in the cities, he could stumble from bar to club until the sun touched the horizon, he could lose his shadow either in the oppressive crush of hundreds of bodies or in the bottom of a glass. it’s not an option here and dominic thinks he’s starting to hate the submarine.

documents and dossiers are spread across the table in front of him, and he’s tracking lines across an eerily detailed blueprint of the weather institute when marcel approaches.

dominic glances up and actually manages to grin when he leans forward. his reply is a low, conspiratorial purr, "can you keep a secret?"

he doesn’t wait for an answer to his entirely rhetorical question as he leans back and spreads his fingers across the set of laid out materials. "we’re tracking civilians that might be avatars."

marcel maeda

dominic watches marcel take one of the files and doesn’t move to stop him, merely raising a single shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. with a sigh, he displaces an almost-overflowing ashtray to the side so that he could push a slightly thicker file toward marcel although he doesn’t immediately remove his hand, his gaze turning sharp and inscrutable.

"articuno has made public appearances twice and the… alolan ones are around too." rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms, dominic suddenly feels very tired and he knows it’s not the complete absence of sleep.

"what, is this a surprise to you?"

marcel maeda

"both," he says after a moment, watching marcel through narrowed eyes. he hadn’t really expected an answer, and lets his hand drop from the next file; this one containing the reports taken from the weather institute tracking the modified weather patterns observed in the wake of articuno’s surfacing.

the follow-up question results in a grin twisting across dominic’s lips, not quite derisive, but still very close. "are you worried about me or something?" he counters, leaning forward slightly.

marcel maeda

for a flicker of a moment, dominic has half a mind to snatch the documents from marcel’s hands.

"are you worried about them too, or do you have some ideas to suggest?" dominic drawls, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin under curled fingers. "walsh’s door is open, and i’m all yours."

dominic doesn’t think about how there are any number of people within the league who would seek him out the same way, but he knows enough to realise that the league’s concepts of jurisdiction, probable cause and warrant to use force are as malleable as his.

his policy remains the same; shoot for them before they shoot for you.

marcel maeda

dominic quirks his brow but doesn't comment on marcel joining him at the table. he's thankful, he supposes, for a live person to look at other than walsh.

"maybe, hard to say," he says, raising a single shoulder in a shrug. he stares at marcel for a long moment before speaking again.

"isn't tracking this shit your thing?"

marcel maeda

his eyes narrow but dominic doesn't comment; reading the inference behind marcel's words is a refined skill, and even still he can't always pinpoint what he's actually trying to say.

"no time to start like the present," he mutters, jerking his head at the stacks of pages. "unless you're going to pass out on me."

dominic's hand reaches for the folder marcel had discarded, but his scrutinising gaze remains fixed on the man.

marcel maeda

"unlike your favourite underboss," dominic begins, his brief sneer practically audible in the half-hearted mockery. "i don't have anyone here to put me to bed."

he had the benefit of walsh telling him about some of the side-effects of avatarship, and sleeplessness, he found, was only a boon when he had the benefit of being ashore. marcel didn't have the same excuse; dominic almost feels a twinge of something that he can't put a name to, but perhaps the closest word is pity.

marcel maeda