RP Kyanite

[Slate]

Obsidian nodded as he handed the cup over to the kid. He took his own mug and set it down on the square, black coaster on his side of the desk. He reached under the monitor as he sat and pulled a second one out, setting it precisely in front of the kid. Something was definitely off with him, but Obsidian wasn’t going to spend time dwelling on it. It would make itself clear or it wouldn’t. There was no use dwelling on it while he wasn’t able to suss out the answers.

“I suppose we didn’t give you a very clear offer last night. I’ll make it clear this time for you.” He took a long drink of the coffee, barely minding its heat. It filled him with a warmth that was nowhere near close to the warmth he got from people. Still, it was better than nothing, and with his higher levels of energy, the cold wasn’t nearly as deep in his skin as it tended to be.

“The offer is this. Stay. As long as you’d like. We’ll have your back if anything happens. We’ve made this city safe for… those like you and I to hunt in. Of course, I don’t think there are others like us. You and I aren’t even the same kind of predator, but it’s close enough. Close enough that you would be safe if you stuck around with us. I know, you can handle yourself, and you don’t do packs. But maybe we can make it… worth your while.”

Obsidian gestured vaguely around them. After all, the kid could have anything he wanted if he stayed. Stonewall had just taken off, Slate’s first big meeting was coming up, and the bar was doing well. He could find Cryptid a place in Stonewall, doing something, once he noticed what his strengths were.

He took another drink of his coffee, his sharp golden eyes watching the kid.​

 

[Wendigo]

The stranger – something Fielding, John or James or Jesse – drank the still scalding coffee without any issue. Cryptid pretended to be reasonable about it, though he seriously considered ignoring the coaster. If the redhead had been more openly hostile, the expensive wood desk would’ve suffered for it. Given that even with an explanation, he had no idea what was going on, he didn’t chance it.

Stay? he asked himself as the coffee mug clicked against the stone. He did his best to seem unbothered and professional. He could do “professional”. Mr. Fielding was giving him a good insight into his own mind from the high – brand new insights, like “packs” and “safety”. Less animal than he’d originally thought, since he’d clearly had a conversation. But he was independent.

And that, at least, didn’t change when he came down.

He saw what Mr. Fielding might want, with those promises of safety. He wanted Cryptid to keep close, to be part of his territory. Because there was no doubt that Mr. Fielding considered this city his territory. People who fell into the “pack” category didn’t just share with other predators, though. Fielding wasn’t offering to share – he wanted to own him.

Instead of visibly ranking there, he looked around the lavish office right on cue. The price tag on anything in sight was probably higher than the cost of his whole wardrobe. He shifted his weight a little as if considering, looking at the French press, the computer setup, the desk again, the coasters. Mr. Fielding’s clothes and jewelry. He inhaled without obviously smelling the air and confirmed the cologne again. Found the other scents that lived here, all like this, all pack, all wealthy. The weight of the older man’s scrutiny was palpable, and he had to put on a good show.

“That’s a generous offer, Mr. Fielding,” he gambled, shifting his weight a little bit, “but unless you’re looking to take on a private investigator full-time, I’m gonna have to decline. I’m not made for desk work. Or… even just ‘staying put.’ I’d be bored stiff.”

Then eh paused, waiting to see what there Mr. Fielding picked up on. IF the idea of a PI in his office, who knew a name he (probably) wasn’t given, got under his skin at all. Exactly how upset he’d be about what was probably about to be another outright refusal.​

 

[Slate]

The red-haired man paused with his cup half raised, just for a second, a pause that could have even seemed natural before he continued to drink from his mug. He looked at the kid over the rim of the mug, and when he set it back down, he smiled. The kid was clever. He had seen his name somewhere on one of the documents on the desk. Obsidian could feel that he was being tested in some way. Something about the kid’s posture, about his ease, about his tone. And he was pretty sure he knew what he was being tested about.

So instead of getting angry or upset, he laughed. He laughed low and full, a laugh of both surprise and pleasure. “Very good. I wouldn’t want you to stay if I thought you were easy. I like that you have some fight in you. Let me be clear about something.”

He moved his mug to the side of the desk as he spoke, and then leaned forward on his elbows, his hands tucked up under his chin. He looked at the kid for a second before smiling, all teeth, but no threat carried in them. Just a brilliant smile, a pleased smile.

“I don’t want a dog. I don’t want a hound. I want… a friend. A companion. I love my family, but they don’t understand what I have to do. They don’t understand what it’s like. But you know. You know what it’s like.” He paused, humming softly for a minute as he looked the kid over with intense eyes. The amber in them seemed to glow like the actual stone, like they were lit with an inner fire.

“I could have many uses for a PI. I do own several businesses, and as long as you don’t mind… corporate politics, then I would have great use of your skills. You would be a freelancer, obviously, until you’re ready to join on a more permanent capacity.”​