“Mmph,” Aslan grunted in sympathy. “See, that’s when you start wishing for things you don’t want.”

Aslan glanced behind himself. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say.

“Like salt over the shoulder.”

Aslan tilted his head away to better keep this informant in his sight, folding his hands before himself. Did this fellow always stand so close? This seemed vaguely familiar … but still, he listened patiently. An affected hike of the brows at the knife (see? Knife skills. Called it, cannibal), but the rest of his face hardly matched the attempt at surprise, putting it more in the range of bland exasperation.

When his informant made explicit his preferences, Aslan’s glance went down to their feet. Too rude to put some distance between them? Meh. He remained.

However: there was a straightening of his posture some point around ‘he’d do anything for me’. Smoothed out his shirt. Squinted at the lewd gesture, though didn’t look particularly surprised or offended.

Aslan made a face when his acquaintance not so subtly implied Brennan and … Richards? Kemble? Going at it in the church as they spoke. Was it on the same pew? Aslan’s mouth formed a brief, thin line.

“So … have you woken up to him standing over you with a knife?” he ventured. “Heard them railing each other at night or something?”

Francis paid the other man little attention as he told his tale. He then turned his head to the side with a sharp glare at nothing in particular, his lips curled to a sharp frown.

"Nope, like I said. I haven't see them. If I'd heard them I might have gone in to black mail them or something that at least gave me some fun. Or promise to be silent for the shelter for free, but then if I did that they both might murder me in my sleep and dump me in the ocean to be forgotten. " He sighed and scratched his head.

"Quite the conundrum isn't it? Do you want me to keep an eye out for anything?" He looked to Aslan as his eyes narrowed to study him intently. He certainly was an easy going guy for a detective.

“Your concern is merited,” Aslan said – and meant it.

Granted, stabbing the fellow over sexual exploitation for blackmail purposes made a certain sense.

“Quite,” he went for. “My practice focuses more on crimes that harm the public rather than crimes that merely annoy the peace … or money laundering,” mostly money laundering, “but should you witness anything else troubling … I’m at Post Box number 13.”

He wondered if that had been intentional.

“I’m afraid I can’t offer you my body,” Aslan said, politely. “But I do receive and share monies for information on the graveyards and their tenders, particularly regarding the retrieval of stolen or hidden bodies. The return of items stolen over a value of one hundred pounds – particularly from the museums and art galleries – also have bounties I can split. You also mentioned trouble securing regular employment – how do you feel about gardening?”

Francis shrugged then pointed at him. "Exactly, that's why I can get away so much. I'm not worth anyone's time as long as I don't do it in front of their faces." He smiled as if he'd cracked some code. "I will.." he didn't have paper but he could steal. If Aslan could translate his attempt at writing was another question altogether.

He laughed and waved him off. "I just like to tease you know. I sell my body. I don't want to be paid that way. " He listened and already started thinking about spending some nights at the graveyards or near any places with fancy art when he mentioned garden and the taller man perked up. "Oh? Tell me more...,"

Aslan blinked, then shrugged.

“I don’t know what the solution for that is, but I don’t think you’ll find it over the bridge. Do it to their faces?” he mused.

Loneliness was not an equation he’d found a working solution to. Stuffing those holes full of other peoples’ problems and making some of his own approximated well enough.

His shoulders sunk in relief once this fellow finally seemed interested in something other than the same thing Aslan went there to do the bridge.

“Ah. Yes. The Gardeniers hire out occasionally for odds-and-ends jobs. They run the glass houses for a baronet up on the west side, not far from Flowergate.”

Francis rose a brow and laughed again. "I am not here to die. I just think of it, but I believe I heard once in church that no man who ends his own life ends up in heaven. And who knows? Maybe God has a sense of humor. Could use a guy like me up there. If people in town find out about me and take notice and decide to punish me like I'm a witch to be burned at the stake." He shrugged with a smile. "No fault of mine."

He loomed towards Aslan. "Oh? Maybe you can lead me there to meet them. I'm much better at vegetables but I know a thing or two about flowers. I have a potted plant in my room I've managed to keep alive. It's huge." He stretched out his arms.

He wasn’t entirely sure he believed him, but that was his business at the end of the night. So long as he could claim the bridge alone.

Aslan tilted his head up to maintain eye contact at the fellow’s looming approach. Emaciated, at least. Aslan could probably tip him over one-handed if push came to shove.

“I know jack-all about either,” Aslan laughed, seeming entirely at ease, “so you two can sort that out.”

Not entirely true. He and Nisa had kept the occasional little ferns alive with a dash of water every time they started shriveling, back at the general store.

“I doubt they would appreciate us bursting in at this hour – but some time during the day, I can take you.”

Francis grinned. "If it was easy anyone would do their own gardens and wouldn't need the like of gardeners and farmers. But yeah alright."

He laughed and slapped the man on the shoulder. "I'm not an idiot..well not that much of one! I may not care most of the time. But I'm not gonna match up to someone at..what time is it?" He said immediately distracted as his head tilted to the side.

Aslan shook his head, then turned to face the water again to have an excuse not to strain his neck.

“Just leave the things they tell you to leave, and pull the rest.”

Assuming they stuck this fellow on the same hard to botch tasks they put him on.

“Time for you to get a watch,” Aslan said … then reached into his right back pocket.

He pulled out a pocket watch. It was a little rusty, and smelled very faintly of copper, though the make looked cheaper than that. Sliding the clasp off his waistband, he held it out to him.

Too many dead men’s watches in his possession, after all.

Francis laughed. "I know a weed when I see it."

He watched him curiously then blinked as he was handed a watch. He stared and saw it worked then frowned suspiciously. "I like you, but not that much. " He dangled it carefully. "What do you want to give me such a thing?"