Monthly Bonus #1 - Summer Scenario Special - Drinks with Unit Charlie & Morgan (Patreon)

Fun fact: Unit Charlie are called the 'Chill Charlies' around the Agency for how uniquely calm they are in pretty much all situations and missions!

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“It stinks in here.”

“It’s a pub. What were you expecting? Marble pillars and red carpets?”

“I like it. It’s—”

“Cosy.”

“Exactly!”

I follow behind the bickering team of Unit Charlie, having only enough energy after our mission to trudge my way through the door of The Seagull’s Cry let alone speak.

“You okay, sweetheart/handsome?” Morgan asks, spreading her hand between my shoulder blades as I let out a groan.

I stretch out my body and nod. “I’m glad its over, but yeah, I’m fine.”

The tall agent closest to us turns to look at me over his shoulder. His curls of wheat blonde hair—nearly the same shade of gold as his skin—tumble into his hazel eyes which wrinkle with, what I’m pretty sure is, a genuine smile.

“You did a lot better than I thought you would, huma—”

His Welsh-accented words are cut short as Morgan growls low at the Changeling.

The supernatural whips up his ring-bejewelled hands and chuckles sheepishly, the thin braid trailing down his back whipping behind him with the motion. “Eh heh. Agent [Surname].”

“Thanks, Sulien. [Name] is fine,” I reply with a small smile.

The Seagull’s Cry is, well, how it always is. A few dock workers are slumped in one corner, taking long gulps of their beers. An…interesting aroma of stale drink and old peanuts fills the medium-sized, wood-panelled pub. The dim light at least helps cover whatever is making the carpet quite so sticky.

“I’ll, uh, I mean…shall I get the first round?” the shortest agent of the team asks. He fidgets on the spot, his shoulder length, smoky slate hair half-pulled up into a knot, but he smooths his bangs down over the scarred half of his ashen-cream face.

The woman beside him sucks in a breath as she tugs the silk scarf pulling her tightly curled ginger ringlets back and lets them drape loose. “Thanks, Rett. Are you sure?”

Rett, his full name being Everett, gives a barely perceptible nod before skittering towards the bar.

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” the woman, called Orela, asks with a slight purse of her lips. Her words are smooth with an accent I can’t quite place, but at a guess I would place somewhere Eastern European.

“He’ll be ok,” Sulien replies with a nod. “He’s the one who wants to try and get out of his comfort zone.”

“Too much too soon can be damaging,” the final agent of the team states, moving to a table and dragging over extra chairs. Her movements are quick and agile. It’s like she even barely moves at all as she flits from one place to another.

“Let him do what the fuck he wants,” Morgan grunts as she stands beside the chair I flop into.

The fast-moving agent, Vera, clicks her teeth together as she watches Rett trying to order at the bar. He’s not doing a great job of getting the barkeep’s attention, only slightly raising a shaky hand as the woman marches behind the long stretch of bar to fill other’s orders.

Orela sits in the chair near mine, her thick black eyeliner still perfect around her vivid blue eyes. She also has a smothering of scars, but unlike Rett’s, they are long, thick lines that appear to have been burnt into her skin long ago.

Though she doesn’t seem concerned by them, her sleeveless vest showing the scars on her pale cream, very toned arms to full view.

She pats my knee with a smile. “How are you doing? It wasn’t all too much was it?”

The mission had seemed simple enough—arrest a rogue shapeshifter who had so far been avoiding capture. But the shapeshifting part made the whole thing much more complicated when the supernatural managed to change appearances so many times to lose themself in a crowd.

Which is why we needed Unit Charlie’s help. Their unique situation with shifting magics certainly helped us narrow down where the shapeshifter actually was…even though it still ended in a chase and scuffle.

I shake my head. “No. It was easier than new agent training, at least.”

Orela chuckles, the others laughing along with their commanding agent.

She leans back and nods at Morgan. “You’ve found a good one here.”

“Yes,” Morgan states.

Orela lifts a brow and cocks her head. “Stil a vampire of few words, I see?”

“That’s ok. She doesn’t need to be a chatty one to enjoy a night out,” Sulien interrupts, winking at Morgan.

Morgan ignores the gesture, instead sliding a hand onto my shoulder, and I can feel the tension lacing through her just from the simple touch.

“Here we are!” Rett announces, finally making it to the table while balancing a tray full of drinks on one hand with ease.

“Nicely done!” Everett calls, swiping a cocktail glass from the tray.

Vera takes the beer, blowing away some of the foamy top before sipping at it delicately. “Thanks.”

Orela takes the tray from Rett and places it between us. I take my drink. Morgan takes nothing.

“They don’t really, you know, serve blood here,” Rett blusters, clearing his throat as he smooths down his fringe again. It’s not a joke or sarcasm, the young agent looking truly distraught at not being able to bring anything for Morgan.

I smile. “It’s fine, I’m sure. Right, Morgan?”

She grips my shoulder tighter. “It’s fine.”

“Well!” Orela calls, taking her shot of whisky, the ice cubes clinking about inside of the glass. “Here’s to another mission completed.”

Everyone gives a small cheer before bringing their glasses together.

“Maybe with how successful we were together, the Agency might team us up again?” Vera suggests, her violet eyes twinkling as she pushes her long brunette hair, streaked with silver highlights, back over her slightly glittery, light brown shoulder.

Morgan shifts closer to my chair. “I prefer working with the familiar.”

“Oh,” Vera says, blinking before smiling. “That’s fine, ‘cause I wasn’t talking to you.”

Morgan practically vibrates with anger as I try to hold back my laugh.