[Mousen]

The Cynthia Brodnax Detective Agency was a sand-coloured building set on the edge of Coney Street and Friar's Gate. It was an unassuming building, the sign out the front fairly discreet. Inside, the detective agency's secretary, Roscoe Jocelyn was filing papers. He moved quickly, his scarlet nails tapping out a quick rhythm on his wooden desk. Case summary, evidence, police report, internal reports, invoice of charges, all placed where they needed to go in their folder. The folder labelled, alphabetised and colour coded. He looked over to Ester, who was staring at something on her desk. She yawned and got to her feet. "I'm going to do a coffee run, anyone want anything?"

The only other person in the office, another detective, Gertie raised her hand. "Latte, medium, extra shot, no sugar. Thank you, sweetheart." She was currently watching through security footage, her eyes tired and red-rimmed.

"Nothing for the coffee prince?" Ester trilled, stopping by his desk. She had not given up teasing him for last week, when he just so happened to have been on his way back from Starbucks and suspect she'd been chasing had ran straight into him. The distraction had helped her catch the guy, at least. Even if it came at the price of Roscoe's ego. "May we all be so lucky as to catch criminals using nothing but a cappuccino, caramel macchiatto and skinny mocha."

"Actually, Miss Wang, the mocha was half decaff," he glowered.

"My mistake. Catch you later, coffee prince. Love you!" she said, her dark hair catching the light as she hurried out of the door.

Roscoe sighed into his files. It was only then he noticed something odd in the file he was working on. It was incomplete, which happened sometimes when a detective had been taken off a case or Cynthia had considered working something in her own time and she had to take on something more urgent.

It was a string of forgeries, all sold from local auction houses. They'd been sold recently, too. The forgeries were only discovered when a second copy of one of the pieces had resurfaced in the estate sale of an old art collector. It had caused a panic, and in the past two weeks another three forgeries had been revealed. The auction houses were all in Aldrect, centred around a particular district of the city, no less, with only one or two further afield. He got a pencil and a compass, circling the areas around them to see if there was a particular overlap. They'd need somewhere where the large canvasses and other materials could be delivered without drawing attention, as well as somewhere the chemicals needed to age the prints wouldn't be out of place. It had to be some kind of disused shop front or industrial complex. In order for easy transportation, they'd have to be close to a main road, but... Roscoe began to narrow his search criteria down further, sketching over the map with his pencil as he thought.

Finally, he'd made a list of three locations. He checked property deeds online to find the most promising one, trying and failing to chase the owner of the large warehouse down through shell company after shell company. He looked over at Gertrude, still completely engrossed in her work, and made his decision. He'd go to the warehouse himself. Sure, he wasn't a detective, but he helped Ester out sometimes. He wasn't just some air headed good for nothing secretary. He'd scout it out, take photographs and solve the case. All before they'd even had the chance to notice he was gone.

Roscoe got to his feet and grabbed his coat from the rack. He was about to run out the door, but checked his reflection in the small mirror on Bobbie's desk first. He brushed a spec of dust from his beige overcoat, and reapplied his lip gloss. Perfect.

It didn't take him long to get to the warehouse, and he approached cautiously, having parked a good distance away. He felt his heart thud in his chest as he crept around from the back. They were close to the river here, and he could smell it in the air. He moved, turning the corner, and crept towards the entrance.

There was the sound of raised voices. He froze, pressing himself to the corrugated iron. He was by the door now, and could hear them more clearly. Suddenly, the door burst open and a large man with a cigarette hanging from his mouth glanced down at Roscoe. He was stiff with terror, half-way to a garbled explanation when the man grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him inside.

"I said, no extras! What the hell are you playing at, keeping a bloody spy at the door?" Roscoe whined and closed his eyes as he heard something click just next to his head. The cocking of a gun. "Well," the man said. "You'd better play nice if you want to get him back in once piece."

Roscoe opened his eyes, looking across at the people who now held his life in their hands.

[Jaden Wolf]

((EDIT: Jack has a form now, so I've plopped it in here. Congrats, Jack.))

In some other nondescript area of the city, once a warehouse sector perhaps, the master forger named King lounged on a sofa. The room was clearly arranged for comfort, but in a classy way despite the warehouse loft style. Just as he started to shuffle a deck of cards, the door slid open and Jack all but pranced in.

Throwing his hat at the coat hangers (and missing), he flopped ungracefully into a chair. He noticed the deck of cards and laughed. "Cards? Really? Ain't that little cliché?" he drawled in some kind of accent.

King smirked. "Precisely," he replied before flicking a card at Jack. The boy seemed to catch it, though there was a moment where it seemed to miss him before it was suddenly in his hand. He turned to see it was the Jack of hearts and cackled.

Meanwhile, King had put the deck down and walked over to a large mirror. He was nothing if not a little fastidious. To be fair though, it was a necessary trait for his particular profession. He straightened his crooked tie while looking over his outfit. "Perhaps I should have worn the orange pants and black shirt instead," he mused aloud, though he was wearing precisely the opposite.

"Don' really care about th' clothes, but what's with th' tie? Y' married to it?" Jack quipped lazily. King met his eyes in the mirror with a withering expression. His tie was a bright teal colour which somehow actually looked good against the orange dress shirt. Possibly because it matched his eyes. King didn't answer and went back to adjusting his clothes.

"Uh," Jack piped up after a moment, "y' look nice and all, but y' didn't call me f' fashion advice did ya?"

"No." The answer was short. Knowing that his 'boss' would elaborate eventually, Jack patiently watched King finish preening himself. Sure enough, he finally turned and picked up the deck again. "I have business."

+ + +

An hour later, King was staring down his ...business partner, with Jack standing a comfortable distance behind.
"I agreed to do painting forgeries for you," King said coldly, "because you assured me you could cover your tracks." He had that kind of voice that people tended to listen to, that sort of casual but authoritative stance. Approachable but demanding respect.

The man, however, got angry anyway. "You're the one who gave me bad forgeries! I had everything under control!" he shouted, "If they hadn't noticed, we could have kept this up for years!" This is why King hated dealing with paintings. With his gift copying the image was no problem, but he couldn't reproduce aging. Unfortunately, the chemicals for that were too easy to trace if the supplier was careless. He also shouldn't have left the aging process to them.

Just as he was about to answer the man, however, a goon busted in with some random guy in hand. King's normally controlled expression turned genuinely surprised for a moment, before he sighed. "No, I don't know him," he said calmly, as a simple fact.

At this point, the man's eyes caught his. For some reason, King noted that they were a rather nice shade of green. Well, that and the man was kind of handsome. He only thought that for a moment though. He was too professional to get distracted by some random hot guy. Were his nails...painted?

His eyes tightened though when he realized that gun he heard was pointed right at this stranger's head. "That, unfortunately, isn't acceptable," he stated, pulling one hand from his pockets and twitching the hand up. Almost right as he did, the goon found himself without his gun, and Jack stepped up to level a weapon at him that looked suspiciously like the same gun.

"Y' heard the man, my dude," Jack drawled, "meeting over, deal's done, leave the bro and go, eh?"

[Mousen]

Roscoe let out a breath and closed his eyes. Surely, this was the end now. He was useless to both of them and a liability besides. This was it. He thought about what the detective agency would do when they realised he hadn't come back, they'd find him soon enough. That was what they did after all. He thought about Ester, the last guy he'd seen and hadn't particularly cared for, someone a long time ago that he had cared for, his mother, all the loose ends he was leaving behind. All the casual hook-ups he'd refused for stupid reasons, like uneven eyebrows or them enjoying lacrosse and--

"That, unfortunately, isn't acceptable."

He opened his eyes again, his shocked expression meeting King's determined one, just as a gun appeared in his hand. There was a moment of confusion that stretched between himself and the man who had just been holding a gun to his head. Roscoe no longer feeling the barrel against his temple, or the glint of silver in the corner of his vision. The man realising that the situation had changed considerably without him seeing quite how. Both of them came to a decision simultaneously. As Roscoe tried to fling himself to the floor, the man put an arm around his throat and pulled him to his feet. Any shot King made would have to go through Roscoe first.

He made a strangled sound, finding the grip only strengthening as he tried to push away. "Let go," he hissed.

The man's boss moved behind the two of them. His employee, from behind Roscoe smiled. "We will want to pick this chat up later."

Roscoe tried to focus on breathing. "I normally like being choked, but this is ridiculous." The sentence had escaped him before he'd even had a chance to think about it, and he cackled. God he really hoped those wouldn't work out to be his last words. The man fought the urge to push him away and tightened his grip, slowly backing towards the exit of the building.

[Jaden Wolf]

King let out a quiet sigh at the fact the man had been grabbed around the neck. It was partly because the man had been slow to react in escaping, but mostly because these assholes seemed determined to continue this whole situation. It was honestly a pain how persistent they were.

He opened his mouth to respond to the criminals, but was interrupted by the captive stranger's comment. Caught off guard, King huffed out a short laugh. More of a snicker, really. The other man had burst out laughing himself, which was probably difficult given his situation.

He could have just let this troublesome situation go, but this guy had caught King's attention. He couldn't just let him get killed now. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jack glance over quizzically, waiting for an order. King had to think. Alas, this was not the best scenario to work with. The easiest solution was to just shoot through the stranger, but that seemed a bit much.

The men had only made it a few steps when King lowered his hand and relaxed his stance. He glanced quickly at Jack, who kept his gun raised with a smirk. King's spare hand came out of his pocket, revealing a bunch paper in his grasp. "Hold on now," he drawled ominously, "you don't want to leave these behind, do you?"

[Mousen]

Roscoe's eyes flicked back to the guy who had laughed at his joke, feeling a sudden sense of camaraderie that he hoped the stranger was feeling too. This whole situation was so ridiculous that he felt he was loosing any normal sense of proportion of reality. He had to think. He had to try to get out of this himself, even if his new friend did seem keen on helping him. Of course, that help could just be so he could be interrogated without anyone else around. He couldn't trust anyone, no matter how much his panic made him want to.

The two men were walking him backwards to the door, presumably ready to drag him either into their vehicle or throw him down the moment he stopped being useful as a human shield. He tried to reason with them. "C'mon, you don't want to do this," he hissed. "Besides, if I've got to be in close quarters to someone in this room you're really not my first- Ow! Ow!" Roscoe winced as the man kicked him in the ankle. "I'm just saying you're not my type, and--" he was cut off again as the arm around his throat was tightened.

The boss, behind Roscoe and his employee, stopped, his smile fading. "And what would those be?"

Roscoe had a sudden thought. He looked at King, the corners of his mouth twitching up for just a moment and he winked. "Distract them," he mouthed.

[Jaden Wolf]

King was trying very hard to ignore the man's attempts at cajoling his way out of the situation, as it really wasn't helping him maintain his confident business attitude. In spite of that, he found himself vaguely wondering what the guy's 'type' was. That, and he said something along the lines of close quarters with someone in the room, which King could only assume was either him or Jack. More likely him since he hadn't noticed the guy ever actually look at Jack. Though, it could very well be wishful thinking on his part.

He smiled slowly and somewhat cockily. He had their attention. He noticed the guy mouth 'distract them' but gave no indication he had. If he got himself free, all the better for him. Hopefully he wouldn't screw up King's efforts here.
"Well," he drawled, looking at the papers as though inspecting them. "My friend Jack here is an excellent thief, you know," he led with a smile and general gesture towards Jack, who filled in a 'sup?', before he continued, "And he found some interesting papers in your office."

King placed the gun he held into his pocket, freeing his hand to shuffle through the papers. "You really shouldn't keep your land deeds just lying around, you know." They hadn't, of course. Jack was a thief after all, what was a simple safe to him? "So I took the liberty of filling out some land transfer forms for you," he said slowly, eyes tracking back up. The men would surely figure out by now why leaving now would be a bad idea.

[Mousen]

Great, Roscoe thought as the man opposite him continued to ignore him. He had a good idea here! He had to admit it made sense, he hadn't actually proven himself to be anything other than, well, a bimbo. Again. Sure Roscoe had some thoughts about the way a kind of homophobia, deeply rooted in misogyny, tended be expressed towards femme guys, and how he was consistently underestimated. But that was maybe besides the point when he was in a warehouse by the river with a bunch of criminals and his life in immediate danger and pretty much entirely in the hands of the rather handsome stranger opposite him.

If Roscoe was surprised when the land deeds came out, it was nothing to how the two men beside him reacted. The exchanged glances of horror, the one that was obviously in charge letting out a string of curse words. "Alright," he said, holding up his hands as if in surrender. "Let's not be too hasty here, eh?  We'll let your guy go. No trouble. We just want the papers."

The surprise of it all had meant that the goon holding him had loosened his grip somewhat, and Roscoe was actually able to breathe again. He looked over at King and wiggled his eyebrows. So. Yeah, Roscoe wasn't a brilliant detective, hell, he wasn't even a detective. But he was wearing a very nice pair of loafers with a walnut effect on the heel. It was no stiletto, but it still hurt like hell when he reared back and delivered a swift kick into the goon's shin. His grip loosened further and Roscoe fought against him, bringing up an elbow to his jaw with a satisfying crack, and then flinging himself in the direction of the other two men. He landed squarely at King's feet, winded, and pushed himself up on one hand. He could only hope that he was safe, or at least, safer now.

[Jaden Wolf]

King was about to respond to the other criminals when the captive guy decided to fight back. His eyebrows raised in surprise, though he did nothing while the man fought off his captor. He could certainly appreciate someone feisty enough to fight back in a situation like this.

The guy landed at his feet, and King looked down at him with a gleam of interest in his eyes. After a second, he smiled faintly and looked back up. Jack had intuitively moved between the stranger and the other criminals, gun still raised.

King held the papers forward and without looking, Jack reached back and took them. He raised them for the men to see and strode forward, lowering the gun only slightly to show cooperation. "A'ight, pals, I gotch'er papers ri' here. Le'ss go out'n sort it all, yeah?" he drawled, indicating the doorway and ignoring the curses of the guy nursing his jaw.

It didn't really matter to King what methods Jack used to send the assholes off. His business with them was done for, and he still had tricks up his sleeve, if it became necessary in the future. The three of them had left the building with Jack winking back at King before the door closed. In the quiet of the room, King folded his arms and looked down at the man with a smirk. "Well, now. What to do with you, my little snooper?" he asked rhetorically.

Crouching down, he studied the man. The guy really was rather good looking. "I doubt you're some sort of cop," he observed, "so I have to ask, who are you and what are you doing here?"

[Mousen]

Roscoe had been winded by the fall at King's feet and as the papers were exchanged and the two men were lead out of the building at gunpoint, he tried to get some air back into his lungs, coughing faintly. The panic, that had been at bay the whole time he was in danger, now settled in and Roscoe could feel his shoulders starting to tremble. He tried to swallow the worst of the panic down, reminding himself that this wasn't over yet. He was just at someone else's mercy. He ran an unsteady hand through his honey-blonde hair and willed himself to meet King's eyes. He was scared, that much was clear.

Even ruffled, Roscoe was handsome, his hair short but styled into a loose quiff, green eyes set into a face with high cheekbones and sharply angled jaw, his skin suggesting either someone that used make-up or was supernaturally flawless. His beige trench coat, black turtle-neck and red painted nails all pointed to someone who enjoyed walking the line between the masculine and the feminine, who enjoyed being themselves.

Roscoe tried to find a way in which he could be useful, an answer that would save him. He put on a smile, as King crouched down, suddenly aware of how much that put him in his personal space, and tried to look sheepish. "Would you believe I'm just a secretary?"

[Jaden Wolf]

Though it surprised him, King had to admit he actually felt...pity for the guy. He was clearly scared, and visibly shaking. For a moment, King just wanted to pat the guy on the shoulder and reassure him. Or something. He managed to squelch the feeling with only an involuntary twitch of his hand.

He huffed a laugh at Roscoe's answer. "Somehow, I can believe that," he said with a smile. There was something about the moment that just told King the man wasn't lying. At least, not entirely. The situation did raise more questions, however.

He looked the man over again. He was...rather handsome, but King pushed the thought aside. Roscoe was already quite shaken, he didn't see any need to make the guy go through any more. Ignoring how close they were, he took a hold of Roscoe's elbow, gently but firmly pulling the guy up onto his feet.

"Even if you are 'just a secretary'," King said with a smooth smirk, "that still does not explain why you are here."

[Mousen]

Roscoe let himself be pulled to his feet, the other man's grip was firm but not painful. He met his eyes again, looking up through his eyelashes while his brain frantically tried to work out the best plan of action. This stranger had shown him an awful lot of sympathy, sure, but how long that'd last was anyone's guess. with his free hand, Roscoe tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "well," he said. "It's a bit of a long story."

He swallowed nervously, looking distinctly faint. Roscoe wasn't sure he had any panic left to run on, even if his heart rate was suggesting otherwise. Maybe there was nothing else for it, but the truth. "I'm a secretary for the Cynthia Brodnax Detective Agency." Sensing this might be a dangerous thing to announce, Roscoe followed this up with, "I came here myself! They didn't send me. I worked out the location of your warehouses from a report on the forgeries from an incomplete case file I was supposed to be filing. I thought I'd try and prove I was smart enough to solve a case." Roscoe had to laugh at this, somewhere between afraid and bitter. "That's what I get for being a dumb blonde, I guess."

"I've got to be honest, the anti-hero thing is a good look on you," Roscoe's smile was not entirely convincing, but it was a good attempt at flirtatious bravado. "The not killing me thing was a hit, personally. Besides, I'm sure I'm better company than the five detectives that'd come looking for my body. And they're not even investigating the forgeries otherwise, so." Roscoe placed a hand on King's upper arm to steady himself, he could hear the blood rushing in his ears and did his best to look like he was perfectly in control of the situation.  

[Jaden Wolf]

King's expression remained a practiced smooth smile as Roscoe spoke. Although he did not express it, his mind was working hard at dissecting this information. He was right to feel that this business partner was indeed putting their operation at risk, though he was surprised someone figured it out so quick. Though it alarmed him to hear a detective agency had gotten their hands on it, Roscoe had let slip that they weren't going to investigate. He wasn't sure if the slip was intentional or not, but he wasn't about to draw attention to it.

"Anti-hero?" King started, only raising an eyebrow, "somehow I feel as though you are trying to get on my good side with that." Despite the fact he was quite aware of that possibility, he couldn't help but feel like it was actually working. Somehow, King was finding himself increasingly fascinated with this secretary who was flirting with him despite the fact he was still clearly shaken. He wouldn't say so out loud, of course. At least, not before he properly figured this man out. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully before giving a charming smile and hooking Roscoe's arm under his own like a gentleman would, and trapping it there.

"I am no anti-hero," he said as he started to walk to the door, pulling Roscoe gently but firmly along. Though his tone was trivial, there was a dark edge to it that sounded almost... self-depreciating. At the door, he looked down at Roscoe with an appraising smile, adding, "And the first person smart enough to actually track my forgeries is no 'dumb blonde'."

He hardly gave Roscoe time to respond before tugging him outside. Jack came jogging back up to them, glancing at the stranger with brief curiosity before turning his attention to King. "A'ight, they good. Business done an' all 'at, need me do anythin' else?" he drawled in his usual quick speech. King smiled more casually than he had been doing with Roscoe. "Just the one more thing. I'll meet you back home," he said, giving no additional prompts or instructions. He knew Jack would get it. He'd been doing jobs like this for a while now.

Sure enough, Jack paused for a second before nodding with a wide, boyish grin. "Ah, yeah, a'ight. M' on it. See y'all later." He winked playfully at Roscoe before bounding past them into the building. King started to make his way up the alley with Roscoe in tow.

[Mousen]

"Can't blame a guy for trying, right?" Roscoe asked. After all, what else did he have left at his disposal but his charm and the fact that the man in front of him seemed vaguely receptive? He looked between King and himself as he hooked his arm through his. He honestly couldn't decide if this was a good sign or a bad one, but he caught the smile and allowed himself to be pulled along.

He looked at King as he spoke again, brows furrowed. A thousand possible scenarios flitted through his mind, each just out of reach. Nothing was coming to him. Roscoe realised that this wasn't good in the same way someone half-way to drowning realised they needed air: the urgency of the situation slowly clouding over.

"L-listen," he said, once Jack had left them to it, a feeling of dread settling into his stomach with the phrase "just one more thing", "If its a choice between being the dumb blond, and being the person who knows too much to live, I'd pick the dumb blond any day of the week."

The panic was overwhelming, and Roscoe found himself suddenly faint, the ground spongy beneath him. "Waitwaitwaitwait," he said, the words tumbling together. "If you're... Please. I can't.

[Jaden Wolf]

Ah, there it was, the reality of the situation was finally hitting Roscoe. King initially gave no indication he'd noticed, or even cared, but found he couldn't keep it up with Roscoe's poor attempt at saving himself. His mouth twitched as he tried his best not to smile. He actually had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, which was quite uncharacteristic of him.

He still hadn't said anything when he could feel Roscoe's stride fall uneven, probably a sign of lightheadedness. He was entering full-blown panic mode, it seemed. King frowned and looked at the man, trying to determine the likelihood of him dropping right here and now. It was really bad timing, they weren't clear of the building yet. Come to think of it, that was probably what set Roscoe off, his vague instructions to Jack. All he meant was that the boy needed to destroy the scene, but he didn't want to say so in front of a stranger. The less Roscoe knew, the better. Or so he had been thinking. It was too late for that now, he supposed.

Without realizing he was doing it, he had started absently patting Roscoe's hand, which was still pinned under his arm. He froze his hand mid-pat when he noticed. Pausing only for a moment, he decided the risk of Roscoe passing out was too great and linked his fingers into Roscoe's, pulling him in as he unhooked his arm and wrapped it firmly around Roscoe's waist instead. This way he couldn't escape, but he also couldn't fall down. For a moment, King felt a little self-conscious about how intimate this kind of gesture normally was, but the notion was really quite ridiculous so he squelched it.

His mouth was close to Roscoe's ear in this position, so he just quietly instructed, "Deep breaths." Trying his damndest not to think about the guy's scent, which was quite pleasant, he reassured him, "I'm not going to hurt you." Unfortunately, he was unable to avoid the implied 'yet'.

[Mousen]

As Roscoe's legs decided to give up beneath him, he was aware of King wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him closer, holding one of Roscoe's arms over his shoulder. He let his head drop for a second, feeling the blood rush in his ears, as he did what King told him. Deep breaths. what Roscoe really wanted was some space, just a second to sit down and catch himself again and think, but he wasn't likely to get that anytime soon. If he could just think, he could try and... He could... Something.

He was struck by the fact that King was taking quite a lot of care for someone who might well be intending to kill him. "Then what's the plan?" he found himself asking. "Dinner and a movie?" he huffed a small laugh at his own joke.

"I think I need to sit down," Roscoe said quietly, aware that King was supporting most of his weight at this point. He needed to think, or build a rapport. Roscoe hazily remembered reading something about how building a rapport made you seem less disposable. But then, now wasn't exactly a time for introductions. Or else, he still had his work ID in his bag, maybe he could convince him that it was more trouble than it was worth, kicking the hornet's nest. After all, King had saved his life. Surely that bought Roscoe's silence?