it's a matter of time [open]

[Sebastian Whelan Harris]

Ruin. Everything was severe and utter ruin. It was odd how cleanly and easily that this situation and this place resonated with him. A hand ran through his messy hair and ended up rubbing the stubble on his chin. A small yawn escaped him as he looked around, it was empty, this place, any dangers that may have lurked here had long since disappeared into the night. Something made him feel uncomfortable, he didn't know what it was exactly, he couldn't tell you if he wanted to, only that there was some small incling that was causing his palms to sweat. Nervous?

It was strange, he'd almost travelled the entire globe, almost met every single type of person that you could imagine meeting and yet it was only now, in England that he'd begun to feel nervous. Maybe he had finally hit the mark? Maybe the man he sought was here? Either way, the nervous response was forcing adrenaline to rush through his veins and thus forcing a 'fight or flight' reaction. It made him angry, made him twitch with annoyance at every small thing somebody did, he hadn't had a good drink in a while and nor had he sought out some female company. The sooner all this was rectified the better, it was slowly and steadily ruining his life.

"This will take a while," his mutter was spoken in the strong Irish accent that always lingered in his words, he shook his head in frustration. Finding someone, even with a name, was not an easy process. His mother had given him determination, had given him a reason, he would not let her die in vain, she would die for a reason, even if it was only a strange one. "But, i will not give up." He glanced around, forcing his hands into his pockets. The night air was chilly, he'd yet to book into his hotel, they wouldn't mind, he had money and that's all they wanted. Mayfair interested him, he'd heard of its old splendor, he'd seen images of it in its glory days. How had something so vast and majestic been shattered to little more than ruins? In his mind it did not seem possible, yet here he was and here it was.

[Morrison Whelan]

Ah, Mayfair, the bum town of London. It was the perfect place for the odd, desperate vampire or wolf to find an easy meal. The humans there had so little money and were poorly defended, and 'monsters' visited the town so infrequently that they never did worry about such things. Morrison wasn't there to eat, though he should have considered it. Instead, he just wanted to get away from all of the madness that was going on in his life. Honestly, this hovel was not the best place to relax and forget your worries, but he couldn't think of anywhere that held no memories for him that was close by, as he was feeling too lazy to travel out of the country. At least here he could sit quietly on his own, watching the people moving around him as he took very short sips from the bottle in his hand and nibbled on the biscuits at his hip.

For the past few days, that was all he had lived off of; whiskey and cookies. It was rather unhealthy, but he didn't seem to feel hungry anymore and he knew he still had to eat, so why not consume he liked the most? He did still exercise regularly, keeping his muscle mass, yet he was also loosing weight, probably because he wasn't taking in enough food to fuel his physical activity. So far, he'd lost about ten pounds, and while it wasn't that noticeable, his cheeks and eyes had sunken in the slightest bit, giving his features a somewhat haunted look, reflecting what was in his head. He wasn't neglecting personal hygiene however, and Anna was keeping his shaving in check.

Sighing, the wolf leaned back, resting his elbow on the step above the one he was seated on, and stared as a woman walked past, holding the hand of a young girl. He watched until the mother started to turn, and quickly shifted his eyes on the opposite direction, as to not seem like some pervert. It was just so adorable, he couldn't help but watch. I reminded him the slightest bit of Meadhbh, how he had been like her parent until she had gotten onto her own two feet again, even if it had all been from his funding.

With another, softer sigh, the wolf let his eyes wander all around, taking a draft of his whiskey then lifting a cookie to his mouth and stuffing the whole thing in. He gazed at people as they walked past and could not deny that their smell was tempting, yet he still did not feel the urge to eat one of them. It was as if they were just flowers that he would enjoy to look at and smell, but not willing to pluck them out of the ground and take them home, killing them. Or it was like window shopping... He could come up with a thousands analogies, but he wasn't trying to think, so he instead concentrated on every detail of everyone that passed by him.

This entertained Morrison for a good half an hour, and he was so absorbed in it that his drink had barely been depleted more than another once, he hadn't even touched the biscuits recently. His eyes shifted from the man he watching now to another, and this one really held is attention. He was a wolf, which was strange enough down here, and for some reason he looked oddly familiar. And when he spoke, though Morrison couldn't make out the words from such a distance, he did pick up the accent a bit, making him grin widely. The wolf would have liked to approach this other to see who he was, but he was far too comfortable where he was, so he contented himself with just staring and judging from a distance.

[Sebastian Whelan Harris]

Women and children passed him without a second glance; yet he watched them as carefully as he would had they been his own child. There was something yearning in his eyes, something that was untouchable and consisted of a deep anger. Such a relationship - a human relationship - would never occur with him, he would always outlive them, his mother and his childhood friends, everybody that he once knew would be dead. The thought sickened and saddened him and caused him to run his hands through his hair again simply out of frustration. An undying frustration that he could not control, he needed a drink or food, or both, preferably.

Some intuition caused him to feel eyes on the back of his neck, he rubbed his neck as a reaction and turned around slowly. His eyes passed over several strangers before they landed upon someone - a man - sitting on a park bench, simply staring at him. For a moment his eyes narrowed and he returned the stare, then - slowly - he began to walk closer, there was hesitation in his pace and his expression was guarded. His eyes however, fell to the bottle of whiskey and the packet of cookies that rested beside the man on the bench, ah a wolf after his own heart. A brief smile dashed upon his lips and he glanced around himself for a moment. This place, Mayfair, as he heard it called, produced a feeling of paranoia about him that he couldn't quite shake.

"You got a problem there?" His tone was not insulting, it was a mere comment. It was valid, considering that this man had been staring at him. His Irish accent was quite the plain and he tilted his head slightly. Now that he was close, the wolf's face looked sunken and unhealthy as if he was plauged by loss of sleep. It confused him for he normally slept very well, despite what state he may have arrived home in. "You look like shit man," he said with a shrug, his tone was matter-of-fact and spoken in a way that was hard to take offence. The good thing about a stranger was that it was very hard to be insulted by one.

[Morrison Whelan]

Morrison smirked softly as the man he was staring at looked right back and then he even began to walk toward him, saving the wolf the effort of getting up himself. The look in the stranger's eyes was vague and determined, but upon a glance down at Morrison's hip, a smile flashed over his face, brightening his expression just the slightest bit. That same sort of smile was also drawn to the wolf's lips, thinking that perhaps the two would get along just fine with someone who appreciated a nice whiskey and cookies as much as he did.

As the man got closer, but not quite near enough to speak to, Morrison shifted his eyes down to his bottle and took a drink from it, It wasn't that it was unnerving to gaze this stranger right in the face, he was plenty used to it and people even looked way far before he did. He just thought it was incredibly creepy and rude to stare someone down like that when you weren't looking for a fight or trying to intimidate them in anyway. And he certainly wasn't looking to challenge this man; he wasn't so crazy as to pick of fight out of the blue, at least not yet.

"You got a problem there?"

Morrison turned his eyes finally to look up at the stranger. He definitely was not someone he knew as he no longer seemed as memorable up close. Maybe he had just been projecting his own image onto this wolf, not able to see details at such a distance and noticing that they had similar profiles. Odd, how the mind played tricks on you.

"Yes," the wolf replied after a second, truthfully, "but it doesn't concern you." He was tempted to add that he was staring just because he was such a handsome young man, yet that was way too strange to mention when giving a first impression, even as much as he would have liked to see how weirded out by that the man would have been. He probably would have just walked away, or punched him in the face. Either reaction would have been acceptable.

"You look like shit, man, It wasn't insulting or mocking, just a simple observation, and Morrison did agree with the sentiment.

"I do, indeed," he muttered, smiling lopsidedly as he scratched at his chin. His beard remained well trimmed at all times and he didn't walk out of the house in dirty clothes, but there was no hiding the physical effects of grief. He couldn't hide it, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he'd come to accept it, and Anna was always willing to help him 'beautify' himself a little. From time to time he get these sort of comments from people who talked to him for any length of time, usually his colleagues, and while they were more careful in wording than this stranger, it was always the same remark. Day in and day out, he looked more and more like death warmed over, and it wasn't getting any better.

"Biscuit?" he asked, suddenly, holding up the package for the man and scooting over the slightest bit on the bench to give him room to sit if he so wished to.

[Sebastian Whelan Harris]

Seb merely shrugged when the man told him that his problem - whatever it was, - did not concern him. It was both a fair and expected answer, after all, Seb was a complete stranger in these parts and his question had been invasive, even if that had not been the intention. The frustration grew within him again and he ran a distracted hand through his hair and glanced around again, standing here talking to this stranger was wasting the valuble time that he could be looking for his 'father'. Seb allowed a small sigh to escape between his lips, it was almost dark, perhaps he should simply find a hotel and start searching tomorrow. It would be the smart thing to do, and yet he was at loathe to do it, to waste any time he could be searching. Though many would say he had 'travelled the globe', he had not, and there were still many other countries to search if England proved unsuccessful, Seb had already decided that Australia would be his next best bet.

"Oh no worry, our problems rarely concern strangers," he waved his hand in a cavalier gesture, although one could tell from his eyes that he was distracted. His mother had always told him that his eyes gave away every emotion he ever felt, 'windows to his soul' she had called them, it made him feel so much more loved and adored. It often made him question why he even undertook this futile quest to find his father, he didn't need to know who sired him, he hated the memory of his father, of Morrison. What good would finding him do, other than anger him?

"Biscuit?"

He blinked a moment, startled by the interruption to his thoughts. A wayward smile caught his lips and he snagged a biscuit from the packet, something he could never turn down. Seb took a small bite, not eating the thing whole like her normally would have. "My mother used to scowl at me for having these, 'it'll rot your teeth', she used to say." A fond chuckle escaped his lips as he comandeered the edge of the seat next to the man. The cookie was particularly nice, slyly he looked at the packet, mentally recording the brand-name so that he could stop off at a shop tomorrow and purchase them.

The smile on his lips eventually faded and he scratched his head again in a habitual gesture. The silence was not companionable, there was something awkward in it, some hidden expectation. Of course, at the moment Seb was not reigistering this awkwardness, perhaps had he been paying proper attention he would have caught on, but he was not and he did not. "Huge place London, isn't it? Can't find anybody, i thought Paris was confusing, but this place ..." His tone trailed off and he lived his hands in a self-explanatory movement, yep, this was a huge city. Mentally, he was calculating his chances of finding his 'father' in a place like this, the odds didn't look good.

[Morrison Whelan]

Morrison smiled widely, watching the man take up his offer and grab himself a biscuit, before the wolf got out another cookie and nibbled around its edges. "My mother used to scowl at me for having these, 'it'll rot your teeth', she used to say." He lifted an eyebrow at this, finding this a bit of an odd thing to mention, but he shrugged it off; perhaps her was just a mummy's boy. "Wise woman," the wolf muttered, smirking a bit as he turned to look back out at the people walking past. There was something incredibly awkward between them, some inbred tension that he couldn't recognize. He ignored it as best he could, and his body stayed particularly relaxed yet his brows remained a little creased with confusion.

"Huge place London, isn't it? Can't find anybody, I thought Paris was confusing, but this place ..."

Morrison gazed back over the man and found himself transfixed; there was just something intriguing about him. Bringing the biscuit up to his lips for a bit, the wolf nodded, glancing away from the man then right back to him. "I've been here over a hundred years," he said, smiling slightly, "and I still can't find my way around half the time." It was too true. He found himself getting lost rather often, as he'd forgotten the name of a street, or a landmark, or he was just confused because everything looked so similar. At least he always had the luxury of a GPS to get him back in the right spot.

"Perhaps whoever you're looking for is here," he shrugged, finishing up his cookie then brushing crumbs off his shirt. "It'd be easy to just disappear." Again, he shrugged, as if he wasn't sure what he was talking about. In a way, he didn't. Whomever this man was trying to find was no concern of his, at least he hoped it wasn't, and wasn't going to help him in anyway, even as frustrated he seemed in the moment of mentioning that he was trying to find someone. Yet, he new very well how easy to was to vanish. When he'd gotten in trouble with any of Iivan's lackeys, or gotten on the wrong side of someone with a vengeful side, he'd just driven off to stay in the heart of London and blend in with the crowds. It wasn't preferable for him, but it worked and he wouldn't have to be around such a populated area too long; it was amazing how quickly hatred burned out for some people.

Maybe Morrison should have been hiding then, just to be safe. If anyone even suspected what he knew, almost all of what had caused Meadhbh to loose her life, then he'd be in deep shit. So far, though, he was perfectly safe and hadn't so much as received a threatening email, which was comforting; he didn't think that he could leave the comfort of the few friends he had around here for any length of time.

Picking up the bottle of whiskey, the wolf shook himself out of his thoughts, blinking softly as he drank up. After setting his drink back down, now half-empty, he faced the stranger once more and opened his mouth to introduce himself, but something stopped him using his real name, and instead he said. "Iivan Turgin," Sure, that would work. He'd be a crazed German drug dealer for the day, fun. He then held out his hand for a handshake, pushing a hopefully kind smile onto his face.

[Sebastian Whelan Harris]

A rueful chuckle escaped his lips at the wolf's comment about getting lost in London, if a person who had been here for one hundred years continued to get lost, then what hope did he have? Sebastian stuffed the rest of the cookie in his mouth and chewed, contemplation was evident on his expression as he glanced about him. Every so often his eyes woulf flick back to the stranger, only to find that the stranger was doing exactly the same thing. So maybe this strange emotion, this unknown tension was not just felt by him. Perhaps it was a reaction that all had to English wolves, he wouldn't know ... he's never met one before.

"Iivan Turgin,"

For a moment he simply stared blankly at the man, not actually recognising what it was that had been said. Finally he blinked and smiled, although the name sounded strange for somebody who was obviously of Irish decent, perhaps his parents had been going through a phase? Sebastian returned the handshake and a fleeting smirk played upon his lips, he would have tried for a smile and yet he knew that it would appear to be little more than a grimace. "Sebastian Harris." There was little pride or distaste in his words, a name was a name and what he thought of it did not matter. He rarely - if ever - introduced himself with his fathers last name, it seemed strange, to use the name of a man he didn't know, a man he hated the memory of.

After a final glance around he stared at Ivian, "Anywhere around London that is a 'wolf haunt'? That seems the best place to start looking. Drop a name and see who runs my way, kinda thing." Words were finalized by a shrug and a yawn. Seb could start a few conversations, ask a few questions, drop a few hints and then go find himself a comfortable hotel, then he would return in the morning and see if his trip to London had been worth the money. If not, it was no surprise really and he would simply move on to another place, no big deal. Simply another disappointment to add to a lifetime of them.

As much as he'd like them to, things never seemed to change and he was always repeating the same actions. This mindless journey for Cass's revenge was more like something to pass the years away. A sad thought, yet one that seemed to be true nevertheless.

[Morrison Whelan]

That pause and slight look of confusion on the man's face only helped to increase the awkwardness of this encounter, and Morrison started to drop his hand back down when a smile spread over the stranger's lips. The handshake was returned firmly, and the wolf introduced himself: "Sebastian Harris." There was brief moment of recognition at the name and Morrison found himself staring, but he quickly shook it off as paranoia. There had to be plenty of other people with the last name Harris, and not all of them was related to Cassidy. He had met a few Harrises before, hadn't he? They'd never been Irish wolves, though... No, his son was dead, he had little reason to be so sure of that, but he still believed it to be fact.

"Anywhere around London that is a 'wolf haunt'? That seems the best place to start looking. Drop a name and see who runs my way, kinda thing."

Morrison took the few moments Sebastian was speaking to take a long drink from his whiskey, then took a few more seconds to reply. His eyes wandered off the other wolf to look down at the ground, at a withering tree nearby, pretending to be thinking seriously, though he really could have answered in a heartbeat. This tension finally getting to him and now he felt a bit on edge, and wasn't keen on looking the other man in the eyes. He would soon notice the discomfort in Morrison, so looked back up to the wolf, holding his stare. He took another swig from his drink before speaking. "You could try Broadgate or Clerkenwell, plenty of people in those areas, lots of wolves..."

He trailed off a bit, shrugging, and took yet another drink of whiskey, depleting it nearly to the bottom. With a bit of a disappointed glance down at his bottle, he set it back down by his hip and pulled out a biscuit. He should have brought along a few more drinks, as it would take more than that to actually get him feeling more than buzzed. Alas, he'd thought that this would just be a quite evening where he wouldn't have to deal with others, seeing as he always drank more when around people. It was a social thing, even though his drinking would usually turn dangerous.

"What's this person's name? I may know them, or know someone who does." Morrison in truth highly doubted that he had any clue who it was Seb was looking for, but it couldn't hurt to find out. It wasn't as if he was going to make any effort to find someone who did know this mystery person. In the end, he suspected that they'd both be on their ways and the only thing he'd remember from the encounter would be the odd strain that had accompanied it. He was curious as to the source of that unease, especially seeing as they had quite a bit in common, though he wouldn't worry about it anymore than whoever it was this man was searching for.

[Sebastian Whelan Harris]

There was a time, when he was twelve years old, that his mother had actually sat him down and asked him whether he would like to take his fathers last name. To this day he wasn't sure why she had asked it, especially when he saw the relief in her eyes when he answered No. The thing was, his father had never been kept a secret from him, he'd always known his name, always known he existed. The only thing he didn't know was what he looked like and where to find him, Seb had no idea what he would do if and when he ever found his father, for the best part of his life he had been compelled and consumed by the thought of finally taking the revenge his mother had been too weak to. Learning languages, learning to track things down, all while dealing with being a werewolf had been all he knew. What would he do once it was over?

Distractedly, he ran a hand through his hair, for a moment he was unaware how long had passed since he had asked his question, he didn't even realised that Ivian had not yet answered. Finally he dragged his eyes back to the man who appeared like he was going to finally answer the question.

"You could try Broadgate or Clerkenwell, plenty of people in those areas, lots of wolves..."

He nodded vaguely as Ivian spoke, mentally writing down the names so that he would not forget. At least now he had somewhere to start and something to do, now all he needed was a hotel room, he could go do that now for the simple reason that he was far too tired to go anywhere else. Of course, if he was going to stick to his original plan then he would have to stumble down to Clerkenwell or Broadgate, wherever they were. Surely that would not take too long.

"What's this person's name? I may know them, or know someone who does."

"Morrison Whelan, he's uh ... he's my father." Again, he scratched his head in a frustrated manner before he glanced to the ground and then up at a single streetlamp that stood near them. Finally, he stood up, brushing himself off although there was no real dirt on him at all. Seb walked one pace forward before turning back to Ivian, though he did not completely look at him. "Thankyou for everything, maybe i'll see you around." With that he nodded, there was no need to hang around, he'd already thanked Ivian, there was no need to hang around. Slowly he turned to walk back the way he'd come, shoving his hands deep in his pockets as he did so. He was going to need a drink after this night.

[Morrison Whelan]

"Morrison Whelan, he's uh ... he's my father."

The wolf blinked, well it was more like his eyelids spasmed, and the very corner of his lip twitched. "Sorry," he muttered, before clearing his throat to steady his voice, "I don't know who that is..." Surprisingly, he was able to keep his face in a rather neutral expression and lifting the whiskey bottle to his lips helped control any sort of weird, confused twitches. So this was the reason for the awkwardness in their meeting; the fucking bastard was hunting him down. No, he didn't believe for one moment that Seb was his son, he just thought that he was an excellent actor. What seemed more likely to him was that the man was a spy of sorts, to see if he knew anything about the reason for Meadhbh's death, or perhaps they were just trying to get back at him for attacking one of their men, the leech that had offed his friend.

The whole 'I'm your son bit' wasn't going to convince to reveal himself though. Morrison had no desire to meet his son, that was if he wasn't dead already. However, this was was a bit worrying, that this man knew such facts about him, it meant that he or someone else in that organization had gotten close to one of the people that he had spoken to about his son. Further more, this could mean that they had even more personal information on him; his home, his closest friends... If that was the case, he knew that he could be expecting a visit from someone else looking for him at his home or any other places that he frequented. Iivan, Jeena, Anna, and even Nessa could be at risk, any of his colleagues too.

At the same time, it could be that this had just been a coincidence, that this man thought that perhaps this story about looking for his estranged father story might persuade a stranger to help him in his search or pull someone who knew Morrison very little to remember the name better. This idea was slightly more comforting for him, since it didn't entail any invasion to his privacy, but his paranoid, more than slightly unraveled mind held onto the more sinister of the two situations.

His hands were shaking softly as he lowered the bottle from his mouth, so he was relieved that the other wolf wasn't watching him. It suddenly occurred to him that it was odd for a werewolf to be working for vampires, maybe that had paid him quite handsomely for his service. Goddamn traitor. Morrison would have punched him in the face if he hadn't been so keen on keeping his identity a secret for now. To mask the growing frustration in him, he picked up a biscuit and gnawed on the edge, grinding it near to dust between his teeth.

"Thank you for everything, maybe I'll see you around."

The werewolf looked up the man, forcing a sort of smile to his lips. "No problem," His voice was steady, no different from before (at least it seemed so to him); good. "Maybe you will." He flashed another half smile at him before he had turned his back and walked away. Once the other wolf was a good distance away, Morrison let a breath that he hadn't realize he had been holding in, and slumped a little bit forward, still nibbling on his biscuit. One of his hands slipped into his inner pocket, his fingers wrapping around the handle of the pistol that was there. He kept his fingers at a distance from the trigger, as he had adjusted it to go off with the slightest pressure, but it still felt reassuring to have it at the ready, just in case Sebastian turned back around to confront him. He wanted to get out of there, yet that would mean that he'd have to follow after the other wolf, as he'd parked his car on that side of town and he wasn't fond on trying to find an alternate route.

To give himself something to do for the time being, he slid the gun out of his pocket. There were so few people around to see him, and if they did, he was sure that they wouldn't care; it wasn't exactly uncommon to carry a firearm around. Carefully, Morrison slipped out the clip in the gun's handle, and checked how many bullets were there. 16; so he was missing one. This confused him for a moment before he remember that the gun had been set off when he'd been at Anna's house and he hadn't yet replaced it, as it hadn't seemed necessary; he wasn't using the gun often anyway, it was, so far, really just to make him feel more secure. With a soft click he slid the clip back into the gun before placing it back into his pocket and sitting back, sighing deeply. If this was how he was going to feel for the next few weeks, maybe months, he wasn't so sure that he'd want to stay in London. Perhaps it was time for a change of scenery. Sure, he could keep avoiding detection like this for a while, but soon he'd be so damn nervous all the time, he'd have a hard time keeping his emotions in check. Morrison couldn't even be sure that he'd kept everything concealed tonight...

[Sebastian Whelan Harris]

A futile hand dragged its way through his hair, he was so weary and he had no idea where Clerkenwell was. Seb was not an idiot, he'd seen the look that Ivian had given him when he mentioned Morrison's name, it was hard to miss, which meant that the man had to know who he was. It was also obvious that he would not help Seb on his mission. That was ok, he was accustomed to being alone, but at least he was a little closer. It meant, at the very least, that Morrison was somewhere in London. It meant that his life-long journey was coming to an end, how long would he have to look for this Morrison? When he found him it would be over quickly, then maybe he could return home, to Ireland. It would not be the same anymore, without his mother, but he would try to make it his home, like it used to be.

With a sigh he leaned against the wall of a building, fishing his mobile from his pocket as he did so. The number he dialled was from memory, though he stared intently at the keys so that he did not mess up the number. "Yeah, Sammy? It's me. I'm in London, but i don't know where he is or even if he's here. Cas- Mum, said nothing about where he was but i think ..." Here he paused, listening intently to Sam on the other line. He nodded once and ran his spare hand through his hair. "Well i've got some places i have to check out first, what was the name of that hotel? ... I don't know where that is, ah well, i'll find it somehow." Again he paused and ruffled a hand through his hair, smiling slightly. "Na, it'll work out. I'm coming back soon, i can't stand it here, i miss Ireland, and mum .. i haven't visited her grave in years. Yeah, i'll call you tomorrow." He hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket with a sigh, a half smile playing upon his lips. Seb felt so discontented, things were not going the way he wanted.

Finally he glanced back, seeing the man still standing there, he shook his head, shoved his hands in his pockets and moved off at a slow walk once again. It was going to be a long night, he might as well get started.

[Morrison Whelan]

Morrison was woken out of an almost slumber like daze by the sound of his phone going off. He fumbled around with his jacket for a moment, almost grabbing at his gun but stopping short just before his hand closed on the handle, and eventually got out his phone, flipping it open a second before the ringer cut out. "Hello? ... Oh hey Jeena."

"Weren't you coming to visit Iivan today?"

"Yeah... Wait..." He glanced down at his watch to check the time and sighed deeply; it was already 9 o'clock. "It's too late to come isn't it?"

"Yeah, I knocked him out an hour ago, the pain was getting to him. ... Want me to come over tonight? Give you some company? You've been pretty lonely lately."

"Nah," Morrison muttered, sitting up straighter to get his head a little cleared up. "I'm thinking of staying at a hotel or something tonight anyway."

"Why's that? It's not that depressing at your place..."

"No, it's not that," the wolf shook his head and dropped back down into a slouch, "I just met this man that's looking for me, he said he was my son. Now, I know that's a load of shit, but the only other explanation is that someone knows that I talked to... to Meahbh about what she heard, and they want to keep me quiet. So, I mean, I want to keep a low profile."

There was a sigh on the other line. "Morry, an assassin's not just going to walk around asking people if they know a certain person. They'd have enough connections for that to be pointless, and it would be incredibly suspicious."

"But-" the wolf started, only to be interrupted. "I don't want you waving that gun of yours in his face, demanding answers, but you should find out what he wants from you, if it's something important, say, if he really is your-

"Do not say he's my son, my son's dead, gone." This was followed by a good thirty seconds of silence, before Morrison broke it, sighing. "Alright, I'll find out who the bloke is," He paused then added: "In a civilized manner."

"Good, and visit Iivan tomorrow, he's getting bored of me."

"You're not too terribly interesting..." he teased, receiving a soft sigh from the other line, "but I should get going if I don't want to lose this guy."

"Alright," Jeena said softly, "just don't do anything stupid. Bye Morrry."

"Bye Jeen," he said before hanging up and pressing the phone back into his pocket.

Standing up proved be a little hazardous, as his legs had fallen partially asleep and he didn't realize it until he started to use them again. For a second his legs were stiff and not too willing to move until he gave them a minute or so to get the feeling back. Now mobile, the wolf picked up his bottle and nearly empty biscuit package and tossed them in a bin before standing off to the side of the road and looking around. Sebastian was no longer in sight and he had no idea where he would find him. Perhaps he would bump into him if he just walked the way the other man had gone. That had been at least a good ten minutes ago though, he was lucky if he was still in the area, since he could have easily gotten in a car and be 10 km away by now. However, right now, walking and hoping was the best he could do at the moment, as he didn't want to get into tracking down names and such, and if the man obviously wasn't even from England, then it'd be difficult to ever find him.

With a sigh, Morrison started to make his way down the street, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, enjoying the feel and weight of the pistol underneath his knuckles. Jeena had done very little to quell his suspicions about the man he'd met, despite her sound logic. Believing that everyone was your enemy instead of your friend was safer for someone physically (though not mentally, you'd become so lonely) so it was what path his mind decided to go down. This stranger was not an ally, perhaps a friendly acquaintance at most, and at worst his would-be executioner. The best case scenario was that he was a new member of D.O.G.S., looking for Morrison for whatever reason. But it still begged the question: why the whole 'son' bit?

Upon reaching his car, parked up by a curb, the wolf stopped to look around while pulling out his keys. Seb's scent was lingering faintly in that general area, meaning that he wasn't too far off, unless he had stood in that same place for a while. And even if that was the case he couldn't be too far gone. However, the man was nowhere in sight and Morrison didn't exactly feel like really searching for him. He slid into his car, causing the softest of creaks, reminding him that he needed to get the shocks replaced, then sat in the driver's seat with the door slightly ajar, listening, smelling, and watching the street outside, unsure as to what to do or where to go.

[Sebastian Whelan Harris]

His mind was foccused on many things; Ireland, his mother, his father, alcohol, sleep, his friends, his life, sleep ... always sleep. This preoccupation made him almost oblivious to what was going on around him in such a way that he simply walked. His facial expression was far from vacant, although it would be clear from anyone observing him that he was dealing with some inner conflict, something that had yet to be offered a conclusion. As it was, he didn't notice somebody following him until the scent was so close that it would almost be too late.

His head snapped up as the scent hit him, his eyes narrowing in confusion at the identification of the familiar scent. Familiar was the key word, since he had only met one person in London so far, it was not too much trouble to decide who that scent belonged to. Ivian. The frown deepened and he stepped back off the sidewalk, casting himself into the shadow of the building nearby and glancing out behind him. There had been something strange about this guy's reactions to his word, a reaction that Seb had not pushed, but perhaps it was that which made Ivian desire to follow him. Maybe giving him instructions on where to find werewolves had been part of an ulterior plan. Clerkenwell may not even be a werewolf haunt, it may simply be a place to lure Seb until Ivian could kill him. A light brush over his clothing told him that he had yet to buy weapons, silently he cursed himself, it was another thing he was going to do tomorrow, another thing that would be too late. If it came to a fight then he would have to resort to physical or wolf fight. The latter made him cringe, the scent on this man had told him that Ivian was an older wolf, and Seb avoided his wolf form so his techniques were not for the best.

Another thing he could do was hail a taxi before Ivian found him and get the hell out of Mayfair. That option seemed plausible and after a moments hesitation, Seb stepped up to the curb. Hoping that a taxi would swing by. His phone was again in his hand, not that it was useful as he didn't know the number for London's Cab company, a sigh left him and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Finally a car came around the corner, yet it was too flashy for any sort of taxi and once he inhaled the scent came to him far too clearly. Damn it. He'd been found, a single motion took him back into the shadows and he stood there, hoping that maybe Ivian had been looking a different direction and had not seen him. A futile hope, of course.

[Morrison Whelan]

Leaning forward, Morrison rested his forehead on the steering wheel, thinking. He didn't want to go back to his apartment and be alone, especially with the how the day had gone. Nor did he want to track down this Sebastian character for the rest of the night, as he really wasn't in the mood, and despite what Jeena had said, he wasn't so sure that it would be worth it in the end. If this guy really was not there looking to hurt him, he could be on his way and forget about him. Perhaps Jeena would be alright with him going over to her house to spend the night, maybe Anna was even available; he didn't know her work schedule, so he couldn't be sure.

With a sort of sighing breath, the wolf lifted his head then reached over to close his door. Anna's apartment felt like the best choice, as it was possible he could even find a bit of solace in her body for the night. The thought pulled the slightest of smiles over his expression and he felt his body relax, the tension ebbing out of him just knowing that he'd have someone there who would willingly, even gratefully, help him relieve his stress. He could even admit that he was starting to love her the tiniest bit for it. Sure, those sort of feelings were pulling him into a dangerous situation in their relationship, but he really couldn't help it, the human was so sweet to him, and he always needed someone like that.

After stretching his arms, letting his body fall comfortably into his seat, Morrison pushed his keys into the ignition and switched on the car. The familiar turning of the engine greeted him with a purr and, once he'd secured his seat belt, he pressed down on the accelerator, smoothly pulling the not-quite-a-sports-car fully onto the road. Driving always seemed to help calm the wolf down, yet tonight there was still an edge to his mood, as he was half-searching for the other wolf, and he couldn't relax enough to get into the proper mood where flaws in the control over his vehicle -most notably his speed- weren't evident. Even so, he was a better driver than most humans, having had that same car for countless decades.

As he approached another corner, Morrison noticed a man standing up ahead, slightly shrouded in shadows. He reached over to roll down his window for a whiff of the person's scent and stopped shortly there after, pulling up only a few feet past the man. Sebastian again. Jesus, the man was like a ghost, appearing and reappearing where and when he wished. Why was he just standing there though? Surely, he wasn't waiting for Morrison - Iivan to him. Perhaps he was waiting for a ride, fat chance he'd find one, it wasn't common practice for taxis or buses to come down here.

Completely rolling down his window, the wolf leaned out into the night air and called, not too loudly, over to the other man. "Get in if you need a ride," he was proud of himself, as it came out sounding kind and genuinely concerned, "It's no trouble really." He reached over and popped open the passenger side door to further the invitation, to even go so far as to make it command. Morrison wasn't too keen on going out of his way to take this man wherever it was he needed to be, but it would give him time to ask him a few questions.

[Sebastian Whelan Harris]

A car did in fact pull up in front of him, although it was not the taxi like he expected, in fact it was not any form of public transport. It was a simple car, although simple was a bit of an understatement. As soon as the man rolled down the window the scent hit Seb and he stepped back out of instinct. It was the same man as before, Ivian, the man who had given him directions before being strangely cold as the conversation came to an end. Naturally there was discomfort in his stance, his arms crossed against his chest in an unconscious protective gesture and he allowed his body to be further shrouded in the shadow of the building.

"Get in if you need a ride, It's no trouble really."

The door clicked open, further underlying the unspoken command in Ivian's words. It was like he was giving Seb two choices: 1. You can get in the car willingly, 2. I can drag you here. Seb was not stupid, he recognised the tone of an 'alpha' wolf and he was not foolish enough to test the boundaries. Seb was rarely ever a leader, only when he ever needed to be. Which was rare.

Slowlyy and reluctantly, he moved toward the car. There was hesitation in his gait and a tension that would allow him to run at any time. If something happened before he was in the car then he could run and get a fair distance away before Ivian was even out of the car. Unfortunately, it never came to that and he got into the drivers seat and shut the door. His hand rested inconspicuously on the handle, he would jump if the need came to it. His spare hand ran through his hair. "I'm just looking for a hotel, it's somewhere around .... London." He shrugged, not very good with directions in a foreign town.




[shit post, i apologise]