[ the fact that Bigby has been somehow convinced by Aranea to sign up for these bullshit jobs is a miracle in itself. being asked to give out pamphlets of all things? yeah, you can safely guess that he is going to lowball the shit out of her and give much less than 30%. sorry, not sorry, Ms. Highwind. she can beat him up later.

after this Igo lady practically begs him — since when did he look like one of Aranea's mercenaries? — to help with giving out pamphlets and silently cursing the leader's name, he begrudgingly accepts the task. cue the ex-sheriff skulking about in Wyver, a thick stack of paper tucked in his hands. he tried starting things off with as nice of a disposition as he could manage, but twenty rejections later and you may imagine the permanent scowl on his face.

whether he knows you or not, or regardless of if you purposely avoid his eye contact or stare him down, he's going to eventually cut you off and stop you from going where you want to go. shoved into your chest suddenly is one of the pamphlets. ]

Hey. Will you give some money to the fucking shrine so I can stop giving this shit out to people? Thanks.

[ all he wanted to do was enjoy a few drinks. he's not a betting man, so any money earned from the pamphlet fiasco was spent on cheap alcohol. that only lasted so long before he sniffed out a particular thick scent of bullshit in an illegal form of gambling. against his better judgment, he couldn't just leave them to rake in the cash. it's a bad habit that'll never die. cue him finishing his last glass, tracking the group's scent to an alleyway leading to an abandoned building that no doubt housed their operation.

you may have been tracking them on your own, but there's a better chance you were simply walking by and heard some noises of great concern. it starts off simply enough, with curse words and brief arguing. then there's no doubt the sounds of grown men screaming and what is quite possibly the snap of an arm being broken. pair that with a series of blows and a very deep growl and you may begin to wonder why you even decided to approach the alley. when you turn the corner, you'll find Bigby standing over the bodies, all groaning and writhing about on the ground. even though his back is facing you, you may be able to see how the hands at his hips hold elongated nails, with one hand actually dripping with blood.

oh, and there's also the knife stuck deep in his thigh. that's a thing. when he notices there's a guest, he snarls and looks over his shoulder, pairing his glare with sharpened teeth. ]

If you're here for the party, you're late. Might want to reconsider.

[ Aranea is going to hate Bigby even more, it seems. when he signed up to hunt monsters down, he didn't quite think about how much of a hypocrite that made him until finding himself face-to-face with the creature. there was a time where people were paid to try and kill him, the Big Bad Wolf, and to say he is uncomfortable with the change of pace is an... understatement. even if 400 silver is nothing to sneeze at, and the Vileling could be put out of its misery easily by his hand, he determines he is unable to do so. fucking fuck. it maybe didn't help that the owner seemed particularly attached to his oversized "pet", and the monster didn't seem like it wanted much trouble from Bigby, either. not yet, anyway.

the things he gets into. now he's stuck trying to figure out how to sneak a Vileing back to Murkhollow without any of the other hunters finding it first. he'd like to avoid Aranea's wrath on this one if he can, but he's ready and willing to accept the consequences. after all, cursing to himself as he pushes and shoves a a 12-15 long slug thing in the right direction doesn't make it easy to remain inconspicuous. feel free to catch him, fight him over whether or not it should be saved or help him smuggle it back to its owner. ]

[ THIS IS THE LAST JOB HE IS DOING FOR THIS STUPID GROUP EVER AGAIN. why? because Bigby has decided that he is somehow capable of playing bodyguard for a herb shop. a herb shop with intoxicants that do nothing to help his already sensitive nose and sexually frustrated temperament. one would think he has been able to wear himself out on that when considering the partners he's bedded already, but no. one would think he picked the right place to babysit when considering one of the other locations was a goddamned bordello, but noooope. he's stuck working guard duty until sunrise, leaving him with nothing but his cigarettes and idle hands that very much want something to do. ahem.

apologies for anyone that may have also signed up for guard duty, or perhaps just a customer looking for some... herbs in the middle of the night... because that's a thing people do a lot. ]