From the moment he'd entered, Brock had a crossing-a-black-cat, walking-across-his-grave feeling.  When Chance spoke to him, it deepened, and deepened a bit more when Sam came in.  It made him start to notice things.  Not the old posters - lots of clip joints in town were wallpapered with old posters.  But the signs on the walls.  He'd been a cop for over a decade, and believed he knew every style of tag the town had.  Clearly, he was wrong.  He couldn't tell magic from a hole in the ground, but he felt the depth and power that his conscious mind didn't understand.  He also felt the call of it, but didn't understand that, either, or had forgotten, or been made to forget.<br/><br/>To Chance: "Most people are too polite to notice the blood.  Here's a joke.  What do you call a cop covered in blood?  Sir.  You call him sir."  He delivered it so deadpan it would be hard to say if he was joking or not.  "What's the deal, here?  A joint like this?  Didn't expect to see a smokeshow in a party dress.  You're about fifteen blocks from the high-rent district."<br/><br/>But he opened a bottle of sparkling water, put it in a glass, and used a napkin to rub the stains from his knuckles.<br/><br/>(My computer rebooted and I had to rewrite this.  Curses!)<br/><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="2079" data-username="@Sanity43217" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/2079/">@Sanity43217</a><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="634" data-username="@Villains" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/634/">@Villains</a><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="1702" data-username="@BoundObsession" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/1702/">@BoundObsession</a>