Lancelot waited nervously for Jackson to show up. He was in the bar again, but he knew Jackson would appear eventually. It was one of his favorite places and a common place to meet him. He sipped at his drink, the alcohol warm and pleasant. Jackson showed up finally half an hour later. Darklings were said to be rare, even though there were at least two taking part in the War that Lance knew of. Jackson had an air about him. A pulsing power that promised death and destruction to all who offered him violence. In his experience most Darklings had an air of violence about them in some way. 

Jackson ordered and Lance walked up to him nervously. The Darkling's gaze flicked over to him, a startling shade of blue. His eyes assessed him and then flicked back to the side of him, suddenly filling with a kind of desire and admiration. Lance cleared his throat, "There's a matter I should bring to your attention." Jackson's gaze seemed to reluctantly tear away from what he was looking at to settle on Lance again. "I'm listening. Make it quick though. I just killed a fuck of a lot of Warlocks and I'd love a shower." 

Lance pulled the letter he had gotten from on his pillow earlier and handed it to Jackson. Jackson read it, his intense blue gaze skipping quickly over the words. Finally he sighed, "I had hoped this wasn't true." Then he scowled, "Of course I suspected as much, love." Lance wasn't sure who he was talking to, but it made him slightly uncomfortable. Finally Jackson seemed to address him again after a fond smile crossed his lips, "Right. Go find me a few Dark Worlders and bring them back here tomorrow. We're gonna check this out." 

Lance nodded and hurried off to carry out the Darklings request.