annie! - LOG: 002 David

Nobody's home. At least, that's what David North wants the rare passer-by or trespasser to think. The door to this 'abandoned' apartment is even wide open - because why would a door to an unoccupied apartment in an unoccupied building have a reason to be closed, let alone locked? But of course, the Nordic man of mystery is, indeed, within the dark shadows. Having chosen this roost in particular, the number '205' faded on that open door, David's done very little to improve on its image or comforts. Any signs of occupancy are carefully covered-up, as any belongings are just as carefully hidden-away. A man dodging the public's radar, especially one so new to settling in New York, has no where better to be, either - than right here. But of course, a sweeping glance of the room shows no obvious signs of where David might be lurking, within the room. Just absolute silence, and near-absolute darkness. The only light sources are from beyond the boarded-up windows, the streetlights outside.

/Not/ quiet is the small figure that comes pounding up along the stairs, running up them as if this were her own family home, not some derelict old building. "Dude, are you here?" Grey calls out impatiently, scanning around the shadows and corners, "Hey, uh, hello?" She could have sworn he said he'd be sticking around. She begins poking her head into the various rooms, swinging the doors full open so they slam back on themselves. She does enjoy a racket. "I got news!" she adds, in case this sweetens the deal. She flips her hood down and removes her headphones, realizing only now that it might be limiting her from hearing a response.

Heh. David is no psychic, but it doesn't take much to discern just whom might be disturbing the evening's stillness. The clomping, the hollering, the attitude, and the utter disregard for the sanctity of doors - not whether they are open or not, but whether they can handle repeated slamming. This is a condemned building, after all. The unseen man does not curse or swear, not even inwardly - for the return of this crass beansprout can only mean one thing, even before she declares as much. News. Hopefully, interesting news. The man follows Grey's bounding path from the safety of his darkened perch, within the kitchenette. No one ever seems to check the counterspace, especially the shadowed corner just on the other side of the refrigerator. Which is where David is seated, quite comfortably - about four feet off the floor, unmoving and thus very difficult to spot. Especially given the attire - dark sweater, dark trousers, even a dark woolen cap. He waits, weighing a myriad of possibilities. For one, is she alone? But then, David breaks 'radio silence' on his end: "Keep voice down, fraulein." The voice alone, as calm and low as it is, should help clue Grey in, as to where David waits.

"What the fuck, man!" Grey exclaims to that disembodied voice, whirling around as she was just getting set to leave the unit. Keep her voice down? What? "Hey, where the hell are you?" Okay, at least she's not shouting anymore, figuring he's got to be at least fairly close by. "Olly, olly oxen free," she mutters wryly as she picks her way further into the seemingly abandoned unit. "Dude, did you hear me? I got news. So, I mean, you owe me money, right?" Because that's her understanding of their arrangement. She begins to move closer towards his hiding place, her eyes keenly peering at the darkness, but not immediately recognizing him, not least of all for his unexpected perch.

No rush, here. Even when David deigns to move, the movements are deliberate and precise. With just a whisper, the man unfolds and slips off the counter. Not making a show of being soft-footed, just the way David's been trained to be. But, in fact, the man even breaks protocol - giving a wide sweep of a wave, as if to alert Grey before stepping forward, out of the kitchen. "Here," David supplies - whether helpfully or no, that doesn't seem to matter. Hopefully, the gesture and the voice were enough to keep from spooking the scamp, as David emerges from the kitchenspace. Passing Grey, if necessary, to close the apartment's front door. If that might further spook Grey, well, it doesn't occur to the blonde man. He moves again - across the room, to the windows, without a sound. Must be insulated boots, or something? Or maybe David's just familiar with every creaking floorboard, now, and knows to avoid such problems. Either way, David soon becomes illuminated against the semi-gloom by the windows. Just enough light to make silhouettes and shadowed features visible, if only just. "Sorry. No lights." A pause, then business: "Forty dollars, American. After." After the news.

Grey is, thankfully, not really the type to spook easily. And still the silent act, the cloak and dagger stuff, it makes her all a little uneasy. But of course, if she ever listened to that niggling little voice, she'd never get to have any fun, so after a brief moment of an uncertain expectation, she just shifts her features to give him a skeptical look. "Uh-huh. And how do I know you're actually gonna pay me? I mean, I seen your arsenal. You could just kill me instead. But if I try'n take your money and run, bang, I'm dead. Right?" It makes sense to her as she moves a little more into the middle of the room, floorboards creaking normally beneath her feet, her only saving grace is that she's light. And more light on her feet than she usually lets on.

It's surprising, with just how many questions Grey's fond of tossing out, just how David manages to remain so largely monosyllabic. But David doesn't seem taxed by such an effort, nor visibly irked by her babbling. There's wisdom to her wondering, after all. He remains against the windows' poor glow, unmoving. Not bothering to correct her - that she really hasn't seen his so-called arsenal, not in completion. Nor bothering to sigh or grunt in frustration. Must be patient, David believes. Impatience is a fault. "News good, I pay. I pay, you bring more news. News good, I pay again. Ja?" Perhaps the most long-winded, but in the simplest of sentences. He seems to think this demonstrates the practicality of actually paying - it's business. But David does caution, after a pause: "News must be good."

Grey says "Uhhh," is Grey's eloquent reply as she tries to figure some way to turn this to her advantage. But she's getting impatient, and that fault may as well be her downfall in this argument. "Look, whatever. It's not /good/ news, but it's, y'know, quality, if that's what you mean. No news is good news, so if you want good news, you shouldn't have bothered hiring me." She studies him critically for a long moment, trying to decide if it's worth holding out for the money or just taking her chances. Forty dollars is a lot in her world, but then, it's a lot to risk losing by being /too/ difficult at the same time. "I mean, it's ... about people going missing. Particular /types/ of people. Just vanished, poof, without a trace. You think that's worth forty bones?"

No news is good news? Not an aphorism the German is familiar with. Why would no information be desired? It does not computer, strategically-speaking. David would rather be well-informed, when and where possible. A moot point, though - for she seems to think it is 'quality', and that is what David desired. Not word about who the garbage man is banging, but something of greater relevance. A missing person alone might qualify as a nugget of interest - but a number of missing persons, all sharing some like 'type'? Definitely qualifies, without a doubt. Could be nothing, could be everything - a culling, a crime spree, a conspiracy. Maybe a serial killer, maybe an organization. Maybe just coincidence, but it's worth hearing. David, for his part, keeps all these thoughts to himself. He doesn't even move, no expression crossing those murky features. "Ja. Tell everything, fraulein," David intones, neutral.

"Okay, so," Grey begins, clearly enjoying the attention, even if she did get screwed out of her 'money first, news second' part of the deal. She must be on new meds to make her less difficult. "Thing is, nobody really knows /nothin'/," she informs him in a confiding tone, her eyebrows lifting up as she tries to sell this as all very mysterious and spooky. "These people, they're just gone. And the real thing is, these people, they're all muties. Most of 'em, you know, the real ugly sort. The ones you can spot right off. And the cops, they're all too fat and lazy to care, 'cause they probably think it's a good thing if all the muties up and left, right? They /hate/ muties," she states knowingly. Okay, so maybe just that one, and he might have good cause to hate her, but that's not how she chooses to see it. "And they're all poor and shit. So the cops doubly don't care. Fuck, I wouldn't be surprised if they tried to arrest 'em for disappearing. If they weren't, y'know, gone. So can I have my money now?" She holds out a hand expectantly.

Well, well. It takes a certain level of concentration, for once, to maintain that outer cool. News of that variety, even dabbled with Grey's colorful choice of editorializing, tends to strike a mutant like David as especially relevant. But maintain the unforgiving poker face, David does. He continues to play statue throughout her testimonial, as expressive and dynamic as any of the other shadows within the apartment. When Grey finishes, concluding with the repeated demand for reimbursement, David takes a moment to process. Mutants, predominantly target for their physical appearance and meager-to-zero income. Vanished, off the streets. No police investigation worth noting. Huhn. When David does respond, it's with a smooth gesture towards the nearby dresser. On its surface rests a small stack of bills, used but neat. One twenty, one ten, two fives. Apparently, David does not believe in hand-to-hand transactions. "Fraulein. Return with more news, fifty dollars." Next time, that is. Clearly, this is something David wishes to keep updated on - disappearing mutants. "Find out more." He pauses, turning away from the girl. As if inviting Grey to take leave. ".. Be smart." Keep safe? Essentially the sentiment.

"Dude, I /am/ smart," Grey shoots back, looking over her shoulder as she's already halfway towards the dresser to take her pay. Yeah, she thinks its weird he won't just hand her the cash, but as long as she gets it in the end, it doesn't really matter to her. "Fifty bucks, huh? Yeah, okay. I'll see what I can do." She turns back, jamming that cash away in a pocket and studying the guy. Oh, she hasn't missed her cue to leave, but she's not going to be chased out before she's good and ready. "So this is the sorta thing you're lookin' for, right? 'Cause if I hear anything else like it..." She just trails off, nodding to herself as if filing away that little detail. "You're really weird, man," she informs him as she pulls open the door. "But you pay well, so whatever. I'll probably be back." She plays it cool just a little too late. And then with a shrug, she's out the door and bounding back down those stairs, all in a racket.