#elsewhere

THen as if realizing "Uhm. .I may have stolen a car once.." A beat "or twice"

Symon realizes his mouth is open, and snaps it shut. Giving Jimmy a more appraising look now, interested. "That's... pretty badass." A small smile. "We're headed to a pub, it's called the 'Nanty Narking'." Sharing the directions from his phone. "I can do a touch of fuddle on our IDs if we need to, to get in."

"Sounds good to me. I can't pull that stunt with hte car too often... it can be draining" A blush "I'd..appreciate if you keep my full capabilities hidden from the trolls. They might be fussy about auto theft capabilities"

"Shit, you think I'm gonna endanger my getaway driver credits? Nah, you're good."

A smile "Okay. Thanks." And they drive towards the pub in question. It's out of the way, the streets go 'old town' here, harkening to remind everyone that Boston, by American standards, is pretty damn old

Symon glances over at Jimmy. "Okay, so I guess I'll go in and look for this guy... you can lurk on the downlow, and we'll play it by ear?

"sounds smart to me"

Symon's phone buzzes with a text.

He glances at it, working on psyching himself up to go inside.

The phone is slid back into a pocket. "Here goes nothing." A wan smile to Jimmy, and he heads to the door - and if open, will walk in.

The Nanty Narking has a pub tavern feel to it, even to mortal eyes. Unfortunately, that feel is less 'touristy cute' and more 'there was blood and teeth on baroom floors in old Victorian engalnd too

This actually is a bit of a comfort to Symon. He feels more at place here then say, a hipster brunch spot with mimosas or a dance club with screaming 20-somethings and their vodka cranberries. He edges in quietly, scanning the occupants.

Mostly mortals who either embrace that light touch of anachronism or pay it no mind. Few play it too over the top or sneer at it. There are some changlings though, and he suspects Kinian as one of the ladies serving drinks has a touch of Clurichaun to her. As for the kithain proper? There's a greenish blue troll of Unseelie persuasion drinking from some mug that would make a Pint look like a child's sippy cup. And yes, there's a gray bearded satyr savoringg a more normal sized drink as he plays solitare

Interesting... but he checks the corners, the shady booths, the darker spots where a slug might lurk.

And sure enough, he sees the guy. The one he saw in his vision, Mr. Podsnappery derby and all.

Before approaching, he discretely taps the record button on his phone within his pocket. Stepping up, Symon’s hands dangle empty at his sides, open and without threat. “Excuse me. Mister Podsnappery?”

"Here now.." A whisper "careful blurting out a fellows name mm?" As if Symon's whisper was louder than his own

An incline of his head, touch apologetic. “May I have a moment of your time?”

"Have a seat"

He slides into a chair or the other side of the booth, resting lightly on the seat. He checks that no other bar patrons seem close enough to overhear.


“I believe that ‘business’ may have recently brought you to my own home freehold. I would like to discuss this visit with you.”

"Oh now, laddy buck, old Podsnappery is a professional. Don't much go talking about the work I done for others. Hurts future hires"\

He rests his fingertips lightly on the table and leans forward a touch. “Did your employer tell you who you were targeting?” Still soft, conversational.

"Now lad, this isn';t manner like at all. I may not be one of the fancy schmancy witch sisters, but what, no cup of tea? Not so much as your name?"

He leans back a bit. “Maybe a bit hasty. This place seems more the beer and liquor sort than a decent cup. I guess I did have an advantage on you. My name is Symon.”

"Symon? Symon the Denier? " A curious look "I see why you've come."

He resists the urge to either recoil at the name, or temple his fingers in villain style. “In deference to our shared kith, I have not shared with the Troll Knight of Gwydion the identity of the one who nearly slew her beloved dog. Nor have I said anything to the Shacklebreaker herself, on whose territory the act occurred. I fear they would be... hastier than me, to blame the ‘messenger.’

"Truth, I didn't know whose dog it was. It fit the criteria" he says

“I doubt that the Dame and Baroness who considers all in her lands under her protection would see that as reasons to withhold vengeance. But, I didn’t come to wave threats. I merely wanted to confirm with you who may have been the guiding hand behind the trigger, that their rage may be duly directed to the true source and not fall upon an, ah. Innocent tradesman.”

"This I can assure you of, lad. Twas a job for hire for me, and one that was not did not cross my limits. I do not violate the right to life. I will kill mortals, they are a rather annoying lot, perhjaps even kinain, though I do tend to frown, but it wasn't in me job to kill any changeling and I wouldn't have taken if it were. I suspect I was meant to be a distraction of sorts, to put the scare into the folks."

“Do you think that will matter to the ones your actions offended?” His mouth grows thin. “The distraction you caused was to avoid attention as another ‘professional’ tried for my father’s life.” His hands grip the tabletop a little as he regains his composure.

“The name of the one who hired you would be little recompense for me to ask. In this case, blood is not thicker than water.” Referring to the oft misinterpreted saying.

a troubled look on the man's face "Fond of your mortal father are you?"

“Both myself, and my foster brother are very fond. Perhaps you know of him? His name is Dirk, a peacekeeper of Rivervale.”

"one shouldn't get attached to mortals.. even dreamers. they're..transitory" he advises "it leads to unhappiness. One can rarely keep them enchanted forever." A pause "your father was missed. this i know"

“For now.” A deep frown.

"Yes." He says "I would tell you more but.. again, one's reputation"

“We will, one way or another, track each act against us and pile these grievances on the doorstep of the Lord behind it. I come to you directly out of courtesy. I would save you from being in the line of retribution in favor of going after the source.”

A pause. “Reputation is important. Maybe less so if you find yourself at the point of a halberd.”

"Dame Dagmar, formidable as she is, does not concern me. She is no idiot, but she is a blunt instrument, and I am no immobile nail. " He ponders "No. I doubt she needs spend weeks on end looking for one who has a thousand holes to hide in."

“She would spend it, and more, for any creature she had taken under her protection.” He speaks without doubt. “And she would not be alone.”

He leans back, reconsidering. “I guess it’s too much for me to ask for you to break your code, as a professional.”

Thinking, he phrases the next carefully. “If a young slug were to ask you for a recommendation for someone hiring for... business in your field requiring discretion, would there be someone that you might refer them to? Someone who is hiring in an area that such a supplicant may have familiarity with.”

He phrases it is careful rhetoric, that one might answer without implicating themselves directly.

Symon realizes something as he considers what was said... the distraction... it wasn't for going after his dad. That happened after. Plenty of time to move from the dog, saving it, to go right after his dad. Mister Podsnappery nearly killed his father.

"As for hiring ...well, I am no longer employed"

Even as Symon had been plying the man with attempts at prying loose information, something was prickling in the back of his mind. His eyes narrow dangerously and he hisses, “It was you. You went after my father. Did you consider him just another dog? Not worth asking “whose he was”?”

A sigh, and the man doffs his derby "Lad... " A said breath "They're only human"

Said in tone that confirms, yes, it's just another type of animal

“You should be on your hands and knees begging thanks of the one who blocked your hit. Because if you HAD succeeded, there is no hole, no burrow, no pit deep and dark enough to hide you from us. Kith courtesy is one thing. But you lose that privilege from me when you try to kill my family.”

His voice chilly. “Do you still want to protect your livelihood over giving the name of the one who hired you to do it? Because I warn you, I won’t make the offer a third time. And even without a word from me, you left clues enough that you’d be tracked down. Even a half-digested gobbet seasoned with hemlock can still talk if asked the right way.”