[img]https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/dHRmLjExNi5hY2FjZWYuUTJ4aGJtTjVJRkJoZEhKcFkycy4x/burn-out-fade-away.regular.webp[/img]
[@Punished GN][@Fernstone][@Estylwen][@AtomicEmperor][@Blizz]
[code]Veni Vedi Veni - Parking Lot[/code]
[hr]

In a matter of moments, the fighting seemed to have died down. Clancy had the self-awareness to recognise he had barely played a small-part in that, and it was more to do with people recognising other people they knew, and [i]those[/i] people in turn backing down. He was an outsider in all of this; the only [i]real[/i] connection he had to St. Portwell was Ashley Stone, and now she was gone.

That, and the walking embodiment of entropy needling at him, [color=#A299FD][b]"Does it want a treat?"[/b][/color] [i]Asshole.[/i]

[color=#A299FD][b]"Does it like toys?"[/b][/color] A sense of agitation was building, more than it usually did when strangers derided him in this way. Too close to home.

[color=#A299FD][b]"Does it want to feel the sweet, cold embrace of [i]death[/i]?"[/b][/color] [i]Enough.[/i] He wasn't rising for [i]that.[/i]

[b]"[i]It[/i] wants some quiet time while the grown-ups are talking..."[/b] Clancy snapped his fingers dismissively, offering no further answer to the entity or its host - at least, that's what he assumed their relationship might've been, it was difficult to tell what ties this walking embodiment of entropy had to living people except that it was closely involved with her. [I]Good luck with that, anyway.[/i]

The woman herself had waved [i]it[/i] off and was now speaking with one of the others in the lot, in French no less, but he couldn't follow along. His father - a military man - had spent some years deployed in Europe, but the only phrase he'd ever heard as far as he knew (from overhearing a poker night with some old friends) was [i]"Voudriez-vous aller vous promener, mademoiselle?"[/i] followed by raucous laughter.

Meanwhile, the [i]other[/i] would-be samaritan had chosen not to push things, but he couldn't help but find some strange amusement at being offered a business card by a stranger twice in as many days. Again, he took the card, briefly glanced over its contents, then pocketed it. If nothing else, it kept one more potential annoyance off his back.

Others were gathering, dropped off or parking close bg - and he was conscious that St. Portwell was a smaller town than he'd anticipated. Clancy wasn't entirely following along; a few names were finally being called out. Alizee, Leon. Sully. Britney. They weren't particularly ear-catching, but something- a sixth sense, maybe - gave him the impression they were supposed to mean something. Maybe something he'd seen on the internet, or when asking around.

At the least, he'd established they probably had nothing to do with the Wolfpack.

[b]"..Sycamore Tree Coven.."[/b]

[I]That[/i] mention caught his attention - and he linked it to what he'd known about Ashley, the group of friends (loosely using the term, he judged) she had led, that had accomplished a feat so great that it had become part of local myth and had helped lead him here. The same group who's own members were supposedly being picked off in murders by this [i]asshole[/i] calling himself Father Wolf.

He suppressed his initial urge to immediately question them; it was obvious most of the people talking here had shared history, less than half of it good. Time wasn't necessarily on their side either; how long until some of Skinner's [i]friends[/i] turned up and started asking pointed questions about why their favourite titty bar was trashed? Or why their friend had been left in the [i]state[/i] he was, after a heart-to-heart conversation with an impressionable young boy? The latter part was less so concerned for his own sake, and he doubted Skinner would be talking about it to point a finger.

[b]"...jumped me, Brit. G-got in the way of my... investig-gation." [/b]

The group he'd seen at the start of all this - that had been fighting Alizee - were still spoiling for a fight, naturally. Trying to catch and predate on some didn't make you friends, and the girl's flimsy defence against the accusations of "hunting" was a matter Clancy understood more than he had ever wanted to, and it did not evoke any warm feelings. 

[b]"If by investigation you mean trashing up the club."[/b] He wasn't particularly confident they were [i]really[/i] listening to him, and was taking a certain relief in being blunt about the matter. [b]"[i]Thanks[/i] for that, by the way, you made it easier to walk out the front door."[/b] 

Even her own 'friends' seemed skeptical about the matter.

[color=00ff98]”…do you have any idea why there’s a child here, by any chance?”[/color] It took a few more moments to realise the big guy with the beard had been referring to [i]him[/i], without directly addressing him. Well that made a change from the usual would-be samaritans, but he felt some irritation nonetheless, thumbing backwards. [b]"The [i]child[/i] is here because he wants-"[/b] Alizee interrupted that train of conversation by putting hands on the man - Stormy, she called him. Clancy wagered this wouldn't end well, the girl had a temper, but she seemed to back down... only to turn her anger back towards the group she'd originally been spoiling to fight. 

His eyes crinkled. [I]There is no time for this.[/i]

In the corner of his vision was a discarded beer can, only slightly crushed. Clancy knelt, grabbed it, and impulsively tossed the thing at the french speaker's back. Judging by the sloshing, it still had some liquid inside. [I]Oops.[/i] [b]"Listen, [i]morons![/i] You can kill each other whenever you want, but if these [i]losers[/i] show up on their bikes, they're going to be [i]your[/i] problem, so put a lid on it!"[/b] He stood there, gaze fixed on Alizee, posture tight. [B]".. Already have what you're looking for, it isn't [i]you[/i] they need.."[/b]

If [i]that[/i] didn't break her concentration, then the alternative was messy.