• Name: Ferris
• Nicknames: Ferris
• Age and Birth Date: Looks mid-twenties, young.
• Occupation: Rowan's bodyguard/chauffeur

It certainly hadn't sounded amicable but -- maybe it had been two people in a relationship having an argument. At least it left Rabi in a better mood, and maybe that'd linger until Saturday.
The address was a house -- and a really big house, just far enough that Tucker would probably have to uber out. That or walk quite a ways from the train station. The community wasn't private, or gated, but the houses were far apart and all the same kind of expensive, with pools and curated gardens. Maybe not quite mansions, but it was close.

Getting to the house had been more of a pain in the ass than Tucker had thought it'd be. He'd had to take a train out, and an Uber from there, and as a college student with only a part time job he certainly didn't have unlimited funds.

But he was there now, a little after twelve, with a bag slung over his shoulder with a few art supplies, just in case, and his project rolled loosely and held down at his side.

Still feeling uneasy, he lifted the other hand to knock on the door.

There was no reply; in this neck of the woods, and considering the size of the place, he was probably going to have to ring the bell. In all honesty, he was probably lucky the driveway gate had been open.

He waited for a solid five minutes before he checked the time on his phone wnd reached up again to try the doorbell.

Past noon, now, which meant that he was late -- or Rabi was, but it was doubtful Rabi was going to see it that way. Still, another minute or two before he answered the doors, in paint splattered jeans and another near-see-through t-shirt.

"Uh, hi." He flicked a glance down to the jeans, the paint, then back up again, lips pressing into a thin, awkward line. "I tried to knock, but I don't think it was loud enough."

Somewhere in the distance there was music; a thrum of something heavy and shouting. Rabi cocked his head and then took a step back to let Tucker in. "I was on the other side of the house."

He hesitated before stepping inside, gaze jumping off Mahar ans past him at the sound of the shouting half muffled by music. "Is everything okay? I can come back a different time."

"I was just working." The guitar ratcheted up; maybe it was more screaming than shouting, now. Rabi shrugged a little; he was barefoot, and maybe it made him seem a bit more vulnerable.

Tucker glanced back again, not entirely convinced. "What's that sound?"

"Gwar." Rabi raised an eyebrow at him, maybe expectant.

"Gwar," he repeated, as if that's help him understand what that meant. It didn't. "And that is...?"

"Shock rock." He stepped back again, heading in that direction.

He blinked. "Oh." Just music. Stage music, but music.

Tucker's lips twisted up on one side as he followed, head on a swivel as he looked around what he could see if the spacious house.

"I didn't expect you to recognize it; you seem more like a Jock Jams kind of guy to me." There was that bite again; but it was easier, now, thoughtless, without the sharp intention behind it. Rabi led him through a house that felt huge, and expensive, and strangely empty. Wherever he lived should have been crowded with art and color, it felt like, but instead this place was white. The furniture looked unlived in.

At this point Tuck was so used to the bite that he hardly noticed what little of it there was. Or maybe the music was just distracting. He followed along at Mahar's heels, gaze still flicking back and forth as they moved through or passed other rooms. "I listen to a lot of things," he defended almost absently. "But no, I don't recognize this."

It was getting louder -- overpowering -- as they moved through rooms toward an empty space filled with art supplies. This room felt out of place with the rest: the walls painted a bit darker grey, the floors covered with brown paper instead of pristine white rugs, and of course, Rabis work all over the place. All of it had that hot feeling: burning, reds and yellows. "Let's see your piece."

It was getting hard to think as they moved closer and closer to the source, the unfamiliar music jarring to the young man's senses. Bad enough that he barely seemed to register the request once they'd reached Mahar's studio.

He turned blue eyes up to the older man, lingering there for a moment, before handing over the roll of heavy paper almost distractedly and looking back at one of the completed or in process pieces.

It was loud here, loud enough that Rabi had to raise his voice, and it certainyl would have been simpler if he'd just turned down the volume. But he didn't. Instead he clipped up Tucker's piece with a breath of a sigh out, folding arms over his chest as he surveyed it.

It wasn't just loud it was grating, and Tucker knew if he had to stand in the press of it much longer he'd be leaving there with a headache. But he didn't say anything yet, just waited uneasily as the other man clipped his project up and looked it over.

Tucker looked at Mahar's work, keeping himself occupied that way. Taking in the details and the colors, the different textures. He didn't like the guy, he was an ass, but Tucker could see why he'd gotten the job.

"John's office is down the hall to the left, third door, with all the wood." It was absent, still looking over Tucker's work, his voice raised over the music.

The comment was random enough to be confusing initially. "What?" He turned back with a small frown.

"His office. With his desk in it." It was somewhere between amused and annoyed flicking a look over at Tucker.

Oh. Right. "What does the pin look like?" He couldn't say if he'd ever seen a hat pin before. "And it's just sitting on the desk?"

"It's probably in one of the drawers. And it's probably locked, but he leaves the keys around." He half-turned to grab a paintbrush and held it out toward Tucker. "It's about this big. With rubies."

That was a little more complicated than he thought Mahar had mentioned the first time, and that thought showed on his face as he glanced over his shoulder at the door then back again. "Where is he?" Why couldn't Mahar just do this himself?

"Laps, I think." He wiggled the paintbrush at Tucker. "Just put this in its place. He'll know what it means."

He took the paintbrush tentatively, glancing between it and Mahar. "And he's not coming back for a bit, right?" As much as the older man had said he could blame him if something happened, he'd rather nothing like that happen.

"He'll do an hour or two of laps." He leaned out to punch the pause button on his music -- an old ipod, beat, it stood out against the expense of the rest of the house.

So he had some time. That was good. Tucker sighed as he looked down at the paintbrush again and then walked out the door and into the hall, following the other man's directions down the hall to 'John's' office.

He'd recognize the office once he cracked a few doors: by the huge oak desk with a massive monitor on it, by the bookshelves covered in books that looked expensive and untouched, by the whiskey on a bar in the corner.

It felt safer to leave the door open behind him so he could listen for footsteps or voices or anything else that'd signal that he needed to get the fuck out of there. So with senses straining he began looking for keys, searching the top of the desk, surrounding bookshelves, pulling at the drawers in case any of them might be open and hiding the key.

It wasn't even that difficult: he'd find the key hung on a hook by the door, which maybe prompted the question as to why Rabi didn't just pull this prank himself.

The question had arisen before Tucker had even entered the office, but the young men hadn't voiced it. Hadn't wanted to risk things going back to how they had been, or worse. If pulling a prank would make it better, and no one got in trouble or got hurt, that seemed worth it.

The key was plucked from the hook on the wall and Tucker started using it on the draws of the desk.

He'd open three or four -- one of them onto a pile of hundred dollar bills -- before he found one with the hairpin in it. And only the hairpin. It looked old, not medieval or western but something almost Asian. It came to a wicked point, with a design halfway between flowers and fire done in red rubies set into antiqued gold.

It sat on black velvet. The point was strangely tarnished with dark red specks.

A couple of minutes of searching and he found it. It was old looking, maybe antique, and he reached for it carefully, the paintbrush in his other hand, poised to replace the pin as he picked it up gently.

He felt -- something -- when he picked it up. Something like attention being turned toward him, the metal warm under his fingertips. The desk didn't snap closed, and the room didn't shake, and no giant boulders rolled out of the woodwork, but there was that sense of focus. And on top of that, a strange urge that was probably unfamiliar to Tucker: a sense that it would be very satisfying, that it'd be right and proper, to prick his fingertip on that wickedly sharp point.

Tucker's head snapped up immediately, expecting fully to see someone standing at the door and was surprised to see it still empty. The window was empty as well. His shoulder blades itched with the feeling of being watched, but there was no one there. A wholly uncomfortable sensation that had Tucker closing the drawer and relocking it.

But that's as far as he got. His attention drawn down to the pin in his hands. He'd stopped halfway to the door to replace the keys.

He turned it in his hand, thumb running lightly over the stones and down the length of it to the tarnished tip, lingering they're for probably a solid minute before...

He winced as a spot of blood welled up in the center of his thumb.

It had barely welled up before Rabi was next to him -- fast enough that it was as if he'd materialized there, and he watched Tucker in a cross kind of way, all the nicety gone out of his expression.

"You're not that sweet, then, I take it."

Tucker just about jumped out of his skin; jerking away from the voice and damn near stumbling. His fingers closing tightly around the head of the hat pin to keep from dropping it.

It was Mahar's voice, but he wasn't who Tucker had expecting in his shock, and he was slow to push past the initial shock. Wide eyes staying wide for a moment longer before melting into confusion.

"I..." that comment hadn't made sense. He frowned. "I put the brush in the drawer."

"I suggest we move, and quickly." He took Tucker by the upper arm and like that they were no longer in the office but were, instead, standing in Rabi's studio. He grabbed Tucker's work and shoved it into his hand before he could react.

He tried to step back, to avoid that reaching hand, but fingers closed around cool skin anyways and the next thing Tucker knew they were standing in the studio instead of the office and Mahat was shoving his project at him. "What? Shit, how'd-" Tuck fumbled to grab it while still holding onto the pin.

"What the fuck just happened?"

He hesitated just a moment, looking over his own work -- rolling his shoulders as he did, like some tension was finally worked out of him -- and tried to decide what was worth taking with them. "I don't suppose you drove."

"No." It was an automatic response that required no thought, but the question didn't derail Tuck's concerns. He pulled on his arm. "What's going on? How did we get from the office and back here in a fucking instant?"

"Mr. Williams, our time is limited, so..." He hesitated just a moment, focusing in on Tucker. "I would very much like to take three scuptures, but if don't have a car, I guess they'll burn with the house."

Tucker's eyes widened at the mention of burn and rest of the house. "What?!" He jerked again, trying to yank his arm out of shockingly strong fingers. How is he this strong?

Rabi smiled at him again, that sudden and sharp smile, and grabbed one painting off of an easel to take with him as he dragged Tucker toward the door. "Time is short."

It didn't matter how hard he tried to yank or twist or break the grip the older man had on his arm his hand didn't so much as budge, and Tucker found himself being dragged throw the studio door and back the way he'd been lead when he'd arrived.

Questions up to that point had proved next to useless, but that didn't stop the young man from trying as he was pulled along. "Mr. Mahar, what's going on?"

"I think John's going to be pretty upset with us, frankly." He flicked a look toward the back as they went, still dragging Tucker through the massive house.

"If you burn the house down? Yeah!" It wasn't exactly shrill, bit it was in that realm of anxious.

"He's already upset, I'd wager." He dropped something behind them and fire licked in his footsteps -- which would maybe, finally, get Tucker moving on his own.

"He's not even—Shit!" It did indeed get him moving faster, as fast as Mahar's hand on his arm would allow.

Whatever was happening, he'd absolutely gotten I'm way over his head. It wasn't suspension or expulsion he was going to have to worry about at this point. It was theft and arson. "What the fuck, why are you doing this?"

"Does it make you feel better if I say he deserves it?" He hauled Tucker out onto the front lawn, peering around the corner. "Can you call a car? I don't have a phone."

It was next to impossible for Tucker to dig out his phone and hold on to both his project and the pin, especially with his arm still being pulled on, but he managed it after a lot of fumbling.

"Not if we get arrested!" He snapped back, pulling up Uber.

Rabi made a dismissive sound at the idea, and then kicked into motion again -- taking tucker's project back to tuck alongside his own. "We should keep walking."

Without the project he could actually use the phone, which made ordering an Uber possible, but. "How is the Uber going to find us of we're moving?" Not that he was against getting as far away from the house as he could, that seemed like a very good idea. Just, the logistics. "We have to give them a place to meet us."

"Pick a place then, but I don't really want to be here when John rounds the corner." He hesitated just a breath, turning in place -- calculating -- and then headed for one of the neighboring houses. "The Ferreras shouldn't be home."

The sound Tuck responded with was low, an odd mix of panic and frustration as he half turned to look down the street. Like he expected the tall man from Mahar's office to come sprinting after them. Or worse, driving.

He followed the other man to the neighbor's house, mostly because he didn't have much of choice in the matter, and with the assumption they'd be hiding there he summoned an Uber. "Eight minutes," he read allowed. "They'll be in a blue Civic."

The phone was shoved back into his pocket. "You said John would be gone a couple hours, why would be be coming back now?" Why did it still feel like he had eyes on him?

"He felt that." He gestured, vaguely, down to the hair pin -- and caught Tucker again to drag him around the neighbor's fence and into their yard. "And our pool is out back."

Oh, swimming... Not jogging. Not away from the house at some track, but in the backyard.

Wait. "What do you mean he felt that?" It was that same not-quite-shrill- tone again, hand tightening almost painfully around the pin.

The clutch around the pin drew Rabi's eyes down to it like a magnet: and they were brighter, now, not the muted gold of hazel but something almost yellow. He shifted in place, working his mouth, and then held out his hand.

"You can give that to me now, if you'd like." But maybe he seemed a little too eager, behind it.

Drawing his hand further away was almost automatic, thoughtless. He couldn't have said what made him not want to hand it over, but the feeling was there, twisting in the pit of his stomach.

"I think you owe me an explanation before I just hand this thing over." It wasn't exactly firm, but he stood his ground as best he could with Mahar's hand still wrapped around his arm.

"You tricked me into stealing this for you." That, at least, he felt sure of. Now. "And you set your house on fire. Not to mention all the strange shit. Blinking from one room to the next, talk of that guy feeling me take this." He took a breath, paused. Brows creasing as he looked up into weirdly bright eyes. "How did you start that fire?"

At the time Tucker had thought he must have dropped something like a lighter, that while Tuck had been busy the older man had spread accelerate, but he hadn't smelled anything.

He licked his lips and looked up over Tucker's head, where a ploom of smoke spouted over the top of the fence. At least they were still out of sight; by now, maybe, someone had called the cops. "How does anyone start a fire? There's a spark. We were in my studio...."

"That's not an answer." Not a clear one. Sure itself as the means made...sense. Tuck wasn't connecting the dots on any concious level yet, but he wasn't question the why fire.

"Well, I mean, there was paint everywhere, wasn't there?" He reached out carefully to adjust where Tuck was standing, so he wouldn't be too obvious between the slats.