las vegas lights // oxo // closed

He hummed, "Interesting." All these things Clyde was saying, he had to tuck into the back of his mind. Worst comes to worst, he has the audio, although he is still focused on getting her to sign the paper for his sake. Clyde is right about him looking for suspects, even though him and Herrera have crossed out some of the members already. He is going to have to check to see if what she's saying about her alibi is true.

Herrera? Why would she suspect Herrera? Might just be that mentality of being weary around newer members or the dog eats dog one too. A murder within a circle always changes people's opinions of others. Damian wasn't sure if he should bring this up to Herrera. He worries about how Herrera would change his way of thinking, he worried about Clyde.

Damian made his face relax. "Helsie and the new guy, Mister Herrera." He almost said their full names. The possibility of what if made him shiver. He cleared his throat again. "I don't really follow what you're trying to say. Frankly, you think it could be one of them. Is that right….why?"

Daphne is nearly taken aback by Mae. Of course, her reasoning is crystal clear but she forgets that people can't quite understand what she's getting at without a little explanation. "I suspect Helsie because theyre a violent individual. I've seen them break glasses for fun and threaten an old-fashioned fist-fight over something as meager as a wrong drink."

"As for Mister Herrera, it's simple, Detective Mae. Someone has to get out to get in." She sighs. "It's very possible he took out Valentine to get himself in. I confess I don't know him well, but he has the most motive out of everyone around that table." Her nails punch crescents into the palms of her hands. Daphne hasn't felt safe since Crystal's murder. She could be next.

The crash blinks through her mind. No– not crash… attack. Daphne was next. Someone tried to kill her.

(ALSOOO!!!! someone was inspired by this RP aaaaaagh!!!! https://www.notebook.ai/forum/limited/oxo-i-am-too-lazy-to-come-up-with-a-clever-name-for )

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Sometimes detective work doesn't come from the detective. Let everyone else do the heavy lifting. Damain just needs to pull the right strings with Clyde, then he will be getting to the right direction. It's all there for him.

He bit the inside of his cheek before releasing. "So you see Helsie as irrational…Chaotic too." He hummed, shaking his head. "Guess she could have some motivation…" But it seems like Helsie is always under the influence to a certain degree. The pictures from the crime scene flashed in his mind. All the things that were smashed into little pieces. It was the pictures of Valentine that made him unsure of Helsie though. Unless she was sober enough….

Glancing down at her hands, he exhaled. "This…Mister Herrera…." Damian stared back, looking into Clyde's eyes. His bottom lip puffed out as he shrugged. "How is he? When you first saw him, what'd you think? You must have been suspicious of him from the start…." He is curious. All he knows is from is end. He wants to entertain this, see where it goes.

"Helsie hardly ever thinks before they speak," Daphne inputs. She truly doesn't mean to throw them under the bus but… well, she'd rather not have a murderer around her poker table. "So yes. They're violent, irrational and chaotic without any sort of regard for others." Daphne sighs. "But I don't know what their motive could've possibly been with Crystal. Perhaps Crystal said the wrong thing to Helsie and she paid the price." Her lips thin at the thought. I hope that isn't the case.

"As for Mister Herrera, he's nothing but a charismatic con man with an agenda of his own." The words surprise even Daphne with their bluntness, but she still stands by them. "I noticed the second he swaggered into the room that he had a certain game he was playing at. I don't know what it is, but he's clearly in Mister Harima's bar for more than just poker and money." But what exactly, Daphne has no idea. For all she knows, he could just be looking for another person to knock out of Harima's ranks. "I consider myself a fairly decent judge of character, Mister Mae, and Mister Herrera is somebody I wouldn't trust within an inch of my life."

There's something about his eyes. Something Daphne doesn't trust in the slightest. Mister Herrera had sauntered into the poker room merely days after Crystal's death with an odd, cat-like look in his brown eyes. It was like he knew he was going to be there. Like he knew that he would be the one around the table. His name feels familiar too. Daphne's too unstable from the IVs and aftermath of her attack, but she's certain she's seen his smirk on the news before. "And isn't he already a criminal?" Daphne inquires, knowing the detective will know far more than her. "That already puts him higher on the suspect list."

All he could do was shrug. "Could be. It's anyone guess." This is may be an interview for an investigation, yet he likes to treat these as conversations. The ones where there is a flow of back and forth between all parties seems to be the ones that are the most beneficial.

The suspicion of Herrera. Boy, this must be pure coincidence. In some alternative reality, this could be true, yet he question this one that he is in. Is this really something that he wants to be entertaining right now? In any retrospect, Herrera could have killed Crystal to wiggle his way into the club. Compared to the others though, he is just stepping up to the plate in this underground gambling club. Why would someone who already has a reputation go on to make such a risky decision?

Damian only continued to look at Clyde, not giving her an answer to her question. It would be interesting to see how she would react if she knew that Herrera is working with him. That could ruin a lot of things though and Damian would rather die than make such a stupid mistake.

"I guess I can take you for your word…Wouldn't it be too obvious if that is the case though?" He asked, partially out of wondering curiosity. "It seems coincidental, wouldn't you agree? I mean, you have Miss Crystal who is one of the top players and then there's Mister Herrera…someone who is only rising in the ranks. Let's say he does kill her and then -boom-…he gets into Harima's secret club."

"They must have known each other beforehand if this were to be the case. Do you think that they did?"

Daphne watches the man with a slight glare. He knows something and he's not sharing. She can read in it his "nonchalant" gestures and expressions. "Plenty of murders are obvious, Mister May," she says, keeping her tone frighteningly even. "Mister Herrera is already a criminal. He could easily have criminal connections, no? He's already gained quite the reputation underground, it must have been obvious if he was in line to join Mister Harima's club." Daphne wants to smack her fist against her palm. What isn't connecting for the detective? It should be easy! An open and shut case!

"Somebody killed Crystal to get into the club–" Her elbow stings from the IVs in there. "And somebody tried to kill–" She pauses. Hold on…

If Mister Herrera had killed Crystal to get into the club, then there would be no reason to try and kill Daphne. She kept her suspicions low, the only soul she's ever indulged in the detective sitting right across from her. Daphne has always been quite fond of justice, her father being an old District Judge when she was young. "Detective Mae, I think the killer is somebody trying to get into Mister Harima's ranks," she says quietly, the realizations just dawning on her. "I believe whoever they are was expecting to get in, but instead Mister Herrera slithered in."

She swallows, her chest beginning to rise and fall faster as the reality sinks in. "They didn't get in. They're going after someone else now–" That someone else was her. "If you would like some suspects, I recommend looking at poker stars around the county." She looks up to the detective, feeling the weight of tears in her eyes. Her voice is startlingly even, shockingly controlled. "The top ones. Ones that Harima would show interest in."

His brows rose. If this murder was only obvious, then they wouldn't be here right now, would they? And if it was Herrera, Damian was sure that he would find something quickly. He doesn't want to entertain this idea, especially when he has to go back through the audio.

In the back of his mind, he thought of the attempt on Clyde. If Herrera had killed Valentine, then attempting to murder Clyde would be useless. Just as he was ready to bring up this point, he had to close his lips. Damian sat up on the edge of the chair. Seems like him and Clyde are on the same page for now.

Now isn't fond of sharing his personal thoughts on a case with outsiders, but he had to say, "I agree, Miss Clyde." He slightly tilted his head at her suggestion. "Thanks for the recommendation. I'll look into it." Perhaps he should ask Herrera about the other poker stars. To be honest, Damian still doesn't know anything about these poker stars; he wonders why they are considered stars even after five years of living in Vegas. His mind is still trying to wrap itself around Herrera, especially all those watches he always has on him.

"Wait a second." He picks up his phone and goes to his photo gallery. The recording is going as he quickly scrolls to find the picture of the watch that had fallen out of Herrera's coat. Clicking on the picture, he turned his phone around so Clyde could see it. "Sorry for changing topics, but do you know anything about this watch?"

At least… at last somebody competent is on the case of Crystal's murder. The killing had never sat right with Daphne, not that murder ever sat right with Daphne. It was more of a reality check than anything. She's not immortal, nobody is. The target on her back is more prominent in her mind than ever. This is what she gets for signing a deal with the devil. This is what she gets for being young, stupid, and broke.

She blinks, looking up and making brief eye contact with the detective before looking at what picture's present on his phone. "That's Crystal's watch. I've seen her flaunt that enough during a deal, without a doubt, it's hers." Well, it was hers at least. One day, she just stopped wearing it. The next game Daphne watched Samuel look at it longingly before slipping it into his coat. "She gave it to Samuel Dane. I think it was some token of affection granted they were, well, a thing."

It was absolutely no secret to the rest of the table after Crystal and Sam started… well, being something a little more than opponents. A clear elephant in the room, it was never brought up. Nobody wanted to verbally acknowledge the fact that Samuel was a minimum of thirty years older than Crystal. Daphne had shared enough semi-disgusted looks with Roxanne across the table. Nevertheless, despite the age gap, Samuel Dane was head-over-heels for Crystal Valentine. He looked at her as if she hung the sun in the sky. There's no way in hell Samuel could every lay a malicious finger on Crystal.

He was surprised that he had completely forgotten about the watch. It was a complete mystery to him ever since it fell out of Herrera's coat. Would it be crazy to connect the placement of the watch to the murderer and whoever is behind the incident with Clyde? Someone definitely is trying to get into Herrera's club, and it seems like they find certain methods to be the only way. Could it be possible that they know about him too? Unless he becomes an obstacle, hopefully they don't know.

Samuel Dane. If only that man would have talked to Herrera, maybe Damian would be able to connect some dots together. He's pretty sure that him and Herrera did establish that Dane and Valentine were probably a thing. If not, he isn't really surprised, and whether it sounds weird or not, he wants to know more.

"They were a thing?" He repeated. Setting his phone back down, he relaxed back into the chair. "Do you know anything else about their relationship? I'm guessing it must've ended somehow if the watch wound up in forensics."

Daphne shakes her head. "No, Samuel and Crystal never had any sort of falling out, at least not that I knew of. They seemed happy as could be when I saw them together last…" She trails off, already expecting the detective's next question. "They were together last a week before Crystal's murder. I don't think anything could've happened between them. If anything, Samuel's a massive pushover when it came to Crystal. He let her have anything she wanted."

As for the watch. "I know Samuel had a nephew that would always come by. He played a lot in other casinos around here, but was never good enough to be invited to Mister Harima's table. Once, I overheard Samuel apologizing to Crystal. The watch she gave him–the watch in that picture there–had gone missing. It's no coincidence I found a near identical one on the nephew's wrist when I saw him gambling away at Excalibur."

She purses her lips at the last question. "I can't say I know how it wound up in forensics, unless you somehow got ahold of Samuel's nephew."

Strangely, all this information about Dane made sense to him. His behavior as described by Herrera could be because of Valentine's passing. If anything, he would interview him, but Damian knows that can put Herrera at risk and ruin the case. Guess that's what his absolute favorite poker player is for.

He hummed. The nephew….He remembers talking about him with Herrera around the time of the watch falling. The gears in his head started to rotate. Someone had to have placed it on Herrera without him knowing and it had to have been quite recently. Obviously they had to have taken it from Valentine before she passed, but when she did and Herrera took their "spot", they must have planted the watch on him in order to cause a stir. This nephew must have stolen it or something. Damian bit down on his bottom lip. Could it be true? Could any of it be true?

When he his done with this interview, he needs to call Herrera. He can't stall on this while he has the chance to actually get somewhere with this case, while there is a window of opportunity to cross.

Damian didn't react. He kind of does wish that he got ahold of this man, but maybe soon he will be able to. Although he may an idea about how the watch got to them, he needs to connect a few dots before calling any shots. "Dane's nephew…To your knowledge, has he ever tried to get into Mister Harima's club? Now I know that you just said he isn't good enough, but does he have a reputation like these other poker stars?"

"I don't know a lot about Samuel's nephew, I'm sorry detective," Daphne admits with a sigh. The nephew had never interested her, hell, she's amazing with names and she never bothered to learn his. "I just know that he's some up-and-coming influencer and I'm sure he'd be thrilled to interrogated by a detective. If you don't mind him blathering that to his thousands of followers, that is." She taps her well manicured nails against the bandage of her arm. Who tried this– She mutters internally. "He's no poker star. It's merely a hobby of his if my assumptions are correct."

A short knock at the door catches her attention. The same nurse that guided the detective in earlier is in the doorway with a platter of different medicines. "Oh- I'm sorry, I thought you were alone, Miss Clyde."

"You're alright," Daphne's quick to respond. "I'm sure we were just wrapping up, but before you go Mister Mae–" She turns back to the man in the chair beside her. "If you need to ask any more questions, don't be afraid to reach out. I want this solved as well. Whoever went after Crystal is likely coming after me." Her eyes shine at the thought… Well, death threats aren't anything foreign to someone as successful as her, but the legitimate attempts would be enough to rattle any celebrity.

He shook his head. "It's fine. I thought it'd be best to ask." Surely someone else knows about him; maybe he will get Herrera to find more info on this nephew. Biting the inside of his cheek, he tried to hold back any reaction. Great, an influencer. Oh Las Vegas. Land of gambling, home of the absolutely strange. At least he knows this guy has some social media accounts he can go through. Didn't Herrera go through his Instagram or something the last time?

The knock at the door made him swiftly sit up. His chin was parallel to his shoulder as he stared at the nurse. When Clyde began to talk to the nurse, he went to pick up the notebook along with the paper and pen. Well since he's going, he needs to get the signature or else all of this was a waste of both of their times. More or less.

He placed the paper on top of the notebook then placed it on the bed close towards Clyde. Damian pressed 'stop' on the recording app and saved the audio file. "Before I go, I need you to sign this," He motioned to the paper. "Nevada law states that I cannot record our discussion without consent, so I need you to sign and date that form to make my job a little easier."

While he spoke, he took out his wallet. Wherever he goes, he always has a few business cards with him. Thanks to some colleagues, he's learned that it's better than pulling out a sticky note or ripping a piece of paper. Damian placed the card on the end table. "I know the other guy must have given you his number for your case, but if you need anything or have more information, please call me."

His knees made a soft cracking sound as he got up from the chair. After stuffing his phone and wallet into different pockets, he picked up his backpack and slid one of the straps over his shoulder.

Her eyes widening ever so slightly, Daphne takes the notebook from the detective's hand and holds the pen in a shaking hand. Painfully, she scribbles her name on the line. It's far from her level of perfection, but it's still somewhat legible as her name. She has to withhold a grimace. Her hands better get better soon. She has calligraphy to practice and fans of cards to hold. With a still trembling hand, she accepts the business card from the detective and nods. "I will, sir. If I ever find anything out, you'd be the first to know."

And that's the truth. Daphne was not by any means close to Crystal Valentine, but she's damned determined to not let her murder go unsolved. For both her sake and Crystal's.

As the detective raises to leave, Daphne turns her attention to the nurse approaching her. She accepts a cup of water with a thank you, sitting up to let the nurse gauge how her immediate recovery is coming. "Thank you again, sir," Daphne calls after the man as he exits the room.

While he is completely fine with being called an asshole by his colleagues and just about anyone else, he wasn't fine when he called himself an asshole while watching Clyde. It is true though, he is one. He had to make sure the form was signed. He had to, but seeing her hand tremble caused him to sniff then look off to the side. Whenever he gets back to his office, he'll have to send her some flowers or something.

Taking the form and notebook, he carefully placed them in his backpack. He did his best in giving her a smile of gratitude. Sometimes it doesn't come off as he intends it to, but he means well and he really is grateful, even if it's for giving him some of her time then signing a paper. "Thank you. I appreciate you lending me some of your time."

He took the chair that he was using then placed it back against the wall. Carefully, he had to use a side step in order to not bump into the nurse. Just as he stepped out into the hallway, he turned around to glance at Clyde.

Damian smiled, giving her a nod. "Take care, Miss Clyde." Then he went off. He pulled the backpack strap over his shoulder as he trudged down the hallway.

Felix is busy watching two of his best friends get into a physical skirmish over which plants should and shouldn't be planted next to each other when he gets a phone call. "Hellooooo," he says into the device as he tucks it between his ear and his shoulder. He's currently sitting cross-legged in a very nice patio chair with a pitcher of spiked lemonade on the table next to him. He stirs his own drink with a fun little umbrella.

In front of him, Shea and Abel are about four seconds away from their third wrestling match of the day. The Nevada sun hangs heavily overhead, Felix wisely taking solace beneath Grace's shaded pergola. Grace is tending to a flower bed, carefully matching each of the breeds to lay aesthetically next to each other. By the vegetable planters, Abel wields a hand-shovel like a knife and Shea combats with her own hand-held rake. Shea and Grace had their own bit of lemonade, Felix refused his third, recovering friend a glass and shoved an insulated water bottle into their hands instead.

Felix had been banned from trying to help. Not that he would complain, really. Dirt isn't his thing.

Damian was sitting in his car that was still in the hospital parking lot. It's only been ten minutes, he thinks, since he had left after interviewing Miss Clyde. As much as there was a lot to process, there was enough to drain him and his wired brain. He already feels drained, yet he finds himself running around in circles at the same time.

His phone laid in the passenger seat, leaning against his backpack. From the time he went to see Miss Clyde to getting back to the car, he hadn't checked it at all. Lazily, he threw his right hand over to pick it up. After unlocking it, he scrolled through his contacts till he saw Herrera's come up.

Putting the phone on speaker, he placed it on the dashboard then waited. He wondered if this goofball was going to pick up. In the back of his mind, he was betting on the chances until he heard a familiar voice on the other end.

Not even a second in and he rolled his eyes. "What is Dane's nephew's name again?" He asked right off the bat. "I don't remember what it was, but I need you to talk to him somehow. Like as soon as possible about….Valentine, her watch, and Harima's club…Clyde too if possible…I don't know. I need info on him."

"Braxton," Felix answers breezily before taking another sip of his lemonade. Shea stops her relentless bickering and glances over towards Felix. She shares a look with Abel. Felix sighs through his nose and stands, holding the pitcher with one hand, his glass with the other, and his phone trapped between his ear and shoulder. "Hold on doll, give me a moment to move to an area without eavesdroppers." Abel and Shea loudly complain; Felix flips them off with what finger he can spare to pry from the pitcher.

Once safely inside Grace's quaint house, Felix physically deflates at the cheap air conditioning and reprieve from the sun. "Okay, okay. You need me to talk to Braxton Dane about his uncle and the watch he had." He sets the pitcher down on the counter with a clink. Taking a moment to take the phone from his ear to check his social media, Felix finds the influencer's account with ease. "He's on some sort of concert kick right now," Felix says after putting the phone back to his head. A plan clicks together in his head almost instantly. Through the window, Felix spots Shea and Abel taking turns sprinkling dirt onto Jackpot's fur. "I have some friends who play in some warehouse nearby. I'm sure Braxton would love to jump at the chance to get some clout or whatever."

Felix takes another long sip of his lemonade as he figures out the next portion of the plan. "It's possible Braxton's seen me before, so I don't know if I could be the best one to interview him." He wishes Mae could see the impish smirk that grows on his face. "Would you be willing to go undercover?"

"Ahh. Braxton." On speaker, he could faintly hear other voices. Herrera must have moved somewhere else as they had become distant. As if they were together in person, he nodded his head. "Yes, I need you to talk to him. Samuel had that watch, but then Braxton must have stolen it," He explained. While talking, he bit the side of his index finger.

Eagerness filled him. Energy caused his foot to lightly tap. Great! They basically have a plan together then. So far so good. "Alright. So, how about you then go-What?" Damian sat there with his jaw dropped. Ah, shit. Of course, there has to be something.

He forced a sigh as he shut his eyes. Is this dude serious? Him? Going undercover? Isn't that what Herrera's job is in the first place? And now Herrera is asking him to go undercover to go talk to some other idiot that he has a weird feeling about. Damian pressed his forehead against the steering wheel. This is unbelievable.

Sitting up straight, he stared at the phone. A wrinkle formed at the bridge of his nose while he pouted. "Yah! Are you joking right now? This is bullshit," He fumed. Pressing the back of his head against the head rest, he stared up at the car roof. "You seriously think that he is not going to be concerned about talking to an auster lanky Korean guy reaching his mid-thirties. I could never blend in with those kinds of people. I can't. It wouldn't work."

"Darlin', darlin', darlin', you underestimate my influence!" Felix responds, voice growing with bravado. "I'm certain my friends play this upcoming weekend. If I reach out, flaunt a little of my status, and offer free tickets, Braxton's sure to want to attend. Won't it be a little suspicious if I start asking him questions about some dead poker lady and her watch that ended up with his uncle?"

"Besides, we have–" Felix pauses to check the date on Grace’s adorable day-by-day calender with baby animals. "–Five days! Is that not plenty of time to get you prepared?" The grin on Felix’s face only grows. "And if you're so worried about fitting in, I know just what you need. I don't suppose you have anything in your closet other than those stuffy detective clothes of yours, hm?"

Waiting for a response, Felix catches Shea’s eye through the glass and taps out a brief message on the countertop. She nods in response, giving an affirmative thumbs up while Abel busies themselves with lightly shaking Jackpot.

His jaw remained agape. If he had to choose one word to describe what he feels right now, he would smash together the thousands of words he feels at the moment. "Won't it be suspicious?" He scoffed. It'd be just as suspicious if he went up to Braxton and immediately asked about those things too! As a matter of fact, it would be suspicious tenfold because there is no way in hell that him going undercover would work.

Damain sat there with his arms crossed. "Five days…Of course." No amount of time would be enough. He's had colleagues who had to go to school to prepare to go undercover for whatever they needed to do. This is way different. No matter whatever preparation Herrera will put him up with, it will never be enough.

And does he have anything in his closet aside from his "stuffy detective clothes"? Considering his long sleeved shirts, a long black vampire cape, his Star Trek costume, and just about everything else, no he doesn't have anything else. Although, he is not going to say that to Herrera. Damian groaned, "No, I don't. What do you have in mind then, Herrera?"

"No, no, no, of course you won't strike up a conversation like that!" Felix waves his hand through the air as if Mae could see it. Oh, what he would give to see the detective's face. Of course, this is one of Felix's more make-up-as-I-go type of plans, but he's made about a thousand of those plans and only about a third of them had gone terribly wrong. Nothing he couldn't talk his way out of, however.

"You see, you gotta figure out how to breach the conversation normally. Wear a watch of your own, talk about poker, bring up family! After Braxton gets a drink or two in him, it won't be hard to pry what you need out of him. I usually offer a free round to the guests before the show starts and I can slip him a list of what I recommend. The guy's an influencer, he's desperate to please!" After explaining at least somewhat of his entirely made-up plan, Felix laughs at Mae's final question.

"Doll, I thought we were past last name-basis," he pouts. "But, I do have plenty of cash to blow, and it's been a while since I've been on a good old fashioned shopping trip along the strip." He drums his fingers against the counter, a grin still gracing his face.

"I am not one to strike up conversations." Damian felt like he had become the human-embodiment of the grumpy cat. Better yet, he's like his own children whenever he tells them it's time to go to bed or the grocery store or doctor's. Lines lightly creased his forehead. If he wasn't judging what Herrera was saying, then he was pouting or internally complaining about every single detail. "And he's probably an idiot like the rest of them too," He mumbled. "Idiots…"

Words have failed him. What can he say anyways aside from swearing? It's too exhausting to try to find the right ones anyways. He slouched in the car seat then rubbed the back of his neck. This situation is too much for him to process. He needs a nap or chocolate ice cream or a Caprisun or anything to get his mind off of this.

He laughed and shook his head. "No no no. There is no way you are dragging me on a shopping spree to wear ridiculous clothes in order to get information from a ridiculous person," He breathed before laughing once again. "You have to be joking. This is just outrageous."

Felix has to laugh, carding his fingers through his hair and shaking his head. "Trust me, this guy will be like a box of rocks, but at least that means it'll be easy to get information out of him. Right?" He finishes his lemonade and sets the glass down in the sink. Grace's kitchen is painfully well organized and she might kill Felix for not putting the glass in the dishwasher but oh well. He's survived worse than an angry Grace wielding a jambalaya-covered spatula.

"Please!" Felix begs, drawling his vowels out obnoxiously long. "Please, let me drag you to fancy stores. It's been ages since I've been out shopping." Ages meaning two weeks, if Felix's internal calendar is working correctly. Rhyda will be happy to have him out of the house. Felix's annoyingly large safe needs some depleting. "Plus, doll, we got five days. Better start getting you some fancy, not stuffy, cooler clothes as soon as possible."

Through the window, Felix watches Abel stand, brushing the dirt from the knees of their acid jeans. Felix scrambles to click the back door lock shut. Abel pulls at the door, their narrow eyes narrowing further as he squints at Felix. "Let me in!" He calls, shaking the door handle.

"Darlin', I need a yes or no right now," Felix says calmly as he waves to his friend on the other side of the door. "I have a friend who's about to attack me."

Pretending that Herrera was there, he gave a shrug. "It should be easy," He huffed. Who knows? Sometimes idiots have enough brain cells to figure stuff out. Hopefully Braxton isn't one of those kind. Then again from what Damian knows, he just doesn't want to be talking to a guy like this. Of course he works for the LVPD; he shouldn't be picky and prejudice about people in the first place.

Honestly what Herrera is asking him to do sounds like torture. Being dragged around fancy stores by Herrera for the sake of blending in so he can get information from an influencer who had a watch with Valentine's name on it. This is torture. Absolute torture. What has he done to deserve this? And his clothes aren't stuffy! They are professional and fit him well. He doesn't care; he thinks they're nice.

Damian snorted, shaking his head. He doesn't know what's going on on the other end, but it sounds kind of funny. This moment of joy was short because then he returned to pouting. "Fine! Yes!" He sighed. "And I hope your friend is successful. That's one less thing on my to-do list."

"You are. Very Mean to me, Damian," Felix says pointedly, still watching Abel struggle with the door. Grace has looked up from her independent gardening post. "Thank you for agreeing to go, let me know when you get off work tomorrow." Felix unclicks the lock. "I'll see you then, darl– ACK–!" Abel, much faster than they appear, had thrown the door open and tackled Felix to the ground. His phone clatters across the floor. "Abelgettooffame–" He wheezes as his friend refuses to move.

"Who are you talking to?" Abel asks, keeping Felix firmly on the ground as they reach for the phone. Felix sighs, which was probably a bad idea granted he only had so much air left in his lungs. This interaction could not go well. He would try to break out from Abel's grasp, but well, Felix should know better than to underestimate his deceivingly strong–and fast–friend. "Who are you and why have you been kidnapping Felix?"

Damian scoffed at the comment. "I do my best, Felix. Just for you and you only." Mean is a term that he would not use to describe himself. Professional or poise would be ways that he would rather use. Besides, he is going through the most exhausting torture that anyone has ever gone through. He is already dreading this "shopping spree" that he must go on with Herrera. It sounds terrible already.

While listening to what sounds like a potential murder happening on the other end, he forced himself to take a deep exhale. Containing all this stress in an imaginary box won't do him any good. He doesn't feel any different, but at least he was not startled at hearing a different voice on the phone. The other person's question made him smile. Well, if you count the smile as a smirk.

Leaning over, he hummed softly. "I thought he told people about us." He clicked his tongue then dramatically ran his hand through his hair. "Guess I am still Felix's secret playtime activity then. Shame on you, baby. Shame…Oh well, I haven't been kidnapping him, that's all I can say for now. Isn't that right Felix, baby?"

Felix sputters. Abel screams.

"Felix! What the fuck. It has been, like, two months how do you have someone new already–" Abel, pointedly ignoring the man of the phone drops it in favor of shaking Felix's head. "Why are you like this!?" Abel all but screams.

"Abel, for the love of god, don't kill Felix–" Grace mutters as she walks into the house, removing her rubber gardening gloves from her hand. She's a young, black woman who wears an old red tshirt. Her face is round and her eyes are kind and her words are laced with a faint Creole accent. "I'm so sorry–" She says into the phone as she picks it up. "Please ignore any mean things Abel might've said to you. I'm sure you're quite…" She pauses to find the right word. "Nice if you hang out with Felix."

Abel snorts, muttering something like yeah right from where they're still sitting atop of Felix. Felix groans again. "Lemmego–"

Grace snaps and prods Abel off of Felix with the toe of her shoe. Abel quite literally rolls off of the gambler. "Sorry about that–" she says again as she hands Felix back the phone.

"I hate you so much–" Felix wheezes into the device, both directed at Mae and Abel.

Damian relaxed in the seat, smiling as he listened to the chaos unfolding. Pay back. Sweet sweet pay back. If he had a few drinks in him, he probably could have gone the whole nine yards. Still, he wishes that he could be wherever Herrera is to see what really is going on. By the sounds of shouting and screaming, it sounds chaotic. Pure blissful chaos. Damn it feels good.

A smile formed on his face. He waved his hand. "Nice is one of the things he calls me." Damian laughed a little. This is going to be a highlight of his day, especially after receiving the torture of having to go undercover. "It's alright. No harm no foul."

He just ends up laughing again till Herrera was back on the phone. Although, hearing Herrera say that he hates him is enough to make him laugh again, but Damian only sighed, "Te quiero más, cariño."