this is redemption {open}

[renee alice ballard.]

Months of preparation all led to this; Renee Ballard looked on her new home, and saw nothing but a sinister promise staring back at her. A teenage runaway with her history locked away, stuck here because turning her back on her family's passing was just unacceptable.

Blue-gray eyes fastened on the people as they passed her, occasionally pushing heavy dark blond curls away from her face. She really had to rethink the color- she'd been a dark copper for quite awhile, but switched back to blond when she arrived in town- was it too noticeable? She had been so pleased with it a few weeks ago...
Nothing about her really seemed as though it would prompt someone to follow her, but she wanted to be on the safe side. Up until now all of her efforts had worked toward much needed practice to be put to use when she found herself out of the frying pan and into the fire. The further one delved into Ashford, the closer to danger they found themselves.

The girl sucked in a deep breath, folding up the books she had been studying on the bench. Loose papers were tucked away into folders, and all tightly bound together before being slid into her bag. None of her clothing really stood out, but it all appeared to be brand new, from the sky blue blouse to the black hightops and the charcoal gray jacket she hung over one arm. Folding up the newspaper that had been sitting beneath her mountain of papers, she studied the front page for a moment, eyes scanning the little red marks she had covered it with when she'd circled anything important. She had a system, but to anyone else they were just illegible marks in the margins and words underlined that meant nothing out of context. To her, they were a place to start looking.

Stuffing it into her bag with the rest of her work, she pulled a small cellphone from her pocket. It looked new as well, one of the solid flip kinds with hardly a scratch on it. A little reminder was flashing silently on the screen as she opened it, telling her she had only an hour left before her shift. It was a little discouraging that after only a few weeks of waitressing at the casino she had not managed to find many likable aspects of it- she wished she had more time for her research instead- but it wasn't her first gig. The pay was enough to live by even after she had put down her first deposit for an apartment, and there was nothing left to spend it on other than essentials. Besides, she'd been working in catering before, and it wasn't much of a stretch to get her act together to take orders. It was also the perfect excuse to listen to the news that came and went in town via the customers- it gave her an edge she hadn't anticipated in studying this place.

Getting to her feet, the young woman zipped up her bag and swung it over one shoulder, noting the slowly dwindling foot traffic as the sun sank lower in the sky. She ought to go home and drop off her things before work, but then it would be a rush across town. She already had her uniform bundled beneath her folders...
With a nod she started off down the path rather quickly, glancing back to the bench just out of habit to check that nothing had been left behind. She rarely encountered trouble when it came to gathering information, but was paranoid about attracting the wrong sort of attention. It was why she had taken the opportunity at each town she briefly stayed in to change her story, and even her look- it was practice all the same, even if unnecessary at the time. Now the game was in full swing, and though there was no sudden surge in suspicion coming her way, she liked it better to be safe than to be sorry.

{First post. Nothing really special, but anyone is welcome to join. D:}

[Bane Evrette Victoir.]

It didn't seem to phase him at all on the outside, but on the inside, he hated this scene. Casinos weren't really his thing at all, yet it was the only way to find work in this dismal town. He sighed, tilted his spiked blonde hair back and took a long puff of his Black and Mild cigar before blowing the tobacco contents out through his nose. For a second, for giggles, he thought of using smoke tricks to attract any attention near by, but decided against it. The one other thing he hated besides large crowds of people, is unnecessary attention. He heaved a large sigh as his eyes drifted from one table to the next, heightening his keen senses in order to find out what conversations were most interesting to eavesdrop on. The usual, he found, was constant anywhere he went. At the local bar, there were the occasional depressed drinkers who often complained about their job or home lives so much that the concept of abhorrent amounts of alcohol could ease away the pain ever so slightly, while the hedonistic "pig bellied" drinkers were laughing their arses off at the depressed drinker's misery.

Then there was the "skulker", the gent who sits at the bar looking for scantily clad women to arouse and awake their wildest dreams. Sleazy men like these often traveled with a buddy to help them "land a babe" just in time for the happy hour, where they would splurge on booze for girls who wouldn't normally give them the time of day. Their conversation consisted of distasteful comments about the waitresses and women they saw at the other local pubs there. He switched over to the gambling tables, where he constantly heard the clattering of dice, or the smack of cards hitting the betting table and the groans and exclamations of people that either won or lost. Gamblers often complained about how unlucky they fare at the roulette or blackjack, then complain about their mortgages falling through and have the audacity to demand to know why. Nothing was useful at the various tables around him, and the waitresses and waiters didn't carry an interesting scent or lead anywhere.

There were plenty of werewolves there, he could smell them distinctly. Luckily, they couldn't do the same. Masking himself with the tobacco products seemed useful here, but then again, he really didn't need it. The musk of expensive perfume seemed to hide him pretty well. He took a large huff, and smelled various entities, Human, Ortega, Krosa, smelled the steel of hunters, the special brand of silver manufactured by select people, he even smelled the essence of gun resin and smoke from uncleaned barrels. It wasn't that strange, however it didn't seem that specific enough to delve into. What he needed, currently, was a lead to something. A lead to mask his true intentions, a sure start to getting to where he needed to go; straight to the top. He didn't specifically know where his job was going to take him, he just knew he had to find a major start, and what better, than a minor army of werewolves that could be used as a rung to the big shots? He wanted nothing more than to accept the job for nothing, but he did have standards, and a price, the only thing he didn't have was a goddamned lead. So he waited, he sat and waited in his booth while catching the glares, smiles, and various smirks of women and gamblers everywhere.

Finally, he had enough boredom. He looked around at all the busy waitresses and waiters, and proceeded to bang on the table.

"So, what does a guy have to do around here to get a damn drink?"

[renee alice ballard.]

As it turned out, there was enough time to dash home and deposit her things- lucky, too, since leaving it in the wrong place in the casino would likely unravel all of her hard work. At the very least she was paranoid enough to think so. There was something so reassuring about carefully pulling out her folders and slipping them into their hiding spot beneath the bed in her tiny apartment. She didn't put it beyond her employers to search her things at work if they saw fit. Having gone all the way across town had its drawbacks- now she had less than half an hour to get to work, change, and be out on the floor. At this point she was still working hard to make a good impression- arriving late could cost her a pretty decent job when it came to research. In all other aspects it was a complete joke; the outfit, the hours, and the way people stared over their drinks were not at all to her taste- but it was just best if she gritted her teeth and got it over with. With a final glance around her essentially bare room, she headed for the door.

~~~

Renee bustled in one of the back entrances, pulling up her heavy hair into a tight bun atop her head while she cracked the door open with a foot, a key card hanging from a lanyard around her neck. Stepping into the dingy hallway behind the scenes, the heavy clunk of the door shutting behind her was like some kind of death sentence. Well, that was a bit dramatic, but a long night shift made her feel like the walking dead whenever she eventually got a break anyway, so she allowed herself a little self-pity.

Jogging down the windowless hall to the staff lockers, she dodged past open janitorial doors until she remembered to backtrack to another crossing hall- three weeks in and she was starting to remember her way around. The locker room was much more inviting, more like the friendly atmosphere offered to guests in the upper floors, but whatever company she found down there was never particularly friendly. There were a few girls about to switch shifts and head to the casino floor, and still more packing away their things in preparation for the night off. With a sigh, she opened her own locker, tossed her bag in and pulled out her uniform. By the end of the night she'd smell like smoke and greasy food all over again.

Mounting the stairs, crossing a hallway here and there, she arrived at the kitchens, picked up her set of tables, and set off. Just before pushing through the swinging entry doors, she unbuttoned the top of her shirt just a little, adjusting it to the casino standard. She'd been a waitress part time before coming to Ashford, but that didn't mean she liked the flashy way she had to act here. She was ordinarily fairly quiet and reserved, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

Deep breath. Big smile. Go for it.

Armed with her pad of paper and a pen, Renee entered the dim dining area, the gamblers beyond reduced to blurry flashing lights and distant voices. The bar stretched along her right, but she was lucky enough to not have to be back there tonight- she was an absolute catastrophe when it came to mixing drinks, even the easy ones. Weaving between tables and around booths, she headed for her section, ignoring the appraising glances. Her lips were plumped with vibrant red lipstick, her eyes brightened with liner and mascara; She didn't want to be accused of not playing the part, and with that came an absent smile as she approached the first two tables to get orders. There were small groups, just couples and such, but as she turned her back to move toward the kitchen again, there was a loud thump, instantly making her think that someone had knocked something off their table. But as she spun around, heart pounding, ready to apologize, she heard the man's question.

Not wishing to test his patience, she walked on over, jutting out her hip with a forced grin.
"Sorry sir, I didn't see you there. What can I get for you?" She could remember how when she'd first started here her voice had trembled whenever she took an order, dreading getting something wrong, being yelled at by the customer, anything. But Renee Ballard wasn't meant to be timid. Nobody wanted to spill their story to the meek waitress who hung back and didn't say a word, and the more absent-minded and ditzy she appeared, the better. Nobody cared about the dumb blond listening nearby, she thought bitterly, although she had to admit that this persona had its benefits.

[Bane Evrette Victoir.]

He took a long and drawn stare into the woman's eyes. The profiling began immediately. He swore he wouldn't do it to a human, much less, one that poses no kind of threat whatsoever to him, but his mind wanted otherwise.

She was slender in figure, but didn't do much. She didn't have to, she walked everywhere she went, common in this town but for a lady her age, she should have a vehicle at least. As for her line of work, he surmised from this, that she lived in an apartment, but chose to have the bare necessities. Nothing wrong with that, considering it'd be contradictory to have talked about her living quarters while his flat had nothing but two chairs, a glass table and many rare trinkets that he could twiddle with for hours upon hours on end. She was quaint, but judging from her voice, he knew this to be true. The cocked hand also sent a flare in his mind: She must really need this job...

The blue-gray eyes he stared into stared back at his green iris' with confidence, the kind of confidence a hunter brings out when he or she underestimates his or her prey. He liked that about her, but what really surprised him was that she had no other fears in her besides the fear of being hit on or publicly scolded. This perplexed him for a while, but he shook it off. It was information he wanted, not a drink, although a drink would help his rising anticipation and null his headache for a while.

He put his hand over his chin and stroked his scruff slightly, noticing the bright red lipstick and the haughty demeanor arising from her voice. He analyzed her. He analyzed every last aspect of her, but didn't know how to proceed. How do you get information from someone who seems to know or care for little in this town much less for a personal agenda?

Simple. Poke et Prod

He arose, walking slowly toward her, and with the hustle of the crowd in the casino, no one was sure to notice much.

Perfect.

He softly touched her cheek with his own, the scruff giving way to her supple skin and began to whisper only a short sentence, his voice, light and cool as the midnight air, about as gentle as the coo of a dove.

"You might do well with humanity, if you did not abide by their prefixes. Be the contrast among the dull, but be firm as if you had to be. I'd rather a woman of intense knowledge, than one whom resembles the vapidity of a cathedral, you'll get around better and all the answers to any question, if you do so." he uttered, still leaving his voice at a very audible decibel.

He placed a pewter pen in the slot that was wide enough to show a great deal of cleavage in her dress shirt and smiled.

"I'll actually have a Rum and Coke, with a mint, please, you can bring yourself anything you'd desire on me. I'll be here, probably for as long as you will, maybe even later."

He stepped back again as if nothing had happened, smiled, then found his way back into his chair, one leg propped onto an adjacent chair. He smiled still, and turned his gaze off into the flashing lights, the racket, and still awaited the girls resonant voice, for it was the only one he could probably stomach at this point.

[renee alice ballard.]

Renee's thoughts were much less focused than the man in front of her- head tilted slightly, she stared back without quite seeing him, blandly awaiting an answer. It was only when she received no immediate reply that she straightened a little, lips pursing, some spark of interest returning to her gaze.

The young woman's brows rose, eyes narrowing slightly. The intensity with which he looked at her...it was slightly disturbing, in a way she couldn't quite place. Shifting to the other foot, she watched as he briefly touched his face, then seemed to come to a decision. As he rose she automatically crossed her arms, pen and paper still clutched in one hand; she should have been annoyed that he didn't seem to want to order anything after all, but her feet felt rooted to the spot, and she finally figured out what was bothering her. It was the complete clarity she saw in his face. Here was one man that wasn't staring because he was too far gone into a drink to care if it was rude- it felt a lot like being openly provoked.

She took a slight step to the side as he walked toward her, and paused, half-turned, apparently in anticipation of watching him walk past so she could roll her eyes and move on with her night. But the man drew nearer. Confusion flickered across her face mere seconds before he leaned in and spoke into her ear, so close that she felt stubble brush her cheek. Her instant reaction was to flinch away from the contact, but she felt oddly frozen. About to take a deep breath, she thought better of it at the last moment- she didn't want to find out how he smelled this close.

Tied down with a combination of bewilderment, fascination and more than a little dread, she didn't move away more than a few inches. A moment of his breath on her neck snapped her out of it and she resolved to listen to his surprisingly gentle voice. The woman's expression turned stony the longer she listened; her mind immediately jumped to the conclusion that he was trying to hit on her, but there was a strange, sinister edge to what he had said. Not a threat, exactly, but...

A shiver ran down her spine as he leaned away again, and she blinked rapidly, feeling as though something was closing in on her. He knew of information she needed. Or was pretending to know. Either one was not a happy thought, and while she couldn't tell if she was being teased or not by a complete stranger, even the possibility that someone knew more than they ought to about her was a cause for alarm.

Then he slid the pen into her shirt. Renee instantly stepped away with a very unattractive choking noise, looking affronted as she fished it back out. With all of the commotion going on around them, nobody seemed to have noticed anything amiss as the man wandered back to his seat, ordering a drink with a smile. Regarding him coldly, she jutted her chin, suppressing an irritable retort that probably would not have made sense anyway.
"Excuse me, I'll be right back with your drink." Her voice was surprisingly calm, though she felt entitled to tacking on a nasty smirk at the end as she turned away. It was her best defense at the moment, rather than allowing herself to look rattled.

~~~

It didn't take nearly as long at the bar to retrieve the drink as she had hoped. After quickly questioning the bartender about 'that weird guy at the table over there, yes, that one' and receiving only a shrug in return, she spent a few more seconds dawdling. The dirt she'd dug up so far was interesting to say the least (though perhaps only to her), and allowed her to follow patterns of oddities surrounding the town, but she didn't think it warranted punishment- if he was here to dole it out, at the very least she couldn't see how she could be hurt in the middle of a casino. The more she found out, the better, but she was rather reluctant to go back and engage the man. He was either wasting her time by playing off of assumed fears, or he was genuinely helpful, if a little off in one way or another.

Walking agonizingly slowly back to his table, Renee carried the single drink upon a tray, fixing her expression back into one of relaxed maturity- she was not going to be pushed around by a stranger, she was not a child. She would go about this delicately, glean what information she had to, and be done with it. Part of her was still hoping that the man was only harassing her because he was bored, though it could only be a small comfort.

Placing his drink in front of him, Renee tucked the tray under one arm, gazing stonily at him with what she imagined to be cool impatience once more, refusing to sit.
"Was there anything else you needed?" She asked curtly. Her voice had been under great debate in her head these past weeks. She could muster up a decent English accent if she needed to, but it was easier to just speak as herself. There just had to be an established community in the town, and the introduction of a stranger was bound to raise questions anyway- there was no point going that far in hiding who she was, if it meant it was just another element she could mess up.

Glancing around to see if she had yet attracted the wrath of her supervisor, the young woman bent slightly, ready to negotiate.
"Other than calling me stupid," She gave a hard smile, voice lowered seriously, trying to make it evident that she was not going to tolerate this any longer than she had to. "Did you have another reason for bothering me?" It was certainly not the right way to speak to a customer, and felt very much on the verge of becoming an interrogation, but as no one else seemed to be paying any attention, she felt bound to gather as much as she could from the experience, no matter how uncomfortable.

{Sorry if it kinda sucks, I'm not sure why I'm writing this in the middle of the night, it got away from me a little bit. |D}

[Bane Evrette Victoir.]

He noticed her flare, her change in how she walked, how she spoke. It appealed to him even more now.

The game had began.

He outstretched his hand to the glass slightly, taking in the aroma of what he hated most. In all truth, he was never a drinker, but to ask for something that did not include alcohol in it would have been presumably strange, even more strange than how he had approached her initially. He noticed that she was on the defensive, but he didn't notice anything else. She was indeed human, but she didn't have a raise of suspicion at all. Either that, or she was leading him to believe that she honestly didn't know what he was, or would even be phased at all by the mere notion that he could be something more. Something...different.

He took the glass and looked at the woman with slight disappointment as she lowered her voice and spoke to him. She had gotten his approach in a different way than he expected. Nonetheless, he smiled and curtly nodded.

"That's more like it. Besides which, I never implied that you were stupid, love, I merely implied that you need not hide yourself, if you want people to trust you with what they want." he smirked slightly, then setting the glass on the table in front of him, he slid it towards her.

He peered backward behind her, waiting for the woman's manager to peer over at him. He assured things would go as planned, so he gave another nod to the manager, whom did indeed peer over at him. He surmised this much: Waitresses at high end places often got the best information, whether they remember it off hand or not, they are key storage units among other things. He had been here before, on occasion, as a drifter. Waitresses got more information the longer they stayed, came, and went, simply because they had the most freedom and simultaneously, the least. Each was bound to a set of tables, in which they'd have to come back to sooner or later, and at times, not even drug cartel knew that the waitresses were potential witnesses for their dirty work. either that, or they knew and just didn't care. This man did care.

He leaned toward her and nudged the chair across from him out and ushered her to sit.

"Yes, I would like something else, if you don't mind me asking. See, I've arranged for your manager here to give me some time to speak to you. Please, do not look back at where your manager is, for I've stated as much and the least you could do is trust what I've stated. Now, don't get your designer skirt in a knot, but I didn't choose you, fate did. You are the one that got my table, and so, you'll be the one I'll ask the questions to. You're an intelligent woman, I know, because you've had the proper sense to wonder who I was, and why I acted as I did. Don't ask me how, I just know. That's one of my job descriptions, you know, to find things out, to analyze and understand, to interpret, to unveil, and see the reason why I'm here tonight, is to do just that."

He continued, taking the complimentary glass of water from the table over from an apparently passed-out patron. He sipped and placed the glass down gently, and thereby continued.

"You, among others, know more than you should. You're quiet, introverted, and mainly keep to yourself. How do I know this? You display it is all, which isn't a bad thing. No one knows what they do and think it always goes unnoticed. What I want you to do, simply, is to tell me what you know about this place. About these Englishmen and their trifles and activities, because come on, who couldn't be interested in knowing the ins and outs of this society, hmm?"

His voice was still soft, a coo heard only by this woman, and this woman alone. It was true, he did not pick her, but he had the fortune of getting her, as more often than not, only seldom waitresses actually listen in on these conversations. Some to get profit, others to gain territory if they need to, and others for insurance. He wanted to know, and for several nights after one hint, he wanted to know it all. Curiosity did indeed peak for this one.

He stared into her eyes, not with content, but with slight plea and wonder, as his glowed brightly. The blue-gray tint enticed him more so than the information that she could or could not possess, but he didn't care about that so much as following his primary objective.

"I'll tell you what, if you help me, I'll owe you a favor. Now, obviously you don't trust me, and I know you'd think 'why would I want anything from you?', but trust me on this: I have nothing that I want from you but this one step, this simple step in the right direction, and I will pay you dearly for your troubles, not in coin. but in deed. I am indeed, a man of honor, which doesn't appear to be prevalent here, of course. Even still, I owe you a favor for putting up with my ruse for even the slightest minute."

With this, he smiled softly, then sat back in his chair.

"Oh, and you forgot the mint." he said, chuckling softly and briefly after adding a wink of one of his emerald green hues.

[renee alice ballard.]

While he surveyed her over his glass, Renee took the liberty of studying him in return, no longer feeling obligated to not stare. From the deep set eyes to his strong jaw, she could not read his face as accurately as he seemed to be able to do, but it wasn't what concerned her most. He looked like a decently sized guy- he had presence, at least compared to her much slighter frame. What was to stop him from manhandling her when she finished her shift? He'd said he'd stay as long as she did. But right now she didn't really have time to agonize over not having bought pepper spray for the walk home.

Sighing softly as he pushed his glass back toward her, she caught him nodding at something just over her shoulder. She ignored him, having no sympathy for whatever card he was playing, even after he'd made the distinction between calling her stupid, and calling her fake. At least it enforced her suspicions that he suspected that she wasn't acting honestly.

"Yes, I would like something else, if you don't mind me asking. See, I've arranged for your manager here to give me some time to speak to you."

The young woman stiffened, clearly about to turn until he warned her not to. She thought it a bit presumptuous of him to act as though she owed him that much, but didn't feel much like arguing if it was two against one, even if the notion of trusting a slightly threatening stranger was completely laughable.

Sagging defeated in to the chair he pushed out to her again, she gazed back insolently. She didn't think that being cautious was indicative of intelligence, but maybe he gaged it differently. All the same, she gave a delicate snort as he mentioned fate, and his seemingly obscure line of work. Yes, because those are the words of someone to be trusted, she thought to herself, giving the first hint of a smile, albeit a snarky one.

His next analysis of her that he shared gave her a glimmer of hope; he was only guessing that she knew more than she was letting on, based on seeing her this once. It put her mind at ease, if only because it gave her confidence a boost. She was at no one's mercy unless she wished to be, and the fact that he saw her as quiet and sedate felt like a challenge.

"I don't need any favors." He had barely finished with his offer before she cut in, ignoring his last little jab at the drink. It was important for her to establish that she was willing to take more than she would give, without overstepping the boundaries of her new fabricated history. Slapping on an absent smile with just the right edge of distaste hidden in the corners, she tilted her head a little, a few blond curls tumbling out of the bun pinned to the top of her head. All of the genuine curiosity that just gleamed from his smiling face couldn't convince her to make a deal with a demon, so to speak. Trial and error during nearly two years off the grid did strange things to a previously pampered girl. She'd had what felt like more than her fair share of life lessons in a short time, and was fairly sure that entering into any sort of agreement, and relying on a wild card like this man was not in her best interest. That being said, she wasn't completely opposed to using her time wisely here and now.

With this in mind, Renee leaned back, squaring her shoulders.
"I don't know what you want to hear, but I'm sure you'd be better off asking one of the locals." There was a bored lilt to her voice, playing the part of the sassy waitress impatient to get back to work, though the sharp challenge in her blue eyes marred the effect little by little. "I could always bring you someone else, but then it wouldn't be an act of fate, I suppose." Her brows rose delicately, and she placed her tray back on the table, unaware that she'd been clutching it this whole time. Drawing out the suspense, she looked down at her lap, pretending to be mulling things over before she glanced up from beneath her thick lashes.
"I'm not sure if you've been able to tell, but I'm not from around here. So unless you feel that there's something I should know, I have nothing else to offer you. Well, unless what you're after is who has dinner dates planned for the next week, or who wants to flaunt a new suit at the casino." She smiled sarcastically- there was no way in hell she was going to share her suspicions revolving around those murders that were covered up so well, or the strange ways that patrons acted, and all that they did not say. Not only was it like holding on to a deep dark secret, but she didn't want to hear any sort of affirmation that she was as crazy as she was beginning to suspect. But Renee had had two years to dwell on how completely ridiculous this little mission was, and somehow, ignoring the fact that this was not at all what an ordinary person would do had come out on top.

Seizing on her sudden, unexpected brashness, she leaned forward slightly, frowning as she gave her amateur negotiating skills one last go.
"You said that you're a man of your word, but no one here can tell me who you are. How am I supposed to trust that? And you act like I should be the one thanking you- that's a bit big-headed." Her brows rose again. "I'm not saying I'd help you, but I'd feel a little more inclined to do so if you told me why you want to know all about Ashford."

[Bane Evrette Victoir.]

He smiled widely as she leaned forward with her ultimatum. It had been a long while, presumably a few months, since he's had anyone to rely on for anything, and this woman was no idiot by any means. But then again, neither was he.

He peered around at her mentioning of how no one knew him, and it was his intent on keeping it so. He paid in cash on his endorsements, either that or he stole whatever he needed. There were no credit cards in his name, if they were, the documents were fabricated in order to check out long enough for him to have some kind of substantial income, whether it be the deposits of money he got from his odd jobs or otherwise. No one knew anything about him aside from his features. If you looked him up in a directory, there would not be a name fitting his. As far as data bases go, however, there are only certain ones that have his number in case he steps out of line. But that was only prevalent outside of England. How would she be able to trust him after all? He had no merit around, however that's how he wanted it to be...for now at least. Albeit, he always went by another name, and that one is more known than his real one. As a matter of fact, he himself wasn't known, much less, his skill set was. He figured the less they knew, the less attached he had to be. Then again, there were times in which the affirmation of trust was in order in an attempt to garner new information. He knew one thing; she was the start to this, especially if she went to this great of lengths to hide whatever she gathered. He knew she had something, because he had seen her before. Why it took him this long to realize who she was baffled him to no end, but this was a good thing. This was leverage.

"My name is not known in public much less than yours was in the news paper surrounding your mysteriously gruesome incident. Here today, gone in a month. Actually, let me take that back, Renee Ballard, my name is much less famous," he smiled and leaned forward, his demeanor changing from slightly joking, to a business-esque demeanor, still retaining his charm. "See, again, it's my job to know things. I want to know about the strange happenings in Ashford, and one of those happenings deals with you, Ballard. See the incident in question, is a long ways from here. As to why you're here, is a mystery in itself, but that can be left to chance. What I'm more interested in, is how similar some of the other happenings in Ashford relate and correlate to your incident. I've caught an infatuation with this, and I want to get to the bottom of it."

Here was the time to act. He could forge documents, make himself legally able to obtain a structure for a little amount of time in order to lay low at times, and now, more important than ever, he could forge a sense of security. He reached inside his jacket pocket and produced a wallet, thereby flipping it open and sliding it toward her. It brandished his name, date of birth, and other various forms of information that seemed to pass in any sort of situation. It was so authentic, that he could have very well been an agent of the FBI with it. Brandished before his name, was the title of "Special Agent" and afterward, after his last name, was the rest of the title; "Special Investigations Unit". His name, was Bane Victoir, which was the legitimate name given to him by his parents, as opposed to his surrogate names he files taxes with.

He smiled and thereby placed his hands on the table. This was probably the most elaborate lie he had ever constructed, but if it was enough, it could very well get him to where he needed to be.

"You can read, I presume? I'm sure I don't have to remind you of the specifics of your case, yes? I'm sure it's still fresh in your mind, and I'm sure, a woman as smart as you, would not leave it alone. Hell, even I wouldn't leave it alone. I can tell you want to know, and you will, if you help me. There's a reason why I got you. It's "fate", remember? When I was young, I learned that "fate" isn't as predestined as people think. It can be molded, like the simplest of child's clay. Now, enough child's play."

He took out a small piece of paper that only had a few nodes of information on it. Listed, were the names of her parents, and her brother's name. Also listed were the various bank account numbers of both her parents, and her bank account as well.

"You didn't ask me to, but I put three grand inside your bank account. Along with the pension you'll receive for your father, you should be in pretty good standing until this thing is over. Right now, I'm asking you to take leave from your job, and let me aid you in your investigation. You are indeed involved in a personal investigation, because no one could ignore this case even if they tried. Much less than being traumatized, I'm pretty sure you want the answers as much as I do. You're a bright woman."

This portion of his lie, wasn't a lie. He did indeed place three thousand dollars into Renee Ballard's bank account, and, with the resounding money she would receive anyway, she would be stable financially for a few months, more than enough time to focus on the "investigation". He had hoped, however, that she was not indeed like him, and that she would not know that the documents involving his affiliation with the FBI were not real. Nothing showed in his face or eyes to give away the lie, but he still couldn't help but feel a bit guilty. His intentions were not what she thinks they are, but he was sound enough in his movements to cement himself in an even better ultimatum than she had offered in the first place.

"I have few leads, and with those leads and your information, we can finally get a jump on what the authorities surely missed out on. That's why I'm here. Is this enough incentive for you?" he tapped the paper with one index finger before tilting his head slightly. "You didn't think there was a reason why you weren't being bothered especially, today? It's because of my influence."

He leaned forward farther, now placing his elbows on the table in a rather negotiate stance.

"Now, either you help, or you don't. It's obvious you have a choice, however, the offers still stand and you still will get the chance to not only figure out what's happening in Ashford, but to finally put your thoughts at rest about this whole endeavor? I'd say that's more than enough to go on." the lie thickened, and he found that in his affirmation of deviating father from the specifics of himself made it easier to reel her in. It always worked for any other person. "Off chance, you'll be at ease. And I'll be elsewhere, so you'll only have to deal with me for a little while longer."

He looked deeply into her eyes, rooting his emerald hues into her blue-gray ones. He didn't have the certain coup to influence her to say yes, but he did in another way that wasn't supernatural. He had, admittedly, a boyish charm that gave way to his manly presence. It was enough to reel a woman into going out for coffee during a rainy day, why wouldn't it be enough now?

Asserting his faux FBI status, he put the wallet back into his inside jacket pocket and stared intently at her, awaiting her answer. There was indeed no way she could pass this up, not with the questions and loose ends in her mind that needed to be either cut, or tied to something more.

[renee alice ballard.]

Renee glared back as the man smiled- he seemed to be enjoying this too much, and she had the strangest impression that he was closing in on her. He looked around, then leaned forward, speaking softly. She settled back, prepared for him to make another bid to get her to speak up, ready to roll her eyes in response whenever needed, until he mentioned her name. Her eyes snapped to the man's face, as she sat completely still, jaw clenched. She could have chalked it up to the fact that her name tag on her uniform said as much, but he knew about the accident, and that made all of the difference.

It was a small relief that he didn't understand why she was specifically in Ashford so recently, but this victory meant nothing when it was overshadowed by the fact that he was investigating the same things that she was. As he slid his wallet along the table, she allowed her eyes to glance down without moving her head, taking in his information. Special agent. The young woman's gaze darted back up to Bane as she grew progressively paler, mind racing. The dominant question was why, but she didn't trust herself enough to open her mouth just yet. She was by no means a professional sleuth, and thus far had not made more progress than gathering information on strange murders and even stranger alibis. The fact that she was so poorly equipped for the job should have made her less conspicuous, yet here she sat in the presence of someone who was obviously well aware of who she was, and where she came from.

Blinking rapidly, she returned to the task at hand, listening to the newest offer. He could tell her was she needed to know... The prospect was tempting, yet something held her back from immediately grasping at it. She didn't know how her own Intel could ever be of service to some kind of agent, and it disturbed her that she was even being recruited- her progress had been so slow and usually unyielding, not to mention amateur, that she found it hard to believe anyone associated with the government of secret organization couldn't find the same results on their own with a team of specialists.

When he mentioned putting money in her account, she gave a little jump, brows snapping down. She had no proof that he had actually done it, but with the off-hand way that he said it, she had to admit it sounded pretty convincing, however outlandish the idea was. The fact that he had tracked down her personal information to the bank account set up in the Ballard name felt like a huge offense, but she said nothing on the matter. He continued to poke and prod her conscience, pointing out that one day soon she could put all of this behind her. It was this, more than anything else, that brought back some of her spark. Her search was going nowhere on her own, and she was not going to let almost two years of her young life that she had spent constantly moving, collecting her father's will, mourning Duncan, breaking her mother's heart and meticulously draining her former bank account to create a brand new life go to waste.

Sucking in a deep breath, she realized he was staring at her, and after a short moment broke the contact, disconcerted, looking down at the table.
"I'll help you." She said slowly, curling one hand upon the table, tapping a nail against the fake wood-grain, feeling as though she had lost the edge to negotiate her own terms- not that there were any left, when she only had one thing to gain, and very, very little to lose.

Looking back up, but at a place just over his shoulder rather that his eyes, Renee shifted to face him.
"I only have so much to go on- murders, weird disappearances, and I don't know how much help it'll be." She said with a frown, glancing over at her supervisor hanging around the bar. She didn't want to quit then and there and make a scene- maybe she'd call later, and let him know. "Victoir, is it?" She asked quietly, even a little uncertainly as she turned back to Bane; his big reveal of his occupation had a profound effect on her sarcasm, which she had apparently kicked to the curb for the time being. "I can get you all of the files that I've collected, if, you know, you need them, and then," She shrugged, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. "I don't know, I guess I can always try to find more. But should we even be talking about this here?" Her voice lowered even further. True, there were far more drunks than sober eavesdroppers hanging around, but it made her uneasy to go into detail in the casino, where it was better to be the listener, than the one listened-in on.

[Bane Evrette Victoir.]

There were two things that were apparent to Bane in the conversation that had just ensued. Number one was that she trusted him finally with a little bit of effort and lying on his part, and number two, was that she didn't know anything about his creed. He didn't know it was possible but then again, he didn't cast out the idea completely, he just thought everyone knew or would know eventually. Here was a genuine human female whom knew nothing of the world she lived in much outside their own race. She had no idea that another race existed, and that countless others could as well, and now, with this new found information, he had to be careful. She trusted him for the most part, so the last thing he should let her know is of what he is, that could come later. What should happen currently, as she pointed out, was that they needed a place to go, and he knew that taking her to a shady apartment he rented from someone he knew wouldn't go too well in his FBI cover. Then again he could tell her he was working undercover. So many webs, so many possibilities, but Bane only needed one to get to where he needed to be. While it was true he heard of her incident, he had nothing to investigate from than what he gathered from drifters telling the tale itself. He put it off at first as a normal happenstance or something out of a famous mystery novel, but as the details got more and more supernatural, he couldn't think of anything but the pure notion that this might be linked to something he could use. Right now, this girl was his best option, and his most indirect one, for now.

He shifted his eyes to play the part, knowing that only a couple Krosa and Ortega come here, both at random times of the night and always on agreement with each other. Unless they were coming to initially pick a fight, they weren't going to be within the same confines let alone occupy the same section of landmark. She was right, though, wandering eyes was one thing, but audio was big here. You could know anything from anyone's dinner date schedule to when and where a local thug-ring was going to strike next for their extortion endeavors. He nodded, placed a generous tip on the table and stood up, throwing on his leather jacket. He motioned for her to follow him out the front.

Upon exiting the establishment, Bane thought of another idea. Procuring a room for several months in a lavish hotel because of some favors he pulled for the manager, he thought this would be the best place to take her. If much less being accused of having a call girl from a local casino, it'd be the perfect reasoning as to having the utmost privacy in studying the case itself. And what more lavish place to work than a penthouse suite?

Bane turned and began his convoluted plan in garnering information simply by using his tact of a little more lying.

"Okay, we'll go to your place, grab the files and whatever else we can muster from that night, and then relocate at my safehouse. Does that sound like a good plan to you?" He asked with a curt sense of urgency. "Any information at all could be vital to the case, but I want you to promise me something."

It was then where he opened the doorway to the truth, something humans had to find out either though experience or otherwise.

"I want you to promise me that your mind will be open to any and all possibilities during and at the end of this case. Leave nothing to be desired, because history has shown that anything can happen. Men can be devils in their own right, their horns ingrown to better facilitate their disguise and blend into the mainstream world. I need you to do this, and above all else, trust me. No matter what. We clear?"

There wasn't a single tone of hilarity, not a hint of any joking flare to go along with what he was saying just then. Bane needed to assure not only the young woman, but of himself that no matter what happened throughout this adventure, that she'd be secure and that he could securely disappear when it was over. Not only that, but he wanted her to be prepared. This wasn't something you could just throw someone into, this is a life altering occasion, and as a product of Krosa, he knew this all too well.

"Alright....now, where does the better half live, eh?"

[renee alice ballard.]

Renee followed the man's lead, albeit a little hesitantly, setting her tray back on the table and looking around. It bothered her to see that for all her caution, not a single person was looking her way. She had almost made it to the front, before she stopped, holding up a finger.
"One second," She turned on her heel and wound her way back between the tables, disappearing beyond the kitchen doors. A minute later she jogged back out, hoisting her bag up with one hand, untying her bun with the other in favour of a more comfortable ponytail. The young woman cast one last sheepish glance behind her- none of her fellow workers had looked up, or noticed anything amiss, and her supervisor had his back turned, speaking to the man tending the bar. With a frown, Renee followed her new employer into the waning light.

Out on the street, he immediately turned to her and offered up a plan. She stood quietly, taking in his apparent urgency with the distinct impression that she didn't have a choice. At the very least if she refused he would probably convince her to do otherwise. She had already agreed to help, so there was no point in resisting.
"Fine-" She nodded, but he seemed to be on a roll, so she shut her mouth, brows pulling together over slightly narrowed eyes. It wasn't like he was asking to have something ridiculous, like a kidney, yet somehow there was something unrealistic about her promising to keep an open mind- she could try, but was the thing they were dealing with really that unusual?
She could sense how much weight this question held however, and it stopped her from challenging it with some stupid remark about how it would be a difficult thing to agree to. Never mind the cryptic messages he kept slipping in- ingrown horns and the like- that made her wonder just how far out of her depth she was venturing, and prodded her into considering that maybe she wasn't as prepared as she had deluded herself into believing.

Still nodding soberly, she yanked her jacket out of her bag and pulled it on over her waitress outfit.
"Alright. Okay, I promise." Her eyes were open and honest, voice just a serious as his own, but she was still skeptical. She held only pieces of the puzzle, and to her it seemed as though he was trying to break up some sort of crime ring, or dealing with a scam at the casino, though she couldn't see how that related to her situation.

Renee's mind felt dull and uninspired, her creativity and imagination chucked out the window- it was frustrating to think that she had only come so far with her own conclusions, and could not see a way around the roadblocks made of alibis and broken trails in the papers, yet someone else dangled the answers over her head. She had once been a clever and imaginative girl, and was now a weary and dull young woman forcing herself to be something she wasn't. Maybe it was the long hours spent waiting tables with no unusual information to show for her troubles, and the slowly dwindling trail of clues, but she was already halfway defeated, and feeling a little bit less intelligent each day. Now that this 'Mr. Victoir' had shown up, her brain seemed to be laboriously trying to keep up, pushing alongside long dormant curiosity.

"Alright....now, where does the better half live, eh?"

The young woman blinked, took a step, and turned back, jerking a thumb over her shoulder.
"It's-um-this way," She forced a one-sided smile, hoping to convey that she was going to behave as far as her promise was concerned, since trusting him meant she wasn't to be a brat about bringing a stranger to her apartment, not matter how odd it felt. Hands in her pockets, she started off a little way ahead of him. At first she debated whether to engage him in conversation, but talked herself out of it, maintaining a rather frosty silence instead. She could think of nothing they had in common, and as she was still in doubt of his help that would supposedly come later, she had to be happy with simply knowing that he was some sort of agent, and it leave it at that, even if it set off her internal sense of alarm.

~~~

Her apartment building was fairly low-security- if she hadn't thought her own personal goal of finding as much information on her father's accident wouldn't gather too much attention, and slipped into lazy habits, she might have shelled out for something a little more comfortingly secure. As it was, she was fairly certain that someone could pick her lock if they really got it into their heads that she was somehow important- she berated herself soundly in her head, again feeling that cold chill that let her know that she was sorely unprepared for this endeavor. It had seemed like a good idea to slip by, almost unnoticed, by living somewhere below mediocre, and not drawing attention to herself.

Unlocking the door, she walked in, holding it open for the man, not letting her eyes stray from him. She had nothing to be ashamed of in the way of furnishings- there was no reason to really enjoy living there beyond the essentials- but it felt like some weird violation of her secret life to have someone else in here. Closing the door firmly behind him, she stalked in, setting her bag on the bed that occupied a good deal of the tiny room, bending down to drag out the thick folder. Turning with it in both hands, Renee held it out to him, before going to retrieve some of the smaller, less useful folders, and some stray cuttings from the paper. With her back turned, she paused for a moment, fishing for a paper under the bed in the corner.
"The big folder is the most important. It's color coded." Her voice grew slightly colder, but she straightened, expression just as blank as it had always been.

{Sorry, I skipped ahead a little- if you want me to take that part out and just have them walking, just let me know. o:}