#GRIMMER ;; ii. [ you’re with some underworld spy. ]

[dernarrleid]

@nezumivc103221 | plotted starter.

The slide of glass on wood irritates his eardrums. It's not the first he's felt this particular annoyance, but working in a bar does just that. The warm, darkened atmosphere of the establishment didn't seem to welcome the sound anymore than he, but the patron who'd slid the glass over signaled him down. Wolfgang wasn't the kind to rudely snap if he was inconvenienced, nor speak out of turn, picking up the cues most bartenders should be privy to. The room felt less lively than usual, although he wasn't too worried as the crowd begins nearing the late evening. He recounts the people that have sat at the counter, making note of them now and recalling them from the night before. It only takes him a few minutes to sift through such information, tensing when no record of the man he was looking for doesn't match any descriptions.

Being assigned posts all over, Wolfgang never thought he'd have an opportunity to visit the States. Since diapers, there weren't a lot of compliments about the land, and it's development remained relatively unknown to him until around the time he'd began training. A prickling sensation befell his ears, a familiar feeling whenever a memory resurfaces with a little more clarity than others. A voice, booming across a room full of his fellow 'classmates' warns him of the dangers of falling victim to the atmosphere and general attitude. To not give into baser instinct and focus on their tasks no matter what. He supposes the only difference between the facility and where he stands is that aforementioned warmth. He moves over to the sink, gathering more used dishes and paper notes of the next drink orders. Sounds of distant sirens and chatter come muffled through the walls, especially from the alley just behind the kitchen. Part of him grows concerned for the current state of decency in the neighborhood, solemnly hoping the mess doesn't linger when he takes out the trash.

Before he can spend anymore time teetering between the novelty of visiting a new country, and cursing aspects of his job, the radio hits a particular note, pulling him from his thoughts. He readies his hands, turning back to the counter with renewed interest, spotting the telltale tapping of a finger on the counter. Allen, he recognizes. Surprised he's still on his feet, he eyes the man while placing a martini glass before him. He must not have had his fill, Wolfgang assumes, still pestering another poor woman into participating in one of the less impressive magic tricks he'd seen. The bar was generic, of course, yet hosted numerous law abiding professionals. Officers, lawyers, even doctors would find their way in as it was placed (too perfectly, he might add) just down the street from the station and a law firm. With how compact and busy New York could be, he's not phased by the presence of such compromising officials in his presence. He was sent there to observe them after all; what better way than as an informal therapist, he could participate in similar stories that a prostitute might hear minus the grueling work and unfortunate shame.

Wolfgang hums to the tune of the next song, smiling while serving the drink. He tilts his head to the woman sitting next to him, eyeing her questioningly. There was no ring on her finger to indicate marriage, no particular fashion conformity to suggest she was looking to be either. He's not accustomed with the concept of a street walker inside a bar, deferring from what the name suggests. A date? A quick glance at her face and he could tell however poor the man's entertainment might've resulted in paled in comparison to what her reward might be. However, despite knowing her wants may boil down superficially, it doesn't seem she'll have a problem finding someone more serious in the future with her looks. Or perhaps, her next suitor. "This is the second I've seen you flub that trick. I can see why your talents are on the road, Officer Allen. You can't even get the lady a drink." He says, laughing when a blush forms over their face. "Although... I hear real shows give you that extra mystical effect, you know? Very expensive to get the tickets for, but make good impressions." He leans in toward the woman, grinning, "You ought to go to one of those showings ma'am. Give the guy a run for his change before seeing how lousy he's going to handle this drink."

[dernarrleid]

“ i must be hurt pretty bad if you’re being this nice to me. “ (Wolfgang)

"This is bad..." He strained. Arm flexed, lugging the wooden body through the mangled foliage of the forest. He felt the fatigue gripping muscle, forcing huge puffs of air from his lips. Wolfgang prided himself as a more silent observer, trekking the hills of the nearby city to find some peace that allowed for personal comfort. Where he could at least think for himself without worrying of whether his expression would get the best of him. Why did he have to be so damn heavy? Despite his general disgusting for humidity—the only thing helping him grip the material—Wolfgang traveled further to the center of a clearing. The air was thick, and he could taste something rather sour, as if his sense were feeding him another reason to abandon the man. He peers at the worn shoes on his feet, glaring when he reached his eyes. "I'm not a carpenter. You're legs are likely to stay that way until we get some super glue."

Originally, he'd found the man not far from the main road. Battered as all hell; worse for wear in nearly every sense, but his clothing hadn't suffered to greatly. Neither did his skin, fortunately. Perhaps that's the issue and not his broken fingernail, bleeding from being split down the middle by one of many jagged splinters. As it would have it, he's not in any position to recklessly pursue idiosyncrasies in nature.

"I don't know why I'm being nice to you. You sound like someone who's going to give me a whole lot of problems. I didn't know I could be this stupid until recently." He sighs, sitting on the damp grass. The circle of trees didn't hide the view of the glowing pink sky, dimming to a cool blue as time passed. Mind racing, wondering distantly if his face has broken it's practiced neutrality in favor of something that matched his thoughts. Very confused, slightly fearful thoughts. "In fact, there's a saying somewhere, about helping your fellow man, but I doubt it involves men who... aren't human."

[dernarrleid]

❛ you wont find it ; you won’t find whatever you’re looking for ❜ /from Morally to Wolfgang!

ʜɪᴇᴜ ᴍɪɴʜ ɴɢᴜʏᴇɴ’ꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋ | ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛɪɴɢ !!

          Hands reach out into the dirt, clawing through roots and remnants of glass. His fingers burn like hell — wrist straining against the pressure of his flicks into the ground. A vein pulse through his arm, several on the way to his skull. He’s going to find it, he has to, it’s the only way for him to return to his livelihood without putting his son in danger. The clash of hope and impending doom befalls him while his mind races at thousands of memories per minute. He won’t permit Him, to take over. Breathe, Wolfgang. Speak it into existence and good things will happen. That’s how the saying goes, right? He’ll find it. He has to. He will find it. Wolfgang hand comes to his throat when he swallows, taking note of how it rattles at his anxiousness. On the cusp of losing consciousness because some women he’d met weeks ago had shaken him upside down for every penny he’s got.

          The tension ebbs when the tips of his fingers graze wood—smooth and polished—had he any decency he’d continue his life honestly. Death by the barrel of his agency and buried himself in this wood; all expense paid by his supervisor. It was in the don’t-fuck-over-your-employer clause. Speaking of— “Didn’t think this had to be said, but shut that shitty mouth of yours and grab a shovel if you’ve suddenly grown a brain.” Wolfgang turns, regarding Morally with a heap of disdain and a dash of for the love of God please help me. One of the many reasons friendship with never been remotely palpable between them. Two tombstone’s shy of a meltdown and she’s as Morally as ever. The contradictions he’s facing, all because she wants to prance around like some kid. “We’re digging up this man’s grave, retrieving the folder you got stolen, burying him again and—and saying our prayers.”