Welcome to Gaia! ::

It was not a usual day for Jack. For the past hour or so he had been reviewing his files and slowly compiling additional notes on several persons of interest in between his usual trainee duties: namely Finn's to update the break up with Fini as well as tossing in a few theories on Chel's, while making a note to add one on Hanna Nowicki. As dictated in his schedule, by 2:52 pm he ought to be readying himself for a quick jog around the beach that would be happening in precisely eight minutes: three were needed to shed his lab coat and put on more airy clothes and four to jog over, flexible by a minute or so depending on if he ran into someone or felt like being a little more leisure in his pace. And up until then it had yet to fail him: after all, there were no additional surprises aside from the occasional bumping into someone, though recently Jack had been much, much more hermited than usual. His brisk tone, intense aura, and overall intimidating appearance cut most conversations with strangers short, assuming he was even being sought out (which, thankfully, he wasn't).

But today he had been a little too into his work and had overextended his stay at the labs by fifteen minutes, which was enough to throw everything out of proportion. Thus his long legs ate the distance towards his room as he started to peel his jacket off preemptively, feeling a strange sense of quiet anxiety at the idea of messing with his schedule even by a little. This was what he got for thinking too much about others, recording for posterity be damned.

At least he hadn't been bugged about blind dates. That was a small victory for the day.

Wih files under his arm, Jack pressed his lips together and fished for his keys in his pants pocket, wondering idly if he ought to propose something more trustworthy than this archaic lock method. Like retina scanners, or at least a card reader. That probably would have stopped his drunk a** from invading his ex's room a week ago . . . The bittersweet satisfaction about that hazy memory was enough to dull the irritation he felt about being behind schedule.

Jack made a hybrid noise of a yelp and a gasp as he staggered back, pages threatening to slip from his folder. It was first priority to push them back in, and he quickly did so before they fell out and revealed a (slightly) creepy report on his associates and...whatever Peyton was.

(( Target? )) Owain put in pleasantly, amused rather than irritated that things were conspiring to stop his hunter. (( Prey? Tool? Former mistress~? ))

Jack almost gagged at that last one.

"Really?" he grunted at the man now that his things were back in order, giving him an annoyed look as he fixed his coat. "I'm ******** hard to miss normally, but you have some A-plus aiming, idiot. Gold star." Then he paused, a flicker of vague recognition coming over him. This one had hovered around Ian before, especially during the last Sahara mission. They also looked similar, but he also could have been having a racist moment of not being able to tell them apart well.

"What's your damn rush that you couldn't see a giant in the hallway?" he asked as he fished for his key again, keenly aware of every second he was burning.

"Don't blame me for your inattention. I'm tall, not fat." He clicked his tongue as he finally found his key deeply embedded in his coat pocket. No thanks to sitting tensely for so long. Upon second inspection of the man's face, however, Jack finally realized something, and his brows quirked upwards.

"You live in the room across from me, don't you," he observed, the key still in his grip rather than unlocking the door and getting him faster to putting things on the right track again. "That's probably why. I've also seen you around Ian on several missions. Related, I'm supposing?"

That'd be convenient if so. He had always felt a little awkward calling Ian by his first name thanks to his upbringing, but his last name was a mouthful; the chance to split it was one he'd take.

Bingo. He considered Alistaire for a moment, acutely aware of that searching gaze, and then said, "He'll be Rahal, you'll be Nazari," without further explanation, making a mental note to add it to Ian's file. "Jack Hawthorn, Life division trainee, and currently a little behind schedule." The coat over his shoulder made that obvious, but he had almost always introduced himself as such: first name, last name, occupation. It seemed prudent to be upfront, judging from the vibe Alistaire was giving off.

"I've been here for some time now . . . Nine months," Jack clarified after counting it off, sounding vaguely surprised himself. "But unless you need me for something, I've got somewhere to be." Belatedly he began to unlock his room.

Need, want, would, should. Oh, good, one of those types. "If so, then we might all be on time after all," Jack said as he entered his room, a neat and rather boring space upon first glance. There were posters of several bands on the wall, but aside from that there was a definite lack of personalization. Even the small shelf near his bed was unremarkable, barely containing more than a handful of books and seeming almost forlorn with how empty it looked.

"If you can keep up, I can keep talking." He paused in front of his closet, eyeing it thoughtfully before turning back to Alistaire. The coat was slipped off and folded in mindless, automated motions to set on his bed covers for the moment. "Wait. You're coat pegs you as Sun."

He knew Alistaire for all of one minute and already could tell he wasn't like the other Suns he knew--namely that there was actual intelligence in the man's eyes.

"Mind if I ask what's the interest for?" he ventured, though he could somewhat piece it together himself.

"I'd guess they appropriated you to fill in their rapidly dwindling numbers rather than actually assess your strengths. It wouldn't be the first time it's happened.," he sighed. "But let's be honest: the whole of the Sun division is made up of easily triggered little ********, regardless of their actual skillset." It wasn't surprising at all to be making enemies there--Jack certainly had, and that was without even trying. (Alright, maybe a little trying.)

"Mr. Hawthorn", though . . . Nobody bothered giving him any deference on Deus. He wondered if Alistaire normally called people such, or if this was just part of getting his foot in the door towards transferring. Mr. Hawthorn. Hmm. Had a nice ring to it, he thought as he snatched up his usual running sneakers and a fresh pair of socks.

He met Alistaire's gaze for a moment, studied it a beat too long, then shrugged and went about his business. "Sun's respectable enough: where else will you throw the monster bait with unrealistic dreams of heroism?" Jack sat on the edge of the bed, toed off his flats and socks, paired them up and laid them neatly to the side, and began to slip on his new ones. "I'm happy to welcome someone into the division, however, assuming you have something to add to it. We already had several transfer out of the division recently, and there are dipshits like Keeley running around in their stead. Hell, the last person I worked with looked like a hobo shat something out and stuck clothes on it."

He gave an exagerrated bow at the compliment before sliding his large feet into the sneakers. It was a rare moment indeed that Jack chose to avoid the obvious gay joke; then again, he didn't want to alienate someone who could be a co-worker, especially one that didn't immediately piss him off for one reason or another. The airs Alistaire gave off--the high-brow aura of someone who was particular about his things--were familiar anyway.

"He's one of my coffee bitches," Jack added with a grin as he tied the laces. "Fear is a great motivator." Even though he had yet to actually threaten Oliver with anything aside from dirty looks.

Once finished, he stood up and stretched his arms, popping a few joints. "Hope you're ready to be someone's too. I'm an intermediate and I still get ordered to do s**t like organizing paperwork. They wouldn't let a basic trainee do much more than bedpan duty and occasional shadowing."

"Ohhh." He couldn't help himself with the patronizing noise, clicking his tongue. "Get used to it until you're a full fledged hunter, Rahal. It's mostly coffee runs anyway. I personally sneak some for myself along the way if the job's about food or drinks." The way Jack coped with the insults to his pride was by imagining that one day he would be very much above it all--that to know true power, one had to know true humility. And some things--like the time he had been asked to get jumbo tampons for a superior and had to endure various questions about what an inverse d**k felt like and how male pms even worked (or was it a new Halloween STD the Lifers were studiously documenting?)--were definitive examples of that practice.

He made to move past Alistaire and out the door, though it was accompanied by a motion for him to follow. "I'm still familiarizing myself with common procedures in the infirmary," Jack said as he locked the door and pocketed his keys. "But my real passion lies with the study of genetics, both hunter and Halloween in this case. Not that I've made much progress yet for aforementioned reasons," he added with a wry tone. "What would you be focusing on once you transfer, aside from getting used to healing things rather than trying to bash them in?"