jonathanparagon | (no subject)

(no subject)

[Some hours after this.]

The sun's slanting toward the western horizon by the time he reaches midtown. It's the last stop he's got planned; none of the others, aside from the first one or two to collect supplies, have borne any fruit at all -- and even on those, people who should have recognized him showed no sign of it.

A heavy shutter is halfway down the storefront of Alcina's when he gets there. The sign on the door still reads OPEN, though.

He ducks to look in under the shutter, knocks on the door. Offers Alcina a hopeful smile, when she looks up.

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"Ahh. Did you summon it deliberately the first time, or was it incognito?"

"Incognito." He grimaces. "It came to me. Said it was a representative of... my employers, and I didn't watch my words well enough."

"Your employers?" Lightly; it could be a casual question.

It isn't.

"No one you need to worry about." It's just as light, would-be reassuring, but it's a shut down of that line of questioning. Who knows who it might get back to, in this brave new world? "It was lying, anyway."

"On the contrary." A small, false smile. "These days I need to worry a great deal about who my customers are, if they're in the business. If you weren't aware that our hours have changed, you may also not be aware of our background check policy."

Jonathan considers this, studying her, for a few moments. "Okay. I work for the Watchers' Council." He doesn't mention Angel. There's no knowing where he is, after all, or if he's ever been in New York.

There's no visible reaction in her face, but her knuckles have gone white.

"I'm afraid I need to ask you to leave now, sir. We'll be open at eight tomorrow morning."

"I'm not here as a Watcher, or an agent of the Council", he protests. "Please. Help me, and maybe I can help you."

Her eyes flicker back to the rear of the shop; her voice is low and tight with strain, and with something approaching anger. "It is after sunset. If you work for the Slayers you know better than this. Get out."

He just nods and turns to leave.

He may, or may not, be back in the morning.

On the street outside, there are still a last few gleams of sunset light.

That doesn't stop Alcina from locking the door behind him and pressing a button that lowers the metal shutter.

He turns, half-thinking to say something else, but the shutter comes down between them quite literally and he turns away again, frustrated, and leans for a moment against the wall.

And then his hand goes into the special pocket in his coat, and just for a moment a hard smile appears on his face.

He knows just how to relieve his mood and maybe do a little good at the same time.

It's the middle of winter; the proverbial twilight's last gleaming is swift to fade. The streets aren't by any means emptying -- this is New York City, within walking distance of Times Square -- but on this block at least, the foot traffic has thinned out a lot.

Looks like Alcina was right; this isn't a part of the city smart people want to be in at night.

Good for Jonathan's purposes, though. He breaks into an aimless walk, glancing up at street signs as he passes them as if he doesn't quite know where he is.

Aimless or not, he's heading away from the denser pedestrian traffic.

Up ahead there's a building under construction or renovation of some kind. A scaffolding covers the sidewalk, painted boards closing it off from the street except at intervals.

Vampire heaven, if you know what you're looking at. And the sun is all but gone...

Jonathan's steps slow and he starts to look more nervous as he continues up the street.

On the other side of the street there's a woman walking toward him, bundled in a heavy parka and scarf.

She throws him a wary look as she passes, and walks faster.

He doesn't blame her, from what he's picked up so far.

Glancing back at her, he mutters a quick and dirty ward for her protection. Should be enough to get her home, if she's not unusually unlucky.

A truck rumbles down the street between them.

When it passes, she's gone.

He hopes she just got to her destination. There's no sign of anything else, at least.

Jonathan keeps walking, pretending he's not paying any special attention to the construction site.

The light dims as he walks through under the scaffolding.

There's a figure coming toward him, up ahead.

He tenses slightly, peering through the dimness to try and make out the details of the approaching person.

Details are difficult, in this weather; about all he can tell is that the person's wearing a bulky coat, a woolly hat, and a thick muffling scarf.

A car goes past, on the other side of the scaffolding.

(Under cover of its noise, someone's moving up swiftly behind him.)

Or something. It's always easier for even the most different-looking to get about in winter, when everyone's muffled up and covering as much skin as possible.

He doesn't turn his head, but slips his hands into his pockets, shivering a little for effect.

"Hey," says a voice behind him; female, teasing. "Hey, mister. Got a light?"