[ In the time Peter spends living in the Griffonix, he saves a few more Talented girls – and maybe it’s the gravity of it all, or maybe it’s knowing there’s another life on the line aside from his own, or maybe it’s just that he doesn’t want to let Madigan down, but whatever it is, he seems to actually improve at it. He’s more careful. He’s quieter. He sneaks in and out like a ghost. When it can’t be helped, though, and the girl ends up having a hefty security detail, the help of Griff’s feather, tucked securely away in his pocket, keeps him safe and unharmed.
And with the help of Madigan’s connections, he starts taking up the odd job every now and again, other contracts – generally more legitimate work than the stuff he was getting back with York and his merry men, which means a slightly lower payout, but it keeps Peter busy, makes him feel like he’s actually doing shit.
He helps out around the club when he can, too, doing some heavy lifting – literally – and standing in the corner, looking intimidating during the late night rush during business hours. Not that Peter’s presence is necessary, considering the Griffonix’s wards and enchantments are designed to prevent any violence, but having some muscle scowl from the shadows adds an extra deterrent. That, and he kind of likes keeping an eye on the club. A lot of the employees here have become his friends – and a couple of them were women he personally fished out of their shitty situations – so he feels an obligation to watch out for them.
It helps, too, that playing bouncer means he gets to hang around Madigan. Which, you know. Is nice. He likes talking to her. He, uh. Likes being around her. But, you know, that’s only because she’s so easy to talk to and so fun to be around, in general. She’s— she’s become a pretty good friend, and he can’t even remember the last time he’s had one of those. (Probably not since he was a child. How fucking sad is that?)
So things are… surprisingly good. Much better than he could have imagined for himself even half a year ago.
And then, like flipping a switch, things are not good. In retrospect, it was bound to happen sooner or later.
The Griffonix boasts a varied clientele. For the most part, its customers tend to come from money. Powerful people with loaded wallets and designer suits and an itches in dire need of scratching. Sometimes, though, customers tend to come in the form of people giving themselves a rare treat.
And sometimes, they’re a handful of mercenaries, splurging as a reward for themselves after a successful job, drunk on cheap vodka and shouting and barking with laughter as they wander into the room, just a couple of hours shy of closing time. And sometimes, they wear remarkably familiar red leather jackets adorned with flame emblems. And sometimes, as he’s patrolling the club, they lock eyes with a certain disgraced, runaway thief, and all of them freeze where they stand.
The air disappears from the room. One second passes. Then two. Then—
—they charge forward. Someone should probably remind them of the no violence rule. ]
marvin gaye plays softly in the distance
And with the help of Madigan’s connections, he starts taking up the odd job every now and again, other contracts – generally more legitimate work than the stuff he was getting back with York and his merry men, which means a slightly lower payout, but it keeps Peter busy, makes him feel like he’s actually doing shit.
He helps out around the club when he can, too, doing some heavy lifting – literally – and standing in the corner, looking intimidating during the late night rush during business hours. Not that Peter’s presence is necessary, considering the Griffonix’s wards and enchantments are designed to prevent any violence, but having some muscle scowl from the shadows adds an extra deterrent. That, and he kind of likes keeping an eye on the club. A lot of the employees here have become his friends – and a couple of them were women he personally fished out of their shitty situations – so he feels an obligation to watch out for them.
It helps, too, that playing bouncer means he gets to hang around Madigan. Which, you know. Is nice. He likes talking to her. He, uh. Likes being around her. But, you know, that’s only because she’s so easy to talk to and so fun to be around, in general. She’s— she’s become a pretty good friend, and he can’t even remember the last time he’s had one of those. (Probably not since he was a child. How fucking sad is that?)
So things are… surprisingly good. Much better than he could have imagined for himself even half a year ago.
And then, like flipping a switch, things are not good. In retrospect, it was bound to happen sooner or later.
The Griffonix boasts a varied clientele. For the most part, its customers tend to come from money. Powerful people with loaded wallets and designer suits and an itches in dire need of scratching. Sometimes, though, customers tend to come in the form of people giving themselves a rare treat.
And sometimes, they’re a handful of mercenaries, splurging as a reward for themselves after a successful job, drunk on cheap vodka and shouting and barking with laughter as they wander into the room, just a couple of hours shy of closing time. And sometimes, they wear remarkably familiar red leather jackets adorned with flame emblems. And sometimes, as he’s patrolling the club, they lock eyes with a certain disgraced, runaway thief, and all of them freeze where they stand.
The air disappears from the room. One second passes. Then two. Then—
—they charge forward. Someone should probably remind them of the no violence rule. ]