it's easy to blast them all away, pull a trigger push a button say ADIOS to today

[npcz]

Mitchell Crake is a not, as demons go, particularly competent. He's not stupid or clumsy, it's just that he doesn't have the focus to really excel at anything - and when you have an Afreet with a focus problem and an interest set that includes things that tend to explode, like meth labs and homemade pyrotechnics

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[broketheboyinme]

Sky, unlike most of the people in the greater Chicago area, is actually having a fairly good week. He missed the fear gas epidemic of the night before, totally avoided being in the path of tiny, blonde homicidal maniacs, and... Oh yeah. He just killed a demon.

The demon in question's body has been dealt with and probably won't turn up for some time and Sky's walking across the pier taking, flipping through the demon's wallet with a bored, yet curious, sort of focus. ID, some small change, and letter with some details about meeting a contact of some kind- boring.

And now comes the part where this turns into a comedy of errors.

[npcz]

The contact in question is fast becoming a disgrace to any covert operations, large or small, by stopping everyone he runs across and asking if they happen to be name of contact. He sees Sky, fixes on him as a likely one, and stops him with a hand on his shoulder. Because there's, you know, cloth and a coat there, he can't feel the temperature differential.

"Hey! 'scuse. You wouldn't happen to be a Marty Banks, would you? I'm kinda looking for this guy..."

[broketheboyinme]

Sky blinks and, for a moment, deeply considers telling this guy to go to hell, but the familiarity of the name stops him. He spares a glance down at the wallet, notes the name on the ID and quickly slams it shut, shoving it back in his pocket

[npcz]

Mitchell is solidly chastised, and at least has the grace to look it. "Marty! Sorry. I just - you know, didn't ask for a description, or anything-"

He pauses, realizes that there are ways this is supposed to work, and he's a demon, dammit! A bomb-building demon who's working for some demonic bigshot, even by proxy, and he doesn't have to take this shit. He r tuff guy. Hear him roar!

"Hey, man, I brought the thing-" Stuff, he thinks, that would have been a better word. He hefts the bag up to his shoulder, the weight and hard angles pushing down into his scapula. "Money and a good word, man. And it's good, high-quality - your boss will be pretty happy."

He pauses. Scuffs one boot on the ground. Holds out his hand.