ᴡᴇ ᴘɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ, ᴡᴇ (plunder) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-08-02 19:51:00 |
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There was a lot on Killian’s mind, when he went to go see a certain lovely lady named Kitiara. He’d also been working a lot as well, really diving into his caseload now that he had his legal PI licence (didn’t mean he would turn down cases that were unsavoury, however, of course not - rather, he wouldn’t have to operate under cloak and daggers as much anymore). It was part of the reason why he’d gone to see her at her brand new ‘tattoo’ parlour, but much like many of Killian’s other friends and clients, her business was a cover for what lurked in the shadows. Likely she would never change, or go ‘legit’ the way he had to some degree, but that was alright - as long as she kept herself healthy and alive that was the important thing. He’d do what he could for her, in terms of utilising his skills to locate that long-lost father she desired to find. Working and traveling had yielded one very important fact which was this: the fellow was slippery, Killian had to hand it to him. Yet despite how some took great care to ensure they’d never be even a blip on the radar, that didn’t matter - some information had still been gleaned regardless, because Hook was that good. Now that he had more, a glimmer of hope for her, he would share that and keep at it. Eventually, she’d have what she wanted. Arriving at the building, the address Kit had given him, he went inside to look around for her - the tattooed pirate (he had black ink visible already, on his right arm, the name Milah scrawled there along with a dagger through a heart) with the creepy sci-fi prosthetic hand, and the crow-black hair flopping into wintry eyes. Yes, he’d just wait here, to speak with the lady of the house, leaning against the front counter casually. If he was actually wearing his hook, here’s where he’d sharpen it on a whetstone. Intimidatingly. Kitiara’s shop wasn’t particularly noteworthy by tattoo parlour standards. She had a large window at the front to let in plenty of natural light, and the walls were painted black with blue trim. She had a few of her own painting’s set up, though the majority of the artwork on the walls was done by tattoo artists that Kitiara was fond of. Her tattoo table sat openly in the room, though a nearby Japanese style partition gave the impression that if one asked or needed it, they could get a bit of privacy. In fact, the only thing that was particularly noteworthy of the tattoo shop was the fact that Kitiara herself didn’t have any visible tattoos. She had a small dragon on her shoulder blade, but as fond as Kitiara was of tattoos on other people, she had never seen the appeal for herself. “How was your trip?” Kitiara asked her favourite PI, genuinely curious about how his trip was but mostly just biding her time until it wasn’t entirely rude to ask if he’d found any information on her father. His own tattoo was a gift from ‘the dreams,’ and Killian was just oh so grateful for the powers-that-be deciding he needed to be inked with the name of a woman he’d never even met in this life. But Milah was integral to his last life, she was his perfect match in every way - selfish, cunning, greedy, selfish - and he’d loved her more than a rapscallion like him thought it was possible to love someone. He’d broken the rules for her too, bringing her on board as an equal in a time where women were considered bad luck on pirate ships - but she’d demanded the crew’s respect, she became one of them. Few male pirates could measure up to how ruthless Milah truly was. Kit would have appreciated her style Hell, they were similar in a lot of ways, even in their dark and sultry looks. “‘Ello, love,” Killian smiled a bit, a crackle of warmth in electric blue irises. “It was good, quite busy. But I got a lot done. Have you got an office or something we could talk in?” Or behind the partition, that worked too. “I don’t know if I’d call it an office, but I do have a back room,” Kitiara said, standing from where she’d been seated behind the front counter. “Come along.” The back room really wasn’t much. A couple of chairs, a table and a microwave where she could eat lunch and dinner, and shelves lined with various tattoo supplies. No gold-encrusted throne for guests? Blast! Well, despite that, Killian made himself comfortable anyway. He pulled out a chair and sat down, facing Kitiara. “I had to do some digging, some deep digging - “ Because, again, slippery snake. The man obviously knew how to disappear through the proper cracks, which made sense given his line of ‘work.’ Cops knew their own systems well, and the ones that took advantage behind the scenes? Dangerous games played, those. “However, I learned your father is alive. He’s extremely good at covering his tracks, even with the little things, but I did manage to come across a few blips here and there - recent receipts, none for anything very substantial. But one can’t pay with cash all the time.” Even the most seasoned of pros at hiding and running from the law, from their responsibilities, from life had their moments of being too complacent here and there. Killian cleared his throat. “I will keep digging, and get you an exact location.” Kitiara’s expression didn’t change from the bored but vaguely interested expression she had donned, though it took her a moment to compose herself enough to respond to him. She had been convinced for nearly a decade that her father was dead. There was no other explanation for why she’d never been able to find him; for why he’d never found her. She reached for the cigarette pack that was on the table, and lit up before she offered the pack to Killian. “I see. That’s better than I’ve ever been able to do. Let no one say you’re not good at your job,” she said, flashing him the trademark crooked smile she so often wore. He smirked - why, yes, Killian happened to be extremely talented at what he did. The pirate always had a knack for finding things, treasures, people, and navigating through whatever shadowy, unsavoury world he needed to in order to get the job done. Drug trafficking, where he’d started off, had been a thrill at first but that quickly dissipated - he needed challenges in his line of work, he thrived off of them and enjoyed them. Finding’s Kit’s father was proving to be quite the juicy challenge, something he could sink his teeth into. “I’ve my ways,” he replied mysteriously. “Little stops me once I’ve started, and come hell or high water, I’ll get you what you want. No matter his reasoning, it was still a scummy thing to up and leave you - and you deserve the chance to tell him that. If you choose to.” It had been awhile since he’d enjoyed this particular indulgence, tobacco, but he’d cut back significantly on the alcohol consumption - perhaps it evened out somewhere, and he wasn’t one to turn down a smoke anyway. One of those sleek, factory-rolled vices was released from its packaging and he scissored it between the fingers of his good hand before pinning it between his lips. Hopefully Kit wouldn’t mind if he used her light too, as much as he wished he had the skill to start a fire with simply a thought on its own. Kitiara went one step further and lit the lighter herself, holding out the small flame for Killian to light his cigarette with. “I’d like to see him, if you can find a definitive location. Any word yet on what he’s been doing these last few decades?” Kitiara asked, her voice clipped. To talk, and to maybe take out her frustrations on her old man. While her mother’s depression hadn’t been as bad when Gregor had been around, it had quickly progressed once he’d left, leaving the young girl to fend mostly for herself. Leaving her to take far more of the responsibility for her half-brothers’ upbringing than a child should have had to. As far as Kitiara was concerned, he had a lot to answer for. She could vent all she liked, Killian didn’t mind. Knowing that her father was out there (and yet hadn’t come looking for his own daughter during all those absent years) must be bringing a lot of emotions, like anger and resentment, to the surface. Once his cigarette was lit, he sat back and took the first puff, letting the smoke escape upward toward the ceiling in a grey plume. “Seems to be the same thing he’s always done, just is careful to not stay too long in one place. Recently, there’s been a pretty successful drug-robbery ring in Texas, right on the border to Mexico, that is run by a whole gang of cops. They’d take money from dealers and traffickers, then arrest a few and keep some of the wares to sell later on and turn a profit. Looks like dabblings in this here, moving on to other cities like Detroit. My next areas of focus will be Chicago and Las Vegas - Vegas was built by the mob, and there are still crime bosses in Chicago. Corruption hasn’t changed there, and it won’t. He’s not going to settle in a cute little Midwestern picket fence sort of place.” No, not in one of those towns where everyone knew your name and your business - that wasn’t an ideal place for a professional criminal. Mafia-affiliated moles in various police departments made good money. However, that money was dirty and it ran out quickly. “But he’s not exactly getting any younger,” Killian pointed out. “As you get older, you begin to slow down - it’s difficult to retire when you’re a criminal too, because you essentially have to create a whole new identity. It’s also very likely that you’ll end up penniless. In addition to looking and researching, I’ve been using my underground connections to get word around about my services at creating documents and new identities - I expect that he’ll get wind of it, and perhaps reach out for contact himself.” Sneaky, with Killian sort of being a double agent, but it was a way to reunite father and daughter. And with a fellow like Gregor Uth Matar, he had to pull out all the stops. It had stung learning that her father had been alive all this time, but it would have been infuriating to learn that he had settled down with a picket fence somewhere. The fact that he was still doing what he had been doing, that he hadn’t given up his life of crime was almost comforting. Though, Kitiara had made sure to make her name known in the criminal underworld. She hadn’t done it just so that her name may reach her father’s ears, but that had been a bonus. “It’s difficult to retire when you’re a criminal if you’re not smart about it,” Kitiara said, forcing herself to smile. She’d been careful to be put aside a nest egg for when she finally wanted to slow down. The only uncertainty was living long enough to enjoy her old age. “My father no doubt has made arrangements. I’m sure if he needs you, he’ll get in touch.” Was she bitter? Oh yeah. Killian exhaled another stream of smoke, knocking ashes off the cigarette. And careful not to get anywhere it might cause a fire - don’t want to burn this place down, not with it being a clever cover for whatever Kit was up to. Like father, like daughter - she’d obviously learned the tricks of the trade from her old man. They were also probably too much alike. Could be why he’d taken off - or perhaps, Killian wanted to believe that he’d done it with someone decent intentions toward his own child. Yet that seemed a bit too fairytale for the likes of the fucker. “We’ll see what happens, but I’ve got fingers in a few pots and ears and eyes everywhere - so I’ll of course update you as new developments occur,” he promised. This was what he did for a living and like he said before - he wouldn’t stop until he had the information he was after. “You must...this surely is difficult. Are you sure you’re alright? Do you need to blow off some steam?” “I’m not some overwrought child who needs to cry about her daddy to the first set of ears who’ll listen,” Kitiara snapped rancorously at Killian, her statement accompanied by a glare that could make the blood run cold. Her gaze didn’t soften, though after a moment she did turn her glare from Killian to the wall. He was her friend and was just trying to help, but it was galling that he thought she was weak enough to be bothered by this news. Because she was quite obviously fine. “Well, I didn’t mean blow off some steam at me,” the pirate huffed, taking another drag from his cigarette. He practically sucked the remains of it back, letting the comforting tar fill his lungs. Aaaah. Delicious toxins and chemicals. “And I never implied you were anything of the sort. Kitiara, he’s your father - and he’s done a bloody terrible job. You wouldn’t be bothering with this, after all these years, if you didn’t seek some sort of closure. It’s alright to be upset that he left you.” Anyone would be, unless they had a heart made of stone - and she didn’t. She wasn’t milquetoast and weepy, but she had feelings like any other person. Anyway, alright then. He wasn’t a therapist and he’d probably gotten too personally involved as it was. Couldn’t help it though - those with shitty fathers sort of resonated with him. “If there’s nothing else I’ll be on my way?” Killian asked, stubbing out the remains of the cigarette carefully. Blowing off steam? If Killian thought she was blowing off steam at him, well, he hadn’t seen anything yet. But then he kept talking, mollifying her enough that she managed to bite back her retort. Sitting petulantly, arms crossed with her cigarette to her lips, she shrugged. “There’s nothing else. You may leave,” she said, the calm returned to her voice. Maybe later she’d feel bad about her outburst, but right now she just wanted Killian and his smarmy facial hair to get out of her face. “Thank fuck, I’m not sure I could stand another second anyway,” snark volleyed back, and honestly, he had no bloody clue why he bothered sometimes. It seemed cold to not at least ask how a friend was handling life-changing information, but fair enough, lesson learned. Some might say Hook had a bit of a temper too, but he’d come a long way since his days of killing sailors for drinking his wine, pitching their bodies overboard, and stealing their rings to wear as murder trophies. Which was why he simply took his leave. Politely. He wasn’t a therapist or a nanny (well, only for Swan he was) and he’d probably have better conversation with month-old Nikolas. Even if after that, he really could use a drink. |