres did after all. Having no trouble hearing Doc -- a nickname was better than no name at all, Grayson told himself -- even with the blanket of noise in the room, the werewolf considered him seriously. Interested in new faces. Did he even realise how peculiar that sounded? Then again, Grayson was hardly one to judge; he'd barely been in the town two days before he'd snooped around another werewolf's house. "Interested," he echoed, as if testing the word for flaws somehow. "Interested in what way, exactly?"

Definitely sharp, Doc mused, somewhat pleased whenever he found a personality like this. Granted, he rarely didn't when it came to his duties, but that was usually because he just appeared out of thin air. That was shock, and this? This was caution. "Ways, plural," he clarified as he lit up, nodding past Grayson at an empty booth beyond the pool table. "And interested in ways that are best discussed in less open spots. One drink, you hear me out. I have some insight on the area you might like, and if you're not game for anything beyond that? Well, consider the information a welcoming gift." Doc drew in a slowl lungful of smoke as he finished speaking, just watching Grayson evenly.

Whatever this man was after wasn't going to be revealed right off the bat, that much was clear. Grayson considered his choices, taking his time with it, knowing better than to rush into any decision like some reckless, foolhardy pup. "All right," he said at last after he'd thought if over from as many angles as were available to him. Information wasn't something that he was going to turn his nose up, though he knew he would have to tread carefully. Doc might call it a 'welcoming gift', but he wanted to be absolutely sure there were no strings attached before he entered into any kind of arrangement with this man. To show that his agreement was genuine, he slid off the stool he had occupied and drew himself to his full height, waiting for Doc to lead the way.

Doc was somewhat surprised as Grayson uncurled and stood tall; he was nearly as tall as Doc himself. They were close enough to keep things eye to eye, which was welcoming, and he smiled a little at the man's agreement. Slipping around a waitress, Doc started back towards the open booth with a nod to another server. "Two more of these back there," he instructed, hefting his own glass for her to see. Doc dropped into the booth easily, unconcerned with giving Grayson his back as he settled in and blew out a cloud of smoke. His jaw clenched as he leveraged his will quickly, tapping into an old trick and chaining static along the particles of smoke, dimming out the bar beyond their booth.

Obviously Grayson had a lot to learn when it came to the variety of supernaturals out there in the big, bad world. As he lowered himself into the booth, he quickly became aware of the shift in the volume beyond their corner of the bar, and his light eyes moved to Doc, jumping to the conclusion that he was behind that change. Rather than comment on something he suspected he would never fully understand, he settled himself properly without looking overly comfortable or too tense, a fine balance that he somehow managed to achieve like a professional. Rather than saying anything, he waited patiently for Doc to make his pitch. There was no harm in hearing him out.

Doc mulled over his drink for a quiet moment, giving Grayson a chance in case the other man had anything he wanted to say. He expected him to, really. There were usually demands as to who he was or what he wanted, sometimes (as with Kurt) there was a personal musing on why Doc found them where he found them. But Grayson seemed to want none of that, which got a quiet chuckle from Doc as he sucked down a last drag of his cigarette, stubbing it early. "Just in case you want to walk early, I'll give you the insight first," he offered, swirling his glass, "There's a pretty heavy percentage of hunters in town right now, so step lightly. The locals had some issues with a rash of the curse being spread around a few weeks ago. A lot of people died, including the majority of those infected, but people are still bracing for the next full moon. And I'd bet you know hunters, they don't care about the person they're aiming at, just what they can do."

He didn't know if Grayson was naturally lycanthropic or a victim of the condition, but the warning was equally useful in either case. Doc was telling the truth, and he knew it from experience. For plenty of hunters, it didn't matter if you looked human, or even if you tried to help others. If you were more, you were a target.

What Doc was telling him was nothing new, information that Sophie had given him, albeit in different words, only a couple of days previously. Grayson saw no need to mention just where he had learned what he had, though. He understood the value of privacy, and as such, would respect hers and keep her name to himself. "So I've heard," he said after a quiet moment, leaning back enough to cushion his shoulder blades against the rear of the booth, his eyes still very much on Doc. Presumably the other man was going somewhere with this, and so, the werewolf wouldn't interrupt any further, simply drop his hint that he knew the basics and let the other supernatural go on at his own pace.

Grayson assumed correctly, Doc was going somewhere with it. Star was pretty direct with her approach, but she was powerful enough to get away with it. He needed a little more tact to maintain the more mundane side of his existence, really. "Well... let's just say I'm interested in preventing a repeat of the incident," Doc went on, sipping his whiskey for a moment, "Or at least having some advance warning. This town... it's a curious place. It's a magnet for the weirder side, but it's not just that. I'm guessing you've seen the ghosts? They're everywhere, but near as I can tell, they started here. So a logical man could presume that this place is a precursor for events happening elsewhere."

Even if he'd just crushed out his cigarette, Doc didn't waste any time in lighting up a new one, renewing the effect in the air as his new drink arrived with one he'd ordered for Grayson. He thanked the waitress amicably, waiting for her to leave before looking across the booth shrewdly. "Suppose I wanted to offer you a job. A sort of 'eyes and ears' task in the area. Think that might be something you're interested in?"

New though he might have been in town, Grayson wanted the same thing. Having hunters out for the blood of werewolves, cursed or otherwise, was not ideal in his book, nor that of any other lycanthrope he suspected. His eyes narrowed a fraction as he listened to Doc speak, taking in everything he was saying, deciding against saying that he had no idea whether he'd seen ghosts or not. Having never seen them before, at least not to his knowledge, it was highly likely that Grayson had seen them but simply hadn't realised what they were. That wasn't exactly a level of ignorance he was comfortable broadcasting.

Picking up the glass the waitress had set down for him, deciding there wasn't anything suspicious about the look or smell of it, he took a drink before replying, using the time to mull over what was being offered to him. "And what exactly would I be the 'eyes and ears' for? You might want to narrow it down for me." Was Doc on the lookout for 'scouts' who could watch the entire town or just certain parts in particular? Grayson at least wanted a good understanding of what he was getting himself into before he made any commitments.

"Around here? There's no narrowing it down," Doc told him with a hint of tooth in his smile. "In the past six months we've had vampiric warpacks, living shadows, an explosion of shifters, and a self-serving dream that only targeted psychics." He watched close as Grayson took the first drink, watching for any flinch from the taste. Some people didn't take hard liquor well, some shifters didn't dwell in cities enough to have experience with it. Apparently, Grayson was neither of those. "What I'm looking for is someone who's reliably observant. If you see something strange, relatively speaking? You let me know. If a situation develops, you work with me and my people to minimize the trouble. Beyond that, you're free to do what you need to do."

Marquette was obviously some kind of supernatural hotspot and Grayson had moved in without having all the facts. Not exactly smart, especially not for a former Alpha wolf. "If you want 'reliably observant', then you're on the right track," he said to Doc, somehow managing to keep any trace of arrogance or superiority out of his voice. Wolves were especially good when it came to scent; their scent-memory was second to none, a wolf able to recall a scent and put it to a specific person or place even after years since their first smelling it. "So basically, you and your people are damage control?" he went on to ask, putting the glass back on the table. At least Doc had good taste when it came to alcohol. Grayson had to give him that.

Chuckling softly at Grayson's minor self-compliment, Doc nodded. "Sometimes," he answered, "We cleaned out some of the leeches when they hit town. Mostly, I'm interested in what's coming. Sometimes it's supposed to rain hard, right? I just want to know when it's about to. I have a...vested interest in understanding why more than I do in preventing." Which was the scientist in him, frankly. Sure, he had plenty of reason besides that; if he couldn't connect the pieces, he couldn't stop things before they crossed a point of no return and the world hit bottom. That idea still existed separately from the man himsel, and his desire to know just so he could. "You wouldn't be working alone unless you preferred to, either. And it pays a little, enough to live around here."

Personally Grayson wouldn't mind being involved in the prevention side of things, but he wasn't exactly in a position to be calling the shots in any situation, not for the time being at least. Maybe in the future that would change, but for now he had to toe the line like everyone else. It might grate against the dominant side of who and what he was, but everyone had to make exceptions, and he had been doing that for years now. He would keep going until he had to. "That would depend on who I'd be working with." Having some kind of idea of just who and what else he might encounter if he agreed to this offer wouldn't exactly be a bad idea. As for the pay, Grayson didn't have to worry about that as much as he'd had to when he'd arrived, but extra money was never a bad thing; everyone had to eat, and who knew when he would up and move along again? If he had some saved away, that would be a bonus. "What about any other commitments I might have?"

Doc tossed back the last of his old drink without blinking, sipping his new one a moment later and considering the questions. "Well, my associates aren't undead or hunters, if that's what worries you. They're just some local parties, like yourself. I figured they could be useful and I could offer some things in exchange. We have a good working relationship," he promised, aiming a smile over the edge of his glass. For a technical demon, Doc realized he sure did smile a lot. Sometimes it unnerved an opponent, but he was hoping that wasn't the case now. And if it was, Grayson wasn't showing a bit of it. "And any personal business of yours is just that, personal. If something comes up that you need to deal with? I'm a handy guy to know, for one. And unless it directly interferes with my own concerns, you're free to handle your own commitments."

The werewolf couldn't help but wonder just how Doc would react if someone told him 'no'. He struck Grayson as the kind of man who didn't like being denied when he thought it was important to get what he wanted. There was the niggling usual paranoia in the back of Grayson's mind that told him not to do a deal without knowing everything, but Marquette seemed like a place with a lot of secrets, many of which wouldn't just be dragged into the open when it was convenient for him. Downing more of his drink, Grayson nodded his head steadily after he swallowed. "All right. Sounds fair."

The problem, of course, was that to make this official and fulfill his end in the War-sense of things, Doc needed to mark the other man as being under his dominion. Not only was this a bad place to do so, but Grayson had definitely given the impression of someone Doc couldn't just surprise with that. He knew how any shifter he'd even known would take meeting a demon, and didn't think Grayson would be much different. "This might sound odd after I made the proposal? But let's give it a day or two before we make it official. Think it over, get used to the area, give me a call when you want to talk more. There's aspects I don't think you'd be wild about right out of the gate, but I'm not looking to make a scene here." He paused long enough to dig out a pen and scrawl down his voicemail number, sliding it over. "Just believe me when I say I'm not looking to mess with you or cause you any trouble, and we'll get down to the dirty secrets another time."

Grayson really wasn't the type who appreciated surprises out of the blue, not if he could have everything upfront. Whoever had said 'ignorance is bliss' had really been onto something. Grayson shook his head as if Doc's words didn't strike him as odd at all; it would have been a little hypocritical of him after the way he'd reacted to Sophie's offer of Oz's phone number. When the other man's hand withdrew, he reached his forward and pulled the number in his direction, giving it a once-over before lifting his gaze to Doc again. "I guess we will," he agreed, taking the paper off the table and turning it over in his fingers almost idly, as if he didn't realise he was even doing it. A lot of things were going unsaid in the here and now, he had figured out that much, not that it had been much of a mystery what with the other man's words, but it would all come out in time. Grayson had no doubt about that.

Surprisingly, Doc felt the tightness in his chest ease and fade. He hadn't thought it would vanish until this shifter was properly in the fold, so this could be read in a different sense than he'd first considered. Maybe it meant that Grayson would agree even once the truth of his new employer came out, maybe his task was only to clue the man into more about his new environment. Doc wasn't clairvoyant, so he could only guess. But honestly, that was how he preferred it. "Well, now that I've butted in on your night and probably planted a concern or two, I'll take my leave," he said eventually, considering Grayson for a moment and offering his hand across the table.

There was no 'probably' about it, but Doc didn't need to have that spelled out for him. Grayson merely regarded Doc from where he sat, the first trace of a subtle smile on his face, as if somewhat amused by what the other man had said. At least, from what he could tell, he hadn't been deceived in any way. There was no telling though, not until all the facts came to light. For now, he would keep hold of that offered number, wait a couple of days, and then, if things didn't go on to feel wrong deep down, he would give Doc a call. There was a slight hesitation before Grayson accepted that offered hand with his own. "Thanks for the drink."

Doc shook easily, noting the strength in Grayson's grip. He could feel litle burrs and calluses, the hand of a man who knew hard work, and it was just another good sign to him. "Don't mention it, always nice to have the company," he replied, releasing and letting his effect fall away. The bar piped in loud around them again as Doc sighed, shaking his head briefly before washing down his second drink in a long swallow. "I'm looking forward to hearing from you," Doc added, setting his glass aside and slipping from the booth. He makes three, he mused as he started from the booth for the door of the bar, Four or five would be good, but three? It's a magic number.

For a wolf, that sudden return of noise was a little startling, but just like with everything else, Grayson covered his surprise with the ease of an actor almost. Simply nodding his head as Doc took his leave, Grayson leaned back properly in the booth and watched the other man leave, his eyes lowering to the paper still in his other hand once his would-be 'employer' was out the door. The numbers stared back up at him with an innocence he didn't exactly trust, and turning the slip over between his fingers, he reached for his drink and nursed the remains as he thought over the proposal. At this point, he didn't have much to lose from going through with it, but then again, he didn't know everything yet. Doc had made that perfectly clear. Grayson supposed he would just have to wait and see. Wolves were patient hunters, and even if this wasn't strictly a hunt, Grayson was no exception.