Log:The Assassin and the Dragon

The Assassin and the Dragon
Granted, tripping and breaking my face open on a sidewalk sounds cooler than being killed by a glitterweasel, so there's that.
Participants Velvet, Weaver Utridge	30 April, 2018 Two Changelings happen upon each other at the Wayhouse in the middle of the night, and have an amoral chitchat.
Location The The Wayhouse
This late at night most people are done for the day. Weaver, however, is a night owl, and is happily enjoying the peace inside the wayhouse for the evening. He's in the kitchen, attention paid to his tablet as it blares the theme song to a now ending soap opera. The Moon courtier rests in a chair, legs kicked up on the table with a beer in one hand and a sandwich in the other. He's dressed in a polo shirt, jeans, and just his socks as his tennis shoes rest below his chair. "Well shit," he mutters. "I was kinda hoping that they wouldn't get back together again, but shit if he knows any better." "They never know any better," an unfamiliar voice answers from the hallway that leads to the kitchen. There was no hint that anyone was nearby just a moment ago, but now there's a quiet click of heels as a petite, elf-like woman steps into the room. She's dressed like she's just come from work or a fancy dinner, wrapped in silk so dark that it makes her nearly white skin almost seem to glow. Sky blue eyes take a quick glance around the room before Velvet's gaze settles on Weaver, studying him thoughtfully for a long moment. "I hope I'm not disturbing you. I'm new in town, and I was told this might be one of the places I can go to meet with the powers that be and announce my arrival." Most people might not pick up on it, but Weaver is a predator and they tend to notice their own. Weaver steals a glance away from the ending credits to match a face to the words, and then turns back for a few seconds longer. He sets the bottle and what remains of his sandwich on the table, drops his feet to the floor, and turns around to get a proper look at Velvet. "The only thing that disturbs me are the mother fuckers that look like me, but those assholes have wings," he admits with a look that betrays his sour grapes. He's quick to hide it away with a wry, fanged smile as he asks, "You can't to the right place, but I'm not one of those official greeters or anything like that. I like to hide out here since it's usually peaceful and not too many people." A dainty smirk touches Velvet's lips as she listens to the sour grapes, a couple more steps taken in as she eyes Weaver's back. "Are you mad because they have wings and are harder to reach in combat, or are you mad because you don't have wings? Yet, I'm assuming. It does seem to be the next logical step in your evolution after all." The Wyrd in Velvet is strong, that much is obvious, but it doesn't seem to reflect how it should in her mien. Her power level is beyond the small cosmetic variations that she reveals. "Shame," she tsks when he says he's not one of the people who can help her. "Perhaps you know the name of those I should talk to and could point me in the right direction? Or just let them know I'm looking for them? I can leave a card with my address?" "The latter" Weaver answers with a snear. "And I can't have them, Wyrd or otherwise. I'd have cut them the fuck off anyway." His red eyes flicker with rage while he goes about settling back down to keep up the facade, and he sits up straight. He smooths out his pants at his thighs, and then tugs at the hem of his shirt before speaking once more. "All I know is November, Nathania, and there's probably some other onces. Can't say for sure, but they're usually around during the daylight hours when all those happy, morning fucks usually are. The card thing might be a good idea, though, at least if you can give a number or something like that." Both slender brows arch high at Weaver's vehemence, blue eyes shifting to an odd shade of gold as she peeks at him back for a moment. "That seems a bit dramatic, cutting off body parts." But then, he does enjoy soap operas, so maybe they're a bad influence! Velvet leans a hip against the countertop, one arm leaning along the top of it as she studies his expression, watching as the anger gets shoved back down. "I don't suppose we know each other well enough for you to share the tragic backstory that's clearly behind the desire for potential self mutilation?" Her tone is hopeful, though clearly leaving him an out. Her free hand plucks a card from the corner of her silk blouse, setting it on the table. She had it ready to go just in case. "I'm Velvet, by the way. Velvet Danvers." Weaver shakes his head, and starts scratching at his cheek with his claws. "Nah, not drmatic nor tragic. Just one of those fun facts. It's the same reason I can never fly a plane, or use a jetpacks. Although-" His voice trails off, and he muses, "I don't think those are a really a thing. But I'm losing myself in some bullshit that ain't that important. I can live without wings - I mean I have for the last few years so I should be fine." He then extends scaled his hand to her in greeting, "Weaver Utridge. Just Weaver works for me." "Oh. Well, I suppose I was hoping for more drama. But a fear of heights can be a tough thing to overcome. Any fear can be tough. I have watched many try and fail in my time as an Autumn." Velvet takes his scaled hand in her delicate, soft one. But despite the seemingly frail nature of her, there is no lack of strength in the respectful squeeze she gives in the handshake. "Pleasure to meet you Weaver. For what it's worth, I bet you'd look darling with wings, even if you didn't want to use them." "Not fear either, although I probably should go with that next time. That way it'll look fucking amazing and death-defying next time I gotta climb something." Weaver nods to this as he withdraws his hand. "It's more to do with a deal I made a while back." He lifts his hand, index finger up as his other fingers curl into his palm. "1. I can't have wings." His finger finger rises next, "2. I can't fly of my own volition, willpower, or control." His ring finger is up next. "3. I don't know if that means I can't fly a plane or anything like it, but I'm not going to take that chance to find out." He then shrugs and barks out a laugh. "Hangliding is fucking fine, though. So falling is a-okay." "Interesting caveats." Velvet's grin doesn't alter as she considers the stipulations of the situation. "I imagine you could fly on a plane, but you would have to be knocked out and dragged onto the plane by someone else. That way you are without volition, willpower, and control. Fufilling all the demands but still allowing you to travel quickly. Now, finding a plane that would let someone drag an unconcious person onto it is another story," she laughs, the lights around her flickering like candle light for a moment as she does. When the laughter stops, so does the flickering. Weaver's eyes narrow in thought, and he remains silent for a moment when Velvet's done speaking. "That's an interesting idea for sure. Next time I aunt flies off to New York I'll see if one of my cousins is up for it. I know my sister might like this idea, or think I've lost my fucking mind." He idly shrugs, leaning back in his chair and motioning to another near the table. "I take it you're the type used to abusing and using loopholes, yes?" "You could probably give them the idea, but then make sure that you don't know when the attack and drag is coming. Because if you know in advance, it might muddy those waters a bit. But it's good you've got a group of people willing to sap you in the head if it comes down to it." Velvet pulls away from the counter to make her way towards the offered seat. She settles onto it easily, folding one leg over the other. "I try not to tempt fate too much by poking holes in that particular kind of agreement. But I do have a mind for it, I admit." "I'm not sure if that's good or bad," Weaver notes with a chuckle. "I know my sister would just keep doing it until I don't see it coming, or give me some kinda complex. Still an idea, though, and I can always sell off the memory of me telling them, but that has it's own kinda problems. Concussions aside, of course. I do suppose that might be the fun in it, for a time. Especially with that little bit of temptation. I haven't really fucked with fate in a while." "Selling the memory would be a great way to ensure you didn't know it was coming. Plus, if your sister keeps coming at you, at the very least you hone your observation skills, which is always handy. You look like the fighty type, so it could help with that. But then, looks can be deceiving." Velvet suddenly grins, her eyes shifting to an emerald green. The grin widens as he mentions fucking with fate. "Be careful with that. She can be a real bitch." "Meh, that's how it always is. Fate, life, an ex, the sky, the weather, so on and so forth," Weaver responds flippantly with a dismissive wave. "Just about everything's a bitch, and even me from what I've been told a few times. That's how that goes, and-" He stops, eyes narrowing and scrutiny increasing as he stares at Velvet. "Anywho, I'm not much of a fighter. I prefer to pay that kinda shit off. Either for someone else to take care of it, or simply paying people since I'd rather cut a check than deal with that kinda shit. Which, unsurprisingly, doesn't work as well with our lot." When Weaver turns that stare on her, Velvet's brows give a tiny, almost imperceptible waggle, her grin widening all the more. "No? Hm. I'm the flip side of that coin, I suppose. I'm usually the one getting paid to take care of problems. That also doesn't always seem to work well with our lot." Looking at them, it'd be easy to guess that it was the reverse that were true. Deceiving appearances indeed. "I suppose that is so, yes. I know many of us trade in trinkets and other shit like that, but I prefer to keep all of that for myself." Despite his words that doesn't appear to be an iota of anything magical on Weaver. "Which can make acquiring things from the hedge so- Oh, that does remind me. If you are one of those fuckers that likes to punch, kick, stab, et cetera - there's this rainbow-haired lady you could hook up with too. She leads this militia and shit for the Freehold too, but they do that shit for free as an FYI." A shiver runs down his spine at the thought, and he straightens up a bit in his seat. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to help out here or there. But I tend not to offer my services for free unless they are truly needed. I'm not a militia sort of girl, I don't think. More of a secret ops kinda gal. Totally different spectrum. I mean, I'm sure I could survive a battlefield, but I don't really want to find out the hard way." Velvet bobs her head at his shiver, seeming to agree with the sentiment. "Trinkets are good for the Market, though. I've been thinking about maybe getting a spun blade or two for myself." "From what she said they do need the help. I'd offer, but like I said not much of a fighter." Beat. "And that whole free thing just seems like a setup. As for something spun, there's this little chick named Widget that might be able to help with that. She doesn't use fancy stuff, but she made a real treasure of mine that's proven to be really helpful with my some of my hobbies." Weaver pauses a moment to relax properly once more, and moves to throw his feet back up on the table. "I only ever deal with the market if I hear about something really pretty or shiny. Last thing I was heard about was the rose diamond, but I'll be damned if I go after shit like that. Let alone by myself." "I can fight, and I can kill. But I'm not sure I'd call myself a fighter either. That always strikes me as someone who takes a battle head on, you know? I'm more of a dodge around, hide in the darkness and wait for the right time to stab them in the throat kind of girl." Velvet looks fairly relaxed herself, leaning forward to prop her elbows up on the counter top. "Widget. I'll seek her out, see what she might need for something like that." There's a moment where her eyes turn pure golden as he mentions the rose diamond. "Is it a diamond the color of a rose? Or a diamond shaped like a rose," she wonders. "Then an assassin, huh?" Weaver asks with a quirk of his brow. "I'll have to remember that, then. I could always use the help of someone with those particular talents." Weaver grows serious once moer as her visage shifts with the subject matter, leaving him silent for a few seconds longer. "It could be both for all I know and care, but I want it. But, I've a question for you, Velvet. It may be personal, but who the fuck cares. Were you taken by The Diva?" Velvet taps her nose twice and then points at him. "There are a lot of very bad people in the world. I help to lessen those numbers for a price. Occassionaly I'll be so disgusted that I'll do a freebie here and there. But that is far more rare of a circumstance." She notices the more serious shift in him, but her smile remains despite the shift in her eyes. "Who the fuck cares, indeed," she snorts. The question wasn't what she was expecting, but her head shakes. "I haven't heard of The Diva. I was taken by The Monstrous Prince. Were you taken by The Diva, or do I just bare a resemblance to someone else who was?" Weaver shows a mocking frown for a beat, and tsks. "A shame, then. Not that much different in the world from the good and bad, but I guess that's a conversation for another day." He smiles briefly, leaning back again. "To answer your question: yes. I was taken by her, my eyes used to shift and it takes effort now, and you do remind me me of someone else. Between the unaliving people and the resemblance I was wondering if this was a moment where I may have to look for my wallet." "True enough. There are plenty of people who would say that by virtue of what I do that I am just as bad. I like to think of it more like balancing it out. That, and I really like murdering people and I feel a lot less shitty about it when it's someone who doesn't deserve to be alive anyway." Velvet offers a little shrug of slender shoulders. She reaches up to touch her cheek, just beneath one of her eyes. "They tend to give me away when I'm not caring about hiding them," she admits. While that hand touching her face distracts him, the other is busy doing exactly what he just joked about. With a straight face and a little sleight of hand, she flicks her free hand up, with his wallet pinched between two fingers. Her eyes shift from golden to silver as mischeif touches her smile. Weaver reaches for his beer as she speaks, and takes a sip before speaking himself. "There's nothing wrong with being a bad person. Some times you gotta do what you gotta do, and some times it just feels so fucking good." He seems far too elated with the thought. "But if I ever need someone offed you'll be the first person I ask for. Scout's honor and alla that shit. So, what else do you do other than the killing?" His wallet is slid between them, still pinched between the two fingers. She wiggles it a little bit before tapping it on the counter. "I also enjoy a little light larceny and pick pocketing. Infiltration and information gathering. Sometimes I like to catch a good horror movie. Awesome stories and everyone is just ripe with fear, so it's good eating." She flicks the wallet back across the way towards him. "I'm honored you'd think of me first," she laughs. "What about you? What kinds of trouble do you get into?" When he catches sight of his wallet a slow, rumbling growl builds at the back of his throat until his wallet is in his hand, and then dropped down on his lap while he finishes off his beer. He's quick to put back the affable facade on. "Not counting what I have to do, I steal things. Some times for money, often times for me. I suppose, in all, I'm one of those bad guys you talked about. So long as it ain't murder or torture it's fair game to me." The growl seems to delight Velvet but it's clear she doesn't actually want the wallet. Her hand waves a moment later before resettling on the counter top. "I wouldn't consider theft making you a bad person. I'm talking murderes and people who go after children. That sort of thing. You just sound like a guy with a hobby and an excellent skill set." She pauses for a moment, brows knitting. "What did you mean by what you 'have' to do?" Weaver idly nods as he sets the now empty bottle back on the table. "That's an easy question to answer. I was one of those lucky enough to get back thier old fucking life. Part of it anyway." He harrumphs at the thought, and shrugs. "I came back because of my family, and do what I can to help them as needed. Lucky for me that it's not money. Not lucky for me since it means I some times can't go having my night time fun as me." The last said with a fanged smile as he points up to his predatory visage with a clawed finger. "Lucky is certainly one way of looking at it. Not always easy to find the right balance between who you were and what you are now. I've seen plenty of folks try to dive back into their old life and fail horribly. I wouldn't trade my old life for this new one for all the money. But then, I don't have the anchor of family as you do. Do they know about you?" Velvet does a sweeping gesture in front of him, trying to make it clear what she means. "If you ever need, I'd be happy to go and have your night time fun for you." "A few know about me as I am now, but those are the ones that can already see me for what I am without my say-so." Weaver lets out a laugh, and one he can barely contain before it goes on for a few more chuckles. "And oh no. I prefer to do some things myself. It's not just about the value, but the fun. The thrill of almost getting caught, going where you're not supposed to be, and just doing whatever I fucking want to." He takes a deep breath, and lets out a contented sight that comes with a plume of smoke from his maw. "It's like heaven." "I suppose it's good to have some family that understands. If you're into the family thing." Clearly, Velvet is not. His laugh has her smiling though, a brow lifting. "You have to admit, that'd make for a neat trick. Ooooor an excellent alibi in a pinch." Her hand draws across her face, his claws and scales decorating the hand for a moment as her eyes shift to the red, pupil-less gaze in mimic of his own. The hand finishes passing her face, fading back to her 'own' features. "There's nothing like that thrill," she agrees to his last sentiment. That chuckle rises back again until he's bubbling with laughter for a few seconds. When it passes he lifts both hands to the side of his head, covering his ears and then dragging his hands down to the bottom half of his face. When his hands fall into his lap once more his skin has lost its usual rough exterior for smooth alabaster, and his ears elfin knives cast to mimic those of Velvet's. He has to shake his head for it all to go away, though. "My preferred alibi is just to leave a shadow for some fool to see, really or to just have some snap post of me looking like I'm drunk off my ass. People'll easily eat it up, too." It's her turn to laugh as she watches his skin smooth and ears turn to sharp, elegant points. "Touche! Nicely done." Velvet's hands lift to the side, giving a little golf clap against her palm. "That was a good look for you," she assures with a twinkle in her eyes. "I've found that if you don't wear your own face when commiting crimes, it's pretty hard for them to pin it on you. Though, that's really only for the obvious stuff. I've also found that it's great for 'haunting' people. Wear the face of the kid they murdered while you crawl down towards them from the ceiling shrieking? The fear right before the die is like nothing else." "Only part of a good look, but I fucking love me the way I am." Weaver flashes a cocksure grin to that. "But you? You sound utterly monstrous, and I think I just might like you," he says while clasping his hands together. "Have you ever tried using illions to make sure they never escape it even if they turn around or try running? Because this gives me all /kinds/ of new ideas." "I like to use paralytics sometimes if I'm going for true terror," Velvet says with a glance to the side. Her chin rests against the knuckles of her folded hand as she considers. "I haven't tried that before, though. What would you typically use? I am all about brainstorming how to truly punish people before I take their lives." Her eyes turn to Weaver, studying him and looking eager to hear fresh ideas. "There's always the classic will o' the wisp, and it's lovely in the city since no on ever expects and people too fucking curious for their own good." Weaver fights back a chuckle, and moves on, "Another of my favorites when it comes to just scaring the shit out of them is looking like something they'd least expect, or someone they'd least expect. But the illusions? Give it some time, a few minutes and it's fairly easy. I used it on this guy I owed money too thinking it'd scare him into leaving me the fuck be. Turns out it just got him right with God, and he still wants to kill me." Despite how bad that may sound he's still smiling. "It was worth it to watch him shit himself, though. Another I occasionally enjoy is just bringing nothing but darkness when fuckers think it's safe or that the good ol' sun being up means that things are good." "I have used darkness before. But then, darkness is a part of me, so of course I have." Velvet lifts a hand, fluttering her fingers and letting the dark wisps trail in a slow pattern after the movements. "But I do love your ideas. You and I should work together some time and really fuck people over mentally. Something tells me that we'd be a good team." She leans back in her seat finally, head tilting as she studies him. "Did you want me to take care of the guy you owe money to? I haven't appeared as a beautiful angel in a long time. I could do something about forgiveness and old debts, yadda yadda. Weaver's gaze follows her hand, and then the tenebrous trails left behind. It takes him a moment to find the concentration to answer her question, and when he does it's with a shake of his head. "Nah. He isn't technically looking for me. This guy isn't, anyway. He's looking for my fetch, and I'm not in any kinda rush to stop that situation any time soon." "Ahhh, that's a totally different situation them. How does that work out for you? If you're here and back in your old lie, but still have a Fetch running around? Do you cross paths, or are you using that to your advantage? I never had one. I was in foster care when I was taken, so nobody was going to miss me enough to bother making one for, I guess." Velvet states it like a fact, not really seeming to have any emotion regarding the statement one way or the other. "Fetches have always been fascinating to me." "We worked out an arangement. He gets to live and be away from the people he hated, and I get my old life back. It took some doing, but it's worked out well enough." He smiles, wickedly so. "I know it- he. I know he didn't take my life away, but last I fucking checked I wasn't a twin and I ain't the sharing type. But, he can take some of that debt and blame. I'll happily spread that around." Velvet considers Weaver with quiet contemplation as he speaks about how he dealt with his fetch and still managed to get his life back. Lips purse, the elf's head bobbing in approval, causing a little bounce of her ears as she does so. "That's pretty damn impressive," she admits. "If I had had a Fetch I'm not sure that I could have been that reasonable about it. I know it's not the Fetch's fault, obviously, but I'm just not sure I wouldn't have murdered it straight out." "It's not as much about reason as much as it is that killing's usually a waste of time, energy, and resources. Killing him /would/ feel good. I won't deny thinking about it some times, but then I realize I fucked some people over that've seen me as human me. So he can serve a purpose." Weaver smiles again, letting out a laugh. "Well, assassin and all, I don't think it's too much of a surprise that you'd kill them. That's usually the thing, my thing I guess. Use what you can before you just throw it away." The expression on Velvet's face shifts as she looks personally affronted for a moment when he says that killing is a waste of time and energy. "I suppose we'll have to disagree on that one. I happen to find it very cathartic." Her expression smooths back out almost immediately, the easy smile once again curving at her lips. "Sadly, I had no Fetch, so no oppertunity to kill it. I wasn't much of anything before I was Taken, so putting the Fetch down would probably have been more of an act of kindness anyway." "What can I say? I'm lazy, and if there's a use for someone I'd rather take it." Weaver then dips his head respectfully for a beat, lifting his gaze to smile. "But, I also think when it comes down to when I need to kill it's for different reasons." Beat. "Some times, but I'll tell you something. My peace comes when I'm alone with all my treasures, trinkets, and gems, and I can just look at it all. I keep thinking that I need to get my hands on a vault so I can swim in that shit one day, but that's not any time soon. I am curious about something now, though. Whatcha mean you weren't much of anything? Did you mean you were small or some shit like that?" "A Hedge vault, maybe? Scrouge McDuck style? Just be sure not to go diving in, that's a good way to break your neck. They don't really show you that in the cartoons," Velvet says with another little laugh and another flicker of the lights around them. "I've never really been about the 'stuff' myself. I like the action, the thrill of it. It keeps me going." His question has her head tilting slightly, eyes shifting to a dark crimson for a moment. "Technically I'm still small," she points out, though the laughter is gone from her voice. "I was a dumpster baby. You know the ones, born at a school dance too big to be flushed, so they get tossed in the trash with the hopes that they'll die and nobody will notice. Lots of foster homes. I was quiet, stuck to myself, just sort of survived." "Oh okay, that makes more sense," Weaver says with a slow, understanding nod. "I wish I could say I had some kinda tragedy or something, but to be honest with you I was a horrible, greedy shit before I was taken." He stops, taking her all in for a moment. "You're right, though. You /are/ short. So I'm gonna guess you're killings with knives or a big ass hammer. I'm just guessing on the hammer because of some cartoons I saw last week." "I wouldn't call my early life a tragedy. I don't remember the whole dumpster thing, and I did survive. I would just call it bland. I was just 'that girl'. I was a statistic. But now I create the statistic, mostly for the police." Velvet's eyes fade back to silver as she grins, shrugging a single shoulder. "My time in Arcadia changed me in pretty much every way, personality included." Fingers tap against the top of the counter for a moment. "Where would I hide a giant hammer? I mean, I'm sure I could manage with one, but blades are far more my style. Small, easily hidden ones." "We're Changelings. Hiding something isn't that hard, and I'm sure there a million ways I don't even know about. I know this one guy that hid this big fuck off sword inside this bigger fuck off snake's mouth. It'd come calling when he whistled, and he'd just reach in like-" Weaver leans forward a bit, arm reaching forward as he mimics the supposed motions. "It was pretty fucking insane all things considered, but it didn't help much when the glitterweasels killed him." Staring at Weaver like he's grown two heads, Velvet is obviously working on taking in his words. "So he kept a big ass snake nearby that had a sword inside of it? How did it not kill the creature to have a sword yanked out of it?" She boggles for a moment, trying to picture it. "If I am ever killed by something called a glitterweasel, I give you full permission to make up something that sounds far more badass. Granted, tripping and breaking my face open on a sidewalk sounds cooler than being killed by a glitterweasel, so there's that." "I know it sounds like some cute shit, but those fuckers are something fierce. It's like rats or something swarming on you, but way bigger, shinier, and just plain fucking angry. I mean they tore him apart faster than he could kill 'em, but that's more Killgrave's loss. The sword's still pretty, and I got some scrap outta the ones he killed." Weaver's smiling during the entire time of talking, and finally admits, "Turning invisible can be really fucking helpful, let me tell you." Velvet wrinkles her nose at the thought of that. "I guess I'll have to see the little buggers for myself to really judge. But with a name like glitterweasel it's going to be hard to take it seriously. But then, my name is Velvet, so names can be as deceiving as appearances." She smirks. Her eyes glaze over a little bit at the mention of being invisible. "Fucking cheers to that, man!" Weaver lifts his hands, framing something in his gaze. "They're about as big as your bicep, give or take an inch," he says when his hands drop. "And what's deceptive about Velvet? Is it because of the stuff clothes are made of? Or is it more to do with that rock band? Velvet Gun or something like that." "My bicep or your bicep because there's a pretty big difference in size there." Velvet lifts an arm and squeezes inward to reveal a hint of toned muscle. She's not super strong by any means, but it's clear that she works out. But then, you have to have some muscle when you work with weapons. "Velvet is soothing and warm and gentle. I am none of those things." Brows knit. "There's a rockband called Velvet Gun? That's kind of awesome." Looking at her bicep again, Velvet shrugs and starts to unfold her arm to set it back into her lap. "If they're that small, there had to be a whole lot of them to cause that kind of mayhem. I'll be sure to avoid them, or just watch them tear someone apart from afar. But no, I am not gentle. I am not any of the things my name suggests, though I look like I could be." There's a chirp from her phone, Velvet tugging it out of her bag to take a peek. "Looks like I may have a job lined up. I should probably take this somewhere private." She slides out of her seat, tucking it back in. "It was great meeting you, Weaver. Hopefully we'll hae a chance to speak again soon." "No, you're most definitely not gentle. Unhinged, perhaps. Maybe even a little psychotic," Weaver says when standing. "But who am I to judge? Either way, you take care of yourself around these parts. Shit's weird before you even step into the hedge in this town, but that's the good part of it all."