#grabbing this REAL QUICK bc plotty things need to happen

[kaliofruin]

Kali listens without interruption, swirls her glass with a slow precision as Daniel speaks.

A large portion of the work is knowing the difference between weapons and liabilities. Daniel asks her to help make him into something new. Something...inconvenient to the wrong kind of people. That would make Daniel both. But Kali doesn't press further, because she needs to keep this man's interest. Too much pressure and he may look for easier doors. Kali can't have that. She holds her tongue steady.

Besides, she cannot pretend the offer isn't useful. A daywalker who doesn't have delusions of grandeur, who follows orders, who cleans up messes and asks no stupid questions? That's rare. Rare things belong in Kali's collection. They belong in Reardon.

He mentions he has no intentions of leaving soon. He'd like to put down roots. Kali makes a mental note to look into what roots already have him tethered her and so ready to plant more. She leans forward slightly. Not menacing, not relaxed, but interested. Engaged.

He mentions respect -- Kali almost scoffs. She doesn't want a soldier who serves out of respect. She wants one who fears failing her. Tongue held steady again, because he needs to prove himself before she divulges anything else about Reardon, what they do, and what they expect from their people.

"So you're willing to bleed. Good. Enough chit-chat for now, then. You want roots? Fine. I have something for you. Off-books. You do it well, we'll talk more." She uses her own nail to prick her thumb until blood beads at the surface. She presses it to the lock on her desk drawer. A soft click, it slides open. She pulls out a file, drops it on the table between them.

Inside: grainy photos, newspaper clippings, crime scene reports. "A massacre," she says, flipping through the pages. "Hour and a half south of here. Quaint little country bar -- or at least, it was. 137 dead. Most of them torn apart. The official story is a cult. Convenient, don't you think? I doubt it to be true. I want to know who did this. If it was a cult, fine. But I want the responsible parties brought to me. Alive and lucid, if you can manage it."

"Good on him," Danny scoffs lightly. "Never could string two words together, myself. This were me in here, it'd taste less like verse and more like paint thinner, I bet."

"Well, with respect, that is the point, yeah? I would like to be more dangerous. I mean I certainly don't want it to go tanning at the beach. Besides, consider it a work investment, if you want - I have skills that make it worth it. And I'm not some conniving shit that's got an agenda to push, and you've got your code, you know how it is." He scratches at his beard with a bit of idle motion - to put a beat of air in the conversation - "Look, I don't know what all this uh, Reardon group has going - but I do know you, and I know you tend to be reliable. I respect that."

Hand on his chest, he shakes his head. "Not gonna beg for a handout - I give as good as I'm given. I know what I'm good at and I don't play games - you help me set this up, I help you set up whatever it is you need set up. Fair trade - honorable, even, whatever, like I'd mentioned, I don't see myself leaving any time soon. I've been on the trail for eighty years, I can afford to put roots down for a decade or two."

He sips at his drink some more, rolls the glass a little, watching the odd texture of blood and wine swirl around - very much its own thing.

"End of day, I'm a soldier. I have been a soldier, really, longer than I've been anything else. You need somebody dealt with, I deal with them. Need somebody found, I can find them. Somebody lays a hand on you or your things, I can lay twice as many on them. I'm not a saint, and won't pretend to be. But imagine," he says, sipping again, one finger up for dramatic emphasis, "for the sake of conversation, that I do that for you, in the daytime, while so many others are... sitting at home in the shade, waiting for the sun to go down. Necessary? Hardly, but it's an advantage that, if you are willing to help me swing, I am more than willing to share."