"Or maybe I can help you out. Do you need any help with anything?" Worm offers, as an apologetic afterthought.
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"Or maybe I can help you out. Do you need any help with anything?" Worm offers, as an apologetic afterthought.
Shadow makes her way into the club, dressed in a pair of jeans, white t-shirt and stompy boots. She scans the crowd for anyone of note, then takes a seat at the bar and orders a Crown and coke.
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"What you good at?" Jammer asks. There's an unspoken 'besides lookin' goofy' added in the moment of silence as he fishes a hand-rolled out of a breast pocket.
The greenish-grey cloud billows from between his lips, and Worm knows it ain't Bugler.
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Worm nods. A good quesiton. A bad return question would be, what are you smoking? "I am not good at much. But I have been told I have a talent for research, magical or otherwise. I work well in libraries. And if there are any problems or incidents with ghosts, I am very very interested in it. Aside from that, I do well enough at finding stuff out." He looks at the hand-roll. "Do you have another?" Echoes of his parents and their mysterious concoctions. When in rome...
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Jammer listens, and pulls out another. He looks at the joint for a few long moments, then passes it over, as well as handing Worm his own to light it off of.
"All right, then... I want to know what's in Granite Park."
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Worm nods appreciatively, and takes the joint, and lights it. "Thank you." He takes a drag. (what, if anything, does he roll to find out whats in it? Steetwise? science?) Good stuff. Very good stuff. "you are most generous." He basks in the glow for a moment. "Sure. Granite park. Do you know if anyone else is looking in on it that I should colloborate with? Or not colloborate with?"
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"Some did," Jammer answered, holding in his lungful for a few moments before exhaling.
"Nobody now."
Yeah, it's weed. A popping, burning blackness indicates there's coke sprinkled on it.
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"Alright then. Thank you. Do you have a number I can reach you at, and a place I can send my findings?" He hands over his own phone number and PO box.
Good, you first job is a suicide mission. Worm chidded himself, before the mental voice of his mentor repeated the oft used phrase If you were good enough for anything else, I would have sent you on that. Be happy you aren't feeding the pet again. God how worm hated that chicken.
But then the coke hit him, like an old friend that he had said farwell to. Why had he quit drugs again?
Right, becuase he wasn't supposed to be having drugs anymore. Well Fuck You Aaron, you old stodger.
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"Jus' stop by here," Jammer says, looking at Worm with a speculative expression. He handed over a card. "Or call."
"You got a place to stay?" The next question pops out lazily, a product of a wandering mind.
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Worm nods at the directions given, enjoying the smoke as he looks out over the crowd. Yeah, i'll just slip right it, no one will notice me. he smiles and waves at a punk who is looking askance at him, who quickly turns away. "Yes. I have a little farmhouse out in Verona that I share with my master." He then coughs, and begins his preppared speech, surprised he hasn't had to give it sooner. "He is an mean old man who likes his privacy and doesn't like visitors much, and barely tolerates me for reasons I still cannot fathom. Which is why he stays out in Verona and doesn't come and meet people. Also why he doesn't ever have any fun." Or at least, any sane person's definition of fun. He takes a long drag on the joint, holding it in his lungs and letting the drugs slip into his blood, before gently exhaling upwards. He takes a faraway look in his eye, before getting ready to go. "Thanks again for your help Jammer, and for the joint. I'll pay you back for it."
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