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By Orion
June 5,

Debts owed created interesting situations. For Michael Welsh, debts owed meant information passed. He didn't work too closely with the 'a-team' in the tech pit. He was a night shift drone who often just got to sift through the day shift's left-overs. Tonight's escapades was definitely more interesting.

Mister Green would want to know. He glanced around quickly and typed a quick message on his phone.

[Welsh reporting. The Devil is caught along with a witch named Larson. Also identified his ex girlfriend, also a witch. May be an asset if Devil ever goes back into the streets. What other information can I provide?]

Covertly, he snapped a picture of Katarina being escorted into Jones' office and attached it to the text message.

He sent another message, sending Mister Green the department's file on the Devil, including his newly discovered identity.
Viridian Penthouse

He made it out. Couple others too. Good thing he had been wearing his civvies at the warehouse. A suit would have made it a bit more difficult to escape and blend in after MI5 had a tussle with who looked to be the Devil and someone else...

Tristan sat at the small table near the window, reading the latest reports from his emails when his phone buzzed. He narrowed his eyes at the report from his plant, the eyes inside the Agency and their latest attempt at cracking the wizarding world right open. Paranormal Division.

Larson?! What the hell...

He nearly ripped the glasses from his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Was he just seeing things? Was this bloody true?

[Identity of the Devil?
Are they keeping Larson in custody?
Send more info on the ex.
Keep me posted.
Good work.]

Tristan felt sick. Coraline...she hasn't been on his radar in years, not since he left for Boston. What the hell was she doing with the Devil?
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By Orion
When his phone vibrated, Welsh checked the message quickly, then grumbled. Still, obedience was rewarded, even if it meant sending redundant information.

[Devil is a marine and former agent of the department named Matthew Cox.
Larson and Cox are both being held in the department.
Ex is Katarina Bauer, witch and agent. She's been on a downward spiral since Cox broke up with her, possibly doing drugs, possibly mentally unstable.
Will keep you updated.]

Like, for example, on why he was hearing yelling coming from the director's office. Interesting. Welsh typed at his station, but his focus was on the woman who may find herself with a meeting from Green.
Tristan wasn't interested in anything else as he waited, impatiently, for his contact Welsh to respond. He had a pen in his hand, one he fetched from the flat of the table and began tapping it on the wood surface. He sat, cross-legged, slouched against the side of his chair as he beat a steady, anxious rhythm. Then his phone vibrated once more with a chime, and he dropped the writing utensil quickly, replacing it with the mobile device that had just came to life.

He received the file in his emails and a response soon after.

Matthew Cox... Marine...Devil...

"WHAT?!" He exclaimed. It took him a while to chew on that first bit. Both names common, and together, probably common still, but...what were the odds? Was this the same Matthew Cox from his company? Tristan felt his heart sink. He thought his brother was dead. They declared him dead a long time ago--that is, if it was indeed the same person. And he was the Devil of Judgment, to boot? This, the same vigilante scumbag who had been traipsing all over his plans with King for weeks?

Larson and Cox are both being held in the department.

Of all the things he had to put up with in the magical realm, maybe it was just time for Tristan to deal with ghosts. Larson was the next one on the list. Again, another fairly common surname, but things were coincidentally falling together and he started to feel sick. Could it be...Coraline? After all these years searching for her in his off-time, he finally had that name surface and it made the hairs on his arms and neck stand on end. If these two were indeed the people of his past, Tristan not only needed to see them at once, but he had a hundred questions swimming through his mind. The hows and whys, the wheres and whens...

Tristan reached for his drink, a nice tumbler of scotch, he pulled a heavy amount from it and set it down again.

The last part. The Agent, the ex-girlfriend's name Bauer was familiar, but he didn't know any Katarina. It'd take him a while to figure out just where he'd heard that name from, but that was simply because he needed to earmark this revelation for now. He would need time to wrap his mind around all of this, but he knew he had to come up with a plan.

[Over and out.] That was Tristan's way of saying thank you to his contact and that he would be in touch. There was too much to consider here, too much to flip through before more questions could be sent over to Welsh.

In a sudden fit of rage, Tristan grabbed his glass, and threw it at the opposite wall. How is this even possible!?
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By Maeve McLeod
Maeve snarled quietly as she mulled over the botched operation from earlier. That bloody Devil had shown up and fucked everything up, and he had a partner to boot. She hadn't recognized the Devil's scent, but there was clearly more than met the eye with that one; he wasn't just human, she was sure of it. And the woman that had been with him... Mae would've sworn she had recognized her scent from... somewhere. Damn, memory loss, she snarled again as she turned off the shower and toweled off.

Just in time to hear a -thudSMASH- from the main room of the flat she shared with Tristan. She dressed quickly in a pair of dark jeans and a tank, toweling her hair off still as she came out to check on Tristan.

"What happened?" the small redhead queried, scenting the air subtly. He was agitated and upset, but why?
He was breathing so hard, his chest was heaving. The red in his eyes was fading, the anger that ripped through him out of nowhere compelled him to lash out. Was he in some sort of twisted nightmare right now? Two of his oldest friends, risen from a grave of sorts, coming out of seemingly nowhere. Now they were the ones who'd completely ruined his plans, King's plans rather, and they were working together? It was a struggle, but Tristan slowed his breathing down, a lot closer to normal.

"Sorry if I disturbed you." He said back, flatly.

The voice seemed to help him stabilize. He'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone, too, which was strange since Maeve had been staying with him for some time. Tristan was just used to having the penthouse all to himself, it was still unusual to have another person in the house. A woman at that. He hadn't lived with anyone after his mother passed, and the only real roommates he had were those who bunked with him in the Royal Marines. This, however, was very different. A platonic, working relationship, to help her get back on her feet. That was it.

"Turns out there was more to the ambush than we thought. Informant inside just gave me some things I clearly wasn't ready for." He grumbled. "I'll get it." Tristan finally moved from his spot, heading into the kitchen to grab his sweeper and dustpan, as well as a towel to clean up the bit of scotch that was still left in the glass when he'd thrown it.
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By Maeve McLeod
The Garou's head cocked curiously as she studied the human. Anger, hurt, and was he... embarrassed at his outburst? Maeve let out a soft snort of amusement at the thought. If he thought his little tantrum was something to be embarrassed about, she hoped he never saw her in her Garou rage. 'That'd show him a tantrum,' she thought, stifling her grin.

"You didn't disturb me," she answered him in her oddly blended American and Scottish accent. "But clearly you're not alright. Talk?"

Her offer was genuine, for her colleague's sake, but she wouldn't be offended if he refused. Humans were weird when emotions were involved.
Tristan finished cleaning up the mess he’d made and tossed the broken bits of glass into the bin. He returned his tools before finally returning to his table near the window, but instead of sitting, he just stood, facing the beautiful overlook the penthouse had of the city. This city was home…but there was so much darkness here, both in the literal and figurative sense. Gloomy atmosphere and the melting pot of his other life, the realm of magical beings. Even as a wizard himself, Tristan couldn’t fathom this sudden unveiling of his past. While he didn’t think this was specifically being done to target him, personally, it was messing with his head.


That word annoyed him to high hell.

The former marine clasped his hands behind his back as he kept his blue-green eyes on the city, but his voice was loud enough it projected backward at his garou companion. “The Devil and his accomplice were the ones that ambushed our operation tonight. The paranormal division of MI:5, known as the Hounds were there tonight which means we’re either getting sloppy as hell in our work that anyone caught wind of what we’re doing—or maybe the intel is taking a slight detour before getting to point b from point a. Man inside’s going to keep me posted, but…” He trailed off, getting lost in a thought that perhaps, he shouldn’t have had.
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By Maeve McLeod
"But what? You think we have a mole?"

A rumbling growl rolled up from her chest, the harsh sound drastically out of place coming from the petite redhead. Maeve paced over to Tristan, looking up at the much taller man curiously.

"And no kidding, it was the Devil," she snorted again as if to clear a foul smell out of her nose, a very canine mannerism. Her head tilted slightly as a thought struck her.

"Do we have an ID on his partner? I would've sworn..." she trailed off with a frustrated sigh. It was times like this Mae regretted the mental recovery was much slower than the physical from her injuries.
"It's possible...The Devil is good but we had alluded him so far. Suddenly he interrupts a meeting with a partner? Something doesn't add up." Tristan replied to her query on a spy in their midst. They had a plant in the bureau so there was only a matter of time before someone else could have slipped through the cracks. It frustrated Tristan to hear that, simply because he and King worked so hard to keep things under tight wraps, vetting their people with rigorous questioning, with a fine toothed comb. "Now we just have to figure out where the leaks are coming from and fix it."

By any means, he meant. Tristan gave her a look when she seemed quite amused that the Devil was a part of this ambush. He was still perturbed that the man's identity was a man he hasn't seen in years, so the reaction there was a mix of confusion and frustration.

Tristan sighed, when she asked the inevitable question of his partner. Merlin, this made him sick. "Could have sworn, what?" He asked, curiously. He would forfeit the name as soon as she explained why she kept trailing off at the mention of the woman.
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By Maeve McLeod
The Garou shrugged in response to the look Tristan gave her. Clearly he was dancing around the issue of what was really on his mind, but without forcing him to talk there was most likely no way for her to get him to open up. When Tristan asked about her sudden pause in speech, Maeve let out another frustrated huff and sighed heavily.

"I would've sworn I recognized her scent. But I can't remember why or how I might've known her. And with the mask over her face, I have no reference to help piece it together," the redhead added on a growl.

It had been almost 8 months since Maeve had been with King's operation, or more accurately, since she had been rescued and King had given her a purpose. She had been found on the streets, bloody but unbowed as the saying went, mostly dead from silver poisoning and severe injuries from a fight with another Garou. King had taken her in and gotten her healing and paired her with his right hand, Tristan, but the memory loss and amnesia from the silver still plagued her, much to her annoyance.

She and Tristan had become friends or at least close colleagues, so the Garou was certain he could hear the frustration her lingering injury caused her at the moment.
Though unseen to his garou roommate, Tristan's eyes flickered briefly as Maeve explained that the scent on the accomplice of the Devil was familiar. Did she know Cora? Hell, he didn't even know if "Larson" meant Coraline, but he wouldn't mention his familiarity with the companion for now. His main focus needed to be on the Devil. Matthew Cox. Should he head out and find out for himself? Perhaps not, if they were in holding. MI:5 would have a field day if they got their hands on him. Not necessarily without solicitation; Tristan had a clean record when it came to his military background, and even if they caught wind of his magical heritage, the Hounds didn't have enough on him to book. He just wanted to get close enough to see Matt's face for himself, to confirm, but Welsh was going to be his eyes for now.

He crossed an arm over himself and propped the other elbow onto that, and brought his hand to his lips. He had a tendency to chew on his nails when he pondered, paced or contemplated some serious business and this skyrocketed to the top when he heard, or rather read, the names on the message from his informant. "Hm." He nodded slowly, those blue-green eyes of him looking over the city. He did feel rude not to turn and look at Maeve when he was speaking to her, but he was just so befuddled he didn't think to move beyond the stance he'd taken now.

"The Devil's in our sights now. Bastard." He cursed. Old brother or not, The Devil of Judgment had caused way too much trouble in the way of being a nuisance to King's empire, that he was still bitter about the vigilante's existence. "Doubt they're going to be released freely--doubt any of that. But I need to get one on one with him."
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By Maeve McLeod
Maeve's head cocked slightly at Tristan's brief hesitation at her words. His pulse skipped like he was... nervous? No, that made no sense. The small Garou shook her head slightly to clear it, letting out another soft canine snort. Tristan wouldn't keep information like that from her if he knew something about her mysterious past. He'd been the one trying to help her deal with the memory loss, after all; it made no sense for him not to be truthful with her if she was right about the woman's scent. She trusted him.

When he did speak again his agitation was clearer than ever, his body language alone made it obvious. Closing the distance between them, Maeve stood next to him in front of the window and nudged him with her shoulder, a small smirk on her lips.

"Quit worryin', Tris. You're gonna chew through those nails at this rate," she chuckled, the playful light in her emerald eyes hiding her own rage at the situation.

"Instead of runnin' about in mental circles, let's make a gameplan. You've got more scotch, right?" She grinned at him, showing the barest hint of fangs.
The nudge hardly moved the man who towered over the height of the garou, but he felt it nonetheless. It had snapped him out of his fixation, the daze that peered out over the city in a way he remembered his mother would do, father too, when deep in thought. Too much analysis going on in their headspaces to move or be disturbed, but the sweet aroma of her earthy, intoxicating natural scent filled his nose, a comforting and familiar one, that meant he was in good company. He lightly nudged her back, as he pulled his thumb from his teeth and breathed out a heavy sigh. He chuckled, a soft huff of air as he looked over at Maeve with a crooked smirk. "Surprised I haven't gnawed them off by now."

Tristan looked over to his collection of scotch, varying from mid-grade, store bought scotch, to the good stuff. Top shelf, Glen Livet, Red breast or other various ones he'd ordered and imported from around the globe. "What kinda question is that?" He chuckled, peeking at her through his eyelashes as he squinted, mischievously. Tristan gestured to take this over to the nearby couch, offering Maeve a seat before trotting over to the wet bar to pick up couple more rocks glasses. He poured a couple of glasses of the good stuff, threw in a few bits of ice into each glass, and then moved back to take a seat. He offered up the second glass to her, and sat back against the arm rest. "Alright, partner. Where to start?"

As a military man, Tristan was all for tactics and planning, but he was rather curious to see what Maeve thought. A starting point would be good, and to have her helping him on this, eased his nerves some.
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By Maeve McLeod
"Exactly why I stopped ya. I'd say they've about had it," she retorted to his comment about gnawing his nails off. The petite redhead chuckled and returned his crooked smirk with a playful grin as she took her preferred seat on the couch, nestled comfortably in the corner with her legs tucked under her.

She took the tumbler of scotch and sipped it appreciatively, letting out a sigh of pleasure after. The Garou huffed at his question on where to start, considering her tactics carefully.

"Well, we have a man inside Mi:5, yeah? Ya also said it's possible we have a mole. Considering the limited number of people who knew of our operation tonight, and the only common thread being Mi:5, I say we need to look a little closer at our informant there."
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