self_inflictedexhile | nysm / tvd } { if you will, please move in closer

nysm / tvd } { if you will, please move in closer

In another lifetime, Dylan Rhodes never existed. In another lifetime, he didn't need to, because Lionel Shrike never drown in the Hudson River, Dylan Rhodes stayed Jacob Shrike, and his life went in a very different direction.

At age fifteen, his father started teaching him the tricks of the trade: sleight of hand, how to build a rig, how to do a little bit of actual magic, despite the fact that probably wasn't something he should be sharing, just yet. Shortly after that, Jacob met a young Alma Dray, tagging along with her grandfather, a friend of his father's, stopping by to check up on him. They grew up together, life continued on, and Jacob eventually went to college for Theatre Design and Stagecraft. At twenty-two, just after graduation, Jacob was chosen to join the Eye, his test to help the LVPD clear the name of another magician, despite all the evidence in the world making him seem guilty as sin. There, Jacob met Michael Fuller, his partner a lifetime away, and the two became friends as they managed, despite all odds, to pull off what had been asked of Jacob by the Eye. He continued on into a career as a stage magician in the Eye, eventually married Alma, and continued to occasionally work with Fuller as a consultant, when time allowed.

Over the course of the next few decades, Jacob and Alma tried to have children and failed, and eventually adopted one Jack Wilder, age 10. Using Eye resources, he helped Merritt McKinney get a good lawyer and clear his name after his brother screwed him over. He followed the rising stars that were J. Daniel Atlas and Henley Reeves, and when they decided to call it quits, pulled the both of them back together, forcing Daniel to give Henley a more active role in the show. And eventually, yes, he called the four of them together, not for revenge but something similar, to get them into the Eye. And somewhere along the way, Jacob and Alma tried for children again, and this time managed, giving Jack a brother, Lio, Lionel, named after his grandfather.

Basically, this is the best possible timeline.

And now, it's just after dinner, Jacob off to his nightly rehearsal at 5Pointz, that his space, now, like his father before him. He takes a detour tonight, though, to grab a cup of coffee, beforehand, a little bit of magic pulled around him, to make himself not completely invisible, but at least a little less noticeable. Normally, he doesn't mind showing off or signing autographs, when a fan approaches, and fans do often approach, his notoriety somewhere up there with Penn and Teller, Seigfried and Roy, but -- not tonight. He's not feeling it tonight, a little tired for whatever reason, hence the coffee, so magic it is. And now he's sitting at a table, idly people-watching as he leans into his cup. Have at him, if you can still see him (or, maybe, in certain party's cases, sense him) despite his best efforts.

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"Last known address," Dylan answers, shifting a little to reach for his pocket. Rather than come up with his phone again, as one might expect, however, he pushes a napkin with an address written on it across the table, instead. "Nobody I talked to seemed to know if the guy was still there, but even if he's not, he might've left something behind we can use."

Josie takes the address and trades it for his food, that was sitting there waiting for him to eat. It's the caretaker in her - that plus it would be a waste of food. While he eats, she will search the address on her phone to see how far they have to go.

"Doesn't look like it's too far from here. We can probably make it on foot." And by on foot she means not needing to hop on the subway to get there.

"Yeah, it looked pretty close." Dylan may not have know where it was exactly, but he's lived in New York all his life. He probably narrowed it down to a neighborhood, as soon as his contact with the Eye gave him the address.

Either way, belatedly he murmurs a thanks as he takes his food, and then, after a handful of bites, he asks, "You thinking you wanna get into this tonight?"

It's probably better that they deal with it sooner rather than later, but either way, they're going to need to formulate a plan before they go charging in. Working out the timetable seems like the first step, particularly when he has a wife and kids at home who, unless he tells them otherwise, will be expecting him home tonight.

"I think we should at least check it out. See if they're still there."

But Josie is also aware of his wife and family, and she doesn't want to keep him away or put him in any unnecessary danger. She can handle this. Probably. Maybe.

"If you want, I can go and scope it out myself. Or I can call my friend back. She has family in the city who can back me up."

Marcel won't mind. Probably. If Josie actually calls him.

"Huh-uh," Dylan says immediately, making a face. "Like hell you're going on your own."

And yeah, okay, she mentioned having friends she could call, but no. No, he's not going to point her in the direction of her maybe-death and then not go along with her, family or not.

"I'll call my wife, let her know I'm gonna be late." He's already reaching for his phone.

Josie is very touched. Not that she doesn't think that she really could handle a little recon on her own. But she also appreciates the big dad energy. Especially when she happens to be missing her own dad.

"Okay. If you're sure."

"Yeah, I'm sure," he tells her, nodding seriously. His dad energy is the biggest. "Gimme a second."

And then he's turning sideways in the booth, trying to buy himself some privacy and not read as rude, both, as he calls home. He lets Alma know not to wait up (though, he knows she probably will, nevertheless), that something came up at work (yes, that work) that may keep him out all night, and that he loves her, then hangs up. The phone goes back into his pocket and he turns back to her and the remains of his fries.

"Alright, we're good." A beat. "I'm gonna need to sleep, sometime tonight, but ... " But now they have time to at least check out the apartment, if nothing else.

"I will definitely not keep you out all night."

If it comes down to that she will tag in Marcel. She finishes up her food, before resting her chin in her hand.

"But thank you, for being so willing to help even though I'm literally dropping a monster in your lap."

"I've had worse," Dylan promises her, gently. Whether or not that's actually true, he explains it away with a, "I've got a buddy who works for the FBI, in Vegas, and he's pulled me in to consult on some shit, before."

So, he's at least seen some terrible things, if not anything on this level. And again, even if he hadn't, he wouldn't be letting her deal with this on her own.

Either way, that said, he makes quick work of his dinner, in a hurry to get going now, then reaches for his wallet. He lays out a generous amount of cash -- more than the bill, more than a decent tip on top of it, even -- and then shifts in his seat, like he's debating getting up. He hesitates, though, if only because he doesn't want to rush her, if she's not ready.

"You good?" he asks, that in mind.

She nods slowly, because that's interesting news re: his FBI dealings in Vegas. She knows there are some witches out there, but they tend to be the covenless kind, who are just trying to do their own thing and survive.

"I'm good," she nods, popping her last fry into her mouth before sliding out and draping her backpack over one shoulder. "Ready when you are."

It started as an Eye thing, him teaming up with Fuller to keep a good magician, a good man for being framed for murder. It's become more than that over time, to the point where, at this point, Mike knows some of his bigger secrets. He's a good guy, and together, they fight crime.

It's also a moot point at the moment, as they have bigger fish to fry, and so he gets to his feet finally, in earnest. "Alright." He pauses, gesturing to the door. "You still got those directions pulled up?"

"Yep."

She brings up her phone and one of her earbuds, placing half of them in her ear so that she can keep track of the directions as they walk. He's right in the sense that the aren't far. It's a couple cross streets and quick turns before they come up on an apartment building and the Google Assitant sounds with a "You've reached your destination" in her ear.

"This is it."

Dylan looks up at the brownstone they've stopped in front of, frowning. After a beat, he turns his attentions back to Josie.

"How do you wanna do this?"

They can knock, though it doesn't look like anyone's home, as far as he can tell, and even if there was -- well, that might not be the best idea, if they have a grudge. They could try to break it, mundanely or magically, though their guy might have anticipated that -- there might be traps. They could take a minute to try and come up with something completely different. It's up to her. She's the monster hunter, not him.

"Well. We could do it the nice way or the not-so-nice way."

It does look like no one's home, but at the same time, it could be that they're home, they're just currently a pile of goop.

"We could knock and wait and see if someone answers and hopefully won't have to force our way inside, or I could siphon the wards, we pick the lock on the door and hope there aren't any other surprises."

He looks up at the building, again, then back to her. "Start with the nice way, and see what happens?"

It can't hurt to at least try to be civil, before they start pulling down wards and breaking in. And if the guy's still alive, maybe he'll help them clean up the mess he's made, if they start with honey rather than vinegar. The lose nothing in trying.

"Nice way it is."

And it's generally the one she prefers, if given the opportunity. Shifting her bag on her shoulder, she slowly opens the gate and starts to make her way through. There aren't any specific wards on the walkway itself, likely so that they didn't explode any unfortunate deliverymen, but she can feel the magic coating the front door as they approach.

She takes a deep breath, before reaching over to knock. "Here goes nothing."

Outwardly, nothing happens -- there's no answer, no movement or sound from the house, period. Magically, on the other hand, there's definitely some kind of reaction, though Dylan can't put his finger on what, exactly. All he knows is that all at once, the hair on the back of his neck stands up and he can't shake the feeling he's being watched.

He tenses, that in mind, and from the corner of his mouth, mutters, "You feel that?"

She must.

At least they're not actively on fire, for their troubles?

"Mmmm-hmmm."

Yep, she's very aware. She reaches over, letting her hand rest casually against one of the warded door frames, just in case, but she doesn't start siphoning yet.

"What did you say this guy's name was?"

"Brenks," Dylan answers, dutifully. "Damien Brenks."

After a pause, and mostly because he's not sure why she's asking or how much information she might need to answer whatever the question, here, actually is, he adds, "Originally from Chicago, but he ended up here after pissing off one of his apprentices, or whatever."

The fine details are beyond him, for all that his information came down through the grapevine.

"Okay."

Josie reaches out and knocks on the door again, giving it another friendly knock.

"Mr. Brenks? My name's Josette Saltzman. I was hoping we could talk."

She doesn't normally go by Josette, but Josette Laughlin was her mother's name. She's also a Gemini Twin so if this guy cares anything about magical bloodlines, then maybe that might earn them at least a step in the door before things get nasty.

For several seconds, there's no response, then all at once and at her ear, "Leave the little bird on your shoulder outside. Then we'll talk."

It's magic, his message, of course it is, and apparently meant for just her, as Dylan doesn't react. Either way, while it's unclear whether or not he knows who Josie is, he obviously knows who Dylan is, and isn't impressed.

She notices that. She eyes the wards for a moment, wondering if it's worth it to negotiate with theoretical magical terrorists, but she decides that they're still doing it the nice way. She might as well give it a try.

"He says he'll only talk to me," she says. "He wants you to stay out here."

She turns to face him more. Since she's unsure of where the camera is, she can't say for sure that it will block much but she intends to keep the conversation between her and Dylan.

"Do you trust me?" Might seem like a strange thing to ask, but this is his city and his coven at risk. She wants to know for sure.

Dylan shoots a dirty look at the door, the look on his face clear, for once -- one of disbelief and maybe a little anger. Like hell he's going to let her walk into whatever shit's going on in there without back up. His jaw works, too, like he plans on telling her as much, and then she's in front of him.

He turns his attention and his protests on her, instead. "You're not seriously thinking of doing this."

"It'll be easier to take this thing down with him than without him."

And they do need something of his, after all, to take out the monster without him. Someone is going to have to go in that house to get it - better the person invited in than trying to break in and steal later. And she's also banking on Damien not knowing much about her to begin with.

Or what he will find might make him think they're on the same side.

"I'm not part of the Eye. I'm an outsider, like him. I stand a better shot."

Dylan studies her for a long moment before, on a breath out, he takes a step back and waves her on. "Alright, fine." A beat. "But if you're not back in, say, fifteen minutes, I'll deal with the wards and shit, myself."

It's not that he doesn't trust her. It's that he doesn't trust Brenks.

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