#get you a man/partner willing to happily go along with your nonsense friends

[steorransaluki]

sent this to my bf and said "hey look at my micro for moth season :)"

he said I'd absolutely get bag limits with this one. look at those killer talons. why aren't I wearing a glove?

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

now on ao3

In all the years they've travelled together, the only person they've ever come across on the road is Yennefer, much to Jaskier's immense displeasure. And then proceeded to run into her suspiciously often. Geralt puts it down to a wish or some such nonsense, but Jaskier doesn't care why so long as he doesn't have to spend any more time with her than he has to.

So when he hears Geralt talking to someone as he makes his way back to camp, his heart sinks immediately, expecting it to be Yennefer. But when Geralt makes it up to the campfire, there are two people with him, neither of whom are Yen. There are a taller blond man and a slim woman with bright eyes, neither of whom Jaskier recognizes.

"Jaskier," Geralt grunts, "we have company."

Thank you, Jaskier thinks, I can see that. He doesn't roll his eyes, but only because he doesn't want to make a bad impression on their guests.

"How wonderful!" he says, turning and crossing the camp to greet them.

The woman - Gwendolyn - introduces them, explaining that her partner Dominic once fought alongside Geralt to rid their village of a swarm of kikimores. Jaskier raises his eyes at the Witcher, but Geralt ignores him. There's a golden story in there somewhere and Jaskier makes it his job to learn it in full - if not from Geralt, maybe from Gwen.

Gwen is also a bard and Jaskier instantly adores her. She seems less interested in the fighting and adventures that Dominic goes on than Jaskier is with Geralt, but they find common ground in their music. And it's nice to have someone who really appreciates what is one of the most important things in Jaskier's life.

Geralt invites them to travel with them, much to Jaskier's surprise and Gwen and Dominic set their tent up next to Geralt's. Jaskier is looking forward to having company, even just for a few days. It's not often he has anyone to talk to other than Geralt and if he's learned anything in their time together, it's that Witchers don't make particularly good conversational companions. So he's glad to have the company, but as the night wears on, Jaskier's happiness dwindles.

Gwen and Dominic are so happy together, constantly touching and laughing and sharing their joint stories of life on the road. They're happy together and very much in love and Jaskier's heart aches wondering if he'll ever share that feeling with someone. He glances over at Geralt where he's prodding at the fire and smiles sadly. Even after all their years together, he can't be with the one he truly loves and seeing friends of Geralt's so happy together hurts in a way he didn't expect.

He's never wanted that one special person in his life; he likes being with different people each night, but he also can't imagine not coming back to Geralt at the end of the day. Geralt is his constant in an unpredictable world, but Jaskier still finds himself wanting more. Even if he shouldn't. Geralt has never made any indication that he'd even be interested in something more and yet Jaskier aches for it.

He curls in on himself when they sleep that night, keeping his distance from Geralt in the small tent and tries to forcibly ignore the empty feeling in his chest. When they wake in the morning, the four of them set out again, travelling at a steady pace.

Gwen joins Jaskier at the back, chatting away happily about the ballad she's working on and Jaskier's spirits rise again. They talk throughout the day as they walk and she asks about Geralt and their time together. Jaskier tells her a little, but leaves out certain details, not willing to face those feelings in the bright light of day.

When they stop for the evening, Jaskier pulls out his lute and plays for them while Geralt gets the tent set up. Dominic and Gwen join him and after a while, Geralt comes and sits next to him, much to Jaskier's surprise. He shares his wine and Jaskier drinks more than he should, overcompensating for the persistent ache in his chest.

Jaskier plays his best songs and Gwen sings along with more of them than Jaskier would expect her to know. He's pleased to know his words reach so far across the continent and it encourages him to sing louder, more enthusiastically. Geralt gives him a look, quirking an eyebrow at him, but Jaskier just winks in response and continues. Geralt may not appreciate him, but their new friends do.

It's not until the fire burns low that the ache returns. Gwen is sprawled in her lover's lap, grinning up at him and Jaskier has never seen someone look so in love. He's pleasantly drunk, toeing the line between a light buzz and too much. When Gwen and Dominic turn in for the night, scurrying away to their tent hand-in-hand, Jaskier excuses himself and slips away into the darkness. He’s not quite ready for bed, but he’s not up to sitting alone with Geralt right now, either.

The moon is full and bright, lighting the field adjacent to their camp and Jaskier strolls through the long grass. He wants what Gwen and Dominic have. He wants to feel that overwhelming adoration and have it reciprocated - even just for a little while. Love comes and goes, but he wants to know how it feels to have someone love him so completely. His romances have been fleeting or have taken place over years with their encounters few and far between; the only person he's been with for longer than a few weeks is Geralt. But Geralt is far from his true love - if there even is one true love for him.

But Geralt is different and Jaskier knows he will always hold a special place in his heart above the rest. Even if their relationship never becomes anything more than it is, Geralt will always be different. But the thought of continuing as they are sits heavy on Jaskier's heart. For the first time since he can remember, he feels alone, unwanted. And he knows it's not Geralt's fault for not wanting him, but he can't help being miserable anyway.

Footsteps approach from behind and he turns to find the Witcher coming up behind him. His hair shines in the moonlight and Jaskier lowers his eyes, smiling sadly.

"Come to bed, Jaskier. We have an early start tomorrow."

"Alright."

Jaskier offers up a smile and follows after him as usual, forcing down the desire to reach out and press up against him.

In the morning, Geralt is missing, but both Gwen and Dominic are sitting outside when Jaskier crawls out of his tent. He keeps his spirits up as well as he can, eating breakfast with their companions and passing his low mood off as sleepiness. When Geralt returns, he seems quieter than usual, but Jaskier suspects it's because this is the third day with travelling companions and Geralt is used to it just being the two of them.

They make it to town that day and Geralt takes on a contract for a ghoul that's been terrorizing the town at night. It means they'll be in town overnight at least and Jaskier books them a room at the inn and settles in while Geralt discusses his terms with the mayor.

Geralt leaves in the late afternoon and takes Dominic with him. Jaskier and Gwen stay behind at the inn, neither one less confused than the other. Jaskier doesn't say anything about it, but he finds himself worrying about what could possibly have spurred Geralt to take a companion to fulfil a contract. He rarely even lets Jaskier go when he promises to sit to one side and not get involved. Jaskier orders them a round of drinks and pushes the thoughts from his mind.

"So tell me about Geralt," Gwen beams, leaning across the table. She stretches her hands out, looking up at him expectantly. He knows what she wants to know, but Jaskier has nothing to offer.

Jaskier tells her everything he can. He recounts their travels together and sings Geralt's praises, talking of his achievements and all the lovely songs Jaskier's written because of him. Gwen just looks at him and he knows none of this is what she wants to hear.

"I've heard your songs," she says, "I want to know about him."

"I think you've got the wrong idea."

"I don't think I do," Gwen says softly. "I see the way you look at him when you don't think anyone is watching. The way you look like you could be happy to spend the rest of your life following blindly after him."

Jaskier opens his mouth to interrupt, but he's silenced with a single look. "Okay," he breathes.

"I also see the way he looks at you," she says, "like he's afraid you're going to walk out of his life one day and he'll never see you again."

"It's not like that. Geralt is my best friend and my muse and I don't know what I would do without him, but it's certainly not mutual. I'm giving him a better name, that's all. It's why he keeps me around." The words keep coming, but Jaskier's heart thuds heavily against his ribcage and he doesn't think he'll be able to stop speaking if Gwen doesn't interrupt him.

"Geralt is..." he falters, trying to come up with something to say and Gwen looks at him with such earnestness that he can't lie to her. "He's beautiful," he admits, "and he's so much kinder than anyone knows and if he wanted to settle down, he'd make a wonderful husband, but-"

"It's not like that?" she asks and Jaskier just offers her a sad smile.

When Geralt and Dominic return, both parties go their separate ways. Dominic and Gwen are moving on, but Jaskier has already rented a room and Geralt is tired and worn out by the time he returns. They say their goodbyes at the door to the inn and Jaskier watches as they saunter away hand-in-hand.

When they turn in, Geralt falls asleep nearly instantly. Fighting really takes a lot out of him and Jaskier pulls a blanket over him, smiling down as Geralt grumbles and rolls over in his sleep. Jaskier sits on the floor, leaning against the bed. He doesn't want to climb into bed with him because Geralt wakes easily and he needs his sleep. And Jaskier doesn't expect to sleep much tonight anyway.

He can't stop thinking about what Gwen said to him. Surely Geralt doesn't really look at him when he's not paying attention. And if he does, it's only to wish him silent.

They head out in the morning, but they don't get far before a storm breaks out. Roach spooks easily at the thunderclaps and Geralt herds them all under the shelter of the trees. They find a stone overhang that's just tall enough for them to crouch under and Geralt ties Roach to a tree a few feet from the entrance and sits with her until she calms.

Jaskier watches from his spot undercover, a small smile creeping onto his face. Geralt really is so soft and gentle and no one ever sees it. No one but him. He pushes himself up to keep from staring and collects as much dry wood as he can find for the fire, stacking it into a neat pile. He's no good at lighting them, but he can get it ready for Geralt to come back.

When he does, Jaskier smiles up at him from his spot against the wall. Geralt takes a seat next to him, quickly forming the sign to light the fire and Jaskier swallows back the spark of arousal that always accompanies Geralt using magic.

"It was nice to have company," he says simply and Geralt hums.

"I think I prefer when it's just the two of us."

Jaskier's heart leaps but he tries not to think too much about it. He smiles up at Geralt and slumps against the wall. Maybe it would be nice to be showered with affection all the time, but when he looks at Geralt, he can't imagine trading him for anything. He watches as Geralt pokes at the fire and realizes no amount of love and affection makes up for what he has now. They might not be together and Jaskier never expects things to change between them, but he loves Geralt for the emotionally unavailable idiot that he is.

They lay their bedrolls out and Geralt stops Jaskier as he moves further toward the back of the shelter. "It's a cold night," he says, "you should move closer."

"To the fire?"

"Hmm."

Jaskier looks up and Geralt is staring down at the ground. The thought that Geralt might want to keep him close bounces around Jaskier's head and he lays his bedroll between Geralt's and the fire. When he lies down, he still feels cold, but Geralt slips up behind him and Jaskier can feel the heat of his body against him. It makes his breath catch in his throat and he shuts his eyes, pressing back into him. He doesn't open his eyes because he can't bear to.

"If you want to leave, I won't ask you to stay," Geralt says quietly and Jaskier freezes.

"What?"

"The way you looked at Gwen and Dominic... you're a lover Jaskier, you can't spend your life chasing after an old Witcher."

"And if I want to?" he asks. His heart thuds loudly and he can barely think over it. Geralt stirs next to him and when Jaskier opens his eyes, Geralt is above him, looking down.

Jaskier reaches up, sliding a hand over Geralt's cheek. He can barely breathe with the fear of saying the wrong thing and when he opens his mouth, he almost forgets what he wanted to say.

"My darling Witcher," he breathes, "where else could I possibly want to be?"

"But you want more," Geralt says and if Jaskier didn't know better, he'd say he looks sad.

"Not if it means leaving you," Jaskier breathes. And he means it. He wouldn't give up Geralt for anything.

Geralt doesn't say anything and Jaskier doesn't know how long he can last hanging in this silence where he doesn't know what to say and Geralt looks like he wants to kiss him. He can't think, he can barely breathe in the silence, but he reaches up, sliding his arms around the back of Geralt's neck and sliding his fingers into his hair. He waits for a moment, giving Geralt the chance to pull away. He doesn't and Jaskier draws him closer.

"Don't do this just for me," he whispers and Geralt barely gives him a chance to finish before closing the space between them. His lips are soft but hesitant and Jaskier brings him closer, shows him he has nothing to be nervous about. When Geralt draws back, he looks almost sheepish.

"I'm not. I know I'm not good at things like this," he mumbles and Jaskier lets his hands slide to Geralt's face. He shakes his head and draws him close again.

"You're perfect."

[prowlpetrex]

“Absolutely not.” Shere Khan intoned, voice flat. His face was fixed in that “I cannot believe I’m even bothering to expend the merest fraction of my time on this nonsense” look. It was so well performed, he was willing to bet the average person usually only saw it on TV or in movies. He’d found through his own practices in the mirror that conveying the correct amount of sass, exasperation, and self-important superiority without sliding down one side or another to be surprisingly difficult. He wasn’t too worried, his progress made for great selfies, and the tiger was way older than him with years of experiences beyond the bird’s own. He’d get there eventually. Still… he snapped a quick shot of the cat’s expression for prosperity and his online presence’s sake alone. It wasn’t every day you got to see a master of the art of condescending bitch face at play in its natural environment. He felt the tiger’s gaze hone in on him, a frown forming where a tolerant smile had begun to take form when he’d been speaking with Glomgold. A few seconds trekked by, and he relaxed when nothing was said, and the other man’s focus was once more on Glomgold. Onto twitter you go, he thought happily, clicking the ‘post’ button after attaching the perfectly chosen hashtags to it. He smiled and waited eagerly for the ‘likes’ and ‘retweets’ to come rolling in. “And why not?”  Glomgold practically yowled, raising both his fists and stamping up and down like a toddler having a tantrum. Snap and post. Both of them were creating some great material for his blog. He had become more certain of it when the first shot of Khan had reached over 20 likes in less than five minutes. The people had spoken and they were hungry for more. “You are not the acceptable age for one.” Khan said, face devoid of emotion. “And let yet you let Scroogie in on your little game, no questions asked?” Flintheart said, he crossed his arms, face scrunched up into a childish pout. “You two thought you could start a wee bit of an adventure together and leave ol’ Flinty in the dark, did you?” the old duck marched forward, an angry shade of red visible through his feathers. “You are mistaken, my friend.” Shere Khan said shortly, clasping his hands behind his back. His back was straight and firm. He looked the model of patience and serenity, which was enough to tell Mark he was beginning to become annoyed. He didn’t need to know the tiger personally. He was 110% percent sure nobody in their social sphere would tolerate being talked down like that for very long. “Am I?” Flintheart hissed, pushing himself forward and one of the footrests forward and hopping atop it so that the tip of his beak nearly touched the nose of the feline’s muzzle. To the cat’s credit the only sign that this had affected him, was a slight furrowing of his eyebrows before smoothing out his face once more. Seeing perfect blogging material, Mark subtly captured the scene before him. His followers were really in for a treat today, he thought with a chirping giggle. All those old Scottish games had provided him with great material for those who were into historical gameplay, reenactment, or just wanted to keep tabs on what Scrooge and Glomgold were up to now. Their rivalry was infamous enough that it would keep most of them satisfied. Especially since Flintheart Glomgold was perhaps the sorest loser Mark had ever had the privilege to chronicle. It had been hilarious, but for the elderly duck to then follow that up with an argument with Khan Industry’s reclusive founder and CEO over Scrooge McDuck? It made for the kind of material he could only dream of. “Do ye mark me for a fool?” the outraged growl was loud enough to make even Mark flinch, making it all the more impressive that the tiger’s facial features made no outward response. “In your own words you’ve admitted that you’ve allowed Scrooge in on this little game of yours only to shut the door in my face the moment I asked to play along!” Mark smiled, as Glomgold stamped his feet. It was moments like this that made him feel right at home in the Billionaire’s club. Glomgold was an old man, if he had less money people would have expected him to act his age. Instead he was perfectly content to make a feather-brain out of himself on the suspicion that Scrooge and Khan were purposefully excluding him from some sort of secret game they’d planned on playing together. His behavior made Mark feel mature in a respectable way, instead of a dumb “on the way to becoming obsolete” way. When they had all left, Beaks had done a little Q and A to cool down a bit from the earlier excitement while listening to music from on another tab, and watching the cooking channel as he progressed. Staring at a screen too long tended to make him feel exhausted and he didn’t feel like waking up with phone lines on his face again, so he liked to multi-task. Doing more than one task at once kept him awake and aware. Particularly if it was something he enjoyed. Scrooge had reentered the room after some time, and as was typical of the stuck up old guy, he ignored all of the greetings Mark sent his way. He felt his feathers rise up in annoyance, but took to passive-aggressively slurping his Mango puree instead of doing anything he might regret later. He wasn’t at his company where he could do anything he wanted without suffering much consequence. He was among his peers now and that meant playing nice. Besides, who cared what freaking Scrooge McDuck thought of him? He’d sighed to himself. Adulting was hard. It meant you weren’t allowed to be as Extra™ with peopling as you wanted anymore. You had to bide your time for the inevitable takedown to avoid facing the consequences. So he’d silently watched the McDuck leave, head down as if he’d been in a daze. When Khan had returned next, Mark had thanked him, and offered up some constructive criticism on the drink he’d been made. The Tiger hadn’t made his mango puree the way he’d liked it. No shade. No tea. Just facts. The drink had been smooth and silky instead of thick and pulpy like it should be. He hadn’t ordered some Crème Frappuccino, Jen. However, he could tolerate it, knowing he had gotten someone who had a higher net worth than he did act on a request he’d made-without getting all salty about it, well, that was something that just did not happen to Mark Beaks every day. The cat had raised an eyebrow at him before apologizing profusely, his voice thick with obvious sarcasm that had left Mark feeling just the slightest bit annoyed. But he’d shrugged and rolled with the mild sarcasm. Shere Khan had acknowledged him and that was important. The big cat had apparently returned to retrieve the smoothie he’d made for himself, and, having located the objective, stalked slowly towards the couch where Mark sat. He’d stood behind him, drinking the frozen beverage, and suddenly feeling uncomfortably hyperaware of the predator behind him, Mark had felt himself being assessed. For what he did not know, but whatever it was thankfully brief. As if unaware of his discomfort, Shere Khan had simply tossed the cup gracefully into the trash, and bid him a polite farewell when Glomgold had barged into the room with a loud bang. The elderly duck had clearly been in a rush. He was out of breath, gasping loudly and growling out angry Scottish curses. “I have done no such thing,” Shere Khan said, quietly moving away from his conversation partner, apparently on the lookout for another disposable cup. “Really?” Glomgold laughed as he followed the other man, an ugly mocking noise filled with derision. “What was it you were saying just minutes before then, an elaborate lie to make me jealous?” The Scot had first sounded incredulous, but, as he spoke the words had begun to sound increasingly doubtful but its finish. He’d moved closer to Khan, and if Wiktionary had face claims his would be filed under “suspicion”. It was as if the idea, now that the idea had been expressed, the likelihood of the content having been a lie had exponentially increased. “No.” The cat had located the disposable cups that had been placed inside one of the lower cupboards. “Please do not accuse me of falsehood where miscommunication could easily be the culprit.” Exasperation had begun to leak into the feline’s tone, making his words flatter than they would have been otherwise. in a move Mark would never personally have had the temerity to make, the Scotsman took advantage of the tiger’s decision to lean over to grab one of the cups to seize hold of the other businessman’s tie and yanked it hard enough that their faces were now touching. It was also apparently one move too far for the carnivore’s patience because he had stood suddenly and with the swipe of one furry claw pried the feathered hand from his neck clothing with brutal efficiency. Mark checked his phone and sighed in disappointment. He’d expected Shere Khan to do something. There was only so much the typical person would tolerate m\before they either fled or went on the defensive. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been quick enough to catch the scene in action and had captured only blurry outlines from the two of them. Dang it. He deleted the worthless photos from his phone with a little more force than necessary, and waited for the next moment to strike. “Ah, I see.”  Glomgold drew out the final word. “A miscommunication error on your part was it?” The old duck had crossed his arm in a pout. It gave the impression that he was unaffected by the tiger’s growing agitation. “So it would seem.” Shere Khan allowed, making an attempt at civility. “Then what are the two of you getting up to together?” Glomgold made it sound like he half expected the two Billionaires were carrying on with an illicit love affair behind everyone’s backs, and it was perhaps this tone that made Shere Khan sigh in annoyance. “If everything goes as PLANNED, HE WILL AGREE to provide me with the location for an upcoming reality show I intend to produce.” He said slowly, pinching the bridge of his muzzle. There was a clatter and Mark felt the combined gazes of both men focus solely on him. Mark Beaks gave a start then retrieved the phoned he’d accidentally dropped with an embarrassed chuckle. McDuck and Khan would be hosting a Reality TV show together? He felt himself practically salivating at the interest this news would surely generate. Earlier that day, Khan had seemed on edge about people knowing he was into cooking shows. Maybe what had really been bothering him was that he hadn’t wanted any similar ideas between his show and anything currently existing to be seen as an act of plagiarism or a willful violation of trademarked concepts. He didn’t really know anything about the laws governing reality TV shows to be honest. He just liked watching them and, as he did with most of the fine print corporate paperwork, left the majority of the heavy lifting to his legal team. But that hardly mattered when he’d just gotten front row seating on some juicy gossip way before the newsies could sink their own talons into it. This kind of coverage on the lives of the rich and powerful more than made up for the hefty membership fees new members like him had to pay to get their own piece of the action. He fired off a couple of posts in rapid succession and grinned triumphantly as activity skyrocketed on his feed. With any luck, his posts would go viral and his account would get a mention on TV. He answered a few of the more frequently asked questions, then paused. The foreboding feeling that he was being watched washed over him and when he looked up he found himself once more staring into the predatory yellow eyes of Shere Khan. Feeling nervous self-consciousness well up inside of him, he gave the tiger a friendly little wave. The other man seemed to smile before turning his gaze back onto Glomgold, who, after a moment of useless flailing, had rallied magnificently from his initial surprise. “Why not me own property?” The duck said pointing a finger at the significantly larger mammal. “I’ll have you know---” “---Because these contests will be a competition geared toward locating a child of exemplary business acumen.” Shere Khan interrupted, the words logical and cold, but the fact that he was losing the will to remain polite, spoke of his decreasing patience. “Mr. Scrooge owns an actual living thriving city, populated by potential customers.” Glomgold made an indignant grunt, as if to interrupt but Khan wasn’t finished talking yet and spoke over him. “This is something neither you nor I possess, which is why he was sought out, and I refuse to settle for anything less.” Glomgold slumped, defeat splashing across his face. Mark grinned and took another snap of the almost defeated expression on the old Duck’s face. “There must be something I can do.” Flintheart said, he looked like he was wanted to argue, but had no clue what to say next. Shere Khan only shrugged in response. “I am open to suggestions.” He turned to leave. “If you think of something, I SHALL CONSIDER IT.” The words were short this time as he once more turned to leave, clearly intending to make a hasty retreat before Glomgold came up with anything else to pester him with. Before he’d left, Mark seized upon his own opportunity. “Have you decided on the Judges?” the tiger paused then raised a sleek eyebrow at him. “Pardon?” the word was said politely, no emotion crossing his face. “You know, the duderinos who decide whether these kids suck or not?” He asked with a careless expansive sweep of his hands. “I will be looking into potential candidates at a later time.” The tiger said softly. “Auditions will have to be made, and---″ “I volunteer.” Mark Beaks said immediately. Khan shook his head, but the parrot was not letting him off the hook that easily. “C’mon, Shere Khan, my buddy, my guy, my amigo,” he said beseechingly. “You’re going to want these judges to actually be successful businessmen and women, not some small town reject wearing rose-colored glasses and an over-idealistic idea of how the world works on their sleeves.” Shere Khan paused, evaluating, then--- “My answer remains the same.” the words were almost regretful. Glomgold smirked at him. “Sorry new guy,” he laughed. “You’ve got to wait for those feathers of yours to dry before you depend on business reputation alone.”  Glomgold faced Shere Khan with a grin. “I would like to offer up my considerable experience to this project of yours.” He had placed one palm upon his chest giving off the impression that he was a high profile politician swearing into public office. “I’ll have to decline that gracious offer as well.” The tiger said brusquely, and Mark burst out laughing as Glomgold visibly deflated. “What?!” The laughter from the duo’s audience had clearly rankled, offence born of an injured ego. “No one says no to Flintheart Glomgold!” Mark wiped mirthful tears out of his eyes and grinned at the Scottish Duck. “Really, man?” he laughed brightly. “I’d have thought all those years spent as Scrooge’s quote end quote ‘Arch-nemesis’ would have taught you a thing or two about rejection.” Glomgold glowered in his direction but Mark didn’t care. He didn't like it when people were condescending towards him, and he refused to tolerate it from anyone without saying anything in return. “Be that as it may” Khan directed the conversation back onto its previous conversation, perhaps worried the two would cause a scene if they didn’t. “If what you say is true, then I apologize that necessity must force me to be the first.” He looked so genuine Mark almost believed him. “But after the events I witness earlier I really must refuse.” Glomgold looked like something distasteful had found itself lodged in his mouth. The older man clearly believed what was being said was true, which made Mark wonder what had happened that would give a normal person logical reason to decline such an advantageous offer but he could tell it was just an excuse. Mark knew an actor when he saw one and it was clear Khan was after something from Flintheart he felt he would not get by being direct with sharing his desired outcome. The tiger looked ever so regretful before stretching out till his back cracked satisfactorily and once more heading to the door. The limp in his gate was more pronounced than ever as he head out the doorway that would eventually lead to the entrance hall “What if,” Glomgold began, words choked and desperate. “What if I paid you to let me be the Judge?” There wasn’t any visible change in the tiger’s expression but Beaks could feel the other man’s attention zero in on the heavyset duck. “I’d want to know what you intended to contribute.” he said slowly. Glomgold frowned, “I don’t know what's needed for this project of yours.” He confessed. “I don’t even know where to begin.” Shere Khan smiled, pulling out his cell. “That, dear fellow, is what legal teams are for.” Glomgold nodded in agreement and pulled out his own. Shere Khan had requested the assistance of an employee to set up webcams and before long the two were sitting on the stools near the bar, busy ironing out arrangements. Their distraction left him with his own thoughts. Mark wanted to be a judge but it was clear to him Shere Khan didn’t want to pay the exorbitant wages reality TV shows usually afforded their judges. Like many wealthy people Mark had known throughout the years, the man was quite stingy with his own wealth. This contest was probably just a publicity stunt meant to last one season then cancelled after it had drawn more public attention back onto Khan and his company, and honestly speaking here, Mark wasn’t all that comfortable with the whole pay to play concept. Actually paying someone to become a job when most shows would have paid him randomly didn’t sit well with him. Glomgold obviously found it an easy choice because of his long history of defeat at scrooge’s hand and this was a way to one-up the old timer. But for Mark, the choice was not so easy. He didn’t have the same relationship Flintheart shared with McDuck. What he did know made him dislike the guy, and, sure, he considered himself an “antagonist” to the old man because his behavior towards Mark had made him feel things about himself that he’d found...unpleasant when he’d wanted to impress the richest duck in the world and had been summarily dismissed as unimportant. That title was one of many measuring sticks he used to assess his own self-worth. This one for his own personal wealth, which, sadly, wasn’t in the same margin as old man McDuck, but he was willing to bet much of that was due to age. Mark Beaks was still a young man and there was plenty of time to catch up with the man if he was patient. Trouble was he didn’t want to be patient. Another, even more important method of judging his amour-propre was his follower count… which had dropped since the two failures, first the BUDDY system robot and then his brief but highly destructive stent as Gizmoduck, he was ashamed to admit were now attached to his name. Judges on popular TV shows got a crazy amount of followers, so joining this game of theirs could potentially help him regain what he’d lost. His followers were the lifeblood of his company. They were a very big part of the reason waddle had done so well in the first place. But as he watched Glomgold and khan finally reach an agreement with the promise that the duck would for the catering in addition to the promised cash donation, he shook his head with a frown. It was obvious why Flintheart was the second richest duck in the world despite the fact that Scrooge wasted money on stupid superstitious stuff like supernatural defense if his sources. Glomgold, whether it was spending obscene amounts of money attempting to one-up scrooge or building death traps that ultimately failed was just a lot looser with his money than Scrooge was. These were issues born of a raging inferiority complex, and one that would likely doom himself to an eternal position of second place. On the plus side, his flaws made the duck more entertaining to be around. He was that short angry guy nearly every successful squad seemed to have on the TV shows of his youth who was getting himself and his friends into some stupid mess nearly every other episode because he literally couldn’t control himself for more than ten minutes. Sure, he’d yet to reach “friend” status with Flintheart, but it was all part of the plan he’d first conceived on the night of Scrooge’s birthday. It was another waiting game which required him to have patience if he wanted to see it come to a successful fruition, but the idea of developing a tie between himself, Glomgold, and Ms. Beagle was a good one. He was confident that, if he could get Mr. Graves to start returning his phone calls they’d be the perfect quartet. But that would require him to spend more time around Glomgold first. So far the older man seemed content to ignore him in favor of Scrooge McDuck. It had been irritating to be ignored constantly but Mark Beaks was a master at rolling with life’s disappointments and he’d be banned from the internet before he let the old duck’s brush-offs get to him. But, the dawning realization hit him as he watched Shere Khan summon one of the many moles who were employed by the Billionaires club to fetch him the head representative of his legal team, who was currently waiting at the front gate to be permitted access to the exclusive club. If he were to become a judge, not only would his follower count skyrocket, it might give him the opportunity to get Glomgold alone, possibly developing, if not a friendship, then a camaraderie between the known enemies of Scrooge McDuck at least. But it was also important to read the obvious clues Khan was leaving that more or less stated in no uncertain clues that he expected to be given a pricey little nest egg in exchange for their participation and finely made one at that. Going by what he was witnessing with Glomgold, it seemed as if he was not satisfied with accepting monetary bribes alone, which left Mark in a bit of a pickle. What, beyond money, did he have that he could easily part from without much sacrifice on his part…that Shere Khan might actually want? He thought it through as he watched a smartly dressed…canine… of unknown species introduce himself as Tabaqui as he took out several sheets of paper that had very likely been printed on site. The neat rows of printed words were visible but not legible from his position across the room. Taking stock of the new occupant, Mark vaguely thought that there were times when he found it frustrating that it was considered offensive to ask what species someone was. This was one of those scenarios. For the life of him, he couldn’t tell what species the guy was supposed to be, it could be anything, really, from dog to jackal to dingo or even a hyena with really muted coloring(in which case he wasn’t a canine at all since the hyena breeds were a family class all there own), but he was letting himself get carried away. It really didn’t matter what species the guy was so long as he didn’t turn on Mark randomly and ask him what he was. Yup, it didn’t matter at all. He was totally going to Google it later just so he could have that question answered though. Even though it meant nothing. Glomgold, in a rare display of maturity, had actually picked up the sheets of paper and was reading through them in their entirety as he asked questions and had the language edited as he saw fit. They were at it long enough for another waiter to ask if anyone would like something to drink. Khan wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to the man but the lawyer was the only one to take the employee up on it and before long he was unlocking the wine cabinet and pouring something dark and purple into a glass. The canine(?) thanked him and the guy had returned to the counter to lock the cabinet again. He left the room shortly after, the note the tiger had given him still in hand, but it was enough to have the figurative ball start rolling in his head. B.U.D.D.Y. When he’d seen the notes and blueprints for the machine online, the user had mentioned the robot was useful in locating keys. His first batch of the models had proven to be a failure as the robot had shown itself to a temper that exceeded their actual size, but perhaps that could actually make them useful in this little contest Khan was throwing down. One of the most important skills an up and coming business owner needed was customer service skills. It paid to be seen as charismatic. The B.U.D.D.Y. robots would required delicate handling if the contestant was to avoid setting off the robot’s rebellious ‘KILL’ mode. Anticipating a high consumer demand, he’d had ten robots made. Following the trial run, they’d been scheduled to be decommissioned and scrapped for parts he’d use on any one of his other projects. However, if his robots got Khan’s attention, well, maybe they wouldn’t be considered quite the failure after all. Following the contest he could even have them sold as souvenirs from the show. Provided the customer signed a lengthy contract stating he and his company were in no way responsible for any damages that might occur following the sale. Mind decided, he approached the table where the three men were reaching the finalization of whatever it was they’d agreed upon Khan’s man noticed his presence. “Your witness, I presume?” The canine(?) asked with a rakish grin. Glomgold grunted a short unimpressed “He’ll do.” and before he knew it papers were being foisted on him by the lawyer as he translated the agreements between Khan and Glomgold from legalese into plain English, and a pen was being pressed squarely into his palm by the old duck, demanding that he sign the firms stating he had seen the deal between the two take place, that they’d both been of sound mind, and neither had threatened or otherwise coerced the other man into action. It had. It had been altogether too much. “Now, now.” Khan laughed amiably, watching the spectacle in amusement from his corner of the table. “I do believe you’ve frightened the poor chap.” Mark Beaks would have liked to have refuted it, and some part of his mind did object to what the tiger had said because it really wasn’t fear that he felt now. His mind was dissociating which was an entirely different than fear, but his mind had gone temporarily numb and he had frozen in place. But the tiger’s words did have the desirable effect of getting both men to stop talking, and more importantly cease touching him. So he could not bring it in him to despise the feline too much for his words. “As you both are aware,” Khan continued, a passive smile crossing his face. “A witness is not required in a contract such as this, however,” the last word was spoken over whatever Glomgold had tried to say. “I took the liberty of requesting the presence of notary.” Khan said shortly. “Ask the manager of this establishment to give the surveillance footage of this arrangement, and pass it to him, so that he might do his job properly.” Khan stood and Mark Beaks was suddenly made very aware of how very tall the predator was. “And Glomgold,” he said, smile as sharp as his teeth. “Do remember to pay the men.” The mallard left the room muttering darkly under his breath, and Mark was left staring after the two other men who were preparing to head after Flintheart as he wracked his brain for a way to say he still wanted in. Normally, he wouldn’t have had a problem volunteering himself for anything that was of interest to him. He’d just done it not too long ago. But he truly hated rejection, especially by people who were higher up on the corporate totem pole than himself. Nowadays that wasn’t as many people as it once was, but…Khan was among that rare clique of people he wanted to impress, and the tiger hadn’t even seemed to think his usefulness was even worth debating. That had been a royal burn to his ego, man. But the decision to say nothing wasn’t one he wanted to make either. If you wanted to be successful in life, you had to seize the opportunity wherever you might find it. Even if you failed it was better to have failed than to have done the task with anything less than a full set of tail feathers. So, when both men had gathered the papers and seemed set to leave. He stood up with them, and summoning all the confidence he could muster told them he still wanted to participate as well. Two sets of eyes locked on his as he explained what he thought he could bring to the table. He might have understated just how dangerous the B.U.D.D.Y.s could be, but otherwise he had stuck to the truth as he internally called out to a higher power than he that they realized how good he was, and how much they needed him to be on their little panel of judges.  The discussion went on longer than he’d like. It was always important to keep up a positive public image and the direction their conversation was going made it difficult for him. The fact that the robots were rather dangerous and uncontrollable when provoked did seem to be a sticking point for Shere Khan, “But,” Mark Beaks reasoned, “We can make both the parents and children themselves sign a release of liability form.” He shrugged carelessly. “It’s not like they’re going to be unaware of the danger and if they sign anyway they can’t sue.” But still Khan hesitated before he admitted for the children’s emotional well-being in addition to how it would affect the little one’s friends and family. The words themselves were practically an antithesis to everything he had thought about Khan and he might have been shocked by the admission if it hadn’t been spoken in a voice, dry as a desert, and so lacking in any sort of concern whatsoever, that he wasn’t actually concerned for the children for their own safety. No, he might as well have admitted that the only thing that mattered to him was how potential customers would feel and respond if a child was injured during a competition hosted by Khan Industries. Realizing that he was quickly losing his audience, and that he’d been correct when he’d theorized money, or at least not money alone would not be enough to get him in a seat on the panel of judges he’d gotten desperate, and kinda, maybe, sorta, well…. promised Gizmoduck would be there to halt and protect any Child from a rampaging B.U.D.D.Y. if the situation called for it. There’d been a frosty silence between the two of them after that announcement. Mark had desperately wanted to take back his words. Gizmoduck no longer obeyed and his commands so he was in no position to promise anything, and Shere Khan, well… ceiling cat alone knew what he was thinking, but Mark had heard some stories on the grapevine that Khan had an issue or two about people that had lied to and broken promises with the man in the past. The older businessman had request-no, that didn’t quite describe the way the words were said, commanded seemed a better fit, he produce said he’d need to produce said hero before they discussed the conversation any further, let alone have a contract drawn up for him to sign. He had been left spluttering after him as the Tiger and his lawyer left together, the former giving the later a respectful distance, head bowed submissively for the first time that evening, and leaving no room for doubt who called the shots in that relationship. After his business with the notary was finalized, Glomgold had returned to wait behind the door to see how the situation between Khan and Beaks resolved, and had been witness to the whole sordid affair. When Mark caught the elderly avian staring at him from behind the door, he’d tilted his head to the side, wondering why the other man was lurking in the shadows. It hadn’t been until Glomgold had pointed a figure at him and laughed like a loon that he realized the other was laughing at his miserable failure like it was a joke. Maybe it was, in a way. He’d tried to bribe someone using killer robots and had been surprised when it failed. He kept his shoulders squared and head held high, doing his best not to show anyone that Glomgold had gotten to him. The task was more difficult to do than he’d thought. The mallard had clearly returned to make fun of his misery and rub his beak in the fact that he’d gotten the contract and Beaks hadn’t. He wanted to get under Mark’s skin and he’d been more successful than he would ever realize the parrot thought took one final look at the other man mocking him, than taking out his camera and snapping a photo for his blog. It wasn’t everyday someone of their economic status willingly took time out of their schedules to check in on him, and, even if Glomgold had only been their to see him fall on his face, it was hard not to let the fact that the old man had viewed him to be worthy of so much of his time get to him. He’d felt cheerful enough that he almost forgot to be upset about Khan. If Mark had been half-hearted about the venture before, he’d definitely committed himself to the mission now. His anger wasn’t quite the result of having been rejected, although those feelings changed and stung at his pride. No, it was the way hed been rejected as if he, his resources, and his money had meant nothing to the old tiger. The man’s attitude had been what had stuck up inside his craw like nothing else. He hadn’t longed to be invited to join the Billionaire’s club only to be treated like a nobody once he’d finally been inducted. And honestly? He refused to put up with that attitude from anybody let alone some uppity feline with delusions of grandeur. He wanted to prove he could get the man on board, and this is why he’d broken the window latch on the second story of the Fenton household. He preferred to go about things legally but if the door was barred to him he had other ways of getting what he wanted. Fortunately he hadn’t needed to enter the room without permission as M'ma Cabrera was surprisingly welcoming once he expressed an interest in hiring her son to work with children in need. It hadn’t even been much of a lie. The children didn’t know it yet but they were in need of being terrorized by killer robots who would teach them proper customer relations. The self-styled ‘hero’ was currently working on something for Mr McDuck she’d said but he’d soon return home. In the meantime shed told him he was welcome to wait in the guest room which was across the hall from her sons room if he didn’t want to stay and watch soaps with her. He’d thanked her and made his way up, entering Fenton Crachshell’s bedroom to fix the lock he’d broken. He gave the place a curious once-over, finding nothing particularly out of place. Outside of a small shrine devoted to bandages and first aid supplies, it was a normal bedroom one would expect to see from a man of average financial means who still lived with his mother. Mark didn’t know if he should be disappointed or not. He shrugged and got to work, broken windows weren’t in the habit of repairing themselves. He frowned at it for moment looking at the information he had pulled up on the waddle phone and after making a quick call to his office, got to work. It wasn’t a difficult task, just not one he did often. He had just finished fixing the mechanism when he heard the front door open and a familiar male voice tiredly greet his mother. The volume on the television was lowered and the couch made a loud creaking noise as she presumably stood up to greeted her son in turn before the two began speaking in Spanish. Mark took that as a sign to beat a hasty exit and propelled himself into the guest bedroom as fast as his legs would allow. That proved to be a wise decision as he heard footsteps bounding loudly up the step and a wild-eyed Fenton appeared in the doorway looking harassed. Mark grinned and lifted his arm in a friendly wave. For his part the parrot looked as if he had been patiently waiting where Ms Cabrera had directed him, one leg folded over the other, the portrait of a relaxed guest that had every right to be where he was. Mark’s apparent ease within the environment seemed to have the opposite effect on Fenton, so he continued to smile amiably at him. It was fun when people were easy to provoke. Fenton was less than thrilled to see him. “You” the word was drawn out and filled with enough venom to kill a fully grown elephant. “Me.” he agreed pleasantly, waving off the former intern’s irritation like a tiresome fly. “Why did you come here?” Fenton growled darkly. Well somebody hatched the wrong nest of eggs this morning he thought, watching in bemusement as Fenton threw his arms up, looking for all the world like he wanted to rumble. Mark almost laughed, Perhaps when he wore the suit it looked a little more frightening, but at this moment he looked like a scrawny little nerd with fantastic cranial plumage. His face was the kind that looked friendly even when angry, he wondered if anyone had mentioned it to him but he doubted it. Otherwise, his face wouldn’t look so intent. Mark wondered if the reaction would be worth it if he was the one to break his heart by telling him. Probably not. “I don’t know what your game is but you’re not welcome in my home.” jeez the guy really was buying into his own hype. He really did sound like one of those Saturday morning cartoon heroes from the 80s. Mark was glad the duck wasn’t wearing the suit or it would have been more difficult to focus on what he actually wanted. “Game,” he repeated dropping his voice to a near purr, as he approached Fenton steadily catching his gaze. “I’m not the one who’s playing any games.” The answer was, of course true. At the moment anyway. If something like this had occurred during his childhood he’d have jumped at the opportunity with all that he was, but it hadn’t, and now he was jumping at the chance to have something lesser but still significant. His only response was a long-suffering sigh. “Hey, think all you want but out of the two of us, its Mr McDuck who comes the closest to gameplay right now, sport."Mark’s tone was light as he watched Fenton react to his words."What do you mean by that?” As if he were a small child, instinctually hesitant out of fear of adult reprimand. “Wait,"Mark said slowly , widening his eyes for dramatic effect. "Could it be that you don't know?” The last was spoken in a theatric stage whisper. Fenton looked puzzled. “M'ma said whatever this is had something to do with children?” Fenton said slowly, beginning to look frustrated. “Yes,” Mark agreed, then went for the kill. “Scrooge McDuck and Shere Khan are starting a contest and they'll be using my B.U.D.D.Y. robots to help teach them proper customer service skills.” “What!” The look of shock on his face was priceless. He had to resist the urge to take out his phone and take a selfie with him and Fenton’s face, but at the moment he was cleverly disguised as a concerned and compassionate adult. Somehow he didn’t think that would go with his act. “So you really didn’t know I–” they both startled in alarm when they heard knocking on the front door, and for one wild moment he worries that it was Scrooge, or Gyro, or even Khan on the other side of that door. Both men sat quietly as someone spoke to M'ma Cabrera and then left. The silence between them was heavy as her steps leisurely ambled up the stairs before the woman knocked on the door and her son got up to meet her in the doorway. The two had another brief conversation in Spanish, some of which Mark understood from linguistic osmosis to be thanking her for the papers she had passed to him, but the majority of what was said had been lost on him. The duck returned to his seat and passed the papers to him, which he immediately recognized as the legal documents he’d sent for prior to fixing Fenton’s window latch. “I believe this belongs to you.” Fenton’s voice was several shades colder than it had been and Mark was now holding the obvious culprit. Clearly the paperwork had reminded the duck of the train wreck that had been last time he was employed by Mark Beaks and the parrot cursed the lawyer internally for his less than optimal arrival. “It does.” He admitted slowly, as there was little else he could say. “Why, and no lies now or I’m kicking you out.” The duck said, pointing a finger threateningly in his face. “Did you really come here?” Mark thought for a moment, then changed tactics. He’d gotten this far, he was certain he could get the other bird on his side with a bit of prodding. “Lets call a truce.” He said offering his hand and rolling his eyes when the duck eyed it as if it were covered in some particularly disgusting infectious disease. “Truth is, i need your help, amigo.” The fact pained him but that wouldn’t stop it from being true, no matter what he may have thought. Fenton frowned “Why haven’t you gone to Doctor Gearloose instead?” Mark laughed. “You’ve worked for the man, I’m sure you know how well that would’ve worked out.” His voice adopted a drawl that was a very good take on Gyro’s, if he said so himself. “Oh, the disgrace to proper scientist’s everywhere needs my help.” He pretended to straighten Gearloose’s imaginary glasses. “Words fail to describe my amazement.” He settled once more on his normal voice. “And that's if he didn’t decide to have me thrown into a recycling unit and used as fertilizer for the landscapers.” Fenton laughed . “The Doctor wouldn’t do that,” he defended, but in a more teasing voice “Right now Mr Gearloose is being watched too closely by the board of directors, and I really can’t see them letting him get away with coldblooded murder.” Mark tugged absentmindedly on the nape of his neck. “You’re probably right.” He said in amusement. “Murder tends to be bad for long-term public policy.” Fenton fidgeted at that. “So you’ve never considered–” “–No.” Mark said, interrupting the sentence before it had been fully asked. He’d like their brief camaraderie before it had slipped away. He regretted its absence. “Doctor Gearloose would probably have more respect for you if you didn’t steal so many inventions from other people.” Fenton shrugged. “If you, y'know, acted like a ‘proper scientist’.” Mark was partially tempted to laugh in the other man’s face. Science as they knew it today had been built on people borrowing, stealing, and taking credit for the work of others, often doing utterly deplorable things to the original creators in the process. Mark had never done anything that would be especially awful to a rival, so as far as he was concerned he was actually one of the nicer guys out there. But he had a feeling that if he were to actually admit that he and 'the hero’ would be debating morality forever, so he chose to ignore the statement. “That's one way of looking at it.” He said instead. Fenton raised his eyebrows. 'Oh, and what do you think would get him to change his opinion on you?“ There was just a hint of challenge in his voice and Mark smiled in response. "I have money, Doctor.” He coaxed, pulling out his briefcase to reveal said currency, flaunting it before the other bird as he traced the edges in an almost seductive manner. “And I’m willing to finance a few of your pet projects if you help me settle a simple problem of my own.” He shrugged amicably, closing the briefcase. “You know the man better than me but I’m betting his view towards me would be improved, even if its only by a little.” Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera was left absolutely speechless. Mark chuckled softly at the hungry desperate look that had entered his eyes and twisted his mouth before he checked himself, and pretended that little slip hadn’t happened. But he couldn’t prevent his eyes from darting back to the briefcase like a pet denied its favorite snack. “Why did you bring that here.” Fenton frowned, clearly suspicious. “I need to borrow Gizmodu–” “–No.” Fenton didn’t even bat an eyelid before responding. “You didn’t even let me finish!” Mark protested, the former intern could not be allowed to prevent him access to his super robot self. “I am not here for you to use however you see fit!” The parrot blew air through his beak in frustration, he’d really made things needlessly complicated for himself when he tried to take on the mantle of Gizmoduck, hadn’t he? “Look, this isn't about me trying to take on your mantle again, okay?” Mark said, trying to sound reasonable and hoping like hell he was successful. “In fact, if you get a call requesting your help you can leave at any time, as long as you return when it’s over.” He sighed. “I just want to prevent a few dumb kids from breaking a few bones on live television.” Fenton paused then stared at him. “Run that by me again?” Mark hid a smile confidence returning. “Oh, just a reality show Scrooge and I are involved in.” He said before giving a brief description of what they were planning, fudging only a few specific details a centimeter or two. It was only with this duck’s help that he’d be part of the game. “And I’m going to be a judge!” He finished brightly, watching as Crackshell-Cabrera slowly absorbed the information he’d just divulged. “I… I wouldn’t have thought Mr. McDuck would be interested in starting such a thing.” Fenton admitted, looking more than a little lost. “Me neither!” Mark confessed. Neither Khan nor McDuck seemed like the type of man who would think of doing something like this, let alone act on it. But truthfully he didn’t know either of them well enough to make an accurate judgement call, and when he got down to the wire, he honestly didn't care as long as he somehow got in on it. “But getting back to the topic at hand, Scrooge might not be willing to call in the big guns for something like this, but I’m not him.” Mark grinned all relaxed smiles and casual grace. “I’m thinking of hiring you as Robot manager.” This got Fenton’s attention.“Would you need to make modifications on my armor?” Mark had to cover his mouth to prevent a string of giggles from escaping it. The memory of event, the lack of control, the pain, the humiliation, the fear…it was, well, frankly too soon to try it again. Maybe later he’d warm up to the idea again, but right now he had no desire to chance it and found it hilarious that someone would think he would. “No.” He said after finally settling down. “We both know you don’t trust me as far as you could throw me, and I"d rather avoid the looks, and well, everything else Gyro’s going to throw at me if i altered one of his precious specimens on live tv before a live audience.” Fenton snorted inelegantly and Mar smiled, each knowing the parrot would certainly need to watch his back if he ever tried it. Fenton cocked his head to the side, a small smile reaching his beak. “And i still get decently paid?” “Of course.” Mark assured him, as if even considering to do anything but that would be a crime befitting the worst of punishments.“Good.” He said and had begun reading the contract he had been given to sign. Unlike Glomgold he made no changes, edits or additions, but on some parts he would pause an ask for an explanation when he didn’t understand, listening intently while Mark patiently did his best to answer. This went on for about an hour and they were interrupted only once by M'ma when she insisted they eat something, declaring it was bad to do business on an empty stomach. Mark hadn’t complained. The food had been quite good. About thirty minutes later and Fenton, looking nervous but determined, said he could agree to the terms. Part of the arrangement included shifting Fenton into Gizmoduck and signing the contract while Mark recorded everything using his cell “Neato!” Mark exclaimed once it was all finish. “All that's left is to turn this into a lawyer and get you all nice and paid.” Fenton paused and gave the briefcase a significant stare. Reading the duck’s expression he laughed. “Nope, sorry to say it, but ” Mark said shaking his head. “That's all fake, my man.” Fenton stared at the parrot like he’d grown a second head.“Why do you have a briefcase full of fake money.” “Mugger bait.” Mark said with a shrug. “They think they’re stealing a small fortune, but I’ve got a tracker in this baby, so what they’ve really won a quick trip to the slammer.” He preened for a moment, expecting praise, but drooped slightly when none was forthcoming. “I mean, why would someone have a briefcase with actual money in it? Fenton shrugged looking terribly foolish all of a sudden. "I don’t know, i guess I’ve just seen enough movies that it didn’t seem so strange.” Mark laughed. “I’ve been there, buddy.” He gave the contract a once over, then stood up stretching for a moment before retrieving his briefcase. “If this all checks through, I’m going to be wiring the money into your account later tonight.” Fenton nodded for a moment before looking him straight in the eyes. “I like to think people are mostly good, and I want to believe the only reason you’re doing this is to help the children, so…” Fenton stopped, seemingly unable to provide the words for how he felt. “So, just don’t betray that trust, okay?” Mark smiled and gave him an easygoing salute. “You have my word.” He said, before finally taking his leave of the house. He would send a copy to Tabaqui’s office and he would finally get to arguing terms of his own contract  with Khan. If all went well he would be a judge. He could hardly wait.