Conrad often bought groceries.
This was not so unusual in and of itself; every wednesday was for shopping and Conrad saw no reason to interrupt his weekly schedule, however little use he had of food. Thus, Conrad now bought groceries for Hanna - who was a worthy enough candidate for the charity. Fresh things, whole milk and eggs from local farms, steaks from cows raised without hormone supplement. Organic. Expensive. Vegetables and multigrain dry noodles and even sometimes shampoo, though he stopped himself from traveling too far down the 'personal items' aisle in the guise of letting the man keep some dignity (besides it was just weird, what he was doing in the first place, and something about soap made it weirder, like apron-at-home weird, like big goofy awkward grin that had Conrad delivering the groceries in the middle of the night to a stoic sidekick zombie instead – as if Hanna would wake up every thursday morning to grocery christmas and never would santa have to suffer his beaming gratitude).
It was on one such delivery evening that Hanna's lopsided apartment door was opened to reveal not a slightly bemused dead man, but the suspicious glare of Doc Worth.
"Wot?" As if Worth were expecting someone or something else, and was supremely disappointed to find Conrad there on the dingy little welcome mat instead.
"Er." A paper bag in each arm, celery frond poking him in the cheek, Conrad nearly contemplated retreat. He pushed past the lanky obtrusion instead, mumbled a greeting to the dead man, who was clearing table space wordlessly. The zombie's usual thanks and wordless amusement were absent – he was rigid and tense and didn't meet Conrad's curious stare. "Is Hanna in?" The futon in the far corner was rumpled and empty, but still the question begged asking.
"Hanna is not here." Justin/Kai/Alexander intoned, but if there was frustration or worry in those spare words, Conrad couldn't hear it.
Worth, however, remained expressive. "Red's taken hisself on a little outing, sounds like. Here," Conrad caught the chilled bloodbag with a surprised fumble. "I'll leave y'folks to yer supper." A yellowed glare toward the grocery bags, for which Conrad had the sudden inexplicable urge to step in front of and hide from scrutiny. Worth turned a bony shoulder up as if to block the wind while lighting a cigarette, and shut the door with a clatter after himself.
"Saunderson and Sons, LLC." The dead man muttered. "A warehouse. We are not to follow." A shift in his step from counter to fridge to cupboard, and come to think on it, the apartment had grown steadily tidier since Gregory/Nnando/Casey had taken up residence. There were hardly any roaches.
"Er," Conrad bit down on a frown, fingering Worth's parting gift. "What?"
"Hanna is on a case. There have been murders, injuries. Arrows and crossbow bolts, fired from invisible hands. We are not to follow, but that is the last known lead. Down Wallabash Street, near the wayside. Saunderson and Sons, LLC."
It was the most Conrad had ever heard the zombie speak, and he suspected there was an underlying current to the information. He sniffed, worrying at a corner of the plastic bag with a seeking fang. "So?" He bit, and drank deep, and paused to mutter how disgusting it was all cold like that, and found the zombie watching him with an unblinking scrutiny.
"So, Hanna left to follow that lead. Four days ago."
Conrad frowned up at Domino/Kirk/Hector. "Did he say why he had to go alone?"
"Yes." A pause, and if there was impatience in Zoolander/Ezekiel/Barton's stance, then Conrad couldn't see it. "I promised Hanna that I would not follow. I did not, however," A smirk, a definite smirk, "promise against sending others to his aid."
"Four days..." Conrad muttered, sagging against a countertop. "Who are you going to send?" The next question was going to be 'and what was this danger, exactly', but the zombie's glance to the door told Conrad all he needed to know.
A shrug. "If Hanna is injured, a doctor is the better candidate."
Conrad sneered. "So what's so ultimately dangerous that Hanna swore you into letting him go it alone?" Not that he was fishing for information in preparation to go himself, but... But he was doing exactly that, and he suspected the zombie was playing along just so he could creatively edit the confession once Hanna was recovered and (inevitably) got all indignant over being rescued.
"The victims only shared a few common denominators. Adults, twenties to middle aged. Divorced or widowed or otherwise single. What would shoot arrows at people like that?"
"You've got to be kidding me."
"It is just our suspicion. But. Hanna was afraid, if either one of us were hit..."
"Ugh!" Conrad drove curled fingers through his hair. "And you sent Worth?"
"I could not reach Toni."
"Who?"
"Short. Werewolf." A raised eyebrow. "Female." A latent smirk. "Single."
Conrad hissed in exasperation. "Jesus. Did you want to save Hanna's life, or get him laid?"
"If it could be accomplished. Both." A chuckle that sounded like moths against a wardrobe door. "In all seriousness, Mr. Achenleck, people have died. For whatever reason, this minion of Eros uses solid corporeal arrows." Remus/Tobias/Yeltzen approached Conrad, as close to imploring as he seemed capable. "And it aims for the heart."
