[Locked to Gwen]

Heya, mon maman-faucon, it's the best friend you never knew you had, reporting in from a penthouse on the corner of Michigan Avenue and East Monroe. Long trail of leads brought me here, don't you worry about it, but Mr. Poor Beleaguered Landlord's been having trouble with a couple problem tenants who just up and vanished a while ago for parts unknown. Wouldn't you know it, one of them looks to be a bit of a Captain Jack Harkness cosplayer - nice replica jacket, real high-quality, even smells like that creepy cologne-pheremone thing he's got going on.

So now I'm curious, gato de la torre. After you kids vanished with our taciturn friend the Silent Time Lord, I'm thinking that the news is big. I've got contacts in such diverse places as the Chicago Police Department, the angelic community, and the supernatural underground, and I love good story and can make a good trade. Don't suppose you're up for that?

If not, at least I can stop by and drop off Jack's effects. Which is funny, because I get the feeling he'd rather die than lose that coat, and he doesn't, so much. Die, that is.

– D. Lang