Desmond Miles AND Shaun Hastings
"Desmond," Altair sighed. "Are you even paying attention to me?"
"Not really," Desmond said honestly. Well, enough to know that Altair had just been complaining about Malik, again. As if a twelve year old could possibly be that much trouble. "I'm paying attention to this guy passed out on the bar."
"Oh." There was a brief pause. "Well, that's not unusual in your job, is it?"
"Says the guy that's never been in a bar in his life," Desmond said. "And anyway, he hasn't even had anything to drink yet. So it's a little unusual, yes."
"So wake him up," Altair said. "Or call an ambulance or something."
Desmond made a face and nudged the guy a little. If anyone else had been in the bar, he would have been more aggressive in checking this guy out, but it was a slow day and there was nothing better to do. The stranger didn't wake up, but he started to snore gently.
"Are you kidding- Altair, this guy's sleeping."
"Sleeping?"
"Yes! He walks into my bar, and passes out like it's a hotel bed, or something!" He scowled into the empty air. "And don't laugh at me."
"I'm not laughing," Altair protested. While laughing.
"Come on, man," Desmond grumbled, prodding at the sleeping stranger and ignoring his brother laughing in his head. "Get up and get out, this is a bar, not a bedroom."
"Go 'way," the man complained, and even slurred by sleep there was something distinctly foreign about his voice.
"I work here," Desmond said. "You go away." And something he was poking was apparently the right thing to poke, because the stranger sat up and glared at Desmond like he'd just done something wrong.
"What?" he demanded.
"You're sleeping in my bar," Desmond said.
"I don't see your name on the door."
"You don't know my name."
"Well, I don't see any name on the door," the man said. "You're just some random employee, I don't much care-"
Desmond had inherited Altair's weather control after they drank the animus potion together. And he didn't use them often, but the guy was just asking for his own localized rainstorm. For a minute, they just stared at each other, through the tiny rain shower that almost obscured the stranger's glare.
"Really?" the man asked eventually.
"You were asking for it," Desmond said. "Who comes to a bar and falls asleep?"
"Tired people!"
Desmond made a dismissive noise that seemed to irritate the stranger more than the rainstorm, even.
"I'm a lawyer," the man said, but it didn't seem like much of a threat, coming from this skinny man with the bad hair and the increasingly wet jacket.
"Do you want me to stop?"
The man glared by way of answer.
"Desmond," Altair scolded. "Be nice."
"What are you, my mother?"
"Brother," he corrected, and Desmond grumbled mentally but flicked his wrist and drove away the weather. "Better?" he asked, and the stranger glared at him for half a second.
Then he punched him in the face.
"Ah!" Desmond reeled back, holding his nose and trying not to get blood on everything. "What the fuck?" he demanded.
"Better," the stranger said.
-/-
"You said you're a lawyer, right?" Desmond asked, the next time the man came back to his bar. It was a week after their first run in, and his face was still bandaged up from the punch. It throbbed just from looking at the guy, who had the kind of triumphant look on his face that meant he was happy with himself.
"I did," he said. Then, almost warily, "Why?"
"I have a legal problem," Desmond said. "I-"
"No," said the man. "I do not give out free legal advice to people that try to drown me with indoor rainstorms."
"I want to hire you," Desmond said. "Actual money and everything, I swear."
"For what?" the man asked cautiously. "Don't you know any other lawyers?"
"Where would I meet other lawyers?" Desmond waved the question away. "Anyway, no. I don't. What I have is a problem, so can I hire you or not?"
"Depends what the problem is." And he settled back a little, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.
"I have custody of this kid," Desmond said. "Kadar. He's twelve, and he's been with me since he was six. But the problem is, his dad wants him back. Six years ago, he was an alcoholic and abusive, but since then he's apparently cleaned himself up, gotten some decent work, a steady girlfriend, the whole nine yards. Last month, he hired a lawyer, and the lawyer contacted me to ask for Kadar and his brother back."
"Brother?"
"Malik," Desmond said. "He lives out west, with my brother. It's a long story, I can tell you later if you're interested. But the point is, I don't believe the father. And when I talked to Kadar about it, he got upset, said he didn't want to leave. So I… kind of promised I wouldn't let it happen."
"But, being a bartender and not a lawyer, you have no idea how to do that," the man said.
"Pretty much," Desmond admitted. "So… can you help?"
The man considered this for several seconds, then nodded. "I'm not a big fan of child abuse," he said.
"Well, few people are."
He leaned across the bar and held out a hand. "Shaun Hastings," he said. "We can talk about details more later, but I think I can help."
"Thank you." Desmond took the offered hand and shook it. "Desmond Miles."
And that was how they met.