View source for Logs:The 'Ryan' Incident

{{ Log
| chars = [[Lucius]], [[Colt]] as himself and definitely not Ryan.
| summary = Colt decides to do a little light stalking of Lucius after the latter's encounter with Ethan. After injuring the man's server, Colt has a very frank conversation with the man about his interests, and the dangers therein. But the two leave with a better understanding of each other. 
| gamedate = 2022.06.17
| gamedatename = June 17, 2022
| subtitle = He'll probably be ok. Probably.
| categories = Mortal Werewolf
| log = 
The Skydeck Restaurant is undeniably one of Chicago's premiere landmarks, known across the country by many and featured in almost any Rom Com set in the Windy City. However, it is also widely considered to be something of a tourist trap by the locals and anyone who's fallen for it. For sure the view is stunning, but the food is overpriced and the menu is somewhat underwhelming. It's certainly not the favored dining experience of high-powered businessmen for lunch, and yet...

Lucius has ditched the security, the personal assistants, and all the various hangers-on that tend to follow him around on a day-to-day basis in favor of a quiet lunch by himself. As if in an effort to distance himself from anywhere he might be easily found by his staff, he's forgone any number of much finer, Michelin star restaurants available within easy reach of his office, and instead chosen to willingly succumb to the tourist trap that is the Skydeck Restaurant. A fifty slipped to the host ensured he was seated at one of the more privately situated tables, and now -- with phone on silent -- he sits and waits for his order to arrive while enjoying a cold glass of water.
 
The waiter that took his order, though, isn't the one that returns with it. "Good afternoon, Mr. Shaw," the new guy greets, tone perfectly pleasant. "Apologies for the delay. Ryan had an accident in the kitchen." Ryan being the previous waiter. "I'll be with you for the rest of your visit."

The new guy is a bit older than most of the others. Early thirties, maybe, with intensely pale blue eyes and brown curls allowed to fall however they will around a central part. The uniform is the same as the others, clean, pressed white shirt, cheap non-slip black shoes, the laughably long apron that seems so popular in finer restaurants.

He sets the order down with the professional, practiced movements that suggest he's been doing this awhile.

Eyes glance quickly over the table. "Just water today, Mr. Shaw? Are you sure I can't bring you a wine list?" The classic upsell, though he does move a polite step back, holding his hands in front of him, clasped, waiting patiently to make sure all is well.
 
"Not for lunch," Lucius replies without even bothering to really look at this replacement waiter. He likely wouldn't have even noticed a change if the man hadn't said something to him, but since he had and since Lucius isn't exactly spoiled for conversation...

"What happened?" he asks with a tone that suggests he's only vaguely curious and making some small effort to be polite. To accompany this great act of generosity, he finally looks up at Ryan's replacement as he leans back and takes a sip of his water, content to let his order of grilled chicken sit a minute while he exchanges a few words with the new waiter. Right at that moment he gets a text, and Lucius is quick to flip over his phone from where it sits face down next to his plate and read the notification, further selling the notion that he really doesn't care that much about Ryan's status.
 
"Head injury," the new guy answers easily enough. "Clumsy. Wasn't watching where he was going. Feet came out from under him, his head hit the table, and he hit the floor. He'll probably be ok." Probably. Colt delivers all of this news the same way that one might recite the day's specials.

"Nice to see that someone cares, though."

Still, he just stands there, eyes flicking to the phone momentarily before moving over to the rest of the table, and then back up to Lucius. "But that's what you do, right?" A smile here. "Help people."
 
Lucius gives Colt a more tangible glance at that, his gaze lingering on the 'waiter' as he starts to tread into 'overfamiliar' territory. It's not really often that he's recognized outside of the business community -- it almost never happens, in fact -- but you can never tell who likes to think of themselves as a stock trader in the making, these days.

"Where I can," he answers slowly and carefully, scrutinizing Colt for a minute or two before he tells him quite pointedly, "That'll be all, thank you. Tell Ryan I hope he feels better." With that last, he flashes his new 'waiter' a short-lived smile perfectly crafted to be perfunctory, polite, and dismissive all in one before he turns his phone face down again and picks up his fork and knife to dig into his grilled chicken, ignoring Colt's presence.
 
The new waiter, of course, ignores him, still staring at the man. "Sorry," he offers by way of faux apology, just as carefully crafted as the dismissive smile. "It's just that you helped a friend of mine, once," he continues. "Was in a real bad way. Without you and your company, he might not be around today."

Maybe he's just a fanboy? But he's looking at Lucius kind of like Lucius might look at that chicken breast if he hadn't actually eaten anything in three days. And the downside of the 'private dining' experience? Nobody seems to be paying much attention to the pair, or think anything of the extended table visit.

"You're not like I thought you would be. Interesting."
 
This was turning a tad odd.

Lucius had been recognized by the occasional wannabe tycoon, but never by anyone who attributed him and his company to the saving of someone's life -- most people just thanked their doctors. Yet here was this seemingly random waiter who had appeared after his previous waiter suffered a head injury who just happened to be able to recognize him because -- supposedly -- his friend's life had been saved by Omega.

Lucius had sat through enough board meetings to smell something fishy.

He sets down his knife and fork again and looks up to this new waiter, and this time he /really/ looks. His full attention is now on Ryan's replacement, and as if a switch had been flicked, Shaw gives Colt a bright and warm smile. "I'm glad we were able to help your friend." A pause. "Sorry, I don't think I caught your name..."
 
"You didn't," Colt agrees, on the 'did not catch his name' part. The moment of realization draws a smile from Colt as well. There's nothing in it that wouldn't be warm and inviting, but the tone remains very professional, conversational, if distant.

"Though I suppose that cleaning up some weird messes comes easily enough for you," he continues. "I mean, you've got your fingers in all the right pies. Probably all the right people, too. City Hall. FBI. Chicago PD. Woof," he exhales. "They're gonna be fielding a lot of calls from you. Charm. Money. A man of the community with deep pockets and a smile that spontaneously increases the gravity one every pair of panties in the room." A small shake of his head. "Confident. Cocky. I like it."

"Tell me, Mr. Shaw," he asks. "Why does a man who already lives a charmed fucking life, by most standards, want to reach into the dark and unexplored areas that most sensible people are smart enough to leave alone?"
 
Ah.

Lucius' smile suddenly glows even brighter as the pieces click into place. He listens to Colt without interruption, looking significantly more at ease now that he has a better grasp on what was going on. Most people might be concerned to discover someone's been doing some digging into their life, but something about who Colt is and what his connection is to Lucius just makes Shaw seemingly *more* amused as each contact and ally is laid out. When he's asked that question though, rather than answer it immediately, Lucius pauses to lean in conspiratorially towards this new 'waiter' and murmur in an undertone: "You didn't... *eat* Ryan, did you?"

With that, his smile turns into more of an amused grin, he offers Colt a wink, then he leans back and picks up his fork and knife again, resuming his slowly cooling meal with a remarkable ease to his bearing. "You've clearly done your research. I'm guessing this friend of yours was Ethan Weaver since... well..." He waves his knife about the air as if to indicate the entirety of the situation with one gesture, then pops a freshly cut away chunk of chicken into his mouth. After taking a moment to chew and swallow, he once more points towards Colt with the knife, using it as a device to accentuate his words rather than anything remotely close to a threat, and continues: "I understand why you ask me that, but I hope *you* understand that my reasons are personal. Neither you nor your friend have anything to fear from me. If anything, you both stand to gain quite a bit -- if I'm interpreting the nature of your relationship with Ethan correctly, at least."
 
Colt's own smile grows a bit as Shaw leans in, asking that conspiratorial question. Colt takes a step closer, leaning in the same way, like two patrons sharing some kind of joke, and says, "No." The grin grows positively -- well. Wolfish. "I'm saving room."

The mention of Ethan's name gets a polite nod from the man, but no additional commentary, just letting the man continue for now, laying out his spiel. "Yeah," Colt agrees. "I saw the check. Kind of an expensive way to entertain your secretary. Though at least I can guarantee she'll be very entertained."

"Personal, sure," Colt agrees. "And had I put a knife through your throat while you were sitting there staring at your phone, it would have been strictly business. Because you're starting to get into areas where you're going to learn something that makes people like us very nervous. And there are rules about that kind of thing." He spreads his hands, the way an apologetic water might for something strange with the meal. "But that would have been rude. Ethan said you wanted to meet me. And I don't like waiting on appointments."
 
Lucius winces, though it seems more to make a point than out of any actual involuntary physical reaction. "She's not my secretary, and I'd recommend that if you ever have the good fortune of meeting Miss Moreno in person, you make sure not to call her a secretary to her face. She's my executive assistant." He follows that up with a look that suggests Colt take his advice, but continues after another quick bite of chicken. "That check was for repairs and general maintenance for the property he manages. My people tell me he has propensity for accepting favors and IOUs instead of actual cash for rent." He sighs with all the faux weight of a father frustrated with but somewhat proud of his son's life choices. "Believe me," he continues, "Miss Moreno is perfectly capable of finding her own entertainment without me having to spend two hundred thousand dollars. She was simply... looking into our new and budding relationship with Mister Weaver."

As for the 'threat'...

"Business, of course," Lucius replies, apparently at ease with the idea of being shanked in the throat with a butter knife while out to lunch. "In my last moments, I'd have held no ill will towards you, I assure you. Though I'd have been disappointed, of course. What a sad ending to a new friendship that would have been." He takes another bite of chicken and smiles up at Colt, friendly as can be. "I'm not running a tabloid, Mister... Ryan's Replacement... I have no interest in you or your people's dark and hidden secrets. My interests lie elsewhere." A beat. "But yes, I did want to meet you. Not *you* specifically, but any of Ethan's... kin. My deal to him applies to you as well. I'm new to town and I'm just looking to make some... mutually lucrative friendships."
 
"Colt. Ryan's replacement." He gives a slight nod to Shaw. They might as well be on a named basis. It's not like Shaw doesn't know how to find him, now. Generally, anyway. "And, noted. Ms. Moreno is an executive assistant, and I would do well to remember that." The explanation about the check, though, gets a raised eyebrow from the man. Apparently, he heard something somewhat different, from the look of incredulity on his face.

"So where, precisely, do your interests lie? Ethan tells me that you're interested in taking the Loop for yourself. Not sure how that involved us, precisely. Other than that we have certain skillsets that aren't exactly common." He cocks his head to the side, considering. "But we're dangerous beasts to try to leash," he muses. "And you seem like you want more than guard dogs and thugs."
 
"Colt," Lucius repeats with a nod and a faint smile that doesn't change at Colt's incredulous look. Whatever conflicting information has been given on the reason for his writing that check, the ultimate interpretation doesn't seem terribly important to Lucius who brushes off the matter with a shrug and another bite of his lunch.

When matters turn to his interests, Lucius seems a touch more animated again as he sets down his knife to take up his glass. "I'm glad you asked. It's true that I'm currently in the process of staking a claim to the Loop. There is a man who goes by the name of Drasche who is challenging me on that front but... quite frankly we already hold the advantage and it's growing every week. Any help you and your kin can provide me... either encouraging him to back out of his claim or aiding me with mine would certainly be welcome." Then he grins broadly, flashing Colt a look of brief approval at his assessment of his needs and wants. "However you are correct. I already have enough thugs and guard dogs on my payroll. I wouldn't have gone this far out of my way to hire two more. What I *need* are specialists and legitimacy." He lets that sit for a moment, allowing Colt a second or two to interpret that as he likes before Lucius continues: "The people in your... circle tend not to take people like me very seriously. Your association would change that. Your particular skillsets are also not widely available in the hiring market, but are nonetheless remarkably valuable. I would never think to leash you, so instead I offer something closer to a partnership. I scratch your back, and you scratch mine."

"Hmm... A poor choice of words, perhaps, but I think you get my meaning. For instance," he starts, his smile turning bright again, "After I secure the Loop, we can turn my vast influence towards something you and your... close-knit circle of friends can hold for yourself. Pick a district, and I'll help you take it."
 
"Specialists and legitimacy," Colt echoes back, testing the feel of the words. "Well. We are certainly that, I suppose." Colt still just stands near the table, hands folded neatly, the very picture of the attentive waiter for anyone not listening to the conversation. The little quip about backscratches being a poor choice of words gets a little smirk from him, clearly showing some appreciate for them as they fell.

"Your plan has a minor flaw," he notes. "Two of them, in fact. The first, and possibly more immediate, being -- you aren't in a position to *hold* any sort of territory. Not anything anyone will recognize. And the second you try, you get all of the bad attention coming your way. Alliances will form just to take it away from you because of who you are, *because* you are --" He clips off whatever word he was *about* to say, replacing it with, "someone that we generally don't take very seriously. And the people that you're coming into the game with aren't going to just roll over and let a m -- an like you come in and start slicing away pieces of something they fight and bleed and die to protect."
 
"You mean because I'm not a member of the Accords?" Lucius asks, punctuating his question with a bite of the second fillet, one eyebrow cocked slightly. "Why do you think I require legitimacy? With your backing and my obvious awareness of your circle, I'm confident I'll be recognized, even if grudgingly. After all, from what I can understand... There are variety of sorts that automatically qualify for inclusion in your agreement, and the only thing any of them have in common is that they possess some innate strength and power." Another bite. Another pause. "I walk in realms some of you can only lust after. I brush elbows with the people who run our city, state, and country, some of whom feel quite beholden to my checkbook. My decisions could make or break the livelihoods of thousands. What is that, Mr. Colt, if not power?"

"As for these alliances... I welcome them." He grins broadly, his hands gesturing to the side briefly as if opening his arms to the hypothetical threats on the horizon, "Competition is healthy. Either we will rise to the occasion, or we will be proven too weak to stand among your kind and crumble. However, it's society you're playing these games around. The society of *my* kind, Mr. Colt. I have an innate advantage there."
 
"No, Mr. Shaw," Colt answers. "Not because you aren't a member of the Accords. Because you, and your kind, are largely considered to hold no higher position than the chicken you've been eating. Some small handful of you might be favored pets. A number of you are kept for food. And somewhere in the middle --" A small, one shouldered shrug. "There's always uses for breeding stock. Not all of us see you that way," he admits. "But enough do. And in general, you don't give your pets a vote, no matter how much power you have. A Roman Emperor tried to make his horse a consul, once. It didn't end well for him."

Colt shifts his position, hands behind his back now. "Power you can have. If you want to run the show, there are ways to make that happen," he agrees. "But letigimacy. In your own right?" A small shake of his head. "I'm not sure that's a viable option for you. Though nothing is stopping you from being a power behind the throne," he tells the other man. "Find a champion. Back them. Make them beholden to you. Have your hand so far up their ass that they speak only when you give them a tickle at the back of the throat."

Colt just keeps his gaze on the other man. His tone doesn't really rise or fall. He delivers all of this like the weather report. "It'll be interesting, though, to see you try. You're quite the mystery," he repeats. "And I kind of want to see what you manage to make of it."
 
As before, Lucius seems largely unaffected by Colt's laying out of the facts -- both eyebrows raising for a moment in mock surprise at some of the myriad uses for mortals -- but otherwise just as calm and collected as before. After a pause to consider Colt's words, seemingly affording them some level of proper assessment, Lucius finishes the bite of chicken he was working on and asks: "Breeding stock, you say? That could be an interesting change of pace for a bit."

"I'm nothing if not flexible, Mr. Colt," Lucius continues after a moment, "If I determine that you are correct, and that I'll need to turn one of your kind into a not-so-human sock puppet, I'll adjust course. Until then?" He shrugs and reaches for his glass again, taking another drink of his water to wash down one of the last bites of his chicken. "Well, you never get anywhere in my line of work without taking risks and running experiments. For now, I'm content to keep you entertained with my little song and dance. We'll see what comes of it together, shall we?"
 
"We can always go someplace a little more private, if you like," Colt answers, one corner of his mouth curling up impishly, a glimmer in his eyes. "If you're looking for an ineteresting change of pace..." He might be serious. He might just be fishing for a reaction.

But he gives a slow nod, assenting to the final comment. "As you wish. It'll be interesting to see what the others think, at the very least. I've no doubt that you'll make waves, one way or another. It should be amusing, seeing how it all shakes out. Incentive to help keep you alive, at the very least," he admits.
 
Lucius chuckles at that, fixing Colt with an appraising look for a moment, "Nothing you could show me would be considered breeding by the strictest definition of the term, Mr. Colt." He takes a second to take a drink of his water again before setting it down on the table and leaning back in his seat. "It also wouldn't be a complete change of pace, either." He pauses again to give Colt another once over. "Still..." Then he smiles, and withdraws a business card from within his suit jacket's inner pocket and places it on the table near Colt.

"Here. If you have any more questions for me, feel free to call." He stands, leaving his chicken *mostly* finished while he fishes out his wallet next and lays out far more money than a simple lunch should ever cost. "Or you can just knock out my waiter whenever I go out for lunch again." He grins a bit wider, slipping the wallet into his pocket before stepping closer to Colt, his voice lowering to compensate for the closed distance. "That said, if you give me a call ahead of time... I can probably arrange a long enough break and a private enough place for a more rigorous line of questioning, next time."
 
Colt can't help but grin. "I knew I liked you," he tells the man in turn. "Ethan was right. You're formidable." Still, he steps forward, taking the card and tucking it into the front pocket of his apron, apparently determined to keep up this little ruse as long as they're both here.

The money on the table gets a raised eyebrow, though the comment about knocking out the waiter causes a little snort. "YOu'll want to tip him more than that," Colt muses. "That hospital bill isn't going to be cheap." A look over to Lucius. "I was fairly thorough." But he steps to the side, giving Lucius that impish grin still. "You didn't strictly rule out 'interesting'." Just putting that out into the world. And then, a bit louder, and more professionally, "Always a pleasure to serve, Mr. Shaw."
 
"Oh, I'm sure it'll be plenty interesting," Lucius replies with a soft laugh, even as he unfolds a few more very large bills to go with the sizeable tip he'd already left on the table. "There. For poor Ryan's medical bills, then." He then begins to walk away, offering only a lift and curl of a few of his fingers over his shoulder to Colt's thoroughly maintained charade.
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