<div class="floatleft">(http://i631.photobucket.com/albums/uu35/greytrail/Elliquiy%20avatars/Carter_zps46a545ae.jpg)</div><strong>Name/True Identity</strong>:  Darren Phaeton<br/><strong>Location</strong>:  field<br/><strong>Doing</strong>:  on the job<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>:  Meg, Isabella, Abe, OPEN<br/><br/><em>Famine to feas</em>t, Darren thought to himself as he crouched to help retrieve scattered papers, unconsciously angling his body so he could keep track of both strangers in his space. "No problem," he assured the second young woman, admiring the contrast of their similar coloring to his infernal paleness. He always did like contrasts... "My standing to close to the tunnel like a barn door is my own fault. Cheer tryouts huh? You'll have a better day than I."<br/><br/>Standing, he habitually ignored the throb of pain in his right thigh where the bullets had dug out craters in his flesh so long ago. Handing over the battered papers, he smiled winningly at the ladies and asked after the real reason he was here.<br/><br/>"Do either of you know a Abraham Casey?"<br/><br/>Even as he asked, yet another figure dragged himself from the shadows of the tunnel, looking distinctly the worse for wear.<br/><br/>"Oh, never mind," Darren deadpanned. "Your ears burning there, son? If you ladies will excuse us, I need to speak with Mr. Casey here."<br/><br/>Owl-eyed, Abe followed the older man halfway across the field and listened quietly as the sheriff spoke to him. The women could only wonder what made the red head visibly blanch like that...<br/>