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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."
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."
