[img]https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/dHRmLjExNi5hY2FjZWYuUTJ4aGJtTjVJRkJoZEhKcFkycy4x/burn-out-fade-away.regular.webp[/img] [hr] [code]Tacoma > St. Portwell Interchange[/code] [hider=Ambience][youtube]https://youtu.be/sYWayhJUETc?si=GU7wiH6U8T7UOL8b[/youtube][/hider] [b]THIRTY THREE HOURS AGO[/b] [hr] "You alright, kid?" Clancy blinked, glancing over to one side. He'd taken the empty seat on the bus. [i]Always[/i] the empty seat if he could. Walking was preferable to being hassled by strangers, sometimes - even if the bus ride in question was measured in [i]hours[/i] rather than minutes. In the seat across from him sat an older woman, probably pushing her mid-late sixties, with cropped platinum hair and an orange bodywarmer accompanying her choice of denim. By his standards of "old lady" she was decidedly modern. "You looked a little ah-... 'off', was all, and it's a long road from upstate." Clancy didn't have an answer. Was he [i]visibly[/i] agitated? He didn't realised he'd been giving her a tell if he had. "It's fine, you don't have to talk to me if you don't feel up to it... I just wanted to make sure you're alright." [b]"I [i]am[/i] alright.[/b] "He talks, then." [b]"I guess."[/b] The old woman shuffled along her seat "Sorry, I just got a feeling you're a ways from home... used to be a social worker, so I know the look." [i]Sigh.[/i] Clancy shrugged; he'd been through this conversation before, each time rolling his eyes, shaking his head, telling them to go away, or just being silent. It made no difference usually. People either engaged with him or they didn't - sometimes it was a stranger, sometimes it was a cop, or some other figure trying to do the 'right thing'. They were well intentioned, but [i]annoying[/i] at their worst, and none of them would [i]really[/i] understand him. "Look... I won't force anything you don't want," the woman said, tugging a creased slide from her purse, "But if you need anything, or just a place to talk? Here's my card, I kept the number after retirement." She leaned over, to plant the card in his twitching palm, and her fingertips momentarily brushed his palm. [b]"Do [i]not-[/i]"[/b] Clancy hissed, jerking his hand back, [b]"-touch me."[/b] He shot her a glare that could split ice. "I'm sorry-... and I know, your business is yours, so-" [b]"Then mind your own."[/b] Clancy snapped back - and [i]that[/i] seemed to get the point across, judging by her expression - as if she'd been slapped. "Okay, alright. Just... take it with you? And.. stay outta the cold." Maybe she misread, or was willing to take the chance of pushing him away. He found her irritating either way. but to keep her quiet he pocketed the card. Another twenty minutes of disconcerted silence, and Clancy made a point of getting off a few stops earlier than he'd originally intended, just in case she dropped a call about a child-at-risk. He wasn't too worried about being flagged down, but being stopped and bothered was just another waste of his time, extra hassle he didn't need. He glanced down at the phone, a basic handset which probably cost less than the bus ride had. A new message headed the screen, indicating the vibration he'd felt in his pocket earlier hadn't been his his imagination, a cue he was expected somewhere. [code]see u soon buddy ;)[/code] Glancing over his shoulder, Clancy tugged the hood over his head and started moving again. [hr] It was relatively late in the day when he arrived, the silhouette of the building complex masking the sun like a wall of obdisidian. Clancy stepped inside a relatively narrow corridor, finding a door by one corner where the field of view was about as narrow as you could get. He tugged at his phone and keyed in a message. [code]im here[/code] The door cracked open no less than a minute later. "Nick?" a voice asked, a squat man in his early thirties with a scraggly blonde mustache. A friend. Connection he'd made a few days in advance - needed someone to help keep him going. [b]"Hi,"[/b] 'Nick' said back, shyly, [b]"Um.... sorry if I'm late."[/b] The man threw up his arms, "Hey dude, don't sweat it, I uh-..." he glanced over Clancy's shoulder, then further through a slit in the curtains, "I got a couple beers and some pizza, know you said you were hungry. You uh, don't mind pineapple, right?" [b]"No, it's cool."[/b] Clancy shrugged, a weak smile creasing his lips, [b]"I mean uhm, thanks."[/b] "C'mon in," the guy nodded, his expression relaxing a little. Clancy nodded. It wasn't like he had any other options, he was out of town, needed some extra cash, and hadn't eaten for a while. Some things were a no-brainer, pride or not. He glanced over his shoulder, then off to each side - stepping in shortly afterwards. [hr] The agitation had somewhat settled by the next morning. He'd taken what he could get, and used the opportunity to snag a spare change of clothes and a couple other things. Before long, his 'friend' was a barely cogniscient memory that he pushed out of sight and mind, no more calls or texts, and he could get on with what - and [i]who[/i] he came here for. Ashley Stone. They were connected through her grandmother, who was herself a Patrick by maiden name before she'd married out. She had been a crutch for him maybe, as the only family connection he could actually speak to - even if it was by way of internet messaging. He'd already lost his sister, and it wasn't like he could talk to his brother or parents. And now Ashley was [i]dead.[/i] For all intents and purposes he was a stranger in a strange town. But he wasn't [i]blind, deaf[/i] or [i]dumb[/i]; he knew the stories about St. Portwell just like any other place, and he'd learned that Ashley had been a part of it - she'd [i]told[/i] him enough. And Ashley had friends, and people who knew her from her days as a kid, and all the stuff that happened. The internet was [i]far[/i] from a reliable narrator, but he'd found a small collection of names and faces that may have been familiar or linked to Ashley, and recalled from their discussions just [i]what[/i] happened. And he had been through enough homeless encampments and shooting galleries in desperate times to intuit his way towards an answer. [I]Father Wolf.[/i] Supposedly this person had claimed responsibility for her death. Others too, based on the rumour mill. And things pointed towards a local crew of [i]assholes[/i] that at best were a bunch of worthless lowlives, and at worst thought they were demonstrations of the primacy of the white race - something which amused him very little in light of what he'd seen back home, when there [i]was[/i] a home. Assholes were [i]assholes[/i], even a kid could recognise that, and his dad had taught him too. If he wanted answers, it was a real possibility that the Wolfpack were at least one of the go-tos. How he'd manage that, he'd figure it out. While at his 'friend's place, he had seen a flyer for some local skinbar, [i]Veni Vedi Veni. Guess some assholes liked their Latin [/i] There was just one question. [i]How did he get in?[/i]