"You won't," Fletcher says, voice flat, "because I wouldn't need you. But you know when that'll happen, and you've survived just fine with the law on your tail so far."

And maybe that quirk of an eyebrow is common, but the detective's breath seizes at the unfortunate similarity between Obsidian and Aspen. It's unfair that his lips part in a mocking grimace, but then the other can hardly complain when he doesn't play fair either. "Trust you to try and take advantage to make the agreement life long on my part," he mutters, voice pitched a little louder than intended, just loud enough for the other to hear.

The look given by Fletcher was returned with an unsatisfied one. He would have to take that into account. There was a quick silence, and Fletcher could tell Obsidian seemed to be thinking about the deal.
"Alright, you're lucky I'm feeling helpful today." He sighed.
His voice sounded somewhat annoyed. Annoyed with the possible tedious work he would have to do to get this job done.
"Who is this Missing person your looking for?" As he spoke, his hands made air quotes with the word missing.

Obsidian looks exasperated. Normally, Emerson would take this as a sign that the other was ready to sow some disarray, but now it inspires something... hopeful. If the other wasn't interested, then there was no need to deal with his disinterest, and there was no need to be annoyed over any future work he'd have to do.

Knowing this, he's quick to unlock his phone--with his face, mind you, he's not sharing his password with a villain--before clicking a file. Several pictures spring up; guesses as to what he looks like now, many years later. There's some similarity to the face before him, but when Fletcher looks up, he's too concerned with the air quotes to notice.

"Are you five?" he snaps.

"No, I'm realistic."
He responded bluntly. He looks at the photos, analyzing them. He thinks for a moment.
"Is there any more information That would help? A simple image won't do much."

(Sorry for shorter response then normal)

(No worries, it's hard to make conversations long. ^^)

More information? Okay, Fletcher can do that. "His name is Aspen Turner, and he should be..." he pauses for a bit of math, "twenty-eight right now."

After that, it's their hometown, though the detective doesn't know what else to give, beyond that. It's not like Obsidian can use favorite foods or sports teams, even if those hadn't changed. (Fletcher's have.)

"Anything else you want, short of social security?" he asks, a slow drawl while he turns back to observe the villain's reaction. 'Realistic' or not, the other seems content to wear his reactions on his sleeve. "I have to get back to the site soon, or else someone might start wondering where I went."

A small reaction stirred from him, a twitch of his eye when he heard his own name. Shaking his head, he turns away.
"Nope. You get back to whatever detectives do while I start looking."

Emerson does just that, sagging as soon as he's turned the corner and left the villain's line of sight. He keeps his hands firmly in his pockets, but he feels the minute tremors working their way across his arms and knows.

The detective lets his head thump against the wall, before reaching up to run a hand across his face. Then, a voice calls from out of the crime scene and he kicks off, calling, "Coming, coming!" He lights a cigarette, takes a breath to let the scent of smoke stain his breath, and drops it to the ground, crushing it with his heel as he moves to step inside.

Hopefully Obsidian has more success than he does; hopefully this betrayal is worth it.

-- -- --

Thinking about it, it'd probably be for the best, if Emerson could just let the matter hang in the background rather than approaching Obsidian again. But here he is anyways, about a week later, with streetlights casting shadows across his face and the supervillain standing in front of him.

"How's it looking?" he asks like it'll get him anything else than a request about his side of the deal.

(Sorry for the long absence, got pretty busy these last few days.)

"It's.... Difficult. Knowing so little will only get me so far.."
Deep down, it was hard knowing he was lying, and to an old friend as well. But it was necessary. No one was to know who he was. Why he became what he is now..

(I'm so sorry, I just started a new job and I've been beat.)

He clicked his teeth. "That's where your wrong. That's the (name idk rn) gang. They hardly ever share information, especially about anything they caused."