[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/qQVhfEH.jpg[/img][/center] Chinatown was a mini metropolis within a metropolis. Its streets were often dense with thick, bustling, crowds, and it’s cluttered, tightly packed stores often concealed illicit underground on goings. Sweatshops, sex slaves, contraband…you could find it all in Chinatown. Werewolves had some of the most sensitive ears among the supernatural. It was a miracle that Chase didn't flinch at every loud noise that greeted him on the city streets of Somabra. And, if he remembered correctly, his integration back into society after his defection from the Hunters had been difficult and wearisome. Days had been wasted holed up in his room, hiding away from the overflow of information that urban Somabra presented his senses with. Chinatown, with its noisy shops and packed streets, was a werewolf's worst nightmare. The quite seclusion of the Golden Dragon was a poor reflection of the morning activity that defined Chinatown. Chase had rarely visited it; not only was its clamorous streets intimidating, but it held no merit for Chase. He had never had dealings in this part of town, and had never intended to do so. But that was beside the point. All had become clear with Nyxvira Bloodbloom’s name, a name that, previously, Chase had only heard from the SSPD grapevine. It was a name that held weight (both physically and figuratively) among the corrupted cops of the SSPD. Chase had, obviously, never had explicit dealings with Nyxvira and her clan before; he had stoutly avoided Chinatown, and therefore, avoided her employment. And yet, here he was. [i]Nixie[/i]. Had he just prostituted himself away? He wasn't sure. “Sorry, sweetheart, I don’t make promises when I’m the one calling the shots…which is you know, like, all the time.” Chase nodded sycophantically. Anything to appeal to her ego, Chase thought. Those grapevine rumors had left enough of an impression on Chase to have roused some sense of respect for the great bowling ball of a woman that sat before him. She seemed relaxed and unfazed, and Chase couldn't blame her. When you held that much power in the tip of your fat pinkie finger, what was there left to fear? Prying herself away from the cluttered, food heavy table, she allowed her richly round stomach to fall out before her, no doubt giving it freedom from the restrictive tabletop. Chase tried not to stare as pronounced ripples traveled through the round, flabby mass that was the Faerie's stomach. Give it a week or two, and maybe he'd see it naked. He shuddered ever so slightly and coughed quietly to cover up the movement. “Here’s how this is going to work, honey; you and blondie clear up this little situation for me, and I give the pixie-haired-priss back to her lovely lady, but my boys make house calls every now and then, just to make sure you aren’t saying anything you shouldn’t to people who’ve no business hearing it. I keep you both on my friendslist, and drop you a message whenever I need something…delicate to be taken care of.” House calls. Chase could deal with house calls. He didn't live with any relatives or loved ones, and while the threat of a goon abducting a family member remained a looming possibility, Chase was obedient enough that he hoped he could forge some sort of pseudo trust between himself and the massive faerie, an imitation of a genuine working relationship, something that would persuade her not to seek out his family. Or harass poor, sweet, Johanssen and her loved ones any further. The humongous woman shoveled another spoonful of rice into her gaping mouth, and then released a burp so loud that Chase flinched and asked himself again: had he just prostituted himself out to [i]this[/i]? “Because I’m such a darling, I’ll even let the charming Miss Charlize off of the hook once we sought out the specifics of this personal business you mentioned.” One of her heavy lids winked lustfully at Chase and he felt his face pale ever so slightly. He had. He had prostituted himself out to this. Still, somewhere else, in the bowels of Chase's chest, his heart soared with some optimism. This dictator of a woman was showing some semblance of being willing to release poor, broken Ann. And he knew Johanssen well enough. She would make up for it to him in other ways. Her calming presence alone had already done a good deal for Chase; and her sweet personality had changed him to some extent. In a way, however little it seemed, he owed her already. [hr] [center][img]http://i.imgur.com/n4FQ2U9.jpg[/img][/center] Pathetically mewling in a corner of the takeaway restaurant, I had left poor Chase to do all the work. With very little hesitation, he had thrown himself into the bowels of that woman's gaping, manipulative mouth and sacrificed himself. Pulling myself up from under my lake of misery, I focused in on the conversation, trying to ignore Ann, who had slumped down pathetically by the feet of the men who had prodded her forward. From my distant observation, I could only infer that the evil creature seemed pleased with Chase. Her name was Nyxvire Bloodbloom. A minute change in Chase's posture told me that the name rung a bell. But, no matter how much I racked my brain for information, I couldn't place my finger on where I'd heard the name before. Her golden orbs raked over Chase's handsome, confident face lustfully, and I felt some apprehension rise in my chest, protesting against what my dear friend had seemed to promise her. Chase accepted her appraising gaze with the ease of an old pro; he had, had a few years ahead of me to perfect his groveling persona, and the effect was astounding. The fat faerie seemed immensely pleased with him. “Because I’m such a darling, I’ll even let the charming Miss Charlize off of the hook once we sought out the specifics of this [i]personal[/i] business you mentioned.” Chase paled ever so slightly, but the shadow of a triumphant smile played on his face. We had a chance. Ann had a chance. I looked at Ann, and her pure, blue eyes meet mine. Though she sat weak and crumpled by the feet of her captors, her eyes were filled with resilience. They seemed to urge me on. I pried my gaze from her face and focused back on the exchange going on before me. I had looked just in time to see Nyx winking lustfully at Chase. Before he could respond, the front door exploded open, and a zombie shuffled in at an alarmingly fast pace. He wore a suit that seemed as though it had been freshly ripped, and his stooped stature seemed disgruntled somehow. Without a word to the assembled crowd, he stumbled to the back of the counter and filled a bowl with water, dipping his bloodied hands in it so that red dispersed into what had once been fresh, cool, crystal clear water. He looked up at our incredulous faces, and for a moment, his cold eyes seemed to search among us. Finally, they rested on Nyxvira, whose commanding stare was almost as flat and dismissive as his. "What? Never seen a guy beat a werewolf to death before? And what the hell is all this? Did I walk into some sorta exchange?" Almost as one, the group turned to look at the entrance of the Golden Dragon. A werewolf, in human form, having morphed back upon death, lay sprawled out eagle style at the front of the restaurant. Its mutilated face had been smashed to a pulp on the pavement of the sidewalk. I felt bile rise in the back of my throat and swallowed frantically. My skin must have look swallow and green, because Chase's worried eyes caught mine. I was imagining him there, instead of a stranger. Fear and anger mixed in my stomach, and I had the overwhelming urge to draw the gun I didn't have. An awkward silence blanketed our oddly assorted group. Another surprise, when a green goblin slipped into the establishment. Then, minutes passed, and finally, another zombie trudged through the front door of the Dragon. "Hey, don't be such a rudeface and go introduce yourself to the guys, dumbass." Said the first. "Oh, well, uh, I'm Benjamin Kiddo. I kill things for a livin', just like my pal here." The second responded, flustered-like. "Yeah, great job, wonderful presentation, flawless execution, dumbass. Now lookie what we got here, Kiddo." "Oh, what, Andy?" The eyes of the zombie called Kiddo found their way Ann's stooped body. “Ooh looks like we got ourselves a little prisoner exchange, Andy." I felt like throwing myself in front of her. As it was, several choice profanities came to the tip of my tongue. They were treating it too casually. A voice in the back of my head asked me, "How else would they treat it?" But I ignored it. Right now Ann was suffering more than ever because of me. I didn't care that the rotfaces didn't know who she was. But, at the same time, I wasn't entirely sure what I wanted. My thoughts were jumbled, disorderly. What was it that I desire? For them to treat her with more respect? To not eye her like an inanimate object, a simple trading card? "That's right Kiddo. Feels just like the good ol' days again, eh? Old fashioned, but 'ey it works." The zombie called Andy sauntered casually into Nyxvira's space. Chase leaned away as the corpse, frozen in a state of rot, pressed in closer to the obese faerie before him. I didn't understand most of the subsequent exchange. They were bartering for something, but I didn't quite grasp the concept of what it was. It seemed there was another, unknown, factor involved, something Chase and I were not privy too. Most of the rest of the room, however, seemed perfectly at ease with the conversation, and eagerly soaked up every word that transpired between the zombies and Nyxvira. “Well, gentlemen, you’re certainly right when you say I’ve got connections, and you’re also right to assume that I can get you what you want in regards to this ‘Canoness’, a name I’m sure you’re as sick of hearing as I am. There’s a very specific hunter I want you to take care of. My sources inside the lycan community tell me he goes by the name of ‘Brunkas’. Second-in-command to the Den Mother, and a royal pain in my gorgeously proportioned arse.” So they were here for a purpose similar to our own. My head pulsated with pain. There were too many limp links to the connect. Chase was sitting before Nyxvira, his fingers entwined, listening politely to her commanding speech. His body was relaxed, his face, impassive. Clearly, he seemed to have everything straightened out. A long list of instructions continued to pour forth from the faerie's mouth. “He’s been rampaging up and down the Red Lights district, and giving me a real bitching headache. Take care of him and his cronies, and you’ll get what you want.” She cleared her throat, and her voice boomed over the heads of the assembled crowd. “We’ve got a long fucking night ahead of us, boys and girls, and it only gets rougher from here. I want results, not excuses. If any of you come back to me with anything other than what I’ve asked for then you’d better learn how to dig you way out of a shallow grave really fucking quickly.” [center][img]http://i.imgur.com/qQVhfEH.jpg[/img][/center] Chase looked from the confident zombies and the quiet goblin, to Johanssen who now sat straighter, to Ann, who looked damaged, to Nyx's three submissive lackeys, and finally, his eyes came to rest on the enormous figure that now commanded them all. He wondered with genuine curiosity if the obese faerie planned to extend her grasp beyond the streets of Chinatown anytime soon. Chase let out a subdued coughed, a small, diminutive noise, something to catch her attention. The zombie had invaded Nyx's space, but Chase held nowhere near that amount of blind confidence. Good for the, if they could beat the shit out of Nyx. But Chase, he just wasn't in a position to do that, or risk offending her. It could very well mean the end of Ann. "Nixie," He pronounced the word delicately, making sure to wrap every syllable the cadences of his voice that would make him sound most respectful. He did it because he hoped it would help Ann live, but his face burned red in the light of the restaurant; not so much because he was attracted to Nyx in any way, but more because of the embarrassment that now boiled under his skin like a hot stove. Surely the zombies, who clearly had not been put in the same servile position as him, would be judging him harshly. Trying to ignore their presence, he turned his attention to more pressing manner. They where to eliminate the she-wolf, most likely in a timely and proficient manner. He would have to impart everything he knew about killing werewolves to Johanssen in a brief amount of time. But, a few questions still floated in the air unanswered. "Where exactly are we going to find Ameilkas? And is it in our jurisdiction, how we...err...," he mimed the blade of a knife cutting across his throat, "get rid of her?" He needed information. He needed to know how the she-wolf ran, what kind of characters composed her packs, how easily she trusted. And that opened up another question, one of genuine curiosity, that slipped from Chase's mouth before he could phrase it in the most politest of ways, "Does she need anyone? For her pack, I mean. Any replacements."