will you ever win?

“That you are. Can’t say I expected to see you here.” Noah lets out a soft chuckle as he picks up the suits which, at this point, is not even on his priority list. He snorts at her question. “Ismails? As if they would willing leave their seat of power.” There is a salty hint of sneer in his voice. “It’s just me and Nina. We had a… bit of complication, so she is enjoying her indefinite vacation here. Less eyes.” His lips draw a flat line, and joins force with a small shrug of shoulders. He has always been careful with his words… not around Cece, though. They used to gossip and complain about the entitled pricks. He supposes that is the mark of the time they spent apart. “In all honesty, I don’t remember much. I was gone and then I was back. I can’t say I’d recommend it to anyone, though.” He offers her a thin smile, polished and soft. Her thoughts are… all over the place. He can sense that she is not telling him everything, but it doesn’t feel like his place to ask. Not anymore. He can’t help but wonder, is this how it’s going to be? Asking awkwardly about how each other has been, filling the gaps with the cursory ‘good, good’ and ‘I’m happy for you’. Their connection has frayed and is barely holding on. “Thank you. And it’s good to see you, Cece. What brought you–” before he could finish his words, a trickle of blood comes down from her nose, and his instinct is to pull out his handkerchief. Seeing how she has the tissues at ready, though, he ends up just holding it out awkwardly. “No apologies, remember?” He reminds her, how he used to say she shouldn’t apologize… even when he was letting her go. It wasn’t her fault. Nina, as always, persevered. “So I suppose your health is not getting better, huh?” he asks with a sad smile.

It might be terrible to say that she’s relieved to hear the other Ismails didn’t follow suit... but she is. That is until the mention of Nina. Shit. Well, it’s better than the entire cohort, maybe, but still... “Definitely less eyes.” That’s a fact, so it’s an easy enough landing point, and Cecilia shrugs in some attempt to be casual. Noncommittal. It used to be easy to act like that around Noah, but... the times have certainly changed. Still, she manages a laugh at the joke about his unexpected deadness. “Good to know. My mom always said... um.” How do the words rush out so easily? Especially in the wake of the recent news? Mired in that, Cece just shakes her head. “She said something similar.” Is it the thoughts of her mother or this unexpected interaction that cause the trickle of blood down her face? Hard to say, really, but Cece swears as she fumbles for something to help with her nose. It’s only when she’s managed to stifle the bleeding herself that she realizes Noah’s standing in wait, holding out a handkerchief. Ever the gentleman. “Um... thank you.” She mutters, though her bloodied fingers don’t reach out to take it. His comment on apologies makes her blink hard. How quickly she’d forgotten. “Right. Right.” Cecilia nods, firm and quick, then swallows hard. His sad smile reeks with pity and she sighs, shaking her head. Easier to turn it into a joke. “Yeah, well... same body, same hybridity, right?” She smirks even behind the wad of tissues, though it trembles at its edges. Can he read it off of her? The gravity of this secret? No, no. Of course not. “Don’t worry, though. Haven’t dabbled in any more security.” Clearly, she hadn’t been great at it the first time. “But you, um... what have you been up to, um, here in Lethe?”

2021 started swimmingly, he must say. The emerging shadows of the New Year’s did not faze Noah, since he himself is an undead. Still, it surely caused such turmoil in the small town of Lethe. Deputy Chief Ismail did all he could to keep everything in order, putting out fire all over the place. By the end of January, he had a moment to catch breath, only figuratively. With the dry cleaned suits in his hand, Noah heads back to his apartment for the first time in 2021… when he catches a glimpse of a familiar but unexpected face. “Cece?” The bundle of suits slip away from his grip as the old nickname rolls out of his parted lips. Old habit dies hard, it seems. Shaking his head, Noah picks up his suits now in need of another dry cleaning, and walks up to her. “I, uh, well, I didn’t see myself leaving London either. But such is life.” He clears his throat. The last time they’ve seen each other… well, it was after the close call for Nina’s safety. He had to let Cece go, and with that, their little relationship had to end. It occurs to him, as she trails off, she wouldn’t have known his death. He is quite certain the Ismails wouldn’t have invited her to the funeral. He laughs weakly, “Dead? Yes, it’s a long story– I won’t bore you with it.” He brushes it aside in a typical Ismail manner. “It’s been too long, indeed. I’m doing alright, all things considered. Keeping myself busy… How about you?” 

God, they really had been close, hadn’t they? Easy to forget, thanks to the secrets and time between them now. But it shows in the way her nickname falls so easily from his lips despite his evident shock. “In the flesh,” she manages to joke past the lump in her throat, the dizzy spin in her head. “Shit, let me help –” But he’s stooping down to pick the dropped items already, and Cecilia can only cringe, taking a step back. “Yeah, right. Right. How long have you been in Lethe? Is it, um, is it just you? Or the whole family?” God, Nina Ismail in a town like this? That’d be a sight to see. Not to say Lethe isn’t something to be proud of. It’s her hometown, after all. She just can’t see the same pride coming from the Ismail heiress. “Oh. Well. Sorry about that.” As if she’d murdered him herself. Has she forgotten how to speak? “The dying, I mean. That’s, um, I’m sure it was unpleasant. But... good that you came back.” So she’s definitely forgotten, words tripping one over another to stumble from her mouth, preventing any potential lulls in conversation. Better these words than the ones that seem so unspeakable and yet so pertinent. Stupid, wasn’t it, to assume she’d never see him again? Consequences always caught up. Especially around here, it would seem. “Busy’s, uh, busy’s good. That’s good. You’re...” She gestures to the badge she only notices now, worn on his hip. “You’re with the police? Hey, that’s – that’s great. Congrats.” What is he making of all this, her stammering, her frayed nerves? Maybe she just comes across as an anxious ex-employee. Or so she can hope. “Me? I’m fine, yeah. All good.” That’s pretty far off from the truth, and she only goes on to prove it as she feels the familiar warm sensation beginning in her nose. Fuck. “Shit. Um. I mean – yeah, uh, sorry.” A palm raises to cover her bleeding nose from sight, and she turns to fish tissues from her pocket, forever on hand. “Hey, at least I’m consistent,” Cece jokes, her laugh tight and breathless. After all, this was how it went, wasn’t it? Her health issues had cost her her job. As they had so many things.

Morgan finds it amusing to meet the woman who has, until this point, always seemed like the put together elder cousin of her youth. A bit like meeting one’s hero, and though this isn’t the first time she’s spoken to Cece since she’s left, the feeling is the same. The image of her in Morgan’s head fading the more her cousin continues on almost awkwardly, leaving behind the very real person that her cousin is. She rolls her eyes with some fondness and some exasperation. “Why wouldn’t it be available? There isn’t enough people staying here for it to be an issue, and I try to make accommodations otherwise before I let people inside. Be grateful, I’ve even kept it clean.” In some much as she can, on top of all the other rooms. Cece’s room is the least used, so she only steps in once in a while to ensure the dust bunnies aren’t clouding up every piece of it. “Your bookshelf broke during some troubles the other year so I had to move all your books into boxes. Didn’t know where else to put them.” And, well, she didn’t have the heart to rearrange anything too badly, not when this was a room even Lettie had refused to touch. She turns back to her cousin with her eyebrows arched. “What? That’s such a poor excuse, you could have sent a postcard, or an email, or something. But, fine, keep your secrets. You’re here, that’s enough for me.” She can’t hold onto her anger, when the relief is so palpable that Morgan can feel a physical weight lifting off her shoulders. A short-lived one as Cece looks around, and Morgan feels a blow of grief to her chest so strong that she turns her back on her cousin for a moment. “She wouldn’t do something like that. Come here, we should talk somewhere else,” she says after a pause, gesturing for her to follow her into the kitchen. She waits for Cece to sit before starting the kettle on the stove, wanting tea, wanting something to do. Wanting to put it off for as long as necessary. She doesn’t turn on the stove, hands resting flat on the counter until she finds the strength to turn back to her cousin and sink into the seat next to her. “Have you kept track of the news from here? It hasn’t been peaceful in town, they’ve had one issue after another, and I didn’t even know about it until I came back either,” she starts, eyes glued to the table. “In June of 2019, something happened. People were just going crazy, everyone said it was like their magic was going haywire. Lettie, she… I’m so sorry, Cece. She died. I don’t know how, none of us do, but she’s gone, I tried to tell you. I…” She falters, because she doesn’t know what else to say and her babble is useless.

She’s not the type to dread things, really. Not after spending so many of her early years in a state of constant dread, constant fear. No, with time she’d had to shed it. Some would probably say that made her reckless now, but in Cecilia’s eyes, that was better than the alternative. That being said, though, dread seems inevitable now. Sinking like a stone in her stomach, hard and fast as Morgan softens, ushering her toward the kitchen. Oh, that’s pity. Cece knows the feelings in her cousin’s big brown eyes all too well. Pity and sadness strong enough to make her skin crawl. Not simply because of the memories they bring about, either. No, they bring dread with them, the type that’s too hard to swallow around. So Cece can only nod, falling into line behind Morgan. Nothing is said when they enter the kitchen, and it only makes her heart beat faster, enough that she’s dizzy with it. Once she sits, the news unravels, coming from a woman who won’t even look at her straight on. “Um – no. No, I mean, there’s not exactly a Facebook page...” God, is she really still trying? Sure seems like it, but any semblance of humor falls flat with haste in the wake of the unimaginable. Cecilia can feel her head shaking, her eyes blinking a few times as she bites at her bottom lip, thinking hard, uncomprehending. “M-My mom?” There are some constants in life. Lethe. The inn. Lettie’s undeadness. Lettie herself. Her mother, doting mother, hovering mother. Loving mother. Too fiercely, too hard, maybe. Suffocating, she’d accused her of once. How unforgivable. “My mom’s...” Dead, she’d always been dead, but not the sort of dead that stuck. That tore the rug out from under her. No, not just the rug. The world. Every constant crumbling. “You changed the walls.” She looks around the kitchen then, swallowing hard. “You, you um, you changed the walls, my mom painted these walls... no, no. Wallpaper, she wallpapered...um...” She’s standing. When did she stand? But her fingers trace the walls, where a pattern once was, now replaced by solid colors. “It was floral, or something. I remember her... on a ladder. Always working, always...” Here. Here, in the inn. Here, in her life. Cecilia turns back to her cousin, finally, her jaw clenched tight, her eyes filled with tears, a rivulet of red beginning its way from her left nostril. “My mom’s dead? Been... been dead? For... for almost... for two years? M-My mom?”

“Sounds a bit like you want me to cause some obvious trouble, but I am doing my job very well if I can keep all evidence of that under the table. Count my touched you remember my license plate, but it’s only so you can find the snacks, isn’t it?” he asks with a grin, glancing every few moments to look over at her. She has the tendency of slipping away with only a moment’s notice, and he doesn’t fancy talking to an empty car for a while before he notices. Once is enough. Nathan shoots her a dubious look, brow arched, wondering if the look is sufficient for his disbelief or if he should start citing any number of instances she’s made a mess. He doesn’t, if only because half of those times he’s involved, too, and he waves it off instead, focusing on the chatter of family, a subject only ever discussed in the lightest and emptiest of words. “Wouldn’t believe we ended up in the same town together on accident if it wasn’t the eighth time its happened, starting to think you do have a tracker on me, Mercer. But, what, you’ve known about this place for ages? I should have just asked you when I heard about it rather than trying to prod answers out of relatives.” He trusts Cecilia’s opinion a great deal more than some of the other people in town, but then, that’s the difference between knowing someone a couple months and knowing them a couple of years. Nathan laughs, yanking his hand out of reach and eating the onion ring before she considers plucking it from his fingers rather than swatting for him. “And? I’ve bought you milkshakes plenty of times, I think we’re even when it comes to sharing food!” The levity is needed, he hadn’t realized how tired he was until she brought him back to reality. He sighs, tearing his eyes away from her to the house, for a moment unable to remember if the light had been on before or not. Before, he settles on when nothing happens for several moments and, after a lengthy pause, he speaks. “If she found out I was here, she would probably kick my ass, but family is worth the risk sometimes. He’s a vampire, though, so I can’t exactly go in guns blazing – no, he’s bad news, I don’t think any of us should talk to him yet.” The type of bad news he doesn’t want Cece getting mixed up in, and Nathan’s gaze returns back to her, thoughtful and worried in equal measure. The eyebrow wiggle nearly makes him laugh, but it’s the threat that breaks his final bit of uncertainty and Nathan does laugh. “You’ll just come along anyway. Not our first stakeout together, either. First vampire one, though.”

“Holy shit... I forgot about the snacks.” Maybe not entirely true, or maybe she was just too riveted by the onion rings, but at once she’s opening the glove compartment and pilfering through it. “Oh my God, you didn’t eat all the Doritos while I was gone? Your self control impresses me to the utmost degree, I swear.” A bag is tucked into her purse – for later, of course. For now: onion rings. She’s chewing on one of those with a smile and a shrug at his line of questioning. “Guess you’re getting rusty, Mr. CIA. Should’ve seen the supernatural in my eyes.” She lifts a brow challengingly, if only to deflect from detailing her history. Not today. Not ever, preferably. She indulges very little: “Known about it for thirty-six years, at least. Ask around next time. What had you searching this way, anyway? Why suddenly hunt down family?” Oh, but the same could be asked of her, couldn’t it? Cece withholds the wince that tempts her with that thought, just looking toward this unfamiliar house for another moment. Easier to look at the unfamiliar then be nudged by the same old ghosts. The rebuttal is enough to make her scoff, but it’s nice. Easy. “Well, then, you owe me a chocolate malt. Sometime Saturday, preferably.” An excuse to score her favorite drink or to see him? Well, both are valid, she thinks. It’s been a while since a visit with her familiar friend. “You’re a good nephew.” She comments, eyes still forward. Such dedication to his family, to sit here, staking out for an aunt that would probably be mad at him for it. A good nephew, a good man. Not that she’ll feed him that much in way of a compliment. Cece’s bound towards some other bit of banter when she catches the concern in Nathan’s gaze and deflates some, with a dramatic sigh. “Fine, fine. No guns, no... blazing. No fun.” She gives something akin to a pout, though it swaps for a smile at his observation. “That’s true. Check that off my bucket list, I guess. I mean, I’ll have to put it on there first, but that’s easy enough... Shit, hold on, can you even get a picture of a vampire?” A beat of thought, then she nods. “I think you can, actually. I had some friends in high school. Anyway, time to share: why this vampire? And what exactly are we waiting for him to do?”

Several hours should be long enough to come up with a plan, and she’s no closer to finding something to say when she hears the low click of the inn’s front door closing. It’s not another person, she has no bookings scheduled until tomorrow, and strangers aren’t likely to walk in. Morgan hesitates, fingers on her lips, wishing for a moment she had been able to call someone like Ingrid, who was the type of no nonsense that she might have known what to say. She almost does so now, before she remembers Ingrid has also lost a parent, and she doesn’t deserve to be dragged into… well, whatever would be happening the next couple days. She starts at the greeting, and then pauses to inhale deeply. Cece’s scent hits her, and she commits it to memory, if only because she has a dreadful feeling that she won’t see her again. After all, what brings Cece back to Lethe isn’t her, and it isn’t the inn, and it isn’t whatever sent her running initially, it was for her mother, or so Morgan assumes. She’s putting it off, and she tries to channel the bravery of the other women in her family as she hurries into the room. “Cece,” she breathes, heart pounding, wishing her cousins hadn’t all chosen to come out of the wood-works and yet, beyond that, relieved beyond measure to see them. This thought in mind propels her forward, and she slings her arms around Cece’s neck, holding onto tight to her cousin, who is no longer the teenager that Morgan remembers leaving, not anymore than Morgan was the scrawny kid left behind. She trembles, and then heaves a sigh, leaning back, hands on Cece’s shoulders. “You’re alive!” Too close to what she can’t say yet, and Morgan steps away. Her eyes flicker to the bags, and she frowns. “Your room is still here, but it was repainted and some of the furniture was replaced - it got damaged a while ago. Do you want it? Someone can put your bags in it.” She’s helping out one of the residents by letting their elder son play bag boy for discount on one of the rooms, but he isn’t in sight just yet. Back to Cece’s face and the relief gone, replaced with an annoyance, stronger for the worry that’s been hitting her in the hours since Cece called her. “I’ve been trying to get in contact with you for so long. Where have you been, and what’s the point in giving me your phone number if you don’t answer it?”

Not sure what to expect, really. Morgan’s not the punching type, but it wouldn’t exactly be undeserved. So Cece is braced, lips pinned together in the midst of this breathless reunion with her cousin. She wants to choke something out, some sort of greeting, some sort of apology, but she doesn’t get the chance. Not when arms wrap around her with such fierce tightness that it almost aches, her hands grasping the back other girl’s shirt without a second thought, leaning into the embrace wholeheartedly. “Hey, Mimi,” she finally murmurs, her cheek against the top of her baby cousin’s head, feeling sorrier than she has in a long while. Letting it resonate, anyway, which is new. And stopped, quickly, the older woman laughing instead, though it’s weak. “Uh, yeah. Sure am.” They separate then, and Cecilia can breathe easier, thanks to the lack of restraining arms and the distance. How long has it been since she’s been embraced like that? No time for that now. “Oh. Oh, yeah, yeah, that’s fine. If it’s available, uh, yeah. That’d be great.” She shrugs, trying to imagine then just what her room looks like nowadays. Stupid to think it would be the same after all these years, those well-loved books maybe just covered in a bit of dust. No, of course they’d renovated. She can see traces of it everywhere, so surely her room had been no exception. Knowing her mother, her room was probably the first thing to be overhauled. After all, they certainly hadn’t parted on good terms. Something she’ll have to answer for later – or now, actually. Now, it would seem, considering the look on Morgan’s face. “I’m sorry, uh...” There it is, paired with a useless stutter. “Um, my phone broke, and you know, I don’t have numbers memorized, so when I got a new one, I just...” She shrugs, head shaking. “I don’t know. I don’t know. Um...” Not to pivot the conversation, but her eyes have been darting around, her focus derailed as she searches for a face that looks so much like her own. Probably even more so nowadays, as Cecilia has kept on aging and her mother has, inevitably, not. “Did you... did you tell my mom? That I was coming? Does she know I’m here? I’m sort of surprised she didn’t plow me down in the driveway.”

It’s a waste to carry a gun in a town like this, and his is tucked away in the console until its needed, but he almost wishes for it when the door opens. Raven hair, and ivory skin, and a familiar voice laughing at him and there’s Cecilia Mercer, looking little different than the last time he saw her. “You’re here, too.” Not a question, but a statement, and Nathan is less surprised than he should be. “Is there where I find out you have a tracker on my car that I don’t know about, or do you just memorize what my license plate number is?” Any answer is possible, but he snorts, catching the onion ring before it can hit his cheek as she climbs into the car without an invitation. Given how long he’s known her, Nathan figures it an open invitation, and he’s hardly going to argue, his eyes flicker from her to the house across the street, dim lights shining through the windows, and then back again. “Tracked some family down to the town, thought I’d check it out. Turns out my family gets into more messes than you do, who would have known? Your turn, it’ll be more entertaining than mine I hope. Perp? Boredom? Curiosity?” He looks amused, and then eats the onion ring pointedly, not realizing his own hunger until the food settles it. Nathan shrugs, and feels like he should have some respect for aunt’s privacy, but then… Well, it hardly matters if Cecilia knows, he half expects she’ll prod him about it until he talks anyhow. Nathan reaches over, snagging another onion ring from her bag and turning up the height as the January air blows around the outside of the car. “You’re being nosy, but so am I. Somebody harassing that family member of mine, just trying to get an idea of what she’s up against given she won’t tell me herself.”

“Oh, Nate, be realistic. Can’t waste a tracker on you, you don’t get into nearly enough trouble. Besides, what sort of investigator would I be if I didn’t know a few license plates by heart?” Her look implies that this much should be obvious, though it shifts to a grin when she gets something akin to a laugh out of him. He’s serious, though – isn’t he always – and it’s enough to prompt Cecilia to follow his gaze toward an unfamiliar house. Hadn’t been here sixteen years ago, but that was true of many things around town. She’s about to inquire about the details when he makes a comment that elicits a scoff. “Excuse me, I am simply prone to bleeding. Not messy.” Extremely debatable. And she’s about to prove as much as he pries into the cause of her arrival. Of all things, Cece manages a laugh. “Yeah, no. I’ve got some family business of my own. I grew up here, actually. It’s, uh, been quite a bit, though.” The news about her mother hasn’t truly set in, she suspects, and there’s no way to know if it will. After so much separation, will this come like a revelation, or just bit after nauseating bit? No way to know. Not yet. For now, though, she’s distracted, playfully swatting at the hand that snatches another onion ring. “Hey, thief, I bought these with hard-earned money!” And yet she sets the bag on the console between them to give him better access. “Nosy, bored, potato, po-tah-to, my friend – harassment?” Now, see, this is her wheelhouse. Cece rests back in the seat, frowning again at this house. “What sort of harassment – sorry, don’t have to tell me. This is what I mean about the boredom. But she doesn’t want your help, yet you’re looking into this yourself? Oh, how white knight of you, Mr. Marchand. Or, you know. Stubborn.” Cecilia cranes her neck, chewing thoughtfully before piping up: “Have you interacted with the person or are you just playing the stakeout game? I can go say hi, no risk on my end.” He’s not sold on that idea, she can see it on his face, and Cece sighs. “Alright, fine. How about my camera, then? That’s back at the inn. I can lend it to you... or use it myself, if you let me join you.” The eyebrow wiggle isn’t her most subtle move, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and she can only spend so much time moping around the inn. “If you don’t say yes, I’m going to go march up to that door and knock.”

Date: January 18th, 2021 Time: 1:25PM Location: Willow Ave, a few blocks from the gallery

@ceciliamercer​

It could at times be hellish navigating Lethe with a wheelchair, but that was multiplied tenfold in winter when snow and ice complicated things further. Luckily he knew enough people on his home street that they salted properly, so he didn’t skid his way home. Made for a bumpy ride though, especially for someone who also had an ankle in a cast. He was focused on moving, not looking at passerby as he rolled down the street. At least until he saw a face he thought he’d never see again, walking the other direction. Braking hard, he rolled backwards until she stopped to look at him. “Well shit, you’re a sight for sore eyes! La belle dame herself, Cecilia. How are you, darlin’?” She had paled even further (who knew that was possible) upon seeing him and he sighed. You get hit by a car one time and suddenly you’re a beacon of guilt for someone. He supposed it was fair for her to feel that way, but he still wanted to clear the air. “Celia, darlin’, you don’t have to look at me like I’m a bad penny. Where’re you headed? Can I buy you lunch or coffee or somethin’? Anything?”

Only fitting to see him here. Their last shared incident had been the beginning of it, hadn’t it? Well, maybe not. The unraveling had taken years. But it was much easier to convince herself to leave Lethe when she couldn’t even look at the person she’d once considered a best friend without grimacing. Grimacing like she does now, though she feels a pang of guilt for that as well. “Hey, Jonas.” His energy isn’t matched and she knows she’ll be called out on it accordingly before it even happens. Cecilia mirrors his sigh then, pulling her jacket tighter around herself. “Whoa, whoa, don’t go putting words in my mouth. I never said you were the bad penny. Though you do seem to have run into some bad luck. What’s with the cast? Doing stunts without me?” There, easy does it. Almost feels like old times. As far as her destination, well, that’s a question worth asking. She’s trying to reacquaint – or, in many cases, simply acquaint – herself with the town that once felt like home. Still does, in its way, though there is a mother-shaped hole that makes the foundation shake. “Uh... well, yeah. Guess I would’ve ended up getting food at some point, so why not now? Should warn you that I’ll fight you for the check, though.” And why shouldn’t she? Collision with a car, sixteen years of radio silence... lunch will only begin to chip away at that sort of debt, but she’s got to start somewhere, right? It’s only once she’s hit the crosswalk button and they’re forced into waiting that Cece turns, meeting the gaze of her company full on. “So, is this the part where I ask you what you’ve been up to?” That’s the polite thing to do, isn’t it? Trouble will be when he asks the same, but she’ll cross that bridge when she gets to it.

@morgancortez​

It’s different. That fact, arguably, shouldn’t shock her. After all, of course it is. It’s been sixteen years since she stormed out that front door. But something seems... off. Maybe it’s just how her heart resides somewhere in her throat, so difficult to swallow around though she tries her best, like a reckless teenager sneaking through the back window again, braced for punishment. This time, though, more than a decade of dread trails her. What will she receive? Punishment, maybe, but she is grown now. She can leave, just as she had before. Deep down, she knows it wouldn’t be quite so easy. But she can only hope that her mother’s reception is joyful. Even if she doesn’t deserve it. Cece exhales as she steps from the car, taking a long look at the entryway before she approaches the door. She’d warned her cousin a few hours ago about her incoming arrival. A few hours for years of absence. It’s not enough, and she knows that, but what more can she do? Walk in, it seems. And she does, the smell of the place taking her breath away. The same. So completely, unbelievably the same. The scent of fresh paint cuts through it, a new reddish color on some of the walls, but so much of it is exactly as she remembers. Homely and whole and wrought with ghosts. She’s mired in nostalgia for a moment then, setting her bags down beside herself, her exhale trembling. Cece is quick to right herself upon hearing footsteps, though, the pounding of her heart starting its raucous rhythm again as she calls out: “Hello?”

@noah-ismail

“Fuck.” Oh, now this is just unkind. Straight up cruel, honestly, to put her through this shit. Grieving a mother, being walloped by all sorts of reunions, and now... this one? The sort of thing she’d never expected. Had actively avoided, in fact, refusing to set foot anywhere near London or, hell, within the country of England. To avoid this precise interaction. But here they are, miles from where they’d last met, and she’s looking at Noah Ismail just as he looks at her. The universe is especially full of cruel tricks, it seems. It’s not as if she can’t see his face drop. And surely it’s awkward for him. After all, their parting words had not exactly been the fondest, severing an employment package and some sort of relationship in one fell swoop. But what he doesn’t know — that’s what weighs on her with sudden, nauseating force. What he can’t know. What she’ll never let him or anyone else know. Swallowed down hard and forced behind clenched teeth that somehow, impossibly, form something akin to a smile. Hell if she won’t be polite. After all, they were, well... friends once, weren’t they? “Noah.” Well, that’s one way to start this. More words would be ideal, though. “You’re, um — well, I guess I never expected you to leave London. For anything but travel, anyway. So, color me surprised. You look...” A beat, a frown. She’s no vampire, no werewolf either, so her sense of smell helps none. But she can certainly see something... or a lack of something. No breathing. He’s still, his chest not rising and falling. Interesting. Magic, maybe, but that’s what Ismails are known for. Not exactly looking for a question and answer session, she moves on. “Um. You look well. It’s been...” Fourteen years and about eight months, but who’s counting? “A while. How are you?”

@nathanmarchand​

“Hey — whoa! It’s just me! Holy shit, your reflexes have improved.” It’d felt like a strange twist of fate, really. And after recent events, she’d been looking for one. Blame an investigator’s instincts, maybe, but a lone car in a lot caught her eye. Still running, she’d noted. No snow built up on it, so it’d moved recently, not sitting in the lot long term. The lack of snow gave her the opportunity to see something else, too, something that made her brows lift and a surprised laugh come from her: a familiar license plate. Good thing she was already carrying a bag of onion rings. Just like old times. That’s how she ended up here, anyway, the bag dropped so she can raise her hands in rightful surrender. “Well, shit. You get to eat the one that fell onto the seat.” Cecilia grabs the offended onion ring and tosses it towards her companion before ducking fully into the car, shutting the door behind her as to block out the cold air. “Who goes first, then? Me or y— no, I decided, it’s me. What are you doing here? I mean, we’ve met under weirder terms, but... Lethe? I can’t believe I didn’t know.” Cece looks to her friend with a shake of her head, then faces forward, looking out of the windshield and digging into the bag of food. “Maybe more importantly, who are we watching — and are you seriously about to waste the onion ring I so generously gave you? The disrespect, Nathan. Eat up or I’m taking it back.”