Robin Goodfellow

He'd gotten the call the other night, not from Anzhelika herself, but from an acquaintance. Not quite a friend -- a recent roommate. She'd gone missing, for weeks now, and nobody that she knew, human or otherwise, the real her or otherwise, had been able to produce any ideas as to her whereabouts.

There was no money involved. Normally, Robin might be hard-pressed to be interested, as busy as his schedule has been. But he'd slept with her a few times, before Ishiah's arrival. Anzhelika was a meadow nymph, human-looking enough, with only a tint of green in her hair and pupil-less green eyes. Goodfellow recalls that she'd smelled of clover, and it had lingered on his sheets for almost a day afterward.

It's a good memory, and he gets so few of those from others that he holds some respect for those that allow for them.

Robin isn't going to let anything happen to her.

But he's going to need help, and it isn't his usuals that he approaches for it this time. He won't ask Ishiah, and he turns down the idea of someone like Dean, or like Mike, immediately. No -- it's Sam Winchester that he approaches.

After Ishiah has left for the evening, once the kitchen has closed and Semele's has slowed to a crawl and cleanup has begun, Robin slinks out of the office to find Sam. He sidles himself in front of the much taller man, considering how to approach the subject. As with most things, it is not in Robin's nature to do so entirely directly, not when it could be made more twisting and turning.

He holds out a cold beer from the chest under the bar in offering.

"The Valentine's specials are doing well," he starts with. "I used to love this time of year before I was, you know, in an actual relationship. Lots of angry, desperate singles of all kinds. Now it just looks like a business opportunity. Rather than ... an opportunity for some nasty, oily business."

Robin doesn't have a key to Ishiah's apartment - but Robin doesn't need one. They both know that a key would only slow him down.

Though he also does not wait for admittance before he enters, he does knock before he does, because he values his life greatly.

Finding Ishiah pouring over a table covered in maps - political, subway systems at first glance - Robin wastes no time in moving to his elbow, peeling off his gloves, but not his coat, and hanging his head over one hunched shoulder. He does not want to come home to someone like Ishiah angry like this (not unless that anger is directed at Ishiah himself,) but there is little that can remove it now that it has had a chance to fester. Now that he has helped Dean out of a pinch and back relative safety, and taken a taxi to Ishiah's apartment while poring over what he knows.

Was there anything he had missed?

"I am going to have to go and kill some things," he says, with dreadful, pleasureless honesty, and no small degree of self-criticism.