<strong>Name:</strong>Riks<br/><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Bar<br/><br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Taurus, Jack<br/><br/><hr/><br/>The large orc held back a chuckle at the bull-man's nervous, hasty outburst, but couldn't stop the smirk that pushed his lower fangs upward a little further. He let Taurus run through everything he had to say, letting Jack say his peace and walk way. At the werewolf's request, he tucked that particular bottle of whiskey under the counter to save, figuring he had plenty more where that came from. Anyone paying attention to such mundane details would notice the spot he had grabbed the liquor from filling in with an identical, full bottle just a second later. For those who didn't work in bars, it was anyone's guess where it was summoned from.<br/><br/>"You're worrying too much, Doctor. You're new to this kind of life, I know, but when you live in the city and work on a battlefield all the time, you get used to make fast adjustments so that you stay alive and well-paid," he told him, stopping to wipe down the counter, and serve some more drinks. He made sure to act too friendly toward Zharkov, never having really cared for the man. There was a fine line between doing what you had to survive and make money in Middle City, and just being a sadistic asshole. Zharkov had set up a mansion on the other side of that line.<br/><br/>Returning to Taurus, Riks' expression became a bit warmer, seeing the need to stop him from turning and running away from all this seedy business. "Don't get too anxious about it. You're probably not going to have to get involved until after the battle's over, anyway, and then we can just show you which people to fix up and which ones to leave dead. As for being a vet, humans and elves aren't all that different from animals on the inside, are they? If you're skilled enough with one, it'll probably carry over to the other."<br/><br/>---<br/><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Marchosias<br/><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Office<br/><br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Damon<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Marc answered with a quiet nod, eyes unreadable behind his shades, at least until the entrance of a elf barmaid through another elevator off to the side wall, one that didn't have any visible entrance in the club below. A pretty thing with black hair, she smiled to both men as she carried two drinks over to the center table, setting a glass of vodka in front of Marc, and a glass of red wine in front of another table before ducking back out. "Have a seat," the half-demon told Damon, gesturing to the couch his drink was set before. He waited for him to take the offer before speaking again, each word calm and laid back, but not exactly indifferent.<br/><br/>"Until a little while ago, I worked for the Brothers. We never got to meet, but I heard plenty about you and your work. Now, just like you, I don't work for them anymore, but a freelancer's life wouldn't really work for me, so I'm trying something different. But to start that, I need to stay alive. So, you want to know what I want from you, let's start with that: there are Fallen hitmen visiting the club tonight. They know I have something planned for later this evening, so they know I'm going to be here, setting things up. How much will it cost for you to help show them the door?"