Lovely Weather We Have Here...

[Daniel Mignon]

Curses.

Face contorted into a faint scowl, the young man tried to manuver himself around the rock that had apparently decided to lodge itself under the left wheel of his chair. If it wasn't the cobblestone streets of this town, it was the damned rocks. Daniel sighed, watching the wheel spin uselessly in place, before trying to back himself up.

Another few minutes, and he gave up, reaching down to scoop up the rock and toss it aside, one hand clinging desperately to the arm of the chair. As if inability to move wasn't enough, falling out would be the cherry on the whole goddamned cake that was the day.

Glaring after the stone, brushing his wild, wind-blown hair out of his face. Cursing the rock, considering giving up on this little venture through the park to get some coffee. But nooo, getting out of the stuffy hotel room was good for him.

Daniel reached down beside him to ensure the black camera bag was still securely strapped to the seat of his chair. Good. Still there. So long as it remained with him, he still had a job.

A glance up at some statue or another. Maybe he could get some recreational shots in, between working...

[Manipulate]

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Mr. Daniel Mignon."

The voice addressing the man in the wheelchair could've been dripping pure acid onto it's recipient, sweet and tempting poison for the mind. Garret Dunstan, better known in his line of work as Manipulate, drilled the fingers of one burn-scarred hand faster and faster along the arm of Daniel's wheelchair in a complete invasion of personal space, holding tight so that the other man could not wheel away and try to out-run him. He'd taken advantage of Daniel's sudden interest in the statues in the park to sneak up on him, and, well, he was damn good at his job, if a little cliche.

"The man with the photographs."

Oh, Manipulate's bosses had sent him out here weeks ago on the hunt for the photographer who'd snapped photos of Robin Hood and his lot where The Paladin Guards themselves had been unsuccessful. Oddly enough, however, he'd been surprisingly difficult for anyone to track down. He didn't seem to have checked into any of the hotels they knew about, and he didn't have any family or friends that The Paladins could find who lived in or around Nottingham City that he might be staying with, and thus he'd slipped through thier fingers over and over again. That was why - despite his lacking points in the intelligence department - they'd set one of thier more direct mercenaries onto the job. Garret himself had at this point been taking a welcome break in the park, but it would seem luck was on the meta-human's side today.

He spun in front of Daniel to stop him from turning the wheelchair to face him, his large Mafia-like menacing frame blocking out both the statue and what little light was shining through the looming clouds threatening to snow down on them all. Of course, his instructions had been to take Daniel in for questioning about the photographs and to see if the man had any link to The Merry Men, but if Garret could get what he wanted here and now and have a little bit more fun doing so then he didn't think anyone was going to object. After all, their group showed no mercy and legally didn't exist - who was this kid going to pin any blame on to? He cracked his neck ominously, gearing up the necessary amount of pheramone production he was going to need for his work.

"We've been looking for you."

[Daniel Mignon]

"Uh?"

Startled by the, to him, sudden appearance. An automatic attempt to spin the wheels of the chair. Needless to say, the grip on the arm of it only made the dirt beneath them ground into fine dust. His mind honestly hit a blank, until the implications of 'the photographs' managed to jog it. A sudden panicked look, leaning back as thought that could possibly help in some way. He was pretty sure that nothing good was going to come of this, and the appearance of the other man seemed to attest to that.

Another spin of the wheels. It was, quite literally, all he could do. One of the downsides of being in a different country, no one you could call to help. Infact, Daniel had a pretty good hunch that if his boss heard about this, it'd be a long time from when anyone could do anything.

"C...can I help you?"

Inwardly cursing himself. If anything, those words and how they were delivered would only make his situation worse.