Know your place.

"Now tell me," He begins, grabbing his notebook off of his desk along with his pen and flipping to a fresh page. "Who is this person you're searching for and where were they last seen?" He asks, bringing the tip of his pen to his tongue before pressing it to his notebook, eyes trained intensely on his client.

He watches the detective grab a notebook and pen, and perform quite the outdated act. Old habits die hard, perhaps? Modern pens didn't need the extra assistance after all, they hadn't for some time if he's remembering correctly. "Mm, yes of course. I'm looking for a man named Franklin Daye. The last I saw him was at his place of employment, a construction company named Brick by Brick. He has a wife as well, by the name Barbara Daye. If you could locate the two of them I would be ever so grateful, I need to make sure they're taken care of..."

".......I have been training in programs since I was 16." Greyson's brows lower slightly. "I have twenty-two years of experience, working under master chefs in seventeen countries. I have dabbled on my own in other cuisine from many other places as well." This feels somewhat like a job interview. Perhaps the standards of this event are rather high.

"Hm... I see. Quite the experience you have, dear. Far more than most could ever hope to boast." An index fingers taps a slow and rhythmic motion upon his knee. "Would you be available from the twenty-second to the twenty-fourth?"

"No pardons are necessary. You couldn't have possibly landed yourself in a more correct place. Come in. What can I help you with?" He asks, scribbling one last thing down before closing the folder and giving his guest his undivided attention.

The clicking of heels comes to a stop as he does before the desk, gloved hand resting upon corseted waist. Dark lidded eyes gaze down upon Sterling, drinking him in. "Well, I was hoping that you could help me find someone, Detective... if that's a service you offer? It's of the utmost importance."

There's no question about pay. They know Ares would more than compensate the work, as he always did.

"It's an impressive prestige to have, especially for someone so... limited in time and resources. Out of the general one hundred and ninety... oh, what is it these days.... one hundred and ninety-five countries, I believe? Out of those, how many would you say that you've studied in?"

".......Yes sir."

"I wanted to know if you would be available for an event I was invited to participate in. You've mentioned studying your craft in a number of countries, haven't you?"

And it's hard to meet their eyes, when they look like that. He feels like he could crumble beneath it. He tries not to, even when their voice breaks ever so lightly. "Then it is my own doing. And if I get hurt... well, isn't there a chance that you could get hurt, as well? And neither of us will get as hurt as we would alone... it would only be a net positive, if there were two of us." His own voice shakes as he tries to make his case. "I-- I'm sorry, I just." He breathes. It doesn't help, not that it has in a long time. "I just want... you to be okay, and I feel like I could really help."

Of course Artair doesn't agree. Ares' shoulders slump ever so slightly, before raising again. "I know, I just--" He fights the urge to fidget again. Maybe if he stands more confidently, appears more capable... His frown deepens. "Job or not, I know first hand that you've already been through enough, too. If it's money, if you're worried about having to split your pay or something to that effect, don't. I don't want anything except for you to be safe and unharmed. What if something goes wrong, and you're here all alone?"

The sentiment is kind, which Ares Castellanos the Fledgling is. But they hardly hear the words before Artair is shaking their head, eyes wide. "No-- no.... Ares, I appreciate it. But you can't be here. You can't-- it--- it is dangerous. That-- they were human but they're not anymore. But I know what I'm doing. I know what I'm dealing with, what's happening. Ares, I need you to go before it's too late. Please." The voice is desperate, edged.

"If it is dangerous, then I think even more so that I should stay." The words are slow, careful, still timid for pushing back against what he's told. "I know you worry, I do, but-- I worry too. And I can be of use to you, I'm sure of it! Even if I just stay back and watch, and only join if things start to look bad. I even brought the sword you gave to me, just in case." His fingers part, to brush along the black leather sheath at his right hip lightly. "Or I could be a distraction, something of that sort."

"That creature-- is it dangerous..?"

1997: relative by rebecca storm, 2024, acrylic on canvas, 9 x 12 inches

Nosferatu (2024) Director: Robert Eggers