[center][h2]Coffee and Comraderie[/h2][/center]
[center]Clive & Manny[/center]
[hr]
Manny inevitably poked his head out of his private office, realizing he hadn’t grabbed any of the free shit the Sunday Group offered, like coffee and bagels once in a blue moon. Oh, and he hadn’t seen Eleanor yet. In fact, it was unerringly quiet at the moment. Blinking, both hands on the door frame as he leaned out into the hallway like a primate, he saw Clive in the next room opposite his side of the corridor. 
“Yo Clive, where is everyone?”

Clive looked up and shrugged. As always, a heavy drawl lay thick over his every word. You could take the man out of Texas but no force on Earth or in Heaven above could take the Texas out of that man.
"I'm sure Eleanor is up to somethin' God-awful down in the dungeon, Anna's MIA, and Junia's on her way more than likely." He nodded toward the coffee machine that started to crackle and bubble with heat. "Coffee?" 

“Knowing her, it’s something grim,” He sighed, still stuck with the early morning blues. Manny was as athletic as they came in a life or death situation, but like a panther, he would always rather lounge. The lanky detective strode over and grabbed a cup, waiting for Clive to pour some out for him. “Thanks. And they say this shit’s bad for you…” Manny shrugged as his thoughts continued. “Guess they also say ghosts aren’t real. I fucking wish.” 

He felt the ache of a bruise on his shoulder from last month. That one had been particularly ornery when the Sunday Group showed up, tossing Manny across the room. 

"Ghosts may be real, but so is coffee. Pretty even trade."
Clive waited for the last few drips of coffee to peter out before obliging Manny with a cup and pouring one for himself. There was a great deal of mystical mischief he was willing to put up with if it meant free hot coffee.
"So," Clive began in something resembling an attempt at small talk, "how's things?"
“Things are good.” Manny said, taking a cup of his own, sipping it gingerly. He let the statement simmer for a bit, until the awkward silence turned into a joke in and of itself. Manny gave a laugh. He had always liked Clive. They were different in more ways than one, but he was someone Manny knew had a lot of similar experiences in his life. “Seriously though, it’s the same ol’ same ol’. I don’t think anyone sticks around here because they’re happy with themselves, but I guess I can be proven wrong. All I know is, we haven’t had anything big in awhile so we’re due for it…” 
A thought popped into Manny’s head. “I always wanted to ask. Is this job how you envisioned it would be?”
"Not in the slightest," Clive replied matter of factly and took a long sip of coffee. "I'd been roughing it out of my car solo-style for years so I assumed that's how folks in this business did it. Got the call and figured it would be that but more people."

Clive held a particular respect for anyone like Manny who was both able and willing to roll up their sleeves and get their hands dirty to finish a job. It was one of the reasons he somewhat enjoyed this line of work. He would occasionally cross paths with others like himself and it was always a welcome surprise when it happened. 
“I’ve lived that life too, for a bit.” Manny said, holding up his coffee cup in a faux toast, and then he downed a good bit of the brew. The drink was just hot enough to give a pleasant sensation going down his throat. He decided to finish it then and there, and he crumpled the cup. “What’s say we go find the rest and see what they’re cooking up, eh?” 
Clive downed the rest of his coffee in one go. It was black as sin, warm like a swamp in August, bitter like a scorned lover, and it was perfect in every way. He adjusted the pistol grip poking out of his waistband and sighed as he gestured in the direction of the basement stairs.
"I'd rather not, but I don't get paid to stand around twiddling my thumbs."