The Wednesday morning passed quickly and pleasantly, her lunch break following in much the same manner. Clover skipped the usual visit to the market place in favor for visiting Caddis? ship further down on the docks. With her lunch break over, Clover returned to the Alpha stall for a few more hours of work. Caddis opting to join her as manned the stall at the docks provided even more entertainment, not just for Clover but also for the sailors that came by to visit with the spokesvixen and purchase the product being sold.

As she commonly did, Clover sat on the stall with legs crossed while surrounded by a cluster of clients. Along with them stood Caddis, prompting Clover for stories she previously shared with him that he thought would delight the group. It took little urging from the sailors for Clover to fulfill the details of incidents Caddis took pleasure at only hinting at.

?Aye! What about tha? card game you had witha chieftain? who bet his wife??

A number of the sailors were well aware of the lady?s talent (or more so her incredible luck) when it came to cards and could instantly guess she?d been the victor of the game. Still, it didn?t hinder them from wanting to hear all about it. The sailors lifted voice in union, asking questions or telling Clover to tell on. She was ready to give them what they wanted, as far as telling the story, when the niggling sensation in the back of her head distracted her. A hand rose up, halting the words of those around her as she turned to discover what she believed to be the source of the bad vibe.

The man looked innocent enough, mid-thirties with a tidy appearance. Clover thought she recalled him being a clerk at one of the currency exchange offices in the area. He stood there holding a bottle of Alpha that had been picked up from the pyramid display, brows furrowed as he looked it over. She watched him in silence as he put that bottle down to inspect another and then a third, as if verifying some fact. The line of his lip thinned with the assessment of each bottle.

?Are you interesting in purchasing a bottle of Alpha, sir??

Even surrounded by a number of other men, Clover was able to focus her attention on the one as though he was the only man before her. For a moment he appeared to be distracted from his own thoughts by the presence of the woman before him, but hard resolve broke off the smile he started for form and shaped his lips in something that ended up being coolly polite. He placed the third bottle back into the pyramid, adding further finality with his words.

?Not anymore.?

Clover?s lashes fluttered in surprise at the abrupt refusal, further caught off guard by the buzz in the back of her mind that said bad news was coming. Without response, she watched him turn and make his way back toward the dockside offices. Her onlookers stood by in puzzled confusion at the exchange, hushed voices slowly lifting in volume with their thoughts on the man. It took Caddis? hand on her knee to call her attention back to her fans and she armed herself with a brilliant smile.

?Where were we? Oh! The chieftain and his wife!?

She told the story with all the flair she could manage, but even though it had lessened, the feeling of something being off remained. The man, the inspection of the bottles, they were puzzle pieces belonging to a whole she had yet to understand. The whispered niggling in the back of her head said that this was just the beginning.

Harris rapped his knuckles against 2C in the Zen Gardens building thrice, then he took up a casual lean against the door's frame, awaiting a response from within the apartment. Despite Clover's social nature she didn't get many unexpected visits at her place. She lingered on the couch a moment before rising. Bare feet pattered across the floor as she came to the door, cracking it open slightly, then fuller as she leaned in the open doorway, decked out in a soft yellow top and capri cut jeans.

"Harris?" came the surprised query.

"The one and only," the blue-haired man responded, offering Clover a rather dazzling smile.

"And unexpected. Something up?"

"Business," Harris offered with an almost too casual shrug.

It seemed to take Clover awhile to commit to inviting someone unexpected in, even if that someone was Harris. But she stepped away from the door to allow him entrance if he wished it. "Did you want to come in?"

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important," Harris assured her as he accepted the invitation, pushing away from the door frame to ease himself across the threshold and into her apartment.

"I know." Since it was Harris she didn't ask if he would like something,instead merely moving by him and into the kitchen to fetch a beer. A Badsider was taken from the fridge and set on the counter bar that divided the kitchen from the living room. There were stools at the bar should he desire to sit, though Clover leaned against the counter by the sink and waited for the important news.

"We've got a small problem," Harris began, index finger and thumb held mere centimeters apart to help indicate how small the problem was he was referring to, pausing long enough to sweep his gaze across the apartment, noting how it suited the easy nature of the woman who lived there: natural colors, open floor space, lots of light from the huge windows, art work on the walls. Clover watched Harris move toward the Badsider she had set out, trying to discern exactly when that feeling in the back of her head had started. She nodded slowly, expecting him to continue. He calmly twisted the cap off his beer and spun it on the countertop, going so far as to take several swallows of the brew before elaborating further.

"Someone, or rather a group of people, seem to be targeting the Alpha stalls."

"Targeting?" Clover frowned and the niggling in the back of her head went up a notch.

"One of the stalls got knocked over earlier in the week. Smashed all the product, skittered off the with day's take. I thought it was an isolated robbery at first, but..." Harris sucked his teeth before continuing. "Other vendors have since complained about being pelted with eggs, their stalls being vandalized when they're away on their breaks, et cetera."

Clover shook her head, not because she didn't believe the events occured but because she found the acts so hard to understand. "I haven't had any trouble at mine..."

"Probably because your stall is in a high traffic area. Same with the main marketplace stall. The others are a bit off the beaten path. They're probably not feeling bold enough to hit either yet. Yet being the key word." Harris hesitated long enough to take several much longer swallows of beer. "A number of the other vendors demanded some form of security and when I declined, several of them walked, right on the spot. I've opted to scale back. Until I know what the deal is just two stalls will be operational. Yours and Julia's in the Marketplace."

Oddly enough, Clover was silently considering the offers she had from various sources for a bodygaurd. If not for herself, at least for Julie in the Marketplace stall. She was spared from having to think of any other stalls to include when Harris told her how much he was scaling back. "Have any other businesses near your stalls had trouble?"

"I've heard rumblings of someone trying to run a protection racket, but this doesn't fit with that." A shake of his head from left to right, knowing full well sabotaging a business wasn't the modus operandi of anyone with a protection scheme in mind. "I had a conversation with Lelah last night though that shed some light on things. Apparently it's out in the wild that I didn't sign the Free Labor Agreement. Outside of the product placement deal we made she doesn't intend to have any further dealings with anyone that hasn't signed the agreement. I have an inkling this might be related to that."

Clover considered that, recalling the odd behavior of the man at the stall. "Is there a way people mark their products once they've signed the agreement?"

"Eh. I think they've got a seal or something," he revealed, upending his beer for another swig.

It seemed to make sense then to Clover. It didn't matter that slave labor wasn't involved, all that mattered was that Harris had declared he was okay with it. She'd gotten a very civil response as compared to others. The niggling in her head picked up. Clover wet her lips and nodded. "I think your assumption about the Free Labor Agreement is right. A man came to my stall some time back, looking over the bottles as though he were expecting to see something on them. Or not see it." Blue-greys lifted to Harris with concern.

Harris grunted, the pieces falling into place then for him as well, and he nodded once then downed the rest of his beer. "Well, if this is how some people are deciding to support the agreement they're about to learn the hard way that I'm not the one they want."

"The hard way?" Harris' line stopped any question Clover might have been forming to address him changing his mind.

"They lost the option for the easy way when they decided to steal from me," Harris replied in an unusually hard tone that he immediately allowed to soften. "But what I need you to do is keep your eyes open, alright? First sign of any trouble you can't handle..." Harris crooned his next line expertly. "...go on, take the money and run."

Given the mass of thoughts Clover had or maybe just the topic at hand it was easy to see why her smirk wasn't full-fledged, but she nodded her understanding. "Will do, Boss."

"I won't leave you out there hangin'. Trust me," Harris reassured her, his most charming smile on display. "Nice digs by the way. Thanks for the beer." And with the necessary information passed along to his best seller he was looking to make his visit a short one, moving away from the kitchen counter and back toward the door.

"Welcome." Clover played the role of good hostess, picking up the empty bottle and tossing it into a bin lightly before following Harris to the door and opening it for him. "Thanks for the information Harris. I'll keep my eyes open."

"Ears too. Keep those open." Harris allowed a grin to spread across his lips for Clover as he crossed the threshold once more, stepping out into the hallway.

"Ears too," Clover repeated, leaning against the frame of the door.

"And any other body parts you feel the need to keep open." Harris dissolved into snickers then, lifting a hand to wave blindly over his shoulder as he headed away from Clover's apartment and down the hall, having an uncanny knack for making certain he had the final word.

((OOC Note: Adapted from live play.))

"Ahem." Harris cleared his throat, straying from his tactic of supervising his stalls from a distance as it seemed his immediate presence was required in the tense standoff. Every head on either side turned toward him as he ambled casually toward the gathering, hands in his pockets. It was no surprise that he was recognized and bullhorn turned on him instead of Clover.

"Refusal to support The Free Labor Agreement is the same as supporting slavery! All it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing!" the man's rhetoric blared, amplified by the bullhorn.

"And you're willing to support the Free Labor Agreement with thievery and intimidation?" Harris questioned, more curious than accusatory as he stepped directly toward the protest leader.

"By any means necessary!" Came the man's spirited reply through the bullhorn. When he turned to address the raucous crowd behind him to rally them further Harris snapped a foot into his groin and watched as he melted to the ground, bullhorn clattering on the pavement. Soon, he was pinned and unable to move as Harris pressed a foot against his throat, restricting his breathing painfully, though not cutting it off entirely.

?Now, you have two options. You all can either walk away under your own power or you can crawl to Riverview Clinic after I?m done with you,? Harris called out toward the gathered Free Labor Agreement supporters, emboldened by the fact they appeared interested in a mostly non-violent protest, as evidenced by their lack of any visible weaponry.

His words fell upon deaf ears though, enraged by the sudden assault of their leader, and it appeared as if the powder keg was set to blow, tempers flaring as the crowd refused to budge.

?Guess I?m not as intimidating as I thought,? Harris concluded with a grin, lifting his foot to allow the man pinned beneath it a single gasping breath before slamming a heel against his forehead, the sickening thump of the protest leader?s cranium rebounding against the ground enough to render him unconscious, acting as the catalyst that sparked the demonstrators into action.

A group of a half dozen peeled off from the gaggle and streamed toward him and he obligingly met them halfway. Careening through the air like a heat seeking missile he landed a piercing knee to the chest of the unfortunate elf that led the pack, sending him staggering backward to collapse into two of his compatriots, all of them ending up in a heap on the ground. The split second hesitation of the second half of the group evidenced that they were eager for a confrontation, though not fully prepared for one, and Harris took advantage by smashing his fist against a nearby jaw with enough force to loosen teeth and rattle brain.

But the escalation of violence didn't seem to deter them, instead only strengthening their resolve as more bodies broke away from the group and poured forth, some of them bypassing him entirely to instead attempt to reach their main objective; the Alpha stall that Clover manned. Much to their chagrin they were met in kind by the small clutster of sailors that had taken it upon themselves to ensure no harm came to the woman with electric red hair.

The clashing of the two factions erupted into a full-fledged riot, and Harris was in the midst of the mayhem, lobbing punches at anything that dared attempt to encroach on his personal space. Though for a brief moment he allowed his attention to stray, head twisting in an effort gauge the safety of his best seller in the midst of the fray, an error he would regret as the jagged edge of a broken beer bottle sheared through the flesh of his cheek from his blind side, open wound gushing blood. The rush of adrenaline negated the pain from registering immediately and allowed him to effectively defend against a second swipe by leaning backward, narrowly avoiding another laceration and simultaneously exposing his attacker's sloppy technique. The miss and subsequent overextension left the demonstrator's ribs exposed, which were immediately victimized by a digging body hook followed by a vicious looping left to the temple and another body thumped against the pavement like a fallen oak tree.

There was no way to gauge who was winning as individuals scuffled on the ground, locked in their own personal battles. It wasn't until a contingent of Watch officers showed up to quell the disorder did the violence shows signs of ebbing, as those that didn't want to be detained or questioned quickly broke away and skittered off, leaving the battered and incapacited behind in some cases. The sailors looked to drag off their own and Harris watched people disperse, hand pressed to his wounded cheek in an effort to lessen the flow of crimson that oozed.

"Looks like a riot," one of the officers piped up as he approached Harris.

"Well no sh*t, Sher--" Harris cut himself off as his gaze lingered on the name badge of the familiar Officer Sherlock, whose lips were curled in a smirk.

"Feel like cooperating with the Watch now?"

"Why, because your response time has improved from too late to almost on time?" Came the pithy retort.

"That's a lot of blood. You should see a medic about that." And this time the exchange was ended by the officer, who then proceeded to step away to oversee the rounding up of a few stragglers that decided to take their remaining aggression out on the Watch that had arrived. Harris grunted, edging his way toward his stall and Clover in particular, who appeared to be hunched down behind it clutching the lock box full of the day's take.

"We're closing down shop temporarily. For safety reasons," Harris declared. "Pack up."

Troubled but mute for the time being, she gave him a nod, standing slowly and still clutching the lock box. After closing down the stall she hurried after Harris and they left the scene to seek proper medical attention.

It was quiet. It always was up here, aside from the occasional bells and horns and engines. It was one reason the Naira had chosen this spot for her vigil. The signal tower was twenty stories high, and offered a bird's-eye view of the entire southwest of RhyDin city. None but the birds themselves would see the smoke trail from her cigarette as it floated away from the cloaking field projected by her suit.

Her watch was for more than just the refinery below now. She'd made an agreement with the endorsement of the Voice, and so long as she was allowed, it would be upheld. Mechanical eyes that could spot an insect from a mile away were keeping a close watch on the sole remaining Alpha Cologne stand by the docks, and the red-haired woman with the strange plant name that operated it.

It, like the signal tower above, was quiet, even despite the word passed about of a 'grand re-opening'. There were customers, and there were sales, but not like before. The propaganda spread by the proponents of this new "Free Labor Agreement" had seriously damaged the company's image, and while she was not concerned with such things, Aksana could easily see the impact of both the propaganda and the riot that broke out when a determined Harris decided to fight fire with fire.

Now, the Naira stood watch, with one simple pledge for her half of their deal: stop the trouble before it starts. It had turned out to be a rather uneventful one. Perhaps Harris' message hit home, even if did turn brutal.

So she thought.

At 2:08, trouble arrived, in the form of a three fools with a basket of rotten eggs and vegetables. One carried a can of spray paint. Aksana spotted the trio well before they reached their destination: the Alpha stand. Still, she waited, tracking them along the way, until their intentions became quite clear. Hiding behind the corner of a nearby warehouse, the obvious leader, carrying the basket, nodded to his two companions. "Let's go. Hit the b*tch too if she gets in the way, and then tag it. F**k those slaver bastards!"

Then the three were running, but the Naira was faster. Flicking her cigarette off into the distance, she dove from the top of the tower, and hit the ground running. Just as the lead man and his nearest companion had grabbed eggs from the basket, something stopped them in place. Something unseen had taken each man's arm by the wrist, with the strength of a steel vice, and twisted. Bone cracked, ligaments ripped apart, and the two men screamed in pain, falling to the ground. "What--" The third, with the can of paint, started to speak until he was lifted from the ground by an impact to the bottom of his chin that broke his jaw and made him bite a hole in his tongue.

The three had no idea what had hit them, only that it was out of their league. Crawling, then working their way to their feet in agony and shock, they ran from their unseen assailant as fast and as far as their feet could carry them.

The first thing anyone learns in Hollywood is that verbal agreements aren't worth the paper they're written on. If you make an agreement with someone concerning your script, your role, your director's chair, or your producer's credits, you make sure you get it in writing. It's far too easy for the other party to go back on their word. Lelah had always hated people who did that and there had been many who had in her long show biz career. Everyone from other actors to her own former agent had screwed her over royally by reneging on verbal agreements. And here she was preparing to do it herself.

She was sitting in her office on the third floor of the Plaza de Troyes, staring out the huge picture window that took up one entire wall of the room; she could see clear across the Marketplace to the back lots where 'A Murder of Crowes' was entering its second month of filming. By all rights, she should be on the phone right now, letting Clover know that the Alpha spokes-vixen would be needed in the next two weeks to shoot her scenes. But Lelah was having serious second thoughts about the verbal deal she'd made with Harris six weeks ago.

First, there had been the fact that he'd refused to sign the Fair Labor Agreement, claiming that it limited his potential pool of employees and was in general a bad business decision. How coming out in strong opposition to slavery could be a bad business decision was beyond her, but apparently Harris felt strongly about the subject. On the one hand, she admired him for having such strong convictions and the guts to stick to his guns. But on the other hand, slavery was unequivocally abhorrent and anyone who rode the fence about the subject was going to be painted with the same brush.

Then there were the riots and protests that sprang from Harris' refusal to buy into the FLA. Her studios had enough bad press without being associated with that sort of thing. She did not believe in the whole 'any publicity is good publicity' bullsh*t. She wanted ? no, she needed ? the film to do well. She needed the studios to succeed and if going back on her promise to not only feature Alpha in a product placement, but also give Clover a small part was how she was going to ensure that success, then she'd do it and worry about the lost sleep later.

The scene that featured Alpha had already been filmed, but it could easily be cut from the final project, and she could find someone else to take the part she'd given to Clover. If it wasn't such an integral scene, she'd cut it entirely as well, and spare herself the guilt of lying to Harris. Because that was what she was preparing to do. She expected him to arrive at any moment and had to get her story ? her excuses ? straight.

Her intercom buzzed and Olivia's voice said, ?Uh, Ms. Rivka, there's a blue-haired man here to see you. He claims he has an appointment.?

The disbelief in Liv's voice made Lelah laugh. ?Thanks, Liv. That's Harris. He's my two o'clock. I think I penciled him in as 'Cookie Monster'. Send him right in.? Lelah rose from her desk chair, smoothed down her dress, tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and took a deep breath, muttering, ?Once more into the breach, dear friends,? and strode to her office door, a pleasantly neutral smile plastered on her face.

The next five days were quite uneventful. Aksana's silent vigil never faltered. Even in her absence, she could see quite well from no less than a dozen angles surrounding the stand. Strangely, the next time her attention would be drawn to it was long after the close of business, long after nightfall. Familiar figures emerged at 1:33 AM, and she could hear them as soon as they were within range of the furthest sensors. After the first incident, she'd taken the time to extend her network of 'night eyes', a monitoring system that could be watched in real time through the implants in her brain, to the docks and the area surrounding the stand.

"I told you, I don't know what it was," the man grumbled, painfully flexing the fingers of his casted left hand. His right held a baseball bat, and his two companions carried them as well. "Tell him, Len..."

The one called Len had a matching cast on his right hand, and carried the bat with his left. "We couldn't even see it. It just broke our damn wrists and smashed Gerald's jaw."

The Naira recognized the two, but the third to whom they spoke was unknown to her. Nearly seven feet tall and rock solid, he towered over his companions and carried more than a simple bludgeon. The sword at his hip was well-used, and used well; she could judge that much just by its wear and the huge man's posture, as if it were only natural that he always carried it. This time they had brought a warrior, and a veteran at that. The man's shirt did not quite hide his scars, and could not hide a particularly bizarre one that encircled his neck, as if he'd been repeatedly burned by some sort of necklace or collar.

A regretful look was passed to the bottle of Evermorn she held, then she secreted it underneath the Red Dragon's bar. She gave no notice at all to the man across from her, vanishing mid-sentence as if he had simply ceased to exist. A single step carried her to the top of the signal tower, where she'd placed a rune of recall long ago, back when she was gathering intelligence on the retired seraph who built the structure. Just as she'd suspected, they were approaching the stand. Their intent was obvious, vandalism escalated to a more destructive level.

When the newcomer spoke, his voice was a deep grumble, like rocks being shaken around in a barrel. "So they've hired some muscle." The big man grunted and tapped his sword. "Leave that to me." The two nodded emphatically, stepping up their pace toward the stand with renewed confidence.

Then the three crashed into an invisible field. "What the hell?" The two with the broken wrists spoke in paranoid unison, but their hardened companion simply narrowed his eyes and drew his blade.

The Naira's musical voice was little more than a whisper, but it was more than enough. "This is the last time I will let you live." Crystal knives flew from several directions, but only served as a distraction. The first man was bashed brutally against the invisible barrier and slumped to the ground. A split second later, Len's knee smashed in at an impossible angle, and as he fell his thigh still pointed straight down while the shin swung up - forward. His scream echoed throughout the docks.

The big man, sword at the ready, moved to stand between his fallen companions and the unseen attacker. Len cowered behind the man, leaning back against the field and clutching his ruined leg, but she hardly seemed to notice. Her attention was now fully devoted to the armed man who, by her assessment, was capable of fighting blind and had actually done so. He seemed completely undaunted by an invisible enemy.

To his credit, the sword came close. Such a mundane weapon would not be sufficient to damage her suit, but it was a respectable effort nonetheless. More intriguing, however, was the realization that followed. The arc of his slash would have struck her had she moved to his right, and since he sliced nothing but air, he now knew exactly where she stood.

For the slightest moment, she was tempted to drop the cloak, release her magics and meet this man in a contest of pure skill. The thought was a fleeting one, however, as there was a directive to consider. The sword changed directions, and would have struck her - should have struck her - but she was no longer there. Angered and confused, the man cut a wide arc before him, but the sword once again found nothing before it fell from his hands. No, it was still in his grasp, but the hand was no longer attached to his arm. There wasn't even pain at first, as the superheated blade cauterized the wound. The big man stared at the burned stump with wide, black eyes. "What... the hell are you..."

"I am Death, and I shall fulfill my purpose if there are any further intrusions," Aksana's voice was a symphony of ice, devoid of emotion. The kinetic field was released and Len fell flat on his back, the broken leg bending awkwardly beneath him, bringing forth another tortured scream. It was joined by the big man's own as one of the fallen baseball bats shattered a section of his spine.

Her duty completed, the Naira's next step brought her back to the spot behind the bar she'd come to frequent, where she'd placed another of her recall runes. Taking back the bottle of Evermorn she'd left behind, she dropped the cloak and chased the blue liquor with the smoke of a blood-red cigarette. Her mechanical eyes slid over the bar to Harris and she spoke in a casual tone, like she'd never left in the first place. "I shall maintain my vigil, Robot Man, but I doubt your stand will be the subject of any further interference."

Harris had attempted to make contact with Clover immediately following the warehouse fire but she hadn't been in her apartment, so he settled for slipping a note under her door, informing her that their usual Monday business meeting wouldn't occur at the Bodhi Tree Cafe, but instead she should come to his place. The two-story dojo he resided in with his family was intentionally unobtrusive, the building's only identifier hung above the glass door that led inside, a wooden sign scrawled with a single character in traditional Chinese that signified it was a place of training.

The vast rectangular interior was dominated in the center by interlocking sections of tatami mats that were utilized for sparring and other training purposes, flanked on one side by a host of gym equipment that consisted of free weights as well as a variety of weight machines. On the opposite side, across the mats, fighting equipment from a plethora of disciplines occupied the space, including a speed bag, wooden dummies, and a heavy bag that was in the process of being savagely brutalized by punches and kicks. A slick sheen of perspiration glistened on the bare flesh of his upper body as taped hands pounded a stiff one-two combination into the gently swaying bag, the added frustration of suddenly being out of business forcing him to extend his usual morning workout to the point he had lost track of the time, not realizing Clover would be walking through the unlocked door at any moment for their scheduled rendezvous.

The weather hadn't let up much and without the restriction of a dress code, Clover was back to wearing something better suited for the weather. A little white top with ruffles that exposed her midriff, paired with light jean shorty-shorts and white heels that tied with ribbons around her ankles. Her hair had been brought back and tied with a similar ribbon into a ponytail that swayed in an hypnotic rhythm, much like her hips that caught the eyes of those she passed on her way to Harris's dojo. About her neck she wore a silver necklace, adorned with a silver cage and little blue bird perched on the outside of the cage. As her usual breakfast meeting was taking place elsewhere, Clover carried along with her a basket of muffins--blueberry, banana-nut, and apple cinnamon--freshly made before she headed out. Enough for the family she hoped.

Pausing outside the dojo, she looked up, only so long to ponder the likelihood of meeting the lady of the house at home. No warning sounding in the back of her mind, Clover made her way into the dojo. Her steps came to a halt as she saw Harris at work. Muscles. Sweat. Something broke in the back of her mind for a moment before she recovered with a grin.

"Lookin' sharp, Boss." She called over to him, lifting the basket of treats, "I come with gifts!"

He straightened as Clover's voice reached his ears, halting his workout to level a brief, tight smile toward the woman and her basket, fists clenching and unclenching momentarily. Forearm swept across his sweat stained brow and he exhaled a long breath, bare feet padding away from the heavy bag to gather a plain white tank top draped across the extended wooden arm of a nearby training dummy. He gestured toward the mats in the center of the room.

"Take your shoes off and have a seat."

A brow quirked, but she shrugged lightly and did as asked. The basket set down as she bent to untie the ribbons that her bound around her ankles before being able to slip her feet from her shoes. The heels she tucked neatly to the side of the mats, the basket she picked up again and carried with her. Sitting, she curled her legs around to the side and kept the basket in her lap. Blue-grey eyes watched Harris with a mixture of innocent curiosity and less than innocent curiosity. She bit the side of her lip and offered up smile, with a cant of her head.

"Something goin on?"

He didn't sit. Instead, after slipping the tank top over his head he stepped onto the mats and clasped his wrapped hands together.

"This is our last meeting. Alpha's out of business." Harris stated, simple and direct.

A flutter of lashes, curiosity gave way to confusion, then acceptance. She didn't need the job, but it had been a lot of fun while it lasted. The edges of her lips turned down with disappointment.

"What happened?"

"Those FLA bastards got into the warehouse where I kept the reserve stock. Inside job. Burned it all down. Don't have the means to make more."

The gnashing of his teeth was audible. It wasn't that he needed the job either, it was the fact that he had been beaten by a bunch of anti-slavers that agitated him more than anything, wounding his ego.

"Oh..."

Clover looked down, chewing her lip and not saying anything further for a while. Then she set the basket aside and rose to her feet, to hug Harris. The sweat didn't bother her. He was noticeably perturbed and a hug was the best comfort she could offer. His agitation ebbed briefly as Clover embraced him, squeezing lightly, though he didn't return the gesture and she didn't appear to take offense. It wasn't for her sake that she had offered the hug. He forced a chuckle and attempted to dispel the dark cloud that seemed to hover above him with some good news for the woman.

"Looks like you don't have to call me Boss anymore. Plus, there's the severance pay."

A step back, untangling himself from Clover to fetch an envelope he had nearly forgotten about on a nearby wooden bench that lined one of the dojo's walls. When he untangled himself, she took a step back as well. At his comments she smirked, tugging at end of her pony tail over a shoulder.

"What if I like calling you Boss?" Clover responded, her grin remained teasing as her gaze followed his movements.

"Well, we both know you have a tendency of... doing what you like." A low laugh, a sign that his mood was improving as he plucked the thin envelope up and returned to Clover, extending it toward her.

"Mm." Said with agreement and a secret smile. She took the envelope from Harris, but only after he accepted the basket of muffins from her. He seemed to consider the trade a fair one as she peeked into the envelope which contained a single credit chip, unimpressive at first glance, at least until he elaborated.

"There's probably enough on there for you get your own pony. Archer, wasn't it?" A slick grin.

"... Archer, yes. Thank you." The gesture made Clover smile warmly, before it softened--tempered by the fact that she wasn't likely to go through on the purchase. What would happen to the horse if she left? Likely she could just sell it, find another owner, but doing so didn't sit well with her. With the envelope with the credit chip tucked away into her back pocket, Clover turned back to set a light kiss to Harris' cheek, her hand settled on his shoulder to balance herself.

"Don't worry about it. You earned it. Enjoy it however you like." Harris offered, fully aware of her reluctance in regard to the idea of purchasing a racehorse, something he had no plan to needle her about no matter how brilliant he thought the plan might be, since realistically he assumed all his plans were brilliant. "One thing though. As far as anyone outside this room is concerned, we sold out of our stock and opted to quit while ahead. Nobody's gonna go around announcing their complicity in arson." His instruction obviously meant to salve his bruised ego, unwilling to admit publically that the FLA radicals had, in the end, gotten the better of him. His smile for Clover was a small one, tight and without mirth.

Clover stayed close, though she took her hand away. She chewed her lower lip yet again in thought. Slowly another grin broke across her face, a light bounce in the ball of her feet. Even so she remained in place.

"What if I want to enjoy it with you?"

"I think that falls under the category of however you like, darlin'." He chuckled in reply, patting the woman on the shoulder. "Anyway, I need to hit the shower before Stick and Stefan get back."

"Need company?" A wicked grin lit Clover's features as she moved back to her shoes.

"I do. And she'll be home soon. But I appreciate the offer to stand in. I'll see you later darlin'. Pleasure doin' business with you." A wide, earnest smile bloomed then.

"See you 'round, Boss."

Clover chuckled, moving to pick up her shoes and headed for the door, giving Harris a wink before he headed up to the second floor for a long, relaxing shower in private to dwell on what he'd do now with all his free time.

((OOC Note: Adapted from live play.))