Quinn

It was a quiet evening, a cold evening. The very sort that had seen the vast majority of people head indoors with the clouds overhead seeming to threaten to rain at any given moment. It seemed, at least to Quinn, that even the roads had fewer cars tonight. His hands tucked further into the pockets of his coat in some instinctive and yet hopeless quest for warmth. After all this time, all these years, surely he should have ceased to expect layers of clothing to provide him any heat. A faint simper tugged at his own lips. The man seemed to find some sort of amusement in his own humanity before he continued further down that street, across the road and away from the docks. In the very least, moving away from the water might take a little bite from the wind and its relentless harassment of him. His goal for tonight was hardly clear, even to himself. It was rare for him to have an evening alone without his wife or daughter to accompany him. Quinn, on such nights, was prone to wander- if only because he enjoyed seeing who or what he might find to watch. People-watching, ever since his childhood, had fascinated him. Humanity fascinated him. It always had. Tonight, however, had hardly proven to be exciting. Few people, even on the Western side of town, known for its far less....civilised crowd, seemed to linger in the open tonight. Quin had fast lost interest in the fishmongers who loaded the evenings catch for the morning farmers market. Besides, they were used to seeing him now and so hardly bothered to query just what he was doing any longer. The appearance of a WereLeopard had fascinated him for a time. The creature near expertly pilfering fish when the Mongers backs were turned and yet- the Were was so apt at his art it hardly made for any real sport to watch. Quinn, by that notion, had wandered deeper into the west.

It was the thud of fist on flesh that alerted him to that fight first. Along with the heavy thud of a body slumping to the floor. That...was a sound he knew well. How intriguing. The salty, metallic scent of blood permeated the air then, tugging at his throat and cloying his senses if only for a fleeting moment. Someone had well and truly lost this fight, or in the very least, was in the process of losing it. Quinn's figure adjusted, his tall frame shifting to head in the direction of that street brawl. His long stride carried him near effortlessly, silently, across the pavement and into one of the many alleyways that seemed to litter the west like a maze. It hardly took long for the amber gold of his gaze to find the source of that thudding. A large, buly sort of man was seemingly content to lay his fists, over and over, into a slimmer, more athletic fellow who seemed almost...pleased about his subsequent beating. A warlock. The slimmer man was a warlock. How often that species seemed to find itself on the receiving end of others' irritation. The burly man continued his assault, the warlock hardly making any effort to fight back though whether he was capable of it or not Quinn hardly knew. This, it seemed, was a satisfying show to watch. At least until that burly man seemed to realise he had an audience. His gaze shifted, meeting Quinn's own across the alleyway. Hey, keep walking, buddy. This does not concern you.

How very right he was. It did not concern Quinn in the least. Perhaps the warlock would die of his wounds, perhaps he would fight back, perhaps the burly fellow would be the one to die, perhaps they might both live. It was the veritable fascination of the unknown that seemed to draw Quinn all the same. None of it concerned him. Quinn, after all, was not a man inclined to feel concern in any sense. Indeed, his near unshakable calm seemed to be what distressed most other beings.

"Do not let my presence dissuade you, keep going. I am merely watching."

His words were simple, quiet and entirely without judgement yet oh- how it seemed to enrage that other man as he all but stepped over the fallen warlock to storm towards Quinton. His features a twisted mask of outrage at what he perceived was a man mocking him perhaps. The burly fellow's rage seemed to falter, however, as he drew closer. His feet hesitated. Indecision seemed to linger within his gaze as he met the amber gold of Quinn's own once more. This was when they always faltered. When they drew closer enough to see.....to feel....to realise. Embarrassed, perhaps, by his sudden lack of spine, the burly man was content to simply storm past him with an utterance that he was done with the warlock for now anyway. His speed seeming to increase as he all but fled around that corner. Well. This had been disappointing. Quinn's gaze shifted back toward the fallen warlock who seemed to be making some....effort to rise.

"Did you deserve it?"

The warlock seemed to have heard him though had, perhaps, not understood him. Very well.

"The beating that man was giving you. Did you deserve it?"

That, somehow, was important.